Story for The Worm's 2006 “Role of the Dice: December's Story
Exhibition;” a SECRETARY in a GYM with SUBLIMINALS. Feel free to
e-mail me at frustrateddoublehelix@gmail.com.


THANKS, METRICA!
By Frustrated


	Marcy shook her long hair around her back before she bound it up
into a pony-tail. Her hair was always bound up; no matter what
she did,  it always seemed to be the appropriate course of
action. Marcy was a secretary for the president of a major dot
com company, which sold, as far as she could tell, something
called “synergy.” It didn't seem to be anything real, or at least
anything tangible. The money certainly was, though, so she never
brought it up. How could she, really? This company had given her
everything; they'd helped her find an apartment after college and
even given her a discount to this gym.

	Marcy finished pulling her hair through the loop and checked her
shoelaces. Tight, like her sports-bra; she'd found in the last
few weeks that she *did* have a bit of an exhibitionist streak.
Nothing was wrong with that, of course. Men certainly seemed to
appreciate it.

	She dropped her sports bag (tastefully embroidered with the
company logo) into a locker and stepped onto the main floor of
the gym. She put an extra swish into her step as she passed the
men's side and put her white, monogrammed towel over one of the
treadmills on the women's side.

	Yes, there was a separate side for women and men; it was really
quite ingenious. Many gyms offered separate times for women and
men to work out because so many people got self-conscious in the
presence of the opposite sex. This plan was flawed; everyone had
to work. There was only one prime work-out time in the evening,
and every good fitness-conscious adult wanted a chance to work
out every day. So, Metrica Gyms came up with the solution to this
knotted problem; there would be a men's side and a women's side,
both mirror images of each other. Before the word “segregation”
comes to your mind, breathe deeply and let it pass; it's no such
thing, Marcy was told by an instructor her first day. Both sides
are fully equipped with the latest in work-out gear, TV's, and
mats.

	Marcy had been a little leery about this system at first, but
she had to admit that it had many advantages; she could work out
whenever she wanted to and she only had to worry about stares
going to and from the locker room; all four walls (including the
divider that separated the men's and women's sides) were
mirrored. The men could only see the women as they walked the
short corridor outside the locker rooms to their separate side of
the gym.

	Marcy bent one leg back and caught her foot behind her
exquisitely rounded bottom. One hand brushed it. Both her hand
and her ass tingled. She sighed, held the stretch, and repeated
the process with her other leg.

	Languidly, she went through a few more leg stretches before
pulling her headphones from around her neck and stepping up onto
the treadmill. It was a very nice one, a new one as far as she
could tell. It had metallic areas on the handles to place her
hands and read her heart-rate, it had a padded track to protect
her knees, and it had a special jack she could plug her
headphones into so that she could hear the TV. Metrica took
*such* good care of its customers.

	*Let's see,* thought Marcy, *what should I watch first? This
really beats work; no taking orders. I watch what I want to watch
and only what I want to watch,* but she knew there was really no
choice in the matter. She would watch the movie her boss
mentioned seeing this weekend; after all, a secretary needed to
be able to make small talk while she served the coffee. Luckily,
Metrica's internal cable system allowed her to order movies
instantaneously; they must have had *every* movie in existence!
Metrica was *so* cool.

	She found the movie and pressed play. It started up, and so did
the treadmill. That was another nice thing about Metrica; the
synchronization between the machines and the movies. At normal
gyms, the movie would always get quiet just when she was going
into her sprints and she couldn't hear. She would miss things!At
Metrica, the workout equipment was wired into the TV's somehow
(it was beyond a simple secretary like her, all that technical
knowledge) so that the two merged for a flawless work-out and
viewing experience.

	The treadmill warmed her up as the opening credits rolled. She
adjusted her headphones (provided especially by Metrica, *so*
cool!) so there was no danger of them falling off. The machine
started to pick up speed as the title came on the screen. It was
a clever title and she laughed at it (she remembered being
faintly shocked at it when her boss told her about it earlier,
but that was just one more way women were inferior to men; they
were *so* silly and inconsistent) but she couldn't remember it a
minute later—it had faded from her mind like off of the movies
she'd seen at Metrica. She figured it was clever of them; this
way, she could watch and rewatch everything they had and never
get bored. Metrica was *so* nice to its customers.

	Marcy watched the main character go through her day. It was a
secretary, just like her! How nice of her boss to recommend a
movie she could relate to. He was *so* nice. Maybe she should
give him something in return...

	The movie secretary, Lacy, went to work in a sweet little
outfit; a sleek minidress with garters and thigh-high leather
boots that shone as she strode down the street, admired by every
man she saw. Marcy made a mental note to buy an outfit like that;
if her boss's reaction was anything like the reaction  of Lacy's
boss in the movie, Marcy wanted in on *that*. This was *such* a
good movie.

	She felt her cheeks start to glow as the treadmill kicked her up
to a jog. She felt some heat down below as well, when the movie
boss took a long, lingering look at Lacy's curves. Marcy got a
respite; the speed dropped back to a quick walk as the movie boss
went back to his important business and Lacy left to make him
some coffee.

	Marcy jogged as Lacy flirted with all of the various
office-workers. Some of the girls, too!

	A smiling, ebullient fitness instructor gave her a thumbs up as
she passed by; it interrupted her daze and she looked up.

	She saw herself, curvaceous and confidant, in the mirror. She
was exuding a gentle glow from all of her physical exertions. Her
curves flowed through one another, giving her a fluid, feline
grace. She smiled, brushed a wisp of hair behind her ear, and
turned back to her movie as she felt the machine increase the
pace once again.

	Lacy was reticent, enjoying her boss's advances but spurning
them. What a stupid little *tease*! Marcy knew enough to know
that *that* was bad. Wrong, mean, stupid! At least the dumb girl
didn't protest, even if she *did* think she was equal to men.
Silly girl. What had her boss recommended this thing for? No,
wait, he knew better, right? So there must be some reason to
watch on.

	Marcy pouted at the screen. Even if her Boss recommended this
movie, there was still too much walking; she wanted to stretch
her legs and run and something exciting had to happen on screen
to let her. She needed *action* onscreen! Oh my, but the Boss was
attractive...he was making her *drip*. The way the camera would
close up on his face as he checked Lacy out or made an off-color
compliment gave Marcy the *shivers*; it was as if he was speaking
right through the screen to *her*. Come to think of it, he looked
a lot like her Boss in real life. Maybe, since she couldn't have
the actor, she could have *him*. What a thought!

	Marcy gasped aloud as she realized what she should do. She
should seduce her Boss! Who knew that going for a run would lead
to such earth-shattering ideas? Earth-shattering, yes, like their
sex would be. She could almost feel it now, his giant cock
between her tits, in her mouth, filling her pussy. Wow, what a
rush! Thanks, Metrica! This was *so* cool, this was *hot*, she
was *dripping*.

	She gasped again as Lacy finally gave in.

	“Sir? Sir! Sir...*Sir*,” moaned Lacy, sinking to her knees.
She'd finally realized that her mission in life was to *serve*
her Boss, the man that gave her lowly life meaning, the man whose
cock she *needed* inside her at every moment. “Puh-*please*,” she
gasped, reaching a shaking hand toward the conspicuous lump in
his pants.

	Marcy could feel the blood rushing to her nipples and cunt,
through her veins and arteries, engorging everything in
sight---everything but her brain. Her brain wasn't so important
anymore, not to do her *job*, which was to please her Boss. All
she had to *do* was please her Boss, and it was what she thought
about every moment, every second, every millisecond of her waking
and sleeping life. She *dreamed* about her Boss and all of the
pleasure she gave him, all of the pleasure he got from her, wrung
from her needy, *aching* body.

	“Ohhhhh...” she breathed, desperate for the treadmill to let her
off so she could go to the locker room and get off, thinking
about her Boss and his long, hard prick. That *wonderful* cock
that would be waiting for her on Monday morning...if she could
survive the weekend without it! All she could do while the
treadmill held her in its grasp was to live through Lacy...now
*there* was a girl who was *living!* She was down on her knees,
bobbing her head up and down on her Boss's cock, sucking and
humming and slurping. He was moaning and pulling her hair. The
camera zoomed in to show the delirious smile on Lacy's face. It
matched Marcy's own lascivious grin as she jogged ever faster,
preparing for the home stretch.

	With a click and a bang, it was upon her; the Boss, overcome by
how *good* his *secretary* was being, *good* just like Marcy
would be, had turned Lacy around, shoved her over his desk, and
plunged his hot pole into her needy cunt. Marcy moaned aloud, her
hands scrabbling at her tits right in the gym as she watched Lacy
get the fuck of her life.

	In and out, in and out the Boss pounded. Marcy could hear Lacy's
juices squelching around the massive prick hammering in and out
of her hole.

	The Boss's pace picked up and so did Marcy's. The good little
secretary sprinted as he thrusted, moaned as Lacy moaned. It was
a race to see who of the three would cum first, and it was going
to be a photo finish.

	"Oh! Please, please, please," she moaned. The machine's speed
increased again as the Boss got closer and closer. Lacy started
screaming and wailing, letting the whole office know how *good*
her Boss was.

	"I--oh--need--help--faster--I--" she gasped. Her grunts and
phrases became more and more disjointed under the onslaughts of
pleasure she was facing, her thoughts breaking like cell phone
reception in a tunnel. "Pound--need in--get
me--*kneelserveobey*--ohhhgawwddohhh! Bosssss!" She cried as she
came in torrents, in a whirlwind of passionate giggles. Life was
so *happy* and *gooooood* when you knew what your purpose was,
what your *place* was. It was so *good* to *serve!*

	She did her cooldown in a haze of happiness, barely noticing the
stares she got from the other female patrons as the trainers
tried to distract them, or the whoops and cheers coming from the
male section behind the mirror. Marcy did a stretch or two on the
side of her treadmill when the credits to that movie, darned if
she could remember what it was about, finished and the machine
let her off. She felt fit, hot, and sexy as she pranced toward
the locker rooms. Boy, would her Boss be *happy* when he saw how
*gorgeous* she was getting, especially when she wore one of her
new outfits. Thanks, Metrica! 
