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KK's Quickies: Sexist Tech Bro to Sexpot Secretary (2/3)
🕑 Added 2023-10-23 15:00:04 +0000 UTCAbout forty minutes later, a fly on the wall of Mac’s office would have been greeted by a very unusual, never-before-seen spectacle: the start-up boss had not only submitted to having his soul patch shaved off and his legs waxed, but he had exchanged his usual attire of hip designer jeans and sneakers for a flirty dress, strategically padded to give the illusion of bust, and a pair of five-inch heels! The humiliation of donning women’s underwear and a women’s dress was bad enough, but it was this latest indignity that agitated Mac the most.
“How the hell am I supposed to walk in these things?” he snapped. “This whole charade is useless if I fall and break my neck!”
“You’ll be fine,” Penelope assured him. “I only learned to walk in heels when I started working here…you know, because of your mandatory non-official dress code, thing. If you like, I can give you some pointers?”
Mac gritted his teeth, then grudgingly nodded. While the hairdresser and makeup artist set up shop, Penelope and the stylist who’d chosen Mac’s dress for him gave the start-up boss a crash course on walking in heels! As humiliating as it was to traipse up and down his office floor with his hips swinging and his chest and bottom pushed outward in a perfectly girly posture, he had to admit it was better than tripping all over the place…and, as Penelope pointed out, it would once again prove that he was taking the whole thing seriously, thus lowering Gill’s defenses before he skillfully steered the conversation toward business.
Weighed against the chance at a billion-dollar buy-out, a few hours in a dress and high heels was nothing…and if any of his employees so much as snickered, he could fire them and replace them within a week. Satisfied by that comforting thought, Mac raised his chin, tilted his pelvis, and focused on rolling his hips. There was no time to waste, as the makeup artist would get here any minute now...
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“God, how do women put up with this gunk?” Mac whined, blinking his mascara-laden eyelashes. “I feel like a circus clown!”
The makeup artist, now packing up her things, gave an affronted sniff and flounced out the door.
“Well, you certainly don’t look like one,” Penelope assured her boss. “In fact, I think she did a marvelous job on you. And we’re making great time! As soon as you get your wig on, I’ll order the car to take us to the event center.”
Mac shot his feminized reflection a scowl in the mirror. His heavy makeup contrasted horribly with his short, masculine haircut, but thanks to the judicious application of cosmetics, he supposed he did somewhat resemble a woman – if not a particularly attractive one. Though they were nowhere near as extravagant as some of the ones he’d seen in the event photos, his large dangling clip-on earrings made him feel particularly ridiculous.
“Okay, snap to it,” he barked at the hairdresser. “I’m not paying you to stand around!"
