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The Women's Job - Part Time Job - Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-01-04 13:38:03 +0000 UTCWe went inside, and over to one of the bars to get a drink.
Before I could ask for a beer, Marcie ordered two strawberry daiquiris for us.
I sipped the sweet sourness of the drink, and said, "This is awful! I'd rather have a beer."
She laughed, and said, "Sure, and slug it out of the bottle like you usually do?
Try to remember, you're a lady, and you have to act like one."
I smiled sheepishly at her, acknowledging that she was right, and we began to circulate. It seemed that our exotic costumes were attracting a lot of attention, and we were almost immediately surrounded by a group of men.
The contrast of my elaborately gowned body with Marcie's obviously near-naked one had the guys in a state of heat. They were performing the mating-dance ritual, competing with one another for our attention.
"That gown certainly shows off your figure," one of the would-be Lotharios said to me. "Thank you, so much, kind sir," I simpered, laughing to myself at the one part of my "figure" that would knock him for a loop if he saw it. Music was playing in the background, and he asked me if I would like to dance. He was a pretty good-looking guy, dressed in a vampire costume, but I begged off with a "Not right now, thank you".
I really wasn't all so sure of myself in heels that I was ready to try to dance in them! Marcie decided that we should break up this little group, and asked me if I wanted to "powder my nose". I took the hint, and we walked over toward the lady's room. Suddenly, it hit me - the lady's room. That was definitely unexplored territory as far as I was concerned, and I said that to her. "Don't be silly, no one will know those guys certainly had no clue about you."
There were only a few women in the room, and I immediately headed for a large stall designed for handicapped people.
It was large enough to accommodate a wheelchair, and I needed room for my gown. It still felt strange sitting down to pee, not to mention just trying to maneuver around my gown and petticoat so I could sit. I noticed that the whirlwind activity and conversation had taken my mind off how I was dressed, and my cock was still laying back limply; it seemed that I might be getting used to this a little bit.
I fixed myself up and joined Marcie in front of the makeup mirrors. She whispered that I could use a light dusting of powder and a reapplication of my lipstick. I managed the powder OK, and was very carefully applying the lipstick when another woman walked over and stood next to me.
"My goodness," she said to me, "isn't that costume killing you?"
"Oh, it's a little tight," I said, "but it really makes me feel so feminine!" I caught Marcie's eye in the mirror and saw her holding a giggle. "No doubt about that, dear," the woman said, "I saw all the Romeos around you two before. Say, wasn't that guy gorgeous, the one who's the vampire?"
Marcie took me off the hook and joined the conversation, "Yeah, he was really cute."
"I wonder how big he is," the woman responded, nearly knocking me over with her words. I had no idea that women's conversations about men were as graphic as men's were about women.
"Oh, I never worry about that," Marcie quipped, "it's not how big it is, it's what they can do with it, after all!" They dissolved in giggles, and I tried to recover and join in. The woman left, still laughing, and Marcie and I were alone for a moment. "I had no idea that you girls were that gross," I commented. "Well, don't you think it's fair?" she asked. "You guys talk about tits all the time, don't you?"
I had to admit that she was right, and we went back out to the party.
The next couple of hours passed in a blur as the party swirled around us, and then the crowd started to thin out a little. Then Marcie said, "Oh, oh, here's my boss, Mr. Samson," as a tall distinguished-looking guy walked over. "Seems like we should have come to the party together," he said to me after Marcie introduced us. "I hardly think so, suh," I said in my sweetest southern belle voice, "after all, you are a Yankee!" He had on a blue Civil War officer's uniform. "Well, I personally think that we should end the `War between the States'," he said, and before I could answer, he took my hand, kissed it, and led me over to the dance floor.
I didn't have much choice about it, and I almost gave it away by raising my left hand to lead. I covered up by Katting my hair and soon found myself twirling around the floor, following his lead. He asked me about myself as we danced, through the first song and into the second, and we chatted for a while. Finally, the song ended, and again kissing my hand, he led me back over to where Marcie was standing.
"I think your friend is absolutely charming, Marcie, I'm so glad she came with you tonight. And I'm holding you personally responsible for making sure she keeps our appointment."
He said goodnight and walked away. "You seemed deep in conversation, Donald, what was he saying? And what did he mean, appointment?"
"Marcie, you're not going to believe this, but we have a big problem. He was asking all about me, where I worked, where I'd gone to school, and when I told him I hadn't found a job yet, he insisted on making an appointment for an interview for next Friday.
I couldn't refuse him, since he's your boss. What a mess!" "Well, don't worry, we'll think of something, some excuse or something by then."
We decided to leave since the party was breaking up, and Marcie drove us home.
"I guess you realize that I won the bet," were the first words out of Marcie's mouth when we walked into the apartment, "nobody had a clue all night."
"I know, you're right," I said. "I didn't believe for a minute when I agreed to the bet that I'd ever be able to pull it off," I admitted, pulling her close to me in a hug, and kissing her, "but I did have a wonderful teacher."
She closed her eyes and kissed me back passionately, then murmured, "I love the taste of your lipstick."
We stood there kissing for a while, and then we moved toward the bedroom, arms around each other's waists.
"You're a beautiful Scarlett O'Hara," she said as we fell onto the bed together, "and I want you right now!" She lay me down on the pillows, and raised my skirt and petticoat, laying on top of me with the velvet and crinoline crushed between us.
We rubbed our bodies together for a while, and the sensations from the clothing and her body surged through me.
She lifted herself away and removed my bloomers and the sanitary napkin that was restraining me. My cock sprang to attention and she pulled off her dress and panties, leaving her wearing only thigh-high stockings and heels.
She moved back on top of me, and I spread my legs so that she could fit between them. My breath was coming in short gasps, from her weight on top of me, and from the tightly laced corset, and I stopped breathing entirely when her wet pussy devoured my erect cock.
I wrapped my stockinged legs tightly around her, and I could feel my high heels digging into her back. I had the sensation that the cock that joined us was hers, and I felt so very, very feminine as she pumped away on my womanly body.
A bolt of electricity surged through my body, starting at the groin, and exploding in my head as I had a magnificent orgasm, and she whispered, "Yes, yes, yes," and told me that she, too, had come.
We lay there for a while, just like that, as I didn't want to let her get out from between my tightly wrapped legs. Then she helped me up, and, with great reluctance, she began to get me undressed. She helped remove my makeup, and we crawled into bed together, naked, and made love again, this time less furiously, but rather with a deliberate slow sweetness.
As we lay there, drifting off to sleep, I almost started to mention the problem with Mr. Samson, but decided that I didn't want anything to spoil what had been a perfect night. The next morning we talked about how wonderful the party had been for a while, and then when I thought the moment was right, I brought it up.
We were sitting there in our own robes when I said, "Marcie, I really think that we've got a big problem here. Mr. Har- rison all but told me that he wanted to hire me, but he'll be really pissed off when he finds out that he was fooled and was dancing with a guy. He was being so gallant, kissing my hand and all, he'll go right through the roof.
Maybe I can cancel the appointment and say that I found something else."
"I don't know, Donald, that would sound fishy I think, since you told him that you've had no luck at all. He might get mad at me since he said I was personally responsible for delivering to you.
That's all we'd need, for me to get fired." I agreed since it was Marcie's earnings that were keeping us from being starving homeless people. We talked back and forth for a while, trying to figure some way out of the dilemma, when Marcie said, "This is hopeless. I can't figure out any way to solve this, unless..."
"Unless what, Marcie?"
"Unless you keep your appointment, silly."
"But I can't do that - I just know he'll be pissed off when I walk into his office in a suit," I said. "Not if it's a woman's suit," she replied. "Now wait just a second," I said, "I agreed to go to the party, that was one thing, but this is something else entirely. I'll never get away with it."
"Sure you will, he'll be expecting to see a woman, and that's what he'll see.
You can go in for the interview, and that will be the end of it. Simple, one hour and it'll get us off the hook."
We had our first argument about it, because I felt that it was much too risky if Mr. Samson would be pissed off to find out I was a guy, how pissed off would he be if he caught me trying to pass myself off as a woman when he was interviewing me?
Marcie believed that I could get away with it, but my confidence level wasn't anywhere close to that high. Finally, she used the ultimate female argument - she burst into tears, and what could I do but agree to try her plan?
"Listen," she said a while later, "we've got a few things going for us. First, your appointment is for first thing in the morning, so I'll be able to get you ready and go in with you. Second, he's not a real morning person, so he won't be as sharp as usual.
Third, we have another week to work on you. That's a big help. We'll have to get you an outfit to wear, but I can always give it to Patty as a Christmas present, so it won't really cost us much."
What she said seemed to make sense, so I told her that I guessed it would be OK, and that she should pick up the outfit for me.
"We can't do that," she said, "you'll have to try it on, to make sure it fits right and looks good. I can't be running back and forth to stores all week, there's too much else to do. We'll have to go shopping today, so you can try things on before we buy one."
Again I balked, arguing that I couldn't go shopping and try things on in stores. "Well, if you're going to pull this off," she countered, "you'd better be able to pass yourself off as a woman!
And remember, there's no Plan "B".
"So, about two hours later, I was nervously getting out of the car at a shopping mall, dressed in the pink and white shirtwaist dress I had worn the first time I'd dressed. Luckily it was a warm day, late Indian summer weather, and I didn't have to wear a coat, which I didn't have anyway.
I was wearing white undies and pantyhose, and when we got into the mall, I heard the clicking of our heels on the marble floor. This time, dressing hadn't excited me, because of the risk I was taking. Halloween was over, and if I were found out, I envisioned myself in jail or something for being in drag in a women's dressing room.
We went into a department store, and hurried past the cosmetics section, with the salespeople offering everything from samples of perfume to full demonstrations of cosmetics, into the women's department.
"First, you'll need your own undies," Marcie said, "because I'll have to return Patty's stuff within a couple of days."
She went through racks and racks of bras, panties, and other "unmentionables", selecting a few things for me to try on. "One good thing," she said, "is that we girls share dressing rooms all the time.
No one will think it unusual for the two of us to go inside one together. She picked out a few things in her size, and we went over to the dress department. "I think that a suit might be better than a dress," Marcie suggested, "because everything will go together, and you won't have to worry about something not fitting quite right, because they'll be separate."
She picked out a couple of suits and blouses, and we headed off to the dressing room.
My biggest fear, that the attendant would spot me, was allayed when I saw that she was only concerned with counting how many articles we were taking inside.
We went into the cubicle, passing women in various stages of undress, and closed the door. "I'll bet this is every guy's fantasy, seeing lots of women in their undies," Marcie whispered to me. "Well, it's certainly better than a sharp stick in the eye," I teased back, as I was undressing. She poked me in the ribs and said in a mock serious tone, "Just remember who brought you to the dance, buster!" I quickly stepped into the panties that she handed me, and tucked myself back.
She slipped the matching bra around me and fastened it, stuffing the extra panties that I was using into the cups.
She handed me a white half slip, and then a silky white blouse with a lacy rue around the neckline. I tried on the skirt from the first suit, then the one from the second. "No, these won't fit your waist properly," she said. We'll have to get something to pull it in. Wait here a second."
With that, she went out, and I never felt so alone in my life.
I was like a spy in enemy territory. She came back in just a minute or two with two things, a padded panty girdle and a waist cincher. She fastened the cincher around me, and the hook-and-eyes pulled my waist in. Then I put the panty girdle on, compressing my waist even more, but adding a little padding to my buns.
The skirts fit now, and I put on the jacket. "Well, I think either of these will do," she said, "which one do you like better?"
One of the suits was a navy blue, the other a nice green. "I think the green one," remembering how much I had loved the green velvet gown. "I agree, and besides, Patty already has a blue suit, so when we pass it along, she'd like the green one more."
I changed back into my own things, and we headed to the shoe department. I was again a little worried about being so close to someone, but Marcie reassured me, "Don't worry, if it's a guy, he'll be too busy concentrating on trying to look up your skirt."
It was a guy who helped me, and Marcie was right. I was almost tempted to let the loser look ALL the way under my skirt, but I restrained myself. I picked out a pair of green suede pumps with a 2" heel that went perfectly with the suit, and after we paid for everything, we hurried home.
The next week was another blur, and before I knew it, it was Thursday night. "We'd better get a few things done tonight, so we'll be OK in the morning. She glued extension tips to my own nails, saying that it was better not to have to worry about a stick-on nail coming off.
When she had all ten fingers done, I was amazed at how much more natural they felt. She manicured my nails then, shaping the extensions and applying a subdued medium red polish. I was surprised when she started putting polish on my toenails, and I said, "Why bother, he's not going to see them?"
"Trust me, you'll feel more feminine with them polished," and when she finished, I found that even this hidden sign of femininity did make me feel more girlish. I took a nice long bubble bath and shaved my legs and underarms. My face I would take care of in the morning.
When we went to bed, Marcie surprised me with a slinky black nightgown that I hadn't even seen her buy, and we slid into bed together, our silken-covered bodies sliding against each other as we made love.
I tried to be careful, but as I was getting ready to come, my long nails dug into her back. This seemed to excite her even more, and we lay there, out of breath, for a while until we fell asleep. The next morning was a panic, in retrospect, as two girls tried to get ready at the same time, but by the time we were ready to leave, I felt pretty confident that I was going to be able to pull my masquerade off.
I wished, though, that I could have been wearing heavier makeup, feeling somewhat naked and exposed with a natural daytime look, but Marcie patted my padded fanny and reassured me that I looked great.
The moment of truth arrived all too quickly, and Marcie brought me into Mr.Samson's office, whispered, "Good luck," and left, closing the door behind her. "Good to see you again, Donald, glad you could make it," he started. "Why don't you sit here on the couch, where you'll be comfortable?"
He proceeded to interview me, sitting next to me on the couch, and I noticed that he couldn't keep his eyes off me, focusing most often on my breasts and legs. I answered all his questions easily, having been on so many interviews already. "You know, Donald, I have to admit something.
I thought you looked wonderful at the party, and you look just as nice today."
"Well, thank you, Mr. Samson, it's very nice of you to say that," I replied. But the sleaze wasn't finished yet, he put his hand on my nylon-covered knee, and said, "I find you VERY attractive, and I'm sure we can find a job for you here."
His hand moved slowly up onto my thigh, under my skirt. The son-of-a-bitch was making a blatant pass at me and was about eight inches away from discovering my secret.
My first impulse was to haul off and belt him, but I controlled myself and stopped the upward movement of his hand. "Mr. Samson, I'm surprised at you, what kind of a girl do you think I am? I know you're married, Marcie told me so, and I wonder what your personnel people will think when I slap you with a sexual harassment lawsuit?"
He sat back in shock, realizing the position he was in. He stammered, trying to make excuses for what he had done, but I clearly wasn't buying it. "I just couldn't help myself, you were so beautiful in that gown, and your green suit reminded me of it,"
"Mr. Samson, you are in a world of trouble, now, because my next stop is my attorney's office!" He seemed to shrink inside himself, and he began to beg me to forgive him and to forget what had happened. Finally, he said, "Donald, please, I'll be ruined, isn't there anything I can do?"
I loved the position of power I was in, and I realized that women were not the weaker sex after all.
But I knew that with no witnesses to what he had done, I needed more leverage to take advantage of the situation. "You said that you definitely had a job for me here?"
"Ah, yes, of course," he answered. "And what might the salary for this job be?"
I inquired, adding, "Remember you did say anything, right?"
"Would er-ah $35, 000 be adequate, Donald? I'm sure we could go that high."
This weasel was offering me $7,000 more than he was paying Donald, to save his ass.
"Oh, that sounds very fair, Mr. Samson," I said, beginning to bait the trap. "You know," I continued, "I may have overreacted before, I'm sure you didn't mean anything nasty, did you?"
"Oh, no, of course not," falling deeper into it. "As a matter of fact," I said, tracing a line on his cheek with one of my long red-tipped nails, "I found you quite attractive as well. Maybe we can reenact the Civil War someday," I teased. Thump!
He fell all the way in. I moved my hand down from his face to his belt, and started to unbuckle it, saying, "Perhaps we should seal our agreement, don't you think?"
I almost felt sorry for him, but quickly got over it, as I unbuckled and unzipped his pants. He stood up, took off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants. "Can we sit in your desk chair," I asked, innocently, "I love positions of power."
He couldn't get there quickly enough, and I nestled on his lap, gazing up into his eyes.
I felt his hard-on pressing against my buns, and I wriggled around on it, driving him further to distraction. While he was lost in his fantasies, I reached over and picked up his phone. "Marcie, dear, could you come right into Mr. Samson's office, I need your help."
"W, what did you do that for," he cried, and he tried to get me off his lap. "No, Mr. Samson, you're not going anywhere," I said. And at that moment, Marcie came into the office, expecting the worst - that I had been found out. She burst out laughing when she saw the two of us, and quickly shut the door.
"Mr. Samson has made me a job offer, Marcie," I said, rising off his lap. "Stand up, you creep," I said to him. His hardon stuck out through the opening in his boxer shorts, but I could see it wilting away. "he offered me $35,000, isn't that wonderful?
I was going to accept, but then I thought, you know how we girls gossip, and I just knew that you"'d find out how much more I was making than you. That wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"No, I guess not, especially under these circumstances, sexual advances and all."
The poor bastard just stood there, realizing that we had him by the short and curlies. "What are you going to do?" he asked, very meekly, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
"Well, first of all, I think it would be only fair to give Marcie a raise, don't you?"
"Ah, yes, of course, immediately."
I handed him his phone, "OK, do what you have to do, right now."
He dialed personnel, and said into the phone, "This is Jim Samson. I need an immediate raise put through for Marcie Burns, to $35,000. Yes, I said immediately.
Another company is trying to recruit her, and we can't afford to lose her. And prepare a contract for my signature, three years for her - I want to lock her in now." He listened for a minute and said, "of course I want raises specified in the contract, ah, five thousand a year," glancing at Marcie, who nodded her agreement.
"Yes, five thousand a year. And I want that contract here on my desk within the hour."
Some big shot Vice President, ordering people around, while trying to retain his dignity in polka-dotted boxer shorts. "How about you, Donald," Marcie asked, "do you want to accept Mr. Samson's generous offer?" This was the question I had been dreading. We could obviously get almost anything we wanted, and I really wanted a job, but it was out of the question now for me to take it as a male.
We would lose all the leverage we had if my secret were exposed. But if I accepted it, I would have to dress as a woman all the time. My cock stirred inside my panties, and I knew in my heart of hearts that I would not stop dressing when I got home today anyway.
I loved being in frilly panties more than anything. "What do you think, Marcie, I think you have a great deal to say about this since we'll be working together."
That's what I said, but the hidden meaning to my question was clear - did she want, approve of, my continuing to dress as a woman?
"Why, Donald, dear, I think it would be wonderful, and exciting, to have you working here with us."
I could not have hoped for a more supportive, understanding answer.
I handed the phone back to Mr. Samson, and he instructed personnel to draw up a second contract for me, on the same terms. Marcie slipped out of the office, but quickly returned, carrying her large purse. "I think we've treated Mr. Samson so badly, Donald, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, playing along with her, but not knowing where this was going. Mr. Samson has a reputation for being a really hard-nosed businessman who always manages to come out on top. She pulled a Polaroid camera out of her bag, saying "We use this to take a quick look at ad layouts and things, but we have a better use for it now insurance. Take off your clothes, you worm," addressing Samson.
He started to protest, but Marcie cut him off, "If you don't do what I tell you to, I'll call your secretary in to see you in your funky boxer shorts.
And you know what a gossip she is it'll not only be all over the company in twenty minutes, your wife will know in ten!" He had no choice, so he silently stripped everything off and began to follow our instructions. "First of all," Marcie said, "you have to look like you're enjoying yourself. Rub that little cock of yours until it stands straight up."
Mortified, he began to stroke himself into an erection. We then began to pose him with each of us, first with his arm around our waists, then in progressively more humiliating poses.
We made him kneel down, and we took turns using his back as a footrest. Then we shot pictures of him licking our high heels, his erect cock in hand, showing how much he loved it. Finally, we bent him over his desk and whacked his ass with a ruler, until red welts showed up clearly all over.
"Play with yourself as I'm doing this, creep," Marcie ordered, "make yourself cum in your hand!" He did, blushing the deepest red I've ever seen anyone blush. "That's what you wanted, isn't it?"
I asked, and when he came in his hand, I continued, "You were probably hoping for a blowjob, to have me taste your filthy cum, rub it around on your lips for the final shot!" He groaned but complied, and Marcie snapped two pictures, one with the cum pooled in his hand, clearly having just shot his load, and the second as his hand moved to his mouth and rubbed. "You might as well lick it off and swallow it, you pig," Marcie laughingly ordered.
After his final humiliation, we told him to get dressed, while we waited for the contracts to be delivered. I spent the time planning the wardrobe I was going to buy, and all the wonderful things I would be able to wear.
He signed the contracts, and as I was ready to leave with our copies, I said to him, see you bright and early Monday morning, Mr. S!" "I think I'm feeling a little poorly, Mr. Samson, would you mind if I took the rest of the day off?"
Marcie said. He nodded his agreement weakly, and we walked out, arm in arm.
Well, this all happened three years ago, and to bring you up to date, we've both done wonderfully, both personally and at work. Mr. Samson, poor dear, left the company about six months later, and both Marcie and I have been promoted by our new boss.
We also got bonuses each year, and have been told that "old Samson really knew what he was doing when he hired you two."
I dress as a woman all the time now, and at Marcie's suggestion, I went on hormones for a while and had a breast implant operation done. But I have no plans to go any further, as Marcie still loves her girlfriend's hidden secret.
THE END.
Comments
Amanda
I was surprised by the ferocity of the treatment of Mr Sampson but it was obviously not his 1st time trying to make out . This has been an enjoyable story with a pleasing conclusion.β€οΈπββοΈ
