Free Fiction Friday: Chief Executive Bimbo (WIP)

(UPDATE: This story has been finished as an ebook, Chief Executive Bimbo, now published on Amazon and elsewhere. It turned out a bit different than this old free story, but is the same basic tale, only much longer, of course. I'm also working on a sequel to CEB.)

Sorry about missing the past Free Fiction Friday.

Today's fiction is an old work-in-progress bimbo tale about an executive blackmailed into turning herself into a bimbo. It's only a beginning, but hopefully you'll all still find it interesting. 2,600 words, all told.

Story after the break, as usual. Enjoy! :-)

- Tabitha

Chief Executive Bimbo

by Tabitha Kohls
Copyright 2014

* * * * *

The elevator chimed and the smooth stainless steel doors began to slide open.

"You can do this, just get to your office and shut the door." Executive Barbara Decker told herself, as she started to step forward. She stopped cold in her tracks as the doors slid apart, revealing that the elevator car was already crowded with at least a dozen office workers.

"Aren't you getting on, Miss Decker?" A young typist asked after a long pause. She held the door open, and flashed a cautious smile at the young executive.

The typist's obvious nervousness helped Barbara get over her own sudden dread. Taking a deep breath, and straightening her posture, she stepped aboard. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

The typist's smile brightened at her "thank you", but the young woman quickly averted her eyes. Despite her own trepidations, Barbara couldn't help but notice how the other passengers leaned away from her. Their fear of her helped steady her nerves, and sent a warm glow of pride up her spine. She smiled confidently.

The smile died as the elevator doors shut, revealing a mirror-like finish. Faced with her own reflection, Barbara's eyes were instantly drawn down to the gaudy shoes on her feet. Her confidence sank away to nothing.

The shoes were nothing like the two-inch heeled, solid black pumps she normally wore with her pantsuits. Rather, these were six-inch high heels, and bright, glossy pink. They were genuine stripper heels, and totally inappropriate for an up-and-coming young executive like her.

Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the other passengers snatch quick glances down at her eye-catching footwear. Forcing herself to remain composed, she stared at the flashing numbers over the doors, willing the elevator to go faster.

Hurry! 3, 4, 5,come on, come on...6th floor!! Thank god!!!

She practically leapt from the crowded elevator as the doors opened, and stopped again as her high heels clacked loudly on the office travertine tile floor.

"Shit!" She gasped aloud. The hallway before her ran straight through a veritable sea of carpet-covered cubicle walls, just high enough to nearly hide dozens of clerical staff and receptionists.

Sighing with dread, she forced herself onward. Her office door beckoned at the opposite end of the floor, nestled securely in a corner slot.

As she feared, the loud click-clack of her high heels on the tile floor drew some odd looks. Forcing herself to stare stolidly forward, she couldn't help but notice heads popping up from behind the cubicle walls as she passed by.

Oh god, they're looking at me! I look like a fucking slut in these stupid heels!

Barbara's face flushed red with humiliation as she continued her walk of shame. It took all her willpower to keep from running straight to her office, but she knew that would only draw more attention to her.

When she finally reached the end of the long hallway running between the sea of cubicles, she felt a surge of relief. Gladys, her wretched secretary, wasn't in yet. Sighing, she passed the empty desk and entered her private office. No sooner had the door shut behind her, than she kicked her uncomfortable high heels across the room, and growled angrily. That walk and elevator ride had been the worst five minutes of her entire life!

"By god, when I find the bastard who sent me those fucking heels..." She swore, sitting down to her computer. She logged in, and tapped her nails impatiently on her glass-topped desk as her email inbox slowly loaded. Eventually, the computer beeped softly, and displayed a long list of new emails. She hastily scanned the top of the list, and quickly found what she was both expecting, and dreading.

A new email from Master_#1.

***

The afternoon before, Barbara Decker's life was going well. At just thirty-two years old, she had worked her way up the corporate ladder at a major brokerage to become the head of the financial planning division, the bread and butter of the whole brokerage.

The funds her staff managed were growing steadily, and she was looking forward to promotion to the Board of Directors, just as soon as one of the old fuddy-duddies kicked the bucket, or retired. She didn't much care which, just so long as she got what she deserved in the end.

She was nearly ready to leave her office, when she received an unexpected email at the end of the day.

She nearly ignored it, as she didn't recognize the sender, but then the subject line caught her attention: "Barbara, look in your Top Drawer!!!"

She raised an eyebrow. "What the hell? This had better not be another of those stupid chain letters Gladys is always forwarding to me. I swear, if I see another cat dressed in stupid clothes, I'll fire that useless ditz."

Sighing, Barbara pulled her top desk drawer open. And gasped in shock!

Sitting atop her pens and notepads, was a thick manila envelope. And emblazoned across the top were two simple words, in magic marker: Insider Trading.

Barbara stared in horror at the envelope, as memories swept through her. Swallowing her fear, she unfolded the envelope's brass tabs, and pulled out a thick stack of sheets. Her eyes widened in alarm as she scanned through them.

It was even worse than she had feared! The stack consisted of page after page of spreadsheet printouts, each documenting various dates and times and noting customer account names. Each name sent a fresh pang of shock up and down Barbara's spine, as she read on.

The documents showed how certain account transactions were timed to coincide with other transactions, going back over nearly ten years. To a layperson it would just look like random data, but to someone like Barbara, whose livelihood was built around managing other people's money, the papers were damning!

Someone had been working behind the scenes, ensuring that certain stock trades went through the brokerage's computer system just before major trades by the very hedge funds her department managed. That someone had made a lot of money shorting stocks just seconds before a major hedge fund sold out of the stock, by illegally manipulating the company's central computer system.

The last sheet in the pile was the most damning of all, for it documented the results of those fraudulently timed shorts being transferred to an offshore bank account.

Her offshore bank account!

She didn't have to check the sheets to know they were real, for she recognized the names of the dummy customer accounts instantly. Ten years had passed since she'd created most of those accounts, but she knew she'd never forget them. She'd been using them to short stocks, ultimately acquiring more than three-hundred and fifty thousand dollars in her offshore account!

Though she was now the youngest female executive in the company's history, back when she started her illegal trading scheme, she'd been just another young fund manager starting out in the real world at her first real job. Her ambitious spirit had been just as strong at twenty-two as they were now, and she'd been far too impatient to wait for her salary to catch up to her dreams.

As luck would have it, her first position in the company all those years ago had been in the Accounts Receivable Department. The company's cyber security had been pretty bare bones back then, and she'd had little trouble setting her scheme in motion. The IT guys had patched most of the holes she had used, and more recently they had updated the entire system with some new super-secret security software.

Despite all the software changes, no one had found her scheme, and she'd long since assumed she had gotten away Scot free. Surely, if someone was going to find out, they would have already.

She stared in open-mouthed horror at the papers, and nearly forgot about the email entirely. But eventually she remembered what had sent her to searching her desk in the first place, and she cautiously opened the email.

The email was short and to the point:

"Hello Bimbo! As you now know, I'm on to your little secret. If you are a smart little bimbo, you'll do exactly what I tell you to do, to the letter. Otherwise, I'll share my copy of those papers with the authorities, and I don't think you want that, do you? Of course not. I've left a little present on the hood of your car; open it tomorrow morning, and wear what is inside when you go to work. I'll be watching, Bimbo. If you disobey me, you'll be sorry!"

The email was signed simply Master_#1.

Barbara reread the email, and shook her head. She suddenly felt faint, as if her whole world was crashing down around her. She'd spent years building up her career, only to have it all end like this.

"Oh god, what am I going to do?!" She wailed, her voice breaking with fear. She sat in her office for another quarter-hour, until she had composed herself again.

When she had finally calmed down enough to think again, she began to consider her situation.

"Okay, first of all, whoever sent this email clearly wants to play games with me, instead of just turning me in. That might be a good thing, or at least something I can use to my advantage." She said to herself. Years of managing projects and dealing with office politics had developed her ability to analyze problems, and find a way to stay on top when the shit hit the fan. This was no different, she assured herself.

"If I play his game, I can at least buy some more time. Hmmm, maybe I can get out of the Country?" She mused. A quick look at her last bank statements made her reconsider that option. She'd spent a small fortune maintaining her high-status lifestyle for years before she could really afford it, and now her account only held a pitiful hundred grand or so. "Hmm...I don't have enough to live on my own, but maybe I could bribe the bastard?"

She brought up her email again, and sent a quick reply to Master_#1, offering fifty-grand to buy him off. She waited for a response, but none came. She reread his first email, and frowned.

"I guess I should go see this present of his." She said to herself, shutting down her computer. Before she left her office, she made sure to send the envelope and documents through her paper shredder. The last thing she needed was some dumbass custodian finding them!

***

Barbara glared in anger at the high heels she had kicked off, as she rubbed her sore ankles. They sat in a heap beside her leather sofa, practically glowing with their ridiculous pinkness.

She had found the present the night before, right where the bastard blackmailing her had said it would be. It turned out to be a little shoebox, and she wasted no time opening it. The absurd stripper heels had beamed back at her, feeling her with instant rage.

Whoever was trying to blackmail her, he had a sick sense of humor!

The new email blinked in her inbox, pulling her mind away from the slutty heels. This email had no subject line, unlike the first, but was sent from the same dummy email account.

"Master number one," Barbara spat, rolling her eyes. "What kind of fucking loser picks a name like that?!"

Disgusted, and slightly uneasy, she opened the email. She hoped her blackmailer might accept her bribe, but the short message instantly killed any hope she felt.

"Well, Bimbo, I'm very disappointed in you; it seems you can't even read simple instructions. I told you to take my present home, and open it this morning. Instead, you opened it in your car, yesterday evening! You've earned yourself a punishment. Check your desk drawer."

Barbara cautiously opened her drawer, half expecting to find a venomous snake or a bomb, or something equally dangerous.

Instead, there was only two tiny padlocks, and small note taped to them. No keys were in evidence, she noticed. She unfolded the note, and instantly felt her blood pressure skyrocket.

"That fucking bastard!!" Barbara shrieked, suddenly glad that her corner office had sound proofing built-in to the walls. Catching her breath, she trudged over to the pair of high heels, and slipped them back on.

"I can believe I'm doing this," She said, as she pulled the shoes' tiny thongs around her ankles, and slipped each padlock through their tiny loops. With twin clicks, she shut the locks, trapping her feet in the horrid shoes until her blackmailer decided to give her the keys, or she cut the thongs off entirely.

She walked unsteadily back to her desk, as her computer chimed. She wasn't surprised to find an instant message waiting for her; she was always logged into the company's intranet instant messenger service; but it was startling to see that Master_#1 apparently had his own account on the system.

That sent a red flag up in her mind. Only a few people had access to make new messenger accounts on the company's intranet. Then again, whoever was blackmailing her clearly had high-level access, otherwise he'd have never found those funding documents in the first place. She filed the information away from later, and read the message.

Master_#1: "Good job, Bimbo. Maybe you can read instructions after all."

Barbara glared at the message and started to type a reply, when she stopped and gasped. Her account name had been changed! Instead of  BarbaraDecker, it now read BimboDicklover!

She stared in shock; this was impossible! You needed the approval of the IT Department Head to change a manager's account details, and even then it would take at least three days for the change to go through the company's servers.

Yet her mysterious blackmailer had somehow changed her account in less than twelve hours, as she had still been BarbaraDecker just the afternoon before!

She typed quickly, beginning to grow alarmed at the blackmailer's influence.

BimboDicklover: "How did you change my name?"

Master_#1: "Never mind that for now. How do you like your pretty new shoes?"

Barbara felt her face flush with anger; already her Achilles' tendon was hurting. She wasn't used to wearing anything higher than three-inches, and six-inches was just insane!

BimboDicklover: "You bastard!"

Master_#1: "Now is that anyway to talk to your master? I think not. You just earned yourself another punishment."

Barabara wanted to scream, but bit her lip and typed a quick response. She'd have to swallow her pride, if that was what it took to keep this guy happy. But she promised herself that the very instant she knew his real identity, she'd make him pay. God knew she had held her own over the years against countless rivals on her way up the corporate ladder; one little blackmailer with a god complex would easy by comparison.

BimboDicklover: "I am sorry Master, I didn't mean to anger you."

Master_#1: "Much better, Bimbo, much better! I guess I can ignore your rudeness, just this once. But don't forget who is in charge here."

BimboDicklover: "How long will I have to wear these shoes, Master?"

Master_#1: "Until I decide you've earned the keys, Bimbo. Now, I received your pathetic attempt to bribe me yesterday, and my answer is no. I have no desire for your money. Nor do I desire to turn you in to the authorities, though I will if you disobey me."

*****

The End, for now