Call it Covid-19.
Call it 2020.
Call it a change in mentality.
Call it whatever you like, it did change the way people worked, and that included working from home.
No more commuting.
No more dress code.
No more having your lunch stolen by a coworker.
It suited Karen. A good part of her job could be done remotely. Well, she was sitting all day in front of her computer, sharing files, sharing emails and talking on the phone, and the ever so boring regular meetings.
All of that could be done from home, and thanks to video-calls, video-conferencing, Facetime, Messenger, Teams, Zoom and all the rest, no need to get crammed with 10 coworkers in a room made for 6.
She was sitting at her computer, doing one of those first video conferencing gigs. Everybody was dressed sensibly. Everybody wanted to look on top of their business, give a good image. It was obvious that even some had chosen a specific place in their homes for a specific background. Some had rearranged their backgrounds, making spotty tidied, luxurious and high class.
This was all new. People were seeing instagram “celebrities” and all wanted to be the same.
After four or five meetings, some only connected with audio, dropping the video. In one of those meetings, Karen was there with her good friend Lynda. They were alone in the chat room as no one else had logged in yet.
“I see you put on a nice blouse, Karen.” said Lynda
“Oh, yes. It’s a very pretty one.” answered Karen, showing the lace ruffles near the collar, slightly brushing the fine silk with her fingers.
“You know this is just a show, right” said Lynda, getting farther to show that, yes she had a nice shirt, but she had her PJ pants on.
“No way!” said Karen. “We’re not… Casual Friday.” she said with a grin.
“I bet you’re making reference to that one time when you came in with your tight Freddy leather jeans on Casual Friday.” she said.
“Yeah… just a little.” answered Karen.
She clearly remembered. She found those jeans high class, but not the direction. They were not casual enough, even though she never met any clients. She’s just a clerk, like a dozen of others, stuck in her cubicle or in a meeting room, with other coworkers.
“Now, nothing’s preventing you from wearing them every day.” said Lynda.
“But… but what if I have to get up or pick something?” asked Karen.
“Yeah, like… how often did that happen? We are much or less staring at those thumbnails size images. Currently, I can see, somewhat, some details of your blouse, but when we’re 8 on that little screen, we can’t see zit.” she said.
“Well, you have a point. “Said Karen. “And how about Carl and Ingrid? They’re not on video anymore. Know why?”
“Why do we need video in the first place?” said Lynda. “That’s what Ingrin said to me. That’s true that we don’t need cameras. We share a screen when we need to, other than that, it could be a telephone conference call, and it would be the same.”
Their conversion ended as people began to join the conference and their image became smaller and smaller. However, Karen thought about it.
The next morning, Karen was preparing herself, looking in the mirror and was getting ready to apply some make-up and thought… what the hell. Why the hell?
So, no make-up, hairs lightly brushed, she went on, did the meeting and nobody said anything.
The next day, she had her tight and shiny Freddy jeans on, and her beloved high heels. During that meeting, she was enjoying rubbing them with her hands, playing with her high heel sandal, her hand reaching her crotch.
“Not in a meeting, Karen.” she said to herself.
Starting the following week, she cut the video feed. Nobody said anything.
She was at home, alone, spending perhaps an hour on video calls, the rest of the time, working off her computer. Why bother? Why not enjoy it?
The very next day, she went bold, putting on her latex catsuit, enjoying working in it. What a feeling. Clad in rubber, seeing the lights reflect on her shiny arms and legs while she was actually… working? She was enjoying her work more than ever.
With time, she added stuff: gloves, corset. She even put on toys, locked with her steel chastity belt!
She was speaking through small bluetooth in-ear earphones with a mic for those meetings. The kit was small enough to fit under a hood.
Needless to say, the next meeting, she had a thought about her camera becoming live for some reason, and everybody catching a glimpse of herself, wrapped in tight shiny rubber, including her head. That would raise questions.
She didn’t take a chance and stuck a piece of black tape over the camera opening. That should secure it.
Things evolved. Soon, her legs were cuffed together at the ankled and the knees, her arms linked together, and she was enjoying, imagining her life as a latex slave clerk in bondage.
One day, she tried something new. What if she put her gasmask over all that?
People noticed that her voice seemed strange, but nothing more.
“Well, my old earplugs broke and this is an old set. As long as you can hear me? It’s not like I can go to the store and get new ones, and they are all sold-out on-line.” she said.
That went on like a breeze.
So, on that day, like a few others before that, she hobbled her way, perched on knee high ballet boots, ankles wrapped in steel shackles linked with a short chain. Wrists tied in front of her with another short chain, waist crushed by a leather corset, locked in place by a steel chastity belt, itself locking her toys.
Neck wrapped in a tight collar and head covered in latex with a gasmask added for good measure.
She loved the challenge of typing with her fingers wrapped in latex, wrists linked together, head encased in a gasmask, forcing her to move it all instead of just her eyes to browse from her documents to the screen.
But more! She had installed a steel ring to the floor and another under her desk, where she would link her ankles to the floor and her wrists to the table.
She was good at sewing and she had one of those racing-car-like computer chairs with holes that would allegedly let safety belts through.
The idea formed in her head and, being good at sewing, used a few ratchet straps to make herself a five points harness, tightly pinning herself into the chair, ankles liked at the floor, wrists linked at the table, the release keys in a timed box nearby. She would have to wait for it to get free, and, often, she didn’t care, continuing to work, all bound up. After all, that box would only release her from the floor and the chair. It would not free her from the cuffs or the locked gasmask, because those keys were in another timed box, set for her full workday.
She still was a latex slave in bondage, working.
Damn, it was so good. She just hoped this quarantine thing would go on forever. She was often losing concentration, her mind wandering in a fantasy world where THIS was real.
Well, it was, in a way. She was a slave, forced to work specific hours, do specific tasks and expected to be right and on-time. And she extended her fantasies to, if she failed to meet a goal, or she made an error, she punished herself, locking her toys in the same timebox as her daily keys, forbidding herself any pleasure.
Many times, she was glad to be so tied up, on the floor, on her chair, on the work desk, because the orgasm, triggered only by the vibrating dildos and her imaginative mind, would have sent her flying across the room.
She wished the confinement would last forever, or that working from home, would become the next best thing.
On that day, the timed box had released the keys linking her to the chair, just prior to a meeting call, in the afternoon. She had unlocked herself from the chair to stretch her legs, making small steps in front of her desk, she was still locked with a hobble chain, when the call came in.
She joined the conference, as usual. No need to sit. She just gently paced around, feeling the suit like a full body compression garment, her corset crushing her waist, forcing her to take short breaths, amazing herself at how standing on ballet boots seems so easy, and a reminder that she was very well tied up each time she reached the end of her hobble chain.
Her breath was shaking. Good thing she could mute her mic when not needed.
Suzy, her supervisor, was rather strange, kind of dragging on, waiting for something.
Karen startled. Who would come to her home, in a quarantine.
“Was that your doorbell, Karen?” asked Suzy, with a weird smile.
“Yes, why? You heard that?”
“Well, go open the door.” she said, smiling, almost giggling.
“Why? We’re in quarantine. Nobody is supposed to come here.”
“Well, don’t keep him waiting, go open the door.” said Suzy in a more commanding tone.
Karen looked at herself, all dressed in latex, bound with steel cuffs, head enclosed into a gasmask.
“No way. Whoever it is should go away… but wait. You seem to know about it. What’s going on?.”
“Come on, Karen. What day is it, today?” asked Suzy.
“Tuesday… I think. I kind of lost track of what day we are… Why?” she asked.
“No, the DATE, Karen. What is the DATE?”
“May 31st. What’s so special about it?”
“Isn’t that your work anniversary?”
“Err… Yes, in fact it is, but. No big deal.” she said.
“No big deal?” said Suzy. “It’s your tenth anniversary!”. She exclaimed.
DING DONG!!! DING DONG!!!
“So what? I get one more week of vacation.” she said, getting even more nervous.
I mean how hard can it be to NOT answer a ringing door, right…
“And a commemorative plaque! Mr. Thompson, the VP of Sales is there with it. He will put it down, you take it, hold it, he will take a picture and that’s it. He wants to do that to show the appreciation of employees working from home in those difficult times. So, just go open that door, Karen.”
KNOCK! KNOCK!! DING! DONG!!!
“I… Can he come back, I mean… I’m, I mean…”
“So what, Karen. You think I’m in a business suit? I’m in shorts and T-shirt.” said. We don’t care what you wear. He will take your upper body only. Just go open the door, will ya?”
“I…” she said, then she heard a noise, the door opening..
“Hello? I’m sorry, the door was unlocked… Karen? Are you here? It’s Mr. Thompson… Can I come in?”….
© Pete / monsterp63, May 16, 2020
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