Charlie's new boss was gorgeous.That was the only thing he could keep in his head as he watched the statuesque blonde stride into the conference room in her gleaming white business suit, the matching fur stole thrown over her shoulder, her spectacular legs perched on white patent-leather four-inch heels.
"Good morning, gentlemen," she said, as she took her seat. "I'm the new president of Corydor Fashions. My late husband started this company and made it a success, I intend to make it a triumph!"
Mrs. Corydor was as good as her word. Within six months, Corydor Fashions was winning design awards and making inroads on such well-known lines as Anne Klein and Ellen Tracy. The company president was the line's best advertisement, always dressed to the nines in the top designs of the company's current collections.
A few weeks before the premier of the company's spring line, Charlie was called into her office, his first visit there since her arrival. In her husband's time, the president's office was a den of masculine power: dark panelled walls, heavy oak furniture, the smell of cigars and brandy. Now, as Charlie entered it, he realized that it was a haven of all that was feminine: The walls were now done in a light floral pattern, the furniture was French provincial, the smell was a heady mix of perfumes. In fact, the allure of the scents in the office was so powerful, Charlie nearly swooned as he took the offered seat.
"Welcome, Charlie," Mrs. Corydor began, "would you like some wine?"
Charlie accepted the glass of white wine and took a sip...and again felt the sensation of losing consciousness.
"Feeling a little woozy, Charlie?" Mrs. Corydor asked. "Well, that's not surprising--the wine you just tasted was laced with a very powerful combination of hypnotics and muscle relaxants. And the scents in this room are designed to have a strong effect on the male libido. You are feeling mildly horny, aren't you?"
Charlie, already feeling the force of the drugs and his boss's personality, could only mumble in the affirmative.
"Excellent," Mrs. Corydor said. "I have big plans for you, Charlie. But first I have to make some modifications in your looks, style and personality."
Over the next two hours, the dominant executive worked on making Charlie into a successful submissive. She replaced his underwear with white lingerie: padded bra, satin panties, matching garter belt and white lace nylons. She made him desire to dress this way at all times. And she gave him a code phrase, "The boss is always right", that would automatically return him to this pliant state whenever she spoke it to him.
In conclusion, she gave him a post-hypnotic command to arrive at her home at seven that evening, and then dismissed him.
Precisely at seven, still dressed in the white lingerie beneath his business suit, Charlie rang the door at the Corydor townhouse. He was greeted by an attractive maid, who showed him to the living room. There, reclining on the couch, was Mrs. Corydor, in a red satin nightgown that clung to her every curve.
"Hello, Charlotte," she greeted him, laughing. "You may go, Yvette," she told the maid, "but ask the children to join us, won't you?" The maid curtseyed and departed.
"Come now, Charlotte," Mrs. Corydor continued. "You don't really want to be all cooped up in that hideous suit, now do you? Please take it off...after all, the boss is always right."
That settled it. Charlotte, formerly Charlie, stripped down to his lingerie and, at his employer's further command, curled up at her feet by the couch.
In moments, two young girls, about 12 and 10, appeared in the doorway, each dressed in beautifully frilly petticoats and crinolines. Wait a minute, thought Charlie/Charlotte. The Corydor kids are boys; I remember meeting them at a company picnic.
"Yes, Charlotte," Mrs. Corydor said, seemingly reading his mind, "these are my children--Roberta and Cynthia, once Robert and Sidney. They're undergoing much the same treatment that you are...and very successfully as you can see. In a few months, I expect them to be the top models for Corydor Fashions' new pre-teen line."
She placed a finger under Charlie's chin and turned his face up toward hers. "Would you like to be a model, Charlotte?"
It was September. The ads were being photographed for Corydor's spring line. Fashion editors were oohing and ahhing the new designs and especially about a striking new, previously unknown model. She was used to display the line's sexiest and most revealing minidresses and heels, her long slender legs setting many a male heart to beating heavily.
Mrs. Corydor greeted the press with her new find. The lovely model simpered and smiled and pouted, but didn't speak very much, deferring to the powerful executive.
"Why doesn't she speak for herself?" one of the reporters asked.
"She knows I have all the answers," Mrs. Corydor answered, smiling conspiratorially. "Isn't that correct, Charlotte? After all, the boss is always right!"
THE END
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