Carla

Carla walked down Maple Street with her friend Monique. Both worked as mid-level managers for large companies: Carla for Soft Micro, Monique at Mart Walls, a large department store chain (“anything on or near walls!”). They met over lunch in the area over a year ago, and power walked a few blocks twice a week, even if they couldn’t change out of business attire. Both drew more than the usual share of attention: Carla, 5’6” with long blond hair hanging straight down almost to her curvaceous derriere, favored a miniskirt and jacket combination. It was a warm day, and she now regretted her attire, suffering ogles and double takes as she walked with only a thin blouse and a camisole, sans bra, tightly covering her 36D breasts.

“I don’t know what I was thinking, taking off my jacket,” she muttered in exasperation to Monique as the third wolf whistle of their walk went off behind them.

“I don’t know what got into me, either.” Monique frowned and swept her hand down, indicating her thin, tight angora sweater, its deep V-cut plunging out, vainly attempting to cover her cleavage, which at 32D was dramatic on her 5’2”, otherwise slim, frame. A thigh slit, pleated skirt completed the look. They both had badges with swipe cards hanging off their skirts, which flittered as they worked their hips down the block.

“It’s nuts. I know we’re working out, and on which day, but I’m always dressing like this. And my heels are killing me: I keep meaning to buy a few pairs of comfortable shoes, but all I ever end up buying are these.” she pointed to her 3” sturdy, but sexy, heels.

“It’s worked wonders for my calves,” Carla said, checking out her walking partner’s legs as they went.

They reached the end of the block and turned down a quieter street. Twenty years ago it was where IBM employees from all over the Binghamton area visited their stock brokers, who carefully maneuvered their clients’ stocks. After the waves of layoffs, and the economic downturns of the nineties, the street had emptied. Now it was lined with small boutique and slightly shabby antique shops, nestled around a large bank. It had changed hands in the mid-nineties; the new owners kept all the light marble and columns, hanging a sign reading “Community Bank” above the entrance. The only unusual aspect was that all the windows, except for the one in front of the bank’s vault, were mirrored. It was early in the lunch hour, and there was a steady stream of well-dressed men and women entering and leaving the bank.

“I wonder,” said Carla, giving the bank a glance, then a stare, “what kind of bank that is. I mean, we walk past it all the time, but I’ve never been inside.”

“Neither have I, although…” She paused. “I remember seeing a letter from them to Randy. It looked like a statement.” That was Monique’s boss, much lamented and despised. Monique had always wanted to file a grievance against him, but really needed to keep her job.

They approached the bank, passing a lingerie store. Instinctively they glanced at the models on display. Carla looked at one of the more daring outfits and sighed.

“Not again,” warned Monique. “You make that noise, and the whole next month you’re complaining about having blown your credit line.” She bumped hips with Carla. “C’mon, let’s check out that bank of Randy’s. Besides, maybe I should open up an account to save up for Gene’s birthday; he’s turning forty this year.”

“Fine, okay. Next time we come past here that harem outfit better be gone, though, or you’ll hear me whining anyway.” They turned away. “A hundred and eighty dollars! That better be real silk.”

Monique rolled her eyes. “Down girl! Good thing Randy’ll never see me in that. He’d blow his stack seeing me in any of those outfits.”

Carla blushed all the way down to her chest. She let out a cross between a chuckle and a purr. “Yeah,” she said, putting a little extra wiggle in her hips, “Doug sure likes it when I dress up like that.”

The bank entrance was up on their left. As they passed the only clear window, Carla stopped short. “Check that out, Mon.”

“What, the vault? Looks like a vault.”

“I know that. But look inside. No money. Not even safety deposit boxes.”

Monique stopped and peered in. As she did, one of the bank employees walked up to the vault door and stepped through. Inside, in plain view in the otherwise empty chamber, was a simple, antique wooden trestle table, On the table were two card files. The clerk bent over one of the boxes, flipped through it and withdrew a card. Then he walked out and back into the bank area.

“Must be some pretty expensive cards.”

“Yah, weird,” Carla said. “Okay, I’m curious; let’s go in.

The entrance was pretty strange, too. Opening up the outside doors revealed a closed room, the inside mirrored windows showing the two beautiful women’s reflections as they stepped through. There was an inner door, and Carla gave it a tug. “It’s locked,” she said. Then the outer door closed and, with a second pull, the door opened.

The bank interior looked like… a bank. A set of teller windows were straight ahead, with a short, velvet-roped cordon in front of it. Two men and two women handled a short line of customers queued up.

“May I help you, ladies?” They were startled to see a thin, older man in a blue suit and tie, a name tag prominent on his lapel.

“Uh, yes, Mr…. Dancer,” Carla said, reading the tag. She suddenly fell strange, dizzy. As if she was falling into a tunnel. “I’d like to, um, like to…”

“Open up an account, perhaps?” She nodded, still feeling blank. “Follow me, please.” He set off towards an office. Carla followed, Monique trailing along behind her. He opened the office door and ushered them into an office, its thick, plush carpeting making both women wobble on their heels as they entered. He gestured them to the two overstuffed leather seats and closed the heavy door, which cut off all noise from the outside. She sat down, then struggling to compose her thoughts as if her brain was suddenly full of cotton wool. The man sat down at the desk across from them, folded his fingers together on the table, and smiled. “So, Miss…”

“Carla, sir.”

“Mr. Bone Dancer, please.”

Carla felt herself feel suddenly sleepier. Her head rolled, and she saw Monique slumping back into the cushy chair.

“Mr. Bone Dancer,” they both replied, and she felt herself slip onto a cloud.

The women instantly slumped, Chip noted, and nodded to himself. By this point, they self-inducted without any outside aids. He adjusted his pants a bit; watching this never failed to given him an erection, no matter how many times a day he saw it played out. He waited until each woman sat up again, backs straight, chest out, a half-wry, half-pouty smile just touching their lips.

“Status, ladies?” He asked.

“Ready, sir!” Both women shuddered pleasurably as they obeyed with the implied command.

“Very well, ladies.” He opened a door to an inner area. “Please prepare to handle deposits and withdrawals.”

“Yes, sir!” The women got up and both walked sexily to the door.

Carla just smiled as she passed Chip. Monique trailed her hand across his crotch as she passed and gently cupped his growing cock. “Looks like it’s just about time for your deposit, sir,” she drifted her hand off him as she followed Carla into the next room.

There were several chairs and tables set up, each with makeup stands. In the center was a large, rotating rack with clothes – all of it slinky, none of it suitable for the street – unless one were walking it. Carla and Monique went to a pair of tables and started stripping down.

“I can’t wait to see how my account’s growing,” Carla said as she slid her skirt down her hips, revealing a pretty pair of black lace panties. They were next, and then she was naked but for her heels. “Mr. Bone Dancer says I’ve almost got enough to go be a Premier member. She shucked off her heels, hung her clothing on a nearby valet and padded over to the clothing rack.

“I’m jealous,” Monique said, pouting, also naked. “I started six months after you, but I’m just not keeping up my deposit rate. I can’t get more than ten on a shift. At this rate, it’ll take me year to get to Premier.” She cupped firm breasts, gave them a pinch, and shuddered. “I don’t get it. The depositors enjoy it. I enjoy it. But I just don’t get the throughput you get with them.”

Carla turned and smiled at her friend, admiring Monique’s lithe form. “You might want to start by wearing something like this, instead working naked.” She smoothed the fishnet catsuit over her lush body, then stepped into the left leg of the outfit. “If you give customers easy access with these outfits, you’ll get your deposits right quick.” She pulled it up her other leg, snuggled it to her hips, spread her legs and rolled her hips forward. She gave Monique a smoldering stare, then licked her index finger. She ran it along her slit, pushing her lips past the edge of the crotchless stockings. She ran her slick finger up between her breasts, then licked it with an outstretched tongue. “Mmmm,” she said, and her legs shuddered a little bit.

A little bell, like one at a hotel front desk, sounded in the room.

“Shit, we have to hurry, or we’ll be late for our shift. Here,” Carla said, turning and rifling through some hangers. “Just wear this.” She tossed out a see-through camisole, “and these.” She unclipped a pair of nylons and a garter belt and threw them in Monique’s direction. Then she quickly slipped into the rest of the suit, and pulled a pair of knee-high leather boots and quickly did up their laces.

“How do I look?”

Carla turned and smirked. “Lovely enough to eat.” The hem of the cami came down to just above Monique’s large nipples, rubbing up against them and making them rise up, dark and dusky. The nylons, seamed in the back, were tight against her trim body, and her washboard stomach was nicely framed by the garter belt. Her bush, neatly trimmed, was fully exposed and glistening. She had kept her street shoes: trim, high heels that accented her already-impressive legs. Carla reached up and tweaked her own already taut nipples. “Let’s go to work.” They headed for the employee entrance at the back of the room, joining a few other women.

The room looked very much like office space: rows of cubes spreading out down a large open area. The girls waited by a low gate. At the gate stood another bank employee, a man in a blue suit and tie, and name plate. As the last of the women came in, the man looked at them and nodded. “Okay, ladies: Mr. Bone Dancer wants you to be extra productive today. We have a line of depositors, and we need to provide the kind of customer service I know you all can do. Rules, ladies!”

“The customer is always right,” they repeated in unison, “Keep the line moving. Smile. Get them to swipe my card to attain a higher status!” They all smiled a bit widely at this, and the women close to their next customer service level shuddered at the thought.

“Very good ladies.” He passed out magnetic cards with their names and cube numbers. “Take your cards; your shift begins in a minute.” He stepped aside as the woman took their cards and filed past. He stopped Monique as she reached for her card. “Mr. Bone Dancer wants you to take his deposit,” he said, smiling.

“Ohhh.. I’d love to, sir. In my cube?” A trickle of moisture started down her leg.

“Go back to his office; he’s waiting for you.”

Without a backward glance at Carla she turned and headed back for the dressing room door.

Carla found her usual cube. It had a clothes hanger, a divan, a couple of comfortable chairs, oils, and an assortment of dildos and other toys. She settled down on the divan and started slowly stroking her breasts through the fishnet, reminding herself of her job. ‘Get the deposit. Make the customer happy. Enjoy yourself.’ Another bell chimed, and she heard the door to the main office open, and the sound of customers entering. Her first customer stepped into the cube. “Hi, I’m Cat!” She purred, and languorously stretched, her nipples poking through the fishnet, sending flickers of pleasure straight to her wet pussy. “I’d be more than happy to assist you sir. May I take your deposit?”

Randy nodded, and she helped him, slowly at first, then faster and faster as he became caught up in her passion. Her eyes were heavy lidded, focused on his pleasure, and hers; she had no idea whom she was servicing.

His callused palms scraped deliciously across her chest, down her belly, then to her wet, waiting core. By the time he’d hopped out of his underwear he had a finger firmly embedded in her pussy, waggling it back and forth as she rubbed her breasts across his chest, her left hand busy stroking and tickling his erect, dripping cock. She maneuvered her other hand to cup his testicles. Then she pulled free of his hand, and dropped to her knees, swallowing him in one gulp. He backed up against the divan, then sat back hard as she nudged him back with her head as she deep-throated him. She mounted one of his legs and rubbed her slick pussy against his outflung knee.

In a matter of a minute, he was holding her head against him as she licked and sucked his twitching cock, humming the bank’s promotional song. A moment later, he came, filling her mouth with his come. Carla shuddered, programmed to come as soon as her customer made his deposit. They froze like that, then she slowly uncoupled from his crotch and slid down his leg for one last rub.

“So, sir, were you satisfied with your deposit?”

The man took a moment to catch his breath, then nodded. “Yes, that was wonderful customer service.”

Carla immediately came again, hard, barely having time to give her nipples a pinch as the programmed orgasm washed over her. “Oh… Thank you, sir.” She watched as he shakily got to his feet and started getting dressed. “Please come again soon.” He finished dressing and swiped his card on a reader by the cube’s low entrance wall. She stretched out on the divan and smiled at his back as he left her cube, then pressed a button on the side of the divan to usher in her next customer.