Corporate Policy

Paul was busy working on e-Mail when Tom stuck his head over the partition. "Paul - can I see you for a moment please?"

As a director, Tom had a good reputation amongst the staff: fair, quiet, unassuming. He was one of the better leaders in the organisation, and he would often pick out staff to have chat with; so Paul felt comfortable standing up and following him. As usual, Tom gave no indication of what the discussion was going to be about - just led the way to his closed office, smiling and stepping aside at the door to let Paul in.

The office was quite large, totally private, with blinded windows out to the 7th floor. As was the norm, Tom had a small lounge area to one side, and a large desk with the ever-present laptop standing to one side: quite different to Paul's little cubicle. Tom motioned him to a chair then walked around behind his desk and sat facing him.

Paul sat quietly, never one to lead a conversation, certainly not with someone as senior as Tom; who now faced him quietly over steepled fingers. For a moment the only sound in the room was an anachronistic clock, ticking against the wall, and then Tom began to speak, quite kindly and cautiously at first.

"Paul - you're married, aren't you?"

Paul nodded - not the question he had expected.

"Hmm. And you have a couple of children, is that right?"

"Yes - two girls and boy", Paul gushed, always happy to discuss his children. "Sally, Michelle and -"

He would have continued, but Tom held up his hand to stem the flow. "They sound wonderful, Paul." He paused, a tinge of something in his voice as he said: "You are familiar with corporate policy, are you Paul?"

Paul felt the first twinge of worry at these words. He replied cautiously: "I suppose I do. As well as anyone."

"You are aware that it is against policy to make private use of the Internet at work, aren't you?" Tom's eyes held Paul in an unwavering grip.

Paul felt the chill of capture, a twisting inside, dry mouth. "I am, yes."

Tom interlaced his fingers, leaning forward slightly. He pursed his lips. "You also know it's against policy to view pornographic material at work, don't you Paul?"

Paul felt the blood leave his face, suddenly light-headed, wondering what Tom knew. He said nothing.

"Paul? You did hear my question, didn't you?"

He sighed, dropping his eyes to the table. "Yes I did."

"And? You know that it is against policy, don't you?"

His voice almost a whisper now: "Yes."

Tom stood up, walked over to the window. "I didn't tell anyone, but we've installed a web monitoring program. Do you know what that is, Paul?"

Paul stayed silent. "It allows me to monitor what the staff are doing online. Amazing what people get up to, Paul. Did you know how many gamblers we have in this department?" He laughed. "People all have their weaknesses I suppose."

He walked over to his table now, sat with one leg straddled across it, his frame towering slightly over the hapless Paul. "I was particularly interested to see which sites you have been going to. You know the ones I'm talking about, don't you?"

Paul nodded deferentially. "Yes - I do know".

"Of course you do, Paul. A lot of men enjoy porn, Paul - it was no surprise that you should as well. What was interesting to me, though, was the type of sites you go to. Lesbian, bondage", he laughed, "the same old thing as everyone else. So predictable - except for one thing. You go to one type of site more than any other, don't you?"

Humiliated now, Paul remained silent.

"Don't you, Paul?"

"Yes."

"Look at me, Paul. Your future at this organization depends upon me now – I'm within my rights to terminate you outright – you do understand that, don't you?"

Paul looked up into Tom's hard eyes. "You can't do that for this!"

Tom said nothing for a moment. Then he stood up, and walked back to the window, with his back to Paul as he said: "If you chose to challenge the termination, I would probably lose in court. But –" he turned around, back to the window and faced Paul now – "everyone would know how you spend your time then, wouldn't they?"

The two men watched each other, Paul defensively, Tom apparently lost in thought. "What type of site do you like to frequent, Paul?"

"You know". The words were bitter to Paul.

"Yes – but I'd like to hear you tell me."

"Are you going to fire me over this?"

"What type of sites, Paul?"

There was silence in the room. Tom waited patiently until Paul whispered: "Transvestite."

"Say it louder Paul."

"Transvestite sites."

"Boys dressed up as girls, seducing men, Paul. Is that what you enjoy?"

Paul nodded slowly. "Yes". The shame was evident in every nuance of his body.

"Do you imagine yourself in those situations?"

"Yes."

"And you find that erotic?"

There were tears in Paul's eyes now – afraid of dismissal, degraded by the exposure of his secret, shamed into this admission.

"Yes."

And when you think about these things, do you think of yourself as the man, or as the … " he paused momentarily "…transvestite?"

Paul sat back, indignantly. "That's personal! That's got nothing to do with this!"

Tom sat in his chair again, leaning back to reach for and open a bottle of mineral water. "Your fate rests entirely in my hands, Paul. I can terminate your employment now. Or I can turn a blind eye, if I am persuaded to." He let the words hang in the air, watching expressions flicker across Paul's face. "Do you like to imagine yourself as the boy, or the girl, Paul? Don't keep this a secret. You can tell me."

There was still no answer.

"You see – I think you'd like to be a girl, Paul. I think when you go to those sites you imagine yourself in those panties, girdles, shoes. I'm right, aren't I Paul? You like to imagine yourself as a sissy boy, don't you?"

The words bit, stinging Paul to a terse "Yes!"

"I thought so, Paul. I thought so."

He produced a bottle of mineral water and placed it before Paul. "We are what we are, Paul. I understand. But I want to understand more, ok?"

Paul opened the bottle, took a rueful mouthful. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me – have you worn panties before?"

Paul put the bottle down onto the desk, and spoke very slowly. "Tom – I know I'm in a difficult situation here. I know that you hold my future in your hands. But this really is private. I can't discuss this with you."

Tom smiled. "You seem to think you have a choice, Paul. But we both know that you don't. It will probably be least painful if you just open up and tell me what I want to know. Ok?"

Paul's heart was beating, his mouth dry. "What does it matter to you, Tom?"

Tom smiled. "Tell me now – have you worn panties before?"

"YESS!" snarled Paul, exasperated.

"Your wife's? Your mother's? Your sister's? Your own? A strangers?"

Paul sighed, his eyes downcast, talking in a monotone now. "My mother's, initially. Then my wife's after I got married."

"Did they know?"

"Of course not."

"Did you only wear panties, or more?"

Paul took a sip of water, his hands visibly trembling as he put it to his mouth. "I would sometimes wear more."

"What would you wear, Paul? Tell me about it."

As Paul spoke it became progressively easier. He never felt absolutely comfortable about revealing these secrets, so well hidden for so long – and yet the forced experience brought it's own catharsis. "I would dress up as a woman, wear clothes and underwear. Sometimes put makeup on."

"Dress up as a woman completely, yes?"

Paul nodded. "Yes."

"Bra, panties, stockings?"

"Yes."

"Shoes, makeup, jewellery?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. I would imagine you preferred dresses and skirts to trousers?"

"Of course. What would you expect?"

"And did it excite you to do that?"

"Yes. It always excited me."

"You got a hard-on, yes? Especially with the panties?"

"Yes."

Tom smiled, evidently imagining the scene. "And then what would you do?"

"I would pose for myself. In front of a mirror. Sometimes I'd role play."

"Pretending to be a woman?"

"Yes."

"And you'd touch yourself through the underwear, yes?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Tom shifted a little in his chair, making himself more comfortable, allowing his steadily developing erection some room in his trousers. He leaned back in the chair so that the front of his trousers rubbed against the underside of his desk and he could surreptitiously rub against the wood. "What sort of role-playing would you do, Paul?"

Paul also shifted in his chair, but it was the discomfiting movement of humiliation. "I would pretend to be a stripper, or I would be getting interviewed for a job."

"Getting interviewed?"

"Yes." Paul's hands twisted nervously, as he tried to explain. "I would be told that I had to …do things if I wanted the job."

The surprise was evident in Tom's voice. "Oh I see! What sort of things, Paul?"

"I would have to … misbehave."

"Misbehave."

"If I wanted the job I'd have to lift my skirt, show them my panties. Take my panties down and sit with my legs open so they could see me. Touch myself while they watched."

"And you'd be watching yourself do this in the mirror?"

"Yes."

"So you'd be sitting in front of the mirror, panties at your ankles, dress hiked up, stroking yourself for this imaginary audience?"

"Yes I would."

"And did you come for them?"

"You mean…?"

"I mean did you orgasm for them?"

"Yes I did."

Tom was raging hard now, his slow movements against the desk visible to all who would choose to notice; but Paul was so downcast he saw nothing.

"What color panties does your wife wear, Paul?"

"Oh … different ones. All colors I suppose."

"What color do YOU like to wear?"

The flush was evident in Paul's face as he almost whispered: "Pink"

"Nice girly pink, for the girly Paul in the mirror – or is it Pauline?"

Paul's mouth curled in distaste, and Tom thought for a moment there may even have been tears in his eyes. "Pauline wears pink, doesn't she?"

There was silence, as Paul realized that the dialogue had entered a new phase.

"You wear pink panties, don't you Pauline?"

Paul nodded.

"No – don't nod. Say it."

"I wear pink panties."

"No – say Pauline wears pink panties."

"Pauline wears pink panties."

"You have no idea how … satisfying it is for me to hear that, Pauline. You do realize that you are actually living out your fantasy, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that if you want to keep this job, there's an interview – with me – that you will have to go through. Does Pauline want this job?"

"You can't be serious!"

Tom said nothing, for the challenge was in the air still. After long moments Paul finally relented, and lowering his head completely, hiding his face acknowledged: "Pauline wants this job."

"Excellent. The interview is tomorrow evening, Paul. You had best tell your wife you'll be working late. See me in my office at six. Do you understand?"

Paul's heart was racing, his face white. "Yes I understand."

"And we know that I will be interviewing Pauline, not Paul. You understand?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean – tonight when your wife's asleep you're going to go into her cupboards. And tomorrow at six you'll be wearing pink underwear, bra and panties, stockings, a skirt and blouse, shoes and makeup. Tomorrow you'll be Pauline. You understand now?"

Paul wrung his hands. "I can't!"

"I'll be here at six. If Pauline comes for the interview I'll be willing to listen. If anybody else but Pauline arrives, I'll be forced to start disciplinary procedures. It's entirely up to you, Paul."

Tom pulled away from his desk, stretched out and made himself comfortable, his eyes gleaming. "You have a chance to explore one of your most private fantasies Paul – if you have the courage. I hope you do."

Paul sat, dazed. He would never have expected this turn of events. His humiliation had turned to a now ever-present fear at the prospect of future developments. He stood up warily, looking Tom in the eye. "I don't know, Tom."

"Six PM Pauline. Wear something …. Special. For me."