Monday, August 13, 2012


Welcome to my newest story.  This is going to be something of an experiment for me, as I'm going to write this as it needs to be written every week, and not work it as I would my other projects.  It'll be interesting, if nothing else.

That said, this is always a first draft, and if I missed something in editing, don't beat me up too bad.  Remember:  you get what you pay for.


Part Three

Monday was a mess.  The hardest part was pretending to be upset that the head of our R&D tried to kill herself.

Fortunately, I was having more trouble walking about in the high heels Olivia seemed to own by the dozens.  I'd never noticed she rarely wore anything that might be considered a "low pump", and now I was having to traipes about in four inch heels while also trying to deal with said adjustment in a new body.

At least I'd had the luxury of a long weekend to get used to being the old Olivia D'avana.  Or was I the new one?  Even I was confused.

It was one thing to observe her from afar, to learn her actions, to see her go through her motions, and not pick up on something as insignificant as her choice of footwear.  Certainly, I could have went out Friday and bought something that would be more in line with what I was used to wearing, but it struck me I couldn't do that, because . . . I wasn't me any longer.

If I were to do something un-Olivia like, then it would arouse suspicion.  It would make people wonder why she was acting a certain way.  Something as small as going around town in flats could be noticed by the wrong person, and that could be my undoing.

But I had a weekend to get used to shoes, to clothing, to a whole new body.  I knew there would be differences, but . . . oh, God, there was so much about being Olivia that was incredible.  Just having hips I could make sway with every step was a dream come true!  The height was something I'd need to watch; I'd never needed to worry about bumping my head against anything above me before, and that had changed.

The equipment in the closet, however--that made me wonder.  I found a number of . . . toys that weren't meant to be used alone.  Cuffs and corsets and . . . I'd never seen a strap on before, but I knew of them and what they should look like.  I found three, and one was as thick as my three middle fingers pressed together, leading me to believe that Olivia was, at best, bisexual.  At worst . . . was she truly a lesbian?  Was the interaction shared with Craig merely a pantomime, something she kept up so no one in the office would suspect?

I couldn't believe the latter, for there were many openly homosexual employees at Bio-Futrara, and one manager in Procurement was a trans-woman almost finished with her transition.  No one would have cared if Olivia were a lesbian.

They might have frowned on her being heavily into kinky sex, however.  But again:  how would anyone know?  Was this the relationship she had with Craig?  That he was one of her slaves?

How could I relate to him that way?

Monday would be strange.  I got into work, and headed for "my" office.  I settled in, then started my log in process to the network.  I flubbed the password three times, whereupon I was locked out.  I made one call--to the tech support help desk, telling them I needed my password reset.  Twenty minutes later I was called and told to sign on, and enter a new password.

Business as Olivia would continue without interruption.

At 8:39 HR called and asked me to come to their office.  That's where I heard about what happened to "me".  "I'd" been found yesterday morning, after the building manager entered my place to investigate a strange smell.  Sometime between when I left her, and Saturday morning, when the first reports of a strange odor emanating from the apartment were filed, the old Olivia had completely voided her bowels.  The sofa, her nightgown, some of the carpeting--and her legs, of course--were covered in urine and feces.  She was taken to the hospital, and . . .

HR told me, in hushed tones, that it appeared "I'd" attempted suicide.  There was a fresh needle mark in the arm, and insulin on the table next to the sofa, as well as two more vials in the refrigerator.  I wasn't to mention that to anyone, but I needed to let my department know what had happened, and make arrangements to cover her work, as it seemed--

I played the part of the concerned manager.  Why wouldn't I?  I knew how Olivia would feel about this:  cool and semi-upset, though the later was more because production in her department would be affected.  She always thought about her people, and how they were going to screw up her quarterly numbers.

I made it through that day, however and Tuesday too.  By Wednesday, I had fallen into my groove, and didn't feel the least bit concerned that someone was going to pick up on my deception . . .

Wednesday night, I was home, relaxing.  I was in "my" lounging pajamas, in a light blue terrycloth robe, with my feet up on the coffee table.  I examined my feet:  actually, I was examining my bubblegum pink toenails.  This was something else I hadn't realized, though I'd never seen her naked feet, only her fingernails.  Olivia never wore polish--or so I thought.  She obviously loved pedicures, and I found light nude polish on her dressing table.  The odds were excellent she wore it on her fingers.

There was a knock on the door.  That startled me, because I now lived in a secure condo, and for someone to visit, they'd have to buzz me to allow them in . . . or actually live in the building.

I got up and looked through the peep hole.  It was Martha Kring, who was, more or less, "my" second in R&D. She was a smart girl, extremely intuitive, but as socially inept as they came.  I opened the door and smiled.  "Martha, what a surprise."

She looked up and smiled; even barefoot I towered over her.  There was something about her smile, however--  "May I come in, Ms. D'avana?"

I stepped back and bade her to enter.  After she entered the room I closed the door, asking, "What brings you by tonight?"  I turned to her.  "And how did you get up without buzzing?"

Her smiled vanished, and a look of puzzlement spread over her face.  "I thought . . . it's Wednesday."

"Yes, it is," I said, nodding.

Then her face lit up.  "Oh, I get it!"  She took off her jacket and hung it up.  "You want me to surprise you with an outfit . . . I'll have something together in a moment, Mistress."  With that she turned and headed for my bedroom.

Mistress? . . . I worked to keep from sighing as I thought, Now I know who the strap on is for . . .

Read Part Four Here
Read Part Two Again

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Looks like Mistress Olivia's strap on might get a work out!
If you have something you want to say, leave a comment!
See you next week.