Roberta's Sunday

“Robert, would you come into my office, please?” asked Mr. Jones. Robert jumped up and followed his boss into his corner office. Mr. Jones was a pretty good guy to work for, so Robert didn’t understand the serious undertone in his voice.

When they were seated on opposite sides of his desk, Mr. Jones threw a newspaper in front of Robert. “Is this story about you?” he asked. The paper was folded open to a story about a young man who had testified in an assault case—while dressed as a woman.

Robert’s heart stopped. He considered lying. Then he said, “Yes, sir, it is about me.” He went on to explain how he’d been out walking as ‘Roberta’, when he’d witnessed the assault. The attorney for the attacker had tried to discredit him by making a big deal about how he’d been dressed. He had neatly derailed the attack by returning to court in a dress, wig and high heels, demonstrating that he wasn’t embarrassed by being seen in women’s clothing. The man had been convicted.

Mr. Jones grunted. Robert’s heart sank. Was he fired? “While this kind of activity can’t be officially—condoned, I do think that what you did took courage. I wanted you to know that I knew, and that no repercussions will come from anyone in this office. If someone does say anything, you may tell me and I will deal with it.”

Wow. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re a good man, Robert. Now—while we should not encourage this kind of thing, er, “—what was the trouble, he wondered? – “I find myself in need of a secretary this Sunday afternoon. If you like, your, shall we say, ‘alter ego’ could come to this office and assist me for the afternoon.” It dawned on Robert that Mr. Jones was offering him the chance to come out as Roberta, working and interacting with him as a female secretary! Before he could think it through, he said, “Yes, I’m sure she would.”

“Very good,” said Mr. Jones with an honest smile. “I’ll stop by your place just after noon Sunday, so that she doesn’t have to ride the ‘bus. See you—er, her, then!”

“I must say, Ms. Roberta—you are quite an attractive woman,” said Mr. Jones. Roberta was wearing her secretary outfit: white blouse, black skirt, patent pumps. She had been extra-careful with her makeup, and had even painted her nails. Now she smiled at the complement, not wishing to speak as her voice was the least feminine thing about her.

They parked in the underground garage at the Jones company offices. Roberta loved the way her high heels echoed off the concrete as they walked to the elevator. The offices were familiar, yet different, as she entered not as Robert, but Roberta. It was an interesting difference.

She had thought that she might just be a decorative accessory while the boss dithered around pretending to work were quickly deleted. “Roberta—get me the files pertaining to sales in the last three years. Take this memo, type it up, make 30 copies, and distribute them. Look up this information. Fetch me the book that covers this size of fitting….” Roberta had to hustle to keep up. She wished briefly that she’d worn lower heels.

There were a couple of times when Mr. Jones didn’t seem so work oriented. “Roberta,” he ordered, “Get the first file out of the bottom drawer of that credenza.” Roberta had bent ‘way over to open the drawer, giving him a fine view of her ass and long legs. She took rather longer to find the file than necessary. “It’s the coffee consumption file, “she reported.

“All right,” he grunted, “Put it back—exactly where you got it,” he said. This took a long time to get exactly right. When she closed the drawer, she unnecessarily straightened her stocking, running her hand lovingly up to her thigh before letting her skirt fall back into place.

Then, later: ”Roberta: Fetch me a new pencil. Place it exactly in the center of my blotter, please.” She did so, bending ‘way over to put it where directed, giving him a look down the front of her blouse to her black bra. She smiled at him. He prised his eyes away and smiled back. “Ms. Roberta?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you like me to chase you around my desk?”

“I doubt you could catch me, sir.”

“Oh, I think I could while you’re wearing those heels,” he said. She stood up, then crouched slightly. He faked left, thten went right. She wasn’t fooled, and broke around the desk. He lunged. She squealed, evading his grasp. They went around the other way, she laughing, he chortling. Then, just as he got one hand around her waist—

“WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?” said an imperious voice. She slammed into his embrace. They both looked at the door. Standing there was a mature woman, grey-blonde hair impeccably coiffed, wearing a fur coat and gloves. She stalked across the room on spike-heeled boots. “Alan,” she ordered, “Let that little trollop go—At Once!”

“Yes, Dear,” he said meekly. Roberta realized that this must be Mrs. Jones! What would she think?

“You,” she said, looking Roberta up and down, “you must be that little femme fatale that my Alan has been talking about!” Roberta opened her mouth, but she was too confused / scared to say anything. “Oh, do close your mouth, dear,” said the woman. She turned to Mr. Jones. “Alan, when I return, I want you on your knees, completely undressed. You” pointing at Roberta--”Come with me!” She stalked off out of the office. Stunned, Roberta followed her.

The two crossed the office to the ladies room. Roberta hesitated. “Do come along, dear,” said Mrs. Jones. “This is where all the girls talk without men around, didn't you know?” Their heels echoed off the tiles. Mrs. Jones turned to the mirror and began touching up her makeup, while talking to Roberta.

“My husband really did tell me about you“, she said. “Although not the parts about disrupting the office, obviously. We both think you are a brave—girl, and wanted to do something nice for you. We’re pretty familiar with the sort of kink you like, and we were certain you would appreciate some acceptance and help. It was my idea that Alan have you in as his secretary today. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Roberta.

“Wonderful,” replied the older woman with a smile. “Now, Alan and I like to occasionally fool around in the office on Sundays. Would you like to play my second in command?”

“Uh—no. I don't think I could. Besides, I’d like to keep this job, and I don’t think I’d be allowed to if I saw the boss naked and humiliated.”

“Very true. I could send you home in a cab. Or, if you'd like, you can do some work while you wait.”

“I don’t mind waiting, as long as I don’t have to watch.”

The older woman smiled at Roberta in the mirror. “Really? I think you might learn some—things. But that’s all right.” Their makeup now perfect, the two women left the ladies lounge. Mrs. Jones led Roberta out into the office space. “Which is your desk, dear?” she asked. Roberta led her to Robert’s cubicle.

“Yes. If you’ll stay around here, we’ll have our fun, then take you home. Is that all right?” Roberta said it was. Mrs. Jones nodded, then walked back towards her husband’s office. Roberta did get a brief glimpse of Mr. Jones, totally naked, kneeling in the middle of the floor, head down, before Mrs. Jones closed the office door.

Some time passed. Roberta did everything on her desk, and some other things besides. She heard the occasional muffled bit of conversation, and occasionally what she thought were whip strikes and yelps. At one point she took a brief stroll around the office, reveling in dressed as an office girl.

She was beginning to wonder what to do next when the office door opened. “Roberta, would you come in, please?” said Mr. Jones.

When Roberta entered the office, she found Mr. Jones leisurely tying his tie. His wife was on her knees. Her hair was mussed, one breast was exposed by her disheveled lingerie, and her hands were tied behind her back. She glared at Roberta.

“Have you ever worn a fur coat, Roberta?” asked Mr. Jones. He draped his wife’s coat over Roberta’s shoulders. She pulled the coat around herself, rubbing her cheek against the soft fur.

“That coat calls for diamonds. Here—put these on.” He went to his wife and jerked her glittery earclips off. Roberta put them on.

“There – now you look like the expensive mistress of a well-off businessman. Doesn’t she, dear?”

“You little slut!” snarled Mrs. Jones at Roberta. “This is your doing! I’ll get you for this!” The nasty words were much-mitigated by the smile and wink she gave Roberta.

“Here—she deserves to be gagged for that kind of language,” said Mr. Jones. He gave Roberts a red rubber ball on a strap, which she tied through the other woman’s mouth. “Now drape her coat over her shoulders and button it up,” said Mr. Jones. Roberta helped the bound woman to her feet, and did so.

“Take this piece of tail down to the car and put it into the backseat.” Roberta attempted to guide Mrs. Jones out the door, but the other woman put up a bit of a fuss—twisting her body away, digging in her heels, making grunts of protest through her gag – but went along none the less.

Their high heels echoed through the parking garage as Roberta took Mrs. Jones to Mr. Jones’ big black car. She opened the back door and helped the other woman into the seat. She fastened the seat belt, then tied her booted ankles together with the rope that lay in the footwell. Mr. Jones got in the other side as she finished.

“Very good, Roberta. Drive us home, please. And adjust the mirrors so that you cannot see into the back.” Roberta headed out. The car was bigger than she was used to, but Sunday traffic was light. The occasional gag-muffled moan of sensuous pleasure coming from behind her was distracting, also.

Shortly she parked in the driveway of the Jones’ suburban mansion. “Would you like to come in and see the dungeon?” asked Mr. Jones with a twinkle in his eye as he undid most of his wife’s restraints. “No? Well, take this car home, then. Bring it to the office Monday. Thank you for your help today, Roberta.”

“No, Sir! Thank You!” replied Roberta.

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25.11.13