Cassandra Chapter 2

So my dream job - and life - WILL go on. Grace was right; "Special Assistant for Business and Office Operations" IS a mouthful. How appropriate for a girl like me. No one in the office refers to me as the "Office Slut" - at least, not openly. I would not be offended if they did. It is what I am and I am beyond shame.

After eight sessions with Michelle, Melissa has informed me that she is satisfied with my development - at least for now. I can never be sure with Melissa. I am proud of my 44FF-22-38 figure. I wear custom-made underwire shelf bras that cradle my spectacular breasts and lift them high up on my chest - that is, unless I want even more drama and go braless. My wide hips undulate suggestively. It has become a completely natural motion, as if they had a mind of their own.

I am cinched into heavily-boned corsets twenty-four hours a day - an absolute must to relieve the pressure on my back caused by my massive tits and six-inch heels. I have the most fantastic wardrobe of the tightest, sexiest, most revealing dresses, skirts, blouses, and business suits, all specially tailored to make the most of my ultra-womanly figure. Some - especially the suits with longer, snug-fitting skirts - are designed with Velcro closures, just like a stripper's costume! That makes them so easy to get in and out of - an absolute MUST in my position.

I have my own office in a quiet corner of Human Resources. I have a beautiful desk, plants, artwork on the walls, and a large, comfy, padded leather couch. Grace gave me my own secretary so I can keep my long, lovely nails salon-perfect. It seems I am always "In Conference" and not to be disturbed - either with an employee who "needs to take the edge off" or a client (current or potential) who requires a little "nudge" to close a big contract. I can be VERY persuasive!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is semi-autobiographical. Melissa does exist, under a different name and vocation. The details of our meeting, college affair and respective emotional 'baggage' are accurate. So, too, are the details of that first intimate dinner in her apartment when we met again. The rest, Dear Reader, I will leave to your imagination...