Chapter 4: It's Not Over

I got up Monday morning, still with a determined resolve to confront Audree of my decision, even though my pussy was telling me otherwise. I kept repeating the mantra 'mind over matter' in my head.

I was incredibly nervous about standing up to Audree, in the same way I used to be too shy to talk to a boy I liked. I hated rejection, in love and work, and was worried about how she would react to my newfound confidence. I got to work and found a note from Audree,

"I will be in about 10. Your schedule for the day is under this note. Ms Audree".

I particularly noted how she signed her name, Ms. Audree. She had no intention of backing down. This note was on my desk in plain view and could have been seen by other firm members if they had happened to come into my office. That said, the note didn't really say anything extraordinary. I was waiting for a time during the day to talk, but my schedule didn't allow it. We crossed paths a few times throughout the day, but never long enough or private enough to have the conversation I needed to have with her. It was after 5:00 when Audree came into my office. She strolled up to my desk, standing above me and looked down at me, the marketing rule of power in her hands, and asked bluntly, "Well Annie-girl did you get that hairy cunt of yours shaved yet?"

All day my fortitude to end this was strong and focused, yet right there with one well-worded and authoritative question, all my resolve to confront her and tell her this silly charade was over, drained from me. Instead of confidently telling her I was in charge, all I could do was lower my head, avoiding eye contact, and answer in quiet shame, "No, Ms. Audree."

"Why?" she asked, her tone implying I had disobeyed her.

"Sorry, Ms. Audree, but you told me I had a hairy vagina," I began.

"Cunt," she corrected me, "You have a hairy cunt. Vagina is what a twelve year old calls it."

"Sorry, Ms. Audree," I quickly apologized and then reworded, "You told me I had a hairy cunt. I didn't realize that meant I was supposed to shave it."

"You really are like a child, Annie-girl. You have tantrums like a little girl, you dress like a little girl and apparently you listen like a little girl." I tried to protest, but she kept on talking. "So clearly I have to tell you exactly what you are to do. All I remember saying was that Annie-girl should shave that hairy disgusting cunt of hers. I didn't say when, all I know is that when I tell you to do something it should be done as soon as possible unless I say otherwise, is that clear?"

Not looking up, I whispered, "Yes, Ms. Audree."

"And stop pouting like a five year old. I expect you to look me in the eye when I am talking to you. Understand?" she instructed.

As she was speaking, I began to feel myself getting sexually aroused; I frantically tried to tell my body no, no, no. Why was this happening? I sheepishly looked up into her eyes and she into mine. It felt like she could see right through me, past the powerful facade I presented at work, to the insecure girl I have always been deep down. I responded, as expected, "Yes, Ms. Audree".

Leaning on my desk, her lips so close to me that I could smell her minty breath, "I didn't think you would do it, so I made you an appointment for you to see a friend of mine. She will give you a trim and shave, maybe even a Brazilian. What do you think of that, Annie-girl?"