The next morning, she asked Baines to be kept on permanently as his

personal secretary.

"Would you like to interview for the job now then?"  Baines was

unbuttoning her blouse with his eyes, addressing his question to the

small, firm breasts.

Amy smiled weakly.  "Sure," she answered.  Her mouth was dry, very

dry.

"Good.  Secretaries need to be VERY PRETTY to work for me, Amy.

And VERY SEXY. Could you remove your blouse now?"  Baines

licked his lips slowly, savoring his request.

Amy stood up like a rocket, outraged and trembling.  She tried to but

couldn't meet his eyes. Shaking on weak legs, she turned to the door

wordlessly.  A mistake, this was a mistake, a mistake--

"Sit down RIGHT NOW."  The order was cold, unarguable.  Without

waiting for a response, he dialed the phone.  "Yes, the Sheriff please.

This is Mr. Baines, the Executive Vice President in charge of loans at

the First Metropolitan Bank.  I have two foreclosures to discuss-- the

Walenski Junior and Senior residences. Yes, I'll hold for a moment."

Baines tapped his gold pen on the desk rhythmically.  As Amy resumed

her seat, he quietly placed the receiver back in its  rest.

"The Sheriff's men will evict you by end of day, the house reverting to

the bank whenever I make the call.  That includes your in-laws."

Baines paused, letting this sink in before continuing. "IF, however

you behave yourself and if you are a VERY GOOD little secretary, I'll

will keep the late mortgage payment our little secret."  Baines looked

at Amy, eyes arched in incredulity, tapping the pen impatiently.

"Shouldn't you thank me for being so kind?  And shouldn't you take off

your blouse now?"

Amy sniffled.  "Th-th-thank you, M-m-Mr. B-b-Baines."  Trembling,

she unbuttoned her blouse, second after endless second displaying more

and more of her bare body.  With her eyes glued to the deep pile carpet

of the executive office, she limply pulled off her blouse, letting it

fall to the floor.  She wished she might cover her chest, but she knew

this wouldn't be allowed.  She kept her arms at her side, displaying

her plain white cotton Maidenform bra, her pale skin blushing pink in

shame.

"Now the skirt," Mr. Baines instructed.

Amy choked, her big brown eyes growing heavy with raindrop tears.

She obeyed silently, the tears trickling down her face now, as she

unzipped the simple blue cotton skirt. Foolishly, she thought how she

had picked out her nicest clothes to wear for Mr. Baines and now they

were all on the floor of his office, even as she tossed the skirt on

top of the blouse.  She stood before him now in nothing but her flats,

her bra and her white cotton panties, her whole body quivering as he

gave her a clinical once-over. He nodded approvingly and began to

speak.

"Amy, let  me explain how things will be from now on:

First, you will earn thirteen thousand dollars a year as my secretary--

from that salary, the mortgage payment will be made.  It won't be

enough to cover the entire mortgage payment, so I will stretch your

loan from a thirty to a fifty year loan-- an unusual but not unknown

practice.  The paycheck will be made out directly to the bank and I

will give you a small allowance with which to buy your new work clothes

and other items, which," Baines' eyes lit up, "I will explain in a

moment.  You will be kept on a virtually permanent probation status,

meaning termination at MY discretion.

Second, all credit cards will be cut up and all credit lines cut off

immediately.  Your credit record will indicate your late payments, and

you will be denied any request for credit.  You will be blacklisted and

frozen by credit card companies and financial institutions.  You will

henceforth use cash for everything-- that is, the small amount of cash

I allow you to use from your 'allowance'", Baines' eyes danced at the

thought then continued, "-- as a little girl, you obviously can't be

allowed access to money.  You have already shown yourself, like your

husband, as too immature to handle money.  So I will do it for you."

Amy wanted to scream YOU LET US BUY THE HOUSE!!! YOU

SAID WE COULD AFFORD IT!!! IT IS YOUR FAULT!!! But she

merely listened in fascination as Mr. Baines, her boss, continued to

tell her how she would live her life from this point on.

"Third, you will tell Wendell that you are so very very HAPPY to work

for me and lucky to get the job.  You will have Wendell come in

personally to THANK me for my generosity in hiring his inexperienced

young wife as his secretary.  He should write a gushing note as well,

for your personnel file, just as you should write thank you notes every

so often, telling me how happy you are to be my secretary.

Fourth, you will tell Wendell about a WONDERFUL opportunity as a

security guard at a local factory that I have tipped you to.  It

requires a seven day a week commitment, working six at night to six in

the morning."  Mr. Baines frowned in mock disappointment.  "It only

pays hourly minimum wage meaning twelve thousand a year tops.  But with

jobs so scarce and Wendell with just a high school degree... Well, you

ought to have him come in and thank me for that too.  I have a funny

feeling that Wendell will get the job very easily.  I'll point out that

you his wife is actually making more money than he is at his new job.

That will remind him what a disappointment he must seem to you as a

man. Too bad, but there you are."

Amy gritted her teeth. She could see her dear Wendell dejected, his

broad shoulders slumping, his spirit broken.  Failure. That's what he

would see himself as.

"Fifth, obviously children will have to wait for awhile.  You're young.

You'll have plenty of time later on, in my humble opinion.  And doesn't

my opinion mean a great deal to you now?"  His steely grin said it all.

His opinion meant EVERYTHING to Amy now.  "Anyway you won't

really have the opportunity to make one, will you?  So you'll get on

the Pill today if you aren't already on it.

Sixth, you will dress 'appropriately' from now on.  Your underwear is

not acceptable."

Amy shivered with impotent rage and humiliation.

"You will purchase silky, lacy lingerie, tight miniskirts, clingy tops

and so forth.  You'll surprise me with your imagination, but here are a

few tips for you:  I ALWAYS prefer garter belts and stockings to

pantyhose-- you should remember that.  High heels from now on-- three

inch heels at minimum. I like thong panties and thigh highs.  Panty

and bra colors that sluts like include red and black.  Amy, from this

point on, consider yourself a slut."

NO!!! Amy screamed.  Then she saw the sheriff's deputies taking

everything away.  Her in-laws begging on the street, all because of

HER.  She swallowed her shame and listened, glassy eyed, to her new

boss's next question.

"I have taken the time to go through this," he pulled a catalog out

from his top drawer.  It glided across the smooth polished surface of

the mahogany desktop.  Amy looked at it.  It was the latest catalog

from Frederick's of Hollywood.  "---and circled the things that I think

are appropriate for you to wear now.  I think you'll find them out of

your price range, but try to substitute closely at Wal-Marts or

wherever poor people buy things.  Look through it now, will you?"

Amy flipped the glossy pages.  In the front was clothing.  Mr. Baines

had circled sexy models posing seductively in tube tops, spandex

miniskirts, hot pants---she flipped toward the back.  Lingerie.

Teddies, babydolls, lace bikinis, crotchless panties-- all worn by

women who looked like their lives depended on pleasing a man, with big

"Fuck me please!" smiles glued on their faces and sticking their tits

and asses out as far as they could.  Sluts.

"What is your bra size, Amy?"

"Th-thirty-two A."

He waited, then added "Sir or Mr. Baines is appropriate, Amy.  Try it

again."

"Thirty-two A, Mr. Baines."

He put his finger to his lip, contemplating this.  "Better stick with

bras that give you some support in that area, Amy.  With breasts that

small, you'll need a lot of help, won't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Baines."  She wiped a tear away before another took it's

place.

"Yes indeed, Amy. I see you in shelf bras, push-ups, and half bras that

give you a lift.  ABSOLUTELY NO PADDING though.  You're a flat

little thing and don't think you can escape that fact.  What's a flat

girl's best friend in the world, Amy?"

Amy shook her head.  She could feel her little boobs swaying slightly

in her familiar old Maidenform as she did.  "I don't know, Mr. Baines."

"The Wonder Bra, naturally.  Get one at once.  Or two if you like.

Make-up should be worn at all times and I like what you working class

girls call `big hair'-- it's so suggestive so cheap-looking, don't you

think? Painted nails always, and keep your toenails painted too.  Have

your ears pierced a couple of more times at the mall and let's try

hoops or chandelier-style earrings on you too. You will purchase these

items with the allowance I'll give you.  Since that will be a small

allowance, you will have to shop at the discount stores, I'm afraid.  I

love the thought of you buying the sexiest lingerie K-mart has to

offer, along with all the other white trash!"  His gruff, pitiless

chuckle echoed in her ears.  Amy shivered as he added, "You'll be

required to purchase other items out of your allowance as well at

places downtown, nasty places, but we'll talk about those items in the

weeks and months to come."

"Seventh, you'll be working late.  Bankers never sleep.  Travel will be

necessary from time to time and I'll need my faithful, efficient little

secretary with me at those times.  You should warn Wendell you might

not be home some mornings, even weekends.  You should be VERY

convincing on this score, Amy. You will, won't you dear?"

Amy nodded dumbly, a zombie.  She was being told that she wouldn't

be allowed to spend any time with Wendell.  She was reserved for the

exclusive use of Mr. Baines from now on.  "Travel" meant cheap

hotels, one bed, rented by the hour, sheets extra.    "Working late"

meant...she felt chills spread throughout her entire body, electric

shocks sizzle through her heart and lungs as she gasped, choking down

tears. It was setting in now what he was talking about.  It was

dawning on her that nothing would ever be the same again.  She could no

longer restrain the panicky tears, the gut-wrenching sob that burst

forth. She clutched her face, awash in the anticipation of her

complete abasement.

Baines' tone was disgusted.  "Eight, and most important for you, Amy,

so stop sniveling and listen up-- you will have a proper ATTITUDE

about your new situation.  You will show me GRATITUDE and

RESPECT.  You will long to please me, to make sure I am NEVER,

EVER displeased with you.  My displeasure will result in your

punishment.  And if you were ever to speak to my ex-wife, you would

learn just how terrible my punishments can be."

Amy forced herself to stop crying.  A new tone had filled Mr. Baines

now, one that terrified her more than anything she had heard since.

"That's right Amy.  Good girl.  No more tears-- just smiles for your

boss.  Give me a smile now...show me how much you LIKE being my

little assistant."

Amy hooked up the ends of her mouth into an unconvincing smile.

"Not that kind of smile, Amy.  You KNOW what kind of smile I want

to see on your pretty face."  His look said she had a second chance, no

more.  His patience was wearing thin with her.

She closed her eyes and thought of the way she smile at Wendell, then

killed it.  No, that wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want love, he

wanted...lust. She curled her lips up, and gave her lower lip a little

bite like one of the models in the lingerie catalog.  Amy gave Mr.

Baines a slut's smile.  And he nodded approvingly.

"That's VERY good.  And I want you to behave just like your smile

hints at.  For me, in front of others especially.  There shouldn't be

any doubt in people's minds about what you are and you should act the

part every second of every day.  Or," he pointed at the phone again.

Sheriff's deputies, bankruptcy, her in-laws homeless, Wendell broken

for good as a man.  Baines looked up, his point having been made by

the look in Amy's eyes.

"So, just so we have it for the record, what are you, Amy?"

Amy blinked back a tear, smiling the airhead bimbo "DO ME!!!" smile

she had just learned to do so well.  "I am a slut, Mr. Baines."

"Whose slut, Amy?"

The smile was there for him, but she knew her eyes betrayed her.

They were filled with fear, fear of him and what he might do to her

should she not give the appropriate answer.  Without hesitation she

replied as happily as she could.

"I am YOUR slut, Mr. Baines."

She couldn't believe what had happened and how quickly it had

happened to her.  She had come here to try to figure out how to get an

extension on their mortgage.  In three months, she had been reduced to

nothing more than a sex slave secretary.  Baines was her boss, but he

was more than that and she knew it.  Mister Baines was her new

master.

"That is all.  You may get dressed.  You'll begin tomorrow.  Perhaps

you should go home and tell your husband the good news.  Here," he

tossed a twenty dollar bill at her.  "Go to MacDonald's to celebrate.

And buy a six pack of beer.  Make your husband think you two are the

luckiest newlyweds in the world.  Make him happy, Amy. Give him

something to remember as he starts his first day or night of work

tomorrow.  Be here at eight-thirty, prompt. Have my coffee hot and

ready on my desk-- I like it with one sugar, black."

Amy waited for a moment, then grabbed her clothes, grateful for the

protective covering of the blouse and skirt.  She turned to go.

 "Hold on, missy.  There's one more thing-- AND I think you owe me a

big thank you," Baines leered, tapping his gold pen.

Thank you for turning me into YOUR PERSONAL WHORE?, she

wanted to snap back.  But her eyes looked at his, then dropped to the

floor. She mumbled.

"Speak UP!" he barked.

"Thank you, Mister Baines.  Thank you for making me your new

secretary."

He made his last request.  It was the one that broke her.  All her

self-righteous anger wrapped within itself into a ball, which promptly

smashed into bits against this most degrading command. She nodded

obediently, submissively, like a proper secretary would respond to any

ordinary request her boss might make. Slowly, carefully she slipped

off her engagement ring and placed it before him, then the wedding

band.

Baines slipped the two rings on his keychain with double snaps.  "Good

luck charms," he explained callously.  "You'll tell Wendell you lost

them cleaning. He'll want to replace them but how can you?  You

can't even make your mortgage payment for God's sake.  You think I'm

taking them because I don't want people to think you're married, don't

you Amy?  You're wrong.  I WANT everyone to know you're married.

I'll make reference to it.   They'll be no confusion about it.  And

when people ask you why you don't wear your wedding and engagement

rings, all I want you to do is smile and wink. That will give everyone

you work with all they need to know about Amy Walenski-- now, you

may leave."

As Baines watched his new possession take leave from his office, he

smiled.  He had waited five years to take ownership of this girl, this

little nothing his daughter laughed at behind her back.  Her small

breasts, her tight backside, her pouty mouth-- he would train her,

break her in just the way he wanted her.  Ah, the fun he would have

with his new plaything!

As she trailed out in a daze, stinging in her deepest humiliation,

Baines thought about the pride of ownership-- home and otherwise.  When

the Walenskis hadn't made their first mortgage payment on time, he had

arranged to buy the note secretly from the bank.  He had approached

the bank president, an ancient golfplaying fool who was rarely in the

office.  Baines felt responsible about having recommended the young

couple.  He would inform them of foreclosure and buy the mortgage

himself, probably allow them to rent.  The old man waved an o.k. and

left for the links, leaving Baines with title to the pathetic little

slab two bedroom ranch.  They had already lost their little bit of

principal.  Amy's and Wendell's paychecks would go for rent, not

mortgage payments as they would think. He would let it go years before

revealing the truth.  And by that time, he would no longer need that

particular threat in order to have Amy do his bidding. There would be

other, far worse things by then...photographs, videos, dirty letters

she would write him.

Baines smiled. There was so much to look forward to, to live for. For

the first time since his wife had left him, he felt good-- REALLY good.