The Employee Retention Program

"Stacy St. Claire?" the security guard bellowed through the lobby.

"Here," Anastasia said, standing up and smoothing her new suit with trembling hands.

Be cool.

Be calm.

She followed the guard toward the interview room, checking her new haircut in the metal trim of the door and fiddling with the now-blonde bob. Cutting off her long black hair had been a painful but necessary step. She had loved the way it contrasted with her pale skin, but she needed to look different.

The blonde suited her, too.

She thanked the guard, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

Anastasia strutted toward the single seat in the centre of the room, heels clicking off the polished stone floor. Five well-dressed interviewers sat behind a long, curved desk. She felt exposed in the middle of the room -- like she was on trial.

"Thank you for this opportunity," she said, tucking her grey skirt beneath her as she took her seat.

The young man in the centre raised a hand. "Luke Haldon. Hiring manager for this level of St. Claire Pattinson," he said, eyes glued to his screen.

He poked at the screen -- each tap creeping closer to a thud. "Apologies for the delay. There's a huge update rolling out, so our devices are even slower than usual."

"I understand,' Anastasia said, keeping her back straight and her hands still in her lap. 'Tech's so seamless these days that when it breaks, it feels like the end of the world."

She smiled and chuckled alone.

"Indeed." Luke tapped the screen a dozen more times. "Ah, finally. So, are you familiar with what SCP does, miss... St. Claire?"

He scoffed and looked at Anastasia for the first time. "Any relation?"

Anastasia was the only child of Vernon St. Claire -- co-owner and the current head of the St. Claire family. Stacy St. Claire was a flimsy attempt to blend in without drawing too much attention.

Anastasia laughed unconvincingly. "That would have been nice," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "If I say I am, can I skip the interview?"

Luke smiled. "Of course," he said, pointing at the phone. "We'll just have to check with the big boss."

"Oh no, you can take my word for it, Mr Haldon," she said, grinning to match his smile. "I'm sure the real Miss St. Claire is applying for part-time jobs to pay her way through business school too. We're basically twins."

"Absolutely," he chuckled. "The St. Claires don't have student loan money lying around in their many, many mansions."

Anastasia hid a giggle with the back of her hand. "Tough crowd," she said, nodding toward the other four interviewers.

"Don't mind them, they're just here to observe."

He tapped on his screen again. "Now, let's... Uh oh. Looks like you've been summoned."

Two security guards entered and silently gestured for Anastasia to follow.

"what's going on?" she asked, standing and straightening her dress with feigned composure. "Am I in trouble?"

"It's probably mistaken identity. Nothing to worry about. It might even work out in your favour," he said. "Please follow these gentlemen, and they will take you to the eighteenth floor. Mr St. Claire would like to see you."

Anastasia's head fell. Daddy had caught her so quickly. She should have known a haircut and a nickname wouldn't be enough.

"It was nice to meet you, Luke."

Anastasia followed the silent guards through the building. What was she going to say to him? The ride in the lift was agonising. Her heart and breath were quick and heavy. The doors opened on a few floors, but the guard simply shook their heads and no one dared enter -- Keeping the lift empty the whole trip. Anastasia watched the numbers as they counted up to her demise -- the eighteenth floor.

The guard led her to the central office -- hardwood doors were the clear focal point as the lift opened. Dark. Imposing. The guards knocked, then took position on either side.

"Come," said a muffled voice from within.

Anastasia took another deep breath and walked into the office. Relief struck her. It was the other Mr St. Claire. Her step-brother Julian.

"Hair suits you," he said from behind his desk.

"Jules," she said with a huge grin. Running across the office to hug him. "I thought daddy was going to be so mad."

Julian pulled her into his lap and returned her hug. "What are you doing here, sis?"

"Applying for the intern position," she said, resting her golden hair on his head. "I'm in disguise. Shhh."

"Ana, a haircut and a fucking nickname are not a 'disguise'," he said, leaning back and turning her face towards his. His hazel eyes staring deep into her green. "I thought you didn't want to work here? After all that yelling about finding your own path? Paying your own way? No handouts?"

Anastasia stood up and looked out of the window. A wonderful view of the city. A view he had earned.

"That's exactly what I want, Jules," she said, turning her head just enough to watch him in the corner of her eye. "Did I ever tell you how much I look up to you? I know I was annoying as a kid, and bratty as a teen, but I idolised you. Still do. You worked hard to be where you are. I want to be like you. I want to earn my place here. To follow in your footsteps as much as our father's. You know?"

"I always thought... with your mother and mine. The affair. The accident. I figured you hated me. Said you did. A lot."

"Like I said," Anastasia said, spinning around and giving a little flourish. "Bratty teen. I thought things had improved between us, though? I have been trying to bridge the gap, you know?"

"Now that I did know," he said, tapping his desk with his fingers. "Nice to hear it confirmed."

"So... what now? Am I screwed, or will my super competent and dashing big brother swoop in to save my day?" She asked, pulling out the puppy eyes.

"Why here? There are a dozen other companies you could have applied for that didn't have scores of people who know what you fucking look like."

"My big brother works here," she said with a smirk. "I want to be just like him when I grow up. Seriously, though, this is the family legacy. I don't want to be left behind when you're CEO, and I don't want to be a liability. I want to learn all about it from the inside."

He sighed and his fingers tapped his desk slower. "Give me a second to think."

She watched his silent deliberations. She really looked up to him -- it wasn't all smoke. He was twelve years older than her, which didn't help them bond at first. Daddy used to make him babysit, which can't have been fun for him. Especially when she was fourteen. A twenty-six-year-old forced to take care of a hormonal teenage girl in a weird power-play. Daddy was fond of those. Jules never took it out on her. She didn't realise how it was for him until her sixteenth birthday. Daddy had him serving drinks and cake to a gaggle of spoiled rich girls. They all teased him. For Anastasia, it was the wake-up call she needed.

"Okay, Stacy," he said, slapping the table. "I'm going to be real with you. There's no way this can happen without someone on the inside pulling strings. So, if it won't hurt your pride too much, maybe you could accept just one handout from your big brother?"

Anastasia almost jumped for joy. "What's the plan, big man?" she asked with a grin.

"You should know," he said, clicking his mouse and pulling his keyboard in front of him. "What I'm about to do is just a little illegal. It can't come back to me, okay? I'm going to alter your records. A new name. A different face. And... an opening came up recently in our Employee Retention Program. We were shadow hiring a new Wellness Officer, but if you want... I can make sure Stacy Swallows is offered the position."

"Who?"

He smirked and raised a brow. "You needed a new last name, and since I'm doing you a huge favour, I think I should be allowed to have some fun with you."

Her eyes narrowed, and she pouted. "I suppose that's fair. What does the job involve? Do you think I can do it?"

"I think it's perfect for you," he said, pausing his typing to look at her. "They liaise with all the major departments, so you'll get, uh, intimate knowledge of the key players at the company, as well as the opportunity to improve working conditions for everyone. That's a great feather to have in your cap. Plus, our Wellness Officers are based on some weird old ritual. Don't understand it myself, but they wear stylised masks. It symbolises something about rejecting selfish thinking, or... something. I have no idea, but no one will see your face. You can be invisible. All you have to do is say the word."

"Okay, Jules. I trust you, but do I really have to be Stacy Swallows?"

"Non-negotiable," Julian said, hammering the enter key. "There. It's done. You should spend the night here. They'll be sending a car for you, and it will ruin everything when they pull up to the family estate."

Anastasia hugged Jules and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Jules. I mean it. I owe you one."

Julian smiled. "At least."

The guards led her back to the lift and down into the basement levels. It had been many years since Anastasia had spent a night in the pods. There was a while, after her mother passed, when she couldn't sleep without Daddy near. Even though there were dozens of floors between them, it still felt like they were in the same house. A very tall house. The pods were just like she remembered. Little more than a bed, a set of drawers and a desk. A very compact hotel room. The guards handed her the keycard and left her to the rest of her day.

She showered, dropped her suit into the laundry collection box, and crawled into bed.

The room alarm woke her the next morning. She had another shower, but when she opened the laundry box, she found it empty. No suit.

No clothes at all.

Leaving her with only the lacy, dark-red bra and panties she had slept in. Scampering back to her room, she checked every drawer, cupboard, and any other nook that might contain a stitch of clothing. There was nothing. Even the towels were gone -- already surrendered to the thieving laundry box. She slumped onto the bed, wondering how this could possibly get worse -- then she saw the flashing light by the letterbox.

Anastasia darted to the box, hoping -- praying -- for a clean suit. Instead, she found a plain white box. Her name was etched into the lid -- stark, in a simple font. But the curved corners gave the cube a strangely elegant, premium feel. She pulled the lid off. A white mask in a white bag. A white card was placed in a slot beneath it.

Miss Swallows.

This mask will be worn at all times when you are not in this room.

On the reverse of this card, you will find your unique pass phrase.

Remember it. Repeat it. Do not share it.

She flipped the card. Another message waited on the back.

Wellness flows from cohesion. I am receptive to refinement. I optimise my behaviour to promote wellness. Wellness flows from cohesion.

Anastasia lowered the card and looked at the mask. This was all very cult-like. Had she just joined a cult?

She picked up the mask. Lightweight, but thick plastic -- stiff, unyielding. Cold to the touch. Expressionless. Even the eye slots had been filled with a white one-way glass or plastic. She could see out, but no one could see in. Creepy. A strange foreboding crept in as she stared at the mask.

She forced it away.

She still needed to find clothes.

She read the card again. The pass phrase -- again and again, until it burned into memory. Then she turned to the door. She paused.

The mask will be worn at all times.

Anastasia looked at the mask again, steadying her nerves with a held breath before placing it over her face. It fastened around the neck, as well as the back of the head. It was a little too tight to be completely comfortable. Always making its presence known with pressure on her throat. She pulled her hair out from under the strap.

She couldn't see anything but white, but she heard a quiet computerised voice ask for the pass phrase.

"Wellness flows from cohesion. I am receptive to refinement. I... fuck me, this is stupid..."

"incorrect pass phrase. Two attempts remaining."

Anastasia's brow -- and her heart beat -- shot up. What happens when you run out of attempts? What Saw-like trap had she strapped to her stupid face?

"Wellness flows from cohesion. I am receptive to refinement. I... optimise my behaviour to... promote wellness... Wellness flows from cohesion."

The white faded from her vision and she could see the world again. She pattered through the pods and the connective hallways. The cold floors giving a quiet tap with each urgent step. Looking for a member of staff, or anyone who could lend her a stitch of clothing. She looked good in the knickers, but that's not the first impression she wanted to make in her new job.

Poking a masked head around the corner, she scanned for life signs. The mask totally blocked her peripheral vision. There could be someone stood next to her. Watching her. She'd never know. Her heavy breathing echoed in the mask. Holding her breath, she turned around to look the other way. White. Not now. Fuck.

"Wellness flows from cohesion. I optimise--"

"Incorrect pass phrase. One attempt remaining."

One? A day? Ever? What the fuck?

"Wellness flows from cohesion..."

Anastasia grasped her hair and bounced on her toes.

"I am receptive to refinement..."

What was the fucking line?

"I optimise... my?... behaviour... to... promote wellness. Wellness flows from cohesion."

The white faded, and she threw her fists in the air.

A lone janitor was staring at her.

She brought her hands to her side. There was no point in hiding anymore. She hoped his wellness had been promoted.

"Hi. Do you know if the laundry is done, or will be done soon? As you can see, I had nothing else to wear."

"Update broke the dryers. Laundry will be a few days," the janitor said, his gaze oozing over her.

"Is there anything I could borrow?" she asked, bringing her arms in front of her, hands covering her panties.

"Lost and found. Lobby," he said, licking his cracked lips. "Best of luck."

"Could you maybe--"

The janitor smiled. Pulled headphones over his ears, and walked away.

"... Guess not."

A cool wind blew over Anastasia's skin. Immediate goosebumps. There was something else she found harder to explain. She was getting warmer -- her heart beat faster. How many people were watching? Against all sense. Reason. She hoped someone was. Another slow turn. White.

Anastasia bit her lip and swallowed most of a scream.

"Incorrect pass phrase. Please try again in thirty seconds."

"WHAT THE FUCK!?"

"Incorrect pass phrase. Please try again in sixty seconds."

She dropped into a squat, fists knotted in her hair. A full minute. Alone in the white. Another chill breeze swept across her skin, raising the hairs on her arms and neck. The strap of her bra was tighter on the right. Her toes flexed against the cold floor. A noise? Anastasia cocked her head and listened. It was hard to hear anything over her ragged breath in the mask. Was she alone? Had that janitor come back? How long is a fucking minute? She was scared to say anything. Would the timer reset each time it increased? She could be blind for hours. It had to have been a minute by now?

"Wellness flows from cohesion. I am receptive to refinement. I optimise my behaviour to promote wellness. Wellness flows from cohesion."

Silence.

She was shaking, grasping onto her knees for support. The white faded. A long black robe dangled in front of her, with red painted toes peeking out from beneath. Anastasia's gaze followed the robe until her eyes settled on a beautiful mask of cobalt staring down at her.

"Oh. Hello," she said, wobbling to her feet. "I made a mistake and my mask locked."

"And you didn't take it off?" they asked.

"The little card said not to," Anastasia said. Also, because if she is seen, Jules will be in deep shit.

They nodded. "And your attire?"

"I... had to stay here last minute, and my clothes are stuck in the... dryer," Anastasia said, taking a step back. "Sorry, who are you? I'm Stacy."

"... Stacy. I am Guide Thirteen. You will call me Guide. I am your Refinement Architect," Guide said, walking around Anastasia. "I am genuinely surprised at how well you have done. You should be proud of every decision you delegated."

"Oh, um. Thank you... Guide. I really think this job will be perfect for me."

"Do you?" Guide asked, pulling a marker from the folds in her robe.

When the thin fabric parted, Guide's breasts were fully displayed. Based on her skin, and the tautness -- Guide couldn't be much older that Anastasia.

"You enjoy looking at me?"

Anastasia grimaced beneath her mask. First day, and she'd ogled her boss's tits.

"Sorry, guide. I didn't mean to look," she said, bowing her head.

"Make it even."

Anastasia's head snapped up. "What?"

"Give me your bra."

Anastasia stuttered. Guide was teasing her, right? "Are you joking?"

"No," Guide snapped. She shook her head. "Perhaps you aren't suited for this at all. Go back to your room." Guide held out a hand, snapping her fingers impatiently. "Return the mask."

This was bad. If she takes the mask off, then Jules is in trouble. More than that. If she fails here... maybe she really was nothing without daddy's money. She wouldn't deserve another handout. Her shaking hands reached behind her and unclasped the bra, letting it fall limp on her shoulders. Her breasts felt better not being pinned. After taking several breaths to steady her nerves. She was wearing a mask. No one would know. How often do you get the chance to flash your tits at work?

Sliding the bra down her arms, Anastasia placed the bra in Guide's waiting hand. The unmasked nipples immediately perked up in the chill air, and the attention of Guide.

"Yes!" Guide exclaimed, holding Anastasia's head with a nurturing rub. "You did so good. I'm so proud of you. Here, you earned this."

Guide took the pen and swiped a single line across the cheek of the mask. Anastasia could feel the pressure on the plastic. She wanted to ask what that meant, but Guide was tucking the red bra into her robe pockets.

A flicker of heat spread through Anastasia -- flushing her cheeks beneath the mask. She was sure the mask was getting warmer. Slipping a finger beneath the red lace panties -- her only covering -- she followed the line of her cheek to readjust them. Maybe it was the way she'd been scampering, or perhaps the squatting, but they had been pressing into her, and things were getting sensitive.

"Can I ha--"

"Stacy!" Guide snapped. "Do you want to simply survive orientation? Or do you want to see everything this 'perfect' job can offer?"

"... I want everything."

"Then follow me."

"... Yes, Guide."

Anastasia followed Guide through the corridors. White walls. White floors. Bland. Sterile. So very corporate. The floor was smooth, cold, but it wasn't completely solid. There was a softness to it. It was comfortable. She watched her feet with each step. They were still pale and pink. Clean. Even though she had been walking around barefoot in these halls -- there was no dirt on them. The janitor she saw before, though lecherous, must take great pride in his work. She would have to compliment him the next time she saw him -- giving him one to three things to smile about.

It depended on Guide, and if she granted Anastasia an outfit.

Anastasia almost bumped into Guide, who had stopped her silent walk beside a glass door. Inside it was pitch black, save for a single circle of yellow-white spotlight at the centre. If she squinted, Anastasia could make out a table, or perhaps a long bench at the far side of the room.

"Listen well, Stacy," Guide said, placing a hand on Anastasia's shoulder. "Think of this as a second interview, as well as a test. Fail, and you are fired. Understand?"

"Yes, Guide," Anastasia said, nodding her head. Still staring deep into the darkness. "What sort of test?"

Guide chuckled. "Yes, I too am eager to see how you perform," Guide said, turning Anastasia's masked face toward her. "Listen closely. There will be a physical exam, which is easy enough. Just do as the doctor requires. No more, no less. This is very important; if you are asked a question, you must always -- always -- answer 'yes'. No matter what the truth is, and do not speak unless you must answer a question."

"I understand, Guide... I think. May I ask why?"

"You may," Guide said, ushering her into the room. "Should you pass, and I have high hopes that you will, this evening I will find you. You may ask any question you wish, and receive honesty in return."

"Thank you, Guide."

Anastasia walked into the darkness, toward the light. The room smelled of disinfectant, and something she couldn't place. It smelled like a dentist's office. Sterile.

"Stacy."

Anastasia turned to watch the door sliding shut.

"You must never cover yourself," Guide said as the door clicked shut.

Anastasia was alone. Isolated. Half-naked.

Taking a deep breath for courage, she turned and walked toward the light. The room was warmer than the hallway, and by the time she reached the spotlight, she was flushed. Not sweating, though her bare feet stuck slightly to the floor, but her face and chest definitely felt warmer than before. Her nervous heartbeat and heavy breath in the mask could account for both. Was this so intimidating on purpose? She supposed it was. Why? She didn't know.

She squinted at the darkness, trying to make out anything. Shapes, be they people or objects, but the circle of brightness she stood in made it impossible. There were no sounds, either. Except the constant echo of her breath.

White.

"Wellness flows from cohesion. I am receptive to refinement. I optimise my behaviour to promote wellness. Wellness flows from cohesion."

The white faded, for all the good it did. There was still nothing to look at. The hair on her neck was standing on end. She glanced behind her. Was she being watched? Cameras? Guides? Something else? She moved a hand to her mouth, grunting in surprise when she felt the mask instead. What if this was all an elaborate prank, and right now Jules is watching her? Laughing at her. Reaching behind her, she slipped her fingers beneath the red lace and tugged her knickers into a more comfortable position.

Jules would have stopped it before she got her tits out. He was her brother. Maybe not by blood, but he'd known her since she was a child. There's no way he'd let them sexualise her like this. Does he even know what goes on down here? Anastasia looked at her feet, wriggling her toes to pass the time. The dark red polish needed to be redone.

What was taking so long?

When she heard footsteps approaching, her head snapped up to find the source. The circle of light expanded as a man in a doctor's coat and a white mask with a red cross on it stopped next to her. His head cocked as he examined her, making notes on a clipboard as he circled her. Her hand moved to cover her breasts, but she caught it in time. Never cover up. If she did, they might fire her. Worse, remove the mask. Jules would be pissed. Daddy would be pissed. She closed her eyes and waited.

"Subject presents as female, eighteen years of age. It is one hundred and sixty-two centimetres tall, and weighs forty-nine kilograms," the doctor said, scribbling notes. His voice was broadcast from speakers all around her. "Caucasian. Fair-complexion. No freckles, moles, or... visible scar-tissue."

He crouched in front of her and pinched her belly. "Subject is slim, but lacks musculature definition, but its figure is... pleasing," he said, circling behind her. Grabbing and squeezing her ass. "Buttocks are small, but firm. Legs are thin, but shapely. Recommending resistance training, to increase subject's attractiveness from a seven to an eight, perhaps even a nine. Subject should also increase daily caloric intake -- with a target weight of fifty-five kilograms."

She bit her lip, and her tongue. This was so degrading. She felt like a pig at an auction.

He stood again and traced a finger down her spine, sending a shiver with it. "Subject is responsive to touch."

"Flush on torso indicates arousal," he said, walking around her. "Interesting, subjects breathing shifted tempo -- likely became more sexually aligned by my announcing it."

"Breasts are perky, which is to be expected at this age. Nipples approximately fifteen millimetres across, with an erect height of nine millimetres. Areola is approximately thirty-five millimetres in diameter. All within expected deviation."

He cupped a breast. "Breasts are firm. Hm, areola has puckered after the breast was handled. Size is approximately twenty-eight D. Given the size, shape, colour, and consistency, it is my professional opinion that subject's breasts are her best attribute."

He crouched again, levelling his face with her lace panties. "Subject's thigh gap provides perfect framing of vaginal folds," he said, looking up at her. "The subject will remove its clothing."

Will it? Anastasia clenched her fists at her side. Punching him might feel good in the moment, but not in the long term. It was just a doctor's appointment. Not the first, wouldn't be the last. She took a deep breath, and after a slow exhale, pulled her panties down and stepped out of them. The doctor pulled a glove over his hand and took her knickers from her, placing them in his pocket.

Returning to his close up view of her, he cocked his masked head. "Vulval folds are moist and starting to darken, clitoral hood receding," he said, swiping a finger along the full length of her slit. "Subject's state of lubrication indicates an aptitude far higher than expected. Scent is pleasing. Subject had shaved an estimated three to five days ago. Recommending permanent removal."

The doctor stood up and waved a hand. A loud clunk from the floor made her jump, as a metal table rose from the floor. Anastasia's heart flipped when the doctor unfurled the stirrups.

"Subject will lie on the table with its feet in the stirrups."

She hesitated. Somehow, he had found a way to make this more invasive.

"Subject displays outward reticence, however vaginal swelling, and excessive lubrication betrays its truth."

Her head fell. How could she deny any of what he was saying? She couldn't. At all. She was wet. What had they done to her? Was it the mask? Subliminal? Something in the air? The water? She climbed on the table and put her feet in the stirrups.

"Subject has approximately size six feet," he said, picking up her right foot. "Arches are nominal. No bunions, hard skin, or blisters."

Anastasia giggled and flinched when he traced his finger along the sole.

"Subject is ticklish. Vagina clenched, indicating some enjoyment of being tickled," he said, putting her foot back in the stirrup. He pulled a small disk from his pocket and clicked it onto his mask. With a click, the disk shed light like a torch, and six screens folded out of the ceiling. The screens flickered to life, and she could see herself from the doctor's perspective. In intimate detail.

Oh. No. No. Don't. He wouldn't.

The doctor lowered himself, and Anastasia flushed red hot. Her mouth went dry. She gripped the table. The only thing she could do to stop herself from covering up. She begged for a white out so she didn't have to watch the screens. Her arousal illuminated and filmed. Displayed to the room. Probably recorded.

She couldn't look away.

"Subject appears tense." he slipped a gloved finger inside her. She gasped and held the table tighter.

"Vaginal opening is taut," he said, pushing another finger in. "Elasticity is phenomenal."

She winced and whimpered as he pushed the fingers in, spinning them around as he explored her insides.

"G-spot feels healthy. Subject response to stimulation is..."

He slid his fingers over her spot. She bit her lip.

"... Eager. Hips responding to manipulation perfectly." He moved his ungloved hand over her clit. Rubbing it with his thumb. She moaned louder. "Subject displays above average levels of clitoral sensitivity."

A light clicked on, shining into the outer edges of the room. Anastasia could now see the crowd of masked people that lined at least one edge of the room.

A figure stood up, a red mask with a white cross. "Is the subject a virgin, Doctor?" they asked, before sitting down again.

"Great question," the doctor said, moving the camera closer and stretching her wider. "You see? The hymen is clearly ruptured. The, frankly, impressive elasticity could suggest few penetrative encounters, or it could simply be a matter of age, or genetics."

The light shifted to another masked figure who stands up. "Has the subject engaged in anal intercourse?"

"Excellent question," the doctor said, tapping Anastasia on the thigh. "The subject will raise its knees to its best feature." His thumb still rolling over her clit.

Oh fuck.

She raised her knees to her chest, but, after a moment, realised she was covering her breasts -- so to her shame, she opened her legs. Squeezing her breasts between her legs. Watching as the camera centred on her asshole. There was nothing left of her. She had been completely exposed. Everything except her face.

The doctor took his gloved finger from within her and rolled it between her folds. Gathering up her arousal, before rubbing around her clenching anus. "Care must be taken. Without proper lubrication, anal penetration is harmful. Note how it is clenching? Resisting me? This shows inexperience." He slid the lower portion of his mask away and spat on her exposed rim. "Saliva is a good option in a pinch."

He pressed the tip of his finger in and twisted it around. Spreading his spit and pressing his finger deeper. Anastasia winced. She clenched on his finger. Then his thumb returned to her clit, and her moans shifted. His finger went deeper.

"Given the level of resistance, and the subject's responses, I feel safe saying that the subject is an anal virgin." The doctor pushed his finger deeper. Before pulling it out, and then pressing two back in. Easier this time. "Subject shows remarkable adaptability."

Anastasia's head fell back onto the metal table. The thumb on her clit was winding a red hot coil inside her. The eyes on her and the degrading spectacle this doctor had turned her into. All contributing to it. The fingers gently thrusting into uncharted territory was crushing. She loved it. She hated it. Her hips rocked and pushed into his fingers. Her heavy breathing in the mask. She was getting close. Watching the doctor's fingers in her asshole. Everyone was watching. No privacy. No autonomy.

Why did she let this happen? It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. She was going to cum. Let them watch. Catch it in 4k. Send it to your friends. Masked whore lets stranger finger fuck her virgin asshole in a room full of strangers. Was it the doctor's fingers? Or was it the audience? Pointless questions. She was --

The doctor lifted his thumb. "Stacy, would you like me to stop?"

No. No. No. She wanted him to keep going, but Guide wanted her to say...

"Yes."

She let out a whine when the doctor's fingers left her. When he stood up and left her on the table, holding her legs.

"Stacy has chosen cohesion over selfish gain. Not only has she passed this test, she has done so with an utterly breathtaking demonstration of potential. Be sure to note that in your write-up -- Stacy is an exception, not the rule."

The lights clicked on, and the full size of the crowd was revealed. Dozens of people, perhaps even forty or fifty, all getting up to leave. Talking amongst themselves with excitement. They were all talking about her. They had to be. What a slut she was. A whore. How she had shamelessly pressed herself into the doctor's fingers. How she had moaned.

Guide walked in and wrapped her arms around Anastasia. "I knew you would do well, but even I am shocked. Your mot... marvellous."

Anastasia laid on the table as her head was pressed into Guide's breast. Her fingers still gripped her spread legs -- her body still ached for release. But there was none.

The doctor leaned over her. "Would you mind if I kept your panties as a souvenir?"

Guide snapped forward and snatched the red lace from the Doctor's pocket. "Yes, we mind."

Anastasia released her shaking knees and lowered her feet toward the floor. Guide was there in an instant. Holding her hand. Holding her steady. The fog faded with the heat, and the realisation hit her hard. Too hard. Why didn't she stop him? Why was she even here in the first place? Did they do something to her?

"I want to go home," Anastasia said, struggling to her feet. "I don't want this. It's too late, isn't it? You're going to blackmail me, right? Force me to submit and brainwash me."

"Who forced you?" Guide asked, placing a steadying hand on her back. "You knew what we did when you applied."

Anastasia pushed Guide away. "NO I DIDN'T!"

She ran out into the white hallway. She had to get out. Everything looked the same. Which way? It didn't matter which way, so she ran. Bare feet slapping against the floor as she put as much distance as she could between her and Guide. Another junction. Another choice. Left. Running down yet another white corridor, she skidded to a stop when she ran past a lift, slipping and smacking her masked head on the floor. She heard bare feet running after her, so she scrambled to the lift controls and pushed the button. Again. Again.

What then? She was naked and couldn't go running around the building like that. Or the streets. She was a minor celebrity. Heir-apparent to her daddy's empire. He couldn't know about this. Daddy would have stopped it. It would ruin him. Ruin the life of every employee. SCP was big enough, and involved in so many industries, it might even affect the global economy. She dropped into a squat and hugged her knees. If she stayed, they were going to break her. Rape her. If she ran, so many people would suffer.

And why was she still so fucking wet?

Guide approached and quietly crouched next to her. "Are you okay, Ana?"

"How the fuck could I be okay? I'm trapped in a cult basement. If I run away, the world will end, and my nudes will be spread by them. By you. If I stay, I'll be raped and turned into a brainwashed slave like you."

"We're not slaves. If you wanted to leave," Guide said, standing and offering a hand. "All you had to do was say so."

Anastasia turned her head away. "You'll never let me leave."

Guide took her robe off and draped it over Anastasia's shoulders. "There. Now you aren't naked. If you take this lift to the twenty-ninth floor, your father's office is directly in front of the lift. The lock is biometric, it will open for you. Borrow a suit from the closet, leave the mask on his desk, and be free, Ana."

"And what about the HD footage of my... of my..."

Her father's office? Ana? Guide knows? Did Julian tell her? Did she guess? Oh fuck.

"So it is blackmail. Fuck. Please don't. It will... and everyone... the economy," Anastasia scrambled to Guide's feet. "Please don't. Please."

Guide knelt next to her and embraced her. "I promise, nothing bad will happen to you. I'm so sorry you didn't know. Everyone is supposed to know what's involved."

"I didn't," Anastasia whispered.

The lift dinged, and the doors opened. Guide squeezed her and then stood up. "It's your choice, Stacy," she said, taking a few steps backwards. "It was always meant to be your choice."

"Who would choose this?" Anastasia said, standing up and wrapping the robe around her. "You did something to me. You must have. I don't know what, or how, but you forced me to obey you."

She pointed back toward the exam room. "That is not me. That was whatever you put in my head. Is it subliminal? Hypnosis? Drugs? What?"

Guide cocked her masked head. "You think something compels you to obey me?"

"Obviously."

"Then why did you cover yourself with my robe when I expressly ordered you to never do so?" Guide asked, taking a step closer.

Anastasia gripped the silky robe and pulled it tighter. Guide had told her that, and she had even spread her legs on... camera to obey it. Spreading her legs and cheeks to show her asshole. A tingle spread over her still cresting clit. It had to be something they did to her. Had to. The lift dinged, and the doors slid shut, until Guide's hand shot out and held them open.

Anastasia looked at Guide. Now she was the naked one. She was exposed. Vulnerable. Beautiful. Anastasia tilted her head as she scanned her supposed kidnapper. Her nipples were hard, puckered, and attached to shapely breasts. The glimpse she had earlier didn't reveal their full appeal, but now? She could appreciate the whole. Guide's stomach was flat, toned, and perfect -- she had the sort of body Anastasia had always wished for. That every girl might wish for. She wanted it. To feel it. Taste it. Another tingle in her wetness as her gaze drifted lower.

Guide was wet too.

"Are you enjoying this?" Anastasia asked. Still staring.

"Yes, I am," Guide said, shifting her weight. "And, to answer your question, I chose this."

"You know they brainwashed you, right? You're just as much a victim as I am. Come with me -- you don't have to stay here."

"The doors aren't locked, Ana. There's no magic spell, no drug, and no pavlovian dinner bells. Let me ask you one question. You can lie to me if you want, but please try to be honest with yourself."

Guide let the doors close and placed her hands on Anastasia's shoulders.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Anastasia wrapped the robe tighter. She wanted that doctor to finish. She had wanted to cum, even knowing about the cameras. The people.

"... Yes," she whispered.

"Now you know what we do, and you know you enjoy it. This is where all our recruits are supposed to start. Now you have the same choice I made fifteen years ago. Stay with me, and explore this with us. In secret. In safety. Or sign the NDA, collect your incentive package, and leave. In secret. In safety."

Anastasia sighed. She should leave. She should want to leave. Biting her lip, she looked at Guide again. She didn't seem like a broken girl, even standing here naked -- she looked powerful. In control of herself, and Anastasia. How could she be so comfortable? What must it feel like to be so confident?

She wondered if Guide really chose this. Had she ached for the Doctor's fingers? Moaned like a whore in front of everyone? Did obedience turn her on?

"Kneel," Anastasia said, watching Guide carefully.

Guide's breathing became shallow. The red flush over her body got deeper. Slowly, in a single smooth motion, Guide raised onto her painted toes and bent both legs -- lowering herself to her knees.

Guide pressed her hands and mask to the floor. "Please. Please stay with me."

Anastasia took a step back. Begging was not something she had expected. Guide was bold, powerful, untouchable. Yet, she bent. She bowed. She begged. Even on her knees with her face pressed to the floor, Guide looked perfect.

"What will happen to me if I stay?"

Guide raised her head from the floor. "You will have a sexual awakening. You will learn more about yourself in the next two weeks than you would in a lifetime alone. After that? You will learn. Not just how to fuck well, though, that is part of it. You will learn exactly what wellness means, why it is so important, and how to spread it in everything you do."

"What is wellness?"

"How are you feeling?" Guide asked.

"Uh, better I think?"

Guide stood up and held out her hand. "My robe."

Anastasia looked at the outstretched hand and tugged the robe tighter. "You think I'm going to stay? Why?"

"I am a Guide. I could not lead you somewhere I had not been myself," she said, snapping her fingers. "That is how we both know you want to stay."

Anastasia sighed and lowered her head. Guide snapped her fingers again, causing her to open the robe. She lingered there, clothed only in technicality. Showing everything again. She was choosing this, wasn't she? There had been no threats at all from Guide or anyone else. Perhaps because it went without saying. The cold air over her skin perked her nipples immediately, and with a steadying breath, the robe was off and back in Guide's waiting hand.

She had wrapped the snare around her own throat.

"Good girl," Guide said, donning her robe. She pulled the marker from a pocket and swiped a second mark on Anastasia's mask. "You are a rare talent indeed."

Anastasia's heart and breath quickened as she moved a hand to the fresh mark on her cheek. "Thanks?"

Guide pulled the red lace panties from her robe and dropped them on the floor. "Another reward for not taking your lingerie from my robe while you had it. Put them on and follow me."

Anastasia stared at the crumpled pile of red lace on the floor. Had she forgotten about them because of the stress? Or was her subconscious pushing her toward Guide's goals? She pulled the still moist knickers on -- they were cold, but soon heated against the fresh wetness they pressed against.

With her panties returned, and clinging to her, Anastasia followed Guide out of the test room. The cool air on her skin kept her nipples perked, but soothed the rest of her fire. Not completely smothered. Her clit was still cresting and sensitive. Every step rubbed it -- just not enough. She was trapped, too close to calm down, but too far to enjoy it. She hated it.

Guide pushed a button on the wall and a door opened to a small, but well lit white room.

"We will be taking photographs for your employee records. Congratulations, Stacy. You are officially a trainee wellness officer. Go, I will see you on the other side," Guide said, ushering Anastasia through. "I'm proud of you."

"Thank you, Guide."

Anastasia stood in the middle of the white room. The door shut behind her, and she was alone. Her hands fidgeted at her sides. Tapping her hips. Fiddling with her hair. Scratching her stomach. Everything except the one thing she wanted to do with them -- cover her exposed breasts. The one thing she was told not to do. Every time she redirected her hands, her mind drifted to her nipples. Hard. Exposed. Tingling. She didn't really want her tits to be featured in her official fi--

Click. Flash.

So much for that.

The floor whirred into life and spun her around. A screen flashed from white to a set of pictures. They showed a simple person shape looking forward with a slight bow and parted legs. The pose was labelled 'Trust'. The image changed. This time the person was kneeling, hands on thighs, knees spread, head lowered. The pose was labelled 'Readiness'.

The screen turned white, and the floor spun her around again.

Click. Flash.

"Trust." the mask said.

Anastasia bowed.

There was a loud burst of static. "Stacy!" Guide yelled. "That is disgusting. Open those legs. Keep that back straight. Hands at your side. Don't make me correct you again. After doing so well, we both know you can do better. TRUST!"

Anastasia opened her legs and bent slightly at the waist -- damp panties clinging to her. There was no denying it. Ignoring it. Every time she moved, they rubbed her. Tantalised her. Tormented her.

She put her arms at her side and kept her back as straight as she could.

Click. Flash.

"Readiness." the mask said.

She knelt with her knees as wide as she could, spreading her lips and pulling the lacy seam onto her clit. So sensitive. So ready. Resting her hands on her thighs, she lowered her head. Feeling more than exposed. Straightening her back almost as an after-thought. Hot, rapid breaths heated her already flushed face. The rise and fall of her chest drew more of her awareness. A pleasant itch. A warm pulse. A soft moan.

Click. Flash.

The floor spun her around, and she was bombarded by flashes from every angle. So many pictures. What would happen to them? Were they shared? Destroyed? Sold in bulk? Was there a Stacy calendar? She was glad she had the mask. In a way, it didn't really matter how many pictures they had. None of them would ever be linked to Anastasia. Only Stacy Swallows... ugh... in her mask would ever be so slutty.

Another white-out -- the mantra flowed out of her quickly, easily. She was getting better at it. She was getting better at all of it. And so quickly, too. Guide must be very good at her job. Or was she really as gifted as they had said? Guide and the doctor both seemed amazed. Impressed. Biting her lip as the thought of the doctor caused her rim to tighten.

She could still feel his saliva.

A hiss turned Anastasia's head toward an opening door. Should she leave? Is it a test? She rose slowly to her feet. Sliding a finger beneath the soaked lace, she traced the curve of her thigh -- peeling the panties from between her lips. Fingertips lingered against engorged, slick flesh. Reluctant to leave. The lace snapped back into place. Moving had only made it worse.

Walking out of the white room, Stacy swallowed a whimper with each step into the darkness beyond. The only light was a dim red glow to her left. She scratched the back of her calf with a barefoot, moaning softly as the motion tugged her knickers. Stacy couldn't take much more of this.

"Good girl," Guide said through the helmet. "Stand on the red light."

"Yes, Guide," Anastasia said, walking to the red light. Squeezing her thighs with each obedient step.

The red turned off the moment she stood on it, and the room was in darkness again. There was silence beyond her mask, but beneath it? Breath. Whimpering. Anastasia tapped her thighs with her fingers. Shifting her weight. A red light appeared, and for a moment, she could see a silhouette before the light turned off. More lights. More shadows. More darkness.

White.

Mantra.

"Trust," the mask said.

Anastasia bowed from the waist and opened her legs. She whimpered.

The room lit up as Guide walked along the centre of the room, stopping in front of her. "Stacy. You have impressed me today. If you impress me tomorrow, you will earn another mark."

"Thank you, Guide," Anastasia said, still holding her pose.

Guide turned. "Hands behind your back, stand up straight. Legs apart."

Anastasia complied. Biting her lip as her lips spread again. To take the seam from between them, she would have to move her hands -- so it stayed there. Pressing. Pushing. There were two dozen other white masks in the room. They wore white trousers, with a white t-shirt. Only she was dressed different. Only she had a mark.

Guide pointed at Anastasia. "All of you -- Look at Stacy."

Anastasia clenched her fists behind her back as all the masks silently turned toward her. She felt her skin flush, and she pressed her toes into the floor as her muscles tightened. Fighting every urge she had to cover up. She was in a mask. So it wasn't like they could actually see her. She was anonymous. There was something exciting about it -- being so exposed, but still hidden. Safe. Shifting her weight, shifted the pressure. Friction rubbing as she moved. Move again. Everything ached. The seam promised release. Relief. If she kept moving...

"Stacy earned two marks, and you have none. Do you know why?" Guide asked, looking around at the silent, staring masks. "When you were blinded, you removed your masks. She did not. Why didn't you take it off, Stacy?"

She tried to lower her head. To shrink away from the attention. "The card said not to, Guide."

Also, Daddy would be so very angry, and Jules would undoubtedly suffer the lion's share of it. That wasn't very cohesive at all. Julian's wellness was just as important as anyone else's. More so, in fact. Except... he didn't warn her.

"That is the exact answer," Guide said, walking to Anastasia and raising her chin. "Do not look away from those beneath you."

She bit her lip -- her whole body was on fire. Guide praised only her, and it was praise she had earned. It was intoxicating. She wanted more. A new challenge to overcome. To show Guide what a good girl Stacy could be. She wanted to move her hands. To rub. To cum.

"Why are you topless?" Guide asked, spinning again to watch the room.

The dryer ate her suit, and Guide stole her bra. For the first time, she was actually glad of it. It was so hot in here. Digging her toes into the floor, she shifted her legs a little farther open. Spread her lips a little more. Pressed her panties just a little more over her clit. A quiet whimper. She forgot to answer.

"You wanted my bra, Guide," she blurted. "So, I gave it to you."

"Perfect. Just... wonderful," Guide said, pointing at her emphatically. "This is a rare, generational talent. I want you all to pay close attention to her. Learn how much better you could be. She is platinum material. She will meet with the upper echelons of this company. You'll be lucky if you promote wellness for the interns."

Guide faced Stacy again. Leaning close to whisper. "You spent the whole day topless. How did that feel?"

Exciting. "Terrifying, Guide."

"Yet, you did it anyway. I saw you struggle. You wanted to hide?"

"Yes, Guide."

"Why didn't you?"

She didn't want to hide. It was exciting her too much. Resisting herself instead of the world. Being vulnerable on purpose. Denying herself at the whim of others.

"... You told me not to, Guide... I... I want to learn about myself."

"And have you?"

"Yes, Guide."

Guide pulled the red bra from her robe and held it out. "I will not be giving you a uniform," she said, loud enough for the room to hear. "You will wear what you brought, or nothing at all. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Guide."

"Would you like your bra back?"

This was a test. Another test. Anastasia didn't know what the purpose was. All she knew was if she kept doing what she was told... she would have earned a place with the highest level of the company. No one, not even her father, could deny her worth then. What did that mean? Being topless? It was a choice. Loyalty and discomfort, or relief and failure. Anastasia knew what the only answer for her was.

"No, Guide. It was a gift for you."

"Good girl. I look forward to many more gifts from you," Guide said, standing directly in front of her. "One last question. Are you wet?"

Anastasia shuffled in place. Side to side. Her panties were saturated, and nothing her hips did could relieve her of the pressure. None of her tiny movements moved them -- they no longer rubbed her clit. She was pinned. Unable to escape her arousal. Unable to make it better, or worse. She had no idea why she found it so erotic? Was it the excitement? The attention? The nudity? Her head lowered, but Guide's fingers caught her and raised it. She hated to admit it, but she wanted to be pushed further. She needed to cum, and be seen doing it.

"Yes, Guide," she whispered.

"Loud enough to be heard."

Stacy whimpered. "Yes, Guide!" she yelled.

"Yes, what?"

"I... I am wet, Guide." She felt another rush of heat, but there could be more. Always more.

"Good girl. Why are you wet?"

"I..."

What answer was Guide expecting? What was the truth? Stacy enjoyed it. Behind this mask, she was free. It was liberating. It was...

"... Wellness, Guide."

"Wellness?" Guide shook her head and turned to the others. "Do you see why she is my favourite? She is wet because she has already embodied our mission."

Stacy was more than wet. She was close. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the torturous tension.

Guide paced in front of Stacy. "How can there be but one potential with any talent? How did I end up with such a sorry group? Potentials. That's what you're supposed to be. There is no potential here, even with Stacy picking up every bit of slack you all leave hanging... I think you need to be properly motivated.

Stacy. I give you the greatest reward you can attain. You may decide how these failures will be punished."

Anastasia could feel again the faceless glares on her. It wasn't their fault. She had a very lucky, or unlucky, start. Guide happened to find her half naked and blind. Any one of them could be here, basking in Guide's favour. The fates had given her a handout. Now it was her turn to pay it forward. How to convince Guide? Obviously, punishing everyone except her was bad for morale. Bad for Cohesion. She bit her lip, shifted her weight, and whimpered.

"I'm sorry, Guide. I can't do that," she said, taking a deep breath. She might be punished for challenging Guide, but then again, it might be another test. "Please don't punish them."

"Why ever not?" Guide asked, stepping closer. "You succeeded, and were rewarded. They failed, and should be punished."

"Wellness flows from cohesion, Guide. There can be no cohesion in a toxic workplace. No wellness. If you punish them, it... it goes against our mission."

"Give me something as tribute, and I will accept your argument."

Give her something? What else do I have to give? My suit? If it ever comes back. Or...

She looked down. She still had a pair of very damp red panties. Guide knew this was all she had, so it must be what Guide wanted. There would be no uniform. No clothing until her suit was returned. If. If she didn't stop the punishments... It was a target painted on her. Survival wasn't an option. She had to excel. More than that...

She wanted more.

Taking a deep breath and patting her thighs with her hands, she tucked her thumbs in the waistband. More pressure. Surging warmth. Her gut flipped as her muscles tightened. She had basically been naked all day.

"Fuck," Stacy muttered.

It wasn't as if the partially see-through lace was covering anything.

Without thinking, she fiddled with the lace. Tugging it lightly. Mustering her courage. She had to stop, but she didn't want to. She had to take them off, but she was so close. Guide had claimed them. Stacy bent over, slipping the soaked panties over her cold feet. The cool air immediately washed over her. It wasn't the same. Wasn't enough. Her hands were shaking as she folded the last dregs of her modesty and held it at arm's length in her palms.

"Please accept everything I have, Guide."

Guide took the offering and held the damp panties beneath her mask. "Your arousal smells pure and intense. There's so much more you can give. I cannot wait to see how far you grow," she said, turning to face the rest of the room. "Stacy has saved you today. Be grateful. Be humbled. Learn."

Guide turned and left the room, taking all of Anastasia's clothing with her. The other potentials left their spots to offer a bow to her before returning to the passages they walked through. She waited for everyone else to leave before she left herself. Peeking around corners, she scampered through the halls. Trying to get back to her pod. The nudity didn't matter. Only the release she yearned for.

White. Mantra.

"Readiness."

No. Please. No.

Anastasia looked around the hallway. Empty for now. She knelt and adopted the pose. Knees open, back straight, head lowered. Hands resting on her thighs. Naked. Exposed. Presented. Denied. The mask blocked her line of sight. She could only see her lap and her shaved mound. The source of her suffering, and the way to end it. Just move a hand. Rub her clit. She would feel so much better. No one would know.

Unless they were watching. She hoped they were watching.

Someone.

Anyone.

The position had spread her glistening lips, revealing everything she would normally hide. Why was she here in this hallway, naked and displayed? Alone. No Guide to perform for, no secret to keep. Still, she knelt. She never wanted to hide her body again. She stared at her wetness. Her clit was cresting from its sheath, and every waft of conditioned air that blew over her caressed it. Teased it. She wanted to touch it. To rub it. It didn't matter if it was here. Now. She was wearing a mask. No one would know it was her. But...

Was it allowed? She hadn't been told not to do it, but she hadn't been given permission either.

Footsteps echoed through the hall. Then the quiet squeaking of wheels. Closer. Closer. Anastasia could feel the presence, even without looking up.

Click. Flash.

They took a photo of her. That's okay. She was wearing a mask. If they wanted to enjoy her body later, she hoped it would promote wellness. She heard a zip being lowered. Then a rapid, wet slapping... Stacy moaned behind her mask. The stranger -- janitor most likely -- was jerking off. To her. Next to her. She had to kneel. She was forced to be his model. His target. No, not forced. She could get up and walk away anytime she wanted. Now, even.

She didn't.

This was good for his wellness.

If she was allowed to move her hands, she would have helped. She wanted to help.

He groaned and stepped closer, gripping her hair and tilting her mask to the side. She kept her hands on her thighs. Why? Was she supposed to let this happen? Was this part of the training? A consequence of it? The groans got louder. A splash of hot wetness on her neck. He came on her. Another splash over her tits. Stacy moaned again. A third splash landed on her thigh and hand, followed by a few quiet splatters, when he flicked his cock clean over her mask.

She knelt there, coated in his cum. He didn't ask. She didn't stop him. Her clit pulsed. Stacy had enjoyed it. The man pulled her hair toward him, yanking her head as he did. He wiped his cock in her hair and zipped himself up. She thought that was it, but he wasn't done with her yet. He took her clean hand by the wrist. She didn't fight. Using her own hand, he smeared and scooped his load and spread it onto the filthy toecap of his boot.

He'd stop if she told him to.

Stacy moaned when he pressed his cum-covered boot into her aching pussy.

If she told him.

"I can tell. I'm really going to enjoy you," he said, pressing harder. "Grind on it. I wanna watch you cum."

He laughed when Stacy rocked her hips, rubbing herself over his boot. Slow -- at first. Her hesitation faded as the scuffed leather teased and punished. Each movement left more of her juices behind. Left more of his in her. She could smell the leather, her arousal -- his cum. She moaned. There was no reason to stay quiet. No reason to hide her enjoyment.

She kept her hands on her thighs. Her back straight. Head down. Her attention was focused on her grinding hips -- and the dirty boot that pressed against her, smearing his cum into her folds. Every noise she made was echoed in the mask. Every breath, whimper, and especially the moans. Each and every one of them. She was a detached witness to her lust.

And Stacy was loving every second of it.

Her body was getting hotter. Tension was building. Coiling. This was like nothing she had done before. Would ever have done. She whimpered. Moaning and whining. Rubbing faster. She couldn't have imagined doing this. Feeling like this. She was close. So close. The boot lowered and her clit rubbed against the air. Stomach muscles near spasm. She whined. Loud. Desperate. Pathetic.

"No... please... put it back," she begged through aching breaths.

"Put what back?" He asked, wiggling his boot in her tunnelled vision.

"Please, put your boot back."

"Why?"

She could almost hear the smirk in his voice. It didn't matter. She didn't care. She wanted it.

Needed it.

"Please, let me rub my pussy on your boot... Please let me cum."

The boot was raised and pressed harder into her.

"Thank you," she gushed. Desperate hips pushed her aching clit against it. Grinding. Debasing. Degrading. He would never know who he was humiliating. Who he had cum over. Who he was giving the best orgasm she had ever had. Her fingernails dug into her thigh as her body tensed, and she screamed in pleasure. Loud. Unrestrained.

Her wellness had been promoted.

The janitor pat her on the head. "Guess you needed that," he said, dropping a rag from his pocket. "Since you're down there, give my boot a polish."

Hands still shaking, she picked up the rag and wiped the boot. There was so much of her on it. It was shameful, but... there was a distance to it. He wasn't laughing at Anastasia. He was laughing at the girl in the mask. Laughing at Stacy. His cum was on Stacy's tits. Smeared into Stacy's pussy.

Stacy could do these incredible debaucheries. She could enjoy openly what Anastasia would be scandalised for. Headlines for days. Company reputation damaged. Stock in a nosedive. A Princess ruined.

But Stacy? Stacy was free.

No obligations. No objections.

No constraint.