Office Punishment/Sign it
From Create Your Own Story
Cheryl bit her lip and stared down at the contract. The text blurred as her eyes filled with tears. This couldn't be happening, Her head dropped in defeat as she took the pen and hovered it over the contract. She could barely find the line she had to sign on. The tip hit the paper, but her hand wouldn't move. "How can I admit to something I didn't do?"
She'd have no criminal record though, if she took the deal, so she'd still have a chance afterwards, a chance she'd never have if she went to jail. Her degree would amount to nothing, and all her experience would be worthless. Everything she'd worked for would slip from her hands, and she'd have nothing left.
"I'll sign." She was just buying time, she told herself. She'll prove her innocence, this was just another case win.
Cheryl scribbled her signature on the contract and thrust it at Mr Winston, she didn't want to hold it a second longer than she had to.
"Good." Mr. Winston took the contract from her, walked around his desk, and slipped the papers inside a fresh folder. "Report to Ms. Valentine."
"Rosa?"
"Yes. She will be handling your punishment from her on out." He waved her out of his office. "You've wasted so much potential." he said pouring himself a scotch.
"John."
"Mister Winston." He corrected curtly.
Cheryl shrunk away from the anger and disappointment in his eyes. "Mister Winston."
Cheryl hurried out of Mr Winston's office, her shoulders hunched under the harsh glare of his eyes. How did it all go so wrong?
-
Cheryl was numb as she left his office. Her whole world was crumbling. She didn't register anything as she walked back to her office. She was snapped back to reality by the sight of Rosa Valentine sitting in her chair.
"What the hell are you doing in my chair?" Cheryl asks, regaining some fire in her as she closes the door.
"I think you mean my chair." Rosa responds with a smirk.
"What?"
"Yeah. I've been been given your office, and all of your clients. What? you didn't actually think you'd keep your old position did you?"
Cheryl's head was spinning again. She was brought back by another woman, a strangely familiar Latina exiting Rosa's--formerly Cheryl's--private bathroom.
"Who... who are you?"
(huff) "Figures you wouldn't even know my name."
"Cheryl this is Kelly, my new personal assistant."
A flash of memory goes through Cheryl, a Latina secretary handing her a bundle of "routine" documents to sign.
"You! your the ones who did this to me!" It's all Cheryl can do to keep from jumping the desk and strangling them.
"Nonsense." Rosa retorts "You have no proof. Besides, we were the faithful employees that discovered your shameful theft."
Cheryl felt her rage dissolve into despair. They were right, no one would believe her.
"Now, we've been working on what your punishment should be. And Kelly here had a great idea."
"What was it you called us lowly secretaries?" She mock asked. "Oh yeah! Brainless eye candy that answers phones."
A guilty lump formed in Cheryl's throat. She had said that little barb to her mom on the phone. She didn't know anyone had overheard her.
"Well you won't be trusted with answering phones. Or arranging meetings, or managing schedules, or anything else that requires the talent of a secretary."
"Wha.. what's she talking about?"
"You see Cheryl, dear." Rosa says with mock pleasantry. "Publicly, you'll be on extended sabbatical. But privately, within the firm, your being demoted."
"To... to what?"
Kelly beams an evil grin as she answers. "You'll be serving a life sentence, as an Office Girl." She let's that sink in, snickering as Cheryl's draw literally drops. "That's right. From now on you'll work minimum wage, doing only the most menial tasks. Photocopying, taking coffee orders, emptying the bins etc."
Cheryl was dumbfounded. "You... you're crazy! I won't-"
"It's that, or go to jail." Rosa cuts her off. "10 years, in a federal penitentiary."
Cheryl hangs her head in defeat. She wants to cry, but won't give them the satisfaction.
"Good choice. Kelly?" She moves to hand Cheryl a card. "Head to this address. They'll get you ready for your new job. You should be back before lunch is up."
Cheryl was confused. But she was so overwhelmed she just took the card and quickly left the office. Not wanting to be in the presence of these cackling witches any longer.
The address had turned out to be a salon. Her appointment had been pre-paid by Rosa, and the girls their had been told what Cheryl "wanted". Her beautiful, long, brown hair was to be cut to mid length, feathered, teased out, and bleached blonde! But not fully. The roots were to be left dark. So everyone would know that she was a "bottle blonde".
Next, she was to receive electrolysis. Her neatly trim--but full--bush was to be removed, leaving her sex completely smooth and bald!
Finally they did her nails--1.5 inch stiletto press on', bright red and glossy--and gave her eyelash extensions.
The experience was pretty traumatic, but Cheryl tried to hold it together. She didn't know what would happen if she inadvertently tipped off these salon girls.
After she was done Cheryl wanted to cry, but forced out a smile as one of the girls gave her a robe. She quickly donned it, and was also handed a large bag with an envelope pined to the top. "Read me in the changing room" Cheryl took it with as much gratitude as she could muster, then went to do as instructed. She locked the door, and tore open the envelope.
"Dear Cheryl, I hope you enjoy your new look. I've taken the liberty of opening an account in your name with this place. You're to return regularly, to keep your appearance as it is. In the bag is your new uniform. And instructions how to wear it. From now on, this is all you're allowed to wear to work." -Rosa Valentine,Esq.
P.S. "Put your old clothes in and jewelry in the plastic bag provided."
With a heavy heart Cheryl surrendered her things to the bag. A finely tailored navy blue blazer with matching skirt. A crisp white blouse. A pair of black high heels. Her lacy, black bra and panties. Leather hand bag. And worst of all, her silver Tiffany earrings and bracelet. They were the first thing she bought after she started making serious money at the firm. They had sort of become her trademark.
Cheryl felt sick as she opened the duffel. There were a number of identical pairs of lingerie. The panties were a high-cut strap thong. With a matching triangle-bikini style, strap bra. And all of them were a bright red. They were cheap, and easy to take off. Like what a stripper would wear.
She couldn't be serious! She'd never even worn a thong before, now she was gonna have to wear her first one around the office?
Not wanting to get in any more trouble Cheryl dropped the salon's robe, and put on her new underwear The bra was a size or two too small, leaving plenty of under, and side boob. The thong was a new experience altogether. Cheryl felt exposed, and uncomfortable. It reminded her of 8th grade, getting her white, cotton, granny panties wedgied up her butt by those popular girls...
Cheryl quickly shakes her head and forces the memory of her nerdy middleschool years back down, where they belong. She sighs, lamenting this new era of humiliation, and moves on.
For her feet, Several pairs of black, fuck-me pumps. They were dollar store quality, and made from a shiny pleather or something. And a bundle of fishnet stockings. Matching the red of her lingerie.
Her "clothes" weren't much to speak of either. A grey skirt, that closely hugged her hips, and was perilously short, barely covering her crotch. And as if it didn't show enough thigh, it was slit up one side. The slit, was where it fastened, via velcro. Her top, was a white, cotton, short sleeve blouse. Like the skirt it was very tight, leaving little to the imagination. It was also a little too short, coming down to just above her naval. It also lacked buttons, having just two, quick release snaps near the middle.
Just as bad were her accessories. A box of numerous silvery earrings and braceletts, they looked just like her beloved Tiffany ones. But were mere 50 cent costume jewelry. She had to choke back a sob as she put them on. And a cheap purse, to hold her make-up.
Speaking of which, she was instructed to use a generous amount of dark blue eyeshadow, pink rouge, and bright red lipstick that matched her attire.
Next, were several bottles of cheepo perfume. Which she was to use a liberal amount of. Making her smell--in Cheryl's opinion--rather trashy.
She was also provided with a nondescript tan trench coat. To wear to, and from work. But she was to remove it as soon as she got there.
There was one final box, but a note on the top said to open in the bathroom at work.
Finally finished donning her "uniform" Cheryl took a look at herself in the mirror, as she figured, the clothes were incredibly tight and revealing. Her blouse only buttoned at the middle, showing off so much cleavage, you could see the red center of her bra. It also left much of her abs exposed, a strip of her creamy skin could be seen all the way around. With the bright red of her high-cut thong peaking up at the sides. The skirt wasn't much better. It was so short that if she bent over, sat down, or did much of anything, she'd flash her ass and/or red pantied crotch to the world.
Combined with the hair, make-up, and slutty stockings and shoes, she looked like a cheap stripper! doing an office stag party.
The thought of it made her want to throw-up. But she'd only have to fix her make-up again. She quickly pulled the coat tightly around her, covering her shame, and mustered the courage to head back to work.
"This is crazy!" She thought to herself. "But what choice do I have?"
Cheryl was super nervous on the way back, being dressed as she was under the coat. She did get a few looks, but the coat did it's job. Most people were too engrossed with their own business to notice her trashy footwear, or make-up. The cab driver gave a lewed sneer, but she ignored it and hurried into her building, heading straight for the bathroom.
Cheryl clawed at the cold sink as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. A coil of dread lay heavy in her stomach as she crumpled her instructions even harder in her hand.
She barely recognized herself. Her newly bleached hair framed her pale face, highlighting the faded cyan of her eyes. Her full, rosy lips added another soft tone to capture the eye before it wandered down along her slender neck, toward her generous breasts. They were firm and stood proud on her chest, barely contained by the thin material of her new bra. Sometimes she thought they looked too big on her slender frame, but she made it work. The thong did nothing to hide her ass--which was nice and tight, well formed from running the stress out of her body--and their high cut accentuated her sexy hips.
This was it. She had to act dress a bimbo slut in the place where she'd earned respect, performing menial tasks for minimum wage.
"I'm worth more than that." She thought, chocking back a sob.
Cheryl wanted to bolt and leave this mess behind, but she couldn't, could she? She'd signed her fate, anybody could have a taste now. A blush colored her cheeks in the mirror, just thinking about going out there wearing this degrading outfit.
She looked again at the crumpled paper in her hand, and then to the box it came in. It contained the final piece of her uniform. She wasn't sure if she could go through with putting it on.
"How am I going to do this?"
Does Cheryl?
