Carole was not happy.  When she had recommended to the MD that they should reduce expenditure on departmental away days by using cheaper hotels, she had not expected it to apply to the Finance Department - her department.  Finance was far too important.  It was supposed to apply to 'waste of money departments' as Carole thought of them.  Departments like HR or - heaven help us - Health and Safety, what on earth was the use of them!  If you had a problem employee you sacked them; if you wanted fewer accidents you told people to be more careful.  So it was important that the company didn't waste more money on these departments than they had to.  But to her dismay the MD had immediately vetoed their day at The Manor (five stars, golf course and health spa) and they had ended up at the very much cheaper Piddleton Grange.  The name didn't sound too exotic.  Neither did it look too exotic when it hove into view.  It was a run down looking old house in the middle of nowhere, built in the red brick Victorian Gothic style with an imposing flat roofed porch over the front door.  She was the only member of the department staying there that night (waste of money paying for a room for the junior staff), and when she entered the place she got the distinct impression she was the only person staying there at all.  She rang the bell in reception imperiously.  She didn't like to be kept waiting.  She was used to being in control, to giving orders and expected people to follow her orders without demur.  Carole dressed with authority.  Tailored suits in dark colours, padded shoulders and striking narrow high heeled shoes.  Underneath she wore expensive silk French lingerie.  She liked the feel of silk against her skin.  It was her clothes that gave her confidence, gave her power. 
 
A smiling man in his mid-thirties came trotting into the lobby.  He wasn't English.  His accent placed him from an eastern European country somewhere.  
 
He introduced himself as Mr Zgnbviev, or at least that was what it sounded like. 
  
"When I ring the bell I expect to be seen to immediately", pronounced Carole.  She was not a woman who liked to be kept waiting, and anyway experience had told her that it was best to let people know their place straight away by making sure that your first comment was a complaint. 
 
"Yes Madame my lady", said the man, "I give you good seeing to when you want it"
 
Carole just stared; the standard of staff did not bode well for a successful stay.  She signed in.  
 
"Carry my bags and take me to my room", she ordered - and if he was hoping for a tip he had another think coming. 
 
"Do you want I take you up the front passage or up the back passage", said the man. 
 
Carole stared, was the man serious?
 
"The front", she said. 
 
"Oh, a discerning lady", said the man", there are some ladies as like it up the back way"
 
They reached Carole's room. 
 
"And you can fetch me a stiff drink", said Carole, "whisky, no ice, no water". 
 
"Oh yes, I come with big stiff one", said the man, "you want to have my big stiff one inside you!"
 
Carole was not often at a loss for words.  What on earth was this place they had booked her into?  She was glad she had eaten on the way, and was not having to order sausage in the restaurant. 
 
She unpacked her things and went through to use the bathroom.  She had just got herself seated with her skirt up and her knickers round her ankles when in came Mr Unpronounceable with his big stiff one.  Carole was used to dealing with awkward situations.  She had a technique which inevitably seemed to work.  She shouted at people.  But the application of this technique required her to be in a position of authority, a position of control.  Sitting on the toilet with her skirt up and her knickers round her ankles, she did not somehow feel in control of the situation.  
 
"Here is big stiff one", said the man, and stood waiting for instructions.  Carole could only motion to him to put it down. 
 
"Does Madame have the more orders", said the man.  
 
Carole regained some composure.  Even in her unfortunate predicament, and it seemed somehow undignified to recognise this by standing up and pulling up her knickers, she latched on to something to complain about. 
 
"Those towels are dirty", she shouted,  not that they were, it just gave her something to shout at him about, "take them away and being some fresh ones"
 
The man picked up the towels,  "I bring clean towels", he said.  Carole just nodded.  She might be abashed just now, but just wait till tomorrow.  She'd have something to say to the manager.  She would demand compensation.  
 
Leaving the bathroom, she changed into her silk black fashion pyjamas.  So smooth and soft against her skin, and retired to bed. No towels had appeared; she'd have something to say about that in the morning. 
 
It was not warm in her room.  In fact on the cool April night it was freezing cold.  By the morning she was shivering. She decided to take a hot bath.  She loved the feel of being warmed up by hot water against her bare skin.  She turned the taps on and steaming water gushed out. She slipped out of the black silk pyjamas and threw them on the bed walking naked into the bathroom and lay down to soak in the hot bath.
  
Not that Carole was one of those women who were comfortable with being naked.  She did not find it sexually arousing.  If she wanted sexual arousal, she liked to get a man naked and subject him to some humiliation.  Now that was arousing!  Her nipples would always harden at the thought of it.  She was thinking of subjecting Mr Znb... whatever, to some naked humiliation now and she felt her nipples harden. 
 
Oh my God!  That man - what if he came bursting in with the towels when she was naked in the bath.  The thought was too humiliating. 
 
She leapt out the bath and slammed the bathroom door shut.   In her excitement she turned the key viciously in the lock.  Well she wasn't having that dreadful man bursting in on her again.  Then, to her horror she found the key turning round and round in the lock.  In her excitement at the idea of humiliating Mr Unpronounceable she had turned too hard and broken it.  She pulled frantically at the door but it was locked shut.  She was trapped naked in the bathroom, and the stupid man had not even brought the towels back. 
 
Although superficially Carole was a confident, if not aggressive woman, her confidence came from her clothes.  Naked, she felt ashamed and vulnerable.  She looked around the room.  It looked small.  It looked oppressive.  She had always hated being locked in and she tried to fight back the rising sense of claustrophobia that was engulfing her.  
 
She was in an awful dilemma.  She couldn't stand being trapped in the locked room, but the only way out was to climb out the window.  The window was above the front porch of the building so she could step out and stand on the top of the porch without problems - except of course that she would be visible stark naked to the guests arriving at the hotel.  Which was worse - public nudity and shame, or being trapped in the bathroom?  
 
Her brain solved the dilemma in a strange way.  If she was to endure public naked humiliation, then she had to enjoy it.  Suddenly the Carole everyone knew disappeared from her psyche, to be replaced by the Carole nobody knew.  The giggling sixteen year old girl who had once gone skinny dipping in the hills and been surprised by two hikers.  How naughty that had been, how exhilarating.  
 
Suddenly she found herself thinking how naughty and exhilarating it would be to stand on the porch in the nude to await the arrival of the members of her department.  What a laugh that would be!  She looked round her.  Her smart high heeled shoes were in the bathroom.  She'd look good in those.  They would accentuate her long slim legs, give a firm roundness to her pert buttocks.  She slipped them on, slid the window open and stepped out.  The day was warming up as she stood there waiting for the first arrival with eager anticipation feeling the warm sun on her bare breasts. Her nipples standing out proud and free. 
 
Tim was not looking forward to the day.  He saw enough of Carole in a normal day without having to have to see more of her.  As he turned into the grounds of the hotel he was blissfully unaware of exactly how much more of her he was about to see.  It was a sight that momentarily disorientated him.  His boss, Carole Tompkins, the scourge of the company was standing on top of the porch over the hotel doorway giggling like a silly schoolgirl, and she was wearing a pair of high heeled shoes - and absolutely nothing else.
 
He stared open mouthed, his brain reeling at the sight.  It reeled even more when Carole opened her mouth. 
 
"Oh gosh Timmy", she simpered in a squeaky schoolgirly voice, so unlike the deep authoritative tones she had long trained herself to use and which he was used to, "I've been ever so naughty, and locked myself out with absolutely no clothes on.  How very, very rude you must think me", 
 
Timmy could just stare. 
 
"Could you rescue me please darling Timmy", she went on, "and please don't look at my bare bottom.  It's so rude", 
 
Timmy remained speechless as Carole provocatively stuck out her pert little behind. "...or my boobies;  they're not for looking at, naughty boy",  with which words she took her breasts in her hands and jiggled them about playfully.  
 
Spurred into sudden action Tim ran to see if he could find a ladder, returning some five minutes later with a tall pair of stepladders.  A small group of men and women were gathered around while Carole cavorted on top of the porch in her high heels and her birthday suit, alternatively striking poses that provocatively displayed her bottom or her breasts.  They were the other members of the department and their immediate reaction was that the boss was deranged.  Tim put up the ladder and climbed up.  Carole had to sort of lower herself onto it, back to the audience with her legs dangling over the edge, all the time saying "Oh gosh!  Everybody's looking at my bare bottie". 
 
Only with great difficulty could Tim guide her feet onto the stepladder, and as he did so the whole thing toppled over leaving Carole on top of him legs waving wildly in the air as she tried to right herself.  It was a part of the boss that the staff had not seen before, or indeed were ever likely to again. 
 
Eventually she was down and on her feet.  As soon as she was on solid ground the strange regression to silly teenager disappeared; she looked around.  It was as if the last twenty minutes had been a dream and she suddenly awoke to find herself stark naked and humiliated in front of all her staff.  She screamed, turned, and ran.  The last they saw of her was a retreating bare behind wiggling as she tried to run in high heeled shoes up the stairs of the hotel screaming at Mr Whatsisname to get her bathroom door mended. 
 
Regaining her room she threw herself face down on the bed hiding her face in her hands.  The door opened and she saw Mr Znb... thingy coming in with a large bag of tools.  She was still stark naked.  She didn't care; she was past caring. Mr Zgnbiev looked at her nicely rounded bare bottom appreciatively. 
 
"I fix things no time", he said, "I get out my big tool and put it in hole, then you feel better."
 
Carole somehow doubted that very much.  

