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Message-ID: <43595asstr$1059293403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25
Subject: {ASSM} Zoe, Naked at Work - Monday (FF MF exh tease)
Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2003 04:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Zoe, Naked at Work - Monday (FF MF exh tease) 
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja 
anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/www/ 
 
 
                                 * * * 
 
 
MONDAY 
 
I could tell something was up as soon as I stepped off the elevator.  
Hazel, our receptionist, was talking on her cell phone in a hushed 
whisper, too wrapped up in her conversation to smile as I entered the 
lobby. 
 
"Hang on a sec," she whispered into the phone as I passed her desk on 
the way to my office.  Hazel held her phone against her blouse and 
called out to me.   
 
"Zoe!  Zoe!" 
 
"Good morning," I said.  "What's up?" 
 
"Staff meeting is pushed back to ten." 
 
"Who's late?"  It wasn't unusual for the Monday morning meeting to get 
pushed back an hour or two, usually to accommodate a late arrival. 
 
"No one," Hazel replied.  "The Old Man called in a consultant to sit in.  
Didn't you get the e-mail?" 
 
"I haven't touched my computer all weekend."  The weather had been 
perfect and I'd spent all my time either at the beach or reading on the 
balcony of my apartment.  "Who's the consultant?" 
 
"Some management expert," Hazel said, looking around to see if anyone 
was in earshot.  "I think there's going to be lay-offs or something." 
 
"Don't worry, Hazel.  You're irreplaceable." 
 
"It's not me I'm worried about, Zoe," she said.  "Hal..." 
 
Harold was her fiance, the most junior of the sales staff and an obvious 
first choice if a staff reduction was going to take place. 
 
"I wouldn't worry about that just yet," I said.  "Let's hear what this 
consultant has to say first." 
 
"I hope you're right," she said, smiling weakly.  As I headed down the 
hall to my office she returned to her phone call. 
 
The conference room felt like a funeral home.  No one spoke.  There was 
none of the usual Monday morning banter while we waited for the Old Man 
and the consultant.  Usually, we'd engage in a friendly game of one-
upsmanship on the subject of our weekend activities.  Today there was 
none of that. 
 
"I hope everyone has their resumes up to date," Larry said, trying to 
break the ice.  "Last one to the copier is a rotten egg." 
 
"Give it a rest, Larry," Cheryl snapped.  She usually laughed hardest at 
his jokes, even the off-color ones, but she just wasn't in the mood for 
levity.  If there were layoffs, she'd be one of the first to be let go, 
after Hal and Marie. 
 
Larry was about to respond but bit his tongue when the Old Man entered 
the room, followed by the mysterious consultant, a man in his thirties 
wearing an expensive Italian suit that probably cost as much as my car. 
 
"Sorry we're late," the Old Man said.  Heads turned when he said this; 
the Old Man was famous for never apologizing for anything.  Not that he 
wasn't a good boss.  It just wasn't in his nature. 
 
"I'll dispense with the usual weekly agenda and turn the meeting over to 
Cal.  He comes highly recommended and he's going to help us turn the 
corner."  The Old Man took his seat at the head of the table and folded 
his hands in his lap, nodding in Cal's direction.  The consultant went 
to the whiteboard that covered the wall on the far end of the room and 
wrote the words "THE PROGRAM" in big black block letters.  Then he 
turned to address the eleven  people seated around the conference table. 
 
"Some of you are wondering who I am, why I'm here, and whether you'll 
have a job at the end of this meeting.  Rest assured, I am not here to 
reduce headcount." 
 
More than one person let out a sigh of relief.  The tension that had 
gripped the room began to dissipate. 
 
"I'm here to turn a bunch of fucking losers..." Cal wrote the word 
"LOSERS" on the whiteboard. "...into a bunch of closers."  He added the 
"C" to the beginning of the word and underlined it. 
 
"Listen, pal," Woody said, getting up from his seat.  Next to the Old 
Man, he was the most senior member of the staff, and a gentleman as 
well.  "That sort of language is uncalled..." 
 
"Shaddup," Cal barked.  "If you were a closer instead of a loser you 
wouldn't have to hear it.  Now sit the fuck down and shut your 
cocksucking mouth."  Woody sheepishly took his seat as Cal continued. 
 
"I can hear your minds moving already, thinking up your excuses.  'But 
Cal!  The commercial real estate market is in the toilet!  But Cal!  The 
dot com boom is over!  But Cal!  The commercial vacancy rate downtown is 
18%!'  No fucking thanks.  I've heard them all.  Excuses are like 
assholes.  Everyone has one and they all stink." 
 
Nervous laughter spread through the room like the rustling of dry 
leaves.  The tension was back, thicker than before. 
 
"Well, now that I've saved you all the trouble of thinking up your lame 
excuses, let's get to the bottom line."  He drew two intersecting lines 
on the chart, like an elongated "T", putting the names of the sales 
staff on one side and their corresponding sales and lease income for the 
last month on the other. 
 
"Where did you get those figures?" Hal asked. 
 
"From me," the Old Man replied.  "Continue, Cal."  The consultant 
finished filling in the figures and turned to face the room. 
 
Since kindergarten, I've grown accustomed to being last in any line.  
Having a first name that starts with the letter "Z" and a last name 
beginning with a "Y" made that a given, and I really didn't mind after a 
while.  This, however, was one line in which my last place position 
wasn't alphabetical. 
 
"Zoe?  Which one of you is Zoe?"  Cal scanned the room, looking at all 
of the women present. 
 
"That's me."  My father told me that you should never look a wild animal 
straight in the eye, but that's what I did with Cal. 
 
"$171,549.  That's dead last.  Deduct office expenses and your base pay 
and you brought in a pittance.  A fucking pittance."  Cal was leaning 
across the table, returning my stare with his cold blue eyes. 
 
"Zoe was out for almost a week with a sprained ankle," Danielle said.  
It didn't surprise me that she'd come to my defense.  Dani was my 
closest friend at the firm; we'd been playing tennis together when I 
twisted my ankle.  It wasn't that bad a sprain, but the painkillers I'd 
been taking left me too dizzy to do any real work, though I'd spent my 
time at home keeping in touch with recent clients and prospects on the 
phone. 
 
"What did I say about excuses?" Cal barked, making Dani cringe visibly. 
 
"Something about assholes," Larry sneered.  More nervous laughter filled 
the room. 
 
"You've got something to say to me?"  Cal stared Larry down. 
 
"No," Larry said, adding a half-whispered "asshole". 
 
"Continue, Cal," the Old Man commanded.  He wasn't really that old, just 
on the far side of fifty.  A former employee had pinned that name on him 
because the Old Man reminded him of the captain of the Navy destroyer on 
which he'd served.  "Skipper" and "Cap'n" were the other names he'd call 
the boss, but "Old Man" was the only one that stuck, mostly due to the 
boss's wizened face and thick grey hair. 
 
"Let's talk about The Program," Cal said, returning to the whiteboard.  
"It's a series of incentives, designed to motivate even the biggest 
fuck-up."  He went into a detailed explanation that left most of us 
rolling our eyes or staring out the window.  From what I could glean 
amidst all the buzzwords and psychobabble was that this "program" was 
part reward, part punishment, though Cal was pretty vague about the 
details. 
 
"And that's why I'm here," he said when he finished his spiel.  "To 
implement The Program and put this company back on track.  We'll start 
with Step One.  Zoe?  Stand up for us, please." 
 
"What?"  I guess his use of the word "please" had caught me off guard.  
I'd expected him to say something like "Stand the fuck up, bitch." 
 
"Would you please stand up, Zoe?" he repeated.  I pushed my chair back 
away from the conference table and stood. 
 
"Take off your clothes."  Cal stood ramrod straight, his hands folded 
across his chest. 
 
"Pardon me?"  It sounded like he'd said "Take off your clothes."  Surely 
he didn't... 
 
"Take off your clothes or clean out your desk." 
 
"You can't be serious," I said, looking to the Old Man for some sign 
that this was all a joke.  Everyone else in the room was shifting their 
gaze from me to the boss to Cal. 
 
"Do as he says, Zoe," the Old Man said, nodding sagely.  "Please." 
 
"Fine," I said, unbuttoning my blouse.  As I started to undress, a dozen  
pairs of eyes were glued to me.  Only Danielle smiled.  She was the only 
one who knew my secret. 
 
My parents were not quite hippies, but they were certainly "free 
spirits".  My father wrote self-help books, some of which sold quite 
well, and my mother was a massage therapist.  As such, my childhood was 
as far from the typical suburban tract house lifestyle as one could get.  
We lived on a commune for the first twelve years of my life, traveled 
quite a bit, and stayed with other "free spirits" on their farms and 
ranches. 
 
One aspect of my parents' lifestyle was naturism, both in and out of 
nudist resorts.  Even at home wearing clothes was optional, and only the 
chill of winter or a visit by non-naturist friends would keep us from 
walking around in the buff.  So I had no qualms about taking my clothes 
off in front of people I knew.  Only Cal's presence made me hesitate, 
but I felt almost giddy about calling his bluff. 
 
"Everything except your shoes," the consultant said, once I was down to 
my bra, pantyhose, and thong.  I had to sit down to take off my hosiery, 
but then I stood up and skinned off my panties, dropping them on the 
conference room table as I stepped back into my heels. 
 
Woody, gentleman that he was, tried to avert his eyes, a deep blush 
spreading across his pale Irish complexion.  Even Dani seemed to get 
flushed, a purplish tint spreading across her ebony cheekbones.  
Garrick, though he was happily married, couldn't keep from staring at my 
reddish-blonde bush, the corner of his mouth turned up in something 
approaching a leering smile.  Marie licked her lips.  Were the rumors 
that she played for the other team true? 
 
"For the next week, Zoe here will be naked from the moment she arrives 
in the morning until she leaves at the end of the day," Cal explained.  
"Working the phones?  Naked.  Meeting clients?  Naked.  Taking lunch?  
Naked." 
 
"What about sales calls?" Dave asked.  "And showing properties?" 
 
"Naked and naked," Cal replied.  "Whoever is last place in commissions 
this week goes naked the next." 
 
"That's The Program?" Larry said.  "That's it?  This must be the dumbest  
goddamned thing..." 
 
"Shut your fucking mouth," Cal snapped, cutting him off in mid-sentence.  
The consultant outlined the rest of The Program, rewards for the top 
sellers, punishments for anyone below the mean average, from having to 
use the opposite gender's bathroom to wearing nothing but underwear.  
Apparently, going nude for the week was the bottom rung, a combination 
of all of these.  Walking around without clothes for a week was 
something I could deal with, but having to use the men's room was not. 
 
By the time the meeting was over, Hal and Marie had to strip down to 
their underclothes and Cheryl would have to use the men's bathroom for 
the week along with Marie and I, though she could keep her clothes on.  
Lee, who had fallen below the mean by just under $100, would have to use 
the ladies room with Hal.  On the other side of the ledger, Garrick and 
Danielle had accrued a number of points towards a new Lexus, and Woody 
and Larry would have their lunches paid for by the Old Man.  Only Dave, 
whose sales for the previous month were exactly at the mean point, was 
unaffected, neither rewarded nor punished.   
 
The meeting broke up after an hour.  I gathered my clothes and cell 
phone and headed straight to my office, slamming the door so hard that 
the windows rattled.  Dropping my clothes and phone on the desk, I 
stretched out on the couch and tried to choke back my tears.  It wasn't 
from having to bare myself in front of my boss, co-workers, and the 
consultant from Hell.  It was the humiliation of coming in last in a 
race I hadn't even known I was running. 
 
There was a knock on the door.  I took a moment to compose myself before 
answering. 
 
"Hey, honey," Danielle cooed, kneeling next to the couch.  In anyone 
else's presence I might have had the urge to cover myself, but Dani and 
I had taken plenty of showers together at the fitness center and the 
racquet club. 
 
"This is so fucked up, Dani."  I sat up on the couch and held my head in 
my hands.  Danielle picked up the box of tissues from my desk and sat 
next to me on the couch, massaging my shoulders while I dried my eyes. 
 
"Maybe you should talk to a lawyer," Dani said.  "This can't be legal.  
Hostile workplace?  Hello?" 
 
"I'm going to talk to the Old Man first," I replied.  "This has to be 
some sort of mistake." 
 
"Wait a while before you do that," she whispered.  "I'm going to see 
what dirt I can dig up on that consultant." 
 
"Good idea.  I'll see what I can get on that Program." 
 
"In the meantime, take this," Dani said, handing me a file folder. 
 
"What is this?" 
 
"Dorfmann and Sons.  I want you to close this for me." 
 
"Dani, I can't take business from you!"  I tried to hand the folder back 
but she refused to take it. 
 
"Zoe, you can and you will," Danielle said.  "Besides, I don't want to 
have to look at your bony white ass two weeks in a row." 
 
"I owe you big, Dani," I said, hugging her as I tried to keep from 
bursting into tears. 
 
Just then, there was another knock at the door.  I had to choke back the 
lump in my throat before I could say "Come in!".  Harold and Marie 
entered, he in boxers, shoes, and black socks, she in bra and panties.  
Hal seemed to be in a constant state of blush, embarrassed and 
humiliated at having to doff his suit, shirt, and tie.  Marie, however, 
was beaming.  She seemed to revel in this.  Like most of the offices 
here, I had a set of chairs across from my desk and they pulled them 
over to face the couch before sitting down. 
 
"What's up?" I said. 
 
"Strategy meeting," Marie replied. 
 
"We need to figure out what to do," Hal said.  "This can't happen.  No 
way, no how." 
 
"We're way ahead of you," Danielle said.  "I'm going to google Cal.  
Zoe's going to sniff out The Program and talk to the Old Man." 
 
"Want us to come with?" Marie asked. 
 
"I'm thinking that I should do this alone," I said.  "At least for now.  
You guys are still pretty new here.  He and I get along pretty well.  I 
just need to get him away from Cal." 
 
"Okay, your call," Harold said, crossing his legs.  He was young -- mid-
twenties -- and athletically built, and it occurred to me that he was 
somewhat aroused from being in the presence of three women in various 
stages of dress and undress.  Marie was wearing a push-up bra that 
squeezed her small breasts into something resembling cleavage.  Between 
that and her straight posture, you couldn't help but notice her boobs.  
They were in your face, even from six feet away. 
 
"Where's Cheryl?" Dani asked.  "Shouldn't she be in on this?"  Hal 
blushed again and cleared his throat. 
 
"She went straight for the men's room," he said. 
 
"She did?"  Cheryl was married, mid-thirties, had two kids, and had just 
returned to the work now that her youngest had started grade school.  
She rarely went for after-work drinks with the staff, and seemed to have 
no tolerance for office politics.  Of everyone here, I would have 
expected her to clean out her desk and leave rather than submit to The 
Program.  Her husband was a plastic surgeon and certainly made a good 
enough living. 
 
"Maybe I should get her?" Hal said. 
 
"No.  Let me," I said, getting up from the couch. 
 
"Are you sure?" Dani asked.  I smiled and nodded as I headed out of my 
office.  As I walked through the cubicle farm that housed our support 
staff I could see heads popping up here and there, something that never 
failed to remind me of the prairie dogs I'd seen when I was a little 
girl.  I let my ass sway slightly and, as I walked past the reception 
desk to the men's room, Hazel nearly choked on her cell phone. 
 
At first I thought Cheryl was sobbing.  I could hear her voice coming 
from inside one of the stalls, behind the only closed door.  There was 
no one else in the bathroom, though I could smell the tang of cheap 
cologne.  Then I realized that she wasn't crying.  She was on the verge 
of a climax. 
 
I walked over to the stall, the click of my Manolo Blahniks echoing off 
of the tile floor and walls, and knocked on the door. 
 
"Cheryl?  You okay?" 
 
She didn't respond, at least not directly.  I heard a muffled "Oh, 
God...oh, yeah...oh, fuck..." coming from behind the metal door.  There 
was a gap between the door and the frame and I peered through it.  
Cheryl was seated on the toilet, her pantyhose and panties pulled down, 
dress hiked up, hands busy between her legs.  Her lipstick was smeared 
and her hair was a mess, but what made me start to worry about her was 
the look in her eyes, like a wounded animal, pupils dilated as she 
stared off into space. 
 
"Cheryl?  Are you alright? It's Zoe.  Let me in, honey." 
 
"Fuck...cock...fucking cock...fucking...yeah!"  She didn't seem to be 
aware of anything but her own pleasure, and I didn't think this was the 
best place for someone in her state, whatever that state was.  I grabbed 
the top of the door and shook it, but she'd locked the stall.  
Fortunately, it was one of those locks that have a slotted disc on the 
outward facing side of the door, big enough to turn with a quarter or a 
screwdriver.  I had neither of these, and it was too tight to turn with 
just my fingernails, but I was wearing thin hoop earrings, perfect for 
the task.  By the time I'd taken one out of my earlobe and opened the 
stall, Cheryl had come loudly and profanely.  For happily married mother 
of two, she had the vocabulary of a longshoreman. 
 
"Zoe...pretty Zoe..." she said, her speech slurred. 
 
"Cheryl, honey," I cooed, pulling her hands from her crotch.  The smell 
of sex overpowered the aroma of cheap cologne and disinfectant.  "Let's 
get you out of here." 
 
"Fuck no," she replied.  "I'm staying here all week.  This place is Cock 
Central."  That's when I noticed the white stain on her navy blue dress. 
 
"What happened?  Are you okay?"  I brushed her hair from her face.  
There was a drop of semen on her chin. 
 
"I sucked Chico's cock," she giggled.  "What a beautiful cock he has." 
 
"Who's Chico?" 
 
"Don't you know Chico?" 
 
"No, Cheryl.  I don't." 
 
"He's that janitor with the tight little buns.  He's coming back for 
seconds.  Wanna suck him with me?" 
 
"Let's get you out of here, honey."  I pulled her to her feet and bent 
over to drag her panties and pantyhose up her legs.  That's when I felt 
her hand on my ass, fingers probing between my cheeks.  I finished 
arranging her clothing before she reached my sex. 
 
"Do you like it up the ass, Zoe?  My Martin loves to fuck me back there.  
He says my pussy's too loose for him but I've had two kids.  What do you 
expect after two kids?  Never have kids, Zoe.  It ruins you for sex and 
you have to take it up the ass or he'll screw a nurse.  I didn't like it 
at first, but now I do.  I'm a dirty girl, Zoe.  A dirty girl.  I like 
it up the pooper.  I'm a dirty girl..." 
 
By now it was clear that Cheryl was having some sort of nervous 
breakdown and if I didn't get her out of the men's room she'd end up 
getting fucked by the entire janitorial staff.  I herded her out of the 
stall and quickly wiped Chico's sperm from her face.  Fortunately, we 
were out of the bathroom before he returned.  Hazel left her desk to 
help me steer Cheryl into her office and we sat her down on her couch. 
 
"What happened to her?" Hazel asked. 
 
"I don't know," I replied.  I rummaged through Cheryl's pocketbook and 
found an orange plastic vial of Valium.  I knew she'd have some.  We all 
did.  There was a bottle of spring water on the desk and I handed this 
to Cheryl, spilling a pill from the bottle into my palm. 
 
"Take this, Cheryl." 
 
"I'm okay, I'm okay," she said. 
 
"You're not okay.  Take this." 
 
Cheryl complied, washing down the pill with a gulp of water and leaning 
back against the couch.  Hazel took the bottle of water from her hand 
and moistened a tissue, daubing at the stain on Cheryl's dress.  We sat 
with her until she calmed down and her eyes took on a glassy look.  
Cheryl closed her eyes and laid down across the couch. 
 
"Hal told me about the meeting," Hazel whispered.  "It's outrageous.  
You should talk to a lawyer." 
 
"I am," I said.  "But first I'm going to speak to the Old Man." 
 
"He's crazy if he's going along with this." 
 
"I know.  Something's fishy here." 
 
Hazel had to go back to her desk and cover the phones so I stayed with 
Cheryl until she fell asleep.  As I left Cheryl's office to return to my 
own, I heard a flurry of clicks and whirs coming from the cubicles.  
Just about every male member of the support staff had either a digital 
camera or a cell phone that could capture images.  I even saw a couple 
of DV camcorders, the kind we used to take videos of properties to show 
to clients.  I stopped dead in my tracks and faced the colony of horny 
prairie dogs. 
 
"If any of these pictures end up on the Internet, I'm going to rip all 
of your balls off and hang them from the mirror of my car like fuzzy 
dice."  I stood there with my hands on my hips, glaring at them.  
Slowly, the cameras disappeared behind the cubicle walls.  I turned and 
stormed into my office, slamming the door hard again.  This was going to 
be a long week. 
 
Just as I sat down behind my desk there was a knock on the door.  It was 
Roger, the company's information technology director.  He was a sweet 
guy, extremely shy, the embodiment of the stereotypical computer geek.  
He was good at his job and a hard worker, so everyone from the Old Man 
down ignored his idiosyncrasies, like his disheveled appearance or his 
habit of humming to himself and rocking in his chair as he sat in his 
cube. 
 
"Um, I...I cut off web access at the, um, firewall," he said, looking 
down at his sneakers.  "I can't do anything about the, um, cell phones 
or the wireless access point upstairs at Palmer Associates.  It's wide 
open, not even encrypted, so it's trivial to just..." 
 
"Roger, I need to google this Program thing," I said, cutting him off.  
"I need the web.  I don't care if I end up on hotornot.com." 
 
"Oh, okay," he said, shuffling his feet on the carpet.  "I'll take care 
of that right now." 
 
"Thanks, Rog.  That was sweet of you." 
 
"Anytime, Zoe.  I just wanted to protect milady's...err...your honor."  
He blushed like a beet when he said that.  What little I knew about his 
life outside the office centered on his obsession with medieval role 
playing games, both online and off.  He'd worn a full set of chain mail 
and armor to the company's Halloween party one year, and everyone knew 
it was more than a costume for him.  Roger smiled sheepishly as he left 
my office, even though he got zapped with a massive static electricity 
shock from the doorknob from all his nervous shuffling. 
 
I logged in to my computer and waited a few minutes for Roger to do his 
firewall voodoo before searching for information on The Program.  What I 
found surprised me.  Most of the links had to do with high school human 
sexuality education.  I found a PDF of something called "The Pamphlet" 
and downloaded it to read later.  There was one link that led to a site 
run by something called the Institute for Proactive Management.  
Apparently they'd adapted The Program for use in business and one of 
their founders was none other than Cal.  I bookmarked the site and 
opened the PDF, skimming the table of contents.  Interesting... 
 
There was another knock at the door.  I'm a popular girl today, I 
thought.  This time it was Danielle, who had a folder in her hand.  She 
closed the door behind her and took a seat across from my desk, opened 
the folder in her lap and began to read. 
 
"Calvin Jessup Purdy, 35, founder of..."  
 
"The Institute for Proactive Management," I said, finishing her 
sentence. 
 
"How did you...?" 
 
"From googling The Program," I replied, filling her in on the origin of 
this bizarre curriculum. 
 
"High school kids?" Dani said, incredulous.  "And they...touch each 
other?" 
 
"They do more than that," I said, sending a copy of The Pamphlet to my 
printer.  As it began to churn out the pages she handed me the dossier 
she'd compiled on Cal.  Psych major at Duke, MBA from Wharton, doctoral 
studies at Stanford incomplete.  Held positions in marketing and human 
resources before founding the Institute with a Wharton classmate.  I 
read through his resume and curriculum vitae before getting to the real 
dirt. 
 
Cal was on the sex offender registries in three states.  He was 
classified as "low risk" as all of his convictions were for indecent 
exposure.  And there was more: Cal liked to write pornographic stories 
under his own name and post them on the newsgroups.  Dani had printed a 
list of his stories; most of the titles seemed to indicate that they 
were all about exhibitionism and humiliation, with characters who were 
forced to strip naked in public. 
 
"That sick fucker," I said. 
 
"No kidding," Dani said.  "I read one of his stories, well, part of one.  
Couldn't finish it." 
 
"This is dynamite, Dani."  I put down the folder and hugged her.  
"Thanks." 
 
"What are you going to do with it?" 
 
"Take it to the Old Man, I guess." 
 
"Need backup?  I'm here for you." 
 
"Thanks, Dani, but I've got to do it by myself." 
 
"I understand," she said, getting up from the couch.  "If you change 
your mind..." 
 
"I'll let you know.  Thanks." 
 
As Dani smiled and left my office I returned to my desk.  An 
overwhelming curiosity compelled me to seek out one of Cal's stories.  I 
found them easily enough.  Apparently, he had quite a following; they 
were archived on a number of sites. 
 
The funny thing was that he wasn't half bad as a writer.  Sure, he 
lapsed into cliche at times, but he spun a good tale.  It didn't take me 
long to realize that the protagonist of most of his stories was none 
other than Cal himself, and I began to enjoy reading how he suffered 
through a series of humiliations at the hands of a dominatrix, from 
being forced to wear women's underwear to having to crawl naked through 
a shopping mall.  When she tied him to a chair and made him fellate a 
dildo, I found myself getting strangely aroused rather than disgusted as 
Danielle had been.  This was even better than Dani's dossier for an 
insight into the consultant's personality.  I printed the story; more 
ammunition for my meeting with the Old Man. 
 
I picked up the phone and dialed Darla's extension.  She was the Old 
Man's administrative assistant, and though I could have just gone there 
and knocked on his office door, I wanted to make sure that Cal wasn't 
with him. 
 
"Ed Foley's office," Darla said. 
 
"Darla, it's Zoe.  Is he still with that consultant?" 
 
"That asshole's gone," she replied.  "Zoe, it's not right..." 
 
"Don't worry about that," I said.  "I just want to talk to him and clear 
this up." 
 
"You go girl.  I'll hold his calls for you." 
 
"Thanks, hon.  Be right there." 
 
I grabbed Cal's story from the printer and slipped it into the folder.  
Taking a deep breath, I opened my office door and strided towards the 
Old Man's corner office.  There were no cameras this time, but the 
prairie dogs were peeking over the cubicle walls, watching me as I 
walked past Darla's desk and knocked on the boss's door.  Darla had put 
her caller on hold and flashed me the raised fist sign.  Solidarity. 
 
"Come!" a voice resounded from behind the paneled door.  I took another 
deep breath and opened it. 
 
"About time," the Old Man said.  "I expected you earlier." 
 
"You fucking asshole," I said, closing the door behind me.  "This is 
about Chicago, isn't it, Ed?" 
 
"No, Zoe.  It's not about Chicago."  He had his feet up on the desk and 
was puffing on a cigar.  "Sit down and we'll talk." 
 
Three years ago, I'd accompanied the Old Man to a trade show in Chicago, 
commercial real estate developers and agents, vendors, contractors, and 
consultants.  That first night, after we'd set up our booth on the 
convention hall floor, he and I went out for dinner and drinks.  Nothing 
serious, just two co-workers far from home, enjoying each other's 
company. 
 
We ended up in bed, of course. 
 
Ed was still married at the time, and I'd been dating a man I hoped 
would propose to me, so when the Old Man invoked the 250 mile rule -- 
it's not infidelity if you're that far from your significant other -- I 
went along with his rationalization.  I'd been pretty drunk at the time, 
and I'd just as soon forget what happened and get on with my life and 
career. 
 
A year later, after his divorce became final, Ed asked me out on a 
dinner date.  I was sober enough to tell him that it wasn't a good idea, 
and he seemed to take it well.  Still, I couldn't help but wonder if he 
harbored some resentment. 
 
"It's not about Chicago, Zoe," the Old Man said, taking his feet off of 
the desk and looking me straight in the eyes.  "Well, there was one 
thing..." 
 
"What?" 
 
"That night in the hotel room, after we raided the mini-bar..." 
 
"What about it?" 
 
"You told me about your parents." 
 
"What about them?" I asked.  My memory of that night was somewhat hazy 
thanks to all the apple martinis we'd had at Morton's. 
 
"Nudists," he said.  "They were nudists.  So were you." 
 
"I told you about that?" 
 
"You told me everything, Zoe," the Old Man said.  "You weren't last 
place in sales.  Marie was.  But I had Cal choose you because I thought 
you could deal with this better." 
 
"You son of a..." 
 
"Now, now, Zoe."  He came around from behind the desk and sat down in 
the chair next to me, placing his hand on mine.  I suppressed the urge 
to pull it away.  "I'm trying to shake things up here, to pull us out of 
our slump.  You can help me.  Play along, just for a week, and I'll make 
it worth your while." 
 
"And if I don't?" 
 
"That's your choice, Zoe.  Year-to-date, you're not in the top three, 
but you've closed some of the longest term leases we have.  BioTrend?  
That's yours.  Imperial Bank?  All yours.  Fifty branches over the last 
three years.  Only Woody does better and that's just because he knows 
the Federal bidding process inside out." 
 
"Ed, I just don't feel right..." 
 
"Look, I said I'd make it worth your while," he said.  "How's the beach 
house sound?  Plus, I'll kick in taxes and utilities for five years." 
 
"The beach house?  Didn't Marla get...?"  Ed had battled Marla, his ex-
wife, for a year, in and out of court.  Their kids were grown and out of 
the house, but there was plenty of property to fight over. 
 
"She wishes," he said.  "I kept it.  Stick this out for a week and it's 
yours." 
 
"Taxes, utilities, and insurance for ten years," I said, looking him 
straight in the eye.  He stared back at me and then smiled. 
 
"Deal."  Ed held out his hand and I shook it.  "What's in the folder?" 
 
"Just some shit I dug up on Cal," I said.  The Old Man didn't need to 
know about Danielle's involvement. 
 
"Oh, his stories?" 
 
"You know about these?" 
 
"Yeah," the Old Man said, getting up and re-lighting his cigar and 
sitting on the edge of his desk.  "Darla found them for me.  Pretty 
kinky, wouldn't you say?" 
 
"I'll say.  He's one twisted..." 
 
"He gets results," Ed said.  "It's not enough to survive this slump.  We 
have to thrive.  You can help us."  His gaze was fixed on my breasts. 
 
"You already sold me, Ed," I said, standing up.  "And my eyes are up 
here." 
 
"Heh, sorry.  Seeing anyone these days?" 
 
"That's none of your business." 
 
"You're right.  It's isn't.  But I wish we had..." 
 
"Ed, this better fucking work or I'll..." 
 
"Or you'll sue me," he said.  "I know, I know." 
 
"Just so we're clear on this." 
 
"We are," the Old Man said. 
 
I turned and left his office, feeling Darla's eyes burning a hole in my 
back.  I suppose she expected some fireworks and I disappointed her by 
caving in to the boss.  I disappointed myself, selling out my principles 
and my co-workers' dignity for a cottage on the beach.  I felt dirty. 
 
Back in my office, I got my e-mail.  There was a message from Roger, 
asking me out to dinner that night.  Poor guy couldn't do it face-to-
face.  I replied by saying that I had plans; maybe some other time.  
This was shaping up to be the worst day of my life and I was in no mood 
to go on a charity date with our resident geek. 
 
There was another knock on the door.  This was getting ridiculous.  My 
office was getting more traffic in one morning than it had in a week.  
This time it was Woody, who was blushing and averting his eyes as he 
entered my office. 
 
"I thought you might like to have lunch brought in for you," he said, 
looking down at his feet, up at the ceiling, out the window.  Anywhere 
but my breasts. 
 
"That's sweet of you, Woody.  I'd like that." 
 
"Great, how does, um, how about something from the deli downstairs?" 
 
"Just a salad, please." 
 
"Okay, a salad," he said, blushing so hard I thought he'd have a stroke.  
"Drink?" 
 
"Iced tea, thanks," I said.  "You know, it's okay to look, Woody.  I 
don't mind." 
 
"I...I couldn't," he said with a nervous chuckle.  "It wouldn't be 
right.  I mean, I'm...I've...Theresa..."  Woody and Terry had been 
married for 23 years. 
 
"Woody," I said, folding my arms over my breasts.  "It's okay."  With my 
assets hidden, he finally looked me in the eye and grinned.  As he left 
the office Danielle poked her head in. 
 
"How'd it go?" she asked me. 
 
"Come in and close the door," I replied, telling her how I'd sold out to 
the Old Man, and revealing what had happened in Chicago.  She took it 
all in quietly, shaking her head as she listened. 
 
"I'm terrible, aren't I, Dani?" 
 
"No, Zoe.  You did the right thing." 
 
"No I didn't." 
 
"Yes, you did," she said.  "What's the alternative?  Layoffs.  Chapter 
11.  The end of the firm." 
 
"But I sold out." 
 
"For a damn good price, girl.  I'd kill for that house." 
 
"You think?" 
 
"It's like your own reality show," Danielle said.  "At the end of the 
week you get the prize.  At least you're not strutting your stuff in 
front of fifty million people." 
 
Danielle, sensible Dani.  I wanted to kiss her for this.  She settled 
for a hug before she left. 
 
Alone at last, at least until lunch, I tried to put The Program and 
everything else out of my mind and get to work.  It wasn't easy, though.  
For one thing, I was mentally decorating the beach house, redoing the 
bedroom in pale peach with red accents.  And it was hard to ignore the 
fact that I was sitting in my office stark naked.  It felt naughty, 
forbidden, unlike my younger days when nudity was something mundane, a 
natural state.   
 
As lunchtime approached, I began to feel like I was going to freeze to 
death.  Like most offices, the air conditioning was set to "Polar 
Icecap".  Even during the summer months, the female employees kept 
sweaters handy, draped on the backs of chairs or hanging on dividers.  
The male staffers, most of them in suits, didn't seem to mind. 
 
I pushed one of my chairs over to the wall, standing on the seat so I 
could reach the ventilator.  There was a small metal tab that closed the 
louvers, something I hoped would stop the flow of arctic air into my 
office.  As I struggled with the tab, trying not to break a nail, 
someone knocked on the door. 
 
"Woody's back with lunch," Marie said, stepping into my office. 
 
"Thanks.  Be there in a minute."  The tab, which probably had never been 
adjusted since it was installed, began to loosen.  It took a second to 
figure out which direction closed the vent, and just as I wrestled it to 
the right position I felt a pair of hands on my hips. 
 
"Just want to make sure you don't fall," Marie said. 
 
"Almost got it," I said.  "Thanks, hon." 
 
"My pleasure," she purred, not so much holding me as caressing my hips.  
I could feel her breath on my bottom and I half-expected her to kiss me 
there. 
 
"There," I said, finally closing the vent.  "You can let go now, Marie." 
 
She did, albeit slowly, drawing her hands down over my thighs. 
 
"Goosebumps," she said as I stepped off of the chair.  "You must have 
been cold." 
 
"Freezing," I said, turning to face her. 
 
"Your nipples," she giggled, hesitantly reaching out to touch one.  They 
were so stiff and pebbly that they almost hurt. 
 
"Yours, too," I said, seeing the lumps that pushed against the cup of 
her bra. 
 
"It's not from the cold," she whispered, drawing closer to me.  "You're 
lovely, Zoe."  Our lips were barely inches apart and my heart was 
pounding in my chest as I knew what was going to happen.  I'd never 
kissed another woman before, but I felt as if I'd shed my inhibitions 
along with my clothes.  It seemed as if everything that had happened 
this day was leading to this moment.  I felt a chill running down my 
spine as my breasts touched Marie's bra.  Her perfume intoxicated me -- 
Obsession, one of my favorites -- and I tilted my head, ready to accept 
her kiss.  I wondered what it would feel like as our lips made the 
barest contact. 
 
I didn't get the chance.  At the sound of the knock at the door we 
separated quickly.  I caught a glimpse of the flush that had spread over 
Marie's chest  as Danielle opened the door. 
 
"Woody's back with lunch," Dani said.  "You eating here or in the 
conference room?" 
 
"I'll eat with you guys," I said.  "Be there in a sec." 
 
Danielle left the door open when she left.  Our moment spoiled, Marie 
and I smiled sheepishly at each other and she left, trailing the scent 
of Obsession.  I took a moment to catch my breath before following her 
out of my office. 
 
Woody was already wolfing down his pastrami sandwich when I entered the 
conference room.  Hal and Hazel were there, too, eating takeout from the 
Chinese place down the block.  As Marie and I sat down and took our 
salads from the shopping bag, Roger and Larry joined us.  Danielle came 
in a minute later with her usual container of fruit salad and cottage 
cheese.   
 
It would have been lunch like any other day at the office if three of us 
hadn't been in various states of undress.  I had Marie, Woody, and Roger 
stealing glances at my tits while Hal and Hazel fed each other morsels 
of General Gau's Chicken with chopsticks. 
 
"I'm starting to like this Program thing," Hazel said as she ran her 
hand over her fiance's bare chest.  "I might have to keep Hal naked at 
home." 
 
"You don't do that already?" Larry quipped. 
 
"Well, not all the time," Hazel giggled, reaching under the table. 
 
"Hey, keep your hands above the waist, honey," Hal protested.  "Let's 
have some decorum here, okay?" 
 
"What a prude," Danielle said.  "You guys can have my office for a 
nooner if you want."  Hazel laughed again and whispered something in 
Hal's ear that made him turn crimson. 
 
"How's everybody doing?" Cal said, sticking his head through the 
doorway. 
 
"Did the landscaping crew turn over your rock by mistake?" Larry 
sneered.  Cal just smiled at this; you had to have thick skin to be an 
asshole of his magnitude. 
 
"Don't you have some stories to write?" I said, picking at the remains 
of my salad. 
 
"Ah, I see you know how to use a search engine."  He winked at me, a 
gesture that reminded me more of a reptile than a mammal. 
 
"Yeah, I typed 'sick motherfucker' into Google and your name came right 
up." 
 
"Just lay back and enjoy it, Zoe," Cal said. 
 
"That's it, pal," Woody barked, dropping his sandwich and pushing back 
his chair.  His hands were balled into fists as he turned to face the 
consultant. 
 
"Hey, hey, relax," Cal said, backing away from the door. 
 
"Apologize to the lady," Woody demanded. 
 
"Come on, I was only kidd..." 
 
"Apologize."  Woody might have had a few excess pounds on him these 
days, but he carried himself like a prizefighter.  It took half a second 
for him to cross the conference room and wrap his hand around Cal's 
neck. 
 
"Okay, okay," Cal croaked.  "I'm sorry." 
 
"Say it to her." 
 
"I'm sorry, Zoe." 
 
"That's better," Woody said, releasing Cal's neck.  "Get outta here." 
 
"I'm going, I'm going..."  Cal slithered away and Woody returned to the 
table. 
 
"Holy shit," Larry said.  "I think Cal's changing his pants now." 
 
"Dude, that was awesome," Hal added. 
 
"Sorry," Woody said, "He just burns my..." 
 
"Thanks," I said, reaching across the table for his hand.  That was the 
second time today that someone had come to "defend my honor".  I guess 
chivalry isn't dead.  It just smells funny. 
 
"You're welcome," Woody said, still trying not to look at my breasts but 
failing miserably. 
 
"I should start an office pool," Marie said.  "Who's going to be the 
first to hit Cal." 
 
"My money's on Zoe," Dani laughed.  "I'd hate to see that kickboxing 
class we took go to waste." 
 
The rest of our lunch hour was like any other, shop talk, gossip, 
Hazel's wedding plans.  Afterwards, Danielle stood guard at the men's 
room door while I went to the bathroom.  Fortunately, it was empty when 
I entered.  We went back to our offices and I stopped by Cheryl's to see 
how she was doing. 
 
"I'm so sorry, Zoe," Cheryl said, still groggy from the pill, though 
she'd managed to put herself back together and make some calls.  "I 
don't know what got into me." 
 
"It's okay," I said, taking her hand.  "Happens to the best of us."  She 
smiled wanly and I left her to her work. 
 
Danielle had given me the Dorfmann account to close, so I put in a call 
to his office to let them know that I was handling their lease.  
Dorfmann and Sons were a discount furniture outlet and they'd been 
expanding rapidly over the last few years, adding stores in just about 
every strip mall and shopping center in the area.  I'd met Dorfmann 
senior once before; as with any head of a company who'd worked his way 
up the ranks he liked to bargain and you never knew when the deal was 
done.  There was always one last thing he'd want added, one more item on 
a punch list. 
 
Dorfmann returned my call an hour later, curious about why Danielle had 
handed off his account.  I mumbled something about Dani having to give a 
deposition in a law suit, an event that happened all too often.  
Restauranteurs were notorious for this, calling in the lawyers if an 
electrical outlet was two inches too high from the floor. 
 
I'd hoped to push off most if not all of my client meetings until the 
following week, when I'd be dressed instead of naked, but Dorfmann 
insisted on meeting me that afternoon.  I tried to put him off but he 
was adamant, threatening to pull his account and take his business to 
our competitors.  Finally, I relented, agreeing to see him that day. 
 
I thought I could meet him at his office and drop by my apartment on the 
way, giving me a chance to put on some clothes.  Screw that Program, I 
thought.  I'm not going out like this, regardless of what I agreed to.  
But Dorfmann insisted on coming here for the meeting.  I was beginning 
to realize why Dani had pawned his account off on me.  The man was as 
stubborn as a yak. 
 
"Fine, how about three this afternoon?" I said. 
 
"Hang on, lemme see...yeah.  That's good," he said.  He was on a cell 
phone and I could hear the sounds of traffic in the background. 
 
After he hung up, I spent the time before the meeting going over his 
file.  Sure enough, he wanted the HVAC upgraded and new wiring in the 
front of the store, even though the heating and air conditioning system 
were only two years old and the previous occupant had been an appliance 
store.  There was plenty of power for a furniture discounter.  A couple 
of calls to contractors later, I had some ball park estimates.  A formal 
bid would take a few days but I'd at least have something to work with. 
 
Three o' clock came all too quickly.  Hazel buzzed me on the phone to 
let him know that Dorfmann had arrived, and I reflexively stood to 
smooth the wrinkles out of clothes that I wasn't even wearing.  I was 
standing behind my desk when Hazel knocked on the door. 
 
"Mr. Dorfmann to see you, Zoe," she said with a barely suppressed 
giggle. 
 
"Hi, I'm Sid Dorf..."  He'd taken two steps into my office before he 
realized that I was naked.  His hand was extended and his jaw had fallen 
almost level with his round belly. 
 
"Zoe Youngblood," I said, trying to stay cool and collected.  I leaned 
over the desk and shook his hand.  "I believe we've met before." 
 
"What th' fuck?" Sid Dorfmann said.  "What is this, Candid Camera?"  He 
looked around the office for hidden cameras. 
 
"Have a seat, Mr. Dorfmann." 
 
"No, really," he said, guiding himself into one of the chairs across 
from my desk.  "Is this some sort of reality show?  Are we on TV?" 
 
"It's hard to explain," I said, sitting down and opening his folder.  
"Let's just say that I lost a bet." 
 
"And how," he said.  "Holy shit.  And to think I was going to pull my 
account." 
 
"We couldn't have that happen," I said.  "So, about the heating 
plant..." 
 
"Fuck the heating plant," Dorfmann said.  "It's fine.  I love it." 
 
"But you said..." 
 
"But nothing.  It's two years old, right?" 
 
"Right.  And the electrical service?" 
 
"It's perfect.  I could run a welding shop outta that place.  Look, I'm 
ready to close today, right now, but..." 
 
"But what?"  I had the feeling that I wouldn't like what was coming and 
the way he leaned forward in his seat did nothing to dispel this notion. 
 
"I'll cut a check right here, right now," Dorfmann said, "but I want a 
lap dance first." 
 
"A what?" 
 
"A lap dance.  You know, like in a titty bar."  His laugh was worthy of 
Jabba the Hutt. 
 
I slammed his folder shut and sat fuming behind my desk, feeling the 
last shreds of my dignity and professionalism melt away like an ice cube 
in the desert. 
 
"Hey, I could go to Simonds right now," Dorfmann said, invoking the name 
of our closest competitor.  "It's not like I'm asking for a blowjob." 
 
"Go ahead, then."  I began to wonder how long it would take to clear out 
my desk. 
 
"Hey, hey, just kidding," Dorfmann said.  "But if you did give me a lap 
dance I'll double the contract.  Eight years." 
 
"Eight?" 
 
"Eight." 
 
Now I was tempted.  Double the lease, double the commission.  I'd be 
wearing clothes next week for sure.  I mulled it over for a minute and 
nodded.  Dorfmann chuckled as he got up from the chair and sat down on 
the couch, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie.  I imagined him 
doing just that in a strip joint downtown every night. 
 
"I've never done this," I said as I walked out from behind my desk and 
stood before him.  "What am I supposed to do?" 
 
"Start off by dancing," he said.  "Shake those little titties of yours." 
 
And that's what I did, slowly and hesitantly at first, closing my eyes 
and imagining the music.  Eight years, I kept thinking.  Eight years.  
What would I do for twelve? 
 
"Closer," he said, settling into the couch.  "It's called a lap dance 
for a reason."  I leaned over him, cupping my breasts as I swiveled my 
hips, and he licked his lips and smiled. 
 
Hazel had a coffee mug that had "If you can't get out of it, get into 
it." printed on the side.  That's what I thought as I shook my boobs in 
Dorfmann's face.  I started to get into it, straddling his lap and 
squirming on his thighs.  Marie's near-kiss had left me unsettled and 
somewhat horny.  Now I was writhing on top of a portly, balding, fifty-
five-year-old man for an extra few thousand dollars in commissions.  I 
was beginning to realize that there wasn't much I wouldn't do. 
 
"That's it, baby," Dorfmann said as I began to grind my cleft against 
the bulge in his trousers.  "Just like that..." 
 
"Twelve years?" I cooed, feeling the hardness inside his pants. 
 
"Aw, honey..." 
 
"Come on, Sid," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck and 
pressing my pussy against his crotch.  "I...need...twelve..." 
 
"Aw, geez..." he said, trying to resist the temptation to touch me.  I'd 
never been to a strip club, but I did know that the patrons weren't 
allowed to touch the dancers, at least not in this city.  I also knew 
that Sid Dorfmann was about to have a sticky mess in his pants. 
 
"You can touch me, Sid," I whispered in his ear.  "Go ahead." 
 
I can't say that I didn't enjoy this.  It wasn't about the money or even 
the pleasurable feeling of Sid's lap mogul as it rubbed against my sex.  
It was the power I had over this man, a client notorious for his 
stubbornness reduced to a quivering mass of jelly on my office couch.  
As his hands cupped my breasts I thought I could have squeezed a fifty-
year lease out of him. 
 
"Mmmmm...so good," I cooed as his fat fingers flicked over my pebbly 
nipples.  That's when he groaned and pushed his hips up from the couch, 
pressing his bulging crotch against me.  I could feel a spreading warmth 
on the fabric of his trousers. 
 
"Aw, crap," he gasped.  "Shit.  Okay.  Twelve years."  Sid's hands fell 
from my breasts as he leaned back against the couch, his face shiny with 
perspiration.  "Holy shit..." 
 
"Thanks, Sid," I said, giving him a quick peck before getting up from 
his lap.  There was a dark stain on the front of his trousers. 
 
"Fax me a new contract and I'll have a check cut," he said as he got up 
from the couch. 
 
"A pleasure doing business with you," I said, holding out my hand.  
Dorfmann smiled and shook it and then he was gone, holding his briefcase 
over the stain on his crotch. 
 
Now I was really horny, beyond horny, so aroused I felt cramps, but 
there was nothing I could do about it now.  Not in the office, at least.  
I'd have to wait until I got home, maybe spend some quality time with my 
shower massage head.  Anyway, I had to amend Dorfmann's contract and fax 
it over.  That would take the rest of the afternoon. 
 
It was right before five when Dani knocked on my door.  Sid Dorfmann 
already had the signed contract and the check sent over by courier.  Her 
eyes popped out when I showed her the terms. 
 
"Twelve?  You got twelve years out of him?" she said.  "I had to grovel 
for four." 
 
"Hey, maybe there is something to this Program," I said. 
 
"What did you have to promise him for this?" 
 
"Nothing.  Just the usual build-out." 
 
"I don't believe it," Dani said.  "What did you do?  You had to do 
something." 
 
"Just a lap dance," I said as I got dressed. 
 
"A what?" 
 
"A lap dance.  He made a mess of his trousers, too." 
 
"You're bad," Danielle laughed.  "You're an evil woman, Zoe." 
 
"Don't I know it," I said as I hooked my bra.  "How about drinks?  On me 
tonight." 
 
"Only if you tell me all about it," Dani said.  "And I want details." 
 
We weren't the only ones who needed refreshments at the end of the day.  
On our way out of the office we collected Cheryl, Marie, Larry, and 
Woody.  Lee, Garrick, and Dave joined us soon after, and even Darla came 
out for a beer.  Hal and Hazel would have come out, too, but they seemed 
eager to get home, no doubt to fuck like bunnies.  We sat around the big 
table at the back of McPherson's Pub, our usual watering hole, reading 
out loud from some of Cal's stories that Dani had printed out, laughing 
as we imagined him being abused by his fictitious dominatrix and her 
strap-on dildo. 
 
I felt relaxed for the first time that day.  I'd lap danced my way out 
of the doghouse and I'd have the title to the Old Man's seaside cottage 
by the end of the week.  It wasn't going to be such a long week after 
all. 
 
There was just one thing amiss: I felt weird wearing clothes. 
 
 
                              * * * 
 
 
 
(c) 2003  Anais Ninja 
anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/www/ 
 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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