My Ambition

Disclaimer: This is fiction. Do not interpret it as anything else. This is a story with themes of non-consent, rape, reluctance, sexual manipulation, abduction and violence. The acts depicted in this story are criminal and are only acceptable in fantasy. If you are not interested in this type of story, please look elsewhere.

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I had been an intern with Dias Associates for two weeks when I saw Nicolas again. It had been over a year since that awful night that in retrospect was just a prelude to my future. But I knew nothing of that then...

I had been accepted into their Intern Programme with the two other young women. My first day at work had been one of my proudest, to be picked to join the top-flight political consultancy straight out of university was incredible. Particularly since it had taken almost nine months after graduation to get a job. With the economy shrinking and inflation soaring, I had few options. So, I'd leapt at the chance to relocate when this low-paying three-month contract was offered, the chance of more permanent employment being dangled before my dazzled eyes.

The move had been uneventful, probably because I had so little to move. Even so I was a nervous wreck, coming to the big city to a new job. Not knowing what to expect or how I would fit in. Would I be good enough? I'd found a small two room furnished apartment not far from the office, a bit pricy but the neighbourhood felt safe.

Wearing a smart pinstriped pants suit and court shoes, bought with my meagre savings from waiting tables, I felt on top of the world. The first rung on that corporate ladder, advising political parties and lobbying vested interests. Just what I had hoped for when I chose Political Science as my major.

I was the only one not wearing a dress or heels, wanting to project professionalism, with my sandy blond hair in a messy braid pulled back into a loose bun. A moment of self-doubt about my attire, but I was sure a serious company like this wouldn't require a dress code for women. Surely not?

A pretty petite brunette, with a pale elfin look, wearing a conservative dark knee-length business suit and low heels, introduced herself as Neves, but Nev to her friends. She seemed nice and I greeted her with a smile, telling her I hoped we'd get a chance to get together some evening. Not knowing anyone in the city meant I'd have to try extra hard to get to meet people.

We were both in contrast to the other woman Val's short low-cut emerald dress and black pumps, complementing her flaming red hair and long legs. I just thought her whole over made-up look and revealing clothes shouted, 'fuck me'. This was stereotypically reinforced by her sultry wriggling walk and breathless voice, more bimbo than serious. I didn't think I'd become friendly with her...

We'd nervously greeted one another in the small meeting room when Ms Alves strode into the room, brusquely telling us "Morning, sit down. My name Lia Alves and the company HR manager and coordinator of this programme. Therefore, I'm your boss and you will call me Ma'am. Is that clear?" Her tone didn't change as she proceeded to introduce us to each other, the company and how privileged we were to be accepted into the programme.

"Work hard, do what you're told, and you'll get what you deserve." She lectured with a cold smile, sizing each one of us up, before adding a threatening comment. "Not all of you will get through unscathed. But it will be worth it. I have no doubt."

I wondered at the odd use of terms, but not being a native Portuguese speaker, thought it was just my poor understanding and nodded enthusiastically as she spoke, as did the other two women. Little did I know then how prophetic her words would be...

"And Lucia." She turned on me, her facing looking stern. "We have a dress code. Please wear a skirt tomorrow, and heels of at least two inches. Its professional and respectful."

I gulped at being singled out, dismayed at the archaic concept, but I didn't want to challenge her in front of the others, so I nodded as I felt my cheeks redden. I didn't have much money to buy other outfits and so decided to rather engage her privately later, to voice my concerns.

Which I did when we had a coffee break after a lengthy overview of what we could expect to do in the next few of weeks, namely filing, photocopying and admin, like lowly office clerks, "working our way up from the bottom".

"Ma'am, is it really necessary to wear a dress? I don't have anything very professional and can't afford something new." I ventured quietly to her as she sipped a coffee during the break.

She looked at me with distain, like a piece of mud on her polished heels. "Lucia. You were a bursary student, weren't you?"

I blushed as I admitted "Yes, because I didn't have the financial means. My parents..." I didn't want to finish the sentence, the emotion still too raw.

But she had no such compunction. "Your parents passed. I'm sorry." Her hard expression did not match the sympathy of her words. "Now you have no resources and significant debt. Alone...few options. Do you really want to create a fuss, over our dress code? That everyone adheres to?"

Here words were like a dagger to my heart, because she was right, I didn't have any family to talk of. It left an ache in my heart and was why I had driven myself so hard to get ahead and fit in socially. While I was sure the dress code was aimed primarily at women, the wind had been taken out of my sails. "No. I guess not."

"So tomorrow and every day thereafter, you'll obey company rules." She seemed to gloat, before finishing with a clear threat. "Unless you want to leave to find something more suitable."

"No, ma'am." I almost choked, feeling devastated by the interchange and humiliated by how easily I had compromised my principles. If I'd known just how compromised professional life was, I may have left that day. But I had few other options, and this was my dream, my ambition...

"Good, I'm glad we've got past that. I'm sure you'll be a real asset. Once you've settled in and accepted your role." She smiled encouragingly and placed her hand on my arm, like she was bringing me back into the family, after my brief insurrection.

Fortunately, I actually did have a few outfits that fit the bill. From that day on, as instructed I only wore skirts and heels. At first in line with Nev's more conservative style rather than Val's heavily made up and revealing attire. That too would change in ways I could never have predicted...

All three of us tried our hardest to work diligently and be noticed. I couldn't help but notice how Val seemed to be asked to do jobs for senior staff members, always receiving praise and attention. While Nev and I were relegated to mundane tasks that seemed to have no purpose and left us invisible. It was early days still, so I knuckled down and did my best, hoping to shine through hard work and diligence.

I liked Nev and we got to eat lunch together almost every day during that first week, while Val seemed to be busy in endless meetings behind closed doors. I learned that Nev was from a small town in the poor north east of Brazil and had studied Communications.

"Papa was so proud of me when I graduated." She beamed one day over her lunch of salad and water. "I'm the first in my family to get a degree. And now this opportunity in such an important company."

"That's so amazing." I responded encouragingly, suppressing the small twinge at her reference to her parents. "I just hope we get to do something useful soon. If I have to copy another file, I think I'll scream."

"Oh, I don't mind. Everyone has to start somewhere. Like the Headmistress says, 'work hard and you'll achieve what you want'." Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper as she used the nickname we'd made up for Ms Alves, even going so far as to copy her posh accent.

I giggled at her passable imitation and didn't have the heart to disagree with her. "I guess... it just doesn't feel fair. What do you think of Val?" I said switching topic to a leading question.

"Hmmmm." She said mischievously. "Less said the better, I think."

"What do you think she's doing in all those meetings?" I wasn't going to let it go, especially with a potential co-conspirator. "Do you think it's all above board?"

"Well, you know, she did look a little dishevelled when she came out of her afternoon meeting yesterday." Nev said in a hushed tone. "I don't want to assume anything, but she had stains on her blouse." Her eyes widened expressively, demonstrating her mock surprise.

"Really? I didn't see. That's so scandalous." I was shocked. While I suspected something, I never thought there would be evidence. "Who was she meeting with?"

"Mr Dias and Mr Melo." She responded in a whisper. "And a couple of the girls from admin."

"Well, they won't see me doing anything like that." I concluded, the indignation dripping from my words. Basking in my self-righteous superiority, I didn't see Nev's sudden warning glance.

"What won't they see you doing, Lucia?" Val's voice behind me, jovial and inquisitive. I spun around blushing crimson as she walked into the small break room.

"Ummm... nothing... just talking about... ummm... going topless on the beach." A quick save, that made Nev giggle nervously.

"You shouldn't be such a prude. You can't imagine all the attention you get when you do." said Val, shaking her boobs at us, the quivering cleavage on show, exposed by her low-cut blouse.

Nev and I just looked at each other and let the conversation drift onto the weekend international football game. A friendly between Argentina and Brazil, which was probably more hotly debated between us than any office politics would ever have been.

Weeks later, I would recall that conversation and my smug superiority, berating myself for how naïve and foolish I had been in those early days...

It became increasingly apparent that there was a clear hierarchy in the office, despite the relatively flat structure of the small thirty-person company. The older male executives, were clearly at the apex, followed by the managerial and professional staff, who were disproportionately male. At the base were the administrative staff, mostly female, young and attractive.

I consider myself to be relatively attractive, or so I've been told, with my thick sandy blond hair, unblemished olive complexion, full lips and sultry brown eyes. My full bust, slim waist and rounded hips never failed to draw men's attention, often too much. But I felt pretty average in the corridors of Dias Associates, especially as my clothes looked dowdy in comparison to those of the gorgeous women all around me. If it wasn't for my academic self-assurance, I may have felt really insecure, but I had been at the top of my university class and that should count for something in the professional world... surely...

At the end of the first week, I voiced my concerns about not being given anything meaningful to do. Ms Alves responded as if it were oblivious saying "You just need to stand out. Think about that." She dismissed me with a wave and strode off to her next important meeting, severe business skirt swishing around her thighs and her high heel black boots clacking on the wooden floor.

Nev and I chatted about that as we were having a couple of drinks at her apartment that Friday evening... before going out on the town. I was drinking Campari and soda while she had a glass of white wine.

"What do you think she meant?" I asked pensively. "Do you really think she wants us to dress more like Val? Be sluttier?"

"I hope not. I don't feel comfortable wearing revealing clothes, at home or in the office." She was in jeans and a tank top with flat sandals. In comparison to my tight short black dress and heels, meant for clubbing later... and maybe something else I thought with an inward giggle. But she explained. "My parents are very religious, they wouldn't approve."

"I don't think she meant it. I don't like it either." I replied, seriously. "But have you seen how all the women dress? And how beautiful they all are? Maybe we have to..."

That weekend I agonised over the choice my boss had implied. I was Argentinian, a voluptuous Latin woman, and we know how to be noticed when we want. But the question was whether that was how I wanted to get ahead. To flaunt myself a bit like everyone else to get noticed, or to stay true to my self-belief that my ability would be recognised.

My impatience and ambition won that weekend. I spent Sunday afternoon buying a couple of short skirts and cleavage emphasising blouses with my meagre pay-check. At the last second, I selected some sexy lingerie, feeling somewhat naughty and a little bit nice about spoiling myself, as it was definitely just for me. I loved wearing expensive underwear under my normal clothes, enjoying the sensual feeling of it on my skin and the private knowledge that no one else would see it, unless I decided they could... how naïve I was...

The following week I wore shorter and tighter clothes with a little more make up than before, showing off my assets to best advantage. Senior managers acknowledged me in the corridors, and I was invited into a couple of internal planning meetings, to take minutes... just like that...

Instead of filing documents, I was privy to discussions about political intrigue and strategies to influence weighty government decisions. This was what I had worked and hoped for. And if it meant dressing the way they wanted, that was a small price for achieving my ambition. Even though I had to accept that the male managers spent more time looking appreciatively at my boobs, bum and legs than at my face... despite it making me feel somewhat uncomfortable... I did it to get ahead...

Nev resisted and was still performing mundane tasks every day. She started looking at me strangely and almost enquiringly when I came out of some of the meetings, as if she was disappointed in me... but she never asked anything. And I didn't volunteer, because I wanted the access and I think subconsciously I didn't want her to compete with me. We drifted apart a bit in that second week, having lunches together sometimes, but it wasn't the same.

I was talking quietly to her before our early morning team meeting on the Monday of the third week, when he just appeared. I hadn't seen him for over a year and at first I didn't recognise him with his trimmed goatee and expensive suit. When I realised who it was, my heart rate spiked, anxiety peaking and colliding with the unexpected shock of seeing him there.

"Hi Lucia." His voice calm and confident as he strode across the room towards me, making me feel even more unsure of myself.

"Hello, Nic. How are you?" I managed to keep my tone neutral and steady, despite the knot in my stomach.

"Fine. Just fine." He towered over me, bending his six-foot frame, to give me a formal greeting kiss beside each cheek. "You?"

"Good... What are you doing here?" I asked, focusing on breathing to regain my self-composure.

"I've just started with the company, it's my first day." He replied proudly. "Took a gap year, to travel... Just got back. What've you been up to?"

"Doing this and that. I started a couple of weeks ago." I responded, my heart still beating out of control. "Are you joining the intern programme?"

"Oh no." He said dismissively. "I've got a senior analyst position. Under Miguel Melo, in the policy group."

"Wow. Congratulations." I forced myself to smile, tying not to show my seething envy and irritation at the unfairness of him getting a permanent position, when he hadn't done nearly as well as me in his academic studies. We'd been at university together in Buenos Aires, where he was more interested in playing rugby and partying than in studying. A typical rich kid with a silver spoon for whom everything came so easy.

But he was handsome and socially connected, so I'd made the terrible mistake of dating him briefly. At first, he had been charming and attentive, taking me out and introducing me to his friends. From our first date, he'd tried to get me into bed or at least into my panties. I resisted both until the fourth date, after a fun evening of drinking and dancing, when my inhibitions were lowered. We went back to his shared apartment, paid for by his wealthy parents, a family with old money. His mates leered at me as he kissed me aggressively in front of them, possessively grabbing my ass through my flimsy dress, before physically pulling me into his room.

I saw the look in his eyes change in that moment, becoming carnal and predatory, as he literally ripped my dress off and pushed me forcefully onto the bed, to lay sprawled in my tight black panties and lacy bra. Until him, I'd only been with respectful caring men, but he was none of that. He dropped his trousers, kicking off his shoes as he did.

Then kneeling on the bed, he grabbed my hair and forced his cock into my mouth as I was trying to protest. He tugged by head around, forcing more and more of the swelling member into me, until it was gagging me with the entrance to my throat. While he enjoyed my mouth, he slipped a finger into my panties and was roughly fingering me, making me respond naturally but involuntarily to the stimulation. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong and kept repeating "Suck it bitch."

Once he was hard, he flipped me onto my stomach and pushed my legs apart so he could kneel between them, pulling my panties to the side. The shock of his sudden entrance to my pussy caused me to gasp, my thin moisture easing him in but not comfortably. I felt so full and dominated as he pounded into me, despite my cries for him to stop, to slow down, to not push so hard. He ignored my protests and just told me that I obviously "like it rough" because my "cunt is sopping" as he ravaged my tight hole.

He had me pinned by a hand on the back of my neck, as well as by my hips by his body weight, crushing me into the bed so I couldn't move, except to uselessly flail my arms and legs. What caused me even more shame and heartache was my response. I hated every moment, but my treacherous... it flooded and tingled and flooded and clenched on his...

After what seemed like an hour of hard sex, during which I became increasingly distraught and catatonic, he eventually came inside of me. I just lay aroused and seemingly unresponsive on his bed, tears leaking from my eyes.

I broke up with him that night, leaving with my ripped dress and my battered body. He just laughed in my face, saying he thought I needed a "rough fucking" and it was clear I'd "loved it". I felt so ashamed and cheap, walking past his grinning friends, emotionally devastated and worthless.

I never spent time with him or his friends at university after that. But here he was a year later, smiling assuredly and saying "I must get going. See you around, Lucia." Before he spun and left the room, not even waiting for me to respond.