Phil The Ferret

I can't believe that this morning seemed so ordinary. I suppose that's the way things usually are: omens and signs are generally only seen in retrospect, if at all. I remember standing in front of the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door in our bedroom, looking at my reflection and making the kind of critical assessments most women make of their appearance; especially when they get to thirty-five. My chestnut brown hair still tumbles to my shoulders and further in what I like to think could be described as a 'cascade', even if there are a few flecks of silver now. My face is, I think, fairly attractive. My bright blue eyes and full lips are highlights - especially with the application of mascara and lipstick - even if my nose is a little on the large side. My breasts are still full and round, even after becoming a mother, and they filled out, I thought, my plain white blouse in a striking way. I have put on a little weight since my daughter Marie was born, but I think of myself as curvy. I like to think I could pass as twenty-eight. In a generous light. If you squint a bit.

"Karen?" Steve, my husband, was sitting, propped up against pillows, in our bed. "Are you taking Marie to school today?"

"No," I replied. "Gillian is going to pick her up and give her a lift. I'll make sure she's up and getting ready before I go out and I'll leave her breakfast on the table." I fastened my pleated black skirt and turned toward him. The early Spring sunlight shone through the curtains and illuminated our bed and as he lay there I felt a terrible sense of pity for him. For us. It has been six months since his accident and he hasn't been able to work since then. There have been other things he hasn't been able to do. The injury to his back when he fell from that ladder has made it very difficult and painful for him to move - or even to lie down properly in bed. At least we are more financially sound now. It took a few months for the insurance money to come through. The insurers insisted the fault lay with the company Steve worked for and they insisted they had followed all the Healthy and Safety guidelines. Lawyers got involved. You know how that spins things out. Anyway, we were pretty much in dire straits for a month or two - things got pretty desperate - but eventually we got sorted. "I may be a little late back," I said as I walked to the bed. I kissed him and added, "I might pop in on Sally. She's in a bad place at the moment since Martin left."

"That's OK," he replied. "Remember - I've got the Chiropractor this evening. Bob's looking after Marie." I'd forgotten, but that meant I'd call Sally and arrange to have dinner with her and we'd have a good, long chat.

I looked in on Marie, checked that she was getting up and that her school uniform was ready, and told her that her breakfast would be waiting for her downstairs before I hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and went downstairs. The kitchen needed a good clean but I tried to ignore that as I made Marie's breakfast. The living room needed tidying but I tried to ignore that as I made sure my phone, my purse and my keys were in my handbag. The hallway needed a vacuum cleaner but I just didn't have the time, so I tried to ignore it as I opened the front door and stepped out into an April morning that was chillier than I had expected.

By the time I got to work I'd spotted the ladder in my tights. It was on my knee, just below my skirt when I sat down. When you've got very pale skin and you're wearing black tights, ladders are very obvious. I went to the toilets and took them off, laddering them further in the process. Shaking my head I dropped them in the bin and headed for my desk in Accounts. On the way I passed Eric - a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch who always gives me a smile - or maybe that's a leer - when he sees me. We exchanged good mornings on the stairway and he made off in the direction of Sales. There are about twenty guys who work for the company and five women. I'm the only one of those five working in Accounts. I work with two guys - Colin and Mike - and our boss is Phil Neville. Phil the Ferret we call him.

I was the first to arrive in the office. I took off my jacket and hung it over the back of my chair before sitting down and logging into my computer. There were the usual fifty e-mails to get through. Colin arrived, gave me a friendly wave before getting started at his own desk. Mike came in shortly after. We get on pretty well together and there is a fair amount of good-natured banter. Sometimes, though, I feel that there are sexual overtones to things they say or do that make me a little uncomfortable. During the course of the morning, for example, Mike made me a cup of coffee - which was nice - but as he handed it to me his fingers touched mine and he deliberately looked me in the eye. Am I reading too much into that? A little later on Colin came over to ask me about the new policy document on reporting figures to senior management. He sat on the corner of my desk, his legs apart and his groin only a foot or so away from me. Again, he didn't actually say or do anything overtly sexual, but still. Let's just say I think there's a little tension.

So the morning passed. There were cheques to process, BACS payments to confirm, invoices to send: the usual sort of stuff you get to do in Accounts. I chipped a nail. It's funny now to think how cross I was about that. When one o'clock came around I put my jacket back on and went out to a small sandwich shop and got a bacon, lettuce and tomato roll and came back to eat it at my desk. I don't work during the lunch break, but there is nowhere more comfortable to go in the building. I dropped the paper bag from my sandwich into the bin beside my desk and went to get a coffee. As I was returning to my desk, Phil popped his head into the office. "Karen," he began in his high pitched, whiny voice, "When you've finished your lunch would you mind dropping into my office. There's something I need to discuss with you."

Puzzled, I nodded as his head disappeared and I went back to drinking my coffee. About fifteen minutes later I knocked on Phil's office door and went in. "Come in, Karen," he said. "Sit down." He was sitting behind his desk looking at his monitor intently, though when I sat down I think he glanced at my thighs as I crossed my legs. "There's something puzzling," he said. He was then silent for what seemed an age and I looked at him. He is a thin man - you might almost say scrawny - of about fifty-five. Largely bald, he has a little hair at his temples and a wispy, half-hearted moustache above a small, mean mouth with protruding teeth. He has a large pointed nose and a chin that is almost receding. We call him Phil the Ferret for a reason.

"There's a payment here I don't understand," he said at last. "A few months ago. For two thousand four-hundred and twenty-seven pounds and ninety-eight pence." I felt my heart jump inside my chest as he continued; "It seems to be for catering services to a company called 'Zest'. It seems you authorised the payment."

Shaking slightly I said, "That's right. It was for a sales pitch at our Bristol branch."

"That's what I thought," replied Phil, smiling. "The thing is, though, I've got another payment here for catering that Colin authorised, for a company called, 'Gayle's'. It, too, seems to be for a sales pitch at our Bristol branch." I could feel the colour draining from my face and my hands felt cold. "So I checked with the Bristol branch," he continued. "It seems they did use Gayle's as the caterers for that event."

"Maybe it's a mistake," I said, aware of a tremble in my voice. "Maybe it was another event."

"That's a possibility," Phil said, waving his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "But, as far as I can see - and I've done some checking - there doesn't seem to be a company called Zest doing catering work in the Bristol area."

My mind racing I replied, "Maybe they've gone out of business. It's that kind of industry." A knot was developing in my stomach and I felt a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

"That would be unfortunate. Anyway, I checked further and pulled the invoice from files. It seems Zest was paid by BACS. Do you remember making that payment?" I shrugged and he lifted a piece of paper from his desk. "Here's the invoice. It has Zest's bank details for making the payment. So I did a little more checking. I called Salaries and they furnished me with your bank details - the account we pay your salary into." He fixed me with a stare that sent a shaft of ice through my heart. "Do you know what I discovered?"

That was when I cracked. "Oh God," I said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I sank my head into my hands and tried to explain why I'd done it. I told him about Steve's accident, about the weeks when we didn't have his income, about the wrangle with the insurance company and about the months when we couldn't pay the mortgage. I told him how worried I had been that it would drag on and that we'd lose our house. I told him I would pay the money back. He rose from his seat and walked around his desk to stand behind me.

"I understand. Of course I do. But this is fraud, Karen. I can't just ignore it. I have to report it. And I have to tell you that it is very likely that you'll lose your job." A wave of fear rushed through me and I almost doubled up, as if he had punched me in the stomach. I was the only wage-earner in the family while Steve was laid up and the prospects of falling into terrible poverty appalled me. But it was about to get worse. "As I said," Phil continued, "This is fraud and a criminal offence, so it's probable that the police will have to be involved." I could feel tears welling in my eyes. I could go to prison! And with Steve barely able to get out of bed, what would happen to Marie?

"Please! Please!" I murmured, my hands clutching each other as desperation set in. "Isn't there some way I could pay it back without anyone else noticing?"

"But that would mean my implicating myself in your crime," Phil said. "You do see that, don't you?" I felt his hand on my shoulder as he continued, "That would be a big thing to ask of anyone. Of course, perhaps you and I could come to some arrangement." His hand moved until it was caressing my skin at the opening of my blouse. "Perhaps you might consider some kind of quid pro quo." A wave of nausea swept through me. I knew exactly what he meant, but the idea of cheating on Steve - and with Phil the Ferret - filled me with sudden revulsion.

Phil returned his hand to rest on my shoulder. "I should think you need time to think about it. So here's what I will do. If I find your panties on my desk before four o'clock I will recognise them as a token of your agreement. If not, at one minute past four I will compile an e-mail to senior management attaching a file with all the details. Now, take a minute to compose yourself then go and give this some thought." With that he returned to his desk, sat down and began working as if I were not even there.

After a minute or so I got up and left the room. I felt dazed and confused. I began to stagger back to the office as Eric approached. "Is he in?" he asked, nodding toward Phil's door. I nodded and, putting his hand on my arm, he asked, "Are you OK? You don't look very well. Is anything the matter, love?" I smiled wanly, or at least, I think I tried to smile, and assured him it was 'womens' problems'. It wasn't true - my period finished three days ago - but men don't tend to ask any further questions after that. Eric knocked on Phil's door and went in while I made my way, slowly, back to my desk.

Mike and Colin were out for a few hours at a training course for a software upgrade, so I sat by myself alternating between trying to do some work and trying to decide what to do. I considered simply handing myself in to the police, but I was so scared of where that would lead. I considered reporting Phil's suggestion to senior management, but I couldn't see how I could do that without revealing my own guilt - and, anyway, he could simply deny it. I even considered killing Phil. Though not for long. I don't know; maybe there were other alternatives, but my heart was pounding and my head was full of fears and conflicting priorities. And time passed. The e-mails and the updates to the spreadsheets on my monitor kept coming in and I had to deal with them. I can't imagine I did my best work for the company in that hour so.

Three o'clock. I had to make a decision. I took a deep breath and rescued the bag that had contained my sandwich from the bin and made for the Ladies. I sat on the toilet in the cubicle for what seemed like forever, thinking, wondering for a moment or two what Phil would do with my underwear. An image flashed, unbidden, in my imagination of his long, pointed nose pressed to the gusset of my panties and a guilty thrill made me shudder. Decision made, I stood up, took off my panties and I stuffed them into the bag. I walked out, looking straight ahead of me, determined that, if I met anyone, I wouldn't meet their eyes in case, somehow, they could see what I was carrying and knew what I was going to do. I returned to the office and stood just inside the doorway, waiting, watching Phil's office door.

It seemed like forever that I was waiting there. At last I saw Phil leaving his office. I hurried along the short length of corridor to his door and went in. I couldn't bear for him to be there when I offered up my panties, so I placed them on his computer keyboard, in that crushed paper bag. I took a few moments to look over his desk in the vain hope that he may have left that incriminating invoice lying out. Of course he hadn't. I could, I suppose, have tried the drawers of his desk or his briefcase. Then again, there was that file he had said he would attach to his e-mail. He had said it contained all the information he had uncovered. I had no idea how long I had - if he had only gone to the toilet he would be back within minutes. I had no time, I decided, and I hurried out of his office back to my desk.

At four o'clock the phone on my desk rang. I answered it and heard Phil's whiny voice; "Come to my office please." Trembling, I got up and walked the short distance along the corridor to his office door. I hesitated for a moment, trying to calm myself, then I took a deep breath, opened the door and went in. Phil was sitting behind his desk, the paper bag I had left there in his hands and a twisted smirk on his thin lips. "These are yours, I take it?" he asked. I nodded, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Can you prove that?" he asked, his voice trembling a little with excitement. For a moment I didn't understand. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head toward my skirt Phil indicated what he meant and a rush of terrible shame welled up inside me. My cheeks now burning with humiliation I bent and took the hem of my black pleated skirt in my hands. Straightening up and raising my arms I revealed my nakedness. He licked his lips. Literally. He licked his lips as he looked at my bare pussy with its trimmed bush of dark hair.

"Can I go now?" I asked.

"Yes. You can go back to work now," he replied. I dropped my skirt and he added, "Be in the basement just after you finish work." I turned to go, a knot in my stomach of shame but also - whether I want to admit it or not - of excitement. "You won't need any other underwear," he said as I turned the door handle. I hurried out of the room and returned, once more, to my desk.

I spent the next hour willing the clock to stop, for that second hand to stop turning and for my appointment in the basement to stay as distant in time as possible. Of course, it didn't. Half an hour before the end of the day Colin and Mike returned from their course to carry out a few end-of-day shutting down tasks at their computers. I sat watching them working, somehow feeling terribly vulnerable without my panties. Not that that would have been obvious. My skirt was long enough that, short of actually crawling under my desk, no one would have been able to see my naked pussy. Even then my skirt would have to be hitched up. I would have had to open my legs. I shook myself and turned my attention to the final tasks I had to carry out before.... I swallowed thickly and steadied myself to compose a final e-mail. Colin left, then Mike and by five o'clock I was alone in the office.

As most people were heading for home I made my way, with my jacket and handbag, once more to the Ladies and the same cubicle where I had sat two hours before. Fighting an urge simply to run, to get out of the building and escape, I unbuttoned my white blouse and slipped it off. Then I unhooked my bra, took it off and put it in my handbag. I looked down at my naked tits imagining, for a moment, Phil the Ferret pawing at them; his protruding teeth at my nipples. I shuddered and tasted a little bile in my throat. Forcing the image from my mind I put my blouse back on and tucked it into my skirt. I slipped on my jacket and stepped back into the corridor. My co-workers were making their way out of the building and I dreaded any of them noticing my chest. The silk was caressing my nipples and they were hard against the material and, even under the jacket, I felt it obvious that I was no longer wearing a bra.

I got down the stairs to the ground floor. The main door of the building was ahead. I could just keep going, walk out of the building and be free. I stopped, for a moment, in the lobby, looking at people leaving the building, struggling with the possibility of doing likewise, of simply enjoying liberty, at least for a few days, before the consequences of my actions caught up with me. Then, though, I turned to the narrow staircase that led to the basement. A knot in my stomach and my heart hammering at my ribcage, I slowly made my way down.

The basement was shadowy and cold. Steel pipes carrying water from the central heating system and from the toilets ran along and up the walls. In one wall was a door with a Yale lock. The other walls were bare and drab. "Glad you could make it." Phil's shrill, harsh voice was behind me.

"I had no choice," I said, shrugging.

"Of course you have a choice," he replied. "You could simply walk back up those stairs and go home."

He was right, of course. I had had choices all the way along - and still did. I could have chosen not to have taken the money. I could have chosen to confess when I had done it and sought help from my employers. I could have chosen not to put my panties on Phil's desk, chosen not to humiliate myself by lifting my skirt, chosen to keep my bra on. I hadn't made any of those choices, and now, faced with a choice between an unpleasant experience and all the things I feared might happen if I left, I made a final choice. My shoulders slumped and I nodded. "During the proceedings - just to observe legal niceties," Phil said, breathing heavily, "I will ask you what you want. I imagine you'll know what to say. It's a matter of there being consent." I shivered and nodded again.

Phil took a key from his pocket and walked to the door. He turned the key in the lock and the door opened. "This used to be the Janitor's office, until we outsourced all the services," he said, opening the door and ushering me in. The room smelled of damp and stale air. There were cobwebs in the corners and all the surfaces were dusty. There was a table against one wall and an armless office-type chair. A few forgotten items lay on a couple of shelves above the table - an old telephone directory, an angle-poise lamp and an abandoned black marker pen. The room was lit by a dim 40W bulb. "They only clean the basement once a week," Phil said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook at the back of the door, "and that was yesterday." He closed the door, fastening the snib.