She was there waiting for him when he entered his office at eight

thirty seven.  The coffee, still steaming, was waiting for him,

welcoming him to a new day at the bank.  Beside his desk, his new

secretary waited patiently, holding a small note pad and pencil, ready

for any task he gave her.

She had taken instruction well-- a good sign so early on.  The pink

tank top ended midriff, displaying her flat pale tummy.  He made a

mental note to have her go to a tanning salon on a regular basis-- he

liked a healthy golden glow.  Underneath her small pert breasts

stretched the material a bit more than yesterday.  The bandaid sized

black spandex miniskirt hugged her slim hips jealously though

inadequate to the job of hiding her charms.  Bending over for Amy would

be quite a dilemma in that skirt.  He guessed the patterned black

stockings were thigh-highs, the rose pattern creeping naughtily up

between her coltish legs, promising, promising to give up all her

secrets underneath...  He nodded at the now mandatory black high heels,

a cheap open toed black patent leather pair that revealed her newly

painted red toenails.

The rest of Amy was transformed too.  The prim mousy young housewife

from the previous day was gone.  The straight brown hair that had hung

midway down her back was now curled, teased wildly and heavily

sprayed.  Wild tresses framed the face, spilling and shaking enticingly

with every spare motion.  The eyeshadow was blue, the "Ivory fresh"

look replaced by lots of blush, foundation and penciling.  It would

take her an hour and a half every morning just to get ready for work,

he thought.  The lips were brightly painted with a fire engine red

lipstick, which matched the nail polish she now wore.  Cheap plastic

bangles clattered gently now whenever she moved her wrist.  The gold

hoops were enhanced by the plastic red heart-shaped post studs she now

wore.  Baines winced, uncharacteristically, at the thought of  a triple

piercing.  The coup de grace were the items she didn't wear today-- her

engagement ring and wedding band.  Amy looked like she might have just

come from a meat market pick- up bar or some sleazy discotheque, on a

man prowl.

"Good morning, Amy.  You look very pretty today."  He made pretty

sound like a dirty word.

"Good morning Mr. Baines!  Thank you VERY much Mr. Baines," she

gushed.  The smile was pure 100% bedtime for bimbo.

He took his seat, while she remained standing, waiting.  "Did you talk

with Wendell?  I heard he's starting his new job tonight."

She bobbed her head.  "Yes, Sir.  He wanted to make an appointment with

you today to thank you for him...and me."

"Keep him waiting.  Maybe I can spare a minute after lunch.  Say, he

didn't have much luck with the Unemployment office, did he?" Baines

chided her.

The synthetic lusciousness of Amy's smile dimmed for a millisecond.

"Sir?"

"I know he kept trying to get another job and keep his unemployment

coming in.  But the law states that when you are offered a job, you

have to take it--- otherwise you forfeit your unemployment.  I let the

state office know that, because I wouldn't want Wendell to miss out on

such a good opportunity."

Amy's eyes were well-deep now.  At the bottom of the well was animal

fear of him, fear that he had known about Wendell's stubbornness to

taking the menial job Baines had set up for him.  If he could know

about that, then he would know...

"Did you two make love last night like I told you too?  Like two little

fuck bunnies I bet." Baines sneered.

Amy nodded brightly.  "Yes, Sir, we did."

The memory of their lovemaking was painful.  Why was she crying,

Wendell asked. We're so lucky-- we're going to keep our home! her

husband had tried to cheer her.  She had said she was just so, very,

very happy.  That was why she was crying.  Thank God Wendell had left

early for his human resources paperwork meeting at the factory and

wasn't there when Mr. Baines had called.  But of course, Mr. Baines

KNEW Wendell would be gone by then.

Baines took it in amused stride.  "That's good.  From now on, I won't

allow it very often.  After I called you this morning, did you douche?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Baines!  At once, just like you told me to, Sir!"

"Good girl.  And you did like I told you, Amy?"

It was hard to keep her smile plastered on her face.  It was slipping

now, the humiliation burning and building.  "Y-yes, Mr. Baines, I did.

J-just like you told me Sir."  Her face was blushing hotter than her

blush now.

Baines sipped his coffee. "Good.  Show me, then Amy."  He leaned back

in his chair to enjoy the show.

Quaking, she set the notepad down and put her hands on the midriff trim

of the tight pink top. Jerkily she pulled it up and over her head.

Looking up, she assumed the lingerie model smile and thrust her chest

out, hesitating only a second. Her breasts were lovingly cupped by a

milky white brassiere, nuzzled by the confection of styled lace and

unseen wiring which gave her small bosom a curvy boost.  Between the

bra cups was a darling bright red rosette, the thin shoulder straps

similar decorated where they met the top of the cups.  It was a

romantic garment, not meant for everyday occasions.

Baines nodded wordlessly.

Amy unzipped the tight miniskirt, feeling her hips pop out of the

confines of the strict, shaping material.  Baines had been right-- the

silky black stockings rode high up her thighs, ending incongruously

below a white thong panty.  The panty matched the bra, all virginal

white and almost innocent in it's schoolgirlishness.  The small white

silk panel was decorated with the delicate bright red rosette on each

hip and between the legs, where it was held by a single snap to the

thong between her legs.

"And you shaved I take it?"

Amy's head bobbed.  "Yes, Mr. Baines.  I'll keep it shaved from now on,

like you said to, Sir."  How would she explain to Wendell why she kept

her pussy shaved bare? She would have to ask Mr. Baines for ideas--

she was running out of them and she was sure he had an answer for her

to use.

Baines stood up, moving to the other side of the desk. "And this what

you wore, Amy?"

She thought of the hotel room that night at Niagara Falls.  The

excitement, the thrill of dressing this way for her man, her husband on

their wedding night.  Of the way his eyes had shone with love for her.

Of the way she had surrendered to her husbands' love so easily, so

gratefully.

"Yes, Mr. Baines.  This was what I wore on my honeymoon for Wendell."

Keep the smile, don't cry, be brave...

Baines stroked the bra strap, then fingered the rosette between the two

cups.  It was the most intimate contact with Amy yet and she

involuntarily shrunk from it, then catching herself, reversed herself

and pressed the rosette back into Baine's hand.

"Adorable.  And now you must wear it for the new man in your life,

Amy-- me.  And you'll wear your honeymoon dainties for our first time

together too.  But after today, you will throw them out.  They aren't

appropriate for you anymore Amy.  White is for good little wifeys and

we both know you aren't that anymore.  Black and red, Amy-- slut colors

from now on."

Amy didn't answer.  The plastic smile, the frozen eyes downcast as she

watched Mr. Baines unzip his pants.

"Let's get to work then, shall we?  Bend over the desk, Amy."

Outside the office, secretaries were busily preparing banking

documents, the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters

filling the cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared,

deeds being registered, statements being generated for scores of

homeowners.  Each and every day thousands of mortgages are processed,

each representing struggle, persistence and a whole change of life.

Owning property--it was The American Dream, a dream which had just come

true for one man, Robert Parker Baines.