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Message-ID: <48508asstr$1090055404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Wimp by Vickie Tern 2/3 TG femdom
Lines: 457
Date: Sat, 17 Jul 2004 05:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Wimp by Vickie Tern 2/3

                              ii.

A half-hour later we'd parked in her reserved space in the
underground parking garage and were heading up in the elevator.  It
stopped at the first floor and an older man got on.  "Ladies," he
said, touching his hat to both of us, then turning to face the
door.  I looked at Cameron, shocked!  She looked back grinning as
if it was some huge joke she wanted to share.  

When the man got out a few floors higher, I said to Cameron, deeply
worried, "I was afraid of that!"  

"Whatever for?" was her reply. "Does it matter?  You look nice. 
Employable. The rest is unimportant, I told you, gender is not a
basis for discrimination at this firm!  Stop looking so furtive. 
Just get yourself hired!  Confidence is what you need to display! 
  Shoulders back!  That's it!   But, ahhh, baby, you'd better
button your jacket if you're going to thrust out your chest that
far.  It's too obvious that you're ... under-endowed."

"Wait a minute," I said.  "Under endowed for what?  For a man? 
What do you mean?"

Cameron looked at me regretfully for a moment, biting her lip, not
quite sure how to reply, when the elevator door opened.  We stepped
out.  There across an expanse of deep-pile red carpet was a large
elliptical reception desk with a gorgeous, dark-haired young woman
seated behind it, her face even more carefully made up than mine. 
But she looked small compared to the image behind her on the wall,
a huge, floor to ceiling photo of a glamorous woman's face,
hollow-cheeked, eyes beautifully shadowed and staring dreamily at
everyone leaving the elevator, welcoming me.  I recognized it, the
Honeybelle logo face, reproduced on every tube and jar on Cameron's
dressing table.  I saw too, that that was how Cameron had done my
eyes.  Wide with wonder and deeply shadowed in mystery.

"Ms. Cameron!" she said.  "Good morning!  And you're Jamie, of
course!  Go right through, Sheila's expecting you!"  She smiled at
me.  It was a smile unlike any I'd ever previously received from a
woman.  Encouraging.  Not flirtatious, not cautious, not even
merely gracious.  Instead, intimate yet unguarded, warm, somehow
even conspiratorial, as though there were some huge secret we
shared.  Sisterly, that was it.  I realized that she thought I was
one of her kind.  A woman.  She was encouraging me as if one woman
to another.

We proceeded down a corridor.  I was still wondering why the
receptionist had called me "Jamie" and not my name, "James" or
"Jim," and what her smile might mean, when we paused at a large
double-glass door marked "Personnel."  Cameron suddenly opened her
purse and took a smaller clutch purse out of it.  "Here we are,"
she said, handing it to me.  "Your papers are in this.  Some mad
money too.  You'd better take it now." Then she opened the door and
we both walked in, each of us, I suddenly realized, carrying
purses.

There were several desks in a rather large room lined with filing
cabinets.  Behind one was a striking woman, also impeccably made-up
but older, with a streak of gray in her well-coiffed hair and an
experienced gleam in her eyes as she rose to come around and greet
us.  "Oh, good, Cameron, here you are!  Jamie is it?  Welcome to
the company, my dear!  I suppose I can say that even now, since
Cameron has already made it clear that you're the person she wants
to hire, and hiring the people their bosses want is what I do!"  

She grasped my hands in both of hers and glanced down at them for
a moment, then back to Cameron.  "You can go to your office now, if
you like, honey.  We'll need about a half-hour here for the
formalities, then I'll send Jamie up to you and you can explain her
duties to her."

"Jamie" again.  And "her"?  Cameron turned to me.  "Just go with
the flow, Jamie."  She emphasized the word, that was my name.  "To
get along, go along, you know?  No problems!  I want you up there
whatever!  Do you understand me?"  She held my gaze.

I didn't, but I looked back and nodded anyway.  She seemed
satisfied.  "Lovely!  See you soon!"  And she was out the door.

I was alone with Sheila.  She now looked at me almost
affectionately.

"Cameron's really something, isn't she?  She's one of our rising
stars here.  Whatever she wants, she gets.  I think that's the
first thing you need to know about her, at least during business
hours.  You'll be paid to do whatever she wants you to do, the
fewer questions the better, and with no hesitation.  Is that
clear?"

Finally, a moment to speak.  "Yes, of course," I said.  My voice
sounded a little high and tight to me -- why was I nervous?  "I
understand that.  But there's a misapprehension here, maybe because
of my appearance this morning, some...ahh...skin cream I've had to
use today.  My name is James, and no one calls me 'Jamie.'  I...."

"I beg to differ, Jamie," Sheila interrupted.  "Cameron called you
'Jamie' just now, didn't she, and what did I just tell you?  What
Cameron wants, Cameron gets!  In this case she wants a
secretary/receptionist named 'Jamie,' no questions or exceptions! 
"You just said you understood that!"

"I do," I said, chastened.  

She settled back in her chair and looked up at me.  "Then too, I've
already had your name-plate made out as 'Jamie.'  So that's that. 
Now understand please, there are many questions I'm not allowed to
ask you, about race, age, marital status, gender, sexual
preference, things like that.  It's against the law.  So I'd rather
not hear you mention them or try to explain them either.  I've seen
your resume of course.  It's impressive, all that computer
experience.  You may feel a little underemployed as a
receptionist-typist here, but as I'll explain we intend to use your
special skills as well.  And Cameron is on the move and slated for
bigger things -- if you work out I'm sure she'll carry you with
her.  You could end up serving as an administrative secretary on
the fourteenth floor.  Right now that depends on how well you meet
her expectations and Honeybelle's!"

"I see."

"Sit down at that desk, would you Jamie?  And copy any page of that
book there into that word processor.  Let's see something of this
fabled speed and accuracy."

I sat down and glanced at the computer screen.  One of the more
complex office word processors, but quite familiar to me.  I opened
the book at random.  Dense text, tables, and a mathematical formula
toward the bottom.  I sighed, and began, and under a minute later
I looked up, done.  Sheila came over, scrolled the screen to
inspect what I'd entered, made a print copy,, then wordlessly
motioned me over to the chair alongside her desk.  Then sat down
silently, at last impressed.  I thought she would be.  

"A job like that is best done with a scanner and character
recognition," I commented.  "A scanner would take one-tenth the
time.  Then your secretaries can pay more attention to tasks
requiring human judgment."

"That's true, Jamie," Sheila said, for the first time abandoning
her brassy declarative speaking style.  "And that's why you won't
just be Cameron's receptionist.  We'll want to hire you as well as
a kind of informal technical adviser to all the girls in the typing
pool, all the stenographers.  We need someone so easygoing that they
never hesitate to ask you to show them the best way to do things
like that.  When we discussed replacing Rosemond last Friday we
both agreed that was desirable.  So that's also in your job specs. 
Cameron's office closes at four.  At that time each day you'll
drift over to the secretarial pool to join them until they quit at
five, help out the girls that've gotten behind, but mainly hint or
suggest ways they can finish their work more efficiently when you
see what they're doing.  Low key, informally, of course, so no one
feels they're being criticized.  Can you do that?"

"Of course."

"For that same reason we want you to become their good friend. 
You'll join one or another group of them for lunch every day, chat
with them, be sociable and helpful, become one of them.  If any
want to pause for a drink after work, that too.  Cameron's agreed
to spare you for those obligations, though she'll keep you busy
otherwise.  Is that satisfactory with you?"  

I nodded.  Any job requiring that I mingle with informally with
girls in a typing pool had to be satisfactory.  Quite flattering to
my male ego.  Cameron was taking a big chance, testing my fidelity
to her that severely!  I wasn't sure I was up to it!

"You see, Jamie, there's another motto we follow here in addition
to 'to get along, go along' and so forth.  That's 'one hand washes
the other.'  We need a woman to serve as an in-house computer
trainer, and Cameron needs you to replace Rosemond.  You're
qualified for both jobs, so you'll do both.  I agreed, so Cameron
agreed.  Your salary will be commensurate." 

I looked addled, because I felt addled.  What was she saying?  "I'm
not..." I began.

"I told you, Jamie, I'm not allowed to listen!  I don't want to
know anything about sex, gender, religion, anything like that! 
Please.  Now, there's something else you need to know., a strict
company policy.  We do hire men as back office people, of course,
but our products are made for women.  So all of our secretaries,
receptionists, typists, and any other of our employees who will be
seen by the public are expected to serve as showcases for our
products.  The Fair Employment people allow us this exception in
hiring for just that reason.  For you to serve as Cameron's
secretary/receptionist, I needed to know that you have an
attractive face that can be enhanced by using Honeybelle.  I see
that you do.  We'll show you how to use our products to best
advantage, of course -- tomorrow you'll begin that part of your
training.  We have a salon where you'll spend a fair part of the
day.  Cameron assured me you're qualified for the real work, so you
are, so that's that!"

What could I say?  I blinked a few times, and realized that my
lashes were still heavy with the mascara Cameron had laid on to
make my eyes look more bold.  My doll's eyes.

"I do hope you're not a snob, that you won't feel superior to these
girls.  We want them to feel you're one of them in every respect. 
So you'll need to take up similar interests and concerns, make them
your own.  At lunch with them every day you'll chat with them about
their problems, their programming skills, their periods, their
boyfriends, pop singers, any topic that arises, and you'll share
with them whatever similar stories you can -- Cameron will make
suggestions.  You'll socialize with them in whatever ways may help
them build the confidence they'll need to do whatever you suggest
they learn to do.  Now, I need to hear you say it plainly.  Can you
work here under these circumstances?"

She paused.  I said nothing.  I was feeling a little betrayed.  She
seemed to be saying that I'd need to behave like these secretaries,
even wear Honeybelle products to work every day.  And Honeybelle
doesn't make men's cosmetics.  I didn't think they did, anyhow. 
She was saying I'd need to look like a girl?  Cameron wanted me to
take this job for my own good, for the good of our relationship, I
was sure, but still!

"If you say you can, there'll be no turning back.  For example
tomorrow the salon girls will teach you the best ways for you
personally to wear and display whatever we sell, so you exhibit it
and can demonstrate its use if called on..  The salon will want to
remake your look, not too high-styled but a little more stylish
than it is now, just enough so you'll blend in with all the other
girls."  

My mind raced.  Blend in?  She did assume I wanted to look like a
girl!  Or that I was one already?  If this job meant that I have to
spend the day in make-up, how could I get it off before coming
home?  Loiter after the girls leave at five I suppose, until I'm
alone?  But then how would I get Cameron's dinner ready?  

Well, if I'm working again, that home-making task won't be mine
exclusively any more.  We could eat out more.  But with me looking
a little effeminate?

"Now understand, what they do in that salon is not casual.  You've
noticed I'm sure that we're all impeccably groomed.  We all have
our hair done weekly and our faces and nails every few weeks, as
necessary.  I notice that your nails have never been touched. 
Well, they'll need to look as nice as the rest of you.  Our nail
products are practically irremovable and indestructible,
especially the ones we target toward hands-on employees like
secretaries who need nails that are easy to maintain.  I notice too
that your hair is rather prettily held back by that scrunchy, and
that the scrunchy matches your blouse -- no, that's a shirt, isn't
it?  Well, even so, we'll want to restyle it altogether, to show
our own hair products to best advantage.  You saw how pretty Dana
is, the dark-haired receptionist on this floor who faces the
elevators?  She's wearing our new brunette tone.  You'll need to be
more of a honey blonde, I'd think, to show yourself to best
advantage.  And with your pixie face, a cap of curls might well be
perfect!  So feminine, you'd look adorable.  But that'll be for the
salon to decide."

I'd completely forgotten about that scrunchy!  I usually gathered
my hair in back with ponytail elastics, not with the band of frilly
pink ribbon Cameron had handed me!  Men don't wear scrunchies!  I
touched it, a little embarrassed.  Sheila seemed not to notice.

"What our salon can't accomplish, our clinic can and will, and the
treatments and medications they advise are all free to employees. 
Then there're your orientation and training courses, we call it our
Charm School.  They'll take up a lot of your time this week. 
Simple things most girls already know but we have our own ways,
how our secretaries need to sit and move, manners when approached
by visitors male or female, these all reflect on our products. 
We'll invest some considerable time making you over into someone we
can all be proud of, a Honeybelle girl, a model of femininity and
grace.  That's why your first contract, the one I'm prepared to
sign with you right now, will run for six months, with you
guaranteeing us the first three months of your services.  After
that, if you should want to quit, you'll have three additional
months of paid leave to recover whatever you can of the way you
were before we hired you.  If you want to.  Surely you'll agree
that that's generous!"

She opened a file on top of her desk and placed my typing test on
top of a stack of papers -- I saw that Cameron had given her my
resume, because there it was.  She pulled out a rather formal
looking legal document, five pages of small script, set it in front
of me, and laid a pen alongside it.  I said nothing.  The whole
deal sounded very generous to me, but also a little kinky.  I'd
need to sacrifice a certain amount of masculine ego, apparently
wear make-up and a wig during the day and submit to their
posture-training, or whatever it was.  Seem to be a girl.  But
Cameron must have known those things and she'd urged me to apply
for this job anyhow, so she didn't mind.  Maybe she was testing my
sincerity?  What had I to lose?  

Cameron had also made it clear that she expected me to say and do
whatever is necessary, and Sheila had made it equally clear that
whatever Cameron wants, she gets.  Well, she wanted me working with
her even under these circumstances!  So I wanted that too.

"Any questions?" she asked.  I shook my head.

"Here's your six-month probationary contract then.  Notice the
complete health package -- it includes skin care and whatever
cosmetic and body surgery seems desirable for you to look your
best.  Notice too that we're offering you half-again as much salary
as your previous employer, because you're at least that much more
valuable to us.  Someone with your abilities who is willing to work
as a mere secretary/receptionist among the others is rare indeed. 
 Especially if that someone comes to us sponsored by our brightest
rising star!"

I looked at the contract, lying on the desk under my nose, and at
the pen alongside it.  It added up to a huge amount of money, and
it was sitting on that desk and waiting only for my signature! 
Infinitely more money than I'm earning now, I thought ruefully.

"When I sign, what happens?"

"I'll send you upstairs immediately to start your day's work. 
Cameron will no doubt tell you specifically what she requires, and
you'll do whatever she asks of you.  Cameron gets what she wants. 
Then tomorrow we'll retrofit you for the job, so to speak, as I've
described it.  Salon, clinic, and training center.  Cameron will
have to do without you all day tomorrow, but you'll be quite a
different person when you resume with her on Wednesday.  When she
sends you to get acquainted with the other typists and
receptionists you'll fit right in by Wednesday.  You may still feel
a little woozy from Tuesday's procedures, but ditzy behavior never
hurts when you're dealing with that age group. "

"And if I don't like the job, after three months I'll be paid for
three more months while I undo everything?"  What did I have to
lose?  "This is what Cameron wants?"

"While you undo what can be undone.  And yes, it's precisely what
Cameron wants, Jamie."

I didn't even read the contract.  Cameron gets what she wants, and
I wanted Cameron.  So why not?  I picked up the pen and signed on
the last page, as indicated.  

"And here," Sheila said.   "And here!   And here too!  And initials
here!"  I did as she asked.  "Now on this sheet sign 'Jamie' here,
not 'James.'  I did, wondering why.

Then she grinned broadly.  "There, now you're officially 'Jamie.'
and that makes all the other signatures legal.  Our lawyer will
file the name change at the court house tomorrow, but it's done! 
Congratulations, dear, you're a Honeybelle girl now, at least for
the next three months!  Welcome to the firm!"

A Honeybelle what?  Was that just a figure of speech?  More likely
it was the indifference to gender her job required.  I'd be girly
enough, I supposed, what with wearing Honeybelle cosmetics all day
long.

She co-signed or witnessed each signature, then clamped a notary's
seal on the last page and handed me a copy.  "Just lovely, Jamie!"
she said.  "Your parents certainly created a chance for confusion
when they named you 'James.'  But with this name-change on the
record no one will doubt who you are when you answer the phone.  A
little voice training will help too, but I suspect just being among
the girls day after day will put a bit more sweetness into the way
you sound.  You'll say 'Honeybelle, Ms. Cameron's office, Jamie
speaking,' so often it'll become second nature."

"Ahh, Sheila, do you think that I....?"

Sheila paused from her gracious commentary and eyed me closely, for
just one moment.  Penetratingly!  Then she turned away, and as she
stowed her copies she said in level tones, "I don't think, Jamie,
I know.  I'm paid to know things.  What I know is what this
contract says.  Read it yourself tonight!"

She laid her hand on my arm, reassuringly it seemed.  "Just one or
two more things, honey.  "Tomorrow we begin your body modification
regimen along with your beauty treatments, so you'll ...ahhh
...curve more invitingly in the right places.  Men who visit our
administrative offices like to see secretaries and receptionists
who are well-turned out.  Your breasts and hips are rather ...
ungenerous at the moment, but certain clinical procedures can
change those proportions fairly quickly."

This sounded serious.  I got alarmed.  "Sheila, listen!"

She didn't.  Instead, she continued with what I realized was her
set personnel orientation speech.  Maybe she'd delivered it so
often that she didn't even notice how inappropriate it was in my
case?  Had she really mistaken me for a woman the whole time?  That
damned makeup Cameron had put on me?  And this scrunchy?  

And Cameron's slacks?  My jacket had fallen open, and as I looked
down I saw that in my sitting position their tight cut swept across
my groin down to my crotch to reveal ... nothing!  No bulge.  A
woman's 'V'!   Those lycra panties held my cock and balls back
under and out of sight so efficiently that down there was ...
nothing at all.  And the slacks revealed that fact shamelessly!  If
I insisted now that I was a man, why would she believe me?  I saw
she'd followed my line of sight and had glanced indifferently at my
crotch!  And seen no more there than she expected to see.

Then she looked back at my face, her own still registering
impersonal cordiality.  "If after your probationary three months
you agree to continue, we'll go further.  We'll offer you a new
contract for five years with an option to renew, if you'll agree to
submit to a more thoroughgoing reorienting.  We'll not only greatly
enhance your desirability, the girls tell me the treatments also
enhance desire.  Our married women have the most satisfied husbands
in town, I hear -- and those husbands who can't keep up with their
wives don't seem to mind it if the wives seek supplementary
attention elsewhere.  One woman took on five men in a single
evening and felt as regal as a queen the whole time and just as
horny afterward, she told us.  Her husband needed some attitude
adjustment, but he did finally admit he was proud of her.  You may
not be that kind of girl of course."

This was more extreme than wearing make-up and fraternizing with
young girls.  Had I made a mistake?  I found my voice.  "What
happens if I agree to none of this now, Sheila?  If I just walk
out?"

Sheila looked shocked!  "Why, you've signed!  You'll be in breach
of contract and out of a highly desirable job!  And I must add,
unemployable anywhere else ever!  Think what sort of reference we'd
be forced to enter under your name in the national employment
database we use!  To say nothing about how Cameron would feel about
it!  This job was tailored for you!  You can't mean it!"

Sheila was not the person I had to talk to, I saw.  She was far too
proper, too company-rules oriented!  I smiled at her reassuringly. 
Cameron would tell me which rules were inflexible and which ones
bent.

"Oh, I see!  You wanted to shake me up a little!  Well, you
certainly did!  I'd better let you get to where Cameron needs you! 
One more thing only...."  She glanced once again at my crotch and
then rose to walk me to the door.  I stood up and followed.  "We
have a strict dress code here, honey!  No more slacks during
working hours, not even slacks as dressy and provocative as the
ones you're wearing!  No crotches or rounded rear ends -- and yours
are both very becoming, incidentally.  Skirts and blouses and
dresses only.  If you fancy a low neckline, only a hint of
cleavage!  It's all in this handbook, read it!  Your new office is
on the tenth floor, and I'm sure Cameron's waiting for you! 
Goodbye for now, Jamie, and again, welcome to Honeybelle."

As I walked to the elevator, wondering if I'd been too hasty and
what to do about it, she came running after me.  "Honey, you forgot
your purse!" she called out.  And as she handed it to me she gave
me a wry, sly smile, as if she'd just eaten a cage full of canaries! 
"You'll love it here," she said.  "Whatever you're thinking now, in
three months you won't want it any other way!  No one ever does." 

I found that statement consoling and depressing all at once, but
I'd already decided to go with the flow and see what happens.


end 2/3
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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