A Day at the Office
By ten to seven, the main-floor lobby of the Chasti-Permalock building is
already quite active these days. Sometimes, you'll catch a glimpse of political
figures, foreign businessmen, military officials.... The other morning, we even
had pop stars Britt Baby and PsycheDelia from the Diva Dolls pass through --
rumor is that there's a cross-promotion agreement in development, so perhaps
they're going to be wearing our appliances, soon.
Employees punch in on the main floor, now. Ever since they brought in the
scanners to do check-in, they like to encorporate that in the main lobby
security clearance. I think they just like to have us show off our C-P devices
so that onlookers can see that the staff proudly wears them.
Yeah, we inevitably have to show off our Chasti-Permalocks. After speaking into
the voice print mic and giving a retinal scan, I lifted the front of my skirt
and the attendant ran the hand scanner over the bar code embedded just above the
device where pubic hair once grew, until a >blip< signalled that I was now
recorded in the active roster and cleared to enter. "You may proceed," he told
me.
Security is a huge issue here, particularily because of the nature of the
technology that we wield. There is a global partial-moratorium on nanotech
research, with Chasti-Permalock Corporation being one of the very few to be
licensed internationally to research and utilize nanoscale tools (a more
accurate term than "nanobots," because they're often more likely a charged
compound than the kind of 'bot that we're used to).
And when you think about it, it's absolutely necessary. When you're talking
about sub-atomic particles geared toward rebuilding matter on a molecular level,
you're talking about being able to rebuild all of creation. Splitting an atom
would be easy, and you don't need a several-ton warhead to do it. Without
regulation, we could be looking at a shift from the old nuclear
government-hoarded weapons of mass destruction to private enterprise
knowledge-capable mass destruction. A laboratory accident could conceivably wipe
out a city or begin a chain reaction that destroys an ecosystem. Oops.
You can guess how many folks would like to get their hands on this technology.
Right now, Chasti-Permalock is one of three companies licensed in its use. And
different divisions of the company direct many varied applications. The Vyrtu
Division oversees medical applications, although the biological functions of
Chasti-Permalock's devices require that the division works very closely with
their central one. CPFab is researching the use of nanotechnology in
construction endeavors and other commercial enterprise, while CPBotix deals with
the cutting-edge Artificial Intelligence work we're doing, CP++ directs device
and nanoscale programming, and "Ops" is the nickname we have for the unofficial
division that works with the military and (as the rumor goes) probably accounts
for the lion's share of our funding. My Division is CPKulture, which oversees
many departments in the mainstream market geared toward pop commodities:
entertainment, fashion, cosmetics (although some of the more radical bodily
modification is governed by Vyrtu), and everything on down to the aesthetics of
the basic devices that Chasti-Permalock is best known for, themselves. My own
role is secretarial, in the Public Relations Department.
Excuse me. The Human Relations Department. I keep forgetting about the recent
name change.
All the way up the elevator, I couldn't help thinking about the bar code. Upon
accessing a new floor of the building, or entering or exiting a new cluster of
offices, we have to get our bar code scanned -- this is how our movements
throughout the building are continually monitored. It is also for this reason
that it is mandatory in the dress code that women wear mini-skirts and only
their devices underneath, barring special personal circumstances. But it
disturbs me that our bar codes are so intimate, while men (that is, unless
they're part of the various intergendered programs) can wear theirs on their
chests. They justify this by physiology: we can't have women publically baring
their breasts and men publically baring their genitals (the vast majority of
women wear permanent genital devices like mine, and the few exceptions are
indecency exceptions that management is willing to live with). What's worse is
the bar code's significance. For example, when we get our bar codes scanned to
leave the building, we sign the same asset management form that we would if we
were taking some other major piece of company property off the premises.
I'm not the only one who's noticed the implications. Several co-workers have
remarked on this.
"Keep in mind, though," Ellen from the Telco department had said, "that once
you're Chasti-Permalock, you're always Chasti-Permalock. They pretty much own
us, anyway. That non-disclosure agreement we sign when accepted for employment
here gives them authorization to 'upgrade' our devices upon termination, and we
all know that means cutting off all ability to communicate our knowledge of
company programs to anyone else... and just about all ability to otherwise
function as a human being, in the process. It's not really a change in treatment
of staff so much as an acknowledgement of that fact."
Sixth floor. I scanned in, and scanned again when I reached the HRD entrance.
"Good morning, Jasmine," Cindy beamed from behind the reception desk. "The board
meeting's at eight and we've got a few guests coming in for it. Mr. Sternson
wants you to report to him at least a half hour before the meeting. Oh, and
you're a mouth girl, today."
A "mouth girl." As if there was ever any doubt.
Sexual favors are not only abused in this company, they've become expected. Part
of it is from maintaining an atmosphere of having to enjoy as much pleasure as
we can before we lose it to the devices we'll be volunteered to wear. There's no
secret that Chasti-Permalock Corporation bucks the sexual harassment policies of
other workplaces -- they even welcome the attention, so that prospective
employees and the public at large acknowledge that sexuality is a part of the
bargain in working for C-P. Therefore, all applicants agree to submit to that
treatment. After all, sexuality is an integral part of the market that
Chasti-Permalock deals with. They don't hire often, so they can be extremely
selective and only take on compliant personnel. When I started there, it was
partly for the excitement, I admit.
And that's how I became a mouth girl. Sexual duties are assigned daily. Cindy's
usually given ass duties, even though she hates anal sex. Me, I'm always a mouth
girl. When I took the job, my talents were assessed and I was given top marks
for oral performance. It usually takes several months or even a year or two
before a new employee is volunteered for device testing, but within the first
two weeks of my employment here, I received permanent vaginal and anal devices.
There was no doubt as to where they wanted me perpetually assigned. So I'm a
mouth girl. Rare days, I'm assigned "tongue" duties -- oral chores for women --
and I've never been assigned as "hand girl" (I'm not even sure it exists, aside
from on paper) or "titty girl," but otherwise, my repertoire is limited. I sort
of regret having practiced on a bottle for the couple days before my job
interview.
But that was several years ago. Before setting up at the office, I paused to fix
myself a coffee in the employee lounge. Cindy slipped in, having had the same
idea. "Hey, listen," she confided in a whisper, "I overheard Winston talking
about the mass-market devices. He said something about a back door feature. Do
you think that the company might be getting involved with population control? I
mean, being that they're so closely allied with the government..."
I stopped her there. I've observed that it's not healthy to speculate, in this
company. "If they were talking about a 'back door' feature," I fib, "it was
probably a euphemism to describe an anal device."
"You think so? I mean, I've heard some weird things..."
"You're only getting half-conversations, Cindy. It's not good to be jumping to
conclusions." I didn't elaborate, but I was aware that people who jump to
conclusions tend to get reassigned to CPBotix or CP++ suddenly.
"I suppose you're right," she said, tossing sugar into her mug. As for me, I had
to hurry to get ready for the day. Especially if I wanted to squeeze in a visit
to Pam, this afternoon.
I'm barely in my office when the shocks zapped me.
My anal device is a simple remote-control one. Two quick zaps meant that
Sternson wanted to see me in the office right now. He obviously wouldn't wait
for seven-thirty. The zaps aren't too bad. Punishment, on the other hand...
well, let's just say that I didn't dally.
Sternson is a big man, broad-shouldered and heavy-set. He has a lot of weight on
him, but also a certain amount of strength. He dresses in grey, like some bland
director of the Ministry of Truth, and his hard eyes are just as piercing and
darkly inquisitive. "Were you delayed chatting with Cindy again?"
"Only long enough to pour a coffee, sir." Something in his stare told me that he
was somehow aware of everything said. I was suddenly afraid for her. "She's
silly, but she's an innocent kid at heart. She'll learn."
He said nothing in response to that. Instead, he tapped the Chasti-Permalock
between my legs. "Today's your tongue day, isn't it? And Carole is out on
assignment."
I blushed. "I was hoping to see Pam, this afternoon, Sir," I admit.
My Chasti-Permalock vaginal device has an experimental timer programmed into it.
If I don't make a certain quota by 7:00 at night, it will begin to shock me
intermittently until I fulfill that quota.
The quotas are quite devious. There are sensors embedded on my tongue that can
detect the presence of certain chamicals. From Tuesday to Saturday, it has to
detect semen in my mouth twice during the course of the day, or it will allow
the shocks to kick in.
But Mondays, it has to detect vaginal fluids instead, on one of those two
outings.
"No good," he says. "Pam will be out of the office this afternoon, and there
aren't too many other women in this department who aren't sealed up. There's
Cindy, but she has to stay at her desk." He pressed his fingers between my lips,
urged my mouth open, and then inspected my tongue and teeth as though inspecting
a horse. "Fortunately, I have another solution, although it will require
cancelling all of your other plans, today."
"Sir?" With Sternson, "Sir" is a required appelation which carries almost the
same weight as "Master." I feel submissive every time I way it.
"I just received a call from a very special guest who has opted to sit in on our
board meeting, this morning. She has expressed interest in being attended to by
a white woman who has an aversion to lesbian encounters, but is still compliant
and skilled at them. Well, we all know that you protest the lesbian portion of
your weekly quota. As to your skills there, reports vary -- but given who the
guest is, I suggest that you put in the same kind of enthusiasm as you do with
your other oral duties."
"Um, who's the guest, Sir?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back to his desk, sat back in
his chair with his legs alongside it, knees open. "There is a possibility that
this guest may require your services for the evening, so then there is the one
male portion of your Monday quota to consider. I suppose that I should take care
of that, right now."
I understood, and crawled around his desk, to unbutton his trousers. I'm trained
to undo the zipper with my teeth, so my face was pressed to his throbbing
erection, all the way down. A quick downward slide of his pants and undershorts,
and the object of my attentions was freed.
I began with the subtleties, some breaths and licks, a couple of kisses and then
some intricate tonguing up and down the length of it. I was reverent and hungry
at the same time. After a bit of worship, I opened wide and took it in.
I always hate going down on Sternson. His member is massive, making my jaw ache
from the girth. However stiff I can keep my upper lip, there's always a risk of
scraping with my teeth. Whenever I get too close, I have to resort to giving
little love nibbles, as though I'd meant for the teeth to touch. Even worse,
deep-throating is difficult, as it reaches far past the back of my throat. Good
breath control is absolutely necessary.
I made sure to generate the required humming and wet sucking sounds for him, as
well. If I moan from deep enough within my throat, he can feel the vibrations in
my lips.
He got closer to the end and the salty taste became thicker until finally he
knotted his fingers in my hair and thrust into my mouth several times. All I
could do was breathe on the withdrawals and suck hard as he rode my tongue. And
swallow. Lots of swallowing.
When it was finally over, I looked up to him from on my knees, sticky cum
trickling down my chin. Oral sex is such a submissive act. But there was one
final gesture needed: "Thank you, Sir," I complied.
"You'd better clean yourself up," he stated.
"Yes Sir," I replied, still trying to swallow down all the taste of him. Then, I
paused as I stood to leave. "I still don't know what this meeting is, Sir."
"The top brass upstairs have come to an agreement on a cross-promotions
contract, and have handed it to us to negotiate the details."
"Oh." Still not enlightened, I went back, wiped up, sorted the things in the
office that I probably wouldn't get to that day, went to the restroom to brush
my teeth and change into my attendant's uniform, and then reported to the
boardroom.
Nicole and Desiree were already kneeling inside the doorway when I arrived. I
took my place beside them.
"You mean they're actually going through with it?" Desiree whispered to Nicole
excitedly.
"Well, I don't know if they're actually going to be permanent devices, or what,
but yeah. I mean, this is history in the making," Nikki bubbled.
"What?" I was hoping it would be a clue about the morning events.
"The Diva Dolls. The pop singers. They're making a deal with the company to
promote our devices. Just a minute ago, Cindy heard a rumor that one of the
girls would be sitting in on this meeting. And I'm guessing that's why you're
here, Jazz."
I blushed. I was never a lesbian, and it still caused me considerable
embarassment when people knew that I had to service women as one of my
Chasti-Permalock device's requirements.
"I guess that mouth of yours is multi-talented, isn't it, Jazz?" Nicole quipped.
"Winston said that was the one thing that kept them from volunteering her for a
pussyface," Desiree added.
"Quit it!" I growled. I wasn't going to take that from them. Not here in the
boardroom, and, uh... well, on my knees... wearing my attendant uniform....
The attendant's uniform is a fairly simple ensemble, consisting of 3/4-length
silk gloves, ankle boots with 6" heels, a boned satin corset, a choker, a jacket
which was bolero-cut in front and tuxedo-tailed in back, and a bellhop's hat,
all in royal purple with gold trimmings. Our breasts and vaginal devices were
left exposed.
They didn't have an opportunity to continue with their taunts. Members and
guests began filing in for the meeting -- at first an occasional one or two, and
then a steady stream of people until there were about twenty. Some were
executives who I'd recognized, others were music industry folk -- agents,
managers, legal consultants. As each entered, we dutifully dealt a welcoming
kiss to the swelling crotch of each one, except for the stenographer and
security people (any time there were guests, they were always accompanied by
security). When paying my homage to one of the guests, he patted my head, turned
to one of my colleagues and quipped, "this has got to be a wonderfully sexy
place to work...."
And then, she was standing in the doorway, waiting for everyone's adulation as
she entered.
I didn't know much about the Diva Dolls, aside from the fact that they were five
women who were all image and no substance that the recording industry packaged
with lame pop music and sold to the public. They all had tacky stage names
(SweetHeart, LeatherEtte, PsycheDelia...), and were similar to other pop tart
groups that I'm vaguely familiar with from the past eighty years -- the Tricks,
the Go-gos, Tantala, the Spice Girls... although I couldn't name anything
they've ever recorded. But this one, she was known to the public by the hokey
name "Black Beauty," and was rumored to be a disagreeable sort. Certainly, she
wasn't without her own set of controversies, even just a year and a half into
her stardom.
She seemed a little startled when Nicole leaned forward to place her kiss, but
then when her manager nodded and swept his hand toward Desiree in an invitation
to proceed down the queue, she caught on and laughed uproariously.
When she arrived to stand before me, I knew that I had to make my kiss a little
hotter, a little more exciting, so I buried myself into the fabric of her skirt
until I felt my lips press against her pubic mound. My kiss was flaming and
passionate on her, and ended with a lick of the cloth that seperated me from her
labia.
"Ooh." She suddenly beamed, a sparkle appearing in her eyes. She ran her hand
through my hair as though petting a dog. "Is this one 'Jazz'?"
I don't know if it's the way I shrunk away from her slightly or the fact that my
face turned red, but I involuntarily answered her question for her. "She should
crawl over to my chair and wait by my side," she stated, grinning wryly.
They exchanged greetings and took their seats, and as the attendant girls rose
to take their positions on opposite sides of the room, I found myself on hands
and knees, taking my place beside her feet.
She looked down to me and whispered: "I'm Brandy. But you are to call me
'Mistress'."
"Yes, Mistress," I blushed. She patted me on the head and then turned back to
the proceedings.
The morning passed with discussions of sponsorships and public appearances.
Chasti-Permalock was going to kick in 40 million dollars into their tour and
album marketing campaign, and all five pop tarts were going to do television
advertisements, as well as hyping the products in the cosmetics magazines and
participating in a 5-way nude-except-for-devices Playboy photo shoot (the
magazine had already agreed to it and one of the representatives was present at
the meeting). Brandy had agreed to flash her device at the upcoming Grammy
Awards ceremony as the first public acknowledgement that they were wearing the
appliances, but with the understanding that if there was a public backlash,
she'd pretend it was an accident.
More money was being discussed and traded than I could ever fathom. There were
other surprises, too. Such as the fact that the Diva Doll known as 'LeatherEtte"
was still a virgin and already wore chastity belts (apparently, it was an
inquiry on her behalf that led to the deal being discussed, although it also
sounded as though it was not her own preference to live a life of chastity). Or
that Chasti-Permalock had been silent financiers for the girls for some time and
that there had been a recent humbling break arranged by C-P for all the girls
after their last tour, the nature of which I couldn't determine.
It didn't matter. My role was to attend to Brandy's every need, and from the
moment that she poked her foot under my nose, I was oblivious to everything but
attending to her feet and legs. I polished her shoe leather with my tongue,
shining it, poking into the open top to slip a little between her big and second
toes. I did circles around her anklebones and loving strides up her calves, with
a little play in the valleys behind her knees. It's amazing the things you never
think about: how the idea of foot fetish always seems so creepy until you're
actually there, lavishing attention on someone, realizing you're actually
enjoying the playful indulgence.
Well, there is the sweat. Brandy slipped her shoe off, and suddenly I was
kissing the soles, her sweat filling and overwhelming my senses. Of course, her
feet didn't necessarily stink, relatively speaking, but it was still an
overriding scent.
Like this, I was able to play with her toes. She was wearing nylons, but of thin
enough guage as to still be quite pliable and unobstructive. I slipped my tongue
between each of her toes, tasted the salty crevices there and slid on, coming to
suck on her big toe symbolically. She seemed to rise to attention at that, so I
know it struck a positive chord of some sort in her.
I had been gradually moving around her chair until I was under the table, facing
her legs. It felt as fulfilling as ever being on my knees before "Black Beauty,"
regardless of her stardom, but also because of it. There's something about being
on my knees that is rewarding and enchanting. Of course, as a mouth girl, most
of my sex is experienced on my knees. Maybe it's the submissive in me: kneeling,
I feel that I belong.
I was working my way up the insides of her thighs, now, teasing around her
kneecaps and trailing up toward her delta. I felt her skirt wrinkle upon my nose
from my ascent, and then felt her hand upon my head.
"Easy, girl. Not here. We're just about to wrap it up."
And with that, I nestled into her thighs, nuzzling the skin and administering an
occasional lick. I slipped my nose a little under her skirt to sniff her heat, a
kind of light musk. I don't know if there's something biological, or what, but
there's always seemed to be a tinge of burnt leather in the African smell, an
awe-inspiring thick, primal lust.
Contemplating such things made me feel like a dog in heat. Such animalistic
urges inspired by smells. And yet we go years without paying any conscious
attention to how important that sense really is.
The meeting broke, and everyone pulled away in a cacophony. I was rewarded with
a few amused glances when I crawled out from under the table alongside Brandy's
chair. My cheeks burned hotly.
The activity of the next few moments passed quickly and with enough confusion
that I couldn't take it all in. I recall that Brandy had determined that I
should remain on my knees and crawl alongside her out to her waiting limo for
the festivities being provided for her the rest of that evening. Someone in
management suggested that if I was to crawl through the lobby downstairs still
clad in my attendant's uniform, I should have some pasties to cover my nipples.
Most of the other activity surrounded meeting agendas, with most talk focusing
on the fact that Chasti-Permalock was to provide a woman kitted up per Brandy's
specifications for their next video and tour -- she would get back to them as to
what those specifications would be. Not long after I was following at heel
behind Brandy, on a leash and collar that had materialized in someone's hand.
Through the lobby, this caused quite a stir. Brandy's stardom instantly drew the
attention, and my visible status only caused even more speculation. We went to
the security exit, and I had to kneel back on my haunches for the guard to scan
my bar code to sign me out. I went to reach up for the release form to exit the
premises...
... but he had handed it to Brandy to sign. She was the one borrowing company
property, today.
There wasn't enough time to think about it. We slipped into the limo quickly,
and were away.
"Don't you worry about what the media's going to make over that show?" I
inquired.
"Ah, don't you worry about that. If it gets people talking, it's good press."
(And indeed, within days, the tabloids were filled with photos of the lobby
passage, along with stories that claimed that I was Brandy's love slave, that
she had a bevy of twenty sex prisoners, that she (*gasp*) MAY be a lesbian, that
she dumped her last boyfriend for a dog.... I myself received several requests
for subsequent interviews, but as Chasti-Permalock management had previously
assured Brandy, my confidentiality agreement prevented me from discussing
anything I did for the company's sake)
I was taken to an estate on the city limits, one of the "vacation homes" that
the Diva Dolls used. Most of the Dolls were away, Brandy had said, but Britt
might stop through on occasion.
We entered, Brandy sent her attendants on their way, and then she took me to a
large sitting room. She slipped the leash I wore between her legs and drew it up
her back, the effect pulling me in between her legs until her skirt wrinkled and
folded upon itself along my nose up to my lower eyelids, and my nose and mouth
nestled into what I discovered was a very wet cunt.
"Just so we have an understanding," she spoke, sternly, "THIS is what you are
here to worship." I felt a trickle of moisture dribble onto my cheek. "You will
keep your lips within kissing distance of my womanhood at all times, unless I
make a special exception for one reason or another. If we have a conversation, I
want to feel your hot breath on me, and look down at your eyes peering through
my fur. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress," I answered instinctively.
The use of the word "Mistress" brought a smile to her face. "I see you are
already familiar with rule number two. In any case, I'm not in the mood for
discussion, right now. I plan to ride your face. You'll probably have very
little to do during this, aside from trying to keep your breaths. After, we can
talk and then a little more subtle loving. Got it?"
"Yes, Mistr--"
That was as far as I got. Instantly, her hands were behind my head, her thighs
squeezed around me, and her hips thrusting, as she humped my face. "You should
also know," I could barely hear her, "that I ejaculate a fair bit when I cum.
I'm a gusher. You're going to get fairly wet."
Up and down, chin to forehead and back, she slid frantically, juicing over me
completely. Her wetness trickled down my neck and she hadn't even orgasmed, yet.
But when she did orgasm, it was spectacular. I was thoroughly baptized in her
thick musky smell, and I was sure that I would be smelling it on me for days to
come. She had marked her property.
It was over in a flurry. She had evidently been in a state of need for some
time. She collapsed to the floor, and I with her.
"That was beautiful, Jazz. Thank you. I SO needed someone to take the edge of
that hunger. The rest of the evening will be great, but I need to rest."
I wanted to wipe my face. But she stopped me. "No, our agreement is that your
mouth remains at my pussy. You can do whatever you need to from down there."
We rested a minute. Then, out of curiosity, I asked, "in your agreement with
Chasti-Permalock, what device did you agree to wear? If you're this hungry, I
can't imagine you'd want a vaginal device, or at least not a permanent one."
"As a matter of fact," I AM getting a permanent vaginal device. No punishment
features, just some intermittent buzzing to keep me a little excited."
"But aren't you going to miss cumming?"
"Chasti-Permalock has been fostering our careers for several years. We had been
signing contracts without knowing how much we were signing over to the company.
The discussions we've been having are actually not necessary -- they could force
us to do promotions for them. But they'd rather that we participate willingly
and with a little enthusiasm, so they're doing it as a mutual business move."
"But Chasti-Permalock has some riders that dictate the next twenty years of my
life. You see, we were all just on seperate retreats following our last tour,
ostensibly to teach us a little humility. I spent mine sharing a prison cell
with an old, stinky, fat fart. They promised me that when my career is over, I'm
going to live out the rest of my contract -- up to the twenty years -- servicing
such perverts."
"I'm primarily lesbian. I'd rather wear a Chasti-Permalock device, be free from
getting used there by these men, and become immortal enough to still have my
youth and beauty after my contract is up, instead of endure it all and have my
life gone by. Once our career is on the skids, I don't look forward to what's
beyond."
"And what's the half-life of a pop group like ours? Especially a group of girls
who don't particularily like each other. Three albums before the one that bombs?
Our second didn't do so great, and I'm not impressed by the ones they gave us to
record this time around. At least solo singers can 'reinvent themselves' by
changing their wardrobe a little and doing a Playboy shoot or a classy movie."
"What about going solo?" I asked.
"I tried to get a deal struck. They all want Britt to be the one to go solo.
Britt. Got the brains of a half-baked poodle. She'd stick a live grenade in her
twat and pull out the pin if someone convinced her it would be fun. You can
start licking my twat again, Jazz. Slowly."
I complied. "That's probably why they want Britt. Easy to manipulate. They hate
it when we've got independent thought."
"You don't like your band-mates much, do you?" I noted, my tongue darting back
to its work immediately after speaking. I was ministering mostly to the outside
of her cunt, right now, straying as far away as the cracks where her thighs meet
her crotch -- and the wonderfully intense tendons at that juncture which
transmit everything to the clit on a lower level... perfect for recharging one's
erotic batteries.
"You don't have to live with them on the road," Brandy laughed. "Christ. Britt's
giggling gets on my nerves after awhile. And Andi -- "SweetHeart" to you -- is
so pumped on her own ego that her breasts are going to pop. She's convinced
she's the only one in the band with talent, and she's going to be the next
Madonna, or the next Caledonia Cross. Feh. The worst of them, though, is
PsycheDelia. She's actually a nice kid, but all that coke she uses is going to
burn right through her brain and into her ass. Which is not a large distance,
considering where they're positioned. She truly IS PsycheDelia. We had that name
for her long before we all had the current image."
"That's how it all started, you know. The execs caught on that we were calling
her that, and came up with tart names for all of us, complete with trashy go-go
mini outfits. Then, everyone gets flashy multicolor, and I got stuck with drab,
lame-ass white. Fuckin' white. Everything in music is about black music in white
trappings. All the hyped superstars over the past hundred years were white folks
made to sound black. Mariah Carey, Gillene Thomas Hawkins, Rick Astley, Enienna
Ridge, JGK, Elvis Presley...."
"I don't know who these people are," I come up for air.
She patted my head. "That's okay, dear. Just keep licking. Me, I got a whole
century of useless music trivia stored in my head. That's why they find me so
threatening."
She started drifting, lost in thought. "A whole century. I wonder what the next
century's going to hold, anyway. Now that I'm going to get to see it, that is.
That's what's neat about the Chasti-Permalock stuff. You trade the ability to
reproduce -- which is fine, because we're overpopulated as it is -- but you get
to live practically forever."
"Maybe the future will be like that wacky story about that guy claiming to be
from the year 2186 and that mankind had rebelled against some evil conglomerate
and your company -- yeah, your company -- was at the center of it. Did you hear
about that? Probably laughed in the boardrooms all day. Yeah, and apparently all
bio-enhanced people were turned into slave commodities, with laws only
recognizing true humans and granting rights to only them, but that the people in
charge were really secretly bio-enhanced too... I mean, where did he come up
with all this bullshit?"
"There's more immediate worries, I suppose," she pointed out. "There's enough
growing protest over Chasti-Permalock that our promo could backfire. They say
we're giving up our humanity."
"Personally, I'd rather be alive in another two hundred years with a few added
features than dead in thirty."
I was picking up the pace a little by this point, and she was melting into the
ministrations. Even her speech seemed to be drifting off. That is, until Britt
skipped into the room.
"Oh! Sorry, Brandy!"
"Could you leave us alone awhile, kid?" Brandy called back to her. "I'm gonna be
teaching my little puppy here some tricks, and I'd like some quiet."
"Puppy?" She giggled. "She doesn't LOOK like a puppy!"
"You know what I mean."
Britt just started chuckling, though. "Hold on. I've got just the thing. It'll
stretch and fit, I'm sure. I think I left it here, a few months ago."
"What are you talking about, girl?" But Britt was already dancing up the stairs.
I started back to my duties, but no sooner did the sound of her galloping
disappear, and it started a resurgence all the way down the staircase.
"Brandy, this is SO cool! You've got to try this!" She was carrying a box, the
lid already half off, and some latex fabric spilled over the edge.
"Britt, not now. I mean it...."
"No, this is serious. I wore this for Adrian, one night, and this suit is so
cool. You should put your puppy in it. She'll be a REAL puppy, then." She was
giggling incessantly. Brandy was getting annoyed, and I could tell from the
tension in her thighs that the mood was gone, so I relented from my attempts to
keep her relaxed, and simply kept my face over her crotch to protect her
dignity. Brandy was edgy. I, however, wasn't quite so at home with the idea of
being subjected to the unexpected.
"Look!" she beamed. "It's got little mitts that look like doggie fingers, and
everything. And this mask, it's got flopsy ears, but leaves her mouth open for,
well, what she's doing right now, I suppose.... Plus, it's got openings for her
breasts and, well, I guess she doesn't need the crotch opening. But look at this
tail!" It's great! You squeeze it, and it's all springy! When she crawls, she'll
be wagging her tail. That is, if you can take that other plug out of her ass.
Otherwise, she can't use the tail."
"Let me get this straight, Britt. YOU wore THIS for our ROAD MANAGER?!?"
"He heh he... Well, you know... we were just playing...."
"Here. Let me see those mitts."
Britt passed the box to Brandy, and she rifled through it for a few moments. I
was getting a little more worried, at this point. I wasn't sure I liked this
idea.
And then, she looked down at me with that lush sparkle in her eye that she had
this morning when we met for the first time. And a diabolical grin....
___________________
Morning rose, and by ten to seven, the main-floor lobby of the Chasti-Permalock
building is already quite active. This morning, everyone present received a bit
more entertainment than they had bargained for.
"Black Beauty," the Diva Doll that everyone had seen leaving the building with a
woman on leash in tow, had returned to turn a pet over to the security people.
They scanned my bar code, and she signed the goods return form, turning me over
to a guard.
I was dressed head-to-toe in tight-fitting black rubber with holes exposing my
tits and plugged crotch, my hands sealed in confining mittens shaped to look
like paws, and my legs folded over and restricted so that my ankles were pressed
to my ass. I could only walk on hands and knees.
A collar sealed over the openings of my suit and my doggie mask, presenting a
seamless appearance. The mask was fairly insidious, with attached dog ears and
it actually covered my eyes, but was thinner at the eye sockets, so that I could
see through to a limited extent. There was a dog snout that extended out a
slight inch or so at my nose. From the upper lip to chin, though, I was open for
use.
There were also two little ringing bells attached by clips to my nipples to
attract attention to me, and I carried the tail plug that I was unable to wear
between my teeth like a bone.
Brandy handed my leash over to one of the guards. "You'll have to lead her to
her office, because I'm sure that she's not going to be able to get there on her
own." Then, she crouched down and patted me on the head. "Take care sweet little
bitch. I hope you get to lick me again before I get my appliances."
And then she turned and left.
Quickly, we did the retinal scan, and then obediently, I followed the guard on
up to the sixth floor.
Cindy wasn't at the desk. Instead, there was a new girl. The guard noted this
and asked about her.
"Oh, Cindy's been transferred. I'm Marla. And this must be Jazz. Jasmine, Mr.
Sternson wants to see you first thing."
The guard reliquished my leash to her, and I was led to Big Brother Sternson's
office.
He greeted me with a smile. "Well. I see you've had quite the night. What's that
you've got in your mouth?"
He took the damned thing, and I was finally able to suck back the drool I'd been
trailing, and then speak: "I don't know why they wanted me to bring the tail. I
can't wear it, anyway."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm sure we could work it into a systems upgrade.
It'd be a little more of an overhaul than usual, but..."
"Excuse my bluntness, Sir, but can I get out of this thing? I've got lots of
work on my agenda, this week."
"Well," he answered, "you don't have quite so much anymore. There's been a
change of plans. You see, part of our deal with the Diva Dolls was to provide a
woman in Chasti-Permalock gear to their specifications. And Brandy's been
particularily impressed with you. So you're going to be reassigned. As their
mascot for the next little while."
"Mascot, Sir?"
"Well, yes. They want you exactly as you are now. Plus the tail. Only, in
something a little more... permanent. Chasti-Permalock -style."
My heart leapt up into my throat, and a few tears sprang to my eyes. "But..."
"You remember company policy, don't you? You agreed to it when you were hired
on. You'll wear what we assign and be transferred where we see fit. And after
you've done your tenure as the Diva Dolls' mascot, you can be our mascot here,
at Chasti-Permalock. We'll reprogram your quotas so that both male and female
sexual fluids count at all times, but you will need three feedings a day."
"But I don't want to be a dog!" I protested. "Can't someone else...?"
"Absolutely not. Brandy was quite specific. You did too good a job pleasing her,
pet. She's determined to get you, and you only. And we've initiated a legal name
change on your behalf, too. you're just going to have a single name, from now
on, no surname." He opened a cupboard door and turned a floor-to-top mirror
mounted on the door so that I saw myself in it. "'Jasmine' isn't here anymore.
Jazz, meet 'Muffy'. You'd better make the most of the next three days, because
that's how long Tech Services says they're going to need to get your suit
ready...."
