[Muffins]

Well Act II and III were fairly short so I put em together.

Act II - The Offer

The large study was lined with bookshelves on three of the four walls, all filled with books that seemed to be antiques for the most part. I knew that Madam was well-educated and well-read, but this was impressive.

"Sit down." she ordered gently. I felt totally compelled to obey. I sat in a chair across from Madam, a large, elaborately and finely finished oak desk separating us. The only other sound in the room, apart from her voice and my pounding heart, was a clock slowly tick-tocking away. Agonizing seconds passed before that irresistible voice spoke again, accompanied by those dark, nearly black eyes drilling into my soul.

"I have always liked you, Greg." This was the first time she referred to me by my first name. "You're polite, gallant, sensitive to the ladies. I suppose that the feminine side that you cultivate under your manly clothes helps you see the other side of the coin." Her voice changed from firm authority to gentle conversation. I had never seen that from her before. I fell into the trap, and relaxed. Then tensed up again. "I like that part of you." She was toying with me! I'm not a praying man... girl... but at that moment I prayed that she would get to the point.

"You are also very expedient when it comes to expressing your thoughts, even if right now you are quite silent. So I will honor you by getting to the point." Relief.

"I need a personal assistant, to manage my personal affairs. Your organizational skills are exceptional, and that's why I'm giving you a chance. You will arrange my schedules, take calls, read and sort my business mail, and generally keep things tidy in my office and wherever I tell you." I ventured a few words. "A kind of personal secretary?" A corner of her mouth turned up, and she eyed me, her gaze sweeping up and down. "Yes, that and a bit more." She paused and stood up. "Come with me."

In her heels, which were always high stilettos with a hard tip that made a very special sound (the kind that makes me shudder in desire when I hear it), she was taller than me. I figured that she was about the same height, and build (I'm rather slim), but for her waist - it was gorgeously small compared to the rest of her finely tailored attributes. It made me want to put my hands around it, just to see if I could connect my fingers on either side. I followed her, and she must have known that I was surreptitiously observing her backside because she was swinging it just enough to get me going, the hem of her tight skirt going this way and that. The sound of her heels on the hard floor didn't do much to help keep my urges down.

Madam is a lovely woman, combining the raw sexiness of Melinda Clarke and the mature beauty of Marg Helgenberger. And maybe a dash of Caroline Munro's intense gaze. Her black hair went to just below her shoulders. Her hands have long, thin fingers, looking that much longer because of the magnificently manicured fingernails. Did I mention those eyes? She was no slouch in the boob department, either. A lot of guys wish their boss could be this hot.

"This is a very large house, and I need people to keep it tidy and organized." "The maid?" "Yes, that's Templeton, the head maid. I suggest you mind her instructions." I figured that was not a mere suggestion. "You will also run into Lennox, her right-hand and night maid." Madam led me around, showing me each room, until we came back to her study. I made to sit down, and she said, "It's not over yet."

Madam opened what looked like a closet door, but it led to a medium-sized room, part dressing room and part doll museum. Two whole walls were displays lined with Barbie dolls, of every possible era. "Nearly every collectible Barbie is here, including the very first from 1959, and its ancestor, a German doll called Bild Lilly. I worked very hard to build this collection." she said as she went to the table at the room's center. Her hand went into her jacket's pocket for a second or two and reemerged. The middle of the table rose up, exposing a glass case containing a very old, worn Barbie doll. Her blonde hair was dingy, her clothes faded, the plastic flesh lighter here and there, exposed to years and years of sunlight. "That's my very first Barbie. It's not worth much as a collector's item, but it is very valuable to me. She was my perpetual playmate, always loyal, no matter how many times my parents moved." I started feeling sympathy for this woman, this grande dame. Now I noticed something about her, as she stood there. Her waist, her physique, it was almost Barbie-like in proportions! More like the old Barbies, before they made them "anatomically correct" in 2000. Actually, Madam had much nicer curves - she was not molded in plastic! She was very fit.

It was very unusual for Madam to share her innermost feelings like this, especially with an employee. The display case retracted into the tabletop and she urged me back into the study. "You may sit." her tone returned to a more formal one. I obeyed.

She took out a thick folder. "I did a bit of research. I know both your parents have passed away. And you don't seem to have anyone else in your life, no close family, a few acquaintances, not really close... Your finances are precarious, though." I felt very uncomfortable having my life dissected like this.

"I can help you. I have an amended version of the contract on hand, and it is binding on both of us. I guarantee in writing that you will be housed, fed, clothed and otherwise taken good care of for as long as necessary. In return, you must pledge your loyalty to me, work for me efficiently and obediently, and obey all the house rules." This offer was too good to be true, but I was desperate enough to accept anything to avoid the financial doom that was awaiting me in what I figured would be a year and a half, at most.

"What does my current underwear have to do with all this?" I ventured, a bit more courageously and acting businesslike, believing that it would impress Madam now that she had offered me a post of apparently vital importance to her. She smiled faintly, her eyes bright. "It has everything to do with this." she said, teasingly. The cold knot reappeared in my gut.

"You are here because your little fetish got you in trouble. I am offering you a way to fulfill that fetish, all the while allowing you to prosper and feel useful. Remember, you are still bound by the old contract to work for me for another two years. The amendments extend the contract indefinitely, with guaranteed job security. Leaving is a breach of contract, and I doubt you will last more than a week, two at the most, if you decide to continue honoring the contract as it is now." She was right about that, and she was putting the best foot forward before dropping the bomb. I had a suspicion as to what it was.

Act III - Point of no return

"There is one thing I don't have in my Barbie collection, and it is something that was never produced or marketed." Seconds of suspense, as she drilled her gaze into me. "A real, live Barbie doll." My jaw dropped.

"What?!?" I exploded, carelessly. The deep drilling of her eyes turned into ice picks. "I suggest you control yourself, from now on." Madam said sharply, adding, "Either way, whether you accept the amended contract or not. Most especially if you accept." The gentle conversation tone was gone too. She softened a bit, and sat on the edge of the large desk, near me. In my field of view, her slender waist flared out to her curved hips, down the length of her skirt, along her black nylon sheathed legs, to those wonderful high heeled shoes that I loved hearing on the floor at work.

"Greg, I understand your reticence. You will have to give up everything around you. Not that you have much right now, according to my sources." I could smell her perfume now, it was a scent that drove me wild, in normal circumstances. Her mature air, she must have been in her mid to late forties, and impeccable dressing style, made her quite desirable. I had just turned twenty-five. She was old enough to be my mother. I looked for an escape.

"I-I... How will I take care of my personal affairs? My apartment? My stuff?" She put a gentle hand on my shoulder, reassuring me, "Everything will be taken care of, not the least of which, you. I promise that you will be taken care of, not harmed."

"Can't one of your maids be..." my words trailed off as I was grasping at straws that I found were non-existent. "That would not be the same. I can't be a woman with her, and she can't be a man to me." she said, leaning closer, and I could feel her breath on my neck. I succumbed to a moment of weakness, and started crying silently. I was out of options, save for Madam...

"I will take care of you, Greg, just like I take care of my collection. My Barbie dolls are precious to me. And I have to admit, you're the kind of man I like."

"Can't I be Ken, then?" I asked, sobbing. "No, I don't collect Kens." Her tone changed to a playful one. "It would be fun! We can both be satisfied, fulfilled. You like dressing up like a girl, no? I have always wanted to have a live Barbie doll to play with. And a decent man to play with when I need one." The last sentence was deliberately pronounced with a slow, sultry tone. Something inside me snapped. I took her hand, the one resting on my shoulder, and squeezed. "I accept your terms."

Considering the options available at the time, it was the best one. I was guaranteed lodgings, food, all the feminine clothing I wanted - and more, generous pay (nearly double), and a secure, fulfilling job. And the side benefits seemed to be, initially, quite interesting. How many men have dreamed of sleeping with their female employer, especially if she's hot like Madam? My glands won out over my neurons, and I signed.