A Day at the Office

They exchanged greetings and took their seats, and as the attendant girls rose to take their positions on opposite sides of the room, I found myself on hands and knees, taking my place beside her feet.

She looked down to me and whispered: "I'm Brandy. But you are to call me 'Mistress'."

"Yes, Mistress," I blushed. She patted me on the head and then turned back to the proceedings.

The morning passed with discussions of sponsorships and public appearances. Chasti-Permalock was going to kick in 40 million dollars into their tour and album marketing campaign, and all five pop tarts were going to do television advertisements, as well as hyping the products in the cosmetics magazines and participating in a 5-way nude-except-for-devices Playboy photo shoot (the magazine had already agreed to it and one of the representatives was present at the meeting). Brandy had agreed to flash her device at the upcoming Grammy Awards ceremony as the first public acknowledgement that they were wearing the appliances, but with the understanding that if there was a public backlash, she'd pretend it was an accident.

More money was being discussed and traded than I could ever fathom. There were other surprises, too. Such as the fact that the Diva Doll known as 'LeatherEtte" was still a virgin and already wore chastity belts (apparently, it was an inquiry on her behalf that led to the deal being discussed, although it also sounded as though it was not her own preference to live a life of chastity). Or that Chasti-Permalock had been silent financiers for the girls for some time and that there had been a recent humbling break arranged by C-P for all the girls after their last tour, the nature of which I couldn't determine.

It didn't matter. My role was to attend to Brandy's every need, and from the moment that she poked her foot under my nose, I was oblivious to everything but attending to her feet and legs. I polished her shoe leather with my tongue, shining it, poking into the open top to slip a little between her big and second toes. I did circles around her anklebones and loving strides up her calves, with a little play in the valleys behind her knees. It's amazing the things you never think about: how the idea of foot fetish always seems so creepy until you're actually there, lavishing attention on someone, realizing you're actually enjoying the playful indulgence.

Well, there is the sweat. Brandy slipped her shoe off, and suddenly I was kissing the soles, her sweat filling and overwhelming my senses. Of course, her feet didn't necessarily stink, relatively speaking, but it was still an overriding scent.

Like this, I was able to play with her toes. She was wearing nylons, but of thin enough guage as to still be quite pliable and unobstructive. I slipped my tongue between each of her toes, tasted the salty crevices there and slid on, coming to suck on her big toe symbolically. She seemed to rise to attention at that, so I know it struck a positive chord of some sort in her.

I had been gradually moving around her chair until I was under the table, facing her legs. It felt as fulfilling as ever being on my knees before "Black Beauty," regardless of her stardom, but also because of it. There's something about being on my knees that is rewarding and enchanting. Of course, as a mouth girl, most of my sex is experienced on my knees. Maybe it's the submissive in me: kneeling, I feel that I belong.

I was working my way up the insides of her thighs, now, teasing around her kneecaps and trailing up toward her delta. I felt her skirt wrinkle upon my nose from my ascent, and then felt her hand upon my head.

"Easy, girl. Not here. We're just about to wrap it up."

And with that, I nestled into her thighs, nuzzling the skin and administering an occasional lick. I slipped my nose a little under her skirt to sniff her heat, a kind of light musk. I don't know if there's something biological, or what, but there's always seemed to be a tinge of burnt leather in the African smell, an awe-inspiring thick, primal lust.

Contemplating such things made me feel like a dog in heat. Such animalistic urges inspired by smells. And yet we go years without paying any conscious attention to how important that sense really is.

The meeting broke, and everyone pulled away in a cacophony. I was rewarded with a few amused glances when I crawled out from under the table alongside Brandy's chair. My cheeks burned hotly.

The activity of the next few moments passed quickly and with enough confusion that I couldn't take it all in. I recall that Brandy had determined that I should remain on my knees and crawl alongside her out to her waiting limo for the festivities being provided for her the rest of that evening. Someone in management suggested that if I was to crawl through the lobby downstairs still clad in my attendant's uniform, I should have some pasties to cover my nipples. Most of the other activity surrounded meeting agendas, with most talk focusing on the fact that Chasti-Permalock was to provide a woman kitted up per Brandy's specifications for their next video and tour -- she would get back to them as to what those specifications would be. Not long after I was following at heel behind Brandy, on a leash and collar that had materialized in someone's hand.

Through the lobby, this caused quite a stir. Brandy's stardom instantly drew the attention, and my visible status only caused even more speculation. We went to the security exit, and I had to kneel back on my haunches for the guard to scan my bar code to sign me out. I went to reach up for the release form to exit the premises...

... but he had handed it to Brandy to sign. She was the one borrowing company property, today.

There wasn't enough time to think about it. We slipped into the limo quickly, and were away.

"Don't you worry about what the media's going to make over that show?" I inquired.

"Ah, don't you worry about that. If it gets people talking, it's good press."

(And indeed, within days, the tabloids were filled with photos of the lobby passage, along with stories that claimed that I was Brandy's love slave, that she had a bevy of twenty sex prisoners, that she (*gasp*) MAY be a lesbian, that she dumped her last boyfriend for a dog.... I myself received several requests for subsequent interviews, but as Chasti-Permalock management had previously assured Brandy, my confidentiality agreement prevented me from discussing anything I did for the company's sake)

I was taken to an estate on the city limits, one of the "vacation homes" that the Diva Dolls used. Most of the Dolls were away, Brandy had said, but Britt might stop through on occasion.

We entered, Brandy sent her attendants on their way, and then she took me to a large sitting room. She slipped the leash I wore between her legs and drew it up her back, the effect pulling me in between her legs until her skirt wrinkled and folded upon itself along my nose up to my lower eyelids, and my nose and mouth nestled into what I discovered was a very wet cunt.

"Just so we have an understanding," she spoke, sternly, "THIS is what you are here to worship." I felt a trickle of moisture dribble onto my cheek. "You will keep your lips within kissing distance of my womanhood at all times, unless I make a special exception for one reason or another. If we have a conversation, I want to feel your hot breath on me, and look down at your eyes peering through my fur. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress," I answered instinctively.

The use of the word "Mistress" brought a smile to her face. "I see you are already familiar with rule number two. In any case, I'm not in the mood for discussion, right now. I plan to ride your face. You'll probably have very little to do during this, aside from trying to keep your breaths. After, we can talk and then a little more subtle loving. Got it?"

"Yes, Mistr--"

That was as far as I got. Instantly, her hands were behind my head, her thighs squeezed around me, and her hips thrusting, as she humped my face. "You should also know," I could barely hear her, "that I ejaculate a fair bit when I cum. I'm a gusher. You're going to get fairly wet."

Up and down, chin to forehead and back, she slid frantically, juicing over me completely. Her wetness trickled down my neck and she hadn't even orgasmed, yet.

But when she did orgasm, it was spectacular. I was thoroughly baptized in her thick musky smell, and I was sure that I would be smelling it on me for days to come. She had marked her property.

It was over in a flurry. She had evidently been in a state of need for some time. She collapsed to the floor, and I with her.

"That was beautiful, Jazz. Thank you. I SO needed someone to take the edge of that hunger. The rest of the evening will be great, but I need to rest."

I wanted to wipe my face. But she stopped me. "No, our agreement is that your mouth remains at my pussy. You can do whatever you need to from down there."

We rested a minute. Then, out of curiosity, I asked, "in your agreement with Chasti-Permalock, what device did you agree to wear? If you're this hungry, I can't imagine you'd want a vaginal device, or at least not a permanent one."

"As a matter of fact," I AM getting a permanent vaginal device. No punishment features, just some intermittent buzzing to keep me a little excited."

"But aren't you going to miss cumming?"

"Chasti-Permalock has been fostering our careers for several years. We had been signing contracts without knowing how much we were signing over to the company. The discussions we've been having are actually not necessary -- they could force us to do promotions for them. But they'd rather that we participate willingly and with a little enthusiasm, so they're doing it as a mutual business move."

"But Chasti-Permalock has some riders that dictate the next twenty years of my life. You see, we were all just on seperate retreats following our last tour, ostensibly to teach us a little humility. I spent mine sharing a prison cell with an old, stinky, fat fart. They promised me that when my career is over, I'm going to live out the rest of my contract -- up to the twenty years -- servicing such perverts."

"I'm primarily lesbian. I'd rather wear a Chasti-Permalock device, be free from getting used there by these men, and become immortal enough to still have my youth and beauty after my contract is up, instead of endure it all and have my life gone by. Once our career is on the skids, I don't look forward to what's beyond."

"And what's the half-life of a pop group like ours? Especially a group of girls who don't particularily like each other. Three albums before the one that bombs? Our second didn't do so great, and I'm not impressed by the ones they gave us to record this time around. At least solo singers can 'reinvent themselves' by changing their wardrobe a little and doing a Playboy shoot or a classy movie."

"What about going solo?" I asked.

"I tried to get a deal struck. They all want Britt to be the one to go solo. Britt. Got the brains of a half-baked poodle. She'd stick a live grenade in her twat and pull out the pin if someone convinced her it would be fun. You can start licking my twat again, Jazz. Slowly."

I complied. "That's probably why they want Britt. Easy to manipulate. They hate it when we've got independent thought."

"You don't like your band-mates much, do you?" I noted, my tongue darting back to its work immediately after speaking. I was ministering mostly to the outside of her cunt, right now, straying as far away as the cracks where her thighs meet her crotch -- and the wonderfully intense tendons at that juncture which transmit everything to the clit on a lower level... perfect for recharging one's erotic batteries.

"You don't have to live with them on the road," Brandy laughed. "Christ. Britt's giggling gets on my nerves after awhile. And Andi -- "SweetHeart" to you -- is so pumped on her own ego that her breasts are going to pop. She's convinced she's the only one in the band with talent, and she's going to be the next Madonna, or the next Caledonia Cross. Feh. The worst of them, though, is PsycheDelia. She's actually a nice kid, but all that coke she uses is going to burn right through her brain and into her ass. Which is not a large distance, considering where they're positioned. She truly IS PsycheDelia. We had that name for her long before we all had the current image."

"That's how it all started, you know. The execs caught on that we were calling her that, and came up with tart names for all of us, complete with trashy go-go mini outfits. Then, everyone gets flashy multicolor, and I got stuck with drab, lame-ass white. Fuckin' white. Everything in music is about black music in white trappings. All the hyped superstars over the past hundred years were white folks made to sound black. Mariah Carey, Gillene Thomas Hawkins, Rick Astley, Enienna Ridge, JGK, Elvis Presley...."

"I don't know who these people are," I come up for air.

She patted my head. "That's okay, dear. Just keep licking. Me, I got a whole century of useless music trivia stored in my head. That's why they find me so threatening."

She started drifting, lost in thought. "A whole century. I wonder what the next century's going to hold, anyway. Now that I'm going to get to see it, that is. That's what's neat about the Chasti-Permalock stuff. You trade the ability to reproduce -- which is fine, because we're overpopulated as it is -- but you get to live practically forever."

"Maybe the future will be like that wacky story about that guy claiming to be from the year 2186 and that mankind had rebelled against some evil conglomerate and your company -- yeah, your company -- was at the center of it. Did you hear about that? Probably laughed in the boardrooms all day. Yeah, and apparently all bio-enhanced people were turned into slave commodities, with laws only recognizing true humans and granting rights to only them, but that the people in charge were really secretly bio-enhanced too... I mean, where did he come up with all this bullshit?"

"There's more immediate worries, I suppose," she pointed out. "There's enough growing protest over Chasti-Permalock that our promo could backfire. They say we're giving up our humanity."

"Personally, I'd rather be alive in another two hundred years with a few added features than dead in thirty."

I was picking up the pace a little by this point, and she was melting into the ministrations. Even her speech seemed to be drifting off. That is, until Britt skipped into the room.

"Oh! Sorry, Brandy!"

"Could you leave us alone awhile, kid?" Brandy called back to her. "I'm gonna be teaching my little puppy here some tricks, and I'd like some quiet."

"Puppy?" She giggled. "She doesn't LOOK like a puppy!"

"You know what I mean."

Britt just started chuckling, though. "Hold on. I've got just the thing. It'll stretch and fit, I'm sure. I think I left it here, a few months ago."

"What are you talking about, girl?" But Britt was already dancing up the stairs. I started back to my duties, but no sooner did the sound of her galloping disappear, and it started a resurgence all the way down the staircase.

"Brandy, this is SO cool! You've got to try this!" She was carrying a box, the lid already half off, and some latex fabric spilled over the edge.

"Britt, not now. I mean it...."

"No, this is serious. I wore this for Adrian, one night, and this suit is so cool. You should put your puppy in it. She'll be a REAL puppy, then." She was giggling incessantly. Brandy was getting annoyed, and I could tell from the tension in her thighs that the mood was gone, so I relented from my attempts to keep her relaxed, and simply kept my face over her crotch to protect her dignity. Brandy was edgy. I, however, wasn't quite so at home with the idea of being subjected to the unexpected.

"Look!" she beamed. "It's got little mitts that look like doggie fingers, and everything. And this mask, it's got flopsy ears, but leaves her mouth open for, well, what she's doing right now, I suppose.... Plus, it's got openings for her breasts and, well, I guess she doesn't need the crotch opening. But look at this tail!" It's great! You squeeze it, and it's all springy! When she crawls, she'll be wagging her tail. That is, if you can take that other plug out of her ass. Otherwise, she can't use the tail."

"Let me get this straight, Britt. YOU wore THIS for our ROAD MANAGER?!?"

"He heh he... Well, you know... we were just playing...."

"Here. Let me see those mitts."

Britt passed the box to Brandy, and she rifled through it for a few moments. I was getting a little more worried, at this point. I wasn't sure I liked this idea.

And then, she looked down at me with that lush sparkle in her eye that she had this morning when we met for the first time. And a diabolical grin....

___________________

Morning rose, and by ten to seven, the main-floor lobby of the Chasti-Permalock building is already quite active. This morning, everyone present received a bit more entertainment than they had bargained for.

"Black Beauty," the Diva Doll that everyone had seen leaving the building with a woman on leash in tow, had returned to turn a pet over to the security people. They scanned my bar code, and she signed the goods return form, turning me over to a guard.

I was dressed head-to-toe in tight-fitting black rubber with holes exposing my tits and plugged crotch, my hands sealed in confining mittens shaped to look like paws, and my legs folded over and restricted so that my ankles were pressed to my ass. I could only walk on hands and knees.

A collar sealed over the openings of my suit and my doggie mask, presenting a seamless appearance. The mask was fairly insidious, with attached dog ears and it actually covered my eyes, but was thinner at the eye sockets, so that I could see through to a limited extent. There was a dog snout that extended out a slight inch or so at my nose. From the upper lip to chin, though, I was open for use.

There were also two little ringing bells attached by clips to my nipples to attract attention to me, and I carried the tail plug that I was unable to wear between my teeth like a bone.

Brandy handed my leash over to one of the guards. "You'll have to lead her to her office, because I'm sure that she's not going to be able to get there on her own." Then, she crouched down and patted me on the head. "Take care sweet little bitch. I hope you get to lick me again before I get my appliances."

And then she turned and left.

Quickly, we did the retinal scan, and then obediently, I followed the guard on up to the sixth floor.

Cindy wasn't at the desk. Instead, there was a new girl. The guard noted this and asked about her.

"Oh, Cindy's been transferred. I'm Marla. And this must be Jazz. Jasmine, Mr. Sternson wants to see you first thing."

The guard reliquished my leash to her, and I was led to Big Brother Sternson's office.

He greeted me with a smile. "Well. I see you've had quite the night. What's that you've got in your mouth?"

He took the damned thing, and I was finally able to suck back the drool I'd been trailing, and then speak: "I don't know why they wanted me to bring the tail. I can't wear it, anyway."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm sure we could work it into a systems upgrade. It'd be a little more of an overhaul than usual, but..."

"Excuse my bluntness, Sir, but can I get out of this thing? I've got lots of work on my agenda, this week."

"Well," he answered, "you don't have quite so much anymore. There's been a change of plans. You see, part of our deal with the Diva Dolls was to provide a woman in Chasti-Permalock gear to their specifications. And Brandy's been particularily impressed with you. So you're going to be reassigned. As their mascot for the next little while."