Falling Down

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Falling Down

 

By Shorngirl

 

Restructured

 

         I guess that it’s nothing new, working from home. Once, everyone would dream of a job where you spent more time away from the office. Now, it’s more the rule than the exception.

         Ever since Covid, corporate America discovered that it was far cheaper to pay people to operate remotely, rather than maintain an office. And so, everything changed. Zoom meetings became the new conference rooms, and discreet operating systems on company notebooks became the norm.

         So, that’s where I found myself. Funny, that there was always a hierarchy when we worked in the office, and not so much now. The whole thing leveled the playing field, a bit more than I was accustomed to.

         As a senior executive in a large financial company, I went from the large corner office to a corner of my living room, where there was space to set up shop. Where I once demanded respect from my underlings, I was now just another face among many.

Although, in actuality, my position still existed somewhere, I had been downgraded to assistant director of marketing; a decision that was made out of a need to retrench. The reorganization left many out of a job, so I supposed I should have been grateful.

One particular Monday, when I was forced to come into the office, I found my things moved into a cubical, my corner office cordoned off behind a sold-off section of the three floors we occupied in the building. It was a stark wake-up call.

That day was one I wished had never happened. Mark Almeter was always one to challenge my position in the firm. On new footing, he found himself a few rungs up the ladder from myself. He was sure to rub that in when he caught up with me.

“Well, Sheila, looks as though fate has been kinder to me than to you. How are you handling the demotion?” He grinned, leaning over the top of the wall of my little office, as I looked up from my computer.

“I don’t consider it a demotion.” I hissed. “Everyone suffered a bit during the shakeup.”

“Not me. They never touched me. I wonder why that is?” He mused, slipping inside to rest a hip on my factory-fashioned computer desk.

I didn’t dare say what was really on my mind; that it was the glass ceiling I had fallen victim to. Instead, I simply smiled. “I can’t imagine.”

“Why don’t you stop by my office before you go, have a drink with me? We can talk about… old times.” And with that, Mark left me in peace, although it could hardly be called that. Even though he wasn’t my direct superior, to refuse him would be poor form. So, as I packed up to head home for another month of remote dealings, I did as he asked.

“Sheila Moore, come on in. Have a seat. Can I get you something? As I remember you were scotch on the rocks with a splash of water?” Nodding, I agreed to the beverage. It would have been impolitic to refuse.

He took a seat behind his oak desk, taking a sip from what I assumed was the same as me. I mimicked him, partaking of the amber liquid, which seemed to soothe my nerves. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome, anytime.” He pushed back in his reclining chair and steepled his fingers. “You’ve let yourself go a bit, haven’t you?” He mewled. “Your hair, it used to be so neat and tidy.”

I normally would have been offended, but he was only pointing out what I knew to be true. I had let myself go. I’d gained a few pounds and allowed my once stylish bob, to grow halfway down my back. “Thanks for pointing that out.” I bit, although not in an aggressive manner.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Sheila, but I used to adore seeing that long neck of yours, that little bit of an undercut hinting that it went higher than was apparent.” Mark smiled, almost as though he was imagining me that way. “You really ought to make an appointment, or would you like me to do that for you?”

“No, that’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get around to it at some point.” I sighed, taking another long sip of the scotch and water.

“I wouldn’t hear of it. Why don’t you let me do this for you? It’ll be on me. What do you say?” Mark almost seemed like he was brokering a deal, the way he held sway over me, in that moment.

After stewing for a moment, it seemed a harmless enough proposition. “Fine. If it’s no trouble.” I managed, perfectly capable of paying for the appointment, even on my reduced salary. “I can certainly pay for the appointment if you like.”

“No, I insist, although there is one caveat.” He leaned forward as if to garner my attention. “That way, I get to determine just what sort of hairstyle you get.”

The offer seemed so forward, and so intrusive that I almost refused. The thing was, the idea of someone else dictating something so essential to my appearance, gave me a little thrill. I couldn’t say why, as I’d never had a submissive bone in my body; before that moment. Was this something new? Before I realized what I’d said, I agreed to his conditions. “Please, nothing too drastic.” I sighed, almost whining.

“Not for you to say, Sheila. I’ll set it up for this Friday at two. Giorgiano’s barbershop, on 26thand Main. Be there.” His tone was stern, and for the first time, I felt a real sense of subservience.

“Yes, fine. I’ll be there.” I squeaked, finishing the scotch and standing to leave.

“Sheila.” He stood and walked to the door. I thought for a second that he was going to open it for me, but instead, he seemed to be blocking my exit. “Maybe something to thank me for my generosity?”

He looked down at me, standing there, regally, and certainly enjoying his newfound authority. My diminutive height had always challenged me, but now my five-foot-one handicap was more of a liability than ever. He set his hand on my shoulder and pressed down, forcefully. After a second, I felt my legs buckle; falling down to my knees on the hardwood floor. I knew what he wanted, and I almost screamed. Then again, I was sure that he and I were the only ones in the office, at least on that floor.

How bad could it be? It wasn’t anything I hadn’t done in the past. A few of my old flames love to have me ‘blow’ them, as it were. I sighed, giving in to the inevitable. I watched, as he fished out his engorged member, bringing it up to a few inches from my mouth.

“You have to come get it, Sheila. Crawl forward and take my cock in your mouth.” He ordered, his confidence bolstered by my passivity. And I did just that, scuffing my hose over the hard surface until his penis was pressed against my face, angled upward to rest against my cheek. “Now, suck it.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I took it into my mouth willingly, almost aggressively allowing the head to press into my throat, gagging myself. I took his long throbbing cock over and over, the slippery skin lubricated with my own saliva as it thrust over my quickly swelling lips.

“Oh, you’re good, aren’t you, Shiela? Done this before, have you?” He managed through gritted teeth. His hands wrapped around the back of my head, pressing himself deeper, my gag reflex all but gone. Without realizing, but not escaping Mark’s attention, my right hand had slipped under my skirt, desperate to touch myself, but impeded by my hose and panties. “Look at you, playing with it. The high and mighty Sheila Moore, reduced to a masturbating cocksucker.”

I felt his load drench the back of my throat before he pulled out, spilling the rest over my face and blouse. To my horror and his undoubted delight, I slurped his seed from around my mouth with my tongue. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

“Umm… I can’t believe I just did that.” I ran my fingers over my face, wiping the remainder of his spunk away, but powerless to clean my blouse; the viscous sperm already staining the bright red satin.

“Oh, believe it, Shiela. I think I’m going to do everything in my power to see that you get transferred to work under me from now on. I don’t think there will be too many objections from the powers that be.” He wiped his deflating cock on my hair, before slipping it back into his pants. “Of, course it will mean another demotion for you. Somehow, I don’t think you’ll object. Not after today.”

“You have to do whatever you think is best, Sir.” ‘Sir’? Why did I call him that? Now he knew he had me.

“It’s good that you respect your betters, Miss Moore. Now clean yourself up and go home. Oh, and don’t forget our little appointment, Friday.”

I drove home in a daze, not quite certain what had happened. Why had I let Mark Almeter run slipshod over me like that? It was a question that would haunt me to this day.

Reduction

It was the next morning morning that I received the message to meet with the vice president of marketing. I knew what it was all about before I had even joined the meeting.

The familiar face of Harold Walker appeared on my computer monitor, alone. This was odd, as these meetings almost always included a few more people. “Good morning, Harry.” I greeted him as I always had, as an equal.

“Ahh… Good morning, Miss Moore.” He returned, having never referred to me as anything but Sheila.

Picking up his formality and uncertain what it meant, I erred on the side of caution. “How can I help you, Mr. Walker?”

He suddenly seemed more comfortable and smiled warily. “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news, Miss Moore. There’s been a request to have you transferred to Mark Almeter’s department.”

Not wanting to sound completely out of the loop, I nodded. “Yes, there were some whisperings in the office on Monday.” I lied.

“Well, then it should come as no surprise that the move comes with a considerable fall in stature within the organization.” He informed me, thinly.

“No, I wasn’t aware of that, Mr. Walker.” I wanted to know just what was coming, so playing dumb was the best course of action.

“I’m afraid it is quite considerable, Miss Moore. In fact, your position will no longer be within the executive branch.” He frowned, looking for my reaction.

I knew that things might be a little different under Mark, but this, I was not expecting. “Just how much of a demotion am I to expect, Sir?” Projecting my impending loss of stature.

“Your new position will be in the secretarial division. You will report to Harriet Worth, Mr. Almeter’s assistant. As such, your remote status has been terminated and you will be required to report for work, beginning this Monday. You can turn in your computer and your keys to the office then. As of now, you’re relieved of your position. This should give you some time to make suitable arrangements.”

I was flabbergasted. Never had I ever considered such a huge demotion. “This is a final decision, Mr. Walker?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for you, Miss Moore, but circumstances have arisen that suggest some poor decisions on your part. I’m certain you know of what I speak, without getting into the…sordid details.”

That bastard! I couldn’t believe that he would betray me, and after what I had done for him. At that moment, I couldn’t get past the idea that Mark Almeter had thoroughly used me. “I understand, Sir.”

With that, the meeting was terminated, leaving me to contemplate just what this was going to mean. I knew what the secretaries made in the firm, and it was a pittance compared to my salary, even after my previous demotion. How would I ever afford to live?

The answer was obvious. Just as the company had been forced to change, so would I. The idea of finding another position equal to my own, without references from the firm, would be next to impossible. I knew Mark was aware of that fact, and had counted on it.

The fancy car and luxurious townhouse would have to go. That afternoon, I immediately began searching for an apartment that I could hole up in, certain that my townhouse would sell immediately. The lease on my Audi was almost up, and I was sure I could afford something more affordable and undoubtedly used.

The realtor was over the moon when I informed them of my intention to sell, saying they already had a prospective buyer. So that was how it was going to go. I was in a tailspin, with no end in sight. Then I remembered the hair appointment.

A new sense of dread overcame me as I moved what few possessions I decided would fit into the efficiency apartment. I’d managed to secure the place on the west side of the city. It was all I would probably be able to afford. The neighborhood was sketchy, and I knew how far I’d fallen when I saw the apartment for the first time.

By the time Friday rolled around, my townhouse had been sold, as furnished, and I had exchanged my Audi SUV, for a used Corolla. At least I had the equity from the sale of the property to supplement my income, although it wasn’t very much. I’d need to be frugal, to say the least.

Worse Than Nothing

My heart was in my throat as I approached the address of Giorgiano’s barbershop. As mean and destructive as Mark had been, I certainly couldn’t imagine any charity when it came to the style he had in mind for me. I parked my plain-looking car at the front, as most of the shops next to the barbers were either closed or boarded up entirely.

Finding what little courage I had, considering the events of the last few days, I made my way to the door and stepped inside. Just as I suspected, Mark was already waiting for me, even though I was a good ten minutes early.

“Ah, there she is now.” Mark mused with the barber. A single swivel chair stood at the center of the shop, which was only a little bigger than my bedroom, and that wasn’t saying much. “We’ve been discussing your new look.”

I managed a smile, hanging my coat on an available hook. “Yes… Sir.” I forced out, still mightily angry with the man who had cost me my career. “As my new boss, I suppose I have little say in it?”

“You’re absolutely right. You have no say, Miss Moore. As I’m going to be seeing you every day, I’d prefer to see as much of that lovely neck of yours as possible.”

I wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but my stomach was doing flips as I took a seat in the oversized chair. It engulfed me like a child and reminded me in no uncertain terms, just how small I really was.

“You want I should use the booster?” The barber asked in broken English.

An evil smile crossed Mark’s face as he nodded. They had me slip out of the chair, replacing me with what looked like an oversized car seat, its chrome bars fitting over the arms of the large chair by design.

To my shock and dismay, Mark lifted me from my feet and set me into the chair, fastening the strap that might normally restrain a combative child. “You can’t be serious?” I sighed under my breath, which only brought a subdued chuckle from my tormentor.

Mark seemed eager, lifting my hair, so the barber could fasten his cape tightly around my neck. The cape fell around me, my legs not even making it to the footrest. In control, Mark leaned against the counter, the barber obviously well-informed of what was about to happen.

“May I at least know what he’s going to do?” I asked.

“His name is Rubio, but you may call him Sir, just as you do me.” Mark insisted, squeezing my cheeks between his fingers. “Understand?”

Nodding, I took the warning at par and resigned myself to whatever fate he had decided for me. “Sorry, Sir.” I mewled, looking at the older Italian man.

“You make respect, il mio piccolo marmocchio.” The barber scolded, clapping his scissors against an oversized comb. “I make a haircut now, just at you.” He warned, his finger pointed accusingly at my nose.

Without any warning, Rubio dragged his comb through my hair, roughly pulling through any snarls and tugging my head back. “So much hair for puttana…” The barber growled under his breath. “…but not no more.”

He roughly gathered my hair at the crown, so tightly as to be almost uncomfortable. Then, as if to emphasize the point, he pulled my head back, so I was peering up at the smoke-stained ceiling. I felt as well as heard the scissors saw into my hair, as he pulled it down with his fist. With each crunch, I felt my head pull forward a bit more, until with one final, painful snap, he severed the last of it. I looked in the mirror, Mark grinning ear to ear right next to it as I examined the hanks of hair that shot in every direction from my head.

“There.” The barber chortled. “Now, we cut.”

I couldn’t imagine anything reasonable being done with what was left of my hair. I could see portions that stood straight out from my crown that couldn’t have been more than an inch in length. What could he possibly do? I was about to find out.

I shuddered as he lifted a menacing set of clippers from the counter, removing a plastic comb from the business end and turning them on with a high-pitched whine. “You sure, Mr. Mark?” Rubio asked. “I no can put back.”

“Quite sure, Rubio. Exactly as we discussed.” Mark mused, looking me in the eye, before nodding to the barber.

I felt the cold steel at the base of my neck slide upward, the pitch deepening as it met my hair, but not struggling at all as he pressed them tight against my scalp. The vibrations from the clipper rang through my skull, a low, ominous hum that almost overtook anything entering my ears.

“Is it skinning her?” Mark asked, confirming my fear.

“You look.” The barber flipped up the hair on the back of my head, and the cool air caressed my scalp as he did.

“That’ll do.” Mark mused as he resumed his position by the mirror, raising his eyebrows with a smile. “Oooooh, it’s so short.” Leaning forward to taunt me.

I didn’t need Mark’s confirmation as I felt the barber work his way around my head, shaving the back and then each side, baring my ears for the first time in my life. They poked out from the sides of my head, a little too big to be considered cute.

The crop of hair that still clung to the top of my head looked entirely out of place now, with the back and sides skinned down to nothing. I needn’t have worried. Using his comb, the barber slipped it into the shock of blonde and ran his clippers over them, sheering the hair in a straight line right across. He started in the back and slowly worked his way forward, a very distinct bald patch forming in the middle.

By the time he reached the front, it was obvious that the curve of my skull met the straight line of the cut to leave only the finest stubble. The strange cut left a bizarre oval of hair that sat like a deranged halo. This wasn’t to last either, as Rubio set to work trimming down the top of my crown to almost nothing.

Now, instead of a halo, it was a horseshoe, with the open end to the back. All around the base of the chair, the remnants of my blonde hair lay in tatters. To look at myself, it was as though I’d been erased; replaced by some effeminate marine fresh out of basic training.

“You want, I should shave it?” Rubio queried.

“That was what we discussed,” Mark answered, still admiring the way the cut made me look ridiculous. “You look like a disgruntled little schoolboy, freshly shorn for summer vacation.”

The comment must have made me blush because the two of them broke into laughter. Rubio was dispensing something from a machine on the counter, and I could only hope that she was going to shave me down to the bone. Anything would be better than this.

The barber set to coating the back and sides of my head with the mentholated cream. He brandished a straight razor that had me worried if he knew how to use it correctly. He proved that he did, as he deftly shaved everything but the horseshoe right to the skin, leaving an almost reflective sheen. He even shaved the strip of stubble at the center of my crown, making the horseshoe even more defined.

With the cut finally finished, I was in shock. Unable to get down myself, Mark unfastened the strap and lifted me to the floor. I just hung there, limp in his arms, bewildered. I had stopped gawking in the mirror but couldn’t help reaching up to feel the damage that had been wrought. I hung my head as my fingers met more smooth scalp than hair. “I look ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.

“I won’t argue with you, Miss Moore, but now you’ll fit nicely into the niche I’ve carved for you back at the office.” Mark mused.

The office. Oh my God. How was I ever to show my face there, like this; looking so… humiliated? I knew that I would, and had to accept whatever insults were coming my way. The ridicule would be brutal.

“Now, thank the barber, Miss Moore,” Mark ordered. The old man stepped forward, unzipping his pants and pulling out his grizzled old excuse for a cock.

“Succhiami bene, brutta puttana calva.” Rubio taunted, shaking his cock from the base and urging me to crawl to him. I had no idea what he had said, but it didn’t sound flattering. Mark, urged me down, forcing me to crawl through my own hair to the barber’s feet. I raised my face only to have the old man grab my skull and force his stiffening meat into my mouth.

He hardened immediately and began working my head like his own living fleshlight. He worked his cock, mercilessly slamming in and out of my face until he came all over me and my freshly shaven scalp. Looking down, the barber worked up a wad of spittle, spraying my face with it. “Che vergogna, tua madre dovrebbe vederti!” He looked over at Mark. “Next week, you bring her. A man is his word.” He demanded.

Mark nodded. “We’ll be back, don’t you worry. Can’t have this bitch gaining back an ounce of pride.” He pushed me through the door and onto the street. “What happened to the Audi?” Mark asked, thinly.

“I had to hand it in. I’m driving this now.” I skulked, slithering over to the dull grey Corolla, that had seen better days five years before.

“And your townhouse?” He asked, cruelly.

“That too. I had to sell. I have an apartment on the west side.” I mewled, miserable at the admission of utter defeat.

“Why don’t I follow you back there? I know what kind of neighborhood that is.” He chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.”

I couldn’t very well argue. I simply nodded my denuded head and climbed into my compact car, still smelling of cigarettes from its former owner. I watched in my rearview mirror as he followed, his gleaming new Jaguar mocking me.

I was embarrassed as he followed me up the three flights of stairs to the flat metal door that was the entrance to my now meager abode. As I pushed in, he followed, looking around with his nose in the air. “Well, paupers can’t live like kings, now, can they?”

“No, Sir, they cannot.” I sighed, the humiliation almost crawling through my pores.

“Show me the bedroom.” He ordered, pointing to the only other room. The single twin bed that I had taken from my guest room, took up half the space and he laughed when he saw my predicament. “Now, strip.”

Powerless to resist, I did as he commanded, quickly shedding the better-than-I-deserved clothing. Once naked, I stood before him until he forced to kneel once again.

“Get on the bed, on your knees with your filthy ass in the air!” He ordered. “Now you will understand, Shiela, just how far you’ve fallen.”

I shrieked as his stiff cock slammed home, stretching my virgin asshole so abruptly that I thought I might pass out. After a few strokes, I began to loosen up, and his assault began to feel at least tolerable. A few thrusts later, it began to gnaw at my clit until I felt as though I might actually orgasm from being buggered.

He fucked me that way for so long that I had to wonder how he managed not to come. I could tell I was slack, the noise coming from my ass was less than attractive, as he slapped in and out of it. Finally, I was grateful for his spunk splattering over my back and head, as he fell forward, seemingly exhausted.

“I’m gonna fuck you like that every day, Sheila.” He said softly into my ear as he lay on top of me. “Your ass is going to be so loose that you’ll have to wear a diaper.”

I grimaced with the thought, and with the throbbing sensation pulsing in the ruined sphincter of my ass.

He stood, washing his cock in the rust-stained sink, before putting it away. “No need to thank me for the housewarming gift, Miss Moore. I’ll see you Monday.”

2 responses to “Falling Down

  1. Great story. Calls for a follow up possibly where the tables are turned and she has her revenge. He screws up a deal and she saves it. His bosses realize she’s the real brains and promotes her over him. She goes back to the barbershop and decides to shave her head like a cue ball. Makes him strip in her new office, buzzes his crotch in his now old chair, then bends him over and fucks him with a strap on. Just an idea…

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