Rodney Russell pressed the intercom and spoke to his PA. “Louella will you come in at once,” he said. Little did he know it, but it was the last order he would ever give her.
“Mister Russell?” she said on approaching his desk.
“You’ll need to – er – what are you doing, Louella?”
“I’m undoing your tie, Rodney,” she said, her fingers deftly popping his collar and slipping the tie knot undone. He hesitated to take hold of her fingers. That would be rather personal, he thought.
“But why? I mean – hey, not my shirt too?” He got a shock as Sophie, the other secretary joined them and aimed straight for him, helping Louella to undo his trousers. “Girls!” he cried. “Ladies, stop! What’s come over you?”
“Ha!” exclaimed Sophie, “I’ll tell you what’s come over us. The realisation that we should be telling your beloved wife about your affair with me in the summer.”
Rodney Russell’s heart stopped. If Fenella heard about him and young Sophie, she would drag him through the courts for every dollar he owned.
“So that’s why we’ve decided we will continue to do our work, Rodney dearest,” added Louella, “but at our own leisurely pace, while using little you as our secretary, our office bit of fluff, ha-ha.” She whipped one sock off his foot while her friend pulled off the other. He was stark naked and completely red in the face.
“Wh-What d’you mean, your secretary?” he ventured. He had visions of them dressing him or something. His fears were well founded, and his jaw dropped lower and lower at the assortment of clothes the women arranged across his desk.
They rolled a pair of stockings up his legs, and clipped them to a garter belt. They had a brassiere for him, and breast forms to fill it out like a proper bimbo. “We want our secretary to be super elegant, like that Miss Primp upstairs,” said Sophie, “so it’s only the fussiest blouses for our Miss Russell.”
They slid a blouse of pastel yellow nylon up his arms and drew it together over his breasts. It was a mass of frills, making him squirm with the femininity of it.
“Sophie, have you seen what I’ve seen,” observed Louella. “Someone is enjoying being put into his ruffled blouse.”
The girls sat for a moment to gaze at the evidence: a stiff, erect cock pushing into view beneath the nylon blouse. “She needs a slip,” said Sophie, “and then her skirt: just the sort of skirt for Miss Russell to go about her office work in.”
It turned out to be a pencil skirt in a dark dusky pink, which belted round his waist and buttoned all the way down his legs to his ankles. “Sit!” ordered Sophie, “and wear your heels like secretaries should.”
“Make no mistake, Miss Russell,” declared Louella: “Any complaint from you about your dress-code as our secretary and we immediately phone Fenella with every detail of your sordid little affair. Don’t forget, we know everything, and so will she.”
They strapped a pair of black patent heels onto his feet and proceeded to button his legs together. To make sure he would stay dressed as they wanted him, they passed belts round his chest, his waist and his knees and pulled them tight. The only trouble was, though, all this feminizing and bondage was too much for Rodney Riussell’s sensitive masculinity. It made him feel far too feminine and vulnerable, and in no time there was a pool of white semen seeping through between two of the buttons at the pointed front of his skirt.
“We’re going to have to invest in quite a few of these hobble skirts,” said Louella, sneering at their captive.
“And we’ll invest in a few tight gags as well,” laughed Sophie, pushing a ball between his teeth and pulling the straps behind him to buckle him at the back of his neck.
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