Seeking Employment_JessEdit

<div align="center"><img src="gameLogo.png" max-width: 80%></div> There is great terror in choosing an occupation when one is not ready. Sure, some slot into their roles with ease, or manage to bear it as they dream of somewhere they'd rather be. But you, oh you. You don't want to work at all. Your parents know it. You've managed to hold off on losing your freedom so far, but it is becoming more difficult by the day. Your parents have started //really// laying on the pressure, to the point you can't even take a nap in the middle of the day without being yelled at. It's unnerving. Fortunately, your grandmother still has some of her old business connections, and it's her turn to start to //flex//. It's shameful you have to use your lineage rather than your own merits to get in here, but that's how the world works. She's brought you to the entrance of a large office building. She smiles and waves you farewell. 'Just speak assertively and appropriately,' she says, fiddling with your tie. It's quite crooked. 'And everything will fall into place. We won't hear from you until you're employed!' she jokes, but the concern on your face forces her to revise. 'Until you've truly tried. I know how hard talking to people is for you. Don't worry dear, they'll love you in no time.' And with that, she bides you farewell. [[Inspect the building]] [[Walk in]] { (set: $ejected to false) (set: $laminated to false) (set: $contractSigned to false) (set: $alarmActive to false) (set: $nicknamed to false) (set: $bookKey to false) (set: $metLeyla to false) (set: $boss to "Elizabeth") (set: $name to "Adam") (set: $legalName to "Adam") (set: $MCLastName to "Dent") (set: $company to "Venivos Industries") (set: $companyNick to "Venivos") (set: $faithful to false) }

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWholeBuilding.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay> </div> The office building your grandmother has abandoned you outside is a tall, black tower that rivals the larger telecommunication companies further down the city block. Unlike them, its windows are tinted to the point they are opaque. It sprawls forever up, every floor identical, and you wonder how many people it crushes up and grinds to bureaucratic paste as they work away their lives. No, too existential. You promised your family you would try. <div align="center"><figure><img src="FelixWholeBuilding_exterior1.png" style="max-width: 90%; max-height: 500px"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> [[Walk in]]

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWalkThrough_betterLighting.mp4" width="80%" controls autoplay> </div> You enter. The building foyer is the size of a swimming pool, with the black sheen motif extended to the walls, the floors a porcelain white. A receptionist looks up from her desk on the left hand-side and stops typing to greet you. <div align="center"><img src="https://imgur.com/uLLWbpy.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> She appears to be totally encased in rubber. At first you can't tell, but the shine of her clothing becomes abundantly clear as you approach, dazzling you with its gleam. From afar it looked like a simple pink blouse. The puffs of her shoulders and cuffs are exquisite, and a bow of sorts adorns her neck. She is beautiful. You notice yourself staring too long. 'Good morning,' she says. 'Do you have an appointment?' You flounder at the simple question. When you peek over the counter to get a better look at her, she starts typing again. 'Those without an appointment or common sense cannot enter. Do you have an appointment?' 'I...' You stutter. The shine of her blouse and the gold buckle belt cinched around her skirt... it's mind-rattling. Your grandmother never told you she used to wear anything like //that//. Your mouth remains slack and open. You trip over your words. 'If you do not have an appointment and are not seeking one, I will be forced to call security. Though I'm sure I could throw a twig like you out myself.' She smiles to herself, reaching for the phone. [[Object]] [[Empathise. Office work can be hard, too]] [[Wait it out. She can't be this rude - it's a bluff]]

'Wait!' you say desperately, as her finger hover above the numpad. 'I have an appointment. My grandma used to work here, and -' Her eyes scan to her second monitor. 'Mr $MCLastName?' she says, and you nod quickly. Phone already in hand, she starts tapping the numpad, though a lot slower as she dials a longer number. Then, she looks up. 'The boss is currently in another interview. You're ten minutes early,' she says with a hint of approval. 'Please take a seat, and I will inform you when she is ready.' You sigh in relief. You're just glad she hasn't brought up throwing you out again. She probably could eject you herself, considering how little you exercise. You have ten minutes. How best to spend them? [[Stand up and approach the receptionist->Talk to Esme]] [[Waiting is boring. Ask her if you canexplore->Explore the foyer]]

The dial rings, and is answered swiftly as the receptionist glares at you. 'Hi M. Yes, we have an intruder, though he seems closer to a scarecrow. Probably wanted to get a look at our workers. Would you kindly escort him out?' Ok, so she wasn't bluffing. She clicks the phone on the receiver and watches you levelly. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge, and she's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. You wonder if you're oogling of her makes her decision any easier, or if people like you are just that common here. She certainly treats you as common, and her wrangling of you doesn't break a sweat. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swilring as they await your inevitable, humiliating throw out. What do you do? [[Plead for mercy]] [[Confess something]]

<img src="https://i.imgur.com/ay9IIDm.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/aQKkcTH.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> 'Well, there is maybe someone here who could help you...' Begins the receptionist as she hefts the receiver of her phone and dials an extension. It could only have rung once or twice before it's evidently answered and the receptionist begins speaking. 'Heyyy B! Uhuh yeah. Mhmm. You got it. Mhmm another one... Oh, I know, I'm not sure where management digs them up.' She pauses listening. 'So you have time? Ohmigod thanks. Super. I'll send them right down.' You look up at her expectantly as she replaces the phone receiver into its cradle. 'You're to see Ms. Bianca. Here is her office number. Head straight there and do what she tells you.' 'And she'll help me?' you ask. 'Doing what she says is your only hope of getting a position here.' confirms the receptionist stoicly. 'Go down to her office and tell her your there to help.' [['I'm here to help you, Mrs...']]

Gasping, 'Oh, please hold me //tighter//,' escapes your lips. It's so humilating, but it's what you decide to say. She stiffens immediately, her grip jerking away, as she turns you around and looks down at you. You realise in that moment you've probably scuppered your chances of ever being employed here. After everything your grandmother has done. 'I beg you pardon, //What// did you say?' she asks in an imperious tone. 'Sorry,' you rush to say, because it was //totally// inappropriate, and now a woman who was just doing her job is being made to feel weird. 'I just... really liked that.' She just looks at you. 'You //liked// that?' 'Yeah.' There's a certain relief in saying it. 'Sorry. You must think I'm weird.' Your face flushes red with embarassment. 'Son, you're far beyond weird.' She stays very much in front of you, blocking the way into $company. Knowing her speed, you wouldn't get five steps in even if you tried. 'Sorry, I'll go now.' You leave in shame, pushing through the spinning glass doors. [[You find yourself outside]]

It seems your time at $company had ended before it begun. You wade drearily through the streets, not exactly keen to speed away from your one near-guaranteed job placement. It's only going to get more difficult from here. You consider the risk of lying to your family. It could work. You've always been a decent liar, you think. Then again, your grandmother still keeps in touch with some of the employees there. She would just have to contact them once and then... Well, your story would fall apart. They might even kick you out. You turn around. You don't care what it takes, you're going to get inside! There doesn't seem to be a second entrance to the place, although you circle the building twice. I guess you're going to have to walk inside. You push in, and the guard, 'M', is talking to Esme at the reception counter. They both notice you come in, and M quickly meets you 'Stupid boy, do you like being tossed about?' She pauses. 'I suppose you do. Disgusting.' She sneers. 'If you don't leave now, I will throw you out and call the police. I happen to have several friends in that department, And they can be very unsexy.' She's stopped talking. Okay, onto your master plan. You fall to your knees and plead with her. All the trivel and cliches about giving you one more chance, of please forgiving you for your mistakes. You even clasp your hands together and shake them like your life is in her hands. In some ways, it feels like it is. She sighs. 'Is there a particular reason you're here?' In the middle of it, you blurt your grandmother's name. Something flashes through her eyes and you intuitively stop talking. 'Mrs Gladstone, your Mrs Gladstone's grandson?' You nod your head vigoriously. There's no point turning back now. 'Yes, Mrs Gladstone. She's said some wonderful things about this company, I -' But the guard, "M", is already cutting you off. 'I don't care. Now leave.' (if: $alarmActive is false)[ [['Maybe I want you to call the police.'->Push your luck]] 'Please just one more chance!' you beg. 'One more chance,' she says. You're led back inside. [[Return to the foyer]] (set: $ejected to true) ] (if: $alarmActive is true)[ 'Well I guess you just can't learn a lesson, can you?' says M as she confronts you. 'We do not tolerate irritants like you in a facility like this. You're done.' [[You pushed your luck!->Push your luck]] ]

'Look, I'm just curious about where my grandmother used to work. Surely a quick look inside is okay?' She turns back to her paperwork. 'No. Nepostism grandchild or not, //no one// is allowed inside.' Well, at least you tried. [[Threaten Esme.->Threaten her.]] [[Distract her.]]

'Look, I'm bored and I don't have time. I'm going up there, and I'll make it real hard for you if you complain.' The receptionist glares your way, but says nothing. Feeling pleased with yourself, you walk up the stairs. All you had to do was be assertive! Say your wants! You're on the second tier when you hear a dial ring, and the receptionist speaking loudly into the phone. 'Hi M. Yes, we have an intruder, and he's a real asshole. Probably wanted to get a look at our workers. He's as thin as a scarecrow, so he won't be any trouble for you. Have fun!' Ok, so she was bluffing. She slams the phone on the receiver with a satisfied click and watches you levelly. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/FtnJ2DV.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> A door opens on the opposite end of the foyer, and a heavy set woman walks out in what appears to be a white blouse, brown blazer and a leather skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident. then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge, and she's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' She starts to push you toward the door. You wonder if you're oogling of her makes her decision any easier, or if people like you are just that common here. She certainly treats you as common, and her wrangling of you doesn't break a sweat. Disobedience is impossible. Even if you wanted to squirm, her hold on you is iron and all your attempts accomplish is the readjusting of her grip. You're almost at the entrance, the glass doors swilring as they await your inevitable, humiliating throw out. What do you do? [[Plead for mercy]] [[Confess something]]

(if: $alarmActive is false)[ How to distract her? A coin? Sneaking past? You blame your terrible ideas on the fact that your only experience so far were video games, and probably part of the reason your father was so incessant on pushing you into work. Think, think! What would distract a receptionist from leaving the one place she wasn't supposed to leave? You eye a fire alarm, implanted on a wall past the reception desk. Carefully, you put your half-eaten apple in the fruit bowl and sneak toward the reception counter, only moving when you are out of Esme's peripheral vision. In a slow crouch you pass under the counter, moving over to the other side, before triggering the fire alarm. The klaxon blares, and Esme shoots up, but you've already crouched down behind a wall. She forgets you in her panic, frantically making calls and reaching for something below her desk, giving you ample time to sneak quietly up the stairs. You breath deepily and stand, hidden by the excessive ferns that litter the great black blocks along the second tier of the foyer. It sounds like you're in the clear. You peek up, and see Esme is focussed on her computer. You doubt that will last long. Best to get moving. [[Take the left corridor, where you're closest too]] [[Take the right corridor, where you're further away from.]] [[Sneak up to the stairs to the elevators.]] ] (else:)[ How to distract her? A coin? Sneaking past? You blame your terrible ideas on the fact that your only experience so far were video games, and probably part of the reason your father was so incessant on pushing you into work. Think, think! What would distract a receptionist from leaving the one place she wasn't supposed to leave? You eye a fire alarm, implanted on a wall past the reception desk. Carefully, you put your half-eaten apple in the fruit bowl and sneak toward the reception counter, only moving when you are out of Esme's peripheral vision. In a slow crouch you pass under the counter, moving over to the other side, before triggering the fire alarm. The klaxon blares, and Esme shoots up, but you've already crouched down behind a wall. She forgets you in her panic, frantically making calls and reaching for something below her desk. As you dart forwards you feel a steely hand on your wrist! It seems that Esme was already on alert and now you're in the clutches of the security guard, an imposing woman with a name badge reading 'M'. 'You're coming with me little one!' she snarls as she drags you outside. [[You find yourself outside]] ]

With the thick ferns shrouding you, you manage to angle yourself in such a way that Esme doesn't notice your ascent. You are extra quiet, taking dainty, skulking steps as you go. This is such a stupid idea, and yet you can't help it, the idea of sneaking into a place like this is just too fun. <div align="center"><figure><img src="elevators.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the elevators in reception"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> The third and final tier of the foyer is flush with gold trimmed tiles and several marble caskets filled with plants. Seriously, the amount of money they put into a place like this is frivolous. The elevator awaits you. Just as you've about to reach it, out of the corner of your eye you see another figure walking down the stairs next to the elevator. <div align="center"><figure><img src="stairs.png" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a rendering of the view of the staircase"><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You press for a random floor, not wanting to be caught. After all the risks you've taken, you don't really want to be found before you've left the first floor. You could hope the elevator admits you in time, but the rational side of you begs you to try something else. You could risk waiting for the elevator, or you could hide behind one of $company's many plant displays? [[Risk waiting for the elevator.->A new arrival]] [[Hide behind a plant display.]]

You choose left. It leads to an intimate hallway lit by soft lamplights, a few decades out of style from the foyer, positively archaic. At the end is a single door with a secretary occupying the desk outside, and manning an old-fashioned typewriter. She's pretty in her cream-coloured blouse and long dark skirt, if a little short, with a pert nose and flowing blonde hair. She types diligently, but there’s one thing wrong with her pose. She’s tied up! Long cords of rope and belts restrain her to her chair, and when you look under her desk, you see she’s wearing heels that are bound together by some sort of belt. A gag remains fixed in her mouth, plumping it to voluptuous proportions, her fingers restrained by a cord to her desk before her. [[Remove her gag]] [[Leave her and explore further->Wander]] (if: $bookKey is true)[ [[Is that a doggie door?]] ]

You crouch down again, sneaking towards the far off corridor on the foyer's right. You must spend too long out in the open, for you see Esme turn and call after you. 'Hey!' <div align="center"><figure><img src="felixWoodHallway_blender3.png" style="max-width: 90%;" alt="a well-lit wood-panelled hallway stretches before you. There are several doors."><figcaption>(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)]</figcaption></figure></div> You start running. You doubt you have much time. An indulgent last-second glance back to the receptionist showed her already dialling the phone. You abandon all pretense and storm through the doors. You burst into a narrow wooden corridor. Smaller wooden doors line the walls, offices you suspect, and the floor is a blue carpet. You start trying doors, but every knob close to you is locked. You hear a noise behind, turn, and see a woman in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse with her collar done up. Her hair is drawn back slickly, and her look is severe. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/rFY7VVd.png" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> Oh god. She looks gorgeous, divine. Getting caught by her would almost be an experience you could risk being kicked out for. Almost. But you're going to get this job, and you're going to make your family proud. Even if this was all a stupid adventurous idea to run off in the first place. You duck behind the next corridor as you hear her heeled steps clack harshly on the floor. Like needled feet coming to hunt you down. You can't let her find you. You try several of the following doors and they rattle far louder than they should. Three fail to offer you a hiding space. There's a dusty door not far away, and when you try that, it miraculously opens, as you rush through to find... It's a dead-end. A storage locker. You turn around, and the severe woman is smiling wickedly as she blocks your way out. She pats her swatter on a gloved hand. 'Well, well. Look who tried to run from me.' [[!!]]

'What a naughty boy you are,' she says, caressing her short whip, 'acting so improperly in our offices. Esme told me you have a job interview?' she laughed. She towers over you, her heels accentuating the already stark height difference. 'Um, yes,' you say. 'You seem to have had quite the outburst of nerves.' 'Well, no doubt that will be reconsidered. Unless you would call this outburst a fit of nerves.' You could try. It's not the most unbelievable thing in the world. 'I am nervous,' you admit. 'I've never had an office job before.' 'And that won't change by tonight. Now turn around,' she said authoritatvely. 'Protocol dictates I search any intruders on our premises.' When you don't move, she wrangles you around with ease, patting over the thin fabric of your shirt, your pants, the back of your neck. She forces you to take your shoes off. Upon finding no contraband inside, she flicks them into the storage cupboard. For a second her hand lingers on your ass, gives it a firm pat, and the shock of it stops you from saying anything. She pulls your hands together behind you. Then you feel a hard fabric drape over your wrists. 'Stay still.' Her words are softer, measured. You only start to jerk when you feel another length of rope coil over your arms. 'W-what are you doing?' 'I'm tying you up.' For how calm she talks, she's very quick, and surprisingly strong. 'You've trespassed on company property,so I have to treat you as a security risk. Don't worry - this won't hurt. Just try to relax.' Minimises you as a security risk. Just keep still. That's it, deep breaths...' You panic and struggle as much as you can, but your fearful bucks are promptly quelled and she soon reasserts control, grabbing your wrists with one hand as the other continues to secure your bindings. You can't help the rush of adrenaline to your throbbing heart and the sweating it causes in your forehead. The harsh cinch of rope stings you several times, and then find where once your wrists were merely encased in her gloved grip they are now fixed in place. You curse in frustration, embarrassed at how easily a woman in a skirt has wrangled you into helplessness. But she's not done, and now that you've admitted defeat she can bind you quicker. The rope coils deftly around you as she ties your elbows together, until they are pressing together with unbearable stiffness. <img src="https://i.imgur.com/kC360LX.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> You've been effortlessly restrained in a sheath of black leather. You struggle and writhe, but you can't move your arms at all. You can't help yourself. 'A skirt?' you cry out. 'An easy method of restriction,' she explains. 'You won't get hurt this way, and it's easier than putting on the manacles. Now stay quiet,' she hushes. 'Alright intruder,' she says, grinning gleefully. 'Let's take you back.' [[Enter Reception->ReceptionAfterCapture]]

Your reentrance to reception is incredibly embarrassing, not least of which because the foyer is suddenly populated. Several women in laminate attire are talking and tapping at electronic tablets when they suddenly see you. They stare, smile, and their attention linger as you slowly walk across the foyer. M doesn't seem to be pushing you as much. Your brain feels like it's going to explode. You can't do this. You need to get out of here.' <div align="center"> <img src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ff/c1/d5/ffc1d5710250b8fbde7496a31bec41bc.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="a beautiful woman in laminate talks on a cell phone"> <img src="https://i.imgur.com/qgyIpJL.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="two beautiful women in laminate talk and laugh"></div> One woman gawks at you while she's on the phone. She laughs, then returns her attention to her caller. 'Untie me,' you plead, your face well past red. 'I'm going to leave.' 'Not going to happen,' your captor says, shoving you along. 'You have proven yourself incapable of controlling yourself. So I will decide when you go free.' You flail against your bindings, if just to have your resistance felt. They don't budge an inch. 'This can't be legal.' 'If you'd bothered to read the legal contract all are liable to when they enter Venivius Inc., you would have known it is. While you're in here, I am your arresting officer.' Great. She wasn't even trying to hide her smile. Her position //totally// wasn't a power trip. She leads you to the reception desk, and Esme looks up. She's struggling to hold back a laugh, a gloved hand over her mouth, though several giggles do slip through. A cough composes her. 'You have dealt with him, then?' 'Perfectly,' she says, and takes your vulnerable moment to have a slow, sensual squeeze your rear. You gasp slightly. 'He barely put up a struggle. I think he likes it.' You blush a deep red. 'I...' The woman tightens her grip on your shoulder, steadying you. 'I think he's learned his lesson. Does he still have an appointment?' 'Yes,' Esme says, glancing at her monitor. 'And right on time, too. He's due for his interview in four minutes.' You redden again and look at the floor. Six minutes. That's how long it had taken for you to run away, embarrass yourself, and then get caught and captured by this security woman. Despite the terrible humilation, you feel a tingle across your skin. 'Can't have you looking like this,' M chuckles, and starts plucking at the rope interlacing your arms. Your bindings are soon removed, and you feel a great relief. There's also, at the back of your head, a bitterness. Being bound has always held a certain allure to you, but the process and method today had been so humilating. Plus, it set a terrible presedent for your chances of employment. Free at last, you are ushered by M and Esme towards the elevator. Then, their heads turn. You see another figure walking down the stairs next to the elevator. [[A new arrival]]

(if:visits > 1)[ (set: $alarmActive to true) ] You re-enter the large building. The foyer is the size of a swimming pool, with the black sheen motif extended to the walls, while the floors are a porcelain white. A woman at the counter looks up from her typing to greet you. <div align="center"><img src="https://imgur.com/uLLWbpy.png" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> The receptionist appears to be totally encased in laminate. (if: $ejected is true)[ 'Good lord you're back!' she grimaces. 'Are you prepared to behave this time?' You flounder at the simple question. She turns back to her work. 'Those without an appointment or common sense cannot enter. Do you have an appointment?' ] [[Try a charm offensive]] [[Push your luck]] [[Attempt to walk past the receptionist]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%" ></div> {(set: $metLeyla to true)} The woman is beautiful. Like the rest of women here, she is dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, and a wide buckle belt cinches below a high-set black laminate dress that flows past her calves. A headscarf covers her hair. You suspect she is arabic. 'Ah, you must be $name,' she says, and politely inclines her head. 'I'm Leyla. The Mistress has been excited for your visit. It is not often we can be assured of one's character.' Both M and Esme give her a pointed look, though they spare you by not saying anything aloud. Leyla says nothing, and you can almost fool yourself into think she hasn't noticed. She turns, then notices what you're standing in front of. 'Sorry, I don't like elevators. I'm sure a trip by the stairs is not too much trouble?' You nod. 'That's no problem.' 'Excellent. Esme, Ley, I know you are helpful, but you didn't need to escort him from one side of the foyer to the other.' Both women share a look, and your heart races until Leyla says. 'I guess we're overprotective.' Leyla's brow perks. 'I see.' She turns around. 'Come, $name, we don't have long. All this chatting will leave us late.' [[She walks up the stairs and you follow.]] [[Ignore her. Run away.]]

The walk up is solitary. From outside, you say $company had an uncountable number of floors, and yet Leyla takes each one in stride. laminate is covering her entire body. Isn't she starting to sweat? 'I'm very proud you came,' she says. 'Your grandmother has never recommended a single member of your family, until now. You must be an excellent fit.' You ponder that a moment, if just to take your mind off the endless ascent of stairs. Why would your grandmother pick you? Sympathy? Guilt? You don't exactly have many redeeming qualities when it came to work, other than an affinity for I.T. But most corporations only have one of those for hundreds of employees, and the competition is fierce. She turns and you stop climbing. 'You think you are not up to it?' 'I guess I'm just nervous.' 'Oh, don't worry,' she says. 'I'm sure you'll do excellently.' You continue on. You should probably say something back. {(set: $metLeyla to true)} [[Ask her when she started.]] [[Ask her about the work.]] [[Compliment her dress.]] [[Anything I need to know?]]

'Oh, several years ago,' she says as you climb. 'I used to work for an accounting firm. It was dull. $companyNick has proved much better. Some people go, but many stay here until they retire.' If what Leyla says is true, that was crazy. $companyNick was touted by your grandma for having a low turnover, but this could be on a different level. Maybe you could work here a while. [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview]] (color:red)[Top Floor Unlocked!]

'It's quite pleasant,' she says. 'Although I can't tell you the specifics unless you pass the interview and sign.' She steps more quickly up the stairs, and you start to ponder. What exactly //did// everyone at $company do? Your grandmother had never been specific, beyond throwaway lines about tumultuous markets and the increase in importing fees. Did they manufacture laminate? It would explain why literally every woman in the building wore it. Perhaps it was just the cultural fashion. Something you have never been able to get your head around. [[Ask her when she started.]] [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/NCPjdDA.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> You walk up beside her. From this angle, she looks even better. 'I love your dress.' She glances behind her, then readjusts, surprised to find you so close. She smiles. 'Thank you! You would not believe the backlash I have received for something as simple as what I wear. The imams say it is too revealing. I say it reveals nothing at all.' As you walk together, snatching short glances her way, you realise both are true. No skin shows, and yet the way her heels click as she struts and her figure sways through her long dress... It's wonderful. You feel a twinge in your pants. She halts. 'Is something wrong?' Oh shit. You caught you staring. 'Uh...' 'I will accept you are intimidated by coming here. But I expect you to be truthful.' She still isn't moving. You've got to come up with something fast. 'Well...' [[Lie and press on.]] [[Throw caution to the wind. Tell the truth.]]

You finish ascending the stairs to find one final door. In the grey dimness of the stairs, it looks sublime in comparison, a rich, dark wood that belongs in a castle. Leyla pushes it open, and inside you see a perfectly-carpeted corridor, with the elevator on the right hand side and glass doors to your left. Leyla steps ahead, opening a door and welcomes you in. You step through, hesitant. The air of this place is one of grandeur and class, something you feel inadequately equipped for. A single wooden desk and several tall cabinets grace a small room. Another wooden room is buried into a nook on the right. No one is there. You turn to Leyla. 'Where is he?' She chuckles. 'The //Mistress// will see you when she is ready. You must wait for her to come to you. Try to relax, she won't be long.' With that, she steps out. You are left to think and wait, and out of habit you take a seat opposite her immaculate desk. //The ceo is a lady too? Are there no men here at all?// It seems unusual for an office to be entirely dedicated to women, but until you met a living, breathing man in this place, you suppose you have to take Leyla at her word. Minutes pass. Any sense of patience is being cannibalised by your long-standing anxiety about even coming to this place. What do you do? [[Wait for her.]] [[Call out for her]] [[Inspect that closed door.]] [[Wander]]

'You're just very pretty,' you say. 'Sorry, I got distracted.' She smiles. 'Thank you. It is good you are able to admit these things. Now, let's press on.' [[The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview]]

[[I just think you look stunning]] [[Actually, I'm faithful too...]] (set: $boss to "Leyla")

You wait. It is a frustratingly long time, but you don't want to make a poor impression by storming out. Though the temptation to do so steadily rises, you keep it at bay, slowly looking around the simple office room but not daring to touch a thing. {(if: $nickNamed is false)[(set: $name to "$legalName")]} The door behind you creaks. 'Not as adventurous as before, I see.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="an artist's rendering of Mistress in all her laminate glory, she wears a pearl choker"></div> You turn. There you see the most stunning woman you've seen in your life. Ruby red lips, luscious black hair, and //three// layers of laminate. Frilled pencil skirt, blazer, blouse and undershirt. Four pearl chokers ring her neck. It clings to her so smoothly you don't notice a single crease. She holds a beauty you don't think another woman could match. Though the considerable laminate certainly doesn't hurt. (if: $alarmActive is false)[ 'You must be $name,' she says, taking your shaking hand in her gloved one. Her hold is firm. 'Mercy has said great things of you.' So strange, hearing your grandmother's name like that. 'Uh, yes. She thinks I will.' She stops. 'Ah, you don't know what to call me. I assume no one has mentioned my name?' You nod. 'Good.' She starts taking one of her gloves off. Her nails are sharp. 'I have a rule against it. You will find, $name, that working for $company entails many rules. The first being how I am called. For honesty's sake, my name is $boss, but you must never call me that. You may either refer to me as Mistress or Boss.' [['Yes Mistress.']] [['Yes Boss.']] ] (else:)[ 'You must be $name,' she says, taking your shaking hand in her gloved one. Her hold is firm. 'Mercy has said great things of you.' So strange, hearing your grandmother's name like that. 'Uh, yes. She thinks I will She stops. 'Ah, you don't know what to call me. I assume no one has mentioned my name?' You nod. 'Good.' She starts taking one of her gloves off. Her nails are sharp. 'I have a rule against it. You will find, $name, that working for $company entails many rules. The first being how I am called. For honesty's sake, my name is $boss, but you must never call me that. You may either refer to me as Mistress or Boss.' [['Yes Mistress.']] ]

You call out, first for this 'Mistress' and then for Leyla, but both attempts are fruitless. Nobody comes to help you. In fact, all that greets you is an eerie silence. On reflection, this isn't much different from your walk up. You've heard barely a sound since you left the foyer. There was no "muzak" piping through the speakers, just a faint crackle of static. No rattle of keyboards or typewriters being hammered-on, no murmuring chatter of dozens of women speaking into phones. The silence feels like it envelops you, swelling into a hungry mass. It drinks up the sounds of your calls for attention and echo them back to you through the tiny room. An eerie silence gets eerier. Beads of sweat trickle down your armpit. There has to be someone here. [[Calm down. Be patient.->Wait for her2.]] [[Wander]]

Outside the waiting room is an office "bull pen". An open area filled with short walls that didn't quite go to the ceiling, forming a warren of busy productivity--you assume. You enter the cubicle farm. They line either side of you and stretch to a distant but visible end, where a second elevator can be found. The floors are the colour of obsidian, with gold resin running through the tiles. The ceiling is far more cramped than the foyer, but you suppose that is to be expected. The cubicles, however, are an entirely different beast. Instead of three short walls and an opening, you see fully enclosed boxes with four walls and a ceiling. You wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look like pods. Each one has walls like glass, and is heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. A few seem empty, but mostly they are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. You touch one, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. Best not get too caught up in one. Your interview was supposed to be in that conference room, you probably shouldn't be caught wandering the corridors. On the plus side, it's going to be much easier to go unnoticed if every employee is blind outside of their cubicle. But you still don't know where to go. Hearing some frustrated voices behind you, you gather that your absence has been noted, and not welcomed! Without much time to consider your options, you evade the sound of the heels that seem hotly in pursuit of your own. You're back near the elevator area, and you have a choice. (set: $alarmActive to true) [[Maybe I should have waited...->Wait for her.]] [[Try to get into a cubicle]] [[What if I tried that left corridor off the first floor?->Take the left corridor, where you're closest too]]

You inspect the closed door. It's locked. You probably should have expected a company as large as $company wouldn't keep their business records out in the open. (if: $bookkey is false)[ There's probably something very boring in there. Business records, a filing cabinet, a spare wardrobe, an en suite. It's not worth your time. [['Oh Well.' ->The top floor is one flight ahead. Time for your interview]] ] (if: $bookkey is true)[ Taking out the key from the hollow book you found in the foyer, you try it in the door knob, and the door swings open with a metallic creak. Success! But what you see ahead only makes you more curious. A long staircase leads down into darkness. Part of you feels a recurring dread, much like when you first stood outside this building. Should you really walk down a dark staircase at the back of a CEO's office when you don't know where it leads? Your video-game brain strikes again with fervent determination. You've already come this far, haven't you? [[That must be a side door to the CEO's office->Return to the CEO's office]] [[Go down the stairs]] ] (text-colour:orange)[//Hint: Did you get the key from the book?//]

She grins. 'My hardest workers call me that. It's a fact you'd best remember. We might get on well after all.' A layer of papers is swept aside. 'Please, sit.' You realise you've been standing ever since she entered the room. You think she's noticed, with the cat-like grin and the calm way she rests her head above her steepled fingers. You quickly sit. 'Good. You're quick to obey orders,' she shuffles through several papers and takes out a manilla folder. '$legalName $MCLastName, age 20. Is this correct?' You nod. Though it's not exactly a glowing desription. 'My job,' $boss says, 'is to find the right people for our work. Quite simple. And while in a perfect world we would give everyone a chance and learn all we could, today we'll be using shortcuts. Tell me about yourself.' [[Compliment her outfit]] [['What actually is the nature of the job?']] 'I'm afraid She sighs. 'While most interviews are open ending. That is incorrect.' 'Leyla here has told me of your unprofessional faux pas outside, but honestly that's to be expected of all new members of the firm. As modest as she is, not everyone is capable of reaching her heights.' Leyla averts her eyes a moment. You think she's hiding a blush. 'It is, however, a lie. One strike.' 'If you do not know the nature of the job, you need to ask.' 'I like how much he says Mistress,' Mistress says, and Leyla nods agreeably.

//Passage to complete Wherein the MC having failed to show complete submissiveness to the Mistress will be sidled into a Cubicle slave position. // [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]]

She smiles. 'I've heard you are quick to compliment the women here. You must be careful, $name, or others might think you are just quick to flatter.' (set: $alarmActive to true) [[I just think you look stunning]] [['Can't a man compliment a woman anymore?!']]

She laughs. 'And you're brave, too! That's good. You see $name, the nature of work here is another one of my Rules. You can't know, and no one is allowed to tell you. Your grandmother knew this. The exact nature of the job will become apparrent once you sign the contract. That is what we value at $company. Discretion, and patience.' Discretion and...patience? That resembled the values of a three letter agency. How did it apply to an office workplace? The intricacies could wait. Mistress steeples her fingers and watches you levelly. 'If you've figured it out yet, men do not work here. They are rowdy and uncouth, a legal minefield, and totally antithetical to an efficient workplace. And at $company, we value efficiency //very// highly. It is imperative to our ends.' 'And what of this contract? What does it involve?' Mistress smiles. 'I am glad you asked, $name. Let me ask you a question - did anybody seem discontent with their work while you were here?' You think back. For all the menial paper work and filing that must be necessary in a giant company like this, one thing strikes you as quite strange. And it's not the fact the whole building is comprised entirely of women. 'Everyone here seems very satisfied, Mistress. I was surprised.' 'Correct,' she says. 'Now think on why that might be.' You ponder. What was the secret? What were they getting paid? Your thoughts have obviously not impressed her, for she sighs and approaches you, bypassing her desk. 'Don't you see? The reason people do not leave $companyNick is not because of job dissatisfaction, poor colleagues, or better opportunities. No, they stay because the most common contract they sign //does not allow them to leave//. A deep part of your stomach goes sour. Your throat tangles like vines constricting a bud. 'You enslave people.' 'No. People merely commit to us for great periods of time. Were I to take you on, you would be no different.' What exactly did a 'great period' mean? Two years, ten? Suddenly any sense of certainty shrivels in your chest. You need work, but not that much of it. 'The most signed contract is fifteen years.' You stare. She laughs. But whatever you hope is forthcoming, she says nothing, letting it soak in. // [['What!?']] //

$boss steeples her fingers and stands. 'I see this is confronting for you. But it is the best deal. One hundred and twenty thousand dollars per annum. For our shortest contract, just five years, your pay is one third.' Fifteen years. The number echoes out like a ripple in your mind. That was phenomenal pay, and she even sounds close to offering it to you. Fourty thousand was still respectable for your age, but did you really want to be stuck on that pay for five years? 'You still haven't told me what it is I would do.' $boss glared. 'Is my talk of commitment not enough? But I suppose you have come in blind. Look in that drawer.' She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, Leyla watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, right before you likely signed years of your life away. You open the draw and see black. Then, the edges of it, as it stands out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples and unfolds down, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. (if: $boss is "Elizabeth")[ (if: $metLeyla is false)[ Softly, behind you, a door opens and closes. You turn quickly to see a stranger has joined Mistress in the room. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> She is stunning in her laminate clothing: a dazzling marriage of chaste exposure and lascivious curves. She smiles a welcoming smile at you. 'Leyla dear,' $boss says, 'You'll need to help out our new hire...' Your attention is drawn back toward the laminate clothing in your hand. ] (else-if: $metLeyla is true)[ Softly, behind you, a door opens and closes. You turn quickly to see Leyla having joined Mistress in the room. Mistress gives Leyla the swiftest of nods, 'You'll need to help out our new hire...' she explains to a nodding Leyla. Your attention is drawn back toward the laminate clothing in your hand.]] 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what we expect you to wear.' [[You turn to Leyla.]]

'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. She shakes her head. 'No $name, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' 'You are not a man, but a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is a potential that will only be realised if you dress like us.' 'A skirt represents submission, $name. In my case, submission to my husband and superiors. For you, it will mean submission to a Mistress - a boss who you will serve - and to the CEO of $company.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds, gleaming in the light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what he'd never been and work here for years? He couldn't deny there had been some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you, if I was here for fifteen years?' 'Put on the skirt, $legalName' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.' [[Obey Leyla]] [[Question.]] [[Throw it down.]]

You obey, taking off your pants and putting on the skirt. At first there's difficulty; the skirt is tight once you're standing inside it and its many folds fight the zipper as you try to pull it up. There's a zip at the back, and your inexperience as much as your terror delay you as you sweatily close it over you. Eventually, you manage, and Leyla looks at you like you're a pig at market. 'You look beautiful, $name. We must put on the rest.' The skirt is tight and restricts everything above your knees. You are forced to daintily step and hobble: moving has become an entirely new art! She takes you by the arm and pulls you toward the wooden door, unlocking it with a key in her pocket, propelling your swaying figure with distressing ease. She opens the door and you are shown into a dressing room. As though a spell had been cast, you can't disobey. Helplessly, you watch as she unbuttons your shirt and throws away your tie and shoes. She grimaces at the sight of your undershirt and she shreds it with her nails. Each piece of clothing replaced by their superior version: a tight balconette bra, a long-bowed blouse, tight thigh-highs, and lastly: jet-black heels, slotted onto you with a fairy tale's care. Everything feels smooth. You are in an ocean of smoothness, of pleasure! You feel a clinging sensation that this was all //meant// to be. Next comes a dusting of makeup, retrieved from a purple bag in one of the top drawers. It doesn't take long, and soon Leyla is //really// captivated by you, clasping her hands together and holding your hand, which she's adorning with a long opera glove. [[You stand in front of the mirror]] (set: $laminated to true)

'B-b-but I can't just pretend I'm a woman though can I?' you ask. 'It's not like there's some magical way you can change me?' 'Haha no, nothing magic child, merely expressing that which is deep within you already,' she replies calmly. 'It is a pity that you seem to be resisting your destiny... I suppose the solution then is obvious. We need to reconcile how your own destiny, with how $company sees your potential.' Leyla pauses as she considers her next steps. 'Yes, I think the only thing for it, is to expedite your onboarding. It's going to take a certain amount of //conditioning// to meet the requirements of your position, but I think you'll 'fit right in,' as it were.' Taking a big intake of breath, your attention is rapt to her. You're astounded at how she can command your attention inside this space, as though her mere presence possessed the gravity of the moon. 'It is time, then. Come with me.' Leyla marches out of the room, without a glance backward, satisfied that you will follow. You do, of course. As though some invisibile filament was tied to your midrift, you feel yourself pulled along behind her as she takes you back downstairs to another floor. As far as you can see, there seems to be a large cubicle farm. Grids and rows of workspaces extended in every direction--but the cubicles seem different than normal. Aside from the typical moveable walls that form the boundaries of every nameless, faceless, corporate job, there seems to be some kind of gel-like pod held within. Extending a hand to the surface, you feel the tacky stick of the pod surface. Looking inside, they seem larger inside than you initially thought, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. Leyla rounds on one cubicle in particular. How she chose it? You have no guess, but she seems to have the layout of the cubicle farm memorized. 'I think if you would simply take position inside your workstation, a number of our issues can be quickly and easily resolved,' she explains. Her hand passes easily through the pod wall, the sticky coating gliding effortlessly over her laminate. You gulp, and steele yourself for your entry into the unknown Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. Leyla smiles and laughs at your predicament, standing back and crossing her arms to watch your display. ... Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. 'Aww poor dear looks like she's stuck...' coos Leyla as she revels in your capture. 'Here, let's help you get the rest of the way in...' 'No! Please! This is--' your pleas are soon cut-off. With a surprising force, Leyla grabs the back of your head and shoves it violently at the pod wall. You feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields once more and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. Leyla grabs your feet and leverages your body upward. As Leyla pushes, you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you with unaccustomed difficulty. There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]]

[[Slave Enslavement]]

You approach the secretary. 'Sorry to bother you.' She tisks and looks up. 'That impatient are you?' "I was just wondering, umm, if you could tell me who is going to be interviewing me, ma'am", you try to add a winsome smile at the end, but fear it comes off more like a grimace. She looks unnerved. Totally a grimace. 'The Mistress is the wonderful woman who keeps this company alive. Without her, we would be nothing. But to answer your unspoken question, she will interview you when her schedule deems it ready. The timing you have been given is merely an estimate, based on her busy schedule.' //Well, if she's unnerved, maybe I'm in a position of strength?// You mentally scoff at the thought, but keep trying. "Is that how she likes to be addressed? Mistress?" You ask, wondering. It sounded a bit too sexual, but maybe this was a kind of female empowerment reclaiming thing? She did head a large and apparently very wealthy corporation, and women weren't that common in the field, for all of feminism's progress. "Is there anything useful you could tell me about her before the interview?" You dare to ask another question. //Maybe I can get advice that gives me an advantage.// 'Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. What's your name?' 'Esme,' she says, then stares at you. You quickly realise your mistake and tell her yours. 'I was just wondering if I could walk around.' You point to the stairs. 'Over there.' 'Those areas are off-limits for non-employees,' she says. 'I'm not going to have to call security, am I?' You sigh. If you want to get to either of the second tier corridors or the elevators, you were going to have to think up something better. [[Bargain with Esme.]] [[Threaten her.]] [[Distract her.]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> The woman strides down the stairs and doesn't notice you, while you greedily eye her. She is beautiful, and dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from A tight navy blouse is cinched by a wide buckle belt before it flows into a long black dress. A headscarf covers her hair. 'Esme!' she greets the receptionist. Her voices carries easily in the wide room. 'Where is the Mistress's next appointment? He's not late, is he?' Through a slit in the ferns you see Esme jerk around to the grouped couches. 'Oh god. He's left!' 'Left?' The woman sounds incredulous. 'Shame, woman! You let him explore unsupervised!' 'I didn't think...I didn't expect the grandson of one of our upper echilon would be such a brat. He just seemed boring.' Esme shakes her head, then snatches up the phone. 'I'm calling M now. He can't have gone far.' The woman in the headscarf puts her fingers to her nose. 'You had to watch him for five minutes. You are hopeless.' 'Wherever he goes, she'll find him.' Your would-be escort crosses her arms. 'He is a deliquent. We must teach him the cost for such beheaviour.' Throughout their whole conversation, neither of them have noticed the lights of the elevator counting down. Its' opening ding is loud enough to draw their attention, but no one immediately walks out. and from your angle, you can't see anyone inside. This is your chance. [[Run into the empty elevator.]] [[Hide and wait a little longer.]]

[[Wander]]

You take your chance. Thanks to your hesitation, the doors are already beginning to close, but you make it, sliding straight through and slamming the button for the level you've already pressed. The two women watch you with a shared incredulity as you make your escape. The elevator doesn't carry you for long. It climbs, and climbs, until it opens on what the digital display up top claims is the fourth floor. You enter a cubicle farm. They line either side of you and stretch to a distant but visible end, where a second elevator can be found. The floors are the colour of obsidian, with gold resin running through the tiles. The ceiling is far more cramped than the foyer, but you suppose that is to be expected. The cubicles, however, are an entirely different beast. Instead of three short walls and an opening, you see fully enclosed boxes with four walls and a ceiling. You wouldn't call them cubicles, really - they look like pods. Each one has walls like glass, and is heavily tinted the colour of gauze, the silvery surface distinguishing them from anything you've ever seen. A few seem empty, but mostly they are occupied by some human figure that appears as a dull blur inside the pod. You touch one, and find your hand almost sticks. It's texture is like a gooey laminate. Best not get too caught up in one. On the plus side, it's going to be much easier to go unnoticed if every employee is blind outside of their cubicle. But you still don't know where to go. You walk, because you probably have the time. Those women can't tell what floor you're on from outside, can they? You realise the elevator had an outside display right as you hear charging heel steps from the stairs behind you. Ok, so they totally did. <i>Crap.</i> Without much time to consider your options, you evade the sound of the heels that seem hotly in pursuit of your own. You're back near the elevator area, and you have a choice. [[Try to get into a cubicle]] [[Walk straight ahead, towards the second elevator.]]

You decide to keep yourself where you are. Sprinting into the elevator is a bad idea; besides, it starts to shut quickly. You probably wouldn't have even made it inside. You peer through the ferns once again and see the two women linger around. Then a door on the opposite side of the foyer opens, and your heart sinks. A heavy set woman walks out in what appears to be a white blouse, brown blazer and a leather skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. She's obviously security, and Esme and your escort both bow their heads as she approaches. 'We have a runaway?' 'Entirely my fault,' Esme admits. 'I've just been so busy lately, and I never expected...' she holds back a sob. 'I'm sorry. It won't happen again.' The woman, M, nods at this. 'He can't have gotten far. And he won't make much headway.' She ponders something. 'Did you hear either of the doors close?' Esme blinks. 'No, I didn't.' 'Then he's either smart enough to take the elevator or...' She begins to stamp in your direction, heading for the stairs. Uh oh. [[Keep hiding.]] [[Run!]]

Exiting the elevator, you see someone new exiting the door from the staircase. (if: $alarmActive is false)[ {(set: $metLeyla to true)} <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The woman is beautiful. Like the rest of women here, she is dressed entirely in laminate. A demure ruffle spreads down her neck from a tight navy blouse with sharp bishop sleeves, and a wide buckle belt cinches below a high-set black laminate dress that flows past her calves. A headscarf covers her hair. You suspect she is arabic. Seeing you, her face adopts a slightly puzzled expression. Rather than passing over you, she approaches you directly. 'I'm supposed to be looking to interview our potential new hire... I don't suppose you have seen her?' she asks you shyly. 'Uhhh, well, //I'm supposed// to interview for a position here today. My grandmother setup the interview?' 'Ah... //You're// the candidate? I see...' she ponders you for a moment, her eyes roaming up and down. 'Well how wonderful to have you here. I'm certain we can make you fit right in!' she finishes cheerfully, her shy demeanour having evaporated. [[She walks up the stairs and you follow.]] ] (else:)[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> She's a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. Her name badge spells out a single letter 'M', and she seems to be the primary security agent for $company. Your eyes linger on her figure a moment: she's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident even. Your imagination starts to run wild--then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge, and she's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' You try to plead your case, that you were simply looking for the interview room, but M is having none of it. 'What? You thought you could just sneak around and no one would notice?' she asks you with disdain. 'Trespassing is a serious offence! And I'll not have some trollop wandering around a secure building. You're toast.' [[You find yourself outside]] ]

You try to keep hiding. //'Maybe this will all blow over?'// you think. No such luck. Your heart pounding in your ears, you don't hear the clunking heeled footfalls of the woman who approaches you from behind. Looming over you, you finally notice her presence when her shadow projects its darkness over you. A chill passes through you as the feeble warmth from the bright lighting is replaced by the chilly stare of this imposing figure. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/dADVBXA.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> She's a heavy set woman in what appears to be a glossy white blouse, brown blazer and a toughened laminate leather-look skirt that ends past her knees. Her black hair sits in a bob. She's wearing shades, which combined with the narrow line of her lips intimidates you. Her name badge spells out a single letter 'M', and she seems to be the primary security agent for $company. Your eyes linger on her figure a moment: she's not pretty like the receptionist is, but 'M' is still attractive. Confident even. Your imagination starts to run wild--then her arms shoot out. You don't even realise you should dodge, and she's fast, and she quickly twists you around and grabs your wrists. Then, she crushes them in the grip of one hand (she's so strong!') and claps her other hand on your shoulder. 'That's plenty son, you've had your naughty peek. Now be still and come with me.' You try to plead your case, that you were simply looking for the interview room, but M is having none of it. 'What? You thought you could just sneak around and no one would notice?' she asks you with disdain. 'Trespassing is a serious offence! And I'll not have some trollop wandering around a secure building. You're toast.' (set: $alarmActive to true) [[You find yourself outside]]

You burst from your hiding spot before M can gain any more on you, scampering for the stairs. She rushes after you, the growing clack of her heels your only indication of her location, because you're too shit-scared to look behind. She's athletic, but she's also wearing a tight pencil skirt and heels. Noise and her string of curses indicates you're faster. You make it to the stairs and notice there are lower floors. On instinct, you barrel down them, taking the steps three or four at a time. You didn't know this place had an underground, but it's likely your best chance. Picking any of the higher levels lead to endless office cubicles, and that was probably an easy way to get lost and captured. Captured. Oh, just the thought sends a shudder through your spine. And a jolt to somewhere else. In acting like the most devious little bastard, you actually are starting to fulfil one of your fantasies. Hiding, stopping yourself from being caught all while evading the delicious fate of being restrained... Well, you should stop thinking about these things. You step into a darkened room. It looks like a long warehouse, with huge square installations as big as a single-storey house. Metal bannisters at the corners are joined by large sheets of glass, letting you see into most of the rooms. Most seem to be offices, with individual desks and a single worker in each. The sounds of heel clacking echo behind you. Crap. You need to find a place to hide. But outside of the tinted glass houses, there doesn't seem to be anywhere to run. So, convincing yourself, you charge towards the first office you find and walk in. [[Enter one of the offices.]]

The woman makes a swatting motion with her glove. 'My name is Bianca, but you can just call me Ma'am. Now, how did you know how to find me?' Another razor-sharp question, delivered just as quick. But now that you've seen her, now that you're heard her lovely voice, you have to stay down here. You know how to think quick. 'I was told to find the woman with the lovely blonde hair and black gloves.' Bianca laughs. 'That's very good. I assume you found me by my room code, but flattery is always appreciated. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!' She returns to her desk. 'I enjoy your compliments, but I must get back to work. You have come to the wrong place, perhaps deliberately, and are hardly making a good impression for your hiring manager. You really must be on your way.' You gulp. 'Good impressions' were far removed from anything you'd given since you got here.' 'Very well Miss -' She interrupts you, quite sternly. 'Ma'am is fine. If you are here for orientation, you're hardly dressed for it. Go retrieve some clothes from the mess hall.' //There's a mess hall here?// you think. Wow, this place has far more than you could have imagined. But you don't want to have to traverse more places. 'Uh, I think they've run out?' The woman, who you now think of as Ma'am, narrows her eyes. 'Nonsense, I'm sure they have another pair! Go and check again!' You take a deep breath. You really don't want to venture further into this place, especially considering you're a company fugitive at this point. 'Do you have any work clothes in here?' you ask. Ma'am doesn't take her gaze from her desk, motioning to a drawer. 'I do, but it won't be in your size. [[Leave the underground office.]] (if: $alarmActive is false)[ [[Ask Ma'am several questions.]] ] [[Obey Ma'am.]]

The moment you stepped in this room, you have had a pretty good inclination of exactly what work clothes for this company might mean. It was one of the reasons you'd agreed to your grandma's request to apply here. You tip-toe towards the drawer with trepidation, then curse yourself for extending the suspense. You open the drawer and pick out the first article. laminate is such a sexy material, but you never expected it to be this //smooth//. It ripples down your arms as it unfolds naturally, extending like a swan's wing. 'You do understand the company dress code, don't you?' Ma'am says, unable to hide her grin. 'What I am expected to wear?' Until now, you hadn't been certain. But you //had// hoped. You inspect the clothing again. It's definitely a skirt, and its size suggests it is as long and narrow as Ma'am's own. The white puffy thing that sits in the drawer is also a copy of her blouse, as silky and smooth as you imagine it would feel. 'Put it on,' Ma'am says. 'I want to see this.' [[Obey]]

You leave the small house of an office that Ma'am works in, and decide to take a stroll. You're not going to bother with any of the other buildings - they likely all work in a similar role as Ma'am, and there's little point in trying your luck a second time. You waltz down the long warehouse underground, and eventually come to a closer group of buildings. They are made of different colours, red and purple, though you don't know what that signifies. [[Wander]]

'May I ask what it is you do? I wasn't told by my superiors,' you lie, watching her return to her desk. She seems to be very tired of staring at the papers in front of her. 'That is not your concern, grunt,' she said. 'And remember to call me Ma'am. I'll punish you if you don't.' 'Yes Ma'am, sorry Ma'am.' Goodness, just calling her a simple title pleases you. You like how she pays you more attention after you say it. She signs. 'I handle exports. And so far, the exports are becoming //very// unprofitable to ship.' She stands, paces the desk. 'In some ways, I yearn for when I didn't have to manage all this drivel. And yet, this is what it costs me.' She sighs, then flicks her gaze to you. 'Took the short contract did you? That's understandable.' 'Uh, yes I did,' you say. 'How long is your contract.' 'When I began,' Ma'am says, sounding extremely tired, 'it was fifteen years.' You repeat the figure in your head, and it echoes like a thundercrash. Fifteen years. That's why $companyNick had high retention - it practically enslaved its workers, forced them to remain with them for years. A decade and a half, working here, filing paperwork in those incredibly impractical laminate uniforms. It makes you feel something. [[Fearful.]] [[Curious.]] [[Something more.]]

You take off your trousers and put on the skirt. It's tighter than any pair of pants you've worn, zipping snugly at the back with a built-in buckle belt that cinches up with skirt. It holds you in place, and you can feel a growth threaten to overcome your groin. You huff and try to compose yourself. 'The blouse,' Ma'am commands. You obey. That's all you seem to be good at, ripping your shirt off and donning the laminate blouse. It clings to your skin with an intimacy nothing else can, smoothing over your chest, caressing your shaking arms. A short ruffle adorns the chest area, and it makes you feel pretty. 'Stay still,' Ma'am says, and though your chest is thumping and your body feels like it's been electrocuted, you manage. From behind her desk Ma'am brings a black corset of some sort, and when it clicks it open you realise it's big enough to enclose your neck. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> It //is// for your neck. It's a posture collar. Only the perverts at $companyNick could carry around things like this. She attaches it swiftly, locking it with a final click. A d-ring sits at its front. 'It's amazing what we can train our new employees to do. You look wonderful, sweetheart. Say thank you.' You look away, trying to tame the great buzz in your stomach and the hunger in your genitals. 'Thank you Ma'am.' 'Of course,' Ma'am says, swiftly attaching a leash from her desk to your neck corset, 'you aren't one of our employees, are you?' Your heart sinks and you try to pull away, but Ma'am is too fast, pulling you closer by your leash. 'I think it's time we introduced you to the company, my pet.' [[No! You have to escape!]] (set: $laminated to true)

You try to buck away, but Ma'am just keeps laughing and holds you in her grip. The leash is strong, and the neck corset it's attached to makes it difficult for you to look away. You drink in her eagerness to humiliate you, the hunger to turn you in. Wearing a super-tight pencil skirt also makes it difficult to manoeuvre yourself, though Ma'am is wearing a carbon copy, and she doesn't seem to be struggling. 'Oh my dear, you've gone too deep. You've exhibited every single behaviour we try to cultivate here. You're curious, naughty yet obedient, and extraordinarily kinky. You just put on my spare clothes, without any incentive. No, we can't get rid of you. You're too good a fit.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/n1vZAUC.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> In moments she pulls you closer again, then grabs your shoulder and whisks you around. She takes your wrists and holds them firmly in place behind you. Something leathery is shoved up your arms, which you struggle against and fail to inconvenience your captor for a second. The leather climbs up your arms, and as you hear a zipper and glance behind you realise the entirety of your arms are being bound in a leather sheath. An armbinder. It finishes it's ascent near your shoulders, and by then your elbows have also succumbed and are just as tightly bunched behind you as your wrists, fully enveloped in the sheath. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/0iQXVxw.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'You,' she said, 'look perfect.' [[Cry out! Do something!]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/nJikO0L.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> Each door is made of wood, a luxury these days, and as you quickly close it you realise a woman in shiny office attire is staring at you. Typical - there doesn't seem to be a single man in the building. Alongside the typical blouse and long pencil skirt you've remarkably used to by now, a pair of long black gloves tapers the puff of her blouse and her hair is done up in a bun. Her blouse is designed without buttons, and her collar looks so tight that its choking her. She wears a severe expression. It seems that you've interrupted her work. 'What's your problem, boy? Did you start here today?' Well, you were supposed to until you royally screwed that up. 'Um, yes Ma'am.' 'I see.' The woman sounds impressed. She pushes off her desk and walks toward you, grinning. 'You've better manners than the last batch. Orientation around here must have actually //improved//. Now, why are you here?' Your mind blanks. At first she looks curious, but then your hesitation breeds a very different expression that seems the opposite of anything a newbie should expect. obvious expression that you really don't want to accept. 'Well? The mentors you must be looking for are not down here.' [['I'm here to help you, Mrs...']]

<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/VT3TFbF.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> You think to scream, but it's too late. Just as your arms are left alone you feel a plethora of tape encircle your mouth, as Ma'am holds you by the neck and wraps layer after layer over your mouth. 'That's better,' Ma'am says, turning you around to look at you. You cringe out of fear and muffle a whimper, and she eyes you like a piece of art. 'No, that's perfect. I'll make sure you never leave without looking like this.' <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/DjNFC3A.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> She sounds like she's talking about a work of art. You just whimper. You were just trying to explore and have some fun! Not be captured by this fanatic, adoring... No. No, your cock //can't// be getting hard at this. But she has already noticed. 'Aw, even this part of you knows you belongs here.' She lightly slaps your dick through your skirt, which only makes it grow, then turns you around and steers you by the ass. 'Come on, little secretary. It's time for you to sign a contract.' [[Ending: Unwilling Slave]]

You wonder if anybody could retain their sanity after knowingly signing a contract that lasted a almost half a decade. Nevermind a decade and a half. The figure is still staggering. How do $companyNick's employees do it? You can't imagine anybody still enjoying their work by the second year, nevermind the fifteenth. 'Yes,' says Bianca, 'it's quite intimidating. Now, is there something else you need?' [[You shake your head, heading for the stairs->You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

Part of you is curious. How could a woman handle employment at the same place for fiteen whole years? What were the perks? You supposed the opportunity to wear laminate might entice a few kinky girls. But that couldn't be the whole story. It was impossible. You decide to leave the woman before she gets any wiser. [[Exit->You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

'I don't think I signed for long enough,' 'And this contract, can it be revoked?' 'Of course not,' Ma'am says, rather jealously. 'You would have to be paralysed before you could leave.' 'I don't mean to revoke a contract. I want to sign the longer one.' Ma'am's eyes widen. 'Really?' 'Yes, I think so.' It's such a stupid, impulsive idea. But wearing laminate to work everyday, the sensations, the feel...you can't wait for the material to claim you. 'Then get out of my sight,' Ma'am says. 'Go to the top floor and beg Mistress to reconsider.' You turn and head for the door. Feeling heady, the hollow excitement in your chest, you might go do just that. [[You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]]

(set: $contractSigned to true) You take the stairs, all the way up to the top floor. M does not find you or tackle you from around a corner. Instead, you make it all the way to the top floor, a clean, silent corridor and a glass panel into a single office. You walk inside. The most beautiful women is waiting for you.... 'You finally show your face,' she snarls. 'I have been searching for you. Hunting you down. How dare you run from your interview, and expect me to give you a chance!' She howls and screams, but you bear it. You've discovered a lot of patience in yourself today. 'I've heard you offer fifteen year contracts.' The Mistress suddenly stops. 'Yes.' 'I want to sign.' 'What? Why?' 'I would be wearing laminate everyday I worked here, right?' 'Of course. You'd wear the same blouse and skirt as everyone here.' Your groins shiver. You thought there might be a mandate about wearing only women's clothes, and you find the novelty and mystery excites you. You've always wanted to know how you looked in a skirt. 'That sounds perfect. I want //in//.' 'But you'll be bound repeatedly -' 'Sounds great.' 'And you'll be in chasisty full time -' 'Don't care.' 'I hope you're ready to be in a skirt and an armbinder for most of your employment,' she says, almost trying to dissuade you. 'That sounds delicious.' Her eyes widen. 'You might be the best candidate we've ever seen.' You smile. 'I am just like my grandmother.' The Mistress matches it and offers you her hand. You shake it. 'Welcome to $company.' -- //Skip ahead: [[Ending: Eager Slave]]// Oh my god. 'Now go and fetch some better fitting clothes,' she says. 'I have work to do.' 'Uh Mistress, where do I get the clothing?' 'Oh, go and see Leyla, she should be able to sort you out' [[Going to see Leyla]]

'Hmmm... The keywords here, the principles that form the foundational bedrock of our operation are simple: Commitment, Service, and Obedience' she paused as she tapped her chin thoughtfully. 'Yes, if you can learn those on your own, no one here will be forced to teach them to you.' [[Ask her when she started.]]

She rolls her eyes. 'There is, and you certainly haven't met it,' she says, gesturing to your plain, ill-fitting suit like it were a piece of personified garbage. 'If you'd read the room and done your research, you would know the Mistress loves her //aesthetic//.' 'You mean the latex?' 'It's called laminate,' she clarifies. 'Much smoother. Doesn't require a bucket of talcum powder to get on. But yes, I mean the latex. You could have at least bought a cheap catsuit before you came in.' 'That would be acceptable?' you say, shocked. 'Of course!' she says. 'Look, you've clearly been thrust into something you don't know how to navigate. It would be best if you just went home.' 'Well, maybe...' 'You're giving up that easily?' she says. 'Wow, you might really not fit in here.' 'No!' you exclaim, and you're surprised at the rage in your voice. You were going to get this job, you were going to prove the rest of your family wrong! Who thought all you did was stay in your room and... Well, the current view didn't dissuade you of that. But your grandmother believed in you, and you had to carry that confidence through. 'I can't do that,' you say. 'Please, I'm not that hopeless, okay? Surely there's something you can do?' Esme taps her cheek. 'Well, I have some clothes back behind here. Beware - one is pink. In case you were worried about betraying your masculinity.' She revels in the sarcasm. You're starting to find her abrasive. You reel your thoughts in. Would pink really big that big a deal, if it helped you fit in? [['Oh please, I could really use those.'->Accept Early Sissy]] [['On second thought, I should do fine on my own.'->Deny Esme Clothes]]

[[Take the left corridor, where you're closest too]]

'Great!' Esme says, clapping as she stands up. She seems way too perky about this. 'Follow me.' You realise as she leads you behind the enormous reception counter that she's taller than you. In your mind you justify that the culprit is her heels, but they're not even that high. A pinch of envy pulses through you. She takes to through the black enamelled door next to her. It's completely dark. You get a quick peek of her work area, and see several electronic wires and switches you wouldn't expect of a regular office. Esme switches on the light. It's a plain looking storeroom, squat and fusty. The black ceiling bar lights shine dimly through the room. 'It's in here,' she says, picking out a pitch black suitcase from a lower shelf. 'I'm not too much taller than you. It should be about your size.' She opens the case to reveal a frilly pink blouse, neatly folded. You pick it out, pinching it with two fingers, trying not to think about what you're contemplating doing. The blouse has several ruffles through the middle, puffy shoulders, and full bishop sleeves that end in a buttoned cuff. Not exactly what you expected to find in here. You hardly want to think about putting it on. Then you notice what lays underneath it. 'I'm not wearing that,' you say. 'It'll look fine on you.' 'It's a skirt!' 'It's a pair of shorts,' Esme says stubbornly. 'Besides, it's more important you have a cohesive ensemble. You don't want to wear half laminate, half not. It will make you stick out more.' You hold the blouse in one hand while you look at the second piece. It's black and short, but definitely a skirt. Part of it looks long, but that's because the cinch in the middle tells you it's supposed to ride halfway up your chest. There's a matching corset in the bottom of the suitcase. 'I...' you say. 'It will be good for you,' Esme says, taking a delicate finger to rub your cheek. It's similar to what you experienced as a kid, but with an entirely different meaning. 'I'll be back in five minutes,' she says. 'Try to be dressed by then.' With that, she leaves and shuts the door. You think you hear it lock. Shit. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/f6iDk0t.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> You are quickly strapped up, bound by tight belt ties that cinch deliciously around your wrists and ankles. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/bjRcGmZ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The corset rides all the way up to the false breasts, jutting into them and pushing them up. The heels also help to push up your figure, gaining you several inches of much-beloved height. The door unlocks and Esme steps in. 'Oh, you look //fantastic//.' You look away. You'd never been complimented like that before. 'I couldn't get the corset done up much. Do you really think so?' She laughs, eyeing you over. 'Honey, I'm not going to lie to you. You look stunning. Although I would make a few alterations...' With that, she gets to work, straightening your blouse and helping you do up the corset at your request, directing you to place your hands on a wall as she tightens the straps. By the end, you have to suck in careful breaths to keep the world from going dizzy. 'That looks excellent. Oh, and you forgot these.' She kneels down and fiddles with your heels, wrapping the strange bands of leather from the suitcase around your ankles and winding it under each heel. Then you hear a clicking sound. 'That should help,' she says, standing up, which still seems miraculous in her tight skirt. 'What are those?' you ask. 'Ankle cuffs,' she says. 'They stop you taking off your lovely heels without a key. Should help with your temptation to throw them off, considering how hard they are to walk in. At least for beginners.' 'Okay,' you say, suppressing how you've just technically been put in bondage. 'Aren't I late for my interview?' 'Honey, they can wait,' she says. 'We're just going to put on some finishing touches. Ten minutes later, you stumble out of the storeroom. Esme has found a wig for you, and it nestles comfortably in your hair. She spent plenty of time putting an unsufferable amount of make-up on you, which you don't want to think about. 'Good luck!' Esme says as she waves, unable to hide her grin. Well, at least you fit in now. Time for you to begin that interview.' [[You can't resist the impulse. Head for the stairs.]] { (set: $laminated to true)}

The woman snarls. 'Fine. I didn't want to have to do this, but you're forcing my hand.' And with that, she walks back inside, watching you fiercely as she takes out her phone and very obviously dials a three digit number. There is an awkward pause, a wait of a few minutes, before a blue and white police cruiser pulls up beside the building. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/srklwMm.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> A sleek, well dressed woman in a blue and white knee length dress with blonde tresses streaming down her back and thick white heels steps out of the car. She looks at you curiously for a second, then steps forward. 'Oh dear, there sounds like there has been a disturbance,' she says to you. 'A girl, about your height, same hair. Have you seen her?' Knowing full well you //were// the disturbance, you're struck dumb. Looking back at her slack-jawed, she grows slightly impatient. 'I was told there was a girl in front of $companyNick causing a disturbance,' she says to you. 'Have you seen her?' You realise "M" has come out of the door. 'Yes, she's been causing us quite a bit of trouble and making a ruckus.' The policewoman nodded. 'And where is she?' 'Right here,' "M" says, pointing at you. 'Yes, officer, your eyes do not deceive you. She has asked for female pronouns since she got here. This is her.' The cop watches you with interest. 'Is this true?' [[Say you're a boy and "M" is lying'->Ending: Day In Jail]] [[Say you're a girl]]

You admit what you always thought, what you always hoped would be true. 'That's right, Ma'am. I'm a girl.' The policewoman steps closer, so you get a full view of her cravat and her interested, curious eyes. 'Is that so? And what is your name?' You tell her. It's not exactly a convincing name for a girl, but she doesn't seem to care. The policewoman crosses her arms. 'Huh. And do you know the consequences for trespassing on Venevos industries as a woman, little girl?' You shake your head. 'I thought they'd be the same as if you were a man.' She grins. Widely. Menacingly, with a hunger you find unnerving. 'No, it isn't.' Her viper's grin grew wider. 'Miss $MCLastName, I am arresting you for trepassing and public nuisance. Please come with me.' You start to walk, before realising she has taken you firmly by the forearm with a grip you don't think you could struggle out of if you tried. She drags you, helpless, to the back of her police cruiser, where she shoves you ingraciously against the silvery blue hood. 'Please place your hands above the car door, Ma'am.' She says more gently. Still surprised by her use of Ma'am, you place your laminate-gloved hands above the car door and wait. Abruptly, she begins to touch you, to feel your body, sliding her hands across your satin-covered back. 'Do you have any contraband on you? Any illegal substances or knives?' She asks, sliding her hands across your chest. She begins caressing you, slathering her hands over your hips, your groin, and your fake breasts. After a moment she pinches your tits, then reaches for your bum and squeezes that. 'No, officer, not at all,' you say, surrendering any attempt at a confident voice. After a moment, the woman stops, and grunts. 'Keep your hands above your head.' Doing as commanded, your hands are soon brought to the small of my back and held there, where you feel a tight, leathery substance grace your wrists. 'W-What's that?' you ask. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/EqghPdU.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'An armbinder,' she says. 'Reserved for our most troublesome and violent prisoners. Myra told me everything. I'm not going to let you cause havoc in my car. Just hold still,' she says. Soon the leather is pulled further up your arms, touching your elbows, then stops at your shoulderblades. You looked behind to see the policewoman doing up a complex series of ties on what looks like a leather glove over your arms. You feel the leather glove start to tighten, to pince and bring your arms together, until they are pressed inelegantly behind your back, rigid tight. Even after a few moments your arms are hurting, the position unpractised. You can't help emitting a little moan. 'Enjoying it $name, are you?' says your arresting officer, pulling it taut one last time as she ties the final string, which elicits another soft moan of pleasure from you. 'That's good. Those who identify as woman are to be transported in tight restraints. You'll look good in the cruiser.' She pushes you along, hand on the small of your back, as you daintily step toward the police cruiser and are guided to the backseat inside. Bound, moaning with pleasure, you hum excitedly to yourself as you are driven to the police station. You may not have been employed how your grandmother wanted, but you got your wish!' [[Ending: Prison Slave]]

<img src="https://i.imgur.com/0QHF5kz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> You see a group of well dressed women outside, their military-style uniforms looking crisp and fearsomely professional. You turn back in haste. 'What are they doing here?' Your companion looks afraid. 'They must be from the ministry! They're here to arrest and feminise you!' The one furthest from you, on the right, is decked in full black leather and stands stricter than the others. Her dark-blond ehair is held in a severe bun. 'Spread out,' she tells the others. 'I want this one found. Now.' You gulp. You're never seen such a fierce and strict woman. OLD CRAP 'You're giving up that easily?' she says. 'Wow, you might really not fit in here.' 'No!' you exclaim, and you're surprised at the rage in your voice. You were going to get this job, you were going to prove the rest of your family wrong! Who thought all you did was stay in your room and... Well, the current view didn't dissuade you of that. But your grandmother believed in you, and you had to carry that confidence through. 'I can't do that,' you say. 'Please, I'm not that hopeless, okay? Surely there's something you can do?' Esme taps her cheek. 'Well, I have some clothes back behind here. Beware - one is pink. In case you were worried about injuring your masculine pride.' She revels in the sarcasm. You're starting to find her abrasive. You reel your thoughts in. Would pink really big that big a deal, if it helped you fit in? [['Oh please, I could really use those.'->AcceptEarlySissy [['On second thought, I should do fine on my own.'->DenyEsmeClothes

The cruiser pulls up next to the building and a cop walks out. The cop is a woman, and she's very well dressed. Extremely well dressed. Her black hair matches her bodysuit and is pulled back professionally, but hangs loose behind her. Her full bodysuit clings to her, the black sheen reflecting in the morning sun. She withdraws her baton as she approaches, eyes tunnelling on you. 'Alright, what's this all about?' <img src="https://i.imgur.com/jrkZEKm.jpg" style="max-width: 90%;"> M motions to you with her head, her girp on your arm still tight. 'This one is trying to make a mess. Will you get rid of him, Claudia?' The woman nods. 'If he's a problem, of course. I'll get him out of your sight.' M shakes a finger. 'Sorry, //her//. This one says he wants to be a girl now.' The policewoman, Claudia, raises a brow. 'Really? Is this true?' You nod your head. You feel like you've been waiting years to say this, and while this is hardly the best time, it just spills out of you. 'Yes Ma'am.' The policewoman crosses her arms. 'Huh. And do you know the consequences for trespassing on Venevos industries as a woman, little girl?' You shake your head. 'I thought they'd be the same as if you were a man.' She grins. Widely. Menacingly, with a hunger you find unnerving. 'No, it isn't. Now place your hands behind your back.'

You decide that your best hope right now is to hide away until some of the excitement dies down, and try to sort things out then. Confronted with the assortment of pod-cubicles everywhere around you, it seems like 'security through obscurity' might just work. There were so many empty pods, they'd hardly notice one being occupied, right? Walking a few pods down and two across, you select your hiding spot more-or-less randomly. Extending a hand to the surface, you feel once again the tacky stick of the pod surface. Looking inside, they seem larger inside than you initially thought, with blurry outlines silhouetting more than just the standard desk-chair-computer combination. [[Maybe this isn't such a good idea...->Wander]] You gulp, and steele yourself for your entry into the unknown (if: $laminated is false)[ Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. A few panicked moments later, you decide the only way to pull out your first arm is with your second. ... Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. With footsteps sounding behind you you're worried that someone is closing in on you. Time to dive in! You thrust your head directly at the pod wall, and feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields again and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. Pushing with your legs you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you with unaccustomed difficulty. There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]] ] (if: $laminated is true)[ Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, and it glides effortlessly over the laminate. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. As you'd hoped, the laminate allows you to pass easily through the membrane once you've applied a bit of pressure. Confident you'll be able to pass easily through the pod wall, you stick both hands in, and try to wedge your face between them. It works, and you get swallowed into the cubicle pod with a squelching *plopf*. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - in laminate!]] ] [[The cubicle is occupied!]]

(if: $faithful is false)[<div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ImqjgI3.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div>] You know you are looking at yourself, and yet it still seems unreal. That's you? They're so sweet, so rounded in the face. The makeup has concealed the worst of your jaw and contured our boyness into a convincing girl. 'You are perfect,' she said. You struggled to disagree with her. You had never felt more perfect in your entire life. The laminate embues you with a smoothness that boosts your contours and flattens your imperfections. Facing you was a model of feminine perfection you had only ever dreamed of. And finally, they were dreams coming true. (if:$contractSigned is false)['Now, all you have to do is sign the contract. Will you work for me, dearest?' she asks. 'Do you promise to obey my every command, to do exactly as I tell you to? Will you be my Slave?' The pleasure rivets through you like a gushing tide. You stall it, and for a second you can think clearly. 'Yes.'] [[Ending: Eager Slave]]

(text-color:red)[Ending: Eager Slave] Leyla smiles as she looks you up and down. 'Welcome aboard slave!' she says with a genuine enthusiasm. (if: $laminated is false)[In her hands is a collar. She raises an eyebrow at you, and you nervously lift up your (if: $faithful is true)[veil](else:)[hair] so she can close the collar around your neck. As the latch on the steel snaps shut, you hear Leyla quickly applying a lock. '//There//..." she sighs, 'Doesn't that feel better?' You shiver silently, your pulse thundering in your ears as you realize your fate is truly sealed.] Attaching a leash to your collar, she leads you through the building to a tiny office with no door. Much like the employees on either side of you, you will be on display to any who roam this hallway. Leyla tugs you into the empty office before your eyes can garner too many details, and briefly hitches your leash to an eye-bolt on your new desk. Quickly, you are bound. Rope and straps are brought out from a drawer, and Leyla swiftly fiddles with them to cinch you in place. In minutes your wrists are bound behind your back and your elbows budge against one another, long ribbons of rope and leather lashed above and below your chest. You study yourself in the mirror, turning around when Leyla orders you to, and feel the glossy thickness of your laminate caress you in its myriad folds. And you've never been more aroused in your life. 'I get to spend //every// day like this?' you wonder to yourself as Leyla roams her hands over your form, her hands slick on the laminate as you feel your flesh contorted by her touch. 'Be a good little slave, and you might even get promoted to a vacbed...' she says as she turns on your computer terminal. A swirl of colours and images alights into your vision. 'For now we //insist// you receive your new employee training session.' $company suits you remarkably well. Your grandmother was right. Everything has fallen into place. (text-color:magenta)[Current ending! Thanks for playing!]

As you wander the building looking for Leyla's office, you pass the desks of several women working as receptionsits for what must be the more important offices. All them are more than happy to direct you with knowing smiles as they point you in the direction of Leyla's office. Knocking on her door, she bids you 'Enter'. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/5VDYfOJ.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> Knowing your purpose in coming, you compliment her dress. She smiles. 'I've heard you are quick to compliment the women here. You must be careful, $name, or others might think you are just quick to flatter.' You quickly shake your head. 'That wasn't my intention...boss. I just think you looking stunning.' She watches you. 'Because you are young and naive, I will take that as genuine.' She turned to her pile of cabinets. 'You are sweet $name, but this work may not be for you. You have sacrificed much of your time and your identity. Do you understand?' Considering she won't tell you what the work involves, you literally can't. 'Could you give me a hint so I can make a more informed decision?' Leyla steeples her fingers and stands. 'I see this is confronting for you. But it is too late to back out now.' You panick internally a little, worried what it is you've gotten yourself into. 'You still haven't told me what it is I would do.' Leyla glared. 'Is my talk of commitment not enough? But I suppose you have come in blind. Look in that drawer.' She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, Leyla watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, what you've already signed up to do. You open the draw and see black. Then, the edges of it, as it stands out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples and unfolds down, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what I expect you to wear.' 'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. She shakes her head. 'No $legalName, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' 'You are not a man, but a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is potential that will only be realised, if you dress like us.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds, gleaming in the light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what he'd never been? He couldn't deny there had been some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you, if I was here for fifteen years?' 'Put on the skirt, $name' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.' [[Obey Leyla]]

Completely naked, you frantically search around the space for anything that might help you. The footsteps that had followed you seem to hesitate slightly around the outside of the pod. There's a few murmured voices, but then the blurry silhouettes disperse: you've gotten away with it! With what exactly, though? You might have escaped capture, but now you're naked inside a cubicle pod. Surely if they found you now, they would charge you with a crime! No, desperate times called for desperate measures. Literally //anything// would be better than being naked right now. To your surprise, you find a fresh set of clothes in the drawer attached to the pneumatic chutes. By now, you are unsurprised to discover it is fully made of laminate. Firm-gripping, shaping underwear went on first, it's black gleam shining in the goo-filtered fluorescent lighting. Looking down at your form, you shrug, 'I guess I didn't realize how my body could be shaped so easily... I almost look like I have breasts!' The thought makes you smile a bit, //wouldn't it be fun to have breasts to play with?// Next up is a button-up blouse shirt that schnucks back to your flesh after you stretch out each button and fasten them individually. Like the underwear, it clings to your flesh and shapes it into a more feminine shape. The blouse matches in colour to the thigh-highs that come with the ensemble. Rolling each of them up your leg, your flesh jiggles as you snap the laminate tight over your thighs. Lastly, is the skirt. Slipping into it makes you shiver. The sensation of the air on the inside of your legs, combined with the delirious grip on your hips, your ass makes you feel like a whole new person. A whole new //woman//. Running your hands up and down your sides, you realize you have //curves// in a way you'd only ever dreamed of. The only thing left was shoes... Mercifully a lower drawer in the desk contained a perfect-fitting pair of patent leather spike heels. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ImqjgI3.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> Now that you're appropriately attired, you feel a little more confident to try to work a way out of the cubicle. After all, at least now if someone catches you, you won't be arrested for public nudity. [[Quick! Operate that remote console by the desk->Cubicle Slave Part 2]]

'Well, what do we have here?' asks a strange nearby voice as you crumble to the floor of the pod. 'It looks like someone sent me a present!' The voice has the honeyed softness of a young woman, but beneath it is a menacing tone you don't trust. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ImqjgI3.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> (if: $laminated is true)['And it's already dressed for fun!' she adds as you blush and try to straighten out your feminine laminate clothing. 'But that's hardly the right clothing for a plaything! You'd think this silly thing was here to work?' she chides as she straightens you up off the floor. ] (if: $laminated is false)['And it's naked and clean for me!' she cheers as you blush. Slowly standing, you feel self-conscious standing naked in front of this beautiful woman. She leans forward and pecks you on the cheek, and you feel your skin burning with an even deeper embarassment. 'I like it when they send me cute things! Hmmm, now where is it, I have just the thing for you...' ] You hear her open a drawer in her desk and rummage around. You take the opportunity to take in the surroundings of her cubicle. <div align="center"> There's a fairly standard work station with a desk along one wall. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side of the portal are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. Set into one of the cubicle walls is a low bathroom, more like a ship's head than a proper facility. In the floor is a round metal hatch that looks very heavy, possibly locked. In front of you is a low door, almost like a cat-flap. </div> Your attention elsewhere, you barely register her swift movements as you glimpse a band of black whipping through the air. Barely an instant later, you feel the tightening squeeze around your neck as she fastens a stiff black collar around your neck! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'H-hey!' '//There we go!// Much better,' she chimes smiling at you as she takes a hold of the D-ring on your collar, ignoring your protests. 'Come along now! I think it's time we got you ready for fun!' Jerking you off-balance, she tugs you forward and attaches your collar to a carabiner on her desk. Your hands fly from trying to undo the collar to trying to reach the carabiner, but her hands are swift, practised, and strong. Grabbing your wrists with a shocking strength, she wrenches your hands behind you and cuffs your wrists behind your back. As you feel the clicking ratchet of classic steel handcuffs on your tender skin, you struggles turn to true panic as you pull upward on her desk. 'Hey! Just what do you think you're doi--' your second round of protest is cut off as she slams a red ball gag into your mouth and quickly buckles it. You continue to struggle futilely, your trashing impotent against the desk--it seemed whomever installed the office furniture here had a pretty solid grasp of what it was used for. [[You're powerless to stop her now->Slave Enslavement]]

You're absorbed into the cubicle, unwilling and afraid. Your naked state leaves you powerless to stop the cubicle absorbing you and pushing you into its jello-ly, black maw. Inside is a short workdesk, which appears significantly smaller than what is does from the outside. There's enough space to sit at the desk, your head almost catching on the laminated ceiling, and several small stationery implements, along with a few ink quills and drawers. Though what covers the majority of the rubbery cell is a giant console, displaying thousands of iridescent buttons and dozens of switches, a near replica of Homer Simpson's nuclear control panel. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side of the portal are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. [[Maybe there's something here I can wear?->Cubicle Lamination Scene]]

Now shackled and gagged at the cubicle desk, you are powerless as the woman giggles at your helplessness and turns away. 'Stay tight there hun, I'll be right back!' She shuffles off, her tight skirt and heels constricting her steps so her hips sway hypnotically in her wake. Or maybe that's a show she's put on just for you. There isn't much time. The surprisingly strong and bubbly woman could be back at any moment, and you don't want to risk finding out what happens when she returns. [[There's no time to think! Struggle, try to escape]] [[Take a deep breath. Think]] [[Fight your bonds strictly. You can see a doggy door close by->Is that a doggie door?]]

You are brought to the office of the CEO in Leyla's custody, the 'Mistress' who runs this whole operation. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> There you see the most stunning woman you've seen in your life. Ruby red lips, luscious black hair, and //three// layers of laminate. Frilled pencil skirt, blazer, blouse and undershirt. Four pearl chokers ring her neck. It clings to her so smoothly you don't notice a single crease. She holds a beauty you don't think another woman could match. Though the considerable laminate certainly doesn't hurt. 'It's a shame you had to violate Industry policy before we met,' she says, watching you in your strict bondage. You struggle and try to scream, pleading her that this //isn't// what you signed up for, but the ballgag in your mouth steals away the dignity of even doing that. 'Unfortunately, it seems Mercy was wrong about you. I suppose we can use you for something, however.' So strange, hearing your grandmother's name like that. But you have bigger priorities now. 'Alright,' the woman says, 'let's make this simple. You are going to sign this contract. It will indenture you to $company for fifteen years, with a substantial pay packet waiting for you at the end. //Fifteen years?// You buck and strain against your captor, but Leyla holds you firm. No way you were signing anything like that. 'You refuse?' the CEO says slyly. 'I feared as much. You are too stubborn for your own good. Leyla, if you could.' You feel Leyla retrieve something from behind her, then feel it yourself. A collar! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> It wraps snugly around your neck, clicking closed with a leather-backed finality. The CEO fetches a button from beside her desk and presses it. Electricity surges through you. You're in agony. It sears and splinters your mind, leaving you a husk by the time the charge dies. How long had you been tortured for? Five seconds? Ten? You don't know, but you moan and muffle and offer muffled screams for her to stop. 'You think differently now?' she asks. She smiles eagerly. 'Good.' ONE OF THE POSSIBLE ENDINGS

'You are also one of the faithful?!' she asked, shocked. Nervously, you nod your head. You had always felt a pull towards religion that you couldn't deny. A firm feeling that there was something more to this world, that somewhere out there was guidance. You hadn't grown up with a specific faith, but you considered yourself faitful in your own way. 'Then you are dressed most disrespectfully!' she scolded. 'This is inappropriate!... No! This will not stand, you will come with me, right away!' Grabbing your wrist with a fist that seemed made of iron, she dragged you with a new urgency down the hallway and into what must be her office. Closing the door behind you, the room falls to an eerie quiet. Her movements less urgent, and smoother, she sidles up next to you and gently places one hand on your far shoulder. Her other hand she uses to gently take yours. She looks at you with an intense gaze filled with a compassionate--if serious--energy. 'Did you speak honestly earlier?' Leyla asks in a warm tone. 'Do you feel the call of The Truth? Do you feel the call of The Book?' she squeezes your hand gently. (set: $faithful to true) [['Actually... I was taught the Faith as a child, but have forgotten.']] [['You're right, I've been alone and lost this whole time.']]

'I just think you looking stunning,' you say. (if: $boss is "Leyla")[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/P5zMwxN.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;" alt="Leyla in stunning gold-emboroided laminate"></div> ] (else:)[ <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/HMOwLTx.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%" alt="an artist's rendering of Mistress in all her laminate glory, she wears a pearl choker"></div> ] She watches you, and decides to show off her dress with a flourish 'Thank you, $legalName. Because you are young and naive, I will take that as genuine.' She turned to her pile of cabinets. 'You are sweet $name, but this work may not be for you. You will have to sacrifice much of your time and your identity. Do you understand?' Considering she won't tell you what the work involves, you literally can't. 'Could you give me a hint so I can make a more informed decision?' $boss glances over her shoulder at you, her expression blank. 'Certainly. But information and concrete choices will not be possible once you join. They are surrendered as part of the contract.' She approaches you, bypassing the desk. 'Do you see? The reason people do not leave $companyNick is not because of job dissatisfaction, although that plays a part. No, they stay because the most common contract they sign //does not allow them to leave//. A deep part of your stomach goes sour. Your throat tangles like vines constricting a bud. 'You enslave people.' 'No. People merely commit to us for great periods of time. Were I to take you on, you would be no different.' What exactly did a 'great period' mean? Two years, ten? Suddenly any sense of certainty shrivels in your chest. You need work, but not that much of it. 'The most signed contract is fifteen years.' [['What!?']]

You push inside, hoping for a quick and easy escape. Instead, a contraption latches onto both your wrists the moment you exit the other end of the flap, binding them in place. You kick out with your feet, but find they have no give, and nowhere for them to go. You crane your head to look around, the room seems like a cross between a doctor's surgery and a veterinary office. Turning your gaze fully to your right, you find someone looking down at you. (if: $alarmActive is true)[ 'Men are such //dogs//' decries a stern voice as you glance up push through the low flap in the door. You're in a small black room with padded walls, much like an asylum. You see (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla](else:)[Esme] glaring down at you from a wooden chair. She's been waiting for you. And she doesn't look happy. [[Ending: Men Are Such Dogs]] ] (else:)[ 'Welcome little pup!' says a cheerful voice as you push through the low flap in the door. It's (if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla](else:)[Esme], watching you with a smile. 'I was wondering if we'd get to welcome the $name that I'd been hearing so much about!' 'You've heard of me?' you ask, turning to look up at the strange voice from your all-fours position. 'Oh, you've been making //quite// the impression today. I think the ladies here are going to just //love// you, cute thing.' Despite your restraint, you find her attitude disarming, and a slight blush rises to your cheeks. 'And the men here?' you ask, trepidatious. 'Hmmm, I would have thought by now you would have realized that //men// are not //employees// of $company...' she leans forward and smiles down at you. 'But we do find they have their //uses//, would you like to see?' 'Um, I guess?' you offer. [[Ending: Willing Pet Slave]] ]

Your chest thrust forwardby the armbinder, your struggles amused the passersby on your way to the police station. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/jab3tye.jpeg" style="max-width: 90%;"></div> You were hauled before a Magistrate straight away and the charges were confirmed: trespass, trespass with contempt, impeding an officer in the course of their duties, and dangerous trespass of a secure building held by a federal contractor. You were stunned. You'd figured that there might be a mischief charge for trespassing, but it had never occurred to you that $company was a government contractor! Your arresting officer hurries you away as soon as the Magistrates lips have fallen silent, your protests ignored. Pummeled through a featureless grey hallway, you're propelled to your next stop. Coming to a halt in a large shower-like area, you notice there are no shower heads, only a large hose reel on the opposite wall from where the officer directed you to stand. You see a woman in strict brown blazer and skirt with black heels lift the hose. "Remain still, inmate!' The huge red hose splashes you, scouring you of bacteria and any remaining dignity. You are dried off by a gorilla of a woman, who hands you an orange uniform, and sends you on your way. You are paraded, naked, through the cell block and placed in a squat, single cell with no cellmate and a tiny sliding panel that eeks in light. You untangle your uniform, which you are yet to put on. It's a dress! A full, thick orange prison dress. It has your prisoner number and INMATE printed in hard block letters across its middle, and you whimper in fear as you daintily pull it on. The material is a thick sort of rubber - you assume laminate, and in the second box you find a pair of incredibly high-heeled boots that whisper all the way to your thighs. You reluctantly put them on, as disobedience can only have terrible consequences, and sit down in your meagre cell, hugging yourself to stay sane. Why, oh why, did you have to tell the policewoman you were a girl? Ending: Prison Slave

You decide that this woman can't possibly be important enough to delay your very important meeting. It's probably best just to push past her and see if you can find the interview office on your own. Pulling level with the reception desk, you see the gold nameplate on the reception desk. "Esme" is etched in an elegant stencil on the gold-coloured plaque. "Hey!" Esme calls out. "You can't just walk through here! This is a secure building! //No one// gets past me without an appointment." [[Back->Return to the foyer]] (if:visits > 1)[ [[Distract her.->Sneak Distract]] [[Threaten her.]] [[Bargain with Esme.]] ]

The bookshelf is available for anyone to peruse, you discover. You approach the bookshelf, a stark bunker of redwood stuffed with more books than seem appropriate for a office foyer. There are a sizeable volume of celebrity magazines, a deluge more featuring the washed-up ones clawing for relevance, and some old russian classics. What a weird mix. [[Huh, that book looks a little out of place...]] [[Is that a kinky sex book?!]]

You feel like a little bit of a distraction play here might work. After all, she's only a receptionist right? Taking a deep breath you start to evaluate the options before you. There's the simple idea of just asking to use the restroom and seeing if you can sneak deeper into the building, or maybe you can try something more drastic? [['I think I need to use your restroom'->Dumb Distract]] [[This is no time for half-measures->Distract her.]]

(if:visits > 1)[(set: $alarmActive to true)] (if: visits < 3)[ It's not a bad idea, right? After all, you honestly do need to go. You decide she can't reasonably refuse your request, and that this should be an easy way into the building. You approach Esme and ask her if you could freshen up in the facilities before your interview. 'Probably the best idea you've had since you walked in,' she sneers slightly. 'You're hardly in any shape for an interview at $company.' Slightly taken aback by her reaction your face flushes as her eyes rove over your figure from top to bottom and back again. She sighs, and comes to some decision internally. 'The restrooms are through the hall behind you to your left, please be sure to use the facility that conforms to your identity,' she instructs. You walk down the designated hallway and find a series of labelled bathroom doors. Picking the nearest one, you do a brief business and wash your hands. Exiting the bathroom you examine the hallway closer and are instantly disappointed. It seems like this hallway has been devoted to facilities and offices that cater to visitors and delivery drivers! It's well locked-down and there's no chance of penetrating deeper into the building. Damn! *Future: Use the women's restroom* [[Back->Sneak Distract]] ] (if: visits >= 3)[ It seems that Esme is unimpressed with your routine and seems suspicious. 'I don't think you're a serious candidate, or you desperately need to seek medical attention. Either way, you're done. Get out.' [[You find yourself outside]] ]

Your eyes are drawn to it by the suggestive title on the spine, but when you take it out, it's explicit. A woman with her hands tied above her and wearing a long sundress confronts you from the title. You flip it open. Within two pages it details the heroine's sexual exploits, luridly described sex positions, and countless ways she is untied and retied in some new display of bondage for some high-strung corporate CEO. What the hell is a budget //Fifty Shades// doing in a professional place as this? Especially in the foyer, where anyone could find it. You scan the bookshelf, and find the original is nowhere to be found. [[Nah, this isn't for me->Approach the bookshelf]] [[Screw it, you don't want to find out. Get outta there->Explore the foyer]] [[Show the receptionist the kinky book]]

You find an older tome in the bottom right corner, something printed while the russian masters where probably still in their cots, going by the torn brown paper and the fact the book is one of those blue blocks where the title cover is slided on. Picking it up, you find the book surprisingly light. Opening it solves the mystery - the whole thing is hollow, a physical depression replacing the would-be novel espousing the virtues of vodka and communism. At the bottom is a copper key. Without thinking, you pick it up. [[Get back to the foyer->Explore the foyer]] (set: $bookKey to true)

{(set: $nickNamed to true) (set: $name to "Sugar Plum") (set: $alarmActive to false) } You decide that flattery is the better part of valour and that a little charm might go a long way with the receptionist. 'You know I never really think about how hard a job like yours must be...' you begin, and you see her glare soften immediately. 'It must be hard to be so elegant, beautiful, and effective all at once. I bet people don't appreciate how much they rely on you.' Her frosty exterior melting faster than a Greenland ice sheet in July, she manages a smile. 'It //is// hard! It's so refreshing to see someone who appreciates it!' 'Well, if I got a job here I'd certainly try to ensure you got the respect you deserve!' you offer, trying to wedge your way in. 'Aren't you just the sweetest thing! We ought to call you Sugar Plum if you work here...' she says. 'But I'm afraid without an appointment, it doesn't matter how sweet you are,' she finishes with a frown that seems to share a genuine disappointment. [[That didn't work->Explore the foyer]]

She gasps. 'Then we need to rectify you, straight away!' (if: $laminated is true)[ 'First, we'll need to get you out of your laminate! While appropriately feminine--and keeping with our dress code--what you are wearing is far too immodest for our faith,' she explains as she peels off your top layers of laminate. It slides off your skin with a peeling sensation. Being slick, but also smooth, it had gripped every contour of your flesh. Your skin breathing in the free air of her closed office, Leyla continues to assist you out of your skirt, and finally, your stockings too. The intimate nature of the encounter, and the close smell in her office begin to stir your male anatomy. A bulge shows in the front of your laminate underwear. ] (else:)[ 'First we will get you out of those disgusting male clothes!...' she chides as you nod and kick off your shoes and socks. 'Pants are far too explicit! And masculine attire doesn't show proper feminine deference to our superiors,' she continues as she unbuttons your shirt. She hands you a laminate bra. 'You'll need this in a moment...' Shrugging your sleeves off, you undo your belt before hesitating. Is it right to disrobe in front of a woman like this? Leyla doesn't hesitate though, she wastes no time unbuttoning and lowering your pants. Standing before her in nothing but your boxers, your male anatomy makes itself known, its lewd shape awkwardly pressing against the fabric of your boxers. You blush in shame. ] Seeing what's in front of her, Leyla reacts with disgust. 'I find your lack a faith disturbing...' she says. 'This is simply unacceptable...' Walking you over to a garbage can, she extracts a 'personal massager wand' from the depths of her desk. Holding you firmly over the trash receptacle her words torment you as her wand dials up to 11 and the sensations start to send you over the edge. 'Yes get it all out. Put it in the trash where it belongs. For it is filth. Expel it and embrace purity...' as she continues you finally explode, your seed spilling over a set of invoices and memos she'd shredded earlier that day. The last few drops coming, she handed you a facial tissue and instructed you to clean it up. While you are wiping, she turns away and rummages for something new in her desk. Satisfied with your cleanliness, she grabs your gentials firmly in one hand while doing something unseen with the other. You feel a tightness you have never felt before on your genitals as she closes the lock on your chastity cage! Your freshly milked member sits flacid in the cage, but there's precious little space inside already! 'Hey! You can't do that to my--!' you cry out but with shocking speed, she wraps tape around your mouth gagging you fully. 'I believe you will find that we don't tolerate our slaves giving us back talk at $company, especially not members of the faithful.' Your arms flail wildly trying to find purchase on the tape so you can scream your protest, but you are too slow. She takes advantage of your shock to cuff your wrists. 'Now be a good girl and sit still. Leyla is going to make sure you are dressed appropriately...' In one hand Leyla hefts a black laminate dress and headscarf identical to her own. In the other is a broom handle that's been cut short. 'Will you behave? Or must I provide the discipline you have so clearly been lacking' she asks as she waves the broom handle menacingly. Giving you a teasing spank with the handle you shriek through your taped mouth. //That broom handle sure seems like it could smart...// Frightened of Leyla's violence, you nod slowly. Leyla's face cracks an evil smile as she says '//Good girl//. Now let's get you into this dress...' Kneeling, she has you step into a black laminate thong. Mercifully, it has a space for your cage. Standing before her in nothing but laminate underclothes and bondage, she smiles as she adjusts your bra to better present your cleavage. 'There, that is a much better foundation for a woman's appearance. Leyla squeezes you into a black laminate dress very much like her own, and recuffs your wrists. You feel a snugness around your waist as she cinches up the belt. Looking down, you see that your legs are held firmly by the laminate at your thighs, ensuring you will need to take very dainty steps. Leyla fusses over the minor details of your dress, ensuring the creases are smoothed out, and the ruffles at your neck are arranged appropriately. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to look at you again. 'A decided improvement! A simple black dress shows proper humility in public, and the laminate allows us to still express our physicality in a chaste manner.' She signs in satisfaction. Your mind reels as the sensations of the tight laminate overwhelm you. 'And now for what you must //always// wear in public child...' Leyla interrupts your reverie. Your muffled protests seem to disappoint her. 'A good woman speaks softly or not at all.' she chides as she reaches for the broom handle again. You furious shake your head, trying to indicate your compliance as she proceeds to tie your headscarf for you. Tying it tightly around your face and neck, you are wearing the same style headscarf as her now. Dressed in a similar black dress and wearing similar makeup--you could almost be sisters--that is, if one of you wasn't gagged. There's a brief release of pressure on your wrists as she uncuffs your wrists. The reprieve is cut short as you feel an increasing tightness as she slips an armbinder sleeve over forearms, biceps, and finally cresting your shoulders. Straps belt the armbinder firmly to you. You look around desperate as Leyla chuckles at your pathetic display. Finally she adds a collar and leash to your ensemble, and pulls you along out of her office. [[Ending: Unwilling Slave]]

'I see child. This is sad.' Leyla's expression clouds as her empathy seems genuine. 'It is always a tragedy when a good soul is deprived of the knowledge of how to lead a good life.' 'I honestly feel as though I know nothing,' you say honestly. 'The most important thing for you to do first, is to express your faith to the world,' she explains to you. 'Not only is it disrepectful for you to be unveiled in public, but your clothing should declare your faith as an inspiration to others. Much as it seems I was to you...' 'I'm dressed disrespectfully?' you ask. 'Well, we are in private now,' she gestures to the closed room. 'In private it is acceptable for us to appear unveiled.' As though to demonstrate the point, she locked the office door to be sure, and removed her own veil. Silky raven-coloured locks showered out from her head as she shook her hair free. Fixing you with a radiant smile, she says 'It is refreshing sometimes to be in private!' 'But I thought it was forbidden to be unveiled before a man?' you ask, perplexed. 'My dear, //men// do not work at $company. So, either you are a woman who is applying to work here, or you do not work here.' [['I'm faithful but I am a man!']] [[I'll do anything to work here->'Yes, I am a woman']] [['Yes, I am a woman']]

'Come then child, let us insure you are approrpiately attired,' Leyla says softly as she takes your hand. (if: $laminated is true)[ 'First, we'll need to get you out of your laminate. While appropriately feminine--and keeping with our dress code--what you are wearing is far too immodest for our faith,' she explains as she peels off your top layers of laminate. It slides off your skin with a peeling sensation. Being slick, but also smooth, it had gripped every contour of your flesh. Your skin breathing in the free air of her closed office, Leyla continues to assist you out of your skirt, and finally, your stockings too. The intimate nature of the encounter, and the close smell in her office begin to stir your male anatomy. A bulge shows in the front of your laminate underwear. ] (else:)[ 'First we will get you out of those disgusting male clothes...' she explains as you nod and kick off your shoes and socks. 'Pants are far too explicit! And masculine attire doesn't show proper feminine deference to our superiors,' she continues as she unbuttons your shirt. She hands you a laminate bra. 'You'll need this in a moment...' Shrugging your sleeves off, you undo your belt before hesitating. Is it right to disrobe in front of a woman like this? Leyla doesn't hesitate though, she wastes no time unbuttoning and lowering your pants. Standing before her in nothing but your boxers, your male anatomy makes itself known, its lewd shape awkwardly pressing against the fabric of your boxers. You blush in shame. ] 'I understand that you are ashamed of your male anatomy. That is understandable, but I am here to help you find forgiveness and joy!' she chirps as she gives you a hug. 'We will help correct your anatomy, and then we shall work on your forgiveness...' she trails off as she looks in her desk for something. Extracting a "personal massager wand" from the depths of one drawer, she returns to you with a devilish grin. 'Now, let's see about correcting your anatomy hmm?' With a purposeful but gentle pace, she keeps her eyes locked on yours as she extracts your swollen member from the depths of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor in a heap. She keeps a firm grip on you with one hand that she barely rocks up and down as she flicks the massagerto life with the other and proceeds to stimulate your testes. You shudder and moan and gasp as the sensations rock you. You try to keep her steady gaze but it's simply too much stimulation for you to handle. Your eyes flutter and you almost collapse. Leyla's hydraulic grip on your rod the only thing keeping you upright. It is not long before you explode, sending a white spray all over her laminate clothing. She keeps the vibrator going for a full minute afterwards, circling it along your perineum, ensuring every last drop of you is drained. ...And //drained// is how you feel. You feel like putty in her hands. 'Lick it clean,' she instructs as she applies a gentle pressure downward on your shoudlers. You instantly comply and taste your own bitter saltiness as your tongue teases against the warm flesh beneath. She hands you a rag with an almost detached air: clearly for her this was as mundane as onboarding any new hire. Cleaning the spot where you besmirched her clothing she smiles. Kneeling, she has you step into a black laminate thong. Pushing your testes up into the cavity above them, she tucks your penis back as she snugs the thong up over your hips. Standing before her in nothing but laminate underclothes, she smiles as she adjusts your bra to better present your cleavage. 'There, that is a much better foundation for a woman's appearance. If you cannot maintain this--ah--baseline, then there are other solutions I //will// apply...' she cautioned msyteriously. 'But for now, let's get you into an appropriate dress.' Helping squeeze you into a black laminate dress very much like her own, you feel a snugness around your waist as she cinches up the belt. Looking down, you see that your legs are held firmly by the laminate at your thighs, ensuring you will need to take very dainty steps. Leyla fusses over the minor details of your dress, ensuring the creases are smoothed out, and the ruffles at your neck are arranged appropriately. Finally satisfied, she stepped back to look at you again. 'A decided improvement! A simple black dress shows proper humility in public, and the laminate allows us to still express our physicality in a chaste manner.' She signs in satisfaction. 'And now I must be veiled?' you venture. 'Not yet child, for we are still in private. And there is more to being a beautiful faithful woman than simply covering yourself. You must learn that chastity can also be beautiful...' she trails off as she dives for her purse and retrieves her makeup essentials. 'Since it is our faces--and mostly our eyes--that are visible to the world, a good faithful woman uses every tool she has to be beautiful for the world...' she continues as she parks you in a chair and assails your face with brushes, tweezers, oils, and paints. Pouting your lips obediently, she applies a rich dark lipstick to your lips, before swatting your eyelids with her mascara. Sitting still for her eyeliner applications was scary as she loomed over you with the pencil-tips pointed at your eyes, but you endured. When she was done, she held up her compact mirror so you could see. You gasp! Your brain is desperate for more oxygen to process what it is seeing. Leyla has used darker, duskier tones than you would have chosen for your own skin, but the impact is astounding. Before you, matching your every movement in the mirror, is a feminine, alluring face. You don't look like $legalName anymore, indeed, you almost look foreign to yourself... 'And now for what you must //always// wear in public child...' Leyla interrupts your reverie. 'I really have to wear it? I really have to cover my head?' you ask pathetically. 'Yes child, and more. Until I am satisfied you can speak with appropriate deference, I feel your face should be veiled as well...' she explains as she goes to her drawers again. 'Now I don't really think I need to do--' you begin a protest, but Leyla quickly snaps a laminate mask over your ears and across your mouth. Your protest is barely audible, muffled by the laminate. 'A good woman speaks softly or not at all.' she explains as she proceeds to tie your headscarf for you. Tying it tightly around your face and neck, you are wearing the same style headscarf as her now. Dressed in a similar black dress and wearing similar makeup--you could almost be sisters! 'I think you look beautiful now!' she beams a radiant smile at you. 'If you can learn to be a good Muslim woman, then I'm certain my imam will help find a husband for you!' 'A husband?!' you ask in surprise, you had just come here for work! Not marriage... 'Every good woman should belong to a good man. You will see. You will learn. Come, let us walk this path together.' she takes your hand and walks you over to the full-length mirror behind the door to her office. [[You stand in front of the mirror]]

You decide to keep your temper. Office work can be tiring, too - to you, all work is tiring, so you decide to keep your temper. 'I understand,' you say, 'it can be hard sometimes to keep everything in check.' 'Don't imply I can't do my job,' she says defensively, then falters. 'But thank you for understanding. Even some of the lovely women working here forget that.' It was the second time you'd heard of only women working here. Did your grandmother send you off to the wrong company? 'Alright,' the receptionist says in a rush, 'sorry for losing my temper. Please take a seat. I'm sure Ma'am will see you soon.' [[Waiting is boring. Ask her if you can explore.->Explore the foyer]]

$company is grand, grander than any other place you've seen, and only appreciates in value in your mind from a second showing. Designed with such bare qualities, it makes you feel naked. It holds a revealing quality not unlike the receptionist's laminate clothes. Her name is Esme. You learn this as she gestures to relax on a thick black lounge and resumes her typing. You look around. The silky black sheen on the walls and reception counter sparkle like pitchy gloss, the ceiling high and unfathomable. There's a bookshelf squirrelled in against the front wall. [[Talk to Esme]] [[Attempt to walk past Esme-->Attempt to walk past the receptionist]] [[Approach the bookshelf]] [[Scan the foyer]]

You approach the reception counter again, deciding to stick to what you know. Also to what's stylish, hardworking and quite attractive. 'Yes?’ the receptionist asks, looking up. She's still typing. 'Have you grown bored already?' 'Sorry to bother you,' you say. 'I was just wondering, umm, if you could tell me who is going to be interviewing me, ma'am', you try to add a winsome smile at the end, but fear it comes off more like a grimace. She looks unnerved. Totally a grimace. 'The Mistress is the wonderful woman who keeps this company alive. Without her, we would be nothing. But to answer your unspoken question, she will interview you when her schedule deems it ready. Ten minutes is merely my estimate, based on her busy schedule.’ //Is that how she likes to be addressed? Mistress?// It sounded a bit too sexual, but maybe this was a kind of female empowerment reclaiming thing? She did head a large and apparently very wealthy corporation, and women weren't that common in the field, for all of feminism's progress. 'Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. What's your name?' 'Esme,' she says, staring at you. Her eyeliner is immaculate. You shake your head to disperse the quickfire inappropriate thoughts. 'How are you?' you ask. 'I'm flattered you think I have time for this,' Esme says. 'I'm incredibly busy.' When you fail to sit down, she sighs deeply. 'What do you want?' [['Is there a dress code I don't know about?']] [[‘Any advice for my interview?’]] [[‘Is the pay good?’]] [[‘How is it, working here?’]] [[She looks so beautiful...]] [[I might be here a while, mind if I read?->Approach the bookshelf]] [[‘That’s all, thanks.’->Explore the foyer]]

'Be polite and be practical,' she said, mirroring every humiliating dress rehearsal your grandmother had put you through that morning. 'And do not speak unless spoken to. That's a big rule Ma'am takes seriously.' What? You weren't a child from the 50's, better to be seen but not heard. Or, you supposed, a housewife. 'Shouldn't I be asking questions,' you say, 'you know, take the initiative?' Esme scoffs. 'You have no idea what kind of company this is, Mr Dent.' [[‘Is the pay good?’]] [[‘How is it, working here?’]] [[She looks so beautiful...]]

'Oh, excellent,' she replies, nails clacking away at an email in a diagetic pulse of motion, 'but that isn't why I've stayed here, Mr Dent.' 'It isn't?' 'No. I used to work for a very prestigious firm, Mr Dent. Do you know why I quit?' Your vacant look spells it out for her. 'It wasn't the work. It wasn't even the pay. It was the //culture//.' She continues typing without a hitch. 'So many companies these days forget how to treat people. They act like we're slaves.' She smiles. 'Sometimes, I wish companies would bring out the collars and chains just to be honest.' Weird analogy. [[Maybe I can ask her something else->Talk to Esme]]

Esme ponders a moment, her email forgotten. 'Pleasant. I will be staying here a long time, so I intend to make the most of it. Are you eager to start?' 'W-well...' She waves a glittering hand your way. 'Oh, don't be shy. Plenty of men come in here not knowing if they'll accept. But I have a good feeling about you.' 'To be honest,' you admit, 'I don't know what kind of position I'm applying for.' Esme notices your distress, flicks over a tab on her computer, and nods. 'I see. I'll give you some advice, Mr Dent - Ma'am doesn't believe in explaining herself to plenty of people. Especially men.' 'That seems... sexist.' 'Call it intuition. Or bitter experience. Either way, you will know by the end of the day.' You frown. Seems an awfully long time to wait... [[‘Any advice for my interview?’]] [[‘Is the pay good?’]] [[She looks so beautiful...]]

'If you're //quite// finished,' she says, raising a brow at your stare. Did she catch you eyeing her breasts? They look so pleasant through the laminate... 'Oh,' you say, 'sorry. I forgot my question.' 'That's okay,' she says, giggling. 'Best of luck with your interview, Mr Dent.' [[Well that was painful->Explore the foyer]]

<div align="center">(text-style:"condense")+(text-color:"gray")[(render by Jess)] <video src="FelixWalkThrough_betterLighting.mp4#t=4,33" width="80%" controls autoplay> </div> $company is grand. Not just regular grand, but tall, everything polished to a black or white sheen. The waiting area is a menagerie of black leather sofas and chairs, and there's a fruit bowl on the glass coffee table where you sit. You take a bite from one of the apples and stare off. Past the reception desk is a staircase up to the foyer's second tier, where mahogany double doors on the left and right indicate corridors further into the ground floor. There is also a set of marble steps, up to a pair of sparkling silver elevators. Aliged with the front entrance, they elevators almost tease you at the very back of the reception. Double doors on the left and right lead further into the building--you assume. There's a toilet on the right hand side, in the centre of the foyer along one wall. It's all very open-concept, with good sight lines. The receptionist sits perfectly positioned to keep a watchful eye on the elevators and stairs, lest some cocky stranger were to come in and simply waltz in to the upper floors. [[Consider your options->Explore the foyer]]

You rip out her gag. 'Are you alright?' you ask. The woman nods, seeming unphased at her predicament. She continues typing absently at her typewriter. What a multitasker. 'Oh absolutely Sir, but thank you for freeing my mouth.' Her voice is sweet and light, like a puppy. She scretches her jaw, and somehow makes the motion seem cute. 'I had that thing in for hours! Oh, but I should introduce myself. My name is Miranda. Is there someway I can help you?' The obvious questions come first. [[Why are you gagged?]]

A choice faces you. Do you leave her to her strangely happy fate? Do you intervene? Maybe the girl is being blackmailed or threatened, and is forced to work here as a hostage? [['What caused you to end up in this position? Are you a hostage?'']] [['Why don't you use a computer?']]

'Sure!' she chirps. She takes a break to address you. 'Do you have an appointment with my Mistress? I don't believe...' She struggles to open a drawer - thanks to the fur-lined chains binding her wrists - and withdraws a manila folder. '...that she has an appointment today.' 'Oh, I'm new,' you say. 'Clearly,' she replies impishly. 'Well, I can ask my Mistress if she is available. Would you like me to do that?' [[Yes. Book the appointment->Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]] [[No. Something feels off->Go back down the hallway]]

She strokes a finger over your chin. 'Did you enjoy looking at Samantha out there? She was much like ou when we came here. Sweet, innocent...' She whispers two diabolical words in your ear. 'A boy...'

'Oh,' she blushes, 'my Mistress prefers me working manually. She says I have an active imagination that can get overstimulated if I have access to the internet.' 'So you just...happily work like this? Restrained?' 'I do!' she replies, beaming a smile. 'I've never been more productive!' She goes back to typing up her report, the paper slowly chewing through the typewriter. You decide to leave the chipper young woman alone. [[Go back down the hallway]] [[Pursue an appointment with this "Mistress"]]

You remain in the length of the hallway, the only sounds in the vintage-styled hallway being the whir of a distant ceiling fan and the gleefully restrained secretary's clacking fingers on the typewriter. Every so often, she glances up at you with a warm, innocent eye. What do you do? [[Decide to leave her to her strangely happy fate. Walk through.]]

She smiles at you. Okay, maybe a hostage wouldn't be this passionate. 'No, sweetheart, although I appreciate your concern.' 'W-well, why are you strapped down like this?' She blushes and squirms in her seat. 'It's embarrassing Sir, but I was caught using the computers for... improper things. So my computer was taken away and I was restrained.' You blink in disbelief. 'They just tied you up?' She nods. 'Oh yes. It's one of the features of the job. Have they not explained it?' You shake your head. They certainly haven't. [['Wait, you agreed to this?']] [['Ok. But why don't you use a computer?'->'Why don't you use a computer?']]

END OF THIS STORYLINE... FOR NOW ;) Keep playing? [[Wander]]

'Hey,' you say, approaching the desk, trying to sound casual. Miranda slides to the back of her chair, surprised at your forwardness. 'You wouldn't be able to get me an appointment with your Mistress, would you?' Miranda sighs, relieved. Did she fear you were going to say something else? 'Of course I can Sir, although I cannot guarantee when my Mistress will see you. She is a very busy woman.' She presses a button beneath her desk, and the door behind her creaks open, revealing a dark room. 'Oh! It seems she was free this whole time. What a lucky coincidence!' she says sweetly, and goes back to humming her tune as she works. [[You bid Miranda goodbye and cautiously walk inside.->Decide to leave her to her strangely happy fate. Walk through.]]

Your world goes black. When you wake, you find yourself delirous and everything is blurred. There's a terrible pain in your arms and legs, and when you look... You're in a bitchsuit! Your limbs have been contorted to resemble an animal's legs, bound in front or behind in a massive sheath of laminate that extends across your entire body. You try to speak, to scream, and find a massive ball gag shoved between your teeth, preventing you from speaking. Outside your cell, so small it resembles a kennel, you see Esme watching you. 'Are you enjoying yourself, Mr $MCLastName?' she asks playfully. You try to struggle and writhe, but the suit has contained your limbs well, and it contains your resistance just as easily. The only part of you not encased in laminate is swinging between your bent and bound legs, and far from resisting, your manhood was proclaiming its enthusiasm for your situation. Esme paces across the room. 'I never thought you would end up in one of these,' she ruminates. 'But then, you were far too curious for your own good. I hope you enjoy your year in there--I know I certainly will, Ha-ha... Then, the Mistress will consider you for review.' //A year??// your mind screams. It shudders at the implication, and you're left to jostle in your new slave-suit for what sounds to you like an endless stretch of time, fighting the inevitable embrace of your laminate. As you struggle, you don't notice her footfalls as her heels click over to your cage, her hands resting on the well-spaced bars of your cage. 'Now, now, don't be so frightened, I think you'll find our "animals" are rather well //cared for//...' Esme oozes the words into your ear, her hot breath sending shivers through your body. You jolt slightly as her laminate-gloved hand snakes through the bars and reaches around to start to stroke you. 'After all, it's simply //not right// to have a pedigreed pup without making sure it gets the proper //exercise//...' her pace intensified and her breaths started to come a little faster and a little heaver. Your eyes rolled back into your head, overwhelmed at the slick sensation of her manipulations, the day full of constant teasing driving you past a point of conscious thought. 'Mmmhmmm, and I'll be back to make sure we both get our //exercise// later pup...' she coos as her hands snap away from your genitals. Whimpering, you try to lean into her, but she's already pulled away. 'Nah-ah-ah!' she wiggled a finger at you. 'I want you ready and eager for later. For now, let's get you setup with some puppy training files...' With that she turned, hit play on a stereo system in the wall, and left you alone in the room with what was left of your thoughts. 'Sweet dreams pup. Mommy will get her sugar later.' ENDING: Pet Slave!

You're absorbed into the cubicle, unwilling and afraid. Your laminated state leaves you tender and greatly vulnerable, unable to catch yourself from slipping inside its jello-ly, black maw thanks to your tight skirt and those cursed heels. Inside is a short workdesk, which appears significantly smaller than what is does from the outside. There's enough space to sit at the desk, your head almost catching on the laminated ceiling, and several small stationery implements, along with a few ink quills and drawers. Though what covers the majority of the rubbery cell is a giant console, displaying thousands of iridescent buttons and dozens of switches, a near replica of Homer Simpson's nuclear control panel. Behind you is the sticky portal you just entered. On the wall on either side of the portal are drawers that seem to connect to some kind of pneumatic delivery tube--presumably for sending things in and out of the cubicle. With your uniform, you almost seem to belong. But you know your predicament is far, far more dangerous than it appears. Even if you're in perfect, //shaping// laminate... Oh, it feels so //good//. [[That's it, let yourself belong...]] [[Try to escape->Cubicle Slave Part 2]]

You keep waiting for this 'Mistress', but your calling out seems to have scared her off. Minutes tick by, then an hour. By the time your phone, (another stupid gift from your grandmother), finally indicates it's been over 90 minutes, you stand up. This is getting ridiculous. You have things to do today! Well, online videos and a new clip from yuor favourite streamer to watch, anyway. [[Inspect that closed door.]] [[Wander]]

Waiting around, utterly bored, what do you do? [[Wait for her.]] [[Call out for her]] [[Wander]]

<div align="center"><img src="https://imgur.com/a/sMRlvSa" style="max-width: 90%"></div> The kindly looking police officer frowns. 'I see.' She approaches you, reaching for her belt. '$legalName $MCLastName, I'm arresting you for causing a public disturbance and violating the rules of $company. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...' She continues reading you the rest of your rights, and your heart sinks as you turn around and offer her your wrists. Abruptly, she begins to touch you, to feel you and slide her hands across your body. 'Are you carrying any contraband? Any illegal substances or knives?' she said, sliding her hands across your chest. He began caressing me, slathering his hands over my hips and my groin and my fake breasts. After a moment he pinched my tits, then reached for my bum and squeezed that. 'No, officer, not at all,' you say said, surrendering the last of your dignity. After a moment, she stopped. 'Now Please keep your hands behind your back.' There is a pause, one that feels far too long, before hard metal graces your wrists and you hear a final click tighten across your wrists. Your cock begins to form a tent under your pants as you instinctively struggle against the handcuffs. The officer then double locks the restraints and pockets the key. You see 'M' watching you with absurdly blatant satisfaction. //How am I enjoying this?// you ask yourself. Is it because of the handcuffs? Because you're being watched? But it doesn't matter. You're already being led away. 'Alright, $name,' she says, 'now come with me.' ENDING: DAY IN JAIL.

Astounded such a book would have made it into a public-facing reception area, you decide you can earn some goodwill by attempting to correct the issue. Not without significant trepidation, you clutch the erotic work in your hands as you approach the intimidating secretary. You're about to lay the work on her desk before you recall the cover art, perhaps a slower approach is called for... 'Erm, excuse me Miss... I was exploring that bookshelf over there and I found some--ah--curious works on the shelf?' you offer, unsure how to tactfully address the situation. 'Oh?' Esme looks up from her administrative monotony. 'Did you find something you like?' 'Well, it's not a question of like--' you begin as you tender the book forward, it's cover angled towards her. Esme doesn't let you finish though, snatching the book from your surprised hands. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. 'Hmmm no, it's not a question of //like//, is it? It's really more of a question of //need//, wouldn't you say?' her mouth oozes the words as she paws the cover. Speechless, you try to stammer something about trying to keep a professional presentation. Esme just laughs. 'Do I not seem professionally presentable to you?!' Esme prods you. Nodding, you reply 'I mean, I guess so--although I'm not sure I've ever seen someone in //professional// laminate before...' 'Laminate is--shall we say--encouraged here,' she begins. 'But that's far from all... I mean, it's not every job where you get to enjoy the tight embrace of rope bondage every day...' She sweeps her hand across and shows you the silver-coloured rope binding her to her chair. Your eyes go wide as you understand that someone tied the receptionist to her desk this morning--and she loves it. Tittering gently, Esme hands you back the book. 'Maybe you should keep a hold of that one, I can tell you're the type of employee who longs to be--//devoted// to a task?' {(set: $nicknamed to true) (set: $name to "Rope Bunny")} [[Explore the foyer]]

<div align="center"><img src="logo3.png" style="max-width: 80%"></div> #''Disclaimer'' (text-colour:red)+(bg:white)[''Adult Material''] This game is intended for adult audiences only. That means at least 18 years of age, or a legal adult in whatever jurisdiction you are using the game. (text-colour:red)+(bg:white)[''If you are not a legal adult: do not play this game!''] (link: "Quit")[<script>window.close()</script>] ''Borrowed Images'' Most of the images in this game come from Sebastian Cauchos's collection, and many are available for purchase through his store: https://sebastiancauchos.bigcartel.com/ . We are using the images without the designer's knowledge or consent. If any of the relevant artists or models wish their content removed, we will happily oblige. ''Copyright Images'' Images and videos labelled "rendered by Jess" are considered copyrighted material and may not be reproduced or used without permission. [[Beginning of Story]] [[About the authors]]

This story-game is a collaboration between Felix and Jess! Felix is a standard fantasy nerd from NSW, Australia. He grew up near the beach, happens to be very kinky, and has been writing for 8 years. Jess is a genderqueer writer and visual artist from South-Central Canada. 'I enjoy exploring themes related to gender roles and their expression, bondage, loss-of-control, and more!' You can find Jess's other work <a href="https://www.literotica.com/authors/jesissyca">here!</a> [[Back->Landing Page]]

<img src="https://i.imgur.com/Ap9Vq5h.jpg"> A policewoman walks in. She appears calm, confident. Her hair is bound in a tight bun behind her, and like the others she wears a long, tight leather skirt. The woman strides forward, a stern expression crossing her face as she walks acrooss the reception desk and takes over the receptionist's computer. past the counter and takes over the receptionist at her computer. types on the computer. 'He's in the building. Don't worry your pretty head, we'll find them.'

Leyla is obviously upset. She quickly snatches her scarf back from the desk and reties it around her. 'Then I regret having unveiled before you. You have led me to do an innapropriate thing...' Her face flusters in shame as she silently scolds herself. 'If you are faithful and a man, then you cannot work here!' she visibly recoils from your presence, as though you have suddenly become toxic. 'And I cannot associate with a man who does not understand our faith. I'm sorry, but you must leave.' Nodding your understanding, you are still saddened by the encounter. Perhaps there was a truth out there to embrace you if only you were able to admit a deeper truth? [[You find yourself outside]]

With no time like the present, you writhe in your bondage, but the woman has outmanoeuvred you far too well, in a pencil skirt and heels, for Christ's sake. She's thought of everything - the leash binding your neck leaves you with little wriggle room to look around, your wrists are tightly bound behind your back, nothing she's left on the desk is sharp enough to cut through your bonds, and the gag stops you from screaming for help. Though, if you had time to think about it, probably isn't a good idea. Left exhausting, panting, you find yourself worked up with nothing to show for it. Suddenly, it strikes you. You're bound and gagged, dressed like a woman in tight laminate, and possibly about to face so much worse. And it's so //hot//. [[Screw it. You deserve to have some fun->Indulge]] [[Take a deep breath. Think]]

You stop struggling and breath greedily through your nose, since your mouth is stuffed full of rubber, and the oxygen rushing to your brain calms you just a little. There has to be a way out of this. You take inventory. You're tethered to a carabiner by a stiff leather collar, your wrists are cuffed behind your back, and a gag is stopping you from crying for help. Not that you think anyone would actually //help// you in a place like this. A pressure itches at your thigh. You look down, not savouring the view you find. Are you getting //hard// from this?? [[No, focus!]] [[Indulge]]

You decide to say stuff the consequences, and enjoy the bondage and helplessness while you can. You start to rut, bucking against the chair. Your tongue licks and sucks on your ballgag, wishing it was something else. You squirm, getting harder every second, imagining what is going to be done about you, done //to// you. The giggling woman returns to see you in a sweaty, ravenously horny mess, making humping motions against the table and your eyes having rolled to the back of your head. 'Oh, you're just perfect, aren't you little girl?' she says sweetly. She pats your head, and as if on instinct, you feel yourself calming down. She undoes your leash from the bolt on the desk and tugs it, coaxing you to stand as she leads you further into the building. (if: $laminated is true)[ [[Ending: Eager Slave]] ] (else:)[ [[It is time for Leyla to dress you]] ]

No! This isn't the time to surrender to fleeting sexual desires. You're in serious trouble, and you need to get out! You take inventory. You're tied to a desk on a seemingly abandoned office floor. You jostle and twist, but find no give in your restraints.(if: $laminated is true)[And your laminate skirt makes it difficult to shift your legs an inch.]Your captor has thought of everything - nothing on the desk is sharp enough to free your from your bonds, and with your wrists cuffed behind you, you doubt you could reach a conveniently placed pair of scissors if you tried. The woman returns past quicker than expected. 'Miss me, $name? Hmm I bet you did... But this is my workstation, we'll have to get you setup in yours...' She undoes your leash from the bolt on the desk and tugs it, coaxing you to stand as she leads you further into the building. Coming to another cubicle a few rows down from hers, she turns to you. 'I think if you would simply take position inside your workstation, a number of our issues can be quickly and easily resolved,' she explains. Her hand passes easily through the pod wall, the sticky coating gliding effortlessly over her laminate. You gulp, and steele yourself for your entry into the unknown Pushing your hand firmly against the pod surface you slowly feel it yield to the surface of your skin, though it continues to stick relentlessly to the sleeve of your shirt. Finally there's a squelch and a release of pressure as your hand passes fully through to the other side. Testing the limits of your discovery you attempt to pull your hand back. (if: $laminated is false)[While your hand passes smoothly through the barrier, your sleeve is stuck fast. The secretary smiles and laughs at your predicament, standing back and crossing her arms to watch your display. ... Predictably, you now have both arms wedged firmly in the pod and your shirt is stuck fast. 'Aww poor dear looks like she's stuck...' coos the secretary as she revels in your capture.] (else:)[Your laminated sleeve passes easily back and forth through the pod wall, but you're perplexed by the whole experience. Experimenting further, you end up with both your shoulders wedged through the pod membrane, unsure how to proceed further.] 'Here, let's help you get the rest of the way in...' 'No! Please! This is--' your pleas are soon cut-off. With a surprising force, the secretary grabs the back of your head and shoves it violently at the pod wall. You feel a slight relief as the sticky goo yields once more and your nose breaks through to the air on the other side. The secretary grabs your feet and leverages your body upward. As she pushes, you end up with your face towards the ground, and your legs in the air as the pod appeared to try to swallow you(if: $laminated is false)[ with unaccustomed difficulty]. (if: $laminated is true)[ [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - in laminate!]] ] (else:)[ There's a tearing sound, and slowly your shirt comes apart as you cascade toward the floor of the cubicle, your pants and underwear getting stripped by the goo as you slide in. [[You're absorbed into the cubicle - naked!]] ]

There's a myriad of buttons and switches, all littering the console. You don't completely understand it, but you can't risk waiting around. You have to press a button. You weigh up your choices. Blue, green, red. Each coated in a plastic sheen, glittering like little hearts. Your brain tells you to pick green, because surely that's the one that will release you from the cubicle. Except the moment you press the button, you hear a rumbling beneath your feet. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE INTAKE INITIATED.]' A latent dread flushes through your stomach. The mechanical voice precedes countless restraints appearing from trapdoors in the floor, and you find yourself drawn to the cubicle's seat, as if magnetised. 'Wh-what? Hey!' But the mechanisms don't respond to your request. Instead a giant metal arm erupts from the ground, coating you in laminate, weaving ever-more intricate binds to restrain you at the desk. <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/ImqjgI3.png" style="max-width: 90%"></div> [[Ending: Cubicle Drone]]

'I see...' she says as she eyes you coldly. 'You're one of //those// are you? Ugh.' She grimaces. 'Hey babycakes, it's just biology! And all I'm doing is complimenting you!' you protest. //'Men can be such dogs.'// she whispers, rolling her eyes. Silence falls for a moment. Seemingly seized with inspiration, she preens her laminate to accentuate her breasts and pouts her lips a little. 'So, you like the way I look honey?' she oozes as she gets up from her seat. 'Well, yeah, you're fucking hot!' you exclaim, glad she was finally getting on the same page. She closes the distance between you quickly, and you're intoxicated by her scent. 'And you're just a simple thing aren't you? You have needs: food, sleep, and sex, right?' she coos as she extends a finger to stroke your brow. You shiver. 'Y-y-yeah, I think we're all just simple machines in the end...' you explain. 'Hmmm, no not machines dear, //animals//. He's just a beast he has //drives// doesn't he?' she asks, referring to you in the third person. She turns her hand to stroke your face with the back and it slowly, oh so slowly, pulls down, folds, and her fingertips slip easily past your shirt, and worm their way into your underpants. Taking hold of your manhood, you gasp as she whispers in your ear. 'Come with me dear and we'll see you get the treatment a man like you deserves...' You nod quickly as your led by your dick across the hall. She kisses you quickly, deeply, and greedily, as her other hand cups your neck. Finally she comes up for air. 'Enjoy your stay...' she says. You're face betrays your confusion, but she just smiles wider. With a shocking sudden force, she grabs your neck roughly and shoves you through a small flap in one of the doors. [[You're shoved through a small flap in the door->Is that a doggie door?]]

A huge helmet appears out of the ceiling, slapping itself to the top of your head, slipping into place, locking with ease over your head thanks to your collar helping it down. It joins to your collar in a flash of clicking metal and plastic, weighing you down with its mass. A faint voice at the edge of your hearing begins to repeat phrases you can't quite hear, but they follow a rhythm that begins to resonate in your mind. You strain to hear the words, to understand, but somehow understanding just never comes. Swaying in place, you can barely move. The helmet weighs so much, it's like trying to balance a watermelon inside of your head. All you can do is slump miserly into your chair, and wait. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION PRIMED. CONFIRM?]' You want to object, but something tugs you out of reach. It's as though the voice you were hearing has drained something from you. Rationality, logic, fear, all your sensible habits have been purged, left to sink below the surface of your old mind. Desire is all that drives you. It has left you uninhibited. Pure. Your voice trembles as you whisper: 'Yes.' At once the machines embedded into the cubicle whir to life. Voices roar in your ears, the helmet battering you with words and phrases you don't understand. It is at once a dirge and a supple music. You feel your head writhing, shrinking, that natural sway fading as your whole body goes rigid. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION COMMENCING.]' You anticipate the electricity before it hits you. Shocks run through your brain. You scream, the noise muffled by the helmet's visor digging into your lips. Acute, visceral agony surges through you, breaking you, //changing// you, leaving you a husk. Finally, the pain ends. The metal whirring and cranking stops, a fresh rubber visor running flush to your face. The visor also blurs the office in front of you, making you feel isolated, divorced from your surroundings. And hornier than you have ever felt. '(text-style:"expand")[DRONE INITIATION CONFIRMED. PLEASE EXIT AND LOCATE SUPERIOR FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTION.]' You leave the cubicle in a daze, the rubbery shield parting thanks to your laminate as you shuffle off, searching of your superior. Ending: Cubicle Drone. Thanks for Playing!

The secretary smiles as she gently tugs your leash. Wiggling her fingers in a playful way at some of her colleagues, as she passes them in the hallway, she cheerfully explains your status as a new hire. The passersby smile at you in turn, many giving you a gentle grazing fondle in passing. The elevator ride to Leyla's floor is particularly intense, as a trio of secretaries takes the opportunity to stroke and fondle you as you squirm in your bondage. You start to panic because you're worried you might cum, but they laugh in a tittering chorus as they expertly edge you. 'I think you're really going to like it here!' your captor exclaims as the elevator dings to signal your arrival at the targeted floor. Taking short, dainty, but determined steps, she steadily tugs you along to Leyla's office. Knocking twice on the door, a muffled voice bids you both enter. 'New hire here for some clothing!' she explains to Leyla cheerfully. Leyla returns the cheerful gaze and looks you up and down {(if: $metLeyla is true)[Leyla laughs gently, recognizing you. 'I see your $companyNick material after all! And it looks like you made a secretary friend?' The secreary nods and curtsies quickly.]} 'Well, I'm glad you came to see me, this one is //completely// out of line with our dress code...' Leyla tuts as she circles you. Taking the leash from the secretaries hand, she confirms 'You can leave this one with me, I don't think we'll have any trouble.' The secretary nods, turns to you and gives you a quick peck on the cheek, before she exits the room and returns to her desk. She points to a cabinet on the right-hand side, not far from the locked wooden door. You step over reluctantly, Leyla watching your every move. This is it. A confirmation of exactly what was expected of you, what you've already signed up to do. You open the draw and see black. Then, the edges of it, as it stands out against the velvet layering of the drawer bottom. You pull it out, and as it rumples and unfolds down, you catch the shine of it in the ceiling light. You've been acclimatized to this material all day, and yet, feels better than you'd ever imagined. It runs like a perfect silk in your hands. 'A laminate skirt,' Leyla confirms from behind. '//That// is what I expect you to wear.' 'You expect me to wear this?' you ask. She shakes her head. 'No $legalName, I expect you to //live// it. Every woman who works here puts all her effort into looking as perfect as she can be, into being the perfect laminate figure. It is a culture, it is a fashion, and it is a way of seeing the world.' 'But I can't wear a skirt. I'm a man.' 'You are not a man, but a boy. And boys can be changed. Men do not work well at $companyNick. They are too distracted and touchy and barbaric. You, so far, have displayed excellent restraint, and some curiosity in what we wear. I think you have potential. But it is potential that will only be realised, if you dress like us.' You turn to the folds of laminate. The way you hold it, it doesn't look like a skirt, just a pile of countless folds, gleaming in the light. Could you bring yourself to do this? To don the clothes of what he'd never been? He couldn't deny there had been some curiosity in how the women had dressed. Leyla's outfit, especially. But that did not change what you were being asked to do. 'And how would I be helping you, if I was here for fifteen years?' 'Put on the skirt, $name' Leyla said authoratively. 'I will not ask again.' [[Obey Leyla]]

You wend your way down the long dark staircase, its twisting passage contorting your sense of direction. After that last twist, you realize that you have absolutely no idea where inside the building you must be, other than that you have descended far from the upper floors where you entered the staircase. As you continued downward, the air took on a noticeable change, damper somehow, and you realize you might be at a subterranean level. At the bottom of the staircase is a long hallway with several offices off of it. {(set: $alarmActive to true)} [[Enter one of the offices.]]

'Well, where does a girl begin?' you ask to no one in particular. To your complete surprise the workstation chirps and comes to life. Lights blink, fans, hum, and the curiously analog dials sputter and flicker as they zero-in on readings about equipment you don't see and can't understand. '(text-style:"expand")[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]' blares out in a robotic voice. More whirring, humming, and clicking ensues, it seems like the machine is just warming up. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE DETECTED. CONFIRM?]' 'Well, uh, I don't really know... I came here for an interview, and now I'm in this workstation...' you offer a feeble explanation to the mysterious computer terminal. You trail off as the computer begins a new chorus of whirrs and clicks as it computes. '(text-style:"expand")[USER DETECTED IS APPROPRIATELY ATTIRED FOR WORK.] it begins. '(text-style:"expand")[USER FITS PROFILE OF USER-TYPE 'new hire,' CONFIRM?]' 'Y-y-yes, I think that's about right,' you reply, looking down at your glossy laminate clothing. Absentmindedly you run a hand down your front, and the other along your opposing arm, loving the feel of the laminate on your skin. 'I'm not sure if I'm in the right place though.' '(text-style:"expand")[USER APPEARS TO BE APPROPRIATELY LOCATED...]' it paused briefly, as if thinking carefully. '(text-style:"expand")[IS THIS WORKSTATION WHERE YOU BELONG?]' it asks finally. Seeing the glossy shine of the surfaces around you, and overwhelmed with sensation of //closeness// that the laminate drives through your skin and into your very soul, you almost cry at the thought of having to leave. 'Yes, I think this is somewhere I finally do belong...' you offer. The machine hums much louder now, it's series of clicks and whirrs growing fiercer and faster. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE CONFIRMED. WELCOME $name. PLEASE SIT AT THE WORK STATION TO COMPLETE ONBOARDING PROCESS.]' blares out the machine in a tone that seems somehow more insistent than before. Feeling a building digital anger in the device you quickly sit at the workstation. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEES ARE REQUIRED TO WEAR CERTAIN ARTICLES OF FLAIR.]' begins the machine as you feel a rumble beneath your feet. 'Flair?' you ask, bewildered, 'I thought this was $company, not some cheap restaurant chain?' The machine almost seems to chuckle... '(text-style:"expand")[USER IS ANTICIPATED TO ENJOY WEARING IT'S FLAIR.]' it klaxons cryptically as the lights go dark on the console--yet the fans hum ever louder. Reaching for the work station, trying to see if you can wake the machine back up, you're frightened as a robotic arm flys out from some hatch and seizes first your right wrist, then your left! Your attention elsewhere, you barely register the swift robotic movements as you glimpse a band of black whipping through the air. Barely an instant later, you feel the tightening squeeze around your neck as unseen elements tighten a stiff black collar around your neck! <div align="center"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/TODzlvz.jpg" style="max-width: 90%"></div> 'H-hey!' '(text-style:"expand")[FLAIR INSTALLATION START]' chimes the machine, it's lights flickering to life again. It's almost smiling at you as a hook shoots forward from the desk and latches a hold of the D-ring on your collar, ignoring your protests. '(text-style:"expand")[NEW EMPLOYEE $name IS REQUESTED TO RELAX DURING FLAIR INSTALLATION.]' Jerking you off-balance, the chained latch tugs you forward and rachets your collar tightly to the desk. The machine manipulates your wrists with a firm hydraulic strength, wrenching your hands behind you, and cuffing them behind your back. As you feel the clicking ratchet of classic steel handcuffs on your tender skin, your struggles turn to true panic as you pull upward on the desk. 'Hey! Just what do you think you're doi--' your second round of protest is cut off as armatures out of your line of sight activate. A red ball gag is driven into your mouth and quickly buckled behind your head. Your legs tightly encased in a laminate skirt, your legs have difficulty finding leverage. Your heels click on the floor in a desperate, dainty tattoo. You continue to struggle futilely, your thrashing impotent against the desk--it seemed whomever installed the office furniture here had a pretty solid grasp of what it was used for. It almost seemed like the machine had //thought// of everything - the leash binding your neck leaves you with little wriggle room to look around, your wrists are tightly bound behind your back, nothing left on the desk is sharp enough to cut through your bonds, and the gag stops you from screaming for help. Though, if you had time to think about it, who here would help you? Left exhausting, panting, you find yourself worked up with nothing to show for it. Suddenly, it strikes you. You're bound and gagged, dressed like a woman in tight laminate, and possibly about to face so much worse. And it's so //hot//. '(text-style:"expand")[FLAIR INSTALLATION COMPLETE. WELCOME EMPLOYEE $name. FEEL FREE TO ENJOY YOUR FLAIR WHILE YOU WAIT FOR HUMAN RESOURCES OFFICER]' [[Indulge]]