Seventies Bound IV


She was turning heads with every step, and she was fully aware of that fact.  As she walked down the office corridor, her heels clicking on the stone floor with every step, she could feel the eyes of the men in the office turning and following her as she sashayed by in her short black skirt and puff sleeved blouse.


There were many reasons for this – her flowing red hair that fell around her round face and made it look as if it was shining; The way her blouse was just tight enough to accentuate her 38DD breasts; the swish of silk from her stockings as she walked down; and her confident and assured poise.  Above all, however, she was aware of her own stunning beauty, and used that to her full advantage to get whatever she wanted,


 Marsha had worked in the city office for three months now, and had managed to progress to the stage where she was the PA to one of the junior executives.  To be fair to her, she had talent and ability as a secretary and administrator, but she was not content to rely on just that.  After all, this was 1972, the time of the liberated woman, and she was prepared to use all the talents at her disposal to get her own way.


As a result, she was admired and hated in equal parts, mostly along gender lines.  The men all admitted her and wanted to get to know her more closely.  The women, on the other hand, wanted to do all in their power to get rid of her, or at the very least make her look bad.  Marsha was aware of this as well, and enjoyed playing both sides off against each other whenever the opportunity arose.


Knocking lightly on the office door, she opened it with one hand while holding the files in her other and entered.  Seated behind an old oak desk was her boss, Mister Hastings, and opposite him in a chair sat a woman in a cream twin set and tweed skirt, with a string of pearls around her neck.


“Ah, Marsha, are those the Biderbecke files?”  As he spoke, Mister Hastings stood up and walked round to meet Marsha in the middle of the room.  Taking the files, she could not help noticing how his hand brushed against hers, subtly yet meaningfully.


“Yes, Mister Hastings, these are the files.  Will there be anything else?”


“No, thank you.  I will call if I need anything Marsha.”


“Very well, Mister Hastings,” Marsha replied as she turned and left the room, satisfied with the response she had evoked in her boss.  She failed to notice the eyes of the other woman following her until the door closed on her.


“I don’t remember seeing her before,” the older woman said as Mister Hastings sat down.


“Marsha?  She started here a few weeks ago.  Very capable, so she’s now working as one of my assistants.”


“I have no doubt she is capable, but can she do the job?”


“My dear Helen, that’s why she’s my assistant, you don’t think there’s another reason, surely?”


The woman remained silent, then stood up and retrieved a short coat from the coat stand.


“I hope not, Stephen.  I will see you at home at seven?”


“Of course, my love.”


Mrs Hastings shot a look at her husband, and then walked out of the office.  As she closed the door behind her, she saw Jane, the grey haired secretary of her husband, at her desk.




“Good afternoon Mrs Hastings.  Can I help you?”


“Tell me about Marsha, Jane, I want to know everything.”






Marsha walked into the office the following Monday morning, and slipped off her jacket.  It was a warm summer day, and she was wearing a special dress she had bought over the weekend.  Made from a purple dyed silk with a flowing pattern on it, it was a backless with a yoke collar that went down and around her breast and left the upper half of her back bare.  The skirt barely covered her purple panties, and her legs were covered by tight knee length dark purple leather boots with stack heels.  It was an outfit designed to turn heads, and she knew exactly what effect it would have on the men, especially as she was not wearing her bra that day.


The morning passed quickly, despite the side looks and muttered comments from the other women in the office.  As twelve thirty came around, Mister Hastings stopped at Marsha’s desk.


“Marsha, I’m afraid you will have to stay behind and man the phones for the lunch hour today.  Perhaps I can make it up to you later?”


Marsha looked up and fluttered her long lashes.  “I’m sure you will make it up to me later, Mister Hastings?”


A red glow appeared on his forehead.  “Very well – we’ll be back in one hour, Marsha.”


The other office staff filed out as Marsha took a seat at the reception desk in one of the old wooden chairs.  She had only been sat there for five minutes when the office door opened.


“I’m sorry, but we’re….” Marsha said as she looked up, but the sawn off shotgun that was pressed into her face silenced her.


“Shut up if you know what’s good for you,” the masked person said as they stood over the seated woman.  Another person in a balaclava mask and boiler suit was locking the office door behind the two intruders.


“What is this?”  Marsha asked as the first man put a bag on the counter, keeping the gun pointed in her face all the time.


“It’s a robbery, you stupid bint.  Tie her up.”


The other masked person opened the bag and took out a coil of rope, which they quickly unwound.  Walking round the desk, they pulled Marsha’s hands behind the back of the chair and started to tie them together, twisting the rope around and between her arms as they did so.


“Hey, that hurts,” Marsha cried out as the coarse rope bit into the soft flesh of her wrists.


“Good,” was all the armed intruder said as more rope was wrapped around Marsha’s chest and arms, holding them tightly to her side and to the back of the chair.  She struggled to try and prevent the ropes being so tight, but the other person was too strong for her and she was soon held securely to the chair.


“What do you want from here?” Marsha asked as the two masked people stood and looked at her.


“You talk too much – deal with it.”


The other intruder knelt in front of Marsha as she sat in the chair, and reached up under her skirt.  She squirmed as her panties were slowly pulled down and off her legs, and handed to the armed intruder before more rope was produced and wrapped around her booted ankles.


Marsha looked down as the ripe was pulled tightly against the leather and knotted off, then a further length used to pull her ankles back and wrapped around the chair support.  As the rope was further used to secure her lap to the chair seat, the masked intruder put the shotgun down and walked towards Marsha, pushing the panties into a wad with their gloved hands.


“Time for you to shut up,” they said as they gripped Marsha’s nose with one hand, forcing her to open her mouth wide as the panties wad was pushed into the open space.  Pulling a length of white cloth from their pocket, they wound it into a band and pulled the cloth tightly into Marsha’s mouth, forcing the material further back and securing it in place as the ends of the cloth were knotted at the base of her neck.


“Wht d u wnt?” she screamed as the rope was wrapped around her legs and secured to the chair support.  Marsha twisted round in the seat, but the ropes were too tight and held her securely in place.


“Not so cocky now, are you Marsha,” the other intruder said, and Marsha was shocked when she realised it was a female voice that had spoken.  Before she had a chance to respond, the chair she was in started to tip over as her exertions unbalanced the whole chair.


She fell on her side with a thud, and groaned as she shook her head.  The two intruders laughed at her as they walked past her and started to rummage and search through the filing cabinets.


It was thirty minutes before they finally left the office, Marsha screaming at them as they pulled the office door closed behind them.  She tried to pull her body up, before remembering just how tightly the ropes were holding her in place, and screamed in frustration.  Her dress had ridden up slightly, leaving her bar crotch in view, and the taste of her panties in her mouth was not the most pleasant sensation in the world.


The squeak of her leather boots as she tried to move them was the only sound in the entire office, and she began to wonder why no-one had returned yet from the lunch break.  Looking round, she knew the chair she was in was too heavy for her to try and set upright on her own, even if she wasn’t securely bound to it.  She lay quietly, as tears started to roll down her face and she wondered when rescue would come her way.




“Who would have thought it – the Beatles playing a concert in the public on the roof of their studios?”


“I know – I don’t think we’ll ever see the likes again.”


The secretarial staff slowly filed back into the building, having being detained by the unexpected site of their favourite band doing a concert without any warning.


“Hey, what happened here,” Jane asked as she walked in and saw files scattered over the office floor.  “Marsha, where are you?”


“Hlp m, smbdy hlp m” a quiet and muffled voice called from behind the counter, and looking over Jane saw Marsha lying on her side, tears down her cheeks as a wet stain spread across the cloth in her mouth.


“Oh my god – somebody get the police!” Jane called out as two others went to right the frightened girl.




In a hotel room across town, a tall man counted the money that he and his accomplice had taken from the office while a shower was running.  Lokking up as the sound of running water stopped, he saw his friend walk back, towelling her hair dry.


“Quite a haul, Helen.  Are you sure your husband won’t miss it?”


“Yes, he will, but I don’t mind – he deserves it.  The unexpected part was that tramp being the only person in the office.”


“You don’t like her?”


“No – but Stephen does.  Serves him right, the horny bastard.”