Ctrl Alt Defeat: A Secretary's Takeover 08

Chapter 8: Round Two

After thanking Madame Maria for her exceptional work and for coming on such short notice, Mia escorted the large woman out of the door of her luxurious penthouse suite. Turning to face Mr Wright, she found it hard to believe the pouting, feminized figure before her was the same imposing boss she had endured for so long. Dressed in the outfit Mia had bought while out shopping that morning - a perfect mix of preppy and provocative - he epitomized the stereotypical bimbo secretary. Once again, Madame Maria had worked her magic, transforming the once obnoxious man into a sight to behold.

“Is this really what I’m wearing?” Mr Wright questioned, his arms folded below his overly pronounced breastplate, slightly lifting the heavy silicone to relieve the strain on his back. “I thought you were getting me something less revealing?”

“You don’t like it?” Mia replied, a hint of mockery lacing her voice as she imagined the discomfort he must be feeling after a full night in the heavy prosthetics. “The skirt is longer than yesterday, and your arms are covered.”

Mr Wright narrowed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “What about these tights? They’re not very professional,” he grumbled, running his hand across the white nylon material adorned with black M’s that made his legs the focal point of his ultra-girly outfit.

“Nonsense,” Mia shot back with a dismissive wave. “Men wear expressive socks all the time in the office. I’ve seen you sporting colourful pairs on many occasions. Why should a woman be judged any differently?”

“But I’m not a woman,” Mr Wright moaned, his voice laden with resignation as he rose from his seat opposite the makeshift makeup station.

“Today you are,” Mia replied sternly, watching him gingerly take a few steps in the same towering platforms he had worn the previous day. “So, let’s stop complaining, shall we? And get our heads in the game. Show me your walk.”

“Again?” Mr Wright groaned, looking at Mia with a puppy dog expression, his ruby red lips glistening and his long black lashes fluttering dramatically.

“Yes,” Mia commanded firmly. “Ten laps up and down the room. This time, let’s see it with the purse.”

Mia watched intently as Mr Wright set off, his body jiggling and his flared red skirt fluttering with each mincing step. She shouted instructions, reminding him how to move his arms and hips, and the importance of keeping his shoulders back and his head held high.

Despite the absurdity of the scene, Mia had to hand it to Mr Wright; he was a quick learner. In less than twenty-four hours, he had managed to adapt to speaking normally with his dramatically plumped lips. Although his walk still needed refinement, for someone who was new to heels, he was handling his six-inch platforms surprisingly well.

Seeing Mr Wright, his face flushed from exertion and his breathing laboured, Mia couldn't resist a jab, echoing the condescension he'd often directed at her. "Good job, Mia," she exclaimed with a sarcastic tone. "Are you sure you haven’t worn heels before? You're a natural," she added, knowing full well the question would irritate him.

Mr Wright's lip curled in visible disgust. "What? Of course not," he blustered, clearly offended. "I’m not one of those... gays."

Mia wanted to let a smile slip through her stern facade but maintained her composure. "I didn’t ask about your sexual preferences," she retorted coolly. "Come now, Mia. You really need to think before you speak sometimes. Try to remain professional, would you?" Her words mimicked the very advice he had often given her, adding a layer of delicious irony to the exchange. Mr Wright's reaction was an explosion of headshakes, frantic hand movements, and spluttering.

"Now, do you have your notebook?" Mia added, throwing his often-asked question back at him.

"Yes, I have my notebook," Mr Wright responded sharply, his voice filled with aggression.

"Excellent. Why don’t you lead the way, then?" Mia said, stepping back to open the door, his surly mood only adding to her enjoyment of the situation. In a huff, Mr Wright tottered past her and out the door into the corridor, his movements jerky and irritated, amplifying the wobble of his transformed figure.

Mia followed him out, mesmerized by the vision of Morgan Wright, transformed from boss to secretary and ready to assist. His high ponytail swung in rhythm with each roll of his high-heeled feet. His flouncy, long-sleeved white blouse with puffed shoulders sheathed his hourglass figure, its top button undone to tease his artificial cleavage. A red pleated skirt, mid-thigh in length and held up with suspenders, fluttered around his swishing, patterned legs. The soft thud of his stilettos echoed down the hallway, each step sending a jolt of discomfort through his feminized frame. In his manicured hands, he clutched a snakeskin purse, the keeper of a notebook soon to be used for taking notes amidst squirms of embarrassment.

Initially, Mia had thought this switch of places would be a one-time event - a bit of poetic justice to show the misogynist pig of a man what it was like to be objectified and belittled. Yet, as she watched Morgan Wright, CEO and owner of the prestigious company Stitch & Sovereign, navigate the corridor in his feminine finery, Mia decided she would savour every moment of this unexpected extension before she inevitably severed ties with him for good.

(See image 15)

Mia, impeccably suited, and Mr Wright, awkwardly adorned in a skirt, clicked their way into the conference room. Unlike their previous visit, they were not kept waiting this time. Two wooden desks had been set up facing each other, and Mr Horton and his assistant, Molly Tamworth, were already seated and waiting. As Mia and Mr Wright entered, the pair rose to greet them.

"Good afternoon, Miss Wright," Mr Horton greeted, extending his hand to Mia with a confident tone. "I do apologize for yesterday, but something unavoidable came up."

"A pleasure, Mr Horton," Mia responded, shaking the imposing man's hand firmly. She couldn't help but wonder what was going through Mr Wright’s head when he believed he could take the giant man in a fight. "No problem at all, and please, call me Morgan."

"Very well, Morgan. Call me Graham," Mr Horton replied with a warm smile, then nodded toward the blonde to his left. "You've already met my assistant, Molly."

"Hello again, Molly," Mia announced, noting the woman's low-cut blouse and tight pencil skirt.

"And this is Mia," she said, introducing her own provocatively dressed assistant for the day.

"Nice to meet you," Mr Horton announced, stepping forward to grasp Mr Wright’s long-nailed hand.

"Hello," Mr Wright managed to squeak, his voice barely above a whisper as he lowered his eyes in embarrassment - a sight Mia found immensely satisfying.

"Shall we begin, then?" Mr Horton suggested, gesturing towards the desk behind Mia.

"An excellent idea, Graham," Mia said before turning and striding confidently across the room, leaving Mr Wright tottering along behind. Taking her seat, Mia relaxed into her chair and stole a glance at her former boss. She watched, barely suppressing a smirk, as he struggled with his skirt, attempting to sit gracefully on the wheeled office chair - a challenging feat in six-inch heels.

“So, I’ve read over the proposal you sent through,” Mr Horton began, his voice steady as Molly passed him the document. “However, I have some reservations about the valuation of your company. Can you explain to me how you came to this figure?”

Instinctively, massive breasts or not, Mr Wright puffed up his chest and leaned forward. “Well, Stitch & Sovereign is one of the oldest bespoke clothing companies in the world. It carries with it a name that people trust and associate with quality,” he said, his voice straining to maintain a high-pitched imitation of a woman's tone.

As he finished speaking, the room fell silent for a moment, Mr Horton’s surprised gaze shifting between Mia and Mr Wright. Finally, Mr Horton spoke, his tone condescending as if speaking to a child. “Well, while that may be true, young lady, companies are not valued on goodwill and public opinion. They are valued on revenue and projected growth.”

“Yes, we are aware, Graham,” Mia quickly interjected, her voice calm and composed. She then turned to her ponytailed assistant, her tone firm. “Mia, please let me do the talking from now on. Where is your notebook? Get it out. You just focus on jotting down any important information. Okay?”

She then turned back to Mr Horton with a confident smile. “Sorry about that, Graham. Mia means well, but she isn’t the sharpest knife in the draw. Shall we discuss a new valuation?”

As Mia redirected the conversation, Mr Wright's mouth hung open in shock and remained this way until he noticed Molly staring at him from across the room. Quickly, he lowered his gaze, his long eyelashes fluttering in embarrassment. Hastily, he opened the purse sitting on his skirted lap to retrieve the notebook and one of Mia’s favourite pens. His movements were clumsy and exaggerated, further highlighting his discomfort and unfamiliarity with his current role.

For the next forty-five minutes, Mia and Mr Horton engaged in a detailed discussion about his potential investment in the company. Meanwhile, Mr Wright, having been scolded earlier, focused on his note-taking, feeling completely and utterly emasculated. When Mr Horton suddenly addressed him, Morgan Wright, distracted by the headache from his tightly pulled-back hair, momentarily forgot his assumed identity.

“Mia,” the real Mia called sharply, causing the skirted man to jump. His head swung from Mia to Mr Horton, to Molly, and then back to Mia again. All eyes were on him. “Wake up, Mia,” Mia boomed, shaking her head slightly. “Mr Horton asked you a question.” She then turned to Mr Horton. “Forgive her, Graham. As I mentioned earlier, she’s a little dim. However, Mia's been with the company for years, working alongside my dear departed father.”

Mr Wright swallowed hard, the humiliation burning his cheeks as he stammered, "I-I'm sorry, Mr Horton. Could you repeat the question, please?"

“It’s no problem, Mia,” Mr Horton replied with a kind smile “I just wanted to ask your opinion. You seem like a woman into her fashion. How would you modernize Stitch & Sovereign?”

Caught off guard by the question, Mr Wright thought quickly; the term ‘modern’ was a foreign concept to him. “Erm… perhaps get some famous people to wear our brand. Models, perhaps?” There was a pause after his answer, which made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already did - a mean feat given all the body modifications he had endured.

When Mr Horton nodded, it was a relief. “Not a bad idea,” the enormous man said while turning to face Mia. “Designing a line influenced by high fashion yet appealing to the celebrity crowd could be a good fit for a company such as yours.” He paused to think before turning back to Mr Wright. “Mia, did you pack a nice dress for this trip?”

Mr Wright, confused by the question, froze. Pen in hand, he stared at the man he had punched a few days ago, unable to form a coherent thought in his pounding head. Luckily, Mia, lounging back in her chair, answered for him. “Yes, she has a dress. Why do you ask, Graham?”

(See image 16)

“Perfect,” Mr Horton replied, clapping his hands together as he smiled at Mia. “I have someone I’d like you to meet, a business associate of mine. If he likes my idea, I think we may be able to put an offer on the table to buy out your company in full, while keeping the staff on with a healthy salary. Is that something that would appeal to you, Morgan?”

The thought of selling his family business to this man of all people sickened Morgan Wright even more than sitting there in a skirt and heels with a pair of woman's panties riding up his buttcrack. He was about to voice his opposition when Mia beat him to the punch. “Yes,” she exclaimed loudly. “That sounds like something I’d be very open to discussing.”

“Great!” Mr Horton replied with a nod. “Let’s reconvene around eight. I know a wonderful little Italian place just around the corner.”

He then turned to Molly. “Molly, can you arrange a table for four in our usual corner?”

Molly nodded, making a quick note in her planner. “Of course, Mr Horton. I’ll take care of it right away.”

“Molly will send the details through to your assistant. I look forward to seeing you both later,” Mr Horton said as he stood up. “You must try the ravioli; it’s as good as being in Italy.”

“We’re looking forward to it,” Mia replied as she stood up. By this time, Mr Horton had approached the desk. She extended her hand, and they shook firmly before Mr Horton and his assistant Molly made their departure.

Turning to her right, Mia observed Mr Wright, who appeared shell-shocked, trying to process the whirlwind of events. “That was a great answer,” Mia praised the feminized man, who sat with his long-nailed hands cupping his inflated face. “He loved it. Now we just need to build on it, ready for tonight. I think we’ve done it. We’ve saved the company.”