Melissa Takes Charge

"Um, ok, sorry," Roger muttered, and he sat gingerly back on his chair to a chorus of jeers from the rest of them.

Melissa just about managed to keep a straight face. Unbelievable! Roger was actually apologising to her. She was treating the poor bastard like a piece of shit, and he was the one saying sorry.

Ok, so let's really have some fun with him!

"You're ok with being called Fatty then, Fatty, are you?" Melissa said. "Should we say that Fatty Hargreaves is your actual name from now on?"

Roger just kind of twitched again.

"Say it," ordered Melissa. "Say hello Melissa, my name is Fatty Hargreaves.''

Roger opened his mouth but nothing came out. The others were all sniggering like crazy.

"Say it!"

Roger, noticeably trembling now, swallowed hard a couple of times before trying again. "Hello Melissa, my name is ... um ... Fatty Hargreaves," he mumbled, staring into his lap.

"Less of this Melissa business. It's Miss Reynolds to you, Fatty, ok?"

Roger stayed silent, squirming in his seat.

"I said is that ok?" Melissa repeated, her tone one of exaggerated patience. It was like she was talking to a small child.

"Um, yes," Roger muttered.

Melissa wasn't satisfied. "No, not acceptable. Looks like we need a little training. When I say "Ok?" you nod your head and you reply "Yes, Miss Reynolds," ... Ok?'

Melissa's commanding voice and expression left Roger in no doubt that she was deadly serious. Hating her for humiliating him like this, and himself for allowing it, he found himself nodding and croaking "Yes, Miss Reynolds," in a small, defeated voice.

"That's better," Melissa smirked. "Important thing for you to do, Fatty, is remember exactly who the boss is in this department. Ok?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"Ok, let's test you out ... Who is the boss?"

"You are, Miss Reynolds."

"Good. And so when I say "jump!" you say "how high?" ... have you got that?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"No, Fatty, you're regressing. You forgot to nod. Try again. I wanna hear "Yes, Miss Reynolds," and I wanna see that little bald head of yours nodding up and down, let's say at least five times, so I know you mean it. Ok, last chance ... go for it."

To a cacophony of jeering laughter from the other guys, all of whom were just loving what was happening here, Roger's abject "Yes, Miss Reynolds!" was now accompanied by a passable impression of a nodding dog.

Oh my god, this was simply hilarious, Melissa thought. "There, you see. You can do it when you try, can't you?" she said, her voice dripping with condescension and contempt.

"I said, can't you?" Melissa prodded, conscious that she was simply torturing the poor guy for kicks now.

Cue repeat of the nodding dog routine from the wretched Roger Hargreaves.

"At last, he has it," Melissa said, grinning at the others and clapping her hands sarcastically.

She moved to rest herself comfortably against the table. "Ok now, look, I've been giving some thought to how we ought to be organised around here and I have one particular suggestion I'd like to float. Something we could do more or less straightaway which I think will increase morale and efficiency."

They were listening keenly, she was pleased to see. Even Roger had pulled himself together slightly and was paying attention.

"Right, so here it is," she continued. "Fact is, I know there's a lot of stuff to crunch through here every day and I know you guys work hard. So I wanna make life a little easier for you. What I wanna do is have a guy in here, a kind of general office assistant, whose job it is to do all the shitty low level stuff that you guys shouldn't have to do. So by that I mean he does pretty much whatever you tell him to do. Filing, photocopying, keeping everything clean and tidy around the place, getting the coffees in, fetching lunch from the canteen, doing whatever little tasks and errands you need doing, basically, and just generally being at your service and making himself useful ... how does that sound so far?"

Chorus of ''Yeah, Melissa, brilliant!" and similar from the group.

"How about you, Fatty? You happy with that?" Melissa asked, smiling encouragingly at Roger.

"Oh yes, Miss Reynolds!" Roger replied, remembering to nod vigorously as he said it.

It did sound a good idea, he had to admit. Maybe this Melissa wasn't so terrible after all. Perhaps all that earlier stuff had just been her idea of joking around. No harm done, he supposed, if she was going to be serious and professional like this from now on.

"That's great," Melissa continued, still talking to Roger. "Since it's your opinion I'm most interested in."

"Oh, ok, Miss Reynolds," said Roger, smiling hesitantly, his chest puffing out a bit.

"Yes it is. Because here's the thing: I don't have the budget to go out and hire somebody new for this office helper position, and so I have to appoint a person who's already here. I need to select a suitable individual and then change their job from what it is currently, Senior Administrator let's say ... which is you, Fatty, isn't it? ... to this new job of general dogsbody. You see what I'm saying to you?"

Melissa had the most evil grin on her lovely face as she delivered this last sentence. This was the part she'd most been looking forward to, the implementation of the diabolical scheme that had occurred to her when she'd heard from Mike Bryant how much Roger resented her appointment. The only question had been could she get away with it? Having now seen for herself just what a pathetic wimp Roger was, she was certain that she could.

Roger did see what Melissa Reynolds was saying to him. His features crumbled in shock and despair. No point arguing, he knew. He'd read the memo from the CEO making it crystal clear that Melissa's word was law.

"Starting first thing tomorrow, Fatty, ok?" said Melissa.

Roger did his mandatory nodding. "Yes, Miss Reynolds."

The other guys were whooping in delight. "Oh yeah!" yelled one of them.

"Can't fucking wait for tomorrow morning," chuckled Tom Shultz.

"I've always fancied having a little assistant," cackled Paul Monk.

"Shit, the poor bastard," said Michael Kim, smiling and shaking his head. "Can you imagine?"

Melissa waited patiently for the hubbub to die down before continuing: "So, just to make myself clear, people. From tomorrow morning old Fatty Hargreaves here is at your complete command. He works directly for all of you guys, all of the time. He does whatever you tell him to do ... and I do mean anything. If you fancy a coffee or a snack or something, he goes and gets it. If you need any filing or copying done, just grab him. Whatever you need, guys, ok? If you spill something, for example, and it makes a mess on the floor, or wherever, it's Fatty's job to clear it up. If you want your shoes shined while you're working, fine, Fatty will be under your desk and doing that for you. Absolutely anything you want, you tell him and he does it with no debate. Any questions?"

There were lots. Melissa told them to stop shouting at the same time or she wouldn't be able to hear properly. She pointed to Marcus Barnaby.

"Sounds great, Melissa! So what other stuff can we get him to do?" Marcus wondered.

"Like I told you, pretty much anything."

"Really?"

"Yes, Marcus, really," she assured him.

Melissa gave a sly grin. "Look, let's do it this way. You guys give me some thoughts as to what you might have Fatty do and I'll confirm whether it's ok or not. C'mon, we'll do it now. One at a time. Shoot."

"How about he comes in early and gets us breakfast from the canteen, has it laid out on our desks for when we get in?"

"That's an excellent idea, Jerome. You guys can't be expected to work on an empty stomach, can you? Oh and he can pay for the breakfast too. Same goes for anything he gets you from the canteen. All comes out of his pocket."

"But no breakfast for him, Melissa, right?"

"Definitely not. Don't want him getting any fatter than he already is, do we? In fact, just thinking on my feet here, guys, the rule is no food of any description for Fatty at any time while he's here. Which means the whole time between when he comes in to when he goes home, since he won't be allowed to leave the building. No coffee or tea or anything either. One glass of water at lunchtime, since we don't want him expiring of thirst instead of doing his job, but that's it."

"Fuck, the poor bastard's gonna be starving the whole time!" said Paulo Reggazoni.

Melissa flashed him a wicked grin. "Well he'll just have to make do with watching you guys eat, won't he?" This triggered a general outbreak of hilarity.

"What's so funny?" Melissa gurned.

"Oh, you know, just thinking how I might have Fatty sit with me sometimes while I'm stuffing myself," grinned John Bosstick.

Melissa laughed. "John, you are terrible!"

"But it's ok to do that, right?" said John, still grinning at her.

"Absolutely. I want you to have fun in the office. Long as the work gets done, I want you all to enjoy yourselves as much as possible. A happy workforce is a good workforce, that's what I say. So, yes, part of Fatty's role is to keep you guys entertained, as well as be your dogsbody, and if you wanna do stuff like eating in front of him, that's totally fine. In fact, why not be really evil with that? Late afternoon, say, when the poor thing is bound to be simply ravenous, you get him to dial in a yummy Chinese from outside, sweet and sour pork or something, and when it arrives you torment him with it. Like, you make him open the cartons and smell the food before he gives it to you, then while you're eating you make him drool by wafting bits of juicy pork right under his nostrils, you know, just totally tantalising him. Yes, I like it!"

Bryce's hand shot up. "Hey, Melissa, so if I happen to be busy when Fatty brings me a snack, is it ok to make him feed me?"

"Of course, sweetie! You definitely ought to do that. Even if you're not that busy you might just happen to feel a bit lazy and so you decide that it'd be rather nice to kick back and have Fatty cut up your burger, or whatever, and then pop the pieces into your mouth for you to eat. You'll need to watch that he doesn't sneak a piece into his own mouth, of course. No breaking of our no food for fatso rule. Like, if you can't finish whatever it is he's feeding you, you'll have to make absolutely sure that he throws every last scrap into the bin."

The thought of a starving Roger being given the chore of tipping away his leftover food caused Bryce to crease up.

"You ok there, sugar?" smiled Melissa.

"Er, yeah," Bryce spluttered. He could barely speak he was laughing so much.

"Ok, good," said Melissa, briskly. "So, any more ideas for what you might have him do?"

They flowed thick and fast.

He has to call us all Sir? Can we make him run around naked on all fours like a dog? He has to get down and kiss our feet when we arrive each morning. Can we make him beg for scraps of food? Maybe he gets to scavenge in the bins? What about making him do a little dance for us sometimes? How about he has to ask permission if he wants to go for a pee? Hey, and how about when I go for one he comes along and holds my dick for me? Yeah, or the little bastard gets to lick my ass clean after I've had a dump!

Melissa laughingly okayed each of these, except for the last one which she informed them was against Health & Safety regulations.

"So, Melissa, what if he refuses to do something we tell him?" asked Paul Monk.

"Ok, right. Great question. There's two things that can happen. If it's a serious misdemeanour, like say he's really playing up and refusing to do his job, then you come and tell me and I'll fire his ass on the spot. If it's not so serious, if it's just that you're not completely satisfied with his performance on something, like maybe he hasn't cleaned your shoes quite properly, so there's just a tiny invisible little speck he's missed, or he's been less than suitably deferential in his manner towards you ... if it's that sort of thing ... then what I recommend you do is discipline him. You have my total blessing to do that, meaning you don't have to come and ask me each time, you just go ahead and punish him. Punish him however you want. The point is to make sure that he never does whatever it is he's being punished for ever ever again. I'm sure you get my drift, guys, right?"

"Hear that, fatso! You fucking behave or else you get punished!" erupted John Bosstick, who was sitting directly behind Roger. He leant forward in his seat and flicked Roger's ears with his fingers, making him wince. Then he rapped him rather brutally on the top of the head with his knuckles.

"Ouch," Melissa giggled, seeing the tears come to Roger's eyes. "Looks like John's punishing him for something already," she joked.

John shrugged. "Well, you know," he snickered, sitting back in his seat.

"But John has the right idea," Melissa grinned. "If Fatty displeases you in any way you have my standing permission to punish him however you see fit. You ok with that, guys?"

"And we don't have to ask you, right? We just decide what we wanna do to him and we do it?"

"Yep." They were having a hard time believing all this, Melissa thought. Too good to be true, she supposed.

"I guess if you think it's something I might want to watch, like if it's something especially fiendish and amusing, then by all means come and tell me first, but other than that, no, just go right ahead. You'll be able to dream up a ton of suitable punishments for him, I'm sure."

"You got any ideas already, Melissa?"

"Mmm, let me see now ... Yeah, sure, so just off the top of my head, you can do stuff like slap his face around, punch him in the stomach, knee him in the balls, hold him down and stamp and trample on him ... all that type of thing ... and, hey, maybe we keep a cane in here and then you can have him drop his pants and bend over and you take turns getting busy with his bare ass. Really make him yelp! Or you could get a bit more creative: stuff him tight in a filing cabinet and lock the door. Gag him in there all day even. Or, let's think, you could squirt a ton of ketchup up his nose. No, even better, mustard or chilli sauce, something hot and spicy. Rub it in his eyes maybe. You could piss in a glass and make him drink it, couldn't you? No end of things you could do, guys, when you put your mind to it. And to repeat, it's all fine by me. Just be sure to make him suffer."

Melissa strolled forward to where Roger was sitting. She stood in front of him and made a face at the others, inviting them all to have a good laugh at the communal figure of fun. "What a fucking moron," she giggled, reaching down and tweaking Roger's nose.

"P-P-Please, don't, Miss Reynolds," Roger sobbed, as Melissa casually twisted his nose around.

"Aw, fatso's crying," Melissa said, grinning around at the other guys. She bent forward and put her face up close to Roger's, the better to savour his acute distress.

"Poor little Fatty," she mocked, releasing his nose and tickling him under the chin. "Just imagine your life around here from now on. Imagine how you're gonna be tormented and bullied every single moment of every single day. Oh and you know what? I might have you come in some weekends too. Bet you hate being such a fucking loser, don't you?"

The other guys were almost dying with laughter. They couldn't believe what Melissa was doing to poor Roger. What an utter bitch!

"Fatty, you weren't peeping down my blouse, were you?" Melissa said sternly, straightening up and removing the alluring vista in question.

She knew he had been. Ditto the guys sat either side of him, Bryce Mulroy and Michael Kim.

Melissa particularly liked the wolfish way that Bryce had been staring at her cleavage. Don't you worry, sugar, you'll be doing more than looking very soon, Melissa silently told him, her erotic imagination running riot.

God, she could hardly wait to feel this young stud's hands all over her!

In fact, she thought, why wait? Why not today?

"You weren't, Fatty, were you?" Melissa repeated, to the ribald amusement of everyone. She stood hands on hips, waiting for an answer.

Roger shook his head. "No, Miss Reynolds," he pleaded.

"He was, Melissa!" shouted somebody.

"Yeah, I bet the dirty little cunt's glasses were steaming up," jeered John Bosstick, leaning forward and delivering with great relish a couple more particularly vicious knuckle-raps to the top of Roger's head.

Melissa stared down at Roger, basking in his abject fear and humiliation.

She slapped him hard across the cheek. "Drooling at my tits is definitively not in your new job description," she said, smiling wickedly at him.

"Um, I'm s-s-sorry, Miss Reynolds," blubbered Roger, hoping to placate her.

Melissa grinned at the others. "Hear that, guys? He's sorry." They were falling off their chairs laughing.

Melissa slipped off her shoe and put one leg up on Roger's chair.

"I don't think he is sorry," she smirked, pressing her nyloned foot up between Roger's legs and wriggling her toes against his crotch. "Because if he's so sorry how come I can feel a little hard-on in here?"

"P-P-Please, Miss Reynolds!" Roger begged, squirming with embarrassment.

Despite his mortification he did have an erection. The sight of Melissa's glorious cleavage when she'd bent over in front of him was still burned into his brain, and now here she was doing this thing with her foot.

And the way her skirt had risen high up her outstretched leg. Oh christ.

"It's true, Fatty, isn't it?" Melissa taunted, teasing his dick through his pants with her toes. "You're getting all turned on by this, aren't you? Gonna come in your pants any minute."

Roger was dying with shame, the others corpsing with laughter.

"And we don't want that, guys, do we?" Melissa smirked, removing her foot from Roger's groin but keeping it resting on the chair between his thighs.

"It's ok, Fatty, you don't have to pretend. I know you have the hots for me. Why don't you just tell me? C'mon, fatso, I wanna hear it. Tell me how gorgeous and sexy I am."

"Um, you're gorgeous, Miss Reynolds," Roger began hesitantly in a tiny squeaky voice.

"We can't hear you. Speak up!" Melissa snapped at him.

He started again, a bit louder now. "You're g-g-gorgeous, Miss Reynolds."

"And sexy. You find me sexy, Fatty, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"Which part of me excites you the most then?"

"Um, dunno, Miss Reynolds."

"Hmm, really? Well I think I know. It's my legs, isn't it? You like my sexy legs, fatso, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"They turn you on, don't they?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"Hey, Melissa, he forgot to do his nodding thing," shouted somebody above the background of jeering laughter.

"So he did," Melissa giggled.

She slapped Roger's face. "Try again, fatso."

Roger nodded vigorously this time as he answered.

"That's better," Melissa said. "But what I wanna hear is exactly how much you like my sexy legs. So why don't you tell me?"

Roger took a deep breath and plunged in. "Miss Reynolds, you have the sexiest legs I've ever seen," he blurted, to uproarious laughter.

"Why thank you, Fatty!" Melissa smiled. "But you know what? ... I don't really need you to tell me. I know I've got great legs, see. That's why I wear sexy skirts like this. You do like me in this skirt, Fatty, don't you?"

"Yes, Miss Reynolds," Roger nodded.

"Although you probably wish it was just a teeny bit shorter, am I right?"

Roger's drooling gaze was fixed on the long shapely leg which Melissa, with her foot up on his chair, was flaunting right in his face. "Yes, Miss Reynolds."

"A bit like this maybe?" Melissa teased, and she pulled the hem of her skirt further up her thigh. "Showing quite a lot now, isn't it?"