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“Alright, you should be able to hear me.”
Beatrice nodded ever so slightly, sitting at her desk. Through the glass wall, her secretary could see the nod, though she didn’t look up or apparently acknowledge the gesture.
“Alright, let’s test this. Raise your right hand.”
Instantly, without hesitating, Beatrice raised her right hand straight up, as though she wanted to ask a question. It could have been mistaken for a stretch, if anyone else in the office had been walking by and looked through the glass at her, but she wasn’t stretching. She was obeying.
Martha had been Beatrice’s faithful secretary for years, but they’d only recently begun circling each other romantically. Beatrice had worried about the unfair power dynamic it would create, but Martha was insistent, and given the arrangement they’d worked out, it wasn’t Beatrice who had any power to exploit.
The secretary’s lips just barely moved, a gesture only Beatrice noticed, as she spoke into the microphone. “Put your hand down.”
Beatrice put her hand down.
“Good girl,” Martha said, her voice only heard in Beatrice’s earpiece. “Now you may start your work.”
This was the relationship they’d worked out. Total control. Not just authority, but instant, unlimited control over Beatrice’s actions. They’d danced around the idea for weeks, playing with domination, with bondage, but her thirst for ownership just couldn’t be satisfied…
It made her scared, but she trusted Martha. She wouldn’t have submitted to her otherwise.
“Say who you belong to, out loud,” Martha instructed.
In the empty office, Beatrice obeyed. “I belong to Martha.”
No other instructions came, so Beatrice got to work, typing emails and generally performing her job as manager, like it were any other day. She even sent an email to Martha, telling her to arrange for a couple meetings with senior management and to adjust the calendar to deal with the new seasonal changes to their schedule.
Martha was visibly working at her desk, typing into a calculator as she worked on spreadsheets as her lips moved, ever so subtly. “Put your hand under your skirt and touch yourself.”
Doing as she was told, Beatrice slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her skirt and panties, gently teasing herself, trying not to blush. There was no way to see what her hand was doing beneath the desk, but she had to keep the movements subtle. She couldn’t see anybody watching through the glass, everyone had their heads down in their cubicles, but Beatrice still didn’t want her face to show the heat and desire that was rising in her.
“Harder. Go inside yourself.”
Beatrice obeyed, fingers probing deeper, making her panties wet as she did exactly as she was told to do. It wasn’t even accurate to call it obedience. You wouldn’t call a computer obedient for turning on when you pressed the power button, you would call it functional, and that’s what Beatrice was. A functional thing, under the control of Martha.
Still, she didn’t have to do what she wasn’t told to do, so as she fucked herself with her fingers, she kept a steady expression on her face, pretending to look intently at her computer.
And just like that, she couldn’t be subtle anymore. Beatrice groaned with pleasure, not loudly, but clearly making the sounds of pleasure.
Martha got up from her desk as Beatrice gasped and moaned, walking to the door, and just as she opened it she said into the earpiece, “Stop.”
Beatrice’s hand retreated immediately.
This time when Martha spoke, it was loud and clear, projected for the office and not for the earpiece. “Your eleven o’clock meeting is here, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Martha,” Beatrice said. Her fingers were still wet, dripping from her sex, but she hadn’t been told to wipe it clean.
“You have twelve seconds before he walks in,” the voice in the earpiece said. “Lick your hand clean, and then do your job to the best of your ability.”
Hurriedly, Beatrice lapped at her fingers, licking away the moisture. Her hand was still moist as she finished and resumed typing, but it was no longer dripping, no longer obvious. Martha was looking out for her.
The man who walked in was some manager or another from a partnered company. There to talk about… she couldn’t care less what. It was an unnecessary meeting. He wanted to take up her time, because it was his job to look important and seem like he was busy.
Beatrice conducted herself professionally, did her job, and answered all his questions. On another day, she might have been curt, even rude, uncourteous to someone taking up her time for no good reason, but today she had been instructed to do her best. So, she smiled, pretended to laugh at his jokes, played polite, and-
Her laugh died in her throat as the instruction caught her off guard. It took her a second to obey, not for lack of trying, but because her body wanted to reject the foreign instructions. Martha’s word wouldn’t be ignored, though. Cheeks turning slightly pink, she followed her command, releasing a stream of urine into her panties that quickly flooded out, staining her skirt and forming a puddle on her ergonomic office chair.
The man noticed her change in demeanor, but didn’t hear the subtle hiss. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, not at all,” Beatrice said, as she continued to let go, urine dripping down her legs. “Please, continue.”
He remained oblivious as he resumed his story, an anecdote about some business conquest that Beatrice could not care less about. The stream finally tapered and died, but the puddle she sat in, the yellow stains on her socks and dribbling liquid pooling on the floor, that wasn’t going anywhere.
Finally, he left, off to another meeting with middle management that would go nowhere. Beatrice checked her computer. It was a couple minutes before noon, a time when most everyone would be off to lunch.
She continued working, waiting for instructions. Noon came and went. People left their cubicles and went to work, and Martha appeared to be oblivious to the state Beatrice was in. She didn’t even look up at her boss as she instructed, “Take off all your clothes below the waist, including your heels, and put them in the bottom left drawer of your desk.”
Beatrice was mortified that someone would see, but it was a prudent thing to do. She couldn’t continue to work in soaking wet clothing. Standing, hesitantly, she began to strip, pulling the drawer open.
Martha had, it seemed, been planning for this. The drawer was empty, but lined with plastic so that the wet clothes wouldn’t stain.
“Now, open the bottom right drawer and use the towel inside to clean your floor and chair,” Martha’s instructions came, even as the secretary stood, powering down her computer and walking to the door. Aloud for all to hear, she said, “I’m going to lunch, ma’am. Are you going to stay here through your break?” Quietly, she added, “Say yes.”
“Yes, I am,” Beatrice said, as though she wasn’t standing half-naked, holding a towel to wipe up the accident she’d just had.
“Alright. I’ll bring you something, then,” Martha said, aloud. “Coffee?”
No instructions came. Beatrice paused, uncertain. What does she want me to do?
In the earpiece, Martha whispered, “You’re allowed to decide if you want coffee.”
Right. Beatrice nodded. “That would be lovely.”
“Alright then.” Martha left, closing the door behind her.
Beatrice was overlooking an empty office as she sopped up the rest of the urine on the floor, cleaning it up and putting the towel in the bottom left drawer with her other clothes.
A minute later, she heard her owner’s voice. “Are you done cleaning?”
“Open the second-to-bottom drawer of your desk, and put on everything you find in there.”
Of course she had planned this. She wouldn’t make Beatrice stay half naked for the rest of the day. She expected to find black lace panties and a new skirt, but when she opened the door, she instead saw a bright pink miniskirt, five inches long as the most, with Hello Kitty printed on the hem. Knee-high striped stockings and Mary Jane shoes went with the ensemble, but topping it all off was a thick, white diaper.
Beatrice blinked, and for a moment, she… hesitated.
No. I’ll obey.
She was tentative as she put on the diaper, but that was only because she had little familiarity with the garment and had to examine it to learn how to put it on. Taping it snugly around her waist, she pulled up the skirt and found that it did little to conceal her padding. It was better than nothing, but anyone stealing a glance at her backside would easily see the puffy, crinkly garment sticking out beneath it.
The stockings and Mary Janes were less complicated, if no less juvenile. Once she got dressed in them, she was split in half - from the waist up, a model businesswoman, from the waist down a toddler with particularly childish taste.
It wasn’t how she’d expected the day to go, but despite the humiliating consequences if anyone saw what she was wearing, Beatrice felt a thrill of submission. Martha had surprised her, and in that surprise she’d reinforced her complete control. She could, it seemed, tell her to do anything.
Martha ate her lunch, the thrill of dominance buzzing in her fingertips as she ate. She’d been worried that her Beatrice would balk and disobey, but she hadn’t. She’d come this far. Her Beatrice would, it seemed, obey instructions to do anything.
It took self control not to abuse this power. Her Beatrice’s safety came first, and though Martha would toe the line of publicity, she would never truly let her Beatrice be humiliated publicly. She would only approach it, getting close enough for her Beatrice to feel the excitement without ever being in true danger.
Speaking almost inaudibly, so that the earpiece would pick it up, she said, “Are you dressed?”
“Yes,” her Beatrice said, her voice shaking, a little timid, but still clear. She hadn’t disobeyed.
“Cum in your diapers,” Martha whispered. “ Loudly.”
In her earpiece, Martha heard her ‘boss’ begin to moan, and though she wasn’t there to watch it, she could imagine the fingers exploring beneath her Beatrice’s new padding, the frantic desire to obey quickly and completely through whatever means necessary.
Someone approached, asking her an idle question about the weather, or sports, or some other inane thing. Martha smiled and nodded along, all the while hearing the gasps of pleasure in her ear as her instructions were carried out.
Before her lunch break was over, she made her Beatrice cum three times, soaking her diapers with enough wetness that it’d be clear she’d had some kind of accident in them. As the break period came to a close, she took the spare lunch she’d prepared out of the fridge, poured a mug of coffee, and brought them both to her Beatrice.
As she set it on her boss’s desk, she leaned in so she could steal a peek at the skirt and diaper that was hidden beneath the professional exterior. Seeing the hidden wardrobe, she grinned, and had to fight the urge to skip out of her boss’s office.
Martha let her have it easy throughout the rest of the day. She occasionally gave her Beatrice tasks or instructions, but it was only little things, things to remind her that she was being controlled. Telling her to move a pen on her desk, or to put her thumb in her mouth, or - once - to pee in her diaper.
They both worked late. It wasn’t unusual, they tended to stay after hours a few times a month to finish up on various tasks, but this time it was because Martha instructed her Beatrice to stay, and so they stayed.
She wanted the office to be mostly empty.
Finally, forty five minutes after closing, when everyone else had gone or would be staying for a while longer, she said, “Stand up and come with me. We are leaving.”
Her Beatrice stood. Her face flushed pink as her mini skirt became visible, the sodden, sagging diaper peeking out beneath it, but the place was deserted. Nobody would see, Martha had planned their route to the elevator to avoid any prying eyes.
Martha was also amused to note that her Beatrice was unfamiliar with the bulk between her legs. She had a pronounced waddle as she walked to the door of her office.
“Take my hand,” Martha said. Her Beatrice took it, squeezing as they walked away.
The elevator took almost a minute to roll up to their floor. It was slow, and it was a big building. As the doors slid open, Martha pulled her Beatrice inside, pressed the button for the parking garage, and then spoke into the earpiece.
“Squat down, and fill your diapers.”
Beatrice tensed, and Martha did too, panicking for a moment. Did I go too far? Should I have done something else?
Before she could rescind the command and apologize, though, her Beatrice moved, knees bending, crinkly bottom sticking out as she crouched down and scrunched up her face.
Grunting softly, pushing hard to fight her decades of potty training, her Beatrice did exactly as she was told. There was no hesitation in the action, except that of bodily impulses that couldn’t be controlled, and as the elevator slowly rattled down to the garage, the smell of her Beatrice’s mess filled the elevator.
The diaper sagged more with the weight, and her Beatrice didn’t stop until she was empty, until she’d obeyed as much as she could. Still holding Martha’s hand, she looked up at her, eyes shining.
Martha smiled back, squeezing her Beatrice’s hand as she whispered her next command. “Kiss me.”
Her Beatrice was more than happy to, standing, planting her lips on Martha’s with desperate passion. Martha’s hands wrapped around her, holding her tight, one hand squeezing the seat of her boss’s particularly full, stinky diaper.
The kiss lasted until the elevator door dinged, and Martha pulled away, so she could whisper, “I’m so proud of you.”