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Tracey Joins the Firm

Stories about "Tracey", written by various other authors (except Katie)
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Joex
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Tracey Joins the Firm

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Petite, blonde, twenty four year old Tracey Smith looked at the envelope with her big blue eyes. Her ample breasts heaved as she ran her fingers over the rich smooth paper. It oozed wealth, and there on the back embossed in gold letters were the words she had been looking for: 'Chambers and Chambers'.

She had been contacted by The Firm.

At twenty-four Tracey had graduated from the most prestigious law school in the country with the highest marks ever achieved by a student: 98 percent. Tracey was destined for great things. Everyone knew it. Everyone knew the biggest law firms in country would clamour for her services and the biggest, the best and the most prestigious and the richest was The Firm. Its partners were said to earn millions, every week, and governments trembled to cross them.

Nobody knew how Chambers and Chambers had come by the name of The Firm, but everyone knew that the ambition of every law graduate was to be offered a trainee associateship with them, and here was the envelope that would offer her just that.

The contents were simple. She was to report to the head of The Firm, Hiram K Chambers III, Monday morning. It didn't ask. It didn't offer. It knew it didn't have to. It was simply the best.

The two new trainee associates stood in the opulent office of Hiram K Chambers, within a stone's throw of the White House, at the appointed hour of four in the morning on Monday. They started early in The Firm.

Chambers himself rolled in at about eleven, by which time Tracey's legs were getting rather stiff.

She was surprised to see her companion, and fellow trainee associate, was Beauregarde Jefferson Jnr. He had graduated ninety-third out of ninety-four, only finishing ahead of an eskimo who had spent two years on the law course in the mistaken belief that he was studying polar bear conservation. But on second thoughts she understood; Beauregarde's father was head of the Supreme Court. The Firm would have a favor to call in some time.

"Do sit down both of you," Chambers said genially in his relaxed southern drawl, pointing to a comfy armchair for Beauregarde and a high stool for Tracey.

Tracey perched awkwardly on the stool. It seemed to her as if it were set at a height to allow Chambers to look straight up the short skirt of her power suit. It also seemed to be designed so that it was difficult to keep her balance and her legs together at the same time. She was glad she had put on her clean knickers.

Tell me," said Chambers chewing on the end of an unlit Cuban, "what is the mission of The Firm?"

The Cuban opened his mouth to speak, but with a sign from his mighty hand Chambers silenced him.

"To fight for truth and justice!" Tracey was quick with her answer.

Chambers stared at her, "Wrong Miss Smith," he said, "the mission of The Firm is to make lots and lots of money."

"Mr Jefferson," he said, "you will be expected to bring in ten thousand dollars a day. Your work will be billed at a thousand dollars an hour, and you bill for everything. If you scratch your ass you bill somebody. You understand."

"How do I know who to bill?" Beauregarde Jefferson might not know much law, but he knew about money.

"If in doubt bill the Pentagon. They think the more they spend the safer we are."

"Yes Sir, Mr Chambers Sir!"

"Miss Smith. Tracey. That is a strange name for a girl is it not? I knew a Tracy P Bumgarden once. A fine fellow in all regards."

Tracey thought it best to remain silent.

"Tracey, you are to bring in two thousand five hundred dollars a day. Your work will be billed at a hundred dollars an hour."

"But his work is billed at a thousand!" Tracey's jaw dropped.

"He, my dear, is a man. Clients won't pay that sort of money for work done by a girl! They want clear decisive opinions not emotional hormone ridden ramblings."

"But," said Tracey, "how can I bring in two thousand five hundred dollars a day at a hundred dollars an hour."

"Tracey, are you telling me you are afraid of hard work?" asked Chambers.

"Of course not," Tracey was affronted.

"A nineteen hour day will bring in two thousand five hundred."

"No it won't," said Tracey.

"That, my dear, is an example of why clients will not pay for work by a mere girl. Even simple arithmetic is beyond them! You too will bill for everything. If you go for a pee, and as you are a girl you probably will every half hour, you bill somebody."

"Do I bill the Pentagon as well?"

"Good Heavens no! They won't want the opinion of some blonde bimbo! You can bill The Mob - they never check their invoices."

"We do work for The Mob!"

"Of course! Fine upstanding gentlemen. And I want to see you peeing at a hundred dollars an hour! Do you understand Tracey?"

"Yes Sir!" said Tracey.

"Mr Jefferson," Chambers turned back to Tracey's fellow trainee, "You will assist senior partner Chester B Twatt with his work on the Titchborne inheritance. It needs a clear decisive manly brain."

"Yes Sir!"

"Tracey."

"Yes Sir!"

"I'll have a skinny latte with two sugars, then I have some ironing that needs doing."

"Coffee? Ironing?"

"Important work Tracey. And suitable for a woman. Yes I know. A hundred dollars an hour is a lot to pay for ironing, but The Mob will pay for anything."

Tracey was taken aback. How did one do ironing?

"Then you report to Miss Pettigrew. Head of Staff Allocation. She will provide you with your uniform."

"I need to wear a uniform?"

"Well you can't polish floors dressed like that can you?"

A look of puzzlement appeared on Chambers's craggy features.

****

Tracey knelt on the floor of Chambers's office polishing hard. Her uniform, such as it was, boasted a very short skirt and it was impossible to kneel and not show the world her knickers; she was well aware that her sheer silk knickers were stretched very tight across her ample posterior.

She was also desperate for a pee. When Chambers had said he wanted to see her peeing at a hundred dollars an hour, she hadn't realised he meant it literally.

Still after a week at The Firm she had billed Thee Mob for ten thousand dollars. It was hard making do with five minutes sleep a day, but she was in The Firm, and in The Firm hard work was a by-word.

She polished round the feet of the snoring figure of Chambers. Perhaps if she snuck off for a pee when he was asleep? She stood up and tiptoed towards the door.

"Tracey!" The voice of Chambers stopped her, "where are you going?"

"For a pee," Tracey stammered.

"You know the house rules Tracey. You don't want another staff discipline do you?"

"No Sir!"

Tracey wondered why staff disciplines only seemed to apply to her. She had been told that rules necessary to keep air-head bimbos in line weren't needed for men. Nor were they apparently necessary for Miss Pettigrew. No-one would try to discipline her!

Tracey had also wondered why she was the only female lawyer on the staff.

"We like to post our female associates to our far eastern operation," said Chambers, "I think you may be suitable for that."

"Is the far eastern operation important?"

"I can say, and with some justification, that it is one of our biggest earners."

Tracey beamed. All this hard work would get its reward. A posting to the far east! She could be a real lawyer there. No more ironing for her!

Meanwhile she had to face staff discipline level two. She was already on level one owing to her failure to bill for two thousand five hundred dollars a day.

The arcane disciplinary rules of the firm had been handed down over the decades. They applied only to female members of staff. The founder of The Firm, Hiram K Chambers I, strongly believed that females required a firm hand, preferably applied to the more sensitive parts of the anatomy. Under level one discipline Tracey received three whacks with a foot rule on her hand and wasn't allowed to wear a bra. Her nipples formed two visible pokies as the thin sheer material of her uniform top stretched over her ample breasts. She knew what would be coming next. Six whacks of the foot rule and her knickers would have to go! Whatever happened she would have to avoid level three!

The days passed into weeks and as Tracey assiduously polished the floor of Chambers's office her nipples poked and her bottom wiggled and The Mob paid. It seemed to Tracey that this was not normally work ascribed to a trainee associate, but she knew The Firm had its own ways, and was confident that the unwavering performance of her duties and regular billing would bring her closer to that treasured far east posting.

****

At long last Tracey stood in the office of Chambers and Chambers before the assembled partners for an assessment of her performance as a trainee associate.

"Mr Jefferson," Chambers addressed her fellow trainee first, "let me congratulate you on your fine work this past three months."

Beauregarde Jefferson Jnr smiled smugly.

"Your work on the contract with the airplanes was particularly intriguing. Tell me - how do you get them to fly so far?"

"It's the way I fold the paper Sir!"

"Excellent, excellent my boy, welcome to The Firm!"

He turned to Tracey. She looked at the partners and her eyes were drawn to a large box like object in the middle of the room. It was covered by a dust sheet, and was the size and shape of a packing crate. What had the ridiculous Chambers done now, thought Tracey, ordered a new espresso machine?

Chambers shook his head.

“Tracey,” he said, “when we hired you to this prestigious firm we had high hopes. Alas these hopes have not been realised. You were set the pathetically simple task of billing a mere two thousand five hundred dollars a day, and you failed miserably.”

"But.." said Tracey.

"No buts girl - we at The Firm do not know the meaning of the word 'but'..."

Tracey stood with her head bowed.

“Is there nothing I can do to make amends,” she pleaded, her career would be ruined if she was thrown out of The Firm.

“The only possible action is disciplinary level three and a posting to the far east.”

“Anything, anything,” said Tracey.

She knew what disciplinary level three entailed. It was a legend among the associates. A naked bare butt spanking by the senior partner.

"Miss Smith," he pronounced, "be so good as to remove your clothes and adopt ‘the position’.

He nodded his head as Tracey, shaking with embarrassment, pulled off her uniform and, now completely nude and blushing furiously, bent over his large oak desk. Her bare buttocks quivered in expectation.

“Gentlemen,” announced Chambers, “you are witness that Tracey Smith accepts her discipline voluntarily and without constraint.”

“We do,” chorused the partners.

“Ha!” thought Chambers as his trusty foot rule swished through the air, “female associates! They're only good for this and the other thing! And they fall for it every time!”

WHACK!

Every time

WHACK!

Firm discipline!

WHACK!

He looked at his efforts with satisfaction. He was glad they were good for something.

WHACK!
WHACK!
WHACK!

Tracey bit her lip, and although her face went bright red, and her bottom went even redder she didn't complain. All would be well when she got to the far east.

Discipline administered, Tracey stood up holding her stinging behind.

"What about the Far East?" She asked tentatively.

Chambers put out a stubby finger and pressed the intercom.

"You can come in now," he said.

The door opened and a swarthy man dressed in a sharp silk suit, a black shirt and a white tie came in. He had a thin pencil moustache.

"Ah Don Coglione," said Chambers, "can I introduce Miss Smith. The object of our discussions."

Tracey looked from one to the other and tried to hide her modesty with her hands. Who was this man who looked so much like the 'capo' of a 'family' of the mob?

"Tracey," continued Chambers, "this is Don Coglione, capo of a family of the mob."

"Oh," said the nude Tracey self-consciously, wondering if this was the same mob that she had been billing for the last three months.

"The same mob that you have been billing for the past three months. He looks after our far eastern business."

"But.." said Tracey.

"Silence," said Chambers, "how much has Miss Smith billed you for Don?" he enquired.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," said the Don.

"And has Miss Smith actually done any work for you over this period?"

"But..." Tracey tried to explain.

"Silence!"

"No," said the Don.

"I'm afraid Tracey, that the Don is not very happy," and if truth be told, as told it must be, the Don did not look very happy, "can you perhaps repay the money?"

"But..." said Tracey, she got no further.

"Then perhaps," said Chambers, "we will have to consider a far eastern posting... You can repay the mob from your earnings"

Tracey breathed a sigh of relief. She was to be posted to the far east after all!

Then Chambers whipped the dust sheet off the strange box like structure and Tracey's relief turned to horror. She suddenly realized the significance of a far east posting. Under the sheet was a metal cage just big enough for a naked girl on hands and knees.

And Tracey was a naked girl.

"In you go Tracey," said Chambers, "this is what we will post you in!"

He smiled; it was the other thing female associates were good for.

What could poor Tracey do? She owed the mob two hundred thousand dollars and you can't argue with the mob. She crawled into the cage. The door shut with a clang and the bolt was shot home.

"Don," said Chambers, his gravelly voice echoing through the room, "how long do you think it will take Miss Smith to repay the money.

The Don looked down at Tracey in the cage, naked on all fours with her mouth open.

"About twenty..." he took a closer look at her ample bosoms with their big erect nipples, examined her rotund and still glowing bare behind and finally his eyes fell on her intimate lips, fully displayed and pouting provocatively between her legs, "...no ten... years," he said.

Chambers smiled with satisfaction as he tied on the label reading 'Hong Kong - Livestock'. The far eastern operation really was one of their biggest earners,
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