Not A BlondeSubmitted by: Kurtuk Cardington
The time is the post-feminist future, and the old patriarchy is back. There a new world order. There is a vaccine for AIDS, but not for the internet, which crashed, virus ridden, in 2011. The global economy rewards those who own it, a small elite of white men. Equal opportunity in the areas of race and gender are over, legislatively and practically. The glass ceiling is low. Very low. Women and colored people don't vote, own real estate or any other asset. They are only allowed checking accounts at banks.
Upper class white girls, try to get married after two years of finishing school at about 22-23 - and be simply try to be good little wives keeping to tastefully pretty yet elaborately styled, often corseted or girdled, Stepford look. Their executive husbands screw around on them, but that's never an accepted cause for a hissy fit, whining or even a slight frown. As her mother will remind her, a wife puts up with any thing to remain married to her husband who took her virginity and let her have his children. And if she wants out, she has so few options. No other man will ever marry her; but she might be able to work, as a waitress, secretary or topless dancer if he lets her. Most don't, they keep their ex-wives in a little studio apartment; visiting them for the occasional fuck.
A wealthy man isn't held back from divorce though; no-fault divorce has been replaced by 'her fault' divorce; a man can dump his wife at any time, usually when the children are in their teens, and she is approaching her late thirties. Then, she is on her own, or still ruled by his will, since a once married women has to accept her ex-husbands guardianship, at his option, for ever.
White girls from poor, working class, or lower middle class families, -- can try repetitive, menial factory work (dainty, hand made thing are fashionable), or if they are very pretty and very lucky, office work, where the most common job is secretary or secigirl, the highest they can rise to would be Executive Personal Assistant to an powerful executive. Typing, photocopying and filing are now at heart of office work, since computers can't be trusted any more. Very pretty light skinned Black girls with refined featured might make a shop assistant, or office errand girls; darker girls with wider noses and thicker lips, who are well figured yet slim, might be allowed to work as strippers and street whores for black clientele; which is also what any white girl who can't get or keep an office job might well have to descend to. The fat and ugly colored girls, black or Hispanic can only find work as anonymous cleaning fillies on crews sweeping, scrubbing and mopping large buildings, and restaurants.
Upper class boys, have every privilege and go on to be corporate executives, lawyers, physicians; lower class men loiter the streets as petty drug dealers or pimps, languish in jail from time to time, or most of all serve long, overseas tours in the Army fighting and dieing in foreign wars.
Yes, its back to the future; welcome to a new world.
I. The Belt & the Key.
"There he is," Lana breathed, small fingers wrapped tightly on the tube of CSL red gloss, pressing like a tiny erect cock on her pouting lips.
Cindy gasped out, pressing her small breasts on Lana's arm, "O God yes," she said with a soft moan, freshly darkened lashes fluttering.
Kathy, who was beside them, gave the two other girls a snide look, and stepped sideways, away from the mirror, to see better. Her breath quickened as she saw their boss, Mr. Brinson, stepping out of his office. The glass sliding door was open, and his beautiful, hot Personal Assistant Lauren, had stepped outside with him, and taking down some last moment instructions, on a small note pad.
The girls heard him say, "All right then, get your ass to that stuff," and saw him give Lauren a quiet pat on her backside. Cindy sighed softly, and there was a quick, quiet intake of breath, as the secretaries by the mirror in the long-room watched Mr. Brinson stride out, eyes no longer on the reflections of their carefully painted faces in the mirror, but on his long powerful strides, as he moved towards the elevators.
The doors opened, and he stepped in, greeting scarlet skirted blonde girl in elevator, with a quick chuck under her pretty chin, "Hi Sandi. Looking forward to strutting your stuff this evening?"
"Oh, at MeatMarket Mr. Brinson, Sir?! Yes, of course sir, are you coming by?" She simpered, and stepped to him, heavy braless breasts, swaying in her sleeveless silk shirt, which she had tied up to expose her belly stud. Her stiff right nipple brushing his elbow, she said, "That would be so hot, sir!"
The doors closed, with swoosh and Lana sighed softly in frustration, thumbs running on her hips, as the elevator went up. "She is such a forward little ho," she hissed to Cindy.
Cindy nodded, adding, "And her cow tits are so saggy!" just as Miss Witherspoon, their office manager, gave Lana a stinging snap of her leather strap, on her spandex clad ass.
"That's enough chattering. Back to your seats, you three." she said coldly.
Kathy sniggered softly, looking at Lana, glad it wasn't her that got the shot.
Lana yelped a "Yes Ma'am, sorry Ma'am," and all the girls hurried back to their seats.
Kathy sat down quickly, and began to type, trying to focus on the black letters on the onion skin, the keyboard, and the recorded voice of Mr. Brinson on the Dictaphone at the same time. She stopped, half whimpering to herself, unable to take her mind off his swift strides to the elevator.
It was just the Friday of her second week at Rayper & Phalson. The first week and half, she had just been getting used to the job, working out the rules and where she fitted in, trying not to get too strung out or ditzed up. That was an effort, she knew - giggle! But then she had actually seen Mr. Brinson nude at shape&slim hour in the gym, a couple of days before. O'm'God. That had totally flipped her out. She didn't know what it was, she just had. Earlier, he was a large, but sort of vague presence in her mind, but now he was at the center of her world, she couldn't stop thinking about him, suddenly.
Of course, the thing was, as a secretary girl she didn't see much of Mr. Brinson. All the Secigirls would be in their seats, working when he came in around 9.30 or so, and he would step into the long-room a moment, and Miss Whitherspoon would tap her strap on her table, and all twelve of the Secigirls would stand and go, "Good Morning, Mr. Brinson, Sir," and he would nod, and go into his office, and then you couldn't see him anymore, because the main office was behind a second wooden sliding door.
Occasionally, though during the working day, he'd walk through the long-room, where the girl's sat in rows, getting all of them totally freaked, batting their lashes, and shifting their butts, and lifting their tits trying to catch his eye. But usually, he'd do a round, and go back to his office, or stride to the elevators, as he had done today. And nearly each time, they'd be some girl in it, coming up or going down. Kathy thought of Sandi who'd just been there, all dolled up and slutty in elevator, rubbing her tits on Mr. Brinson, and seethed. She just hated any girl who tried that with him. Sigh.
Kathy took a sip of water, tried to clear her mind, and refocused on her typing. White out wasn't an office supply anymore; if you made a typo, you typed the whole onionskin again. Originals needed to be smooth and stackable, ready to be sorted into the slimmest of files, now that they didn't have computers (what ever those were) any more. And you got slapped & strapped: a two quick, tight slaps across your face, when you lifted your hair and waited for it, and then three sharp, stinging shots on your backside, with the soft, oiled leather strap - bent over, spandex skirt rolled up high, thong split ass up - from Miss Witherspoon, the office manager, or OM, for wasting time and paper, if you did make a typo.
Kathy was one of 12 Secigirls on 5th; Mr. Brinson's floor of Rayper & Phalson Fund Management. There were 8 floors in the building, each floor was a division. She knew that but not a lot more; except that Mr. Brinson was the only executive up here, and he was a Senior VP. SVP Fixed Income Investments; real important and busy, he had his own Personal Assistant girl of course. Kathy and the others were just Secretaries or Secigirls -- typing, filing and running errands for Lauren, the SVP's PA girl, under the supervisory thumb of Miss Witherspoon.
Kathy stopped typing for a moment; pausing over a word. There were lots of big words in the report she didn't quite know, so she had to keep looking in the dictionary for the spelling of each one. Every time she flipped through the big book, she took a sip of water from the paper cup on her desk, almost automatically; all the secretaries, actually it was all the girls in the building, were required to fill their cups from a HiFem water cooler each hour. When her roomie Cindy and she had heard of this rule, it had seemed really silly; but now Kathy didn't quite know what it was, but she was totally parched for the water all the time! Usually, Kathy and the other Secigirls felt their thirst build, after Miss Witherspoon made sure they all sucked their Hornical-SG 20mg lozenge, first thing in the morning. The Hornical soo sweet (it was even better than the Hormoteen pill that they had to take in high school), Kathy loved pouting her lips and sucking on it, but fifteen minutes later, her throat was totally dry, tongue almost hanging out, and she was panting softly like a bitch-in-heat. All the girls would wait out the first hour like that, just trying to lick their lips wet, keeping focused on their typing or filing. Then the electronic buzzers on their desks would go 'slurp time!' and the girls would all scamper to the HiFem cooler together, tottering in their heels, 12 asses swaying together in their regulation butt hugging black spandex mini-skirts.
Kathy always felt much better about herself after that first long gulp of water; her breasts swelled up tight in her demi-shelf bra, her nipple stiffening, and her whole mound throbbed down-there. That was nice, she felt a little slutty it was so strong, but she loved that ache, and now waited for it. But that feeling never lasted long. Just after the liquid trickled down her throat, she would begin to feel insecure and anxious, tense and high strung, and her calves would quiver in her 4inch high heels, and her ankles would wobble, and she would wonder if she was getting fat.
After that first long drink of water on the hour, all the girls had to 'slutup,' at the long mirror by the cooler. That was the rule. There weren't mirrors in the girls pissrooms any more; there was 3 minutes after 'slurp time' for the girls to primp with the common tubes of EyeCandy lip-gloss, pencil liner and rouge pads, kept on the shelf by the mirror. Miss Witherspoon had said it had all been called "makeup" once, but that was like way back when, when the hag had been young, obviously! Giggle! "Slutup," was what Kathy knew, from the huge EyeCandy cosmetics campaign, "Slutup the Slut in you!" and the one they had now, "Slut! You need to Slu'Up!" And slutup, it they did. But there was always a lot of hissing and bitching as the girls preened, since there was so little room in front of the mirror, and you had to wait. The Secigirls would look at each other's asses and tits, and snicker, whispering catty comments to each other as girls in front re-did their lips, eyes and cheeks.
You felt Miss. Witherspoon's sharp eye on you while you waited, and some times, she would give a girl quick stinging shot in her butt with her leather strap and say, 'don't be such a pushy bitch,' with a sneer. Kathy didn't like that when it was her ass, but it was good thing, really, that Miss Whitherspoon did that, cos lots of the Secigirls, were pushy bitches. Sigh. Sorta like it was in high school, so the office managers were strict, even stricter than high school mistresses. Sigh.
Secigirl gig at Rayper & Phalson was such a good job: it paid $4.75 an hour before tax, and you got a whole 25 cent raise if you worked at it, and got a positive evaluation at the end of each quarter. And it was safe, clean and came with Femclean medical benefits. With the huge girl-unemployment, and what they called the 'bimbo-bulge' on the TV news, she had been really scared she'd not get it, or this or any office job, and have start stripping at a neighborhood Thong & Heels or Pussipoles; they only paid $1.75 an hour basic and no medical at all, and she knew the girl's were lucky to get $2 after an hour of nude, lap dancing. Or worse start hooking on a street corner for some ugly, rough Black pimp, like some white girls she knew from high school were doing already, hair bottle bleached and teased, tongues studded and noses ringed, bellies tattooed with their pimps name, wearing in just those pussiprinter hot pants, that were so tight on the crotch, they dug into your slit, and brightly colored plastic thigh-high boots, sucking for $5 and getting fucked for $12 and getting God knows what kind of puss-itch and stuff from their Johns.
Kathy shuddered, really glad it wasn't her. She was better than that, she had always known that; she was a pretty -- well kinda pretty -- heavy cupped white girl, who had stuck it through high school, and she deserved more. Kathy resented admitting it, but she had been clueless about getting an office job, at a place like Rayper & Phalson. It was Cindy who'd known how to get an gig like this. She had a whole set of back issue of this hot rag called Personal Assistant Magazine, which they said in the old days actually had a web site and all, called 'www.pamagazine.net.' That magazine told you what offices were looking for. Cindy's mags were pretty worn and dog eared, Kathy was sure she had been fingering her pussy while reading them all through high school; its not like she was getting dates and getting done, so she must have been. Giggle! So sure, okay, Cindy knew what the 'corporates' wanted. So Kathy listened to her, and Cindy had got them both dolled up just right, not with the street walker white-ho look, just a notch above that, and with their typed up resumes, and thong'n'heels glam shots clipped on, they had taken the Bus downtown, all of a giggle, and walked in the Rayper lobby.
It was beautiful and real fancy, all granite and chrome, with fountains and a long pool of dark water at the far end, set off with stunning sculptures. At the entrance, were these two blonde receptionists, who looked like they are stepped out of the BimPet magazine Cunterspread, totally dolled up, were taking resumes from the applicants for the Secigirl positions, Rayper had advertised. Kathy didn't know it then, but these hotties were called Topfloors, Topfloor Secigirls, they were the cream of Secigirls who had been picked to work on top floor of the building, the floor where the CEO and CFO had their office. They were almost up there with Personal Assistants. Then it hit her, the 50 odd girls waiting in the lobby, with them were just like Cindy and her, fresh out of high school, trying for a Secigirl position. Oh wow. It was going to tough. And it was; first there was a typing test, then a quick medical where a nurse checked them down-there, quickly, and then they were stripped down, weight, measured, every where, blush, again, and then Amy Sue, the HR SVP's PA girl at Rayper & Phalson, gave each girl a set of points for face & hair, tits, belly, ass & thighs. Amy wasn't polite at all, she was very direct: telling lots of girls their butt were too fat, tits were too saggy.
Then before she knew it, she was on her knees in the HR SVP Mr. Nash's office, on 4th, down by his cock, while Amy Sue watched, and made notes. Kathy had licked his balls quickly, first, before deep throating him, thinking other girls might not have stopped to do that. It was that, or some thing - she really didn't know, but it had been okay. God she had really sucked, knowing 20 or so hotties had made the cut, waiting in a line outside. Mr. Nash hadn't given her much time, hadn't even bothered to cum in her, of course, but he had cupped her heavy tits while she was sucking, pinched and pulled on her nipples. Then when she opened wider, taking his thickness deeper, when he pinched, her throat spasming, she heard him telling Amy Sue, "Okay, yes," and then to her "good girl." Cindy had been next, and when she came out, hair ruffled, flushed, her nipples stiff, shuddering like some slut who had just cum or some thing, Kathy knew she had got it. Only seven girls, including Cindy and she, had been hired.
That was just three months ago; both of them had been straight out of high school, with no Executive Entertainment Certificate (an EEC was a six week, $1000 course which was way way beyond there budget), or TeenSeci badge, you got if you interned at an office, while in high school. Some girls whose mothers were PA girls had managed to intern summers for a badge, but not Kathy, her mother was just part of a Floorwipe girlcrew, they scrubbed and mopped at different places all over town; her mother was the only white girl working on it, with bunch of fat, old, forty-something, Mexican sows.
Her Ma had always wanted her to do better than that; and she was going to. She knew she would really have to work hard to keep this job too; just two week she had been hired, Amy Sue, who'd watched and taken notes at her job interview had been fired for getting fat. Kathy had gone cold when she had heard, her blood was like freezing, until Cindy told her the whole story. The porky-pie had been keeping to her hiring weight apparently, so her boss hadn't noticed, but then, that one day, he'd wanted to butt-fuck her, it had been after a real long while apparently, and when Amy Sue had stripped, bent over, and lifted her ass high for him in his office, and spread wide, he had seen the cellulite on her upper thighs and just said, 'your done!' Of course, he had made her spend the rest of her last day bringing in Secigirls from his pool on 4th, and three or four Topfloor Secigirls to try out as her replacement. But he had settled for a floor girl, this 27 year old tight bod Melissa, who every one said definitely had had the hots for him for awhile, he got Amy Sue to explain every thing he liked carefully to his new girl, before having Miss Cottage-Cheese-thighs clear out her desk and leave, with her $20 of severance pay.
It was a story that Kathy actually liked, because it showed that at least there was a chance of clawing up, here, at Rayper. If you watched your ass, and didn't let it lard out! Giggle! Kathy knew she was going to really work her butt off; but all the rules! It was worse than high school; they were such a pain! She sighed, pouting, remembering the first one: being told that her dirty blonde locks would have to be dyed brunet, and trimmed not longer than to six inches below her shoulders. Miss Witherspoon had laughed at her whining. 'Only Topfloor Secigirls, Temp PA girls, and PA girls are allowed to go blonde, my dear, and that's a salon styled, platinum dyed blonde. Ordinary Secigirls aren't. But you can cut, and shape it within the allowed length, and blow dry it straight or curl it. Okay?" Then tapping her leather strap on her palm, she reeled off, like she was reading it out, what was to be Kathy's kit.
"For you, its Girltight triple-dart - that's front, back and sides--Oxford shirts, two ply, double stitch, button down, soft cotton, no starch; plain white demi-shelf bras from Girltight since you are a D cup - As go braless, Bs underwire with a full cup bra (lots of B-cups prefer to go braless but they have to get permission), and Cs bra in pushup half-cups- and no girl pads, ever, and yes, Topfloor Secigirls who've faked up to a full D or DD, are allowed braless if they are firm, and have a pencil-test note from HR, so don't you whine about that to me. And also, Most PA girls don't bra, even if they haven faked up, but they are following their SVP's preference, don't ever imagine you are up there, now."
She looked Kathy over thoughtfully. "You'll be sagging sooner or later, my dear. Plan on faking firm, at some point. Remember, at Rayper, any faking has to be cleared by HR, your SVP and has to, has to go through your FemClean medical. Its $5,000 down, so start a little piggy bank." She laughed softly. "Or a big one!"
Alright, here is the rest of it: 11 inch black spandex skirt, pull-up, no side zippers, again from Girltight or Gapgirl; crimson-neon thong, cotton-spandex from EyeCandy, crimson is the floor color, its different on different floor - don't get confused about that, and it's a thong, not a G-string, not a V-string not a tanga - again, it can be different on different floors, and don't even ever think about some slutty scarlet-lace wisp with out permission now - but looking at you, I can see you'd want to." Miss Witherspoon look at her with faint disgust, and went on, "4 inch ankle-strap sandals, plastic or pleather from GirlTight is good, some thing simple from ButtUp is also fine, its not like you can even think to afford leather, black but you can chooses the strap pattern -not those clear plastic platforms from Hookers ever, Mr. Brinson hates them, and of course..." she took breath, obviously relishing the last part: "Your Pussibelt, nice and snug - go get it fitted today at Girltight- underneath your thong at all times," and she sniggered out long and loud, finishing with a hiss.
That had shocked Kathy. She'd only heard of that vaguely in high school and never really understood it. "A Pussibelt?" Cindy, who was, of course, like this 'know-it-all' on all the office stuff, didn't know either what a Pussibelt really was, so they had been both a bit freaked when they took their Pussibelt vouchers, Miss Witherspoon had given them, right away, that afternoon itself to Girltight, the giant office girl apparel place, right across from Gapgirl downtown. After they'd gotten their shirts and skirts, and her new demi-shelf bras -- Ohh they were expensive! But her tits lifted up so hot and high in 'em!! -- Cindy had gone up nervously to the counter and shown the Pussibelt voucher to one of the salesgirls, in the neat, tight, light brown Osnaburgh shift, that was the uniform here, Latoya. She had been really nice about it, and smiled and taken them back to a change room, and measured them both down-there, and between their thighs, in detail, quickly but carefully, with a set of steel rulers and calipers, and brought in a few belts. They were some kind of Teflon like mesh, with a narrow thong-panty triangle shaped mesh over the crotch, quite airy really.
"You just spray it when you shower and it dries out clean, super quick, Missy," the salesgirl had said, smiling very respectfully.
The crotch triangle mesh was like a rolled spring, it pulled out, and clipped on the phlexichain that went tight in the butt crack, behind, but when the lock, just between your thighs was popped, the mesh triangle rolled right back up, all the way, coiling into the low riding, thicker, phlexichain hipbelt. Latoya knelt down, and moving on her knees, adjusted the fit. She fussed with the buttchain quite a bit, making it really tight, putting some links back into the hipbelt or some-thing, then widening Kathy's butt-cheeks very carefully, saying, "lift your butt high, Missy, please?' -and pulling the chain tight again. "Okay now Missy, that's going to cut a tiny bit, till you get used to it," the salesgirl said, then even she blushed a little, (Cindy and Kathy had been flaming from the start) and went: "its got to be real real tight, right, Missy, they don't want your... your... boyfriends or anyone who shouldn't, be pulling it aside now," and looked up very shyly.
Kathy and Cindy both giggled, nodding, even though the both of them didn't have boyfriends. v Then the girl, who wasn't a babe or any thing, but okay cute for a mulatto, well she was bit of a darky, and her nose was wide-- said, again in a with giggle, "mine dump me right when I be belted here."
Kathy exclaimed. "Oh wow! Just liked that?" nodding sympathetically.
Latoya looked down for a moment, as if thinking about it, then looked up, biting her thick lower lip, nostrils quivering, like she was trying to not cry - the dark girl was on her knees behind Cindy, now, adjusting her belt, pulling her butt cheeks apart and pushing then up her gently, saying "lift up a bit, please Missy?' and when Cindy did she began to tightening the buttchain, pulling the links through the hip belt -- and then said, "Yes Missy, my younger sister Kaesha gone told Abdul this bitch be belted here, the day I be belted, and he say to her, okay, I be doing you now bitch, and he dumped me. He got her knocked up already, now." Then she sighed.
Cindy laughed quite hard, her phlexichain cleft butt shaking, and said 'that's so typical isn't?' in a snotty voice,.
Latoya's face went darker, but then she nodded quickly, snickered softly, and said, "yes yes yes Missy, you be so right, it sure is."
"How old is the filly?" Cindy asked.
"Kaesha, Missy? The ho be 16 Missy." Latoya, stopped and counted on her fingers. "No, Missy, she just 15."
Cindy tossed her hair, looking at Kathy, laughing again. "Oh god, she has already dropped one, huh? How many have you dropped, girl?" She looked down at Latoya.
Latoya giggled. "Just one, Missy."
"Abdul's?" Asked Kathy.
"No, Missy not him. Some other nigger, I don't rightly know. I got gang raped by the pimp posse in the 'hood, when I was 16 meself."
Kathy giggled, but Cindy jumped forward and away from the girl, like she had been stung. "Have you been checked for pussitch, girl!?" she exclaimed, and her hands went down to her thighs and she looked down at her belted crotch, like she might have caught something already.
"Cindy! Don't be.." Kathy exclaimed, pissed that Cindy was acting so snobish.
Latoya's small hands started quivering, and she clutched her thighs to stop them. Her light brown Osnaburgh dress, and ridden up her smooth brown thighs, to a her crotch, exposing her brown panties.
"yes please Lady Missy...I so sorry, yes, Missy, all us coloured bitches here...she hiked up her skirt more, and lowering her panties, pulled out a tag, that was clipped on to her own Pussibelt that covered her mound. "PussItch cleaned by DawgRid" it said, in bright red letters on the white tab.
"Oh okay," said Cindy, looking mollified, and little contrite as Latoya's eyes had wettened. "I was just worried... I mean its natural..."
"Oh yes, Missy, it is, it is," Latoya recovered, nodding, and then she giggled, "you would worry, Missy, here with me doing a Pussibelt fitting and all. There be a lot of pussitch in the 'hood, Missy. Yes Missy. All the bitches at GirlTight get the HoClean pills for two weeks, and then a week's worth of special douching with DawgRid, Missy." Latoya sighed. "I be so sorry, Lady Missy, please? It be this bitch fault, Missy, I should had me tag hanging out for the fitting"
Cindy nodded, "well of course, if you are tagged..."
Kathy sighed, thinking Cindy to be such a cunt. "So is one of the White Massas here doing you now, then?" she asked, just to be friendly, and change the subject.
Latoya smiled sweety, pressing her wrists to her eyes to dry them, and then looked up at Kathy, "No Missy, I not be done at all yet, here. Massa Richard - he be our manger- he be doing Latisha and Lizzie right now. Latoya flicked back her straighted, short cropped mane from her cheeks. "More Latisha than Lizzie, here, in the store really, Missy." Latoya consdered, thinking about it. "He do Lizzie much more at his big-house, Massa has her go over a lot after work here, to cook, clean and wash there, now that Massa's White Lady is all big and swelled up, with Massa's baby, Missy." She giggled softly, He says to me last month, 'loose 10 pounds off your big black ass, you ugly ho,' and then, he say 'maybe,' he would give me a go month after next." Latoya lowered her eyes, ran her palms tight over her ass as she spoke, as if she could feel her fatness.
Cindy nodded, with a curt, "yeah, he is right!" but even Kathy could see how she really, really needed to squeeze the fat off her butt, which was kind of big even for a colored girl, so Kathy nodded and said, 'you keep at it, girl."
"Thank you so Missies," Latoya said and then snapped their belt locks closed, and looked up, enquiringly.
"Oh its tight!" Kathy yelped, 'cos it was.
"Yes Missy, it like a new leather shoe, they say, Missy, if you've ever had those, I've never, but it going be stretch and mold to you down there, believe me!" And Latoya looked so understandingly and smiled, still kneeling, her own fingers going to her crotch under her tiny Osnaburgh skirt, adjusting her belt, while her thighs widened, and then nodded and nodded.
But its when they turned to look in the mirror, Kathy parting her thighs a little to feel the fit, stroking her ass cheek with her hands back, that she really got the other part, the part you couldn't really see, the little pleather tongue piece, inside the crotch.
Cindy went, "Oh its! Ohh!!" like a real ditz.
Kathy, though, managed to just ask, very softly, cheek brick red, "its got a..." and she moved her thumb down, half pointing and pressing, right where her clit was, but it was now under the mesh, and the pleather tongue, under that.
Latoya nodded, she was blushing really pretty dark brown also now, thick lips parted, breath quick. "Yes, that's special in our model. That's why all the big office orders come here, they say. It's a health and safety thing Missy, the pleather nub hood keeps the mesh from scratching and cutting you down there, you know, right there, where you're very sensitive?"
Cindy moved her fingers lightly over the crotch triangle; Kathy sniggered as she whimpered, careful to bite her own. Latoya also giggled, lightly, her buttocks shifting on her heels.
"It does move, yes Missy." Latoya tried to explain, blushing bright.
"Does it ever... do you ever... like get off with it, girl?" she asked, half hopeful and eager, her breath quick, tugging at her own belt, feeling her moisture seep out, half dreading the reply.
"Oh no, Missy, never, it too tight for that." She giggled. "But Kaesha, she me sista, she say... she say it give a real twitch, shake and sway for me butt, Missy."
"When you walk?"
"yes Missy, but she say, when me be even standing for the bus, it be like I be asking for it, bucking and twisting me."
Cindy laughed. "I can imagine. But then you got raped before, don't forget, so must've had that lil'ho twitch in your ass for years!"
Latoya open her mouth as if to say some thing, but then, just flushed and looked down. "Yes Missy," she said quietly.
Then she smiled up again. "Is there any thing else, please, Missy? Please ring the bell if you have any questions or anything Missies." And she went off.
After that they'd giggled over the belt and the tongue-piece, with Cindy saying, "well its good she is belted, or else that filly would have dropped a whole litter pretty soon!" and they had both laughed at that, because they had been on the Hormoteen pill right from high school, but they knew colored girls never knew to take theirs each day, and always got knocked up really young. Or they never got the pill in their school!
"To think she's already dropped one!" Cindy exclaimed.
"Well she has slimed down after, I thought, Cinds, poor thing." Said Kathy, who had thought Latoya wasn't that ugly for a colored filly.
"I bet she has lots of stretch marks," said Cindy. "Anyways her ass is really fat."
Kathy nodded, pulling on a red thong, then her new skirt over the belt. She swayed her ass, giggling, wondering if she was going get a ho-twitch in her ass like Latoya soon. Cindy was fingering her nipples in the mirror, pulling and pinching at them, panting.
Kathy grinned, cupping her tits in her new D cup demi-shelf. "You'll enjoy being braless, I'm sure, Cinds," she said half snidely, pretending to be sweet. "I don't know why you always braed up so much in school!" Cindy had worn heavy padded bras all through high school trying to disguise her tiny little nubs, but - giggle - no it hadn't worked, she hadn't really got many dates at all. Which was a pity, because the slut was so hot to trot. Kathy eyed Cindy thumbing her nips, panting softly. The slut musta just cum, and like a firecracker when Mr. Henderson, the HR SVP pinched her nips, during to cock suck part of the interview, Kathy thought, that's why he picked her out also. Cos just looking at her, pimply faced, tiny titted...
"And no hot dates for you, anymore, Kathy honey!" Cindy said in her silky sweet voice.
"Oh... yeah... what?"
"Check your hot'lil puss, sweety. No, no dates!" It was Cindy's turn to laugh. "Whoes gonna date you, if you can't put out?"
Kathy looked at Cindy, who was, tapping her little foot impatiently, while she twisted her ass to pull up her skirt. "But there is a key to the belt, right, Cinds?" she said hopefully. There must be, she thought.
Cindy considered. "Okay, lets ask, come cow tits!"
So they asked at the counter for Latoya.
"That bitch be in store room, doing stuff, Missy," said another pretty girl in a osnaburgh shift, very politly. "May this bitch, of any help, please, Missy? I be Latisha, Missy" she said, with a helpful smile. So this was Latisha! Okay she was cuter, much slimmer thighs and backside, still high and nice, but real tight, a pert breasted B cup, who was obviously allowed braless, and she was nice and stiffnipped, Kathy liked her color also, she was a high yeller may be even an octoroon -Kathy could definitely see why the manager would prefer her to Latoya- checked and said 'Oh yes, Missy it be stamped and ticked off, we be send the two sets of three keys to Missy's office over at Rayper.'
"Just send it over?" Kathy's mouth open like a fish. "What about our copies?"
Latisha rubbed her hands on her hips, and looked at the form worriedly. Then very humbly she said "Yes Missy, it be ticked off and all. Your floor OM be get it tomorrow!" Then she looked up. "It don't say no copy for you all, Missy, please, I be sorry?"
And that was that; they never ever got the keys to their belts, and Kathy could not, for the life of her, figure out how she would date any more. But there it was. So there were no more dates, no going out to a for a show; what with 7.30 girl curfew, you could be arrested if you weren't accompanied, by an adult male (that's what accompanied really meant, as a word, for a girl, Cindy said - Kathy didn't really know) on your way home. It was pointless almost to slutup for even a drink at a bar, because no one wanted to buy a belted girl a drink. Why would they, if you couldn't put out? She knew was this really neat bar, right around the corner from Rayper, MeatMarket, but how would they even spend an evening there, because if they went and didn't get pickedup, and then it would be way passed 7.30 girl-curfew, they might get arrested or some thing. Sigh.
Page last updated 07-Feb-11 by: Altairboy@aol.com