[thi.ca.chi has taken a summer job to help get ahead of her student loans. The office is ultraconservative, stiff and boring. The work is mind numbing but it pays. David wrote this story as a reward for her behavior this week. She reports several unpleasant people in the office, including some nasty younger women and a particularly harsh, nit-picking older one. David decided to use them as the featured characters in the story...]
thi.ca.chi, it sounds like a crap hole of a place to work.
But the tone of the place certainly provides me with a lot of options for your continuing education, doesn't it?
I would LOVE to have the old hag shrew discipline you for one of your "transgressions" - like taking a personal call or too long for lunch. She would call everyone in the office to gather around, then tie your wrist together, throw the end of the rope over one of the overhead lights or supports and pull you until you were on tip toes.
Then, she'd go around the office and gather the nastiest, most envious, most uptight prigs she could find. Male and female. The ones who look at you when you come into the office and think "fucking preppie skank meat" and "uppity bitch". The ones who would just love twenty minutes with you and a horsewhip - they would "teach your a lesson" about "how to respect your betters".
She'd have one of the porky, self-important women strip you naked in front of everyone, laughing and prodding, pinching and poking at your tanned, firm flesh. Treating you like a side of beef in a butcher shop window, weighing your titties with her hand, opening your ass cheeks to see if you're "clean" or not.
Then, the hag would go to the kitchenette and come back with a handful of wooden spoons and spatulas and hand them out to the crowd. They would take turns, two well-placed strokes each, the winner - the one who brings the first tears to your eyes - gets a free lunch. "Free" in that it's to be taken out of your paycheck.
It takes nearly a full hour to break you. You try SO hard not to cry. You won't let this bitch or any of these "co-workers" get the better of you. But at one point, three of them band together. You watch them whispering and you shake, wondering what they might be plotting, but knowing it will be horrible. You can tell by the way they sneer at you as they whisper in their little group. Two women - thin and harsh looking women easily in their sixties - and one smart-ass clerk in his 20s.
The three of them approach you at the same time. The women rest the flats of their spatulas - synthetic, 4 inches across with big holes that will let the air pass through as they swing them - against the undersides of your breasts The young man kneels in front of you and places his against your flat belly, on the little mound just above the cunt.
"You said one at a time!" you scream to the hag.
"I said no such thing. And for your insolence, they get 5 strokes each," the hag sneers.
You know then that you're going to break even before the first stroke. And you're right. The tears start flowing even before the three of them raise their implements. They hold their implements steady, stopping exactly one foot above your flesh.
The man counts down "three...two..." and stops. The entire room is quiet, they listen to your sobs for several seconds. Then, they erupt into laughter. You feel whatever tiny bit of self-control you had fade and your body goes limp.
You pee yourself after the fourth stroke, bringing more laughter.
When they're finiished, they let you dress and go back to your desk, damp, in pain, and completely humiliated.
That's when you write up the email report for me. And the Circle.
David
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