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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 occurences in this series
are completely fictitious.

                                  The Mortgage
                                  by Marlissa

                                    PART SIX

      She was there waiting for him when he entered his office at eight thirty
seven. The coffee, still steaming, was waiting for him, welcoming him to a new
day at the bank. Beside his desk, his new secretary waited patiently, holding a
small note pad and pencil, ready for any task he gave her.

      She had taken instruction well -- a good sign so early on. The pink tank
top ended midriff, displaying her flat pale tummy. He made a mental note to
have her go to a tanning salon on a regular basis -- he liked a healthy golden
glow. Underneath her small pert breasts stretched the material a bit more than
yesterday. The bandaid sized black spandex miniskirt hugged her slim hips
jealously though inadequate to the job of hiding her charms. Bending over for
Amy would be quite a dilemma in that skirt. He guessed the patterned black
stockings were thigh-highs, the rose pattern creeping naughtily up between her
coltish legs, promising, promising to give up all her secrets underneath... He
nodded at the now mandatory black high heels, a cheap open toed black patent
leather pair that revealed her newly painted red toenails.

      The rest of Amy was transformed too. The prim mousy young housewife from
the previous day was gone. The straight brown hair that had hung midway down
her back was now curled, teased wildly and heavily sprayed. Wild tresses framed
the face, spilling and shaking enticingly with every spare motion. The
eyeshadow was blue, the "Ivory fresh" look replaced by lots of blush,
foundation and penciling. It would take her an hour and a half every morning
just to get ready for work, he thought. The lips were brightly painted with a
fire engine red lipstick, which matched the nail polish she now wore. Cheap
plastic bangles clattered gently now whenever she moved her wrist. The gold
hoops were enhanced by the plastic red heart-shaped post studs she now wore.
Baines winced, uncharacteristically, at the thought of a triple piercing. The
coup de grace were the items she didn't wear today -- her engagement ring and
wedding band. Amy looked like she might have just come from a meatmarket
pick-up bar or some sleazy discotheque, on a man prowl.

      "Good morning, Amy. You look very pretty today." He made pretty sound
like a dirty word.

      "Good morning Mr. Baines! Thank you VERY much Mr. Baines," she gushed.
The smile was pure 100% bedtime for bimbo.

      He took his seat, while she remained standing, waiting. "Did you talk
with Wendell? I heard he's starting his new job tonight."

      She bobbed her head. "Yes, Sir. He wanted to make an appointment with you
today to thank you for him... and me."

      "Keep him waiting. Maybe I can spare a minute after lunch. Say, he didn't
have much luck with the Unemployment office, did he?" Baines chided her.

      The synthetic lusciousness of Amy's smile dimmed for a millisecond.
"Sir?"

      "I know he kept trying to get another job and keep his unemployment
coming in. But the law states that when you are offered a job, you have to take
it -- otherwise you forfeit your unemployment. I let the state office know
that, because I wouldn't want Wendell to miss out on such a good opportunity."

      Amy's eyes were well-deep now. At the bottom of the well was animal fear
of him, fear that he had known about Wendell's stubbornness to taking the
menial job Baines had set up for him. If he could know about that, then he
would know...

      "Did you two make love last night like I told you too? Like two little
fuck bunnies I bet." Baines sneered.

      Amy nodded brightly. "Yes, Sir, we did."

      The memory of their lovemaking was painful. Why was she crying, Wendell
asked. We're so lucky -- we're going to keep our home! her husband had tried to
cheer her. She had said she was just so, very, very happy. That was why she was
crying. Thank God Wendell had left early for his human resources paperwork
meeting at the factory and wasn't there when Mr. Baines had called. But of
course, Mr. Baines KNEW Wendell would be gone by then.

      Baines took it in amused stride. "That's good. From now on, I won't allow
it very often. After I called you this morning, did you douche?"

      "Oh yes, Mr. Baines! At once, just like you told me to, Sir!"

      "Good girl. And you did like I told you, Amy?"

      It was hard to keep her smile plastered on her face. It was slipping now,
the humiliation burning and building. "Y-yes, Mr. Baines, I did. J-just like
you told me Sir." Her face was blushing hotter than her blush now.

      Baines sipped his coffee. "Good. Show me, then Amy." He leaned back in
his chair to enjoy the show.

      Quaking, she set the notepad down and put her hands on the midriff trim
of the tight pink top. Jerkily she pulled it up and over her head. Looking up,
she assumed the lingerie model smile and thrust her chest out, hesitating only
a second. Her breasts were lovingly cupped by a milky white brassiere, nuzzled
by the confection of styled lace and unseen wiring which gave her small bosom a
curvy boost. Between the bra cups was a darling bright red rosette, the thin
shoulder straps similar decorated where they met the top of the cups. It was a
romantic garment, not meant for everyday occasions.

      Baines nodded wordlessly.

      Amy unzipped the tight miniskirt, feeling her hips pop out of the
confines of the strict, shaping material. Baines had been right -- the silky
black stockings rode high up her thighs, ending incongruously below a white
thong panty. The panty matched the bra, all virginal white and almost innocent
in it's schoolgirlishness. The small white silk panel was decorated with the
delicate bright red rosette on each hip and between the legs, where it was held
by a single snap to the thong between her legs.

      "And you shaved I take it?"

      Amy's head bobbed. "Yes, Mr. Baines. I'll keep it shaved from now on,
like you said to, Sir." How would she explain to Wendell why she kept her pussy
shaved bare? She would have to ask Mr. Baines for ideas -- she was running out
of them and she was sure he had an answer for her to use.

      Baines stood up, moving to the other side of the desk. "And this what you
wore, Amy?"

      She thought of the hotel room that night at Niagara Falls. The
excitement, the thrill of dressing this way for her man, her husband on their
wedding night. Of the way his eyes had shone with love for her. Of the way she
had surrendered to her husbands' love so easily, so gratefully.

      "Yes, Mr. Baines. This was what I wore on my honeymoon for Wendell." Keep
the smile, don't cry, be brave...

      Baines stroked the bra strap, then fingered the rosette between the two
cups. It was the most intimate contact with Amy yet and she involuntarily
shrunk from it, then catching herself, reversed herself and pressed the rosette
back into Baine's hand.

      "Adorable. And now you must wear it for the new man in your life, Amy --
me. And you'll wear your honeymoon dainties for our first time together too.
But after today, you will throw them out. They aren't appropriate for you
anymore Amy. White is for good little wifeys and we both know you aren't that
anymore. Black and red, Amy -- slut colors from now on."

      Amy didn't answer. The plastic smile, the frozen eyes downcast as she
watched Mr. Baines unzip his pants.

      "Let's get to work then, shall we? Bend over the desk, Amy."

      Outside the office, secretaries were busily preparing banking documents,
the clicking-clacking of computer printers and typewriters filling the
cavernous bank with the sounds of mortgages being prepared, deeds being
registered, statements being generated for scores of homeowners. Each and every
day thousands of mortgages are processed, each representing struggle,
persistence and a whole change of life. Owning property -- it was The American
Dream, a dream which had just come true for one man, Robert Parker Baines.

             In Part Seven, a death and Amy's shameful memories...

