I got out of the taxi before the company building and looked up at it. It looked just right, the perfect mixture of seriousness and a bit of luxury. Six floors, panoramic windows with the lights, tables, and people moving inside, everything. I took off my phone and texted Linda, the HR manager who invited me.

“Linda, it’s Maria. I’m standing before the building entrance. Where should I go?”

A second’s pause, then the “typing” dots appeared.

“Hello Maria! Come into the lobby and wait for me there. I’ll get down to meet you in a few minutes.”

“Okay!”

The lobby looked as good as the building outside. A calm business style, the carpeting, sofas for visitors, several tree pots, the information window, the employee entrance ... Several doors labeled “cloakroom”. Just as I watched, a woman came from the street and opened one of the doors. She stepped back, giving way to three other women going out. Three barefoot women wearing only knee-length skirts, half-transparent blouses with wide open collars, and heavy chokers, almost dog collars. Chatting, they went to the employee entrance. I blinked. It took me a few seconds to process this.

I quickly turned away, pretending to study a decorative panel on the wall while my heart hammered against my ribs. Barefoot. In an office. With those ... those chokers. My interview was conducted via video call, and my contract was signed electronically. Linda had seemed professional, kind even. Nothing in the job description - Junior Executive Assistant - had prepared me for this. My hands felt suddenly damp, the pristine white blouse I’d chosen this morning feeling like armor I now wished was steel-plated.

“Maria? Hello!”

I jumped, spinning around. Linda stood there, smiling, holding out a hand. She was older than me, maybe late thirties, with an elegant, severe black skirt and - my eyes flickered involuntarily to her neck - the same collar on her neck. And the light blouse that exposed her collarbones and did not hide the fact that she did not wear a bra.

“Linda. Hi. It’s ... It’s a very impressive building.”

“Isn’t it?” she beamed. “We believe in projecting the right image. Come, let’s get you to the final interview. Let me lead you to the meeting room.”

“Yeah, thank you,” I managed, my voice a little too high. I followed her, my heels clicking with a sharp, lonely sound on the carpeted stone. Linda’s bare feet made no sound.

At the entrance, she stepped on the glass slab that immediately beeped and lit up bright white, highlighting her legs from below, and another lamp lit her face. Then the light turned green, and the entrance gate opened. It looked like a regular face recognition system, but ... what does the bottom light do?

Linda placed her palm on the reader, holding the gate open.

“Come in, Maria. Once you sign the contract, we’ll enter your biometrics into the system, too, but for now, I have to open the door for you.” The gate closed behind us with a soft, final hiss. We stood in a wide hallway, the air cooler here, carrying a faint, clean scent like ozone after a lightning strike - sterile and somehow charged. The women we saw earlier were nowhere in sight, but the memory of their collared necks was burned into my retinas.

I realized I was gripping the strap of my handbag so tightly that my knuckles had gone white. I forced my fingers to relax.

“So,” I began, trying for casual, “the dress code here is ... very unique.”

Linda glanced at me, her expression unreadable for a moment before it smoothed into a practiced smile. “It fosters a certain atmosphere of discipline and focus. It removes unnecessary distractions.”

“Let me guess ... Is it for women only?”

“Not at all! Men are wearing a very similar outfit.”

She gestured to a door on our right. “Let’s talk about your role, and about fitting in. In every sense.”

The conference room was minimalist and cold. A dark table for six people, modernist-looking chairs, and a window wall overlooking the city. She motioned for me to sit and sat down across the table, putting her binder on the table.

I examined the chair before sitting down. It was made from a single shiny bent steel tube, with soft plastic waist support and seat. The seat was the most peculiar, it consisted of two separate parts, providing support for thighs, but the space between them was left open.

Linda noticed my hesitation. “Try it,” she said. “It’s the hi-tech ergonomic design, it’s very convenient to sit.”

I sat down cautiously. The cold plastic sent a shiver through me, and the peculiar design left me feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way I couldn’t quite name. I felt my butt crack spreading. My skirt, while professional, now felt dangerously short. I tried to press my knees together instinctively, but on this seat, I couldn’t do it. I could sit only with my knees spread. Except for my embarrassment, it felt comfortable, though.

Linda watched me, a slight smile playing on her lips. “We value comfort and efficiency here, Maria. That extends to our environment. The chairs, the lighting, the airflow - it’s all designed to enhance performance.”

She opened her binder. “It’s called the last interview, but actually, we are ready to hire you. It’s mostly to clarify the last things and introduce you to our corporate culture. Now, about your position. You’ll be assisting your colleagues in higher positions, primarily. Scheduling, correspondence, preparing presentations ... the standard duties for an Executive Assistant. But there’s a ... culture here. A way of doing things that’s a bit different.”

I swallowed. “The dress code, you mean?”

“That’s part of it. But it’s more about attitude. About receptivity.” She leaned forward slightly, her unbuttoned collar shifting. “We believe in a very direct, transparent workplace. Nothing hidden. That applies to information, communication ... and personal presentation.”

My gaze kept flickering to her neck, to the dark leather of the collar. The silver rings at the front and the sides caught the light. “That’s ... an interesting choice of accessory,” I said, my voice giving out my anxiety.

“It’s a symbol, but it’s not purely decorative. And it’s also quite functional, like everything you’ll see here. Every detail has its purpose. The collars have our names and positions engraved on them, see? They replace the usual name badges. As for the rings,” she ran her finger through the front one and pulled it, “they serve their purpose, too.”

“May I ask which one? That all strongly reminds me of a kinky BDSM setup, pardon me.”

Linda smiled.

“The obvious guess, isn’t it? Yes, it’s not a coincidence. As for your question ... You’ll learn everything in time. Our on-boarding policy explicitly states that new employees should discover particular details of out corporate culture by themselves. It helps them remember it better, and ... well, it just adds to the thrill and fun!” She winked at me. Her casual agreement with my mention of BDSM made my stomach clench. It was one thing to suspect it, another to have it confirmed so baldly by my potential future manager.

“So,” I said, trying to wrestle my voice back to a professional register. “This ... culture ... is it ... mandatory?”

She paused, her head tilting slightly. “Absolutely. You are not required to wear the uniform and follow our practices out of work, but at the workplace, it is mandatory for all employees. You saw the cloakrooms by the entrance, you can change there, there are lockers.” She chuckled. “Although with time, many employees get so accustomed to the uniform that they do not bother changing, and come wearing it straight from their homes.”

I imagined myself walking down the street, barefoot, with a collar on my neck and my nipples sticking out through the light blouse. The image sent a jolt of ... something through me. A mix of horror and a strange, unwelcome flicker of heat. I shifted on the chair, feeling the plastic dig into my thighs, the forced posture making me acutely aware of my own body. My own presentation.

“So the job is,” I started, then had to clear my throat. “The job is exactly what was described? Executive Assistant duties? Isn’t it just a cover for a ... sex work?”

She nodded. “It’s exactly what it says. We are a real company, Maria, doing real production and sales, and you’ll be doing everything listed in your job description.”

“So ... I’m not to be turned into a whore?”

“I assure you, Maria.” She placed her hand over mine. It was comfortingly warm and strong. “No sex at the workplace.”

My heart raced. Her choice of the words...

“Let me check, Linda. You haven’t answered my question directly. You said that I would be doing all the tasks from the job description, but could there be more? And you said no sex at the workplace ... but not during work hours?”

She clapped her hands.

“Perfect observations, Maria! Your attention to detail is why we hire you. Yes. I said what I said ... and I did not say what I did not say.”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. I felt tense and weak at the same time. To hell, Maria, she’s telling it almost explicitly! But ... but I really needed this job. The first job after graduation is the most important, it could define my whole future career, and this company provided excellent payment and growth opportunities ... and the possibility to learn so many things from senior colleagues and from real projects. It would be stupid to turn it down now. Even with ... this. Even with all of that.

I straightened up, which only made me more aware of my open-legged posture on the chair. “I see,” I said, my voice sounding more steady than I felt. “So the additional ... activities ... could take place during work hours.”

“Exactly,” she agreed, almost as an afterthought, leaning back in her own identical chair. She looked completely comfortable, her posture open and relaxed, legs slightly parted. I realized with a jolt that her skirt, which had seemed modest standing up, was actually split up one side, baring a long expanse of her thigh. The slit had been invisible until she sat. A-and ... was it a glimpse of her bare pussy, or am I seeing things already? “Your contract binds you to the entire corporate entity. You will be walking around a lot, which will also help you to get in touch with everything. You’ll be helping wherever your colleagues or superiors may require your assistance, within reason, of course.”

“Within reason,” I repeated, the words tasting like ash. The definition of ‘reason’ here felt terrifyingly fluid. I sighed. I saw the trap I was going into. But I needed this job. “The last question. Am I free to resign?”

She chuckled. “Of course, you are not the job slave. We strictly follow the laws. You may resign at any time, and we won’t hold you over the standard two-week notice period.”

Again. She said, “not the job slave”. Did it mean ... another kind of slave? And the standard two-week follow-up when I’m obliged to wrap up my duties and finish my tasks ... What will they do to me during those two weeks? No, no, Maria, don’t think about it. You’ll never resign. You’re going to be a perfect employee.

“Alright,” I said, the decision settling like a cold stone in my gut. “I accept the terms.”

“Excellent.” Linda’s smile widened, genuine and brilliant. “I knew you would. You have the mindset.”

She pushed a thin tablet and a stylus across the table. The screen was already lit, a dense block of text glowing. “This is your digital contract. Please read through it carefully one more time, and if you agree to everything, sign at the bottom with the stylus.”

I took the tablet. The contract was standard legalese, filled with clauses about confidentiality, non-disclosure, and company policy. I scanned it, my eyes catching phrases I hadn’t noticed in the initial electronic copy. Nothing new, but the innocent statements now sounded much less innocent. “Employee acknowledges and agrees to adhere to all corporate protocols regarding dress code and workplace conduct, as outlined in Appendix A.” “Employee consents to participation in company-mandated professional development and team-building exercises, which may include physical activities.” “All disciplinary actions and performance reviews will be handled internally, with the final decision resting with the designated department head.”

I sighed. Maria, you will terribly regret it.

I signed the contract.

“Perfect.” Linda looked at my eyes with a warm smile. “Welcome on board! Don’t be that scared, Maria. You’ll be fine, you have potential.” Her voice softened. “Remember what I said about discovering things. It’ll be fun! We’ll give you a guidebook, but it covers only your work duties and schedule. Keep your eyes open for the details.”

She stood and smoothed her skirt, the action again pulling at the side slit, and for a moment, I could see the pale skin of her hip. She didn’t seem to care that I was looking. It was just ... there.

“Come on,” she said, leading me out of the conference room and back down the sterile corridor. The air still smelled of that clean, electric scent. My own clothes - a sensible blazer, a cotton blouse, a knee-length pencil skirt - felt suffocatingly out of place, layers of fabric that now seemed like a futile denial of reality. My heels were loud, too loud, announcing my status as an outsider. An outsider who had, just moments ago, signed away her right to be shocked.

Linda led me to another room that appeared to be the uniform store. Checking my measurements in her tablet, she picked out clothes for me from the shelves.

“Here you go,” she gave me the skirt and blouse, packaged in a thin polyethylene. “The company provides you with the uniform, free of charge, as many items as needed. The design is fixed, but you can pick the colors from the available options. And the last...” She opened the drawer and handed me the collar.

I turned it in my hands. It felt cold and heavy, with the studs and rings on all sides. “It already has my name and position on it!”

“Yeah, we believed you would accept the offer, so we’ve prepared it beforehand. Now change, and we’ll record your biometrics.”

Trembling, I stepped out of my shoes and began unbuttoning my blouse. Linda didn’t leave. She simply leaned against a shelf, observing me with an unreadable, clinical curiosity. The air in the small room felt suddenly thick, pressing in on me. I turned my back to her, the small, flimsy privacy of my own body the only barrier left. My panties and bra felt like a fortress I was about to surrender. The blouse they gave me was so thin that my pink aureoles were clearly visible through the material. The skirt barely covered my knees. They gave me no underwear. Well, I expected it.