Hr Practices

- Click.

"Hello? How may I help you?"

"Good afternoon. Could I speak to Susan please?"

"This is Susan speaking."

"Oh hi. I just want to make sure I'm speaking to the right Susan. I'd hate to get this mixed up. You are the Human Resources Manager?"

"That is correct."

"Great." A brief pause. "You don't know me Susan. My name is Hugh. I hate to be out of line, but I need to get to the point here. I represent a concern that is busy hiring new staff."

"Yes...?" A studied indifference. "How does that affect us?"

"Well it doesn't affect your company at all. The thing is we're a young company, growing very fast. We're looking for – well to be frank – we're looking for a certain type of person. We're looking for people who get the job done at any cost. People who don't pussy-foot around, if you'll forgive my French. In short – there's a gap we want to fill, and we'd like to interview you."

"Well I don't know. I wasn't looking around and…"

"Look – there's nothing wrong in hearing us out, right? Believe me – if you come for this interview we'll catch your attention."

"What company did you say this is?"

"I can't say that at this point – you understand I'm sure. But I can tell you that my client has had direct personal dealings with you in the past, and he was very insistent that I get you to this interview. I'm sure that a lot will be revealed when you attend."

"What did you say your name was?"

"Hugh. Look – my customer really moves quickly – this is a very dynamic concern. As a gesture of faith I must tell you that he has organised a car to collect you outside your offices at five. He wants to hold the interview today. I would love to be able to tell him you'll be there."

"Look I have plans for tonight."

"Susan – can I call you Susan? These opportunities don't come along often. I promise you that you'll never forget this interview. Don't let it pass you by."

A pause, and then a deep sigh. "Very well. How do I get hold of you?"

"Be outside you offices at five. Don't worry – I'll find you."

The car pulled into a warehouse, and then stopped. The engine was silenced. Susan, sitting in the back seat, felt very uncomfortable. She didn't know this area of town at all, and there seemed to be no cellphone signal. The driver had also chosen to say nothing to her during the entire trip, and she realised that she was totally isolated. Of course her fears were unfounded – the file containing her resume on the seat alongside her stood as a reminder that she was here to do business; nonetheless, it was a disquieting sensation.

The door was opened by a stranger, not terribly tall, but thickset, hard. His head seemed to fit directly into his shirt, without the benefit of a neck to support it. A thin white line showed across his cheek, almost reaching his left eye. "Susan? I'm Hugh."

She shifted across, turned and climbed out. Susan was not a small woman, and the back of the car was cramped. He didn't help her, so her exit proved to be ungainly. She followed him across the floor to where a chair stood before a desk. He beckoned her to sit down and she did. Behind her, she heard the warehouse door closing with a loud rattle and an ominous bang. The situation felt very wrong, but Susan was a woman of courage and composure: she watched him move around the desk and sit down facing her. He smiled.

"I've brought my resume," she said.

"Thank you." She passed it across to him, but he placed it unopened on the desk. For a while he just watched her. She was aware of the sounds of the driver moving behind her, although she had no idea what he was doing. It sounded as if he was moving equipment of some kind around. Still Hugh said nothing.

Finally she cleared her throat. "Are we going to start the interview now? I understood that your client would be here?"

Still his silence persisted. "Look," she said, "I have things to do. If you're not going to get down to business then I'll be on my way. You can tell your customer I'm not interested."

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. "You have a big arse," he said. "You also have a big mouth."

His words were so shocking, she felt as if she had been struck. She stood up. "You're a pig! This is where the interview ends."

"Sit down," he said. He didn't speak loudly, but the menace in his voice carried in the silence. "Sit down or you'll get hurt." She realised with mounting alarm that the noises behind her had stopped. He smiled without compassion. "You really don't want to annoy my friend."

"Look – just let me go and I won't say anything. And whatever you're being paid – I'll meet it. Just don't hurt me, and this can all work out."

"I don't like to repeat myself. Don't make me do it. Sit down now and I won't get angry." She felt fear, real fear, for the first time now. She glanced back to see where the driver had got to – but before getting a look Hugh leapt to his feet and screamed across the desk: "SIT DOWN!"

Her legs quivered, her heart leapt and she almost fell into the chair. She immediately regained her composure, although her heart pounded in her chest. "I don't know what this is all about, but I've had enough. I'm certainly not going to take this shit from you!"

Incredibly, he ignored her again, turning his attention to the driver behind her. The movement behind her commenced again "You got everything lined up there, Fred? Good. Move that one a bit to the right I think. OK. There, yes." She resisted a temptation to turn around, not wanting to demonstrate any fear, but her legs felt like water. Finally he tuned his attention back to her.

"Susan," he said. "Susan, Susan, Susan. You'll be wanting to know what this is all about, won't you?"

She nodded.

"Well," he said, in a fatherly tone. "You and I have a mutual acquaintance, who's identity will have to remain confidential at this point, I'm afraid. "

"Who is it?" she asked, without thinking.

"You see, there you go not listening to me. As I said, this person has chosen to remain anonymous. However, you can be assured that you know this person better than you realise. You see" (he leaned forward and pursed his lips at this point) "in your line of business you deal with many people. In and out of your office, asking you questions, needing you to solve their problems. It can be very demanding, I'm sure."

She nodded, listening intensely. She realised suddenly that her nails were cutting into the palms of her hand. It happened sometimes when she felt unreasonably stressed: she would come out of the dentist, or the gyno and her hands would be sore for days.

"Unfortunately, as I understand it, you don't like it when people make demands of you. In fact, you behave quite poorly."

"That's not true!"

"Hmm." He paused disapprovingly. "Let's see – a salary fault, leaving a staff member short of money for two weeks? While you kept yourself unavailable to address it?" He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I note that you don't challenge the statement, which I assume validates the accusation. Shame on you Susan. That's unconscionable." He used the word slowly, like a blade sliding out of an opened wound.

"Can you imagine how embarrassing it is to have to beg for your own money?" He ruffled some papers on the desk in front of him. "There's quite a record here of your performance. Unfair dismissal. Misrepresentation. And all the time your career was growing in stature. Wasn't it? You clearly wield significant power in the organisation – well done, Susan! It simply didn't matter that you were trampling on people to get there, did it? You certainly have a novel approach to HR."

"You don't know anything!" she snapped back. "You make accusations about me – look at yourself! What do you know about me?"

"Luckily," he said, leaning back, "I don't have to. You see – you humiliated one person too many. Which one, you ask? Ah – that would be telling. Someone who subsequently came into some money. Enough money to pay me to deal out some retribution. Someone who wants you to feel the sting of humiliation as much as they did."

"This is illegal!"

"Ah. Thanks for the warning. I must remember that in future."

Her fear was beginning to surface, and she had to stay focused on keeping control. Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together to keep it hidden.

"I think we must keep a perspective here," he said. "I'm being paid to humiliate you – not hurt you unnecessarily. Do as you're told and you'll be quite safe. On the other hand, Fred loves a woman who needs some …..discipline."

"You know me, Hugh," said Fred – and she jumped as she realised he had been standing directly behind her. "I like a woman with a fat arse on her. And big tits. Especially one with such a pretty face." Susan whimpered involuntarily, so softly that it may have passed unnoticed – but she was certain that she caught a glimmer of acknowledgement in Hugh's eyes.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, realising as she spoke that she was relinquishing any control she may have still had.

"We wouldn't want to spoil it too early," replied Hugh. "We have an evening's entertainment planned. The pleasure is in the expectation. The foreplay. However, for your own good I suggest you take your skirt off now. If you leave it on we'll be forced to remove it with a scissors shortly. And you'll need clothing to go home in later. I leave it to your discretion."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you should take off your skirt now, or we'll do it for you."

In that moment her nerve snapped. She whimpered in fear, launching herself to her feet, but Fred seemed to have predicted this: he grabbed her arms from behind. She tried to wriggle free, but his strength overpowered her desperation, and the chair blocked her kicks. She wailed frantically for long moments, twisting wildly, but eventually he forced her back into the chair, where she put her head down in anger, shame and submission.

Hugh waited for her to gain some composure before he spoke again. "You really don't like being on the receiving end, do you?" She shook her head helplessly.

"Last call. Are you going to cooperate and take off your skirt, or do we do it for you?"

She raised her eyes to his. "You bastard," she said softly. "How can you ask me to do this? How?"

Fred, still holding her arms, began to pull her up, but she struggled against his grip. "Alright! Let me go! I'll take my skirt off!" Fred released her. Reluctantly, she finally found her feet.

Susan's eyes stayed on the floor as her hands went behind her back, found the clip and then the zipper, slowly sliding it down, the skirt becoming formless cloth as it opened. She stepped out of it carefully, her high heels almost catching in the cloth, her blouse falling loose to offer some cover over her hips. But she had bent down to hold her skirt, and it was apparent that both men had caught a clear sight of her panties. She looked around for somewhere to hang the garment, and eventually folded it neatly onto the floor.

"You wear tiny panties for such a big girl, don't you?"

"I love pink panties on fat arse women!" The crudity was so repulsive she could have wept in shame.

"Good. It's nice to see that you're beginning to work with us, Susan. Now sit down, and put your hands behind you."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you know what I mean. Do it now."

She stared at Hugh for long moments, heart pounding. Her mind was racing to find a way out of this. Perhaps to play along? She felt certain, though, that her hands would be tied, and she would lose yet another degree of freedom. She hated this sense of subjugation, taking orders from these imbeciles.

"Stop wasting time, Susan. It will only make it worse for you."

Reluctantly she sat down. The cold wood of the chair now touched the naked flesh under her thighs, and she realised that there was a chill in the air. She put her hands behind the back of the chair, straining her shoulders slightly, and as expected she felt her wrists encircled by the steel of handcuffs. But then a second handcuff was used to pull her hands down, and she was cuffed to the chair itself. Her muscles strained uncomfortably under the tension. She twisted in an effort to relieve the discomfort but it was useless.

"Excellent," said Hugh. "Turn her around, Fred."

The chair was tilted back, and she found herself frantically leaning forward, feet in the air, out of balance. Fred turned the chair around and then let it fall, stretching her arms and scraping her wrists. She screamed in fear and anger and then raised her eyes to an ominous site: it was now evident what Fred had been doing behind her back.

Immediately facing her was three video cameras. The first was a slight distance away, and had evidently been set up to capture her entire body. The second was closer, and positioned to catch her face. The third, ominously, pointed directly at her groin. Behind the cameras stood a table, although it's use seemed unclear.

There were also two chairs, one directly alongside hers. Hugh walked around and sat a short way away from her; Fred sat right next to her. He leaned over, mouth against her ear. She tried unsuccessfully to lean away, but could not escape his voice in her ear: "I love big girls with soft, plump pussies." Susan whimpered again, unconsciously, tears of desperation brimming in her eyes now.

"You really will have to keep Fred happy, Susan. Otherwise he's likely to be quite nasty. He gets very agitated if things don't go well, don't you Fred?"

Fred said nothing, but he chuckled as he tilted her chair backwards, balancing her in mid-air as her legs flailed about in her efforts to balance. He held her there, and both men listened to her desperate breathing as she tried to escape her precarious situation. Eventually Fred lowered her, panting with relief, her shoulders rising and falling, her breasts swaying slightly under her blouse, her hair falling across her face.

"Firstly, to keep Fred happy, you need to keep your knees apart. These are good cameras, but they can't see through your body and we do want to have quite detailed images afterwards. Do you understand?"

She nodded, miserably.

"Good. A little further apart then that, though. Open. O-pen. Like that, yes."

Her legs were splayed shamelessly now, panties drawn tightly against her pussy. Not only were her lips outlined on the material, she knew that it was semi-transparent, and she had no doubt that the men had a clear view of her genitalia. "Oh yes," murmured Hugh. "Very nice. Very nice."

Fred had started unbuttoning her blouse. She drew up her shoulders in an effort to stop him, but it was pointless. His fingers slowly, relentlessly worked downwards, until he drew the material apart and pulled it back down her arms. She sat, in effect, in bra, panties, pantyhose and shoes now, and both men paused to look.

"I don't know about you Fred – but I've always found a woman in a big bra to be very erotic. You know they hold humungous tits that need to be set free."

Fred, reticent as ever, said nothing, but pushed her forwards to get to the clips of her bra. After an episode of scrabbling, she felt the clip suddenly part, and her breasts, relieved of the support swayed into the cooling air. Again he pulled the straps down her arms, so the flaccid material lay across her belly. Her tits, totally exposed, held the men's fascination. "You really have big tits, Susan. Really. Phew."

Fred leaned towards her again, and gave a stage whisper into her ear. "I bet you lick your own nipples, Susan."

She shook her head, mouth too dry, voice too shamed and angry to comment.

"You could though. Don't you think she could, Hugh? I think she could."

"It looks feasible to me Fred. Susan – in the interests of Scientific enquiry, I think we need to try."

"No!"

"Don't annoy Fred, Susan, please. This is his idea and one must support creativity wherever it emerges. I would think that a professional HR practitioner would understand that."

When Susan recollected this day later, their stupid, arrogant banter would gall her as much as anything else. It disregarded her, made her an insignificant plaything for their amusement. Of course that was the point. She was a toy for them to explore, to tease, to find it's limits, to own and use as the spirit took them. She had spent so many years trying to attract men, with a body that was always too large. Too many dismissive men, ignoring her desires – and now her body was letting her down again, giving them opportunities to humiliate her. Fred had cupped her breast, and his other hand was pulling her head forward. "Lick!," he declared, and as shameful as the act was, she closed her eyes, pushed out her tongue and tipped it to her breast. "I said LICK!" he demanded. Choking back a sob, she began to obey, eyes tightly shut, fists squeezed behind her back.

"That looks so good," said Hugh. "You're really quite a horny little slut when you want to be, aren't you? I wonder where else that tongue has been?"

Her neck and breast were both stretching, forced together mercilessly. "Now suck it," said Fred emotionlessly. She pursed her lips, drew the nipple into her mouth, began to do what was being demanded. She felt the nipple begin to harden, to stretch out, a bullet forming in her mouth.

"Oh yes," sighed Hugh. "Such CSLs."

Fred looked at Hugh, a cynical smile on his face. "CSLs?"

"Cock Sucking Lips, Fred. Look at them. We really need to see them in action. Why don't you feed her your cock for a while?"

Her eyes were stinging with shame behind the hair that had fallen across her face. She kept her eyes closed, aware that Fred was standing up, unzipping himself. She felt afraid to look, when she first felt the tip of his manhood slide across her cheek. "Take him in your mouth, Susan." As the tears hovered, she turned her face to embrace his member, but he pulled away, keeping himself just out of reach of her pursed lips. He twisted his hips, and it slid around her face, leaving her to chase it, like a child pursuing a sweet. Hugh was roaring with laughter at her vain attempts: "You're such a tease Fred! Go on Susan – catch it now!"

Eventually she caught it between her lips and enveloped him to make sure he could not escape. If she had to do this, she wanted it over quickly. Susan may have been a big girl, but she had experience in this field: she took him in deeply, providing enough friction to make him catch his breath in pleasure. Hugh was no longer laughing, leaning forward to watch closely as Fred groaned, then sighed softly. His hips moved in a gentle rhythm, savouring the sensations, while his free hand had captured a handful of her hair, pushing her head forward and back, filling her mouth, pressing himself so deeply into her that she felt afraid she would gag.

He drew back eventually, running the tip around her lips, which were still pursed to consume him. He slipped it in an inch, between her lips and teeth, into her cheek, teasing, exploring, toying with her. Susan felt a myriad of contradictory emotions: an anger lay deep in her chest, a fear lapped just under the surface of her emotions. And amidst these, an awareness of the blatantly sexual nature of this act, her legs spread, her panties taut and wrapped against her pussy lips, breasts exposed, sucking off a strange man on demand, and for the audience of another. Nobody could be impervious to this: a feminist rage swelled in her bosom, but as he stepped back now, she found herself watching his erect penis, remembering how it had pulsed against her tongue, hardened under her lips, brushed against the roof of her mouth. She felt parched: was it because he had absorbed her moisture? She ran her tongue across her lips to relieve the dryness.

Hugh leaned closer to her: "Your face looked so beautiful doing that. So photogenic. The camera loves you."