Adjusting My Attitude Pt. 07

Even after I reached that kind of sub-space, it was still very hard (no pun intended.) The only knowledge I had about cock-sucking came from being on the other end of the process, so I tried to do what I had enjoyed having done to me. Soon I was alternately licking and pumping each dick with my mouth, trying to accommodate as much of the shaft as I could without choking. I didn't have a means to measure time, but kneeling helplessly, dressed and performing like a hooker, it seemed to take forever to get that first dickhead off. Eventually, though, it became a perverse sort of game—I really wanted each guy to come, because that would give me a brief respite before the next customer. When I did something that earned a moan or a twitch from a guy, I repeated that technique and then applied the same trick to the next John. Perhaps this was the "service orientation" that Laura wanted to instill in me, but I still questioned whether that insight was worth all the humiliation, not to mention the foul taste and odors. At least I didn't have to look the customers in the eye, which is the ultimate submission that had often excited me as a man when a woman fellated me.

It took me the full two hours to gain a break the first time, but by the third round I spent only about 100 minutes—based on Alice's clock—to get 10 loads of sperm. About then, the flow of customers declined. So, instead of putting me back on the line, Alice sat down, dropped her slacks and panties, and announced that she would test out my owner's comments about my oral skill with females. There are always levels of misery, and I was much happier tonguing a pretty, well-built and CLEAN woman instead of swallowing an anonymous smelly cock. Every minute I spent between her thighs was another minute before I had to go back to one of the holes. I managed to bring her to climax in the few minutes before she had to stop to give another slave a break. When Laura returned to pick me up at the end of the evening, Alice remarked that she wanted to hire me for a spin-off program she was considering that would provide oral service to women!

As soon as we got outside, Laura released my wrists and wordlessly offered me a bottle of mouthwash. Right there in the lighted parking lot, I swished and spat out three separate mouthfuls before I could stand the taste in my mouth. (When we got home I spent more than half an hour on extensive brushing and flossing.)

"Well, now you know." remarked Laura with a hint of regret as she started the car. "That's what a female hooker faces on a daily basis. Nikki Sheldon told me that you aren't really a slave until you've been forced to swallow multiple loads of cum. Whatever you dislike about what happens to you this year, there are a lot worse fates for male slaves, right?"

"Yes Mistress." I decided that almost anything was preferable to another evening swallowing dicks and spunk.

*****

Laura's next use for her slave actually employed my brains instead of my body, although (spoiler alert) it again ended with me on my knees. She took over a new and complex case that would require marathon efforts, but she didn't want to create childcare problems for Jenny, her paralegal, so she decided to use me as a part-time assistant. Late one Friday afternoon, when the offices were almost empty, Laura snuck me into her law firm to see first the IT guy (for access and passwords) and then Jenny (for an explanation of her files and formats.) Beginning the next morning, I was to help Laura on weekends and some evenings, all while continuing in the childcare center and occasionally cleaning for Terri. The problem with this idea wasn't the hours, however—I welcomed the chance to spend time with others, because it made my servitude time fly by—but rather where I had to work.

Driving in to work that first Saturday, Laura suddenly shifted her voice into a serious tone. "Danielle, do you remember my telling you about the sissy slaves who work at the firm?"

"Yes, Mistress." (I might as well just stop repeating this, because it was 90% of my script in dialogs with others.)

Laura: "Well, I need to warn you about something. My law firm is very enlightened and has a strong policy against harassing the female lawyers, paralegals, and secretaries who work there. Last year, we fired a young attorney who kept making sexist comments about the women. That's the good news. The bad news is that all men are still pigs, so since they can't hassle the free women, they . . ."

Dan: "Don't tell me, Mistress, they exploit the slaves, whether trans- or cis-women or even overt males."

Laura replied, sadly. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Regardless of gender, slaves are expected to blow the attorneys. That's why I'm not going to use you there in the daytime, when there are too many guys with more testosterone than brains around. I HOPE there won't be any trouble on the weekends or evenings, when most people who work are trying to finish as quickly as possible. Still, if one of the other partners—all of whom are men—sees you, he's going to assume that you're fair game for a little stress release. I don't think any of the other females would try to use you once they know you're mine, but the males are a problem."

Dan: "I understand, Mistress. I don't want to suck anyone off, but I'll cooperate so as not to embarrass you. Can you at least protect my ass from them? I don't mind you pegging me, but I can't stand the thought of a guy taking me back there, and I might end up in prison if he tries."

Laura: "Probably—as I said, few of them will have the time for serious fucking, and I'll tell them I can only spare you for a few minutes. Let's hope no one sees you."

Dan: "Umm, Mistress, may I ask you a question? Did you really mean it when you said that all men were pigs?"

"Of course! Leaving aside your night at the glory hole, haven't women treated you far nicer than men have?"

Dan: "Well, yeah, but I'm a man too."

Laura giggled and then apologized. "Oh, sweetie—I don't mean to insult you, but I forget you're a guy. Remember, I've promoted you, at least temporarily, to the superior gender." Despite her apology, that attitude stung, confirming my fears about our future together.

The following weeks ran together as I spent Monday and Wednesday evenings, as well as parts of Saturdays and Sundays, helping Laura in her office. Sometimes at night in my room I also searched for precedents on-line, then e-mailed them to Jenny for use the next day. No, I'm not an attorney or paralegal, but Laura didn't know that I had been a pre-law major in college, so I had some idea of how to research precedents and could type routine documents using the formats that Jenny maintained. More than once Laura forgot that I WASN'T a paralegal and was surprised when I drew a blank about something she asked me to do, but I learned. Jenny and I exchanged daily e-mails and rare face-to-face meetings so each of us knew what files were located where. And she thanked me over and over for enabling her to spend time with her kids without taking a leave of absence. I also gained brownie points when Jenny told Laura that I, not she, had located some precedents she wanted.

After two weeks, Laura decided to start billing the client for my hours of effort, thereby actually making money out of my slavery. I didn't begrudge her that, because she bought us lots of meals delivered to the office and eventually told me to purchase more work clothes on-line. Why? Because I was so busy that I fell behind on my laundry (I sometimes went without sleep washing her clothes, of course).

Then one Saturday morning, just as the big project was coming to a conclusion, her warning came true. Let me paint the scene for you: I was standing beside Laura at her desk while she reviewed a document I had just typed and printed for her. Being in the office on a weekend, she was dressed casually but stylishly in an aqua blouse, dark green slacks, and white tennis shoes. I, on the other hand, looked the very model of a slave office-worker. (There's no such thing as casual attire for slaves. By social convention, slaves only wear clothing when necessary for the task they're performing. I had adjusted to Laura's feminization regime and tried to blend in at the firm by dressing like a secretary.) Over padded panties and a falsie-filled bra, I wore an above-the-knee, charcoal pencil skirt with a dove grey buttoned blouse and tights of a matching grey. The accessories—tiny circular earrings, a loose belt meant to suggest a narrow waist, and strappy pumps with 2-inch heels—were in Navy blue, except for silver-colored costume bracelets on each wrist. My brunette hair, which by now had grown out to shoulder length with a slight curl, was gathered into a high ponytail to hold it off my face, on which I had minimal daytime makeup, mostly foundation with a little blush and blue lipstick (Maybelline New York Sapphire Siren, shade 835, if you're wondering). My understated dark leather collar proclaimed my servitude but also concealed any Adams apple. At my owner's instigation, I was even wearing a small amount of scent (a knock-off of Chloe Narcisse) applied to my pulse points. Not only what I wore, but how I have just described it, should tell you have far I had succeeded in meeting my owner's expectations of feminine presentation. (Or if you prefer, how far I had failed to defend my masculinity!)

Just as she finished reviewing the document, we both heard a string of expletives coming from the direction of the corner office occupied by the managing partner of the firm, William Kingsley. A moment later, said boss appeared in Laura's open doorway, a look of harassed irritation on his handsome, 55-year-old face. (Before my self-indenture, I had met Bill Kingsley at several social events but fortunately he didn't recognize me while wearing the attire of a trans-office secretary instead of a $1500 suit.) Without preliminary social niceties, he plunged into his concern by asking Laura,

"Does your sissy know anything about computers?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my Mistress struggling to keep a straight face when replying to such a question. The real answer—that this "sissy" had become a multi-millionaire by computer software design—would have made a tense situation far worse! Besides, he obviously wanted much more basic help.

"She's my house slave, Bill, but I've found her pretty handy with the computers here. See if you can assist Master William, Danielle."

I knew what was expected, so I stood at a form of attention with my hands clasped in front of me and my eyes downcast—I wanted to minimize the chances he would recognize me. I bobbed acknowledgement of Laura's order and asked the standard question for a slave: "How may I serve you, Master?"

"Come see what you can make of my computer; it just shut off in the middle of a sentence."

Anyone reasonably familiar with such matters can guess what I found when I crawled underneath his desk—his shoe had inadvertently turned off the switch on a power strip, cutting power to the computer. I didn't say that out loud, which would have sounded condescending—not only was he the boss, but we've all done things like that once or twice. Instead, I flipped the switch back on, and heard his computer booting up.

Anyone reasonably familiar with the social dynamics of slaves in offices can ALSO guess what I found when I turned around to crawl out from under his desk—he had unzipped his trousers and told me to "take care of this while you're down there." From his point of view, he'd just seen a stylish young trans-female crawl under his desk and (I'm sure) shake her padded butt at him as she moved around. That plus his stress was enough to give him a stiffy. I had been bracing for something like this from the moment he asked for help. Up to that moment, I would never have thought I would be thankful for Laura taking me to the glory hole, but that horrendous experience at least put this one into perspective as survivable. Resistance would have just created a confrontation, embarrassed Laura, and exposed my real identity. So I reached inside his pants and brought "Little Bill" out to play. Fortunately, he smelled and tasted much better than most of the Johns I had serviced at Alice's glory hole (is that like Alice's Restaurant? My older readers may ask. Yes, but there's only one item on the menu at the new place, and it tastes terrible.)

I may have learned TOO much while sucking dick for Alice, because Bill REALLY enjoyed the service I provided. Unlike the last time, my hands were free so that I could fondle as well as swallow. I tried to stimulate cock and balls at the same time in order to get it over with. Everything was going fine until he got too excited, grabbing me by my ponytail so that he could force Little Bill—which had grown into Much Larger Bill—farther into my mouth. I almost panicked when I couldn't breathe, but I decided to just maximize the stimulation and bring the episode to a conclusion. After 30 long seconds of him manhandling my head and fucking my face while my tongue and lips diddled him, he shot a rather large load into my mouth. Thank god he let go before I had to fight him for air. I had no choice but to swallow, though.

After a few moments while both of us panted for breath, he rolled his chair back to let me escape, thanking me for a great blowjob and slapping my padded butt as it went by him.

I hurried out of his office, trying desperately not to retch. The moment Laura saw my dishevelled makeup and hair, she pulled her personal bottle of mouthwash out a drawer, handed it to me, and pointed me to the ladies' room. I grabbed my purse and rushed through the door. It took me a few minutes to regain my composure and restore my appearance. As I quietly exited the restroom, I heard Bill talking to my owner:

"I don't know where you found her, Laura, but she's terrific! What's her name?—Danielle?—fixed my computer problem in a flash and used her mouth to do a fantastic job on my other problem, if you know what I mean. The firm needs to buy her from you so we can make best use of her abilities, or should I say her ASSets?" Whatever happened to subtle lawyers, I wondered?

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that last word, Bill—it's not only a bad pun but tends to create a hostile work environment. You know better than to say things like that; I will forgive you but the para-legals would go on strike if they heard you."

"Yeah, you're right—my apologies. But seriously, that sissy is the best I've ever seen, and I'm not just talking about personal services."

By this time, I decided I shouldn't have overheard this entire conversation. As I silently backed up to the ladies room, I heard Laura continue, "Besides, Bill, she has other skills in addition to computers and whatever else your evil mind is contemplating. I really love having her around to help me, and I don't know what I'll do when she completes her civil indenture in another seven months."

"Oh, if she's only got seven months left, I guess it's not worth the effort. But tell her there's a job waiting when she regains her freedom."

By that time I had quietly opened the restroom door, deposited the mouthwash bottle on the floor, and re-closed the door with more force, so it sounded like I was just exiting. I made a little noise walking back to Laura's office, and pretended to be surprised to find the boss there. I struggled internally with the necessity of acting submissive to the guy who had just made me his bitch—even if I was dressed for that part as a slave office worker.

"Oh, Master, I'm glad I caught you—there's one other thing I meant to say about your computer. I'm sure you already know this, but whatever you may have typed after the last time you saved the document may be lost. If you restart your word processing program, however, you should find that it automatically archived a copy of that document every few minutes; when you find that autosave copy, you shouldn't have to re-type very much."

"Thanks, Danielle—you did a really great job. I appreciate everything you did for me today." I may have imagined his emphasis on the word "everything," but it disturbed me.

"I'm glad I could be of service, Master."

After that episode, neither Laura nor I could get much work done. Every time one of us came across words such as "service" or "bill," we had to stifle giggles. Forty-five minutes later, she gave up for the day and we went home, stopping at a drive-through window on the way for supper. In the car, she pretended to be offended by my behavior, imitating Claude Rains as the police prefect in the movie CASABLANCA when he closed down Bogart's café to satisfy the Germans:

"Danielle, I am shocked, shocked to discover that you're such a promiscuous slut in my office."

I couldn't resist replying with the next lines from the movie, "Your winnings, sir. Oh, thank you very much." I paused while she laughed. "Seriously, Mistress, it's your fault for giving me all that practice at the Glory Hole."

Laura replied, still joking, "Yes, but I had no idea you had such an aptitude for cock-sucking! Still, it just demonstrates the value of everything I've taught you. Anyway, I really am sorry you had to do that, Danny."

I was always pleased when she dropped the "Danielle" and spoke to me as a male, even if it still sounded like a dog's name. "I'm just glad you didn't sell me to him—he wasn't bad, but I couldn't stand it if I had to service him all the time. In case you're wondering, he found my ponytail quite convenient to 'manipulate' my head."

Laura: "Too much information! The image of Bill doing that to you makes me want to apologize all over again. Remind me not to put my hair up into a ponytail when I'm going to the office—I'd spend all day worrying that he might walk up behind me. Thank goodness the project is almost finished, so I don't need to have you come into the office anymore—I don't want to risk a repeat of Bill coming into YOU instead."

(To be continued)