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                               (NC, M/F, F/F, BD)

      The following story contains adult material.  If below the age of 18, go
outside, get some fresh air and do something healthy (g).

      If you ARE 18, then you should know the following story is about a young
woman who is forced into non-consensual sex, public humiliation, and b&d, in
both m/f and f/f situations.  Both the characters and occurrences in this
fiction are completely fictitious.


                                  The Mortgage
                                  By Marlissa

                                   PART FOUR

      Hadn't he ever heard of feminism? "Be a doll and fetch me some coffee!'
he said, like she was some waitress. And he had said it in front of four other
bank executives too, two of them women! And the women had smirked too, which
hadn't totally surprised Amy. She was learning that the female executives at
the bank treated their own secretaries much worse than the males did.

      Amy had given him a small, angry smile and brought the coffee silently.
She had hoped he would say something later, maybe apologize. Instead he told
her to refill the cup, without even looking up from his papers. She popped a
piece of Sexy-licious in her mouth and began chewing. It calmed her right down
and she obediently filled the cup.

                                ****************

      The crack about her pantsuit just frosted her. It had come at the end of
the day, just as she was ready to leave. They were going over some tasks for
her tomorrow when he looked up and shook his head, with that utterly superior
attitude he was increasingly showing towards her.

      "Goodness, I didn't know secretaries still wore those things!" His
amusing patronizing tone aggravated her to no end!

      "Mr. Baines, many of the women who work here wear pantsuits. Why, Ms.
Jensen --"

      "Is an EXECUTIVE, my dear -- not a secretary. At her level, it may be
appropriate -- even though she has an attitude problem I'm not entirely happy
with. Far too assertive for her own good. But at YOUR level, well, a pantsuit
really isn't befitting a girl of your position." His slate eyes looked down at
her in an over-patient way, as if he was explaining something to a child.

      The next day, Amy gritted her teeth and wore a skirt.

                               ******************

      "So we're not wearing make-up today, Amy?" Mr. Baines scowled at her. She
sighed.

      "Yes, Sir, I am." Amy searched her brain. Of course she had put make-up
on -- not much because she didn't like a lot. But she WAS wearing make-up. It
upset her that Mr. Baines was mad at her. She was feeling a little ditzy and
very vulnerable, probably all the sugar in the gum. Lately she was feeling so
passive, so easily confused. Amy resolved to cut down on her newest bad habit
-- it was doing the strangest things to her.

      "You can hardly tell, young lady! Don't you think it's important for you
to look nice while you're working for me? Or does the job mean that little to
you?" he was demanded angrily.

      She twitched nervously. "Uh, no Sir, I mean, Yes Sir, I --" she groped
for the right words, all the time chewing her Sexylicious gum.

      He cut her off with a wave of a hand. "Just start wearing make-up in the
office from now on. Don't embarrass me in front of the rest of the executives
by coming in here with your face looking like you just got out of bed,
understand me?"

      She nodded, chewing faster. "Yes Sir!" She shook her head rapidly to show
just how well she understood. The next day, Amy's face was painted and made-up
as enticingly as any of the other secretaries -- the other single, young
unmarried secretaries, that is. It was just easier to get along, she told
herself. And Mr. Baines smiled widely at her, proving she had done the right
thing. Still, it bothered her. Just like the tickling in her sex now bothered
her. Was she horny? Amy blushed and shook off the thought at once, popping
another piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

                               ******************

      The final straw. That was it. She was still fuming, still completely
humiliated by it. By no longer surprised.

      She had just finishing watering the plants in his office when he had
returned from a planning meeting. He was pleased with this kind of initiative,
just as he was pleased with the other things he now had Amy doing for him --
picking up his dry cleaning on her lunch hour, sewing the occasional button
that popped of a shirt cuff, trotting down the post office for him, standing in
line at the Registry to renew his plates, and any other mindless chore he could
dump off on her.

      At least it had made things better. She no longer asked questions about
what she was doing, she just did, without comment, whatever she was told. He
was pleased with her new attitude. Watering his plants without being told to
was EXACTLY the kind of initiative he appreciated and he said so. She had
smiled demurely.

      "Thank you Sir. I'm trying to be the kind of secretary you want." THAT
seemed to go over very well, so well in fact that Baines had patted her ass as
she left his office.

      "Good girl, Amy. I KNEW this would work out after all."

      She had frozen, then kept walking out, without saying a word. She didn't
look behind her, keeping her dazed eyes focused on the path in front of her.
The nerve! That he would think he could touch her like that! She could still
feel his palm on her ass, the proprietary way he had patted her, like she was
some bar girl or something!

      As she walked home, Amy steamed. Bob Baines was a pig, an absolute pig.
How could she work for a guy like that? What was wrong with him? It dawned on
her that she longer wanted to be Baine's secretary. She would do something
else, maybe get a job waitressing, something. If only they weren't counting on
that money. And it would take time to get another job. Wendell wasn't having
any luck...

      That was when she saw the construction worker nailing the sign up next
door to her house. Her face went white.

      "NEW HOME OF THE BENTSON TOXIC WASTE TREATMENT CENTER"

      She raced into the house, slamming the door behind her. Wendell was
fixated on a teevee cartoon, his eyes half-opened. Empty beer cans littered the
room.

      "What the hell is going on next door? Did you see --"

      "Look at the mail," he answered flatly, pointed at the opened envelope on
the kitchen table.

      She picked up the envelope with the registered mail receipt glued to it,
pulled out the thick document inside. She began to read, her heart falling with
every paragraph. "As you may know," it began innocently enough, "the recent
establishment of a chemical processing facility on commercially zoned land
abutting yours will serve the whole community of Bentson County in many ways.
The First Metropolitan Bank was pleased to finance this important new project.
Unfortunately," the letter turned somber," this development has adversely
affected your own property value very drastically. A recent independent
appraisal by the bank shows that your property has lost two-thirds of it's
value from six months ago. As a result, and given your own uncertain employment
prospects, the bank has no option but to reconsider its investment in aforesaid
property and mortgage."

      She had worked at the bank long enough to understand that the legal terms
and figures all added up to one thing. The bank was calling in the loan.

      "Unless you are able to demonstrate long-term employment, the bank will
have no option but to request full payment on your mortgage note. Please
respond to this correspondence within twenty-four hours. Thank you for your
attention in this matter!" There was no signature. It was a form letter
generated automatically by the bank's computers the first of every month.

      "Howduya like that?" Wendell was drunk. Amy figured he had been drinking
all afternoon -- ever since the letter had been delivered. "I thought we'd wait
till tomorrow to tell my folks they'll have to live in the street," he said,
eyes rolling in despair as he cracked open a fresh can of beer, "unless I get
some big job in the next twenty-four hours, that is." His eyes were filling
with tears, drunken, pathetic tears. "I could always rob a gas station or
something," he groaned, half-seriously.

                In Part Five, Mr. Baines gives Amy an ultimatum.

