Georgia read the letter without any real surprise. She had to attend a
sexual harassment seminar. This was a weird policy that her company
somehow found appropriate - if a sexual harassment complaint was filed,
both the person accused and the accuser had to attend a sexual
harassment training course. The idea, so far as Georgia could tell, was
to go over both what defined sexual harassment, how to avoid it, and how
to deal with it when it did happen to crop up.
She tried not to be too angry about it. She had probably overreacted, anyway. Mr. McRea, her boss, was definitely a bit of a pig but normally limited it to stolen glances and borderline inappropriate, but overall harmless, pet names. It wasn’t until he began commenting on the tightness of her blouses, and the length of her skirts, that Georgia quietly sent an email to HR.
The response was quick. That was just yesterday, and now she was holding an official, hand-delivered “be at this place at this time" notice about the training course. It’d start tomorrow, first thing. It would be a bit of a pain - she had a lot of work to do - but it was good to get it over with. Plus, with any luck, Mr. McRea would learn something.
The next morning, she reported to the location in the letter - conference room D, sixth floor. She had never been here before. It was a smallish room, really only big enough for the conference table in the middle of it, the chairs around the table, and the projector and screen on one end. There were two other women in the room - a youngish girl she didn’t recognize, and a woman from HR. Georgia recognized her - she didn’t know her personally, but she knew her name was Linda.
“Ah, good, Georgia - right on time.” Linda said. “This is Sarah,“ she said, gesturing to the other girl, who gave a small wave. “Now that you’re both here, we can begin.”
Linda dimmed the lights and turned on the projector. The company logo filled the screen. “We’re here to talk about sexual harassment, of course. Both of you claim to have been on the receiving end of that recently. We’re going to discuss how to avoid that.“
Georgia wasn’t thrilled with how this was starting - ‘claim’? And was it really her responsibility to work to avoid being harassed? Should the people doing the harassing be the ones who need to make some changes? She bit her tongue, though, as Linda continued on.
She clicked, and the screen changed, showing a young woman at her desk. A man was sitting on the end of the desk, smiling at her. He was leaning towards her, she was leaning away. She wasn’t returning the smile.
"What’s the root cause of sexual harassment? I don’t claim to be a psychologist, but actual sexual desire is probably only a small portion of it. The feeling of control, the thrill of the chase, the excitement of temptation - these are major factors. These men - your bosses, in both of your cases - are hard-working men with a lot expected of them. It may not be right, but we shouldn’t be surprised they look to you for a bit of… relaxation. Release.”
Georgia was horrified. This was the course she had to take? Sit in a room and listen to some sort of… apologist for sexual harassers? She wasn’t sure who she complained to when she had a complaint about HR, but she was sure as hell going to find out. Linda was continuing before she got a chance to say anything.
The next screen showed a girl at her desk, typing on her computer. A man in a suit stood next to her, leaning in, reading over her shoulder. His arm was around her, resting on the shoulder on the opposite side. She looked tense, uncomfortable, but… she also was peering up at him out of the corner of her eyes. It was hard to place the look in those eyes. Nervousness? Sure. Anger? No, not really. Desire? A need for approval? A wish to please? All possible. Linda started speaking, interrupting Georgia’s train of thought.
“I’m not trying to say that this is acceptable behavior, mind you. However, it’s a reality of the modern workplace. Wouldn’t it be better, rather than fighting and causing problems, to find a way to work with people who we have problems with, rather than against them?”
The context was uncomfortable, but Georgia had to admit that made sense. Even in this case, Mr. McRae was a pig, but she didn’t want to get him in trouble, or see him punished. She just wanted him to learn to change his behavior. If there was a way for her to act differently that would help him with that, it was worth considering.
A new screen came up. A man stood in a boardroom, making some sort of presentation. Around the table, amidst the group of men, was one woman. Her blouse was open the slightest bit, and the man making the presentation was leaning over covertly, glancing down her blouse. The other men didn’t seem to notice, but she clearly did. She was looking up at him coyly, smiling a bit, seeming to draw her shoulders back cooperatively, thrusting her chest out.
“The men you work for… well, they’re hired and employed for their ability to solve problems. They work hard each day, attacking the day’s trials and tribulations and challenges. As we agreed, it’s normal for them to view you as something to be chased, something that tempts them.”
Georgia tore her eyes away from the screen for a second. Had they agreed on that? Linda had said it, but…
“So,” Linda continued, “it follows that it’s natural that we’d expect these men to pursue you. After all, they solve problems. They overcome challenges. That’s what they’re wired for. And you, with your resistance to their advances, have made it clear - I am a challenge.“
Georgia blinked slowly. She didn’t feel like a challenge. Couldn’t she just be not interested? Why was rejection a challenge to be overcome? This line of thought was broken by a new image on the screen.
A woman in a skirt was walking through an office door, past a man. The man had reached out, tugging her skirt up a bit. Rather than stop him, or push past, or say anything, she seemed to have slowed down, twisted a bit, thrusting her ass out at him, tossing her hair as she looked over her shoulder. His touch, it seemed, turned her from a professional woman in an office to a skirt-and-heels sex kitten.
"Sarah,” Linda said, “why don’t you tell us why you’re here? What was the nature of your complaint against Mr. Atkins?“
Sarah’s reply came slowly, as though she were calling on the phone from the other side of the planet. “He said… well, joked… implied that I should… blow him. For a raise.” Her voice was thick, syrupy, strange. Georgia wasn’t sure what was happening to her.
Linda nodded sagely. “Thank you. And you, Georgia?“
"Mr. McRae…” she said, surprised to hear her voice sound odd, just like Sarah’s, “He… said he liked my skirt, but… shorter’s better. And tighter. And I should open… more buttons on my blouse.“
Linda nodded again. “That’s very good, thank you girls.”
Georgia smiled a little, feeling oddly proud. She saw Sarah sit back, and she could tell the other girl felt the same wave of pleasure she did.
Again, the screen changed. A woman was against a wall, her boss all but on top of her. His arm braced against the wall, keeping her in place. His head was buried in her neck, mouth on her collarbone. His other hand was sliding up her skirt, grasping her upper inner thigh. Her head was back, her eyes closed, one arm clutching his shoulder. He was an a****l, taking what was his. She was a yielding prize for him.
Georgia felt her mouth water.
“You have two choices,” Linda said, “and the choice is yours alone. Your boss made a suggestion to you. You can ignore it. But as we’ve discussed, these suggestions are to be expected from men in their position. If you continue to be resistant, challenging, defiant, well, they will continue to try and solve the problem you present. Does that make sense, girls?“
Georgia’s eyes never left the screen as she nodded. “Yes…” she whispered. She heard Sarah do the same.
The screen changed again. A woman, on her knees. A man, in his office chair, leaning back, legs spread. She knelt between his legs. He smirked down at her. She looked up at him with longing. Her hands were on his knees, reaching up, needy.
“The other option,” Linda told them as they drank in the image, “is to work with him. Try what he asks. Try to find some middle ground. If he knows you aren’t a problem, he’ll be easier to work with. Isn’t that right, girls?“
Both of them nodded, both sighed “Yes…”
The image changed again. A man, standing, his suit perfect. His fly was open, and his hard cock was sticking out. At his feet knelt a nude girl, her lips wrapped around his cock, gazing worshipfully up at him. Georgia heard Sarah gasp sharply, an intake of breath that quickly turned into a moan.
Georgia could barely think. Mr. McRae wanted her in tight blouses, short skirts. She knew that was wrong… or at least, she had thought so… but now, somehow, doing as he said seemed good, right, professional. She wasn’t being slutty, or degrading, or any of the things she imagined all this would be. She was just doing her best to work with her boss.
The images were changing more quickly now. Linda was still talking, but Georgia wasn’t listening. She was just watching, and thinking about Mr. McRae, and what she’d wear for him. She was imagining him laying out outfits for her, dressing up like a doll for him, buying new heels to please him. The images were more and more sexual - women being fucked on boardroom tables, women stripped nude and kept under the desk, women bound and blindfolded and shown off to clients. Georgia heard Sarah moaning next to her, and felt her own sweat dripping down her brow, and wondered when it was that she’d opened her slacks and started rubbing herself. Whether it was before Sarah had, or after. Whether they’d thought of it, or if Linda had ordered them. In that moment, Linda said “Cum, girls.“ And they did, and everything came crashing down.
Mr. McRae would be in any minute. Georgia looked down at herself, fixing
her blouse a bit, making sure it hung open just so. She turned a bit,
on her hands and knees on his desk, trying to make sure he’d get the
perfect view when he entered. He’d probably be confused, finding that
she wasn’t at her desk. She thought he’d like the surprise.
This would be the first time she’d see him since the class, and she wanted to be sure that he knew she learned everything well. She was ready to work with him now, and make their workplace pleasant and productive, in any way she could.
She heard him approaching, and picked up the letter. She needed him to sign off, saying that she’d completed her mandatory training. She took it in her teeth, thinking he’d like it delivered that way.
The knob turned. She shivered with excitement.