[Chasmo]

SmythKnight was one of the most prestigious law firms in the United States and its glass encased office complex at the foot of Capitol Hill stood as a powerful testament to that status – the firm was a legal leviathan. On this sunny August day, a group of some fifty very high powered partners in the firm, along with their assistants and a smattering of junior associates and staff, were waiting impatiently – if not in some small amount of fear -- in the largest of the many conference rooms in SmythKnight’s office. They were waiting for the law firm’s managing partner – Mrs. Danielle Parnell. They were impatient because, as usual, she was late. They were fearful because she could be ruthless.

The quick paced staccato rhythm of high heels on a marble floor signaled to the room full of attorneys and others that Danielle Parnell, Esq. was near. Looking through the sheer glass wall that separated the conference room from SmythKnight’s opulent lobby they could see their “boss” approaching – and what an approach it was.
Strutting authoritatively past them as she made her way to the conference room door, Mrs. Parnell looked every inch the domineering alpha female that she was. Atop her 4.5” Prada black leather heels that heralded her arrival was a set of fantastically toned athlete’s legs covered from just below the knee on up by a tight, fashionable, pin-striped pencil skirt that encased the object of desire of every man who set eyes on her – a spectacularly formed ass.

On top, the sexy uber lawyer was wearing a sleeveless, perfectly pressed, crisp white cotton oxford shirt that tightly hugged the contours of her pert 34C breasts and flawless midsection and displayed her tan, well exercised arms for all to see – just as she intended. A white necklace of pearls adorned her supple neck and a simple but exquisite watch wrapped her left wrist. Hear beautiful face, made even more stunning by the proper yet alluring gold rimmed glasses encircling her emerald green eyes, was crowned perfectly by her luxurious brown mane, touched by sunlit highlights, and tied up in a very professional looking bun.

Catching her reflection in the glass door as she entered the room, Mrs. Parnell took account of her own stunning beauty – perfect she thought. She smiled inwardly as she anticipated the lust that the men in the room – nominally her “partners” but in her view really just a bunch of feckless losers -- must already be feeling. Danielle loved the effect she had on men. That her beauty rendered them fools and sycophants provided her with almost as much pleasure as did -- when she would catch them staring at her wantonly – the humiliation she would heap upon them by loudly scolding, “eyes up here Johnson . . . you’re lucky I don’t fire you this minute,” or “exactly what are you looking at Mr. Thomas – perhaps it’s time you review our harassment policy -- again.”

Dominating the weak men of SmythKnight brought Danielle untold pleasure – particularly if she could exercise her authority over them in front of their wives, girlfriends or daughters who she reveled in humiliating both by stealing the attention of their men and then emasculating those men while they watched helplessly. Perhaps if they took better care of themselves or made something of their lives their husbands’ heads wouldn’t be so easily turned she thought to herself.

But it wasn’t only the men of SmtyhKnight who Danielle relished belittling. She likewise enjoyed intimidating the firm’s female partners, associates and staff who she taunted and mocked regularly – particularly her beleaguered assistant, Linda Bertrand, a slightly portly but otherwise attractive brunette some ten years younger than the 43 year old Mrs. Parnell. And today was no different.

Walking imperiously into the conference room, Danielle’s first point of business was loudly to reprimand her already quaking assistant.

“Well Ms. Bertrand, it appears as though someone got dressed in the dark again today. No matter – no one is looking at you anyway.” Danielle laughed to herself “because they’re all too busy looking at me – as they should be.”

“As all of you know,” Mrs. Parnell continued, “tomorrow is ‘Take Your Kids to Work Day’ here at SmythKnight. As usual, the children will be separated into different age groups and have a chance to shadow lawyers and staff, share a group lunch and otherwise participate in the day’s programs. That will all be followed by our annual firm reception in the atrium where your spouses and significant others can join you, your children and the rest of us for what this year will be dinner and a fashion show where some of SmythKnight’s very own will model the latest in fashionable, appropriate, professional attire.”

“Excuse me Danielle,” asked Mrs. Karen Manley timidly, hoping to curry some favor with the firm’s imperious leader, “but who from the firm will be modelling the clothes.”

“Certainly not you Karen,” Danielle condescended to her law partner. “In fact, I’m hoping that Ms. Bertrand, Ms. Butcher and you will use the fashion show as an opportunity to learn something – now get back to work.”

With that, the haughty Mrs. Danielle Parnell stood up and left the meeting. Although the men in the room were too busy following Danielle’s perfect posterior as it tightly swayed its way down the hall, Karen Manley wasted no time in approaching Mrs. Lauren Butcher.

“Oh I simply can’t abide that woman,” fumed Mrs. Manley. “Who does she think she is anyway? We’re her partners not her house staff – ‘certainly not you Karen’ – just once I’d like her to be on the receiving end.”

Mrs. Lauren Butcher, another of SmythKnight’s female partners, was equally infuriated. The nearly six foot blonde, who had always been conscious of her height, and as a result ended up looking as if she was slightly slouched over, could barely conceal her contempt for the preening Mrs. Parnell.

“No kidding. I know what she calls me behind my back – “lurch,” “prairie hair” – it makes me want to slap that smug grin right off her perfectly made up face. But I need this job and so do you and as long as the partnership agreement permits her to fire us at will – until she either retires or quits -- there is nothing we can do.”

Overhearing their conversation, and having finally been pushed too far by her boss’ incessant derision, Ms. Linda Bertrand interrupted them with a conspiratorial, “maybe this time there is!”

The next morning, having showered, dried her hair and perfectly applied her make-up, Mrs. Danielle Parnell slipped into the tiniest navy blue, sheer, silk Cosabella thong, a matching push-up bra and 4.5” blue leather Manolo Blahnik heels. Walking from her monumental marble bathroom into an equally cavernous dressing area, the self-obsessed mother of three could not help but drink in her own vision in the mirror. Placing her hand over her mouth in mock embarrassment, the egoistic lawyer fantasized out loud, “why Mr. Sarano, you’ve caught me indisposed.” With her standard smug look returning to her face, and chiding herself inwardly for her impetuousness, Danielle mockingly laughed “you wish.”

Jerry Sarano was also a partner at SmythKnight. The almost 50 year old perennially fit triathlete had the body of a man thirty years younger. As intelligent as he was trim, Sarano was also an impeccable dresser routinely sporting only the most cutting edge, tight-fitting European suits and accessories. Still single, he was rumored at SmythKnight to be both a ladies man and extraordinarily well-endowed. Unfortunately, not unlike the firm’s leader, Mr. Sarano was all too aware of his physical gifts, both actual and rumored. He looked down upon all those around him save for Danielle to whom he obsequiously kowtowed. Sarano was the closest thing to a friend that Mrs. Parnell had at the office and it was with him that she would share her most withering comments about the likes of Lauren “Lurch” Butcher and others. Together they privately mocked just about everyone else at the firm making fun of their “lack of fitness,” “terrible fashion sense,” “slovenly demeanor,” “awful haircuts” and “inferior intelligence.” The two were almost equally loathed and although not true, there was an unspoken belief that they were having an affair.

Having had her fun for the morning, Danielle dressed herself in a black Prada pant suit, the slacks fitting her perfect ass like a glove and the bolero jacket, worn with nothing but her push-up bra underneath, tightly encasing her spectacular 34C breasts and otherwise toned upper body. She planned to spend the workday in this outfit before changing – multiple times – into the outfits she would be modelling at the evening’s fashion show, all of which her witless secretary, Linda Bertrand, was to pick up at the tailors’ and deliver to her office. Mrs. Parnell, of course, would be the only woman modelling that evening. At her request, Mr. Jerry Sarano would be modelling for the men. Having prepared herself for the day, Danielle headed into the office to welcome the offspring of SmythKnight’s finest.

Meanwhile, having picked up her boss’ many outfits from the tailors’, Linda Bertrand was ready to get “to work.” Aware that Danielle was welcoming the kids in a firm conference room on another floor, Ms. Bertrand knew she had less than an hour before her boss returned. Walking into the opulent office of “Mrs. Danielle Parnell, Esquire,” Linda marched past the six seat private conference table and the large mahogany desk and into Danielle’s private anteroom which, with its own hardwood floors, large Oriental rug, private bath, wardrobe, large leather couch, floor to ceiling bookshelves and fully stocked bar was as much a clubby living room as anything else. The room was usually locked but having instructed Linda to deliver her clothes there, Danielle had left it open.

On one wall, framed by mahogany bookshelves on either side, hung a full length mirror that her snobby boss no doubt used to admire herself. It was in this room that Danielle would be changing from one outfit to another for the evening’s show. As Linda fished the small scissors from her pocket and pulled the plastic off the cocktail dress labeled “grand finale” she thought to herself, “and what a show it’s going to be.”

While Mrs. Parnell’s secretary continued to make her “alterations,” including just for fun weakening all the seams on the fancy three piece suit and shirt that she still needed to deliver to Mr. Jerry Sarano’s office, Linda spied what looked like a camera hidden in the bookshelf facing the mirror.

“Oh no,” she panicked, “my crazy boss must keep this room monitored . . . I’m going to get caught for sure, and fired.”

Thinking quickly, Linda hurried out to Danielle’s main office and dialed up SmythKnight’s IT manager, Catherine Webb. Like Linda, Mrs. Webb had many times suffered the wrath of the firm’s tyrannical managing partner and it was that fact that guided what she did next. Although logic demanded that Catherine immediately report Linda Bertrand to SmythKnight’s security team for not only snooping around the managing partner’s office but for asking Catherine to delete any record of it, her sympathy for Linda’s daily plight dictated otherwise. First, Catherine eased Linda’s anxiety by assuring her that the camera was not recording anything while Linda was in the room because it was only activated when Danielle logged into the system and she hadn’t yet been to her office. Second, and without telling Linda or anyone else, Catherine used her authority as network administrator to remotely take over control of the camera.

“Who knows,” she thought to herself, “maybe I can catch Miss High and Mighty drinking at the office -- or breaking one of her many rules and regulations regarding ‘appropriateness’ -- and leverage it into a few extra bucks.” Although she knew she’d never really do such a thing, the mere idea of spying on the arrogant Mrs. Parnell provided Catherine with no small amount of satisfaction.

With that, “Take Your Kids to Work Day” marched on as planned. Over a hundred children, to learn what their moms and dads did all day, followed lawyers and staff members through their paces, attended a fun “kids only” lunch, listened to any number of professionals drone on about their jobs and finally took part in a kids’ mock trial where they got to play the parts of lawyers, judges, witnesses and bailiffs. As 5:00 PM finally rolled around, each kid was joined by their parent who worked at SmythKnight as well as, in some cases, his or her other parent who was also invited by the firm to the dinner and fashion show.

In the meantime, Mrs. Danielle Parnell was busy changing into her first outfit of the evening. Locking the door to her anteroom from the inside she slipped out of her Prada pant suit and, facing the mirror, indulged in her favorite pastime – taking in her own glorious body. She loved that she was changing at the office -- that as her dumpy female colleagues and the haus frau wives of SmythKnight’s male population stuffed their fat faces with whatever rubber chicken was being served at the dinner, she was preparing, with her beauty, intelligence and authority, to render them invisible by stealing the attention of all men in attendance.

Catherine Webb cursed her luck. Not having kids, she had no plans to stay for the dinner and fashion show. Although the finale of the show was to be preceded by a short film that was made of the day’s activities, one of Catherine’s assistants would take care of it thereby permitting the over-worked Mrs. Webb to beat an early retreat from work. That said, she had forgotten her keys again and needed to get back to her office to retrieve them.

Having donned her first outfit, Danielle preceded to the dais that had been set up in SmythKnight’s large glass atrium, to welcome everyone to the show and to explain that she would be modelling three different outfits for the evening, including the lovely A-line dress she had on now, a pinstripe skirt-suit and, for the finale, a little black cocktail dress that was “work appropriate” to show how professional women could maintain poise and class after hours as well. While she changed, Mr. Jerry Sarano would be showing a collection of watches, brief cases and other accessories for men.

Sitting next to Danielle on the dais were her own three kids – Will, Anna and Maria. Having been dropped off earlier in the day, the three had taken in part in the program along with everyone else’s children. Also on stage, and sitting on the other side of Mrs. Parnell, was Jerry Sarano. A podium separated the five of them on one side from a small group of the firm’s lawyers and staff on the other. Among that group sat Karen Manley, Lauren Butcher and Linda Bertrand. In the audience sat the four hundred or so people who made up the lawyers and staff of SmythKnight and their families.

With soft music playing, and knowing that every man and boy was now transfixed by her beauty, Mrs. Danielle Parnell began her long walk down the runway that extended from the dais. She could feel the attention she was getting from the men and loved it. She loved more that despite any effort the other women in the room might make, they were rendered irrelevant by her beauty. As she turned on her 4.5” heels to walk back – and with an extra sway in her hips and a completely false smile on her otherwise beautiful face – she mouthed to Linda, Karen and Lauren – “you should be taking notes.” Amused by her cutting barb, and feeling better than ever, Danielle slipped through the curtain at the back of the stage and made her way to her office to change.

Grabbing the forgotten keys from her desk, Catherine Webb paused for a brief second.

“I wonder if she’s in there,” Catherine thought, “what the heck . . . let’s take a look.”

With that Mrs. Webb fired up her computer and double-clicked on the file labeled “DMPPO” – Danielle Marie Parnell Private Office. In an instant, Catherine was looking at a live, high resolution, color picture of Mrs. Parnell’s anteroom – but no one was there. “Oh well,” she thought, “maybe next time.” But as she was about to disconnect and head home she saw, and heard, someone come into the room. Having not tried the camera before, Catherine was surprised that it had audio capability. What she saw and heard next was an even bigger surprise.

“You looked perfect out there,” Danielle preened at the mirror. “Those men couldn’t take their eyes off you and their fat wives couldn’t do a thing about it. Wait until the finale – the horny losers won’t even be able to stand up to leave and that assemblage of cows will want to kill themselves.”

With those words uttered, the haughty prima donna slipped out of her A-line dress and proceeded to pose in front of the mirror in her tiny blue thong, sheer push up bra and towering heels. Turning to the side she bent over at the waist and drank in the site of her own flawless ass. Standing again she cupped her barely bra encased breasts together and then, releasing them, blew herself a kiss.

Catherine was both dumbfounded and thrilled. Dumbfounded that the little tease – who walked around as the standard bearer for “appropriateness” – would behave like this at the office and thrilled that she had it recorded. She decided at that point to tell her assistant to take off for the night; Catherine would prepare the short film for the fashion show finale on her own.

Having changed into her pinstripe power suit, not dissimilar to the one she had worn to work the previous day, Mrs. Parnell returned to the stage again as Jerry Sarano stood at the podium to announce her arrival.

“Wearing what can only be described as the perfect power suit,” the obsequious Sarano began, “I present to you our partner, friend, leader and hallmark of authority, Mrs. Danielle Parnell.”

Once again, to the sound of hearty applause from the men and tepid, forced clapping from the women, Danielle strutted down the runway. As she surveyed the crowd she could tell that every male there was beside himself with desire.

“What a bunch of pathetic fools,” she thought to herself, “no wonder they’re so easily manipulated. And the women – they should just give it up.”

After turning at the end of the runway, Danielle sashayed back towards the podium and again slipped through the curtain to change into her final outfit of the night – her show stopper, the LBD that would have them all drooling. As the self-satisfied Mrs. Parnell disappeared through the curtain, Karen Manley could barely contain her rage.

“Can you believe that woman – she is clearly just here to show off. She prances up and down that runway smiling at our husbands and sons while sneering at all of us. She really needs to be taken down a peg or two.”

“I can’t stand her,” chimed in Lauren Butcher. “Always putting us down, humiliating the men with her “that’s highly inappropriate” nonsense. How is it appropriate for her to parade herself in front of everyone anyway? Just because she covers herself in her tight power outfits doesn’t make her any less of a tease. Linda – are you sure this ‘surprise’ of yours is really going to work.”

“I’m pretty certain you’ll love the finale,” smiled Mrs. Linda Bertrand.

Back in her office, Danielle had again locked the door to her anteroom and slipped out of her pinstripe suit. As Catherine Webb continued recording, the narcissistic leader of SmythKnight slipped out of her 4.5” black leather heels and into a pair of 5” black peep toe stilettos with a subtle rhinestone accent where her highly manicured toes appeared. Danielle then proceeded to undo and remove both her bra and thong panties before again posing in front of the mirror. Reaching into a small white bag on her desk labelled Agent Provocateur, Mrs. Parnell pulled out a sexy grey pinstripe thong along with a matching push up bra with a tiny tie where the cups met in the front. After putting the lingerie on she gazed at the mirror lustily.

“Who’s the boss now baby,” she cooed, “tell me, who’s the boss now?”

With that, and drunk with her own self-worth, the Worldwide Managing Partner of SmythKnight pulled on her little black cocktail dress. With a wide strap over each shoulder, and an appropriately high neckline, the Dior frock tightly encased the beautiful lawyer’s ample chest and toned mid-section while exquisitely profiling her incredibly fit arms. At the waist, the dress puffed out in the style of many a similar cocktail skirt and went down to a few inches above Danielle’s knees. After touching up her makeup, blowing out her hair and accessorizing her look with a diamond tennis bracelet, a diamond watch, two carat diamond earrings and a conservative diamond necklace, Mrs. Danielle Parnell took one long last look at her mirror. “I’m the boss baby – and now it’s time to show these losers why.”

As Danielle made her way back to the stage, Jerry Sarano emerged from the men’s room wearing the new three piece suit that he had purchased just for the finale. Despite Danielle’s idiotic assistant delivering it to him an hour later than planned, he loved how good it looked on him and knew the women in the audience would appreciate it as well. Seeing Danielle approaching, the two walked back through the curtain onto the stage together. Jerry took his seat next to Linda Bertrand while Danielle once again strutted down the runway. With a little bit more of a sway in her hips than usual, the glorious lawyer looked like a goddess – and she and the men whose eyes were glued to her loved every second of her march.

Linda Bertrand was worried as Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher glared at her. Karen spoke first, angrily whispering, “I thought you were going to make a fool of her tonight. That’s what you told us. What’s going on?”

Linda was crestfallen, “I don’t know, I weakened the seams – all of them. I thought . . . well . . . I guess it didn’t work.”

Of course not, thought Karen. Little Miss Perfect had outwitted them yet again and was basking in her own glory while she, Lauren and everyone else looked on helplessly. Stepping back up to the podium, Danielle noticed the two women whispering.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Bertrand . . . Mrs. Manley . . . is there a problem,” she scolded them, “do you have something more important to do this evening than focus on our children?” Uncomfortable laughter was spreading through the crowd. For the men looking on, the image of the sexy, sophisticated and domineering Mrs. Parnell shaming her two colleagues was intoxicating. The women in the crowd on the other hand, many who had suffered Danielle’s withering reproaches, sympathized with Linda and Karen. They knew something needed to be done but were too terrified to act.

“Well – do you,” Danielle loudly implored. The two humiliated women sat silently – looking more like chastised children than adult professionals. “I didn’t think so,” finished Danielle.

“And Mrs. Butcher,” Danielle added coldly, loving the opportunity to further humiliate these losers, “please do sit up straight won’t you. We don’t want our children to learn bad habits. Now if the three of you would be so kind as to give me your attention, we could all watch a brief film that our IT department has put together profiling today’s events.”

As Mrs. Parnell took a seat in the folding chair next to her son Will, the lights in the atrium dimmed and a film was projected onto the screen that was lowered onto the stage. With images of SmythKnight’s impressive headquarters filling the screen, Jerry Sarano’s voice was heard extolling the virtues of the firm and describing the “Take Your Kids to Work Day” program. That segued into footage that had been taken that day. Titles such as “The Welcome,” “What We Do,” “Lunch Break,” “Kids in Court” and “A SmythKnight Family Dinner” were followed respectively by pictures of Mrs. Parnell welcoming the kids, staff and lawyers sharing their knowledge, the fun filled lunch, the mock trial exercise and the hundreds of lawyers, staff and children enjoying the dinner that had been served only a short time before.

Finally the title “And Now for a Little (Very Little) Bit of Fashion” popped up on the screen. As the crowd began to laugh, Danielle was immediately annoyed. She had approved the titles herself and the final one was to read, simply, “The Fashion Show.” What had that idiot Bertrand done now she thought to herself? That girl is finished here if she thinks she can embarrass me like this. But the embarrassment for Mrs. Parnell had only just begun. As the film portrayed the firm’s gorgeous managing partner strutting down the runway in her A-line dress, the staid violin soundtrack suddenly faded away and the screen momentarily went blank.

What happened next shocked everyone. As the screen came back to life it once again showed the lovely Mrs. Parnell in her appropriate A-line dress. But now she appeared to be standing in a library of sorts and the camera angle, although filming her from behind, also captured her image from the front via a large mirror into which she appeared to be staring intently. As everyone looked on quizzically, the woman on film – Mrs. Danielle Parnell -- could be heard complementing herself “you looked perfect out there. Those men couldn’t take their eyes off you and their fat wives couldn’t do a thing about it.”

As gasps of shock began to spread, and the anger of the crowd palpably rose, Danielle could sense the daggers being looked her way in the darkness. She had to do something. But before she even processed what her next move might be, the image on screen changed yet again. There on film for all to see, and wearing only her 5” peep toe stilettos, her sexy grey pinstripe thong and a matching push up bra with a tiny tie where the cups meet in the front, was Mrs. Danielle Parnell, Esquire.

“Who’s the boss now baby,” the woman on film cooed wantonly at her reflection, “tell me, who’s the boss now?”

And then, as the image changed a final time to show Danielle facing the mirror as she cupped her barely bra encased breasts together and blew herself a kiss, a voice over, clearly Mrs. Parnell’s, could be heard to say, “I’m the boss baby – and now it’s time to show these losers why.” With that the screen went blank and the lights came up.

The now mortified uber mom, her mouth hanging open in shock, knew she needed to act and to act fast. The women in the crowd had already begun to laugh uproariously loving the fact that the snob who had mocked, degraded and humiliated them for years had finally gotten a taste of her own medicine. Karen Manley and Lauren Butcher each gave Linda Bertrand a big thumbs up thinking this was the surprise she planned.

But this was not Mrs. Parnell’s first rodeo. She didn’t end up where she was by retreating in the face of adversity. In her mind she was still the managing partner of SmythKnight and it was time to reassert her authority as she purposefully began to rise from her seat and head to the podium.

What started next was the beginning of the end of Danielle Parnell, Esquire. Although Alia, the Parnell family nanny, had escorted young Anna and Maria Parnell off the stage before the lights came up, Danielle’s son Will remained rooted in his chair. Unsure of the feelings welling up inside him the poor boy looked catatonic. That said, and unbeknownst to his mother, as he shifted in his chair to watch the film that now had rendered him paralyzed, Will had managed to pin the hem of the puffy skirt of his mom’s cocktail dress between the dead weight of his hip and his folding chair. That fact coupled with Linda Bertrand having snipped most of the threads attaching said skirt to the upper part of Mrs. Parnell’s dress was the predicate for what happened next. As Danielle marched fearlessly to the rostrum at center stage, a loud rip could be heard throughout the Atrium. There for all to see, now live, was the haughty Mrs. Danielle Parnell wearing only her 5” high heels, pin stripe thong and upper half of her once elegant and after hours “work appropriate” cocktail dress.

“Oh my God,” screamed the once imperious lawyer, “my skirt . . . oh my God . . . Will.” But as she turned around to look for her son all she saw was him passing out backwards through the curtain, her skirt clutched tightly in his hand.

“This has gone far enough,” huffed Jerry Sarano, as he took off the jacket of his three piece suit and began heading for Danielle.

“Oh no you don’t” cried Linda Bertrand who, reaching out to grab Jerry caught only the collar of his shirt. But, having herself weakened the suit’s seams earlier, she pulled with all her might and, as the crowd looked on, the arrogant Jerry Sarano was stripped of both his shirt and vest. This was almost too much for the assembled throng to bear. Mr. Perfect, having shaved all of his chest and stomach hair, stood before them wearing only pants, shoes and a tie. Danielle meanwhile, in an effort to flee behind the curtain to safety, was confronted by the six-foot frame of Lauren Butcher who, for the first time in her life, was standing very tall.

“Get out of my way now Lurch,” demanded Mrs. Parnell, unable, even in the most trying circumstances to be anything but rude.

“That’s it you little pipsqueak,” bellowed Lauren, “it’s time somewhat taught you a lesson.”

As Danielle turned to run, Mrs. Butcher caught her by the shoulder straps of her once elegant cocktail dress which, thanks to the handy work of Linda Bertrand, tore away with a two-fold effect. First, it left Danielle in only her thong, bra and heels. Second, it caused the once regal narcissist to fall forward. To break that fall, Danielle grabbed onto the first thing she could reach which, unfortunately for Jerry Sarano, was the beltless waist of his fashionable but seam weakened suit pants. In a scene that would do Vaudeville proud, Danielle managed to tear those pants right off him revealing a neon pink man-thong covering what appeared to be a truly impressive package. But appearances can be deceiving and as Danielle struggled to recover from her fall she grabbed the podium with one hand and the slim waist band of Mr. Sarano’s thong with the other. As his ridiculous underwear slid from his hairless legs, a rolled up sock fell to the floor revealing, even with every hair shaved away, what can only be described as some very, very small equipment. More humiliated than he ever could have imagined, the one-time self-described “Italian Stallion,” now wearing only loafers and a tie, ran red-faced from the stage and was never seen in the halls of SmythKnight again.

Finally back on her feet, Danielle found herself face-to-face with Linda Bertrand.

“Nothing to say, have we,” mocked Linda, who sitting down on the nearest folding chair roughly pulled the stunned Mrs. Parnell over her knee. As the cheers of the gathered women gave her strength, Ms. Bertrand felt liberated.

“You’ve had this coming for a long time you little show-off -- strutting around here in your high heels and tight clothes – teasing the men and humiliating the women. Well now it’s time for a little payback.”

“Spank that tease’s ass,” shouted Karen Manley.

“Strip her first,” screamed Lauren Butcher.

Bending her head down toward her former boss’ ear Linda whispered “should I strip you first Mrs. Parnell?”

“No – please don’t” croaked the defeated Danielle.

“I think that will depend on the answer to a question,” smiled Linda.

“Anything you want,” pleaded the humiliated attorney.

“Who’s the boss now,” asked Linda quietly as she began to spank Mrs. Parnell’s firm ass.

“What did you say” asked Danielle. “I mean . . . me . . . I . . . I am the boss,” she said, only half believing it.

“Wrong answer,” yelled Linda, who then unceremoniously unclipped Danielle’s bra and threw it into the crowd.

“Who’s the boss now,” Linda repeated, spanking Danielle’s bottom more forcefully.

Biting her tongue but knowing any further resistance was futile, Danielle quietly answered, “you’re the boss Linda.”

“I can’t hear you,” shouted Linda, now raining swats down on her former tormenters reddening bottom.

“You’re the boss Linda,” screamed Danielle.

“You’re the boss who,” came Linda Bertrand’s reply.

“You’re the boss Ms. Bertrand ma’am. You’re the boss and I’m nothing . . . nothing but a naughty little tease . . . ma’am . . . a naughty and inappropriate girl.”

“You are an inappropriate girl,” aren’t you Danni, “and I don’t think you’re fit for your current job. Do you?”

Danielle’s head was spinning. Not fit for her job, but she was Mrs. Danielle Parnell Esquire, a gorgeous, brilliant, authoritative leader. She could control any man with her beauty as easily as she could dominate any woman with her wiles. Every man wanted her . . . didn’t they? Linda Bertrand is nobody . . . a peon. But as her mind conjured thoughts of what was soon to be her former life, Danielle’s voice at last betrayed her.

“No, Ms. Bertrand, ma’am,” squeaked the once dominant Mrs. Parnell, “I’m not fit to be the leader of this prestigious firm . . . I . . . I . . .”

“You what Danni girl,” asked Linda sweetly.

“I quit, ma’am” whispered Danielle.

With that, and to the cheers of the lawyers, staff and families of SmythKnight, Linda Bertrand rolled the once all-powerful Mrs. Parnell to the floor and, tearing the pin striped thong from her now swollen but still fantastic ass, sent the naked prima donna literally running for cover.