Miss Americana:  Labor Day

Brenda Wade learns the literal meaning of 'Fuck the Boss'

By Violator

Trigger Warning:  the sub-title kind of says it all; this one is about Ms. Americana meeting her come-uppance at the hands of her underlings.  As befits, you know, a Labor Day themed story.  This comes with a lot of leftist/pro-union rhetoric being directed at her and generally being proved right, as part of her downfall - again, as befits a Labor Day piece.  If that's not going to be agreeable to your personal politics, well - go read something else?  Is it a bit crazy to do a Labor Day themed superheroine story, as if out of some strange compulsion to do one for literally every single holiday no matter how weird?  Yes, yes it probably is.  But, I appear to have done it anyways.  Ah, well!

General Note for any non-American readers:  Labor Day is a federal holiday that occurs on the 1st Monday of September.  AFAIK it is not celebrated anywhere outside the United States, where May Day (aka 'International Workers' Day’) would be the rough equivalent.  The historical reasons for this are too boring to get into here, just wanted to make note of it in case any readers are not familiar with it.

Send any comments or feedback to violatoremail@protonmail.com 

Hit END for a short summary.

Brenda Wade sat back in her limo as it made its way through the streets of Delta City.  Beside her, in a refrigerated receptacle, was an open bottle of Vieilles Vignes Françaises, which she had barely touched.  On her way to a business meeting, Brenda was dressed for success.  She wore an extremely brief and tight-fitting black suit, consisting of an ultra-short miniskirt on bottom and a blazer on top that barely contained her considerable assets.  Her long legs, extending out to six-inch black pumps, were bare.  Upon her wrists, neck, and ears she wore a collection of diamond-studded jewelry worth more than most families made in a year.

In one hand, Brenda held a half-empty champagne flute, which she idly swirled, and from which she occasionally took a sip.  Upon her voluptuous lap she had a tablet.  With a flick of her finger, one at a time, she scrolled through dossiers of the men who would soon be sitting across the table from her at her upcoming meeting.

"Hmmm," she said, as with each flick of her finger she brought up a picture of a different elderly Chinese male, each in an immaculately fitted suit.  She tapped her finger against the edge of the tablet, doing some quick mental math.  "An average of two point three mistresses a piece," she said.

Looking up, Brenda made sure that the partition separating her from the driver was indeed closed.  Then, smirking she reached up, and slipped her hand down into her cavernous cleavage.  A couple deft flicks of her fingers later and with a soft gasp, she slowly pulled the two enormous pure-white cups of her bra out from her blazer.  There were reasons why Brenda preferred strapless and front-opening bras despite their numerous hazards in her chosen profession - and this was one of them.

"There," Brenda cooed, laying the two gargantuan empty cups of her bra upon the leather seat beside her.  Reaching down, she adjusted her blazer to make sure her girls were covered - noting with pleasure that they now shook and bounced about within the deep neckline of her straining jacket with even more unrestrained energy than before.  "That ought to be worth at least another three million on the price," she purred, settling back into her seat.

She absorbed herself in her tablet for another couple minutes.  Then she glanced at the time at one edge, and her smirk was replaced by a scowl.  Lifting her arm, she double-checked on her diamond-studded Swiss watch, and was irritated to see it matched.  Reaching out, she stabbed the button that activated the intercom.

"What's the hold up?" she said.  Sitting forward, newly-liberated rack heaving dramatically in her jacket, she brought her scowling lips within an inch of the microphone to make sure the idiot up front heard.  "I'm supposed to meet these Chengdu Chemicals chumps in ten minutes.  I should be inside the building and touching up my makeup by now!  Why aren't we moving?"

"Uh... I kind of can't, Miss Wade," her driver said.

Her scowl deepened.  "Why in the name of the Goddess not?!" she demanded.

"Did... did you not remember about the strike?" her driver's hesitant, crackling voice replied.

"The what?" Brenda said.

Stashing her glass of wine in a custom compartment and tossing her tablet aside, Brenda rose and went forward.  As her buxom short-skirt-clad ass lifted up, it revealed that she had been on the verge of beating her previous time in Sudoku, hence her annoyance.  Crouching behind the partition she opened it up and looked out the windshield past her driver.

In front of them, a massive wall of angry yelling workers, holding signs, pointed and shouted at her - their voices silenced by the walls of the plush luxury limo.

"Oh," Brenda said.  "Right.  Those guys."

The angry striking workers stretched across the private drive leading into her facility.  Beyond them, a large but aging chemical factory loomed.  Beside them, a large marble sign bore the name 'Wade Plastics'.  The protestors bore signs carrying various slogans, including 'Outsourcing Kills Jobs', 'Fair Wages for Honest Work' and 'People Not Profit.'  But other signs bore less politically correct slogans, including 'America for American Workers' and 'Our Boss Sucks'.  But, by far, the most popular slogan was the simple and elegant 'Fuck Brenda Wade.'

"They won't get out of the way," the driver told her.  He inched forward - in response to which the protestors surged a little closer, boldly remaining in front of his bumper.

"They're on private property, they're a bunch of bigoted lowlifes, and they should know their place," Brenda Wade growled.  "Why hasn't factory security dealt with them already?!"

"You mean that factory security?" the driver asked.  He pointed to the relevant section of the picket line, where there were blue rent-a-cop uniforms mixed in with the grey coveralls of the line workers.

Brenda's eyes widened in outrage when she saw.  "What do those lazy idiots think they're doing?!" she hissed.

"Maybe you should have given them a raise sometime in the last five years," the driver muttered, observing the most common complaint on the striking guards' signs.

"You mind your own business!" Brenda snapped.  She shook her head.  "Alright, it's clear what has to happen.  I'm going to go out there and deal with these ungrateful low-lifes personally!"

"Uh..." the driver said, reacting in shock to what he was fairly certain qualified as the worst idea he had ever heard in his life.  "Shouldn't we wait for your personal security detail  to arrive first, ma'am?" he asked.

"It's Miss," she said, testily.  Then she smirked.  "And you clearly don't know me very well."

With that she hit the button, and the door started to slide open.  The driver, who was new - her old driver was also out among the striking workers - yelped in surprise, and looked back through the partition in shock as he saw his billionaire boss's buxom backside leaping forth out of the open limo door.

Outside the crowds had a scarcely less astonished reaction.  They had been having a gleeful old time, shouting their lungs off towards their boss's halted motorcade - but few to none of them had expected to actually accomplish much by it.  They had anticipated that at any moment Brenda's limo would sheepishly back out and slip away to take another route - or that a better-paid contingent of her private security apparatus would arrive to try and clear a path for her.  Or the cops.  When the door of the silent limo suddenly opened up, they fell silent in shock - their signs suddenly clutched tight in their hands.

Stepping forth from the limo, Brenda stood proud and tall before them beside her ride.  She towered atop long and mighty legs, perched upon six-inch black heels, clad in her immaculate business suit and diamond jewelry.  The protestors for their part were clad in a shabby mixture of smudged and greasy work clothes, ill-fitting rent-a-cop shirts that strained to contain considerable paunches, and an array of cheap T-shirts and worn jeans for those protestors who had come off-shift or from other groups entirely to support the strike.

The picket line stretched across the main entrance to the factory, covering its lawn and terminating at either end at the perimeter fence.  The security booth, just behind the parked limo, was unmanned.  Outside the rusty barbed-wire-topped fence stretched a worn-down post-industrial district of Delta City, consisting mostly of apartment buildings two decades past their prime interspersed with run-down bodegas and the occasional industrial site like hers.

Coming forward, Brenda stood directly before the protestors, in between them and her limo.  Putting a huge smile on her lips, she parked her hands on her hips and addressed them.

"Look, everyone," she said.  "I know you're all quite upset.  I don't want to sell the factory any more than you do.  But times are tough.  There's nothing I can do.  We're all in this together - I share your pain!"

"Yeah," one worker grumbled.  "We share the same pain, but you get paid about three hundred times more for it per hour..."

"Five hundred," Brenda corrected him, absently.  Then she quickly shook her head.  "But look - money is just a number.  Besides, I deserve it because of how much harder I work!"

"Yeah, working real hard - sitting in a limo and thinking up ways to sell us up the river!" another spat.

Brenda's face trembled.  "Do... do you have any idea how many meetings I had just this morning?!" she snapped at him, stamping her foot beneath her extremely short business skirt.

The worker seemed taken aback a bit to be talked back to directly.  He shrugged.  "I had three before eight A.M.," he said.  "You have more than that?"

Brenda bit her lip, frustrated.  She had had two - but only if you counted her masseuse appointment.  "Way more!" she said.  Looking around she spied what looked to be a female manager, and her eyes lit up.  'Let's get some rapport building going on!' she thought.

"Look, I see how it is," she said.  She strutted a little ways down the line, buxom hips swaying dramatically in her tight short skirt.  "Some of you guys just can't handle having a woman for a boss.  You get jealous.  I understand that."  Coming to stand before the woman manager, Ms. Americana smiled and made a heart-to-heart gesture between her enormous chest and the worker's more modest bust.  "But some of you must know how hard it is being a woman in a man's world.  What do you say, sister?  I'm a Boss Babe, and so are you!"

The female worker glowered at her.  "Your HR department just let me know my team is getting cut," she said.  She cast her eyes further down Brenda's body.  "But from the look of that skirt, it's good to see we both get our opportunities to get fucked..."

Brenda's jaw dropped.  "That's... what a nasty thing to say!"  She wagged her finger in the woman's face.  "You must deserve to be let go, for having so much internalized sexism!"

At this the crowd started to rumble around her.  Brenda cast her eyes about desperately.  On a portly gentleman near her she saw a large button pinned to his chest - which had 'FUCK BRENDA WADE,' written on it.  Stomping up to him, she glared at it in fury.

"How... how dare you wear a slogan calling for me to be assaulted?" she snarled.  "And on my property!?"

"It's not... it's a metaphorical sort of..." the man tried to stammer.  But Brenda was past listening.

Reaching out she seized hold of the button.

"Get this filth off at once!" she cried.

She tore the button off the yelping man's chest.  It took half his shirt with it.  Throwing the button to the ground, she stomped on it repeatedly until 'FUCK BRENDA WADE' had been reduced to a tangled snarl.

After that everything suddenly started happening very fast.

"She's... she's stripping us!" a woman next to the de-buttoned man gasped in shock.

"She's smashing our stuff!" another shrieked.

"Get her!" a third voice said.

With a roar of confused mass-hive-mind energy, the crowd surged forward.  Brenda gasped, shocked - but in seconds she was surrounded by a sea of angry protesters - cutting her off from the limo, squeezing her from all sides.

"She... she tore off my button!" the man who had worn the offensive slogan shrieked, staring at his chest in shock.

"See how she likes it!" someone else called.

Instantly, acting on the same hive-mind as before, a dozen hands suddenly reached out - and seized hold of Brenda Wade's suit.  The gorgeous billionaire turned her head downward and gaped in shock, as she saw fingers coiling into the breast of her suit, up under its hem, and seizing hold of her skirt.  "What... no... you can't..." she gasped, shocked.

But no one was listening.  Some hands shivered and withdrew.  But others, driven on by the momentum of replying to her theft of the button, took a tight hold and then, almost at once, pulled.

"Oh... g-great JUSTICE!" Brenda Wade shrieked, as her bespoke suit got yanked out from her body in a dozen directions.  The expensive fabrics held - for a second or so.  Then, suddenly, with a loud "RIIIIIP!" her blazer and skirt both shredded into a half-dozen pieces each.  All around her a dozen protesters stumbled back and looked down in shock, almost as if recovering from a mob-induced dream - to see a scrap of extremely fine, shredded black fabric dangling from their grip.  

Then, slowly, they looked up.  In the wake of their inward surge and sudden withdrawal, a wide circle had formed around Brenda Wade once more.  She stood stock still, staring in shock - as they did likewise, gaping in from all around her.

The proud powerful billionaire stood exposed before her grubby workers, on the grounds of her own factory... in her underwear.  Having slipped off her bra in the limo, the only thing she had on in between her neck and her knees was a sleek and skimpy pair of pure white thong panties, with a deep scoop front.  Down at the ends of her long athletic legs, her feet were perched atop six-inch heels.  At her wrists, neck, and ears she wore glittering diamond-and-pearl studded jewelry.  Every other inch of her flesh was completely naked.

Slowly, panting softly, Brenda lifted up her head and stared into the crowd in shock.  Standing before them in her panties, she shivered.  Then she shook her head.

"How... how DARE you?!" she said, stomping her foot.

"Oh... FUCK!" the limo driver said, seeing his boss's voluptuous panty-clad ass swaying between him and the crowd.  "It's... it's gonna be a riot..." he said.  Then he made a snap decision.  "Fuck this, I'm outta here!"

Slamming the limo into reverse, he began to peel backwards down the drive, to escape what he was sure was impending chaos.

The sound of his engine revving up and then receding broke Brenda out of whatever furious tirade had been building up inside her shapely naked torso.  Whirling around at the waist - setting her huge bare breasts to shake and slosh ponderously before the stunned protesters - she gaped back at the receding limo in disbelief.

"Hey!  Wait!" she said.  "You belong to me.  You can't leave!"

Whirling around, she ran after it.

This, in turn, broke the momentary shock that had held the crowd in its grip after they beheld their dressed-down boss.  "She's... she's getting away!" one protester yelped.

Acting on instinct a large part of the crowd promptly surged forward - chasing after Brenda's receding scantily-clad bottom.

Clad in high heels and panties Brenda sprinted across the driveway of her factory, pursued by a confused throng of protesters.  Used to running in heels from her alter-ego, despite the poor choice of footwear she caught up with the limo just as it was trundling back out of the unmanned gate.  Taking a flying leap she landed on the hood and then, crouching down, for balance, she glared into the windshield.

"Hey!" she snarled down at the rookie driver.  "Let me in, right this instant, or you're fired!"

The driver took a moment to gape in disbelief at the sight of the Boss Lady's titanic breasts jiggling against the glass - and the crotch of her panties, presented between kneeling wide-spread thighs, just a little ways behind.  But then, he looked past the gorgeous furious creature and saw the crowd running at him.

"No way, bitch, I quit!" he said.

Slamming on the gas and twisting the wheel he peeled out backwards into the street and spun a bit, then, with as much agility as the big limo could manage, started to shoot away down the street.  Brenda yelped as, losing her grip, she went tumbling off during the turn.  Spilling over the side of the hood, only her training as a super-heroine allowed her to land without injury.  Rolling upon her panty-clad ass with a grunt, she managed to shoot back up to her feet - in time to see the limo speeding away down the street.

"Wait!" she gasped.  "Uh... how about a raise?!"

But the driver was already too far away to hear her.

Brenda set off after him anyways, running as fast as her high heels could carry her.  Despite the impractical footwear, she really didn't want to try running barefoot in the run-down wasteland that surrounded her factory.  The crowd pursued, chasing after their fleeing panty-clad boss.

"What are we going to do when we catch her?" one protester asked, as they ran.

"Make her listen to our demands?" another suggested, running alongside.

"Put her up against the wall and fuck her?" a third, less ideologically committed, protester asked, running with the rest.

A fourth shrugged.  "Whichever," he said, and they all kept running.

The entire procession shot away down the street - the limo pursued by scantily-clad Brenda, and Brenda pursued by the mob.  But the limo, even with all its luxuries, soon outpaced everyone else.

"Shit," Brenda said as, despite a couple fish-tails, she saw the back-end of the limo vanish around a corner.  She looked around behind her, saw a wall of protesters still running after her - half still clutching their 'FUCK BRENDA WADE' signs - and turned around.  "Double shit," she said, and kept running faster, her long bare legs lifting up high to either side of her sleek skimpy panties with each pumping stride.

"Well, time to try another option," Brenda said, as she got to the corner the limo had turned around only to see it already ten blocks ahead of her and vanishing into the distance.  Lifting a hand up to her ear, she pressed one pearl deeper into the little piece of jewelry.  A tiny light started blinking.  Still running, Brenda looked up to the blue sky overhead.  "I'll need to give them time..." she whispered.  "And, preferably, height..."

Quite a few protesters by now had dropped out.  But that just meant it was the most young, fit, aggressively masculine ones who were still in - drawn on as if by magic by the sight of their boss's insane buns bouncing before them in her tiny thong.

"We're just going to give her a revolutionary re-education, right?" one anarchist-inclined fellow asked his comrade as they ran on after her.

Beside him, the comrade smirked.  "Yeah... if you want to call it that..." he said.

Brenda darted down one alley and then another.  Some of the protesters peeled off, losing her.  But as she did so, she was going deeper and deeper into the ghetto that surrounded the factory - and away from the main, better patrolled roads.  The environment she was running through, looking like the world's highest-class hooker, got steadily sketchier and sketchier.  Soon an assortment of scuzzy ne'er-do-well types were staring in awe at the buxom panty-clad white lady as she sprinted by - and then a few seconds later at the protesters as they did the same.

Then, Brenda ran out of time.  Whipping down an alley, she pounded pneumatically down it - until suddenly she saw a group of protesters burst out into the street at the other end.  Whirling, they spotted her - pointing and shouting.  She had gotten too clever, trying to lose them, and had ended up trapped.

"Almost... just need a little more..." Brenda panted.  Trapped in the center of the alley as two groups of protesters advanced on her from either end, the high-heel-and-thong clad billionaire turned first one way and then the other.  Then she spotted a fire escape ladder that was broken down enough to work.  Clambering up onto a dumpster, Brenda took a flying leap and grabbed it.  Wrenching up onto it, she began to climb.

"Shit..." the protesters said, arriving beneath her.  A few gaped up in awe at the sight of their buxom boss climbing away - her white-sheathed mound repeatedly peeking down at them between her thighs.  But another had the presence of mind to grab his phone - and not to take shots of his climbing boss's crotch, like the others were doing.  He put it up to his face.  

"Hey Mike?  Where you at?" he said.

The only protesters left in the game at this point were the hardest of the hard core - generally young men who came out in solidarity rather than actual workers.  The man on the phone was one of the few who were both.  Most had stickers of various far-left causes pinned to their jackets, and were mostly clad in torn blue jeans and black hoodies, with bandanas pulled up over the lower half of their faces.

"Watts?  Great.  Can you get to..."  He cast around and spotted a number.  "Thirteen, and block the entrance.  You can?  Great."

Then he slid the phone into his pants, looked up, and grinned.

"Hey Boss Lady," he said.  "You ain't getting out the front.  We got you trapped.  Why don't you stop playing hide and seek and come down and be all civilized?"

Looking down between her large bare breasts, Brenda Wade glared.  "Oh, you want that do you?" she said.  "And what are you dirtbags going to do with me if I do?  Hmmm?"

The speaker smirked, his lips visible through his bandana.  "Oh, just make you film some long and detailed discussion sessions where you have to respond to your crimes," he said.  "But don't think we're gonna let you change first..."

Ms. Americana glowered - and kept climbing.  "Sexist!" she hissed.

"All struggles are class struggles, bitch!" the protester called back.

"How convenient for you to say," she said.

Getting to the top of the building, Brenda peeked overhead.  It was deserted.  But based on distant shouts, she knew he was right - and that the front entrance was almost certainly blocked.  There were significant gaps between her current position and the adjacent buildings.  Difficult, but not impossible.

Following her gaze, the protester shook his head.  "You don't want to do that, Boss Bitch," he said.  "Look you can run all you like but you can't hide from the Revolution!"

Looking down past her ample derriere, Brenda saw a couple anti-fa types had managed to jump onto the fire ladder and were climbing up after her.  They were being slowed by their tendency to stop and gape in awe at what she was showing off - but coming up after her nonetheless.  Then, she heard a soft 'whump whump whump' on the wind.  Slowly she smirked.

"Can't I?" she said.

One hand still on the fire ladder, Brenda suddenly leaned out into empty space.  Just below her, the climbing protesters yelped in shock.  Then they yelped again, even louder - when a rope descended into her hand.  With a smug smirk, Americana seized tight hold of it and, swinging out, wrapped her arms and legs around it - tucking it tight down in between her breasts and up against the crotch of her thong.  Then, as the protesters gaped in awe, her panty-clad body lifted up into the air and then soared upwards into the open blue sky.

"Took you long enough," Brenda murmured, touching her earring again.

"Sorry Ms. Wade," a voice crackled back.

In the helicopter high above her, two helmeted figures sat - members of the extra-special private security detail she kept on retainer for cases just like this.  Cases where her normal first option, getting an assist from a local super-heroine, would be far too suspicious.  "We were doing some work for Ms. Morgan across town."

"Well... better late than never... if you want to get paid," Brenda said.

"Roger," the pilot spoke back.  "Hold on tight, Miss.  We'll have you to your private helipad in no time at all."

Brenda nodded.  Then, she did some quick mental geography.  She gasped.  "Wait!" she said.  "Wait.  Don't use my mansion!  Go to, uh, Wade Telecom, it's..."

But it was too late.  Carrying the underwear-clad billionaire dangling below them, the pilot had already plotted a clear course straight through the Delta City skyline.  Looking to either side, Brenda Wade saw the glass sides of sky-scrapers whooshing past her.  And as she flew through, dozens, then hundreds, then thousands of faces all started to press to the windows - as every single office worker in the entirety of downtown Delta City rushed out to gape in awe as its most famous heiress flew past them - clad in very little but her thong.

Wind whistling past her naked flesh, eyes boring into her from all sides, Brenda Wade shivered - but clung tight to her rope and glowered.  Especially as she was carried past Wade Tower, which seemed to have more faces pressed to it eagerly ogling her than all the others combined.

"You just can't find good help these days..." she muttered to herself, as she was carried at last out of the skyline and on towards her waiting palatial mansion.

That night, Brenda Wade stood in her fortress, dressed in the defiantly skimpy bikini costume of Ms. Americana.  Which was only moderately less revealing than what she'd been chased through the streets in, but a vast improvement in terms of her own psychology.  Fuming, she studied her Criminal Logic Analyzer.  To one side Flag Girl sat on a stool, idly spinning back and forth while playing with her phone.

"How have you not heard about this yet?" Flag Girl asked.  "It's been in all the news.  Your, like, executives keep sending you messages about it."

She waved at another screen that showed Brenda Wade's corporate email traffic, which Brenda, as she frequently did, was studiously ignoring.

"I've been busy!" Ms. Americana said.

Bending over her computer Americana studied a map of Delta City.  Her facilities were highlighted in blue, and red splotches indicated union activity.  Almost every one of her precious blue blocks had a large red stain.  Moving a cursor back and forth she moved up and down in time - and watched the red splotches spread and multiply.

"It doesn't make any sense.  I'm a great boss, who would do this to me?" she said, as she studied the growing threat.  She tapped a gloved finger to her full red lips.  "Some villain must be behind this, or the Neo-Soviets, or the mafia... they've figured out that there's some connection between Ms. Americana and Wade Industries and are trying to undermine my fortune to get to me."

"Uh, huh," Flag Girl said, squirming back and forth on her stool, face buried in her phone.  "Sure."

Ms. Americana looked up, irritated.  "Don't you have some patrolling to be doing?" she said.

Flag Girl sighed.  "Yes, Ma'am," she said.  Tossing her phone aside, she climbed onto her personalized motorcycle and peeled out.

Ms. Americana watched her sidekick go, then turned back to her screen.  Leaning over, she studied the map, looking for patterns.  Then, she gasped.  Moving her cursor, she selected one facility, in a wealthier suburb of the city.  The view changed to highlight that location.  The top of the screen read 'Wade Advanced Technology Center.'  To the right, a report from her corporate security indicated that union activity at this site was growing fast - with an additional note that they suspected some of the leadership was centered here.

Ms. Americana panted heavily.  She shook her head.

"That seals it," she said.  "This has to be some sort of plot."

Standing up, she put a finger to her lips, studying the screen while deep in thought.  "This is a job for Ms. Americana," she said.  "But... how?"

Then she got a bright idea.  Reaching down she picked up the phone.

"Hi, Larry," she said.  "Yes, yes, I know what time it is.  Tell your family 'Hi'.  Look, you know the receptionist at W.A.T.C.?  Okay, but you know that they have one, right?  Yeah?  Well, fire her."

Ms. Americana listened for a moment, and rolled her eyes.

"Come up with a reason," she said.  "What do I pay you for?!  Just get it done.  I want to hire someone in her place, effective immediately."

She listened another moment, and raised her head.  A sly smile spread across her lips.

"Oh, don't you worry your little head about that," she cooed.  "I'll send you a name shortly."

Ms. Americana took the rest of the night off, to get some beauty sleep.  The next morning, bright and early, Brenda Wade, alias Ms. Americana, marched up the walkway to the Wade Advanced Technology Center.  This building had been impressive when first built, looking like a Greek Temple dedicated to technology:  a huge dome towered at the center, flanked by glass and metal wings.  Several antenna gantries and radar dishes sprouted from its roof.  The entire site was surrounded by a perimeter fence and gate, through which Brenda had driven effortlessly.

As she strutted up the walkway towards the building, Brenda was dressed in an only slightly less opulent version of the outfit she had worn in her limo.  Instead of fine dark Italian fabric, her suit was beige - but still featured a similarly daring cut of both blazer and skirt, struggling to contain her stunning proportions.  She wore a silk blouse under her blazer, but with the top several buttons unbuttoned, and a less expensive pair of six-inch spike-heeled pumps.  Brenda didn't actually own any less expensive pairs, so she had had to stop by a women's clothing store on her way to buy some.  

Her well-coifed hair now appeared blonde, instead of her usual sable.  She had on a big pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and some costume jewelry - a big clunky bracelet and a simple silver necklace - both of which contained hidden communication devices just in case.

'If sex appeal works on captains of industry,' she thought to herself, smirking, as she began to ascend the steps to the facility, 'I bet it works ten times as well on "union" stooges!'

Dangling down across her considerable chest, Brenda wore a lanyard, with an ID card riding atop her bosom.  Upon the card was a smiling picture of herself in her new digs, above the name 'Betty Ward', then 'Admin. Assist.' and then 'W.A.T.C.', and finally the Wade Industries logo.

As she approached the front door, it suddenly opened.  A tear-streaked old woman in an immaculate pant-suit emerged, carrying a cardboard box loaded with her personal belongings.  Moments later, two private security goons emerged behind her, trailing her.

"But... but I don't understand!" the old woman whimpered.  "I've been a loyal employee for thirty years!"

One of the guards escorting her shrugged.  "Y'must've done somethin'" he said.

"Not our department," the other said - too busy checking out the ultra-hotty strutting past to pay her much attention.

As she went past the tearful old lady, Brenda Wade briefly felt a tinge of guilt.  She considered using her pull to get the old lady an unusually nice severance package.  But then she noticed the 'Union Strong' button pinned to her blazer, and turned her nose up with a sniff.

"Uppity bitch deserves it for thinking she knows my business better than me," she thought.  Extending out her smiling Betty Ward badge, she let herself into the building.  Her 'receptionist desk' was at the center of a vast rotunda.  Settling in, Brenda Wade was pleased by how clean everything was.  Behind her was a break area, with a long counter along the wall holding a coffee machine, fridge, and microwave, with a few tables and chairs scattered in front of it.  Various technical workers filtered in and out, mostly getting or refreshing their morning coffee.  As they did so, each stopped to stare at the new 'receptionist' in awe.

"God damn..." one Chinese-American engineer said, as he watched 'Betty Ward' bend over and peek inside her desk drawers.  His badge labeled him as 'Ronald Wong'

"What happened to Mrs. Simkins?" a bronze-skinned colleague asked - his badge labeled him 'Amit Singh'.

"Who the fuck cares?" Ronald replied, as 'Betty Ward' stood back up and started flipping through some files.

Nearby a female engineer, with prominent glasses and bright purple hair, glared at them as she poured hot water into her tea.  She came up beside them, and made a 'I'm watching you' gesture with forked fingers.  Her badge, hanging upon a far more modest chest than 'Betty's' which was clad in a blouse and black cardigan, labeled her as 'Dr. Liz Fender, PhD'

"You guys need to get back to work right now," she said.  "Or I'm going to file a complaint."

"Why do you get to complain?" Amit asked.  He nodded toward 'Betty'.  "She doesn't seem to mind."

Brenda was actually so busy investigating her immediate surroundings - and so used to men staring at her, especially as her alter-ego - that she had in fact not even noticed them at all.  

Liz glared at him.  "Don't test me," she said.

Sighing, the two men turned and walked away, trying - and mostly failing - to get their minds back on work.

As the various workers came and went and all of them - women and men - stopped briefly to stare, only one of them had the balls to get a good long look.  A lanky mixed-race man whose badge read 'Dwayne Brown', and then ‘Senior Staff Physicist,’ he wore cargo pants and an AC/DC T-shirt.  He had a paler spot on his finger where his wedding ring had been, before a recent divorce.  Sitting at a table he stirred his coffee, studying Betty from afar as she wiggled her ass in her new chair, and took a few experimental taps at her keys.  Then he shrugged.

"Fuck it," he said.  "Like I've got anything better to do today."

Having worked up his courage, alone among the technical staff so far, he got up and walked over to talk to her.

"Hey," Dwayne said, coming up to the side of her desk.

"Oh," Ms. Americana said.  Turning her head, she gave him a brilliant smile.  "Hi!" she said.

Dwayne was slightly taken-aback by her response, expecting something more guarded.  'She clearly hasn't worked here too long' he thought.

"You the new receptionist?" he asked lamely - and then took a sip of his coffee, mostly to avoid the compulsion to stare at her giant breasts.

"Oh, yes!" Brenda said.  Folding her hands on her lap, she beamed up at him - seemingly ignorant of the way that action, by squeezing her huge hooters tight together and sending them surging forward tight against her blazer and blouse, promptly caused Dwayne's cup to start trembling in his hand as if an earthquake had just hit.  "I'm so happy to be here!" Betty Ward continued, unprompted.  "I'm proud to finally work for Wade Industries.  I hear it's a great company, with an absolutely fantastic leader!"

Dwayne twisted his lip up at this.  "Yeah, it's a great company, I guess," he said.  "As long as you never expect a real raise in your life."

Brenda Wade tilted her head.  Her eyes briefly darkened, but she quickly replaced it with a deliberately puzzled expression.  "What are you talking about?" she asked, as innocently as she could.  "I hear Brenda pays very competitive starting salaries, and then gives guaranteed compensation improvements for meeting key performance objectives.  It's a very fair system for workers, or so I hear!  Why.. I don't even know why anyone here would ever want to unionize!"

"Yeah, right, of course," Dwayne said.  He might have had a more coherent response, but his train of thought had just gotten derailed down into Cleavage Canyon.  He jerked his gaze back up to her face, before she noticed - hopefully.

'This one has certainly drank the kool-aid early,' he thought, studying her.  But then his eyes dropped, briefly, back to her enormous hooters, and then her short skirt, before darting back up to her face.  'Fuck it,' he thought.  'Not like you'll care what's inside that brain, when and if you can get this hot dumb piece of ass into bed.'

"So, uh... since you’re new, would you like a tour?" Dwayne asked.

Brenda brightened up immediately.  "Would I ever!" she said, leaping to her feet.

"Uh... follow me," Dwayne said - and turned swiftly around, before it became too obvious what effect seeing her huge cans jostle and slosh after their sudden upward movement was having on the front of his pants.

With the gorgeous new 'receptionist' in tow, Dwayne walked to one end of the rotunda.  As he did so several more engineers passed on their way to or from the break area - and to a man stopped and stared in astonishment and envy at what their colleague had strutting along beside him.  Purple-haired Liz came back through, holding her laptop by her side, and promptly skidded to a halt, her jaw dropping, as she saw who Dwayne was chatting with.

'Damn... he works fast...' she thought, impressed despite herself, as she watched the pair from afar.  Then, shaking her head, she got her mind back on what she was doing, and hurried off towards her next meeting.

"Let's start with the lab areas," Dwayne said.  'They'll hold her attention longer than the boring stuff' he thought.  'Give me more time to work - or at least get a nice close look.'  

He guided Brenda through a pair of large double doors into the right-hand wing of the building, opening onto a large corridor.  To their right, large windows opened onto the grounds and let daylight spill in.  To the left, doors opened up at intervals, each with a security reader.  Rather than take her into any of them, Dwayne guided her down the hall to a series of windows that looked into a succession of laboratory spaces.  There was a machining lab, a clean room, a chemical bench area, and several others, each filled with state-of-the-art equipment.  Much of the machinery was automated, but here and there technicians moved about, adjusting settings or transferring work pieces.

"Oooh," Brenda said, and at each lab leaned forward and pretended to be fascinated by the various boring machines and faceless workers moving within.  Which suited Dwayne fine as each time he got to stand back and marvel at the buxom swell of her ass under her tiny skirt.

"And here are some of our previous 'successes' - if you can really call them that," Dwayne said, once they'd reached the end of the corridor.  He led her back to the midpoint, and to a little alcove he'd guided her past the first time, in which a display case was set up.  He guided her up to it and pointed out various contents.

"This is a model of one of the things in the clean area - I can't take you there without several safety classes and a gowning session," he said, pointing at a miniature of a complicated piece of industrial machinery.  "The full version allows short-ranged matter transferrence to a receiver when it spins at high speed.  Dilip's team was overjoyed when they perfected it, but management clamped down hard - said there were patent and DoD issues, and it got taken off our hands - so no-one got any raises for it.  We still have to keep it powered on, though, and have to get like six layers of approval every time we take it down for the annual preventative maintenance - I guess just in case old lady Wade wants to stop by and get a photo op with it or something.  Amit keeps the control server running under his desk."

"Brenda Wade probably knows more about this situation than you do," Betty Ward said, hands on her hips.  "You should really just trust her to make the right decisions!"

"Sure, sure," Dwayne said, stepping down a little further so she didn't see him rolling his eyes.  "And this," he said, pointing at a loop of golden wire with a control unit attached at one end, "this was one I thought was going to be amazing.  This generates a super-powerful forcefield when you insert the right transdimensional wave matrix into it.  Unfortunately, management decided to transfer production overseas - they had us churn out a bunch of prototypes to ship over and that's the last I heard of it.  I guess they're still trying to work out the kinks for full production in, like, Singapore or wherever."

"Shenzhen," Brenda said.  "Uh... I would think," she quickly followed up.

Fortunately for her, Dwayne was not really listening to her.  Instead he had backed up and watched as she bent over to look at other objects in the case.  'God damn...' he thought, as he watched her short skirt ride up and down her curvy ass.  He was pretty sure if he just bent down a little, he could see her mound - but didn't want to get caught doing that.  'I don't think I want to buy this cow,’ he thought, swooping up to her narrow waist and then back down across her wide hips, as she wiggled and stared into the case, apparently oblivious - ‘but I sure hope her milk is free...'

"Right, of course," he said, absently, to whatever it was she had just said.  Then he shook his head and got his eyes in a safer place before he got caught.  "Anyways, since we didn't bring the project to completion, once again - I didn't get a raise.  Anyways..."

To take his mind off that - not wanting to lose his one-in-a-million shot at scoring an 11 like 'Betty' by coming off as a whiny scrub - he moved on to another item featured in the case.

"This," he said, gesturing at a pair of glasses, "was one of Liz's brainchilds.  These look just like normal glasses but, when you put them on, completely mess up facial recognition software.  I don't really understand it - not my sub-field - but apparently even the programs don't realize they're being messed with."

"Sounds amazing," Brenda said, carefully adjusting the identical pair on her face, and hoping beyond hope he didn't notice.  Fortunately for her, Dwayne wasn't a glasses man, and his eyes were rarely getting anywhere near her face anyways.

"But, yet again - no commercial release," Dwayne said.  "I forget what it even was that time.  I think they said the Feds were taking it over or something?"

"Probably for the best," Brenda said.  Turning towards him - and unknowingly forcing his eyes to behave themselves again - she faced the lanky scientist.  "You seem nice," she commented, "but you really should learn to trust your betters more.  It's good for you!"

"Uh... sure..." Dwayne said.  He nodded.  "Let's go see the office area."

He guided her back down the hall, across the rotunda, and into the other set of double doors.  They came out on a small raised platform overlooking a sea of cubicles.  Here and there, a couple of balding bespectacled heads peeked their heads up, and gaped at the curvy creature looking down at them in disbelief.

"This is the main cube area," Dwayne said.  "We're pretty much all in here, managers and engineers alike.  All the brown and beige and background noise you could want."

"It looks very nice!" 'Betty' said, folding her hands before her short skirt and surveying her domain with pleasure.  "Very cost-effective and conducive to productivity!"

"Uh... sure," Dwayne said.  "There are some conference rooms around the edges, and some open meeting areas in the center," he said, pointing to a couple of large tables in a recessed area at the center of the sprawling rows of cubicles.  Then he guided her back out across the rotunda, returning her to her receptive desk, and turned to face her.

'What a bitch' he thought, as Brenda smiled up at him.  But then, when she was briefly distracted, his eyes made another momentary dip down and then up again.  'Ah... fuck it...' he thought, afterwards.

"Hey, Betty," he said to her.  "You interested in coming to a union meeting?  Maybe afterwards, we could go and have lunch..."

He had only mentioned the meeting because going straight to lunch seemed too forward.  He was hoping she would blow that off, and then he could hook her on lunch or coffee as a 'compromise'.  So he was surprised when, after all her comments, Betty's face seemed to light up like a pin-ball machine.

"Oh!  I would love to!" she said.  She bounced eagerly on her heels.

"Oh... well, then, I'll, uh, come by and grab you at noon?" Dwayne asked.

"Sure!" Brenda said.  Then she looked to one side, and smirked deviously.

'This will let me get to the bottom of things in record time!' she thought.  Unaware that at that moment, Dwayne was thinking almost exactly the same thing, as he used her averted gaze as an opportunity to stare in disbelief at the body that had just accepted his advances.

"Great," he said, softly, momentarily having a hard time processing speech as he stared at Brenda's short skirt and imagined the possibilities.  He shook his head.  "Well, uh, see you then," he said.

"See you!" Brenda said, smiling and waving happily.

Turning quickly, walking with some difficulty due to the situation in his pants, Dwayne quickly took his leave.  Knowing there was no way he was going to be productive at any point for the remainder of the morning, he dashed off a quick email begging out of his only meeting, and then hurried off to a bathroom in which to secure a stall to sit and jerk off.

Brenda sat at her desk for the rest of the morning, pretending to do work.  Few people who didn't already know where they were going entered, and for those she was able to guide them thanks to Dwayne's tour.  There was a huge pile of other administrative duties quietly piling up in her email inbox… but Brenda studiously ignored these, figuring that they would be for the next hired underling to take care of.  Besides, she hadn’t figured out how to work the task management system yet.  Soon enough, noon rolled around and Dwayne showed up at her desk.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Of course!" she said.

She followed him back into the office area.  In a recessed area at the center of the cube farm about thirty personnel had gathered - almost every one else had either left for lunch or were off being busy in other parts of the building.

'I can't believe they're doing this in my building, and while I'm paying them!' Brenda thought, furious - but trying not to let that show too much on her scowling face.

"This is Betty," Dwayne said.  He stood beside her, slightly closer than typical spacing in a low-key effort to maintain his 'dibs' - although he didn't seem to have much to worry about in this department, as most of the other engineers seemed barely able to keep their jaws off the table as they took in Brenda's body.  "She's new," he said, "but is union-curious."

"Welcome aboard, Betty," Liz Fender said, with a clipped voice.  While the others had trouble to keep from staring, she kept shooting a slightly hostile glare at what looked for all the world like the sort of 'receptionist' who would only be keeping her clothes on for the first few minutes of her ‘first’ ‘debut’ video.

"Now then," Amit Singh said, "to business."

He had the meeting agenda printed out in front of him and started to go down it.  There were several major items on it - whether to strike in solidarity with the Wade Plastics workers; whether the family leave demands proposed by central union leadership were adequate; a report from the outreach committee on how efforts were going to recruit other people within the building.  Brenda rolled her eyes and barely managed to pay attention to any of it.  'Just get to the part where you let slip which supervillain is backing you, so I can start punching...' she thought to herself.  But as discussion carried on to declining wage/productivity ratios and the impact of recent cost-saving changes in PTO policy, that part never seemed to come up.

The only other part that ever got her attention was whenever anyone said something bad about Brenda Wade.  Then, Betty Ward reflexively spoke up to come to her defense.

"Brenda Wade is a truly amazing person," she said quickly, after one portly engineer had the temerity to describe senior management as 'arrogant and out of touch.'  "You should really consider her perspective more!"

"Brenda Wade works extremely hard, on things you don't understand!" she said as another, in the midst of complaining about being denied a vacation request due to being needed to finish a project, complained about how often their CEO seemed to take luxury trips abroad.  "Just because she's on a beach, doesn't mean she isn't busy on your behalf!"

"Brenda Wade is the lynchpin that holds this company together," Betty said, after someone described herself as 'checked out and barely involved' with the day to day operations of the company.  "Without her you would all have nothing!"

Standing to one side and fairly near her, with each pro-Brenda Wade comment 'Betty Ward' made, Dr. Liz Fender turned her eyes over and glared harder.

'There's something about this bitch that is just off...' she thought.  Her eyes darted up and down Brenda, and then narrowed.  'Wait...'

Ducking back from the row of people she was standing near, Liz circled out around the edge of the meeting until she was standing right behind Brenda.  Focused on the meeting - to the extent she was focused on anything - Brenda didn't notice.   Because at that moment, someone had said something else negative about Brenda Wade.

"Brenda Wade is really an amazingly kind and generous person," Betty Ward said, sternly, hands upon her curvy hips.  Beside her Dwayne groaned internally and rolled his eyes - and despite the size of her rack he was almost starting to regret inviting her.  "You would all learn to love her if you just took the time to understand her," Betty asserted.

Then her eyes suddenly darted upwards and she let out a loud gasp - as at that moment, sneaking up behind her, Liz's fingers suddenly appeared at the top of her head, seizing hold of her golden hair.  Liz gave a fierce tug - and the golden hair came right off, revealing her actual sable tresses beneath.

"Ha!" Liz said, holding up the blonde wig and shaking it back and forth like a bloody shirt.  "I knew it!"

"Liz," Ronald Wong said, shocked.  "You're hardly one to talk about non-natural hair..."

"That's not what I mean!" Liz snapped.  And, while 'Betty' still stood stock-still and shocked, Liz darted her other hand out and seized her glasses.  She had recognized them almost instantly, once she had gotten a sustained look.  She had, after all, had to personally tweak the design in SolidWorks no less than thirty-five times, to accommodate various component and spec changes.

She yanked the glasses off, and held them down by her side.

"Oh... oh my fucking God..." one engineer said, as he pointed at the gaping face of the woman who suddenly stood exposed before him.

"It's... it's fucking Brenda Wade!" another yelped, staring at the woman who stood in their midst in disbelief.

"H-holy shit!" Dwayne said, staring over at ‘Betty’ in shock.  'Well... there goes my hot 'date'...' he could not help but think to himself, bittery, his eyes briefly dropping down to her tits.

"You... you villains!  You fiends!" Brenda gasped, her exposed face whipping first one way and then the other, as she found all her workers staring at her.  "How dare you do this to me?"

"What the fuck are you doing sneaking into our private meetings, bitch?" Liz asked, holding her wig and glasses out and shaking them back and forth like a lawyer presenting a courtroom with her evidence.

"That's my personal business!" Brenda declared hotly.  Holding up two index fingers, she pointed them accusatively to both the left and the right, her eyes swinging around as she glared at everything she saw there.  "As is everything else here!  As is this building!  As are you!  This is all my personal business and you don't ask questions about it!"

"That may be, Boss Bitch," Liz growled.  Of all the engineers in the room she was one of the few who seemed to have gotten through the exposure of Brenda's real identity with her reasoning intact - mostly because she didn't have to make the sudden transition from just staring in awe at her tits to trying to deal with her as an actual person.  "But it's also our business.  This place is our lives, our livelihoods - it's how we feed our families!"

"That's... that's not important!" Brenda hissed.

"Our lives aren't important?!"

"Not... not as important as..."  Brenda caught herself at the last second - she had almost said 'as Ms. Americana'.  "As... some of the things I have to deal with.  The whole city... the whole world depends on me!"

Liz shook her head.  "That's just delusional!" she said.

Brenda rolled her eyes.  "I can't have a conversation with you," she said.  "You don't understand.  You're too far beneath me.  I'm done with all of you!"

She started to turn and back away, in preparation to storm out and have them all fired.  Or at least disciplined, and told to keep their mouths shut.  But there were still many who were struggling to deal with the sudden opportunity to present their demands directly to their high-and-mighty Girl Boss, who did not want to see that opportunity vanish so quickly.

"Hey!  She's leaving!" one gasped.

"Don't let her!" another said.

"Stop her!"

A portly engineer who had been watching the meeting from a chair he'd pulled up to the edge of the meeting area heard this, and reacted instinctively.  As Brenda tried to storm past him he reached out, and grabbed hold of her skirt.  Under normal circumstances this action, while highly improper and impertinent, would have not had dire consequences.  But Brenda Wade, due to her alter ego, had selected her clothes to deliberately avoid being grabbed or restrained by them.  So, as she took just one more powerful rolling step of her buxom hips, the entire skirt promptly tore away in his hand - leaving Brenda exposed in a skimpy pair of black panties underneath her blouse.

"Ooh!" Brenda gasped.  Spinning around she stared down at her body, then at the torn skirt, then at the faces staring at her in shock.  A look of fury slowly twisted across her face.  "You... you perverts!"

A look of genuine horror and shock had appeared on Liz's face, along with many of the others - while the rest were too busy looking down and gaping in awe at what she had just revealed to them.  "It... it wasn't... we didn't mean to... it was just..." Liz said, trying to point at the guilty engineer in shock.

But, putting her hands on her panty-clad hips, Brenda shook her head in fury.

"Oh, that is IT!" she said.  "I'm going, and I'm coming back with the cops, and when I get here I'm not just having you fired I'm having all of you arrested!"

And with that she whirled around and took off running.  Carried by her powerful shapely physique, within moments she had bounded up the aisle of the cube farm and vanished out of sight.

But despite her words, Brenda was not actually heading for the exit.  "There's still a villain behind this, I know there has to be..." she muttered, as she ran.  "He's just disguising himself too well.  Possibly Mr. Right, as the guy who grabbed the skirt?  Whatever... I'm done with Brenda Wade on this one.  It's Miss Americana time now!"

And so saying, she ducked into an empty bathroom, locked it, and then putting her hands on her hips, smirked confidently.  "Time to bring out the Queen of Justice," she said, and then started her magnificent spinning transformation sequence.

Meanwhile, back in the center of the cube farm, the pro-union engineers were still recovering from their shock.  Still holding Brenda's wig and glasses, Liz shook her head in horror at what had happened.  Standing nearby, Dwayne was still trying to work out his feelings about the fact that he still had a half-chub from spending so much time staring at his hated boss's body.  Ronald Wong, meanwhile, breathing heavily, slunk to his cubicle, which was on the edge of the meeting area, and sank into his chair.  He held his head in his hands.

Then he looked up.  Arrayed before his seat were six monitors.  One of them was devoted to showing constant streams of diagnostic process data.  His brow furrowed, as he noticed a couple readings had just ticked up sharply.  Grabbing a mouse, he opened up another monitoring program and stared at it in bewilderment.  "Wait..." he said softly, as he started to put two and two together.  "What the fuck?"

His train of thought suddenly derailed as the doors above suddenly slammed open under a kick from a gleaming red-and-white boot.

"Alright, perverts!" Miss Americana declared, as she advanced into the room full of gawking and/or horrified engineers, resplendent in her mask and her belt and her famous bikini costume.  "I hear you guys were very mean to Brenda Wade.  I'm here to take care of you!"

"Holy Shit," Amit gasped, as he saw what was striding towards him.  "Looks like the fucking Super Scab just arrived..."

Meanwhile, gawking in disbelief from his desk, Ronald Wong shook his head in awe.  "It... can't be..." he muttered.  Then, whirling around, he dove down under his desk.  His cube was an absolute sty, with papers and old cups stacked everywhere.  Desperately he started to dig through old boxes hidden away under his desk, trying to find where he had left something very particular...

"Alright," Ms. Americana said, as she came to stand in the entrance to the recessed area where the meeting had been held - blocking the main route to the exit.  LIfting a gloved hand, she swept an accusative finger over the sea of gaping workers.  "Which of you is the disguised villain, and which are his - or her - henchmen?  Just give yourselves up now, and it will all be easier for you!"

Liz shook her head.  "V-villain?" she said.  "You mean, like, Captain K.O. or some shit?  We're not villains.  We're just ordinary people who want to get our share of the pie, without having been born with it!"

"Sounds like what a villain would say to me!" Americana said.  She shook her head.  "Guess we do this the fun way then."

And with that she began wading into them punching and kicking.

"Oh, my God!" several of the engineers groaned. Several shot to their feet to try to defend themselves.  A few, being the kind of dorks who also obsess over times and weights at the gym, were even fairly athletic.  But none of them had any sort of chance against a superheroine.  Again and again, groaning and moaning, bespectacled or straight-laced employees went flying backwards, lanyards flapping through the air around their necks, in the wake of her mighty kicks.

"Admit who is behind you, and this can all be over!" Miss Americana declared, as she waded fearlessly into them.

Suddenly, with a yelp portly Ronald Wong found what he was looking for.  He jerked a decrepit cardboard box out from the mess under his cube and opened it up.  "Oh, yes... yes, yes!" he said.

Leaping up out of his cube, he took a moment to gape in horror at what was happening.  It was as if a buxom and untouchable monster was in the midst of crushing all his friends and co-workers beneath the heel of her boot.  Then, face darting up, he identified a few of what he knew to be the more athletic types still not engaged around the edges, and reaching into the box, began to toss things out to them.

"Hey, Dwayne!" he said.  "Catch!"

From his hand flew out a curious band.  It looked sort of like a belt, but was mostly made of black plastic.  Golden wires stretched around it, connecting various sub-components embedded in the plastic, and it had a simple rough steel clasp at the front.

Dwayne caught it, and stared at in shock, then looked up.

"I... I appreciate the thought, Ron," he said, across the scene of Ms. Americana stomping down their meeting.  "But... I designed these and you built them - we both know very well they don't do jack if the central energy transmitter is off.  And that got dismantled and moved out years ago..."

"Just... wear it!" Ron called out, already picking another identical copy out of his box.

Shrugging, Dwayne put it down to his waist, slipped it on over his clothes, and then closed the clasp.  Immediately a crackle of energy shot around the clasp, and there was a faint hum as the device started up.  Dwayne's eyebrows shot upwards.  "Well... holy shit..." he said.

Miss Americana meanwhile was busy delivering a beating to one of the men who had been exceptionally persistent in insulting Brenda Wade in her presence.  Looking up she saw the belt on Dwayne's hips, and suddenly twigged to what was happening.  "Uh... oh..." she said.  Leaving the bruised and dazed employee she had been beating lying in her jiggling wake, she turned and advanced right on Dwayne.

"Give that to me," she said, pointing at the prototype belt.  "It's not yours."

"Says who?" he asked, bewildered.

"Me," she responded, and attacked.

Dwayne gasped.  His limbs snapped up instinctively and blocked her first blow.  Given her furious might, he anticipated being hurled backwards and through about four cubicle walls.  So he was rather shocked when her blow instead stopped cold.  Growling, Ms. Americana attacked again and again, giving him a kick then a punch then a chop.  He blocked each one.  But though he might be as durable as she was, he was still not a tenth as experienced as the veteran super-heroine.  Wising up, Ms. Americana swept his leg out from under him and then landed a sharp uppercut to his face as he fell, snapping his head back in a way that, even with the belt, left him dazed.

"Lights out, Lover Boy," she purred, as she landed the blow.  She watched him sink to lie at her feet, and shook her head.  "For the record, I knew exactly what you were angling for from the word 'hi'..." she muttered.

"Wh-what?" he whimpered, lying dazed below her... and still managing to appreciate his new view up her spectacular long legs and at the underside of her jutting panty-clad buns.

But neither he nor she had long to contemplate the slip.  Seeing Dwayne go down, Ron dug hastily in his box and pulled out another prototype.  "Here, Liz!" he said, tossing it to her.  As far as he knew she just did a ton of spin classes - but that would have to do.  "Put this on!"

"Don't have to tell me twice," Dr. Fender said and promptly began to wrap the belt around her waist.

Whirling her head, Americana saw Ronald holding the box.

"Need to put a stop to that right now..." she growled.  Whirling she rounded on him, before Liz could get on her belt or Dwayne could recover, and charged towards him.

Seeing the mighty heroine advancing on him Ron gulped.  Then grabbing out belts, he tossed them away as fast he could.  "Here Amit!" he said.  "And here, Yang," he said, tossing it to a fellow Chinese engineer who he knew at least bothered to occasionally do Tai Chi.  "And here you go, Doug and... and Sheryl!"  Tossing away the last of the belts, with a terrified whimper, Ms. Americana just a few strides away, he whirled up the now empty box and showed it to her - trembling like a kid in a game of tag who is desperately trying to call 'Base!' over and over again before he gets tackled all at once by a half-dozen pursuing foes.

But the sight of the empty box did have its desired effect.  Realizing decking the portly engineer was now useless, Americana slowed to a stop and warily looked around.  She grit her teeth as, all around her, she saw a half-dozen more employees each slipping on a prototype belt.

"This is going to be... interesting..." she muttered to herself.

Snapping a fist into her palm, Liz nodded as she felt the force-field crackle slightly between them.  Then she looked up and glared at Ms. Americana.

"Alright," she announced to her comrades.  "Let's give this super-powered Pinkerton a taste of the People's Fist..."

Five comrades closing in, each from a different direction, Liz and the other belt-empowered engineers slowly advanced on their foe.  Yang made the first move, remembering just enough of his childhood Wu Shu to dart in and try to do a quick jabbing combo.  He got a backhand to the face for his trouble.  But with the belt on this just left him dazed, not out of the fight, and left an opening into which the others promptly charged.

"Oh... will you little people just learn your place?!" Miss Americana rumbled as, whirling round, she prepared to face them.  A swirling melee ensued, in which Liz and her compatriots attempted to land blow after blow.  But though she was badly outnumbered, Miss Americana was still far more skilled.  She managed to hold her own, and hold them off - if only just barely.

"I can keep this up all day!" she growled as she sent Amit hurtling away from her, groaning, with a fat lip - but then had to whirl to face the others circling her, before she could finish him off.  "Can you?" she asked - before engaging in a kicking duel with Liz that left the female engineer sprawled on her back - but still with two comrades to either side to keep Americana off her as she got back to her feet.

Meanwhile Dwayne, recovering from getting his clock cleaned, picked himself up off the floor.  Shaking his head to clear it, he suddenly got an expression on his face as if a lightbulb had gone off.  Turning, he sprinted away.

Seeing him run, Liz growled.  "Dwayne, you coward!" she shouted.  "Come back and help us!"

"One... one more won't make much difference!" he asserted - probably true given how things were going for them.  "Just... just one second, I have an idea!"

Diving into his own cube he began furiously searching through his drawers.  Fortunately, he kept a much tighter ship than Ron.  Finding what he was after, he ripped open a shiny anti-static storage bag, and pulled out an odd looking circuit board connected up to a few prototype fixtures and a keypad.  Running back over, he pointed his arm at Miss Americana - being careful to target her hips and not those of his fellows.

"Let's see how this works..." he said.  Then he hit a button.

Immediately a loud beeping sounded from around Miss Americana's curvy hips, like a truck was backing up.  Then a soft voice quietly sounded, from just above her panties.   'Command Priority One - System Shut Down Activated... Repeat - System Shut Down Activated...' it said.  A moment later, without any of the crackling pyrotechnics that usually accompanied its forced removals, Miss Americana's belt suddenly snapped open and, tumbling off her hips, landed on the floor between her feet with a dull 'thunk!'

Blue eyes looking down, Miss Americana's lip hung open and quivered for a moment.  "Well... that isn't good..." she murmured to herself.

A moment later she took five different belt-empowered punches from five different directions at once.  When their fists withdrew she was left wobbling back and forth, her eyes bugged out and spinning.  "W-wait..." the mighty heroine whimpered.  But amped up by the urgency of combat her foes were in no mood to wait, and promptly slapped, punched and stomped on her some more.  Several blows hit her breasts, causing her strapless bra to break open and come falling off.

With a heavy thud, Ms. Americana went sprawling and landed flat on her back on the floor.  Her head lifted for a moment, her gaze visibly spinning.

"That... was... unfair..." she softly whimpered, staring up at the engineers towering all around her.  Then her pretty masked head fell back to the carpet and she succumbed to slumber, having been punched out.

Studying the gorgeous, topless figure lying at their feet, the employees of the Wade Advanced Technology Center slowly shook their heads.

"H-holy shit... it really is Miss Americana..." Amit said, staring in awe.

"How the fuck did she get here so fast?" Liz asked.

Dwayne tapped his lips, remembering something she had said.  "I... have a theory..." the physicist said.

Kneeling down beside the sprawled and unconscious super-beauty, he reached out his hand.  It came very close to Americana's gigantic bare breasts.

Standing over him, Liz's hands tightened on her hips.  "Dwayne..." she said, in soft warning.

He ignored her... and also ignored Americana's giant inviting breasts.  Instead, moving past the huge jiggling globes, he went up to her mask.  Seizing it, he peeled it away from her pretty unconscious face, until it finally tugged off.

"H-holy shit!" several employees said at once, staring.

"It's... it's fucking Brenda Wade!" Ronald said, peeking over their shoulders.

"Miss Americana is Brenda Wade!" Liz Fender gasped, still not quite believing it herself.

"AKA Betty Ward," Dwayne said, holding her mask.  Then he dropped it.  And, unable to help himself, he reached out, put his hand on Brenda's enormous naked left breast, and gave it a brief but vigorous little squeeze.

"Dwayne!" Liz snapped, sharply, her face pink with fury.

But there wasn't much time to call the naughty scientist on his behavior.

"She's starting to wake up!" one engineer said, as Brenda's magnificent body began to stir.

"We gotta get her bound," Dwayne said.  He looked up at Liz who was, by default, the political commissar governing what actions were and were not acceptable.  "Unless you want to deal with what happens once she storms out of here?" he asked.

LIz bit her lip, but then grimly nodded, accepting necessity.  "Do it," she agreed.

"Anyone have any handcuffs?" Ron asked.

"I've got some big-ass cable ties in my desk," Amit said.

"Good enough."

Two of the belt-empowered engineers hauled the still delirious Americana to her feet.  Circling behind her, Amit put a thick cable tie around each wrist, interlinked them through each other, then yanked them tight and clipped them, effectively putting her in a makeshift set of zip-cuffs.  Had she had her belt they would not have been enough - without it they were more than adequate.  They propped Miss Americana up against a column, and assigned Yang and Doug to each hold one of her upper arms, keeping her in place.  Realizing that they might get interrupted soon, one of the engineers on the Safety Committee ran up and locked the doors, after putting up signs saying that a chemical spill was being dealt with.

Finally, Americana aka Brenda Wade woke back up.  She shook her head.  Then, looking around, she growled.

"L-let me go this... this instant!" she said.

Standing before her, Liz shook her head.  "No," she said.

"Not until we've had a chance to talk!" Amit said.

But Brenda Wade was having none of that.  Her magnificent body wiggling furiously in her boots and skimpy panties and little else, she snarled at them like a chained lioness.  

"There is nothing to talk about!" she said.  "You have no right to say anything to me!  I own you!  I own you all!  None of you would have a thing without me!  I am a goddess and you exist to pay me grateful homage for keeping your world in order!"

Shaking her head, Liz growled.  "You know what guys?" she asked.  "I've got a confession to make.  Though I usually toe the party line, I’ve always that whole 'feminist solidarity' thing is a crock of shit when it comes to rich bitches like this one."

Turning his head, Dwayne gaped at her as if she'd grown a second head.  "What... what are you saying, Liz?" he asked her.

"What I'm saying is this..." she said.

Suddenly, the small purple-haired woman darted down and forward.  She seized hold of Miss Americana's panties by the tiny straps where they arced up over her broad and buxom hips.  Her jaw dropping open, Miss Americana gaped down in shock - for once suddenly at a loss for words.  Then, with a fierce yank of her belt-empowered muscles, Liz jerked the captured super-heroine's panties all the way down her long muscular legs, until they lodged around her ankles.

Standing back up, Liz rejoined her male comrades and looked at the naked super-heroine gaping back at her in horror.  Liz's purse lay on the table beside them.  She looked to either side, to her gaping male co-workers, then towards Brenda.

"Let's fuck the Boss!" she said.  

From her purse she drew a long cruelly-shaped dildo, with fittings for a strap-on at the base, and looking up into Miss Americana’s eyes, gave her a predatory smile.

Ms. Americana shook her head.  "No..." she said.  "No... no... you can't... you wouldn't..."

"You've been fucking us for years," Liz asserted.  "We're just going to return the favor."

"No!" Miss Americana said.  "NO!"

But there was nothing she could do.  With the unofficial Revolutionary Commissar having given her approval, there was nothing to hold the men back.  In short order Miss Americana had been flipped around and laid onto her belly on a table.  More cable ties were brought out and used to secure her booted feet to the table legs.  They slipped her panties off during this process, and plopped them onto the table right in front of her horrified face - as if they were part of the meeting agenda.

Being engineers, things were done by the numbers.  Specifically, as Brenda was secured, someone else was rapidly whipping up a spreadsheet, with a list of names and a random number column.  The virtual dice were rolled, and an order quickly determined.  Then, after a short additional whispered conversation, another column was added, and the first few people on the list got to pick things to put in it.

"Alright, Boss Bitch," Amit Singh said, as he advanced up behind her.  By luck of the draw, he was first.  He was one of the older engineers, although with all the stimulation in front of him he was finding he had no issues getting hard.  He unzipped behind her dripping pussy.  "Let's talk about those proposed changes to the pension..."

"Wh... what?" Brenda gasped.  Then her jaw dropped open in horror, as she felt his coppery Indian cock start to nudge its way through the leaky gates of her pussy.

"You heard me," he said and, taking twin eager handfuls of her bubble-shaped buns, thrust home up inside her.

He pounded away inside her, while Brenda thrashed and screeched.  In the meantime cameras had been brought and put into position, filming everything.  At last, squealing and shivering, she could no longer resist.

"Oh... okay... OKAY!" she moaned, as she felt his penis on the verge of spending inside her.  "I... I'll consider... I'll consider... oh GOD!"

"You'll consider?" he asked, in a thick accent - he had been losing his control of that the longer he fucked her.  He thrust in and held, his penis pulsing wildly, on the verge of spending.

"Oh... oh... I... I'll cancel the ch-changes, I... I PROMISE!" Brenda squealed, live on camera.

"Good," Amit said.  Yanking out of her, with a happy sigh he came all over her buns.  They were left wiggling back and forth, decorated in an abstract pattern of his seed.

But no sooner was Amit clear than the next in line stepped up.  As it happened, this was Dwayne - he had missed the first slot but been lucky enough to get second.

"Hey, Betty..." he cooed, stroking her narrow waist with relish.

Craning her head back, Brenda gasped in horror.  Then she shivered.  For, not wasting any time, Dwayne had already thrust his hips close and was stroking her drooling cunt with his penis.  "Oh... oh Goddess..." Brenda whispered, her eyes getting big... as she swiftly discovered that Dwayne was quite a bit bigger than Amit had been.

Caressing her drooling cunt with his cock, Dwayne slid his hands slowly up Brenda's hourglass-shaped curves until reaching up under her to heft and squeeze her gigantic boobs.  "Alright, Brenda," he said down to her, looking into her wide-blinking eyes, as he sank the tip of his penis up inside her gooey slit.  "Let's talk some more about those raises..."

"Oh... oh God..." Ms. Americana whispered.  Then she said it again, much louder, as he thrust home to the hilt inside her.

Over and over Brenda's employees came forward, and over and over they took their turns with her.  Each one had their particular demand they drove home, while driving their tips deep and furious inside her.  Each time Brenda Wade thrashed, and squealed - and finally, on live camera, gave in and promised them exactly what they wanted.

Thus, when it was Liz's turn she thrust and thrust with her strap-on and finally, gasping with pleasure on one last delightful jerk of her hips, finally fucked her way out of ever having use-it-or-lose-it PTO ever again.  She then handed her strap-on to a fellow female engineer, and mother of four, who was next in the line.

“Okay,” the bespectacled Korean woman purred down, as she slid the tip of the strap-on teasingly against Brenda's drooling pussy... and then slowly slid it up higher, until it pressed into her puckered asshole.   “Let us talk about family leave policy…”

Brenda whimpered, blinking back up over her shoulder.. .and then squealed, as she once more got entered.

The gangbang continued, on and on.  Brenda moaned each and every time, as a succession of phalluses - real and fake - penetrated up into her.  She thrashed about, but could do nothing as a succession of hands alighted upon her body, and stroked with relish across her enormous bosom, her sleek flat belly, and her stunning hourglass-shaped waist.  And she screamed loudly, her eyes rolling up, as she was indeed, repeatedly, subjected to the People's Fist.

Her pussy, and her anus, clenched tight over and over again - as each accepted thick geysers of her employee's cum up into her.  Others pulled out, and came all over her.  In short order Brenda's immaculate body was loaded up with more cream than a dairy factory; thick streamers of ooze flowing out of her ass and her cunt, and seemingly bucketloads covering her face, and her breasts, and her thighs.  Still, it kept coming.

Finally, it was all over.  After what seemed to have been hours, Brenda had managed to thoroughly exhaust the collective reserves of her workforce - entirely by accepting them into her body. At the end of it, once-mighty and unmasked Brenda Wade was left sprawled across the conference room table, rivers of semen from two dozen different sources dribbling out of her well-used cunt.  Her huge breasts, caked in semen, slowly rose up and down.  Her aggrieved employees stood all around her.

"Just so we're clear," Liz Fender said, adjusting her hair and glasses.  "The only one who was ever here was Betty Ward, whose only superpower is being a raging slut - and neither Miss Americana nor Brenda Wade.  And, she only got exactly what she had coming to her."  Reaching down, Liz adjusted her clothes, making sure they didn't have any creases after her latest wild exertions - riding her boss's tongue while one of her colleagues reamed out her pussy.  "You keep our secret," she purred, "and we keep yours.  Deal?"

Miss Americana moaned.  One mighty thigh lifted up - and then collapsed back down to the table, creating a splash from all the leaked-out cum that had pooled there.  The back of her semen-smothered head still pressed to the table, she slowly nodded her agreement.

"But that's on one condition," Ronald said.  Standing on the other side of the supine superheroine, he lifted up a long piece of paper - in which all the mid-coital demands she had agreed to were listed out and neatly enumerated.  "You honor your word," he said.  "Every last bit of it."

Miss Americana moaned again.  Her large breasts shook back and forth, and her gloved hands trembled atop the table - but once more she said nothing.  For a second time, she slowly nodded.

Dwayne smirked.  "We're going to need a little more insurance than that," he said.

Taking the paper from Ronald, he held it out over her, and brought it down - until the blurring letters filled the entirety of the whimpering superheroine's vision.

"Make your mark," Dwayne chided.  And, by way of encouraging her, he reached out and gently tweaked one of her large, tenderly extended nipples, at the tip of her mountainous right breast.

The Queen of Justice squirmed weakly in confusion in response.  Then, with a soft moan, she realized what he meant.

Slowly, with great difficulty, the sex-exhausted superheroine lifted her masked face up.  Her lips trembled, as they pressed to the bottom of her paper - where a line for her signature had been placed.  Dwayne's fingers were on the other side, giving her a firm surface to work against.  There came a soft 'smack' sound.  Then, with a groan, her lovely head sank back to the table once more.

Smiling, Dwayne held up the signed list of demands.  There, at the bottom, was a large red lip-print, over the words 'Brenda Wade, CEO'

"How's that for confirmation?" Dwayne asked the group.

"I mean, it's probably worth way more than the bitch's actual signature, if history is anything to go by," Liz said.

With that, the employees, having all thoroughly drained themselves, began to filter out.  But as they crowds thinned out, a few remained

"What do we do about her?" Amit said, nodding, at the still sprawled and still barely-responsive Super-Boss.

Dwayne, packing his bags, shrugged and smirked.  He was hoping no-one had noticed him slipping Brenda's world-famous panties into his backpack.  Liz did notice, and rolled her eyes, but didn't call him out on it.  Why was perhaps explained by the short length of patriotic bra-strap that was dangling out of the back of her own purse.  Finishing zipping up his bag, he turned, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Why do we have to do anything?" he asked.  "Just leave her."

"Can we do that?" Amit asked, still concerned.

"Why not?" Liz cooed.  With a smirk, she pointed down at Brenda's sprawled, spectacular, barely-conscious body.  "After all, like she told us over and over - it is her building!"

They all laughed.  Then, turning, they walked away.

Left behind, Miss Americana groaned - lying sprawled at the center of the darkened office building.  The high ceilings and lights she had paid for swooped round in circles, as her head spun.  Her naked pussy quivered in the cold gloom - as it oozed out another few tendrils of her underlings' semen.  

Standing in the doorway, they turned and looked back down at her.

"Best workday... ever," Dwayne said.

"Yep," Liz agreed.  And with that, they shut the lights, closed the door, and left Brenda Wade like just another piece of well-used office furniture behind them.

Some weeks later, in an extremely fancy conference room in one of the highest high-rises in Brenda Wade's empire, a new and tense meeting occurred.

Two opposing sides sat lined up, to either side of a long mahogany conference table.  At the center of one side sat Brenda Wade, resplendent in a harsh yet impeccable jet-black suit; which as usual featured a wide-lapeled blazer and an extremely short skirt.  Ranked out to either side of her was a crack cadre of extremely expensive lawyers and consultants, all clad in extremely expensive bespoke suits.

Down the other side of the table sat the Union's negotiating team.  They looked professional enough - but noticeably grubbier and lower-rent than the high-powered corporate death-squad parked on the other side of the table from them.

Right beside Brenda, flanked by the other immaculate members of his staff, the senior member of her negotiation team - identifiable by his extremely realistic toupee and the fact his watch would buy a mid-tier luxury car - held up the list of demands that had just been added and stared.  His hand shivered, holding the paper - making the little lip-print down at the bottom, serving as his boss's signature, flutter back and forth.

"These... these are ridiculous!" he snapped.

Down at one end of the table, Dwayne and Liz lounged back in their chairs, alongside the rest of the union reps.  At the well-dressed man's outburst, they turned and looked at each other.

"If that's all he has to say," Liz cooed softly, "then he clearly hasn't even gotten to that last one."

Dwayne, nodded, and they both turned back to watch.

It was true.  Getting only halfway down the list had already been enough to make the Wade Enterprises man's blood boil.  Slamming the paper down on the table, he sucked in breath in a way that made his jowls flap fascinatingly.

"Preposterous!" he scoffed, on behalf of his boss.  "We could never accept one of these - much less the whole thing!"

At the center of the table, the leader of the union's negotiation team squirmed, then shrugged.

"She signed it," she pointed out and, leaning out, tapped her finger near the kiss-mark.

Brenda's chief negotiator glanced down at that, and then rolled his eyes.

"Do I even need to say how ridiculous that is?" he asked.  "Y'know what?  Why don't I, just for fun?  Okay first of all," he said.  And extending out his fingers, he began enumerating the many ways in which the lipstick-based mark of her acceptance was in fact entirely useless and irrelevant.

But as he droned on, neither Brenda nor two of the people across the table from her seemed to be listening.  Sitting in her own immaculately tailored suit, Brenda's gorgeous face appeared distant, as if lost in thought.  Then, her eyes darted up.  She found Liz and Dwayne looking right at her.  Her lips opened up, and she blinked - their eyes locked together.  Her buxom hips squirmed, atop her plush seat.  Then, she suddenly lifted up her hand.

"That's enough," she directed to her subordinate.  Turning her head, she faced him.  "We will accept their terms," she informed him.

Caught in the middle of ticking off his fourth reason why she didn't have to, her chief negotiator stared back at her for a few seconds, speechless.  Then, slowly, he swallowed.

"Ma'am," he said.  "I... I don't think you understand.  If you accept this, then the impact on discretionary-"

"You didn't let me finish!" Brenda snapped - cutting him off.  Her eyes rose up and, still not looking at anyone on her own side, bored into her opponents across the table.

"We will accept all of your terms," she said.  "All of them!" she added when, out of her peripheral vision, she saw her lead negotiator open up his mouth in shock.  He closed it again, with a noise like an engine failing to start.  "Provided," she said, "that everyone leaves the room except for me... and him."

She nodded towards Dwayne - who, lounging back in his chair, managed not to look the slightest but surprised.

All down the Wade Industries side of the table, the jaw of one highly-paid consultant after another dropped.  Over at the far end of the table, Liz Fender smirked.  "That was a direct order, guys," she said.  "You going to obey?"

Recovering himself, the lead negotiator drew himself up.  From the white pallor of his face, it was as if his entire world had suddenly dropped away around him, and he was still struggling to come to terms with that fact.  But then, he lifted his head high.

"Absolutely not!  And neither is any of my team!"  Lifting his arm, he spread it out to take in his entire side of the table - and the bespoke-suit clad figures lined up and down it promptly nodded along in their agreement.  "Our primary duty," he said, lifting up a finger, "is to my client's interests, not her word.  And I cannot in due conscience abandon her, when she is so obviously under undue influence!"

He huffed, and puffed out his chest - like a rooster prepared to defend his claim to a prized hen.

Across the table, Liz rolled her eyes.  "Right, of course, you're not going to walk away from your meal ticket - I mean client."  Grinning, she reached down into her bag.  "That's good, though,"  she said.  "'Cause I've noticed something - the pay for Wade Industries lawyers and consultants seems entirely out of line; especially compared to the average worker!"  From out of her bag she pulled out a sheaf of papers, and rifled through them eagerly.  "So I prepared a proposal to cap it at something much more reasonable," she said.  Lifting her eyes up, she grinned.  "So if you guys are going to stay and negotiate, that's just great - cause we can add it into the list of terms.  How about that?"

"Uhhh..." the chief negotiator said.  Staring at the sheaf of papers, it suddenly looked like he and his entire team had seen a ghost.  His eyes tilted over, to study Brenda.  The slight upward quirk of her lips told him everything he needed to know.  He swallowed.

"On... on second thought... p-perhaps an indefinite recess is in order.  How about we leave now, gentlemen?" he said.

Grinning, Liz gave her stack of papers a soft whack, and smiled.  "Don't let the door hit your expensive asses on the way out," she advised.

They didn't.

As the Wade Industries team filed out, leaving their boss behind, the union team, following Brenda's sole condition, moved to do likewise.  As she stood up, Liz bent down briefly beside Dwayne.

"You going to be alright?" Liz asked Dwayne.  Looking up, she eyed Brenda, still sitting still as an extremely shapely, athletic, and immaculately-clad statue on the other side of the table.  "You know what she really is, after all... anything could happen."

Dwayne looked Brenda in the eye, and then shrugged.  "I'll be fine," he said.

Liz nodded.  Then, pulling one last thing back out of her bag - a tablet - she shouldered it, and followed the rest of the labor side in exiting the room.  Soon enough the doors swung shut - and there came a soft click as Liz made sure they got locked from the other side, sealing them inside.

The massive conference room was left empty - save for two final occupants.  Dwayne faced directly across to Brenda Wade.  All around them, the mahogany table was covered in papers, half-empty water bottles, and the other paraphernalia of a hastily-concluded business meeting.  Sitting across from him, Brenda arched her fingers in front of her face, and stared at him.

"What did you want to talk about?" Dwayne asked.  

Opening up her hands, Brenda spread them out and indicated the table - upon which the kiss-signed list of their demands still rested, alongside various other paperwork from the ongoing negotiations.

"As I said," she replied - her voice coming in its usual smooth contralto.  "I will accept all terms.  All of them.  On one condition.  I would like to add one more item, from each of us."

"Oh?" Dwayne said.  "What?"

Brenda did not respond immediately - at least not with words.  Instead, for a moment, she sat across from him.  She squirmed, in her seat.  Her eyes ran up and down him.  She took a deep breath, and then licked her lips.

At last, she started to answer.  But, still, she didn't use words.

Instead, leaning forward, she slowly lifted her voluptuous hips up off her chair.  Reaching back, she slid her fingers down to the hem of her tiny skirt.  Slowly, she reached up inside.  She squirmed a bit, and then brought them down.  Her thumbs slid back out from under her skirt - with the hip-straps of a tiny black lace panty stretched between them.

Slowly, in the middle of the luxurious conference room, while her employee watched her, Brenda Wade bent low - and pulled what proved to be a teeny-tiny black thong all the way down her spectacularly long legs.  At last, they slid down across her black spike-heeled pumps, and landed in a tiny heap on the plush carpet.  Delicately, she stepped her legs out of them.  Reaching down, she picked them up.  Then, she sat back up.

Breath coming fast and deep, Brenda Wade sat before her underling and her final opponent, and held her hand out over the table.  Her little panties dangled from her finger for a few seconds, while she looked him in the eyes.  Then she let them drop.  They landed in a dainty lace heap, right on top of her kiss-print-marked list of terms - and promptly began to drool juices down onto the paper.

"There," Brenda said, licking her lips.  

Sitting back, she looked at him.

"There is the final thing I am offering up," she said.  She nodded towards the little panty, lying in the center of the vast conference room table.  "Can you guess," she said, licking her lips, "what I am demanding you give me... in return?"

Dwayne did his best to keep his cool, leaning back in his chair.  He studied her offer, then swung his gaze back up to her gorgeous face.

"When did you first start getting wet, down there?" he asked her - as still more juices flowed down off her skimpy sopping underwear.

Brenda cast her gaze down, and blushed slightly.

"Do you remember how I said... that I could tell what you were after, from the moment you said hi?" she said.

"Yes," he replied.

"What I forgot to add," she whispered - squirming like a smitten teenager in her stunningly expensive suit, as she looked into his eyes, "is that knowing what you were after... made me intensely horny."  

She looked away again, almost bashfully.  

"It's been a long time," she said, "since someone hit on me like I'm just a normal girl, and not, you know... her... or her."  She nodded her head one way and then the other, as if indicating the two sets of masks she had to wear.  Then, the spoiled little rich girl swung her gaze back around, and looked into his eyes once more.  "I... I really wish things had turned out differently" she admitted to him, wiggling her voluptuous hips in her seat, "because... because I was really looking forward to you taking me back to your apartment, and just letting you nail my brains out... as Betty Ward, and not as Brenda Wade or as Miss Americana."

"I... I see..." Dwayne said.  He sat glued to his chair, as if the sudden flood of honesty from the doubly-duplicitous double-D-endowed billionaire had stunned him.

Then, Brenda took a deep breath - and seemed to become all business again.

"So, that's what I want," she said.  Extending a finger, she pointed to her offered panties, still lying in the center of the table.  "Give me what I want," she told him, "and I'll give you everything you want."

Not that she had a choice, of course - they had her over a barrel, and she knew it.  But, even thoroughly defeated, Brenda was still enough of a natural business-woman that she absolutely refused to sign a deal unless she got something out of it too.

Dwayne bit his lip, thinking a moment.

"Well, if that's what you want, maybe we can make an arrangement," he said.  He held up a finger.  "On one condition."

"What?!" Brenda gasped - both shock and question at the same time.

He swung down a finger, and pointed at the tiny moist thong still lying between them.

"You're going to have to make a way better offer than that," he told her.

Her eyes briefly widened, staring at him.  Then, slowly, she shook her head.  "You do drive a hard bargain," she cooed, smirking - as her hands rose up to her jacket.

In short order the jacket popped open - releasing her enormous naked breasts to slosh back and forth between the loose lapels.  Despite himself, Dwayne whistled in awe to see them again.  But even as he did so, Brenda was rising out of her seat, her hands going to the back of her tiny skirt.  She licked her lips, as she unzipped it.  Soon it went fluttering down her long legs.  She put her arms back and moments later the blazer followed it.

Now naked except for her high heels and some very expensive jewelry, Brenda Wade picked up her suit and laid it on the table.

"How's that?" she asked him.

"That'll do," he said.

"It'd better," she said - crawling up onto the table.  Once more, despite having seen them already, Dwayne gaped in awe as her enormous tits came forth to sway and jostle low over the table, right in front of him.  Then, she turned over, and laid herself out lengthwise on her own conference room's table.  Soon, her stunning body was stretched out, atop her suit and her panties and the treaty of her total financial surrender.  Buns pressed to the mahogany surface, she spread her legs - letting him see her glistening pussy.  Then, she turned her head.

"Well?" she said.  She squirmed back and forth.  "Aren't you going to come earn your pay?" she asked him.

He shook his head.

"Another hard day at work," he said, as he rose up and unzipped his pants.

Brenda gasped in delight as he came forth - and revealed himself not to be lying.  Soon enough he was naked too and climbed up and onto her.  Brenda cooee as his hands went to her silky body, clutching it for support as he maneuvered into position.  

"Oh... oh my God!" Brenda moaned, as he penetrated her.

Dwayne was a little over eight inches long.  No match for the monsters she often faced, it was true... but more than enough to excite her.  Staring up into his eyes, she whimpered and gasped, as his long penis began to slam back and forth inside her unprotected slit.

"H-how does it feel... to fuck your boss?" she asked him - her breath coming in pants, as the action of his long shaft inside her started to fill her up with pleasure.

"It feels damn good," he admitted, grinning down into her face.  He threw another few thrusts up her tightly squeezing cavity, enjoying the press of her huge breasts into his chest, and the squirming of her stunning body up against him.  "How does it feel to get fucked by your employee, Brenda?" he asked.

A shiver passing through her, Brenda Wade could not help herself.  She let out a stunned wail, as his large cock got in a particularly good thrust inside her.  Then, she lifted her quivering lips up near his.  "It... it feels good," she admitted.  Lifting her lips, she kissed him, and then drew them back down - her breath coming in soft pants.  "P-please..." she moaned, as his long penis parted and filled her once more.  "C-call me Betty!"

Dwayne smirked, and twisted her huge nipples between his fingers.

"That wasn't part of the deal," he replied.  "So if you want that... you'll have to offer more."

At this, Brenda moaned in shock.  But even as she did so, he dove his own lips down onto hers and claimed them.  Brenda Wade whimpered, her cheeks going pink, as she felt the unfamiliar feeling of getting her whims disregarded.  Then, all thoughts of his refusal got swept from her mind.  Her eyes rolling in her head, her lips quivering against him, her whimpers started to become louder and faster  - as, with the furious slamming of his cock inside her, Dwayne drove her towards her first orgasm upon him.

Outside the conference room, Liz Fender smiled.

She stood directly in front of the double doors, making sure no-one went in to interrupt the final round of negotiations.  The conference room was very well sound-proofed.  Nevertheless, the squeals and moans and shrieks echoing in from the sweat-covered table, as Dwayne delivered the final term into their boss's pussy, echoed out to her.  As she enjoyed the sounds, Liz was now holding the tablet - and her eyes glittered, as she reviewed the footage of their boss getting slammed silly, while dressed as her costumed alter-ego.

Turning her head, she glanced back into the sealed conference room - as another particularly devastated shriek echoed out from within.

"Lucky bitch," she admitted softly to herself.  Then, slowly, a huge smile spread across her lips.  "Oh, well," she purred.  "I hope you still think it's worth it, slut - once you find out about that last term we added!"

Then, grinning, she turned back to the tablet and continued to watch eagerly - while the sounds of Brenda Wade learning, yet again, how good it was to fuck the boss, echoed out through the door.

Some months later, it was back to work at Wade Plastics.  At least, on most days it was.  But not today.  Today was a special day.

On this day, in the vast cavernous space of the main manufacturing floor, a huge assembly of the plant workers had gathered.  It was the only space in the entire complex big enough to hold them all.  Wade Plastics was, among other things, the principal manufacturing center for the Blammo! line of action figures, and as they assembled the workers did so under giant inspirational banners featuring Miss Americana; whose figure was their best-selling product.

Finally, at some signal that rippled up and down the giant assembly hall, the throng of workers began to self-organize.  Stretching out, they formed a long and continuous line - standing attention across the breadth of the cavernous factory like soldiers forming up for inspection.  Curiously a long pad, made of foam, had been lain down the entire length of the factory from one end to the other, and the workers formed along it, their feet just a short distance behind it.

For a moment after they got into position all was silent - except for some slight nervous chatter.  Then there came the loud clack as a door opened.

At one end of the vast space, a pair of double doors swung wide - and Brenda Wade marched in.  Her beautiful face set high and stern, the buxom billionaire was once more dressed for success in an impeccable black suit, featuring a short black skirt and stylish blazer; almost exactly as she had appeared before this exact same crowd on the fateful day of the strike.  She was followed by a half-dozen well-armed members of her security detail.  Wearing body armor, face masks, and holding automatic weapons, these fanned back to the far wall and stood guard, watching.  But Brenda barely paid them any attention as she advanced, and began to walk down the line of workers.

Hands folded behind her ass, riding against the back of her tiny skirt, Brenda advanced slowly - her blue eyes darting from one face to the next.  As she gazed upon each her chin seemed to lift higher, as she gave each lowly peon a stern and unamused look.  Meanwhile, the only sound in the entire room was the clack of her high heels upon the cold concrete, as she took each sauntering step.  

Finally, having walked down the entire line, Brenda reached the far end.  Swinging around, in a way that made her enormous rack sway dramatically within her blazer, she put her hands upon her hips - and then shook her head.

"Employees of Wade Plastics," she growled.  She tried to sound professional - but could not keep the intense emotions out of her voice, or off her gorgeous face, as she visibly remembered their last encounter.  "Since the successful conclusion of our recent negotiations, there have been many changes here."

That was an understatement.  The employees, even as they squirmed and fidgeted slightly before her and her security, looked much happier.  They should, Brenda thought, glaring.  They had clawed back twenty years of careful cost-cutting and economizing at a single stroke - all of which, ultimately, had come right out of her bottom line.  The new contract had also made her foreign buyers walk, so she was stuck with them.  Her voluptuous hips squirmed back and forth, just under the swaying hem of her ultra-short skirt, as she thought of all those precious profits.  Profits that had flowed right out from under her, as if stolen from between her legs, and into their unworthy pockets.  

Then, with a sharp gasp of breath, Brenda got her mind back on what she was doing.  She lifted her chin, and let her gaze sweep across them.

"But those changes have consequences," she said.  "Today, the final consequence comes due.  You all finally get what you have coming to you.   Anyone who has second thoughts - this is your last chance to leave.  Got it?"

Parking her hands upon her curvy hips, she swept an imperious glare across the crowd, to see if anyone would take her up on that last chance.  None of them did.

Slowly, Brenda nodded.

"Very well," she said.  "Then, in accordance with the union contract, I give you... the final, mandatory part of your annual compensation."

And, without another word her long legs buckled, and she dropped to her knees.

A deep blush on her cheeks, Brenda Wade crawled, on her hands and knees, the short distance over to the feet of the first worker.  She knelt down, before his dirty work boots.  Squirming, she looked up at him.  He was a lowly factory laborer, and both looked and smelled absolutely filthy, wearing badly stained work clothes.  Upon his head was a hard-hat covered in stickers displaying phrases that, just barely, managed to not be obviously obscene.  Kneeling at his feet, Brenda took a deep breath.  Then, she lifted up on her haunches, bringing her head near his waist.

Across the huge space, the sound of a zipper being unzipped flowed loudly down the waiting line.  It echoed across the faces of the arrayed security guards - who, though their weapons trembled ever so slightly in their hands, made no move to intervene.

"Oh... oh my!" Brenda gasped, her eyes going wide - as his big filthy cock spilled out.  She licked her lips, and moaned.  Then, unable to delay any longer, she dove her head down.  Spreading her lips wide, she wrapped them around him - and head bobbing fiercely, began to give him his special annual bonus.

"Oh... oh fuck yes!" greasy laborer gasped.  His nearly-obscene hardhat tilted back, and he let out a gasp of pleasure - as at his waist, the haughty CEO's head bobbed and bobbed - her lips slurping furiously upon his greasy cock.

Soon enough, he came.  Brenda whimpered, her face flickering, as she gargled his cum.  She gasped, and released him.  She panted softly.  But she didn't have long to contemplate his limp wet penis - not if she was going to get through this in anything close to the time allotted.  So, with a moan, she sidled further down to the next worker in line.  Kneeling at his feet, she unzipped him.  She gasped, as his raging erection popped out - slightly thicker than the last one.  She whimpered.  Then, diving down, she slurped him through her lips and, gorgeous head bobbing furiously, started sucking him too.

Slowly, but surely, Brenda Wade worked her way down the line.  Fortunately, none of them took long.  Her natural talents, combined with the excitement of feeling their billionaire boss's tongue stroking up and down them, ensured that.  But that was scarce comfort, when so many still awaited her.  

Eyes blinking in shock, Brenda moaned as she was unloaded into again and again.  Some came down her throat, while others popped free at the last second, and erupted onto her face.  Brenda moaned, her eyes blinking wildly, as she repeatedly got splattered with cum.  But still she kept going.  Her knees slid steadily down the long pad that had been helpfully laid out for them, like a track, along her waiting employees' shoes - and she sucked, and sucked, and sucked.

About a dozen places down, stood the female manager Brenda had accosted at the picket line - her team being one of many the forced changes had saved - alongside one of her colleagues.  As Brenda arrived at her feet, the woman smiled thinly… and reaching down, hiked up the short skirt she had worn for just this occasion.

Beside her, her colleague looked down and gaped in astonishment.

“Wait,” she said… as with a soft whimper, Brenda’s head slowly nudged its way up into the lifted space presented for it.  “Aren’t you… straight?”

The woman shrugged.  “Mostly,” she admitted.  Then, she smiled.  “So?”  Then her head fell back and she moaned with pleasure - as up underneath her skirt her billionaire boss’s tongue began to stroke and lap worshipfully at her pussy.

On and on, Brenda worked.  Soon she was covered nearly from head to toe in splatters of her employees' cum.  Her makeup was badly streaked, from the tears that ran from her eyes, whenever she was forced to once more swallow their loads deep.  She squealed in disbelief, her eyes crossing, as a Mexican plumber unloaded his pipe down her gullet.  She moaned as a black iron-worker went John Henry on her forehead with his heavy tool and then splattered all over her hair.   She squealed as a white forklift operator made her skull elevate with his forceful thrusts - and then sent it up even higher with a rocket-blast of cum.  But no matter how many she served, no matter how many loads were splattered onto or into her, her knees kept hobbling down the pad and her jewelry-bedecked head kept lifting back up and she kept right on sucking, and sucking, and sucking.

And the entire time, from on high upon the walls, the immense posters of Miss Americana looked on.  Like a cruel goddess her alter-ego stared down impassively, her gloved hands upon her panty-clad hips and a tiny smile on her masked face.  As Brenda sucked and slurped and was bathed over and over in cum, the towering Queen of Justice stared down at her... as if her own imperious alter-ego was gazing down in harsh judgment, for how badly she had failed - and at how justly she was being punished.  At least, that's how it seemed in Brenda's pretty head as she blinked up at the giant face, through dripping waves of cum... but it might have just been the lack of oxygen talking, as she sealed off her windpipe again and again.

At last, down near the other end of the line, she unzipped one worker's suit - and then gasped in disbelief, at what she found swaying around inside.

"Oh... oh my God," she moaned, staring at a behemoth even Miss Americana would find shocking.  Then, she tilted her head back, and looked up at her latest overlord's face.

"Can... can I just lick the outside?" she begged.

High above her, the swarthy worker grinned broadly, under his hard-hat.

"Nuh, uh," he said.  He pointed down at his mammoth cock.  "Atlas swallowed, bitch," he informed her.

Brenda Wade squirmed in her now wrecked and filthy suit - and whimpered.  A deep blush spread across her cheeks.  Then she groaned and, sliding forward, did her best.

It took considerable effort - but finally she got it.  Her eyes bulged out, blinking in stunned shock - as she took his giant cock down her throat.  Then they rolled up, as she slurped and gagged noisily upon him.

"Oh... oh yeah!" the worker cackled.  His head tilted back and rolled with pleasure - as he got what was, easily and without question, the best suck-job of his life.  Then, as he got close, his huge cock pulsing gleefully in her whimpering throat, he lifted his head high.  "God damn, do I love the union!" he howled as he sent the biggest eruption of cum yet exploding deep down inside Brenda Wade’s throat.

THE END

SUMMARY:   Brenda Wade goes to one of her companies to negotiate its sale to overseas investors, but is blocked by protesting workers.  In an ensuing confrontation she ends up getting stripped to her jewelry and thong, and gets chased through the streets of Delta City before finally making her escape dangling below a helicopter.  In the aftermath, Miss Americana is convinced the labor organizers are secretly directed by a supervillain who, having discovered her secret identity, is trying to undermine her company in order to destroy her.  But her already-aroused suspicions spike enormously when internal intelligence reveals that the Wade Advanced Technology Center, seemingly just another ordinary piece of her vast business empire, is one of the centers of pro-union activism.  In order to get to the bottom of things Brenda infiltrates her own company disguised as Betty Ward, a new (and extremely busty) secretary.  Approached by a horny engineer, she lets him take her on a tour - being shown glasses that foil facial recognition, a device that permits matter transformation when a subject spins, and a strange golden circle that can project a powerful forcefield; all projects that, to the developing engineers' consternation, seem to have stalled out without ever reaching commercial fruition.  After her tour 'Betty' gets herself invited to a union meeting - but when participants start making negative comments about Brenda Wade she cannot resist leaping to the aloof CEO's defense.  Suspicious, a female engineer sneaks up behind the outspoken newcomer and swipes her glasses - revealing that Betty is actually Brenda Wade; but in the ensuing confusion Brenda's skirt gets ripped off.  Outraged, Brenda storms out, vowing revenge.  Entering a bathroom, she spins to transform into Miss Americana.  But as she does so, one of the engineers notices a very strange signal on one of his monitors.  Bursting back in, Miss Americana begins to thrash the hapless employees, while demanding they tell her which supervillain is behind them.  As she does so, some of the engineers put two and two together.  Brenda learns the hard way that fighting the people who actually made your superheroine equipment is a bad idea and, after her belt gets neutralized by a remote shut-down command, proceeds to get beaten down by a crew of nerds equipped with prototypes of her own belt.  Having knocked Miss Americana unconscious, one of the engineers then takes her mask - revealing that she, like Betty before her, is actually Brenda Wade in disguise.  Having come to, the bound and unmasked Brenda is presented with a proposal by her employees;  give into all of their demands, and her secret is safe.  Furious, she refuses.  Fed up, so that even the most enlightened of them are now on board, the engineers proceed to put Brenda on her back and give her lots of encouragement to accept, up between her legs.  Eventually Brenda gives in, and agrees to all of their demands.  Later, at the official negotiation between Wade Industries and the Union, Brenda's lawyers initially scoff at the idea her agreement will be honored - until Brenda countermands them, and demands that everyone save for the engineer who gave 'Betty' her tour leave the room.  Once this is done, Brenda reiterates that she will give in to all demands - if she gets given one thing in return.  Taking off first her panties and then her suit, she climbs up naked onto the table, and presents him with her final ask; admitting that getting hit on like just a normal woman for once actually made her intensely horny.  He gives it to her.  Some time later, inside the factory where the opening scene occurred, Brenda arrives and walks down a line of the assembled employees.  Then, she falls to her knees and, working back down the line, begins providing them the special annual bonus that she has agreed that all of her workers are now entitled to.