Skirt Day - by C. Maxwell

Chapter one: how it began

Lisa wondered why it was that despite her successful career in
middle management and a plethora of dating options consequent to
her tall, blond good looks, she still felt empty and unhappy. In
fact she didn't much like dating - all too often she would find the
guy's shallow attempts to impress, to make her laugh, and to get
into her jeans to be frustratingly unsatisfying. She usually
delivered a forceful rejection to each guy, and even went on to
instruct him on how to improve his life.

Her career was taking off - she felt a promotion coming - and with
a recent raise and no children, a paid-off house and car, and fully
paid student loans, she had all the money she needed and more; an
indication of 26 years of hard work and little play, she thought.
Why not more happiness from such early stability and success? This
she asked her recently hired therapist, Joan.

After several weeks, Joan found it a major breakthrough when she
realized that Lisa's dating disappointments - and perhaps business
disappointments as well - came from her displeasure at docile
partners. Joan explained her theory to Lisa: you find forceful men
attractive, but you are so self-confident that you are too forceful
with them to allow them to assert themselves.

Joan thought of a potential therapy for Lisa. She began asking Lisa
questions about how she could tone down her aggressive stature. One
session, Joan had an idea:

"Lisa - I notice that at every session, you are always dressed
quite similarly. Baggy jeans, a dark-colored blouse or sweater. You
never dress in a particularly . . . feminine way," Joan asked,
looking for something.

"I prefer to dress this way. It's comfortable."

"And fairly gender neutral . . ."

"So?"

"So, why don't you ever wear a dress? Maybe a low-cut top? High
heels?"

"I don't think I would be taken seriously if I wore those things.
People would think I was, you know, just a girl."

"Do you even own any dresses?"

"I have one floor-length evening gown that I bought for a Christmas
party some years back, and another that I've had since high
school."

"Floor length? I'll bet it was more conservative than the other
dresses at the party."

"Of course. Many of the wives of the employees wore short little
cocktail dresses. You could just see the men looking at their legs
and breasts the whole time. I would never wear something like that
to an office party. What if my colleagues saw up my skirt? They
should be talking to /me/, not my breasts."

"Maybe so. But Lisa - I think this might be a route to explore ways
to enrich your life. I think you box yourself in too much. You are
always so concerned about earning respect and being the leader. It
even cuts into your wardrobe. But your wardrobe is one of the
easiest things we can augment. So, doctor's orders, I want you to
try this: after today's session, I want you to go shopping. I want
you to find something feminine - a dress or a skirt - to wear to
our next session."

"That shouldn't be hard."

"Actually, it should be, so I'm going to make it a little harder on
you. I want it to be short. Well above the knee. I want you to buy
a skirt that seems just long enough to you, but absolutely no
longer, and wear it here with bare legs. The weather is plenty warm
for it."

"You're not wearing a skirt, Joan. Why should I?"

"I almost always wear a skirt on a date. Do you?"

"No."

"Well, there you go."

That afternoon, Lisa went shopping, figuring she must be paying her
therapist for something. She had not worn a skirt above the knee
since childhood - and then she never liked the threat of being
exposed and teased by the boys. But she was an adult now and she
could handle it.

She tried on about 5 skirts and ultimately ended up buying a dark
green, loose a-line skirt that fell to just above her knees. She
put it in her closet and forgot about it until her session a week
later. As she shaved her legs that morning, it occurred to her that
although she shaved her legs almost every morning, there was never
really any point until today.

The feeling of going outside with her legs no longer safely wrapped
by denim or cotton pants, or at least knee-length shorts, was one
she had not felt in a while. She could feel the slightly cool air
on her knees and thighs as she took the subway to her session, and
she knew that she looked more feminine, more exposed, more weak
than her usual self. But there was something else.

"What else?" asked Joan.

"I guess I do feel more attractive. That's the point of this,
right?"

"That's part of it. It is very nice looking, although you still
look quite conservative. What I want for you, Lisa, is to feel
/vulnerable/. I think that's what you're missing."

"Feeling vulnerable doesn't sound like a good thing."

"I think for you, it will be. Do you have a date next week?"

"No."

"An important business meeting?"

"Just one departmental meeting. Why?"

"This is what I want you to do: tomorrow, take your new skirt to a
tailor. Ask him to shorten it by 4 inches. Don't try it on for him,
just ask him to do it. Ask him to call you when it's done. Then,
the day he calls you, whatever day it is, you pick it up. And then
the next day will be important. On that day you will wear the
skirt, again with bare legs. You will wear it even though it will
feel too short for you. You will do this because I told you. And
whenever you wear that skirt, I want you to try to be passive. I
want you to do whatever anyone tells you, whether it be a coworker,
a friend, or even a stranger. So that as you wear that skirt, you
are labeling yourself as a humble servant, at the mercy of the
world. Of course, it's really our secret that you will do what
anyone asks, but that won't change the /feeling/ of it. Do you
think you can do that?"

Lisa was shocked. She did not know if she could do it. But it
sounded like a challenge. She thought about it, and Joan added

"I dare you to do it, Lisa."

So it was a challenge! Lisa believed nothing was too difficult for
her, so this shouldn't be, either.

"Remember, when you wear that skirt, you will do whatever anyone
asks, starting with putting on the skirt in the morning and wearing
it all day."

The tailor gave Lisa a slightly funny look when she asked to have
her perfectly nice skirt shortened, but would only tell, not show,
how short. Lisa felt a little embarrassed, but she did not let it
bother her since it wasn't her idea.

For the beginning of the week, Lisa felt a great anticipation for
her "skirt day." She resolved that she would indeed do what anyone
told her (not that anyone would, since no one would know that they
could) and the thought somehow excited her. She rationalized that
it was the danger of it. It's highly unlikely that a stranger on
the street could stop her and ask her to strip naked and have sex
with him, but if he did, she would /have/ to. The more Lisa thought
about it, the more simultaneous dread and excitement filled her. On
Tuesday she picked up the skirt, which looked noticeably smaller in
her hands although she did not try it on. On Tuesday night she had
a little trouble sleeping, wondering what would happen the next
day.

Wednesday morning. Lisa wakes up, showers, shaves her legs, brushes
her teeth, takes her birth control pill, and returns to the
bedroom. Wrapped in plastic is her fate for the day, hanging next
to the white blouse she planned to wear with it. She picks out her
favorite set of underwear - somewhat high cut white panties and a
bra with just a little push to it. She buttons up the blouse (all
but the collar button), and then removes the skirt from the
plastic. She slides it up her legs, and when the hem reaches her
knees she realizes that the waistband is still half a foot from her
waist. She slides it higher and when finally she fastens the button
at the waist she feels that her legs are almost entirely exposed.
She wonders after all if she can go through with this!

She looks in the mirror. The skirt only covers half of her thighs.
She feels exposed, vulnerable, and anxious. She turns around and
bends over. It's hard to tell in the mirror, but she's confident
her panties are still covered, even though the backs of her thighs
are in plain view. She tries sitting down, exposing more thigh as
the skirt rides up. "This is how it will be all day," she says. She
knows she has to go through with it now.

Then she feels it: with the vulnerability comes excitement. What
will happen to her? What adventures will befall her now that so
much of her is exposed? It seems very different, slightly scary,
and above all, /alive/. As she puts on a pair of flat sandals she
purchased yesterday, grabs her purse, and walks out the door,
locking her house and her pants behind her, she pulls down her
skirt as far as it goes, swallows her fear, and realizes why she
has been paying Joan all this time. For the first time in years,
she is looking forward to her day.

Chapter two: skirt day

The skirt is really too short for comfort. The loose cotton sways
around the middle of her thighs, reminding her that her white
panties are not far from view. As she walks down the steps to the
subway, a sharp underground breeze flies up her thighs to her warm
crotch. She quickly grasps the hem. Did her skirt fly up? Did
anyone see? Does anyone know how vulnerable I am?

As she waits for the train, she feels the eyes of the other waiting
passengers. A large black man on the bench blatantly stares at her.
(Will he order her to unbutton her blouse?) A blue-suited
businessman offers repeated glances from behind his newspaper.
(Will he demand her panties?) An Asian woman, herself in a
mid-thigh length dress, seems to be absentmindedly gazing at Lisa's
knees. (Would she make Lisa kneel and lick her feet?)

Lisa realizes that her thoughts are crazy. Her skirt says nothing
about her self-promise to obey. The pleasant weather had several
women dressed in short skirts and dresses (although very few as
short as hers). The thought brings her down to reality, leaving her
a little disappointed. Then she remembers: those other women don't
have to obey. But I must. The thought excites her; she cannot
understand why, and she realizes she is becoming aroused.

When the train rolls into the station she holds her skirt down,
wondering what might have happened if she hadn't. She boards the
train and sits in a side-facing seat across from a young male
passenger. She places her purse on her lap and begins reading the
ads above. Of course, she has seen those ads a thousand times. She
just reads them to avoid eye contact. But today she is facing her
fears, she thinks. She looks at the passenger across from her. He
is clearly looking at her thighs, hidden more by her small purse
than by her tiny skirt. He realizes that she sees him, and looks up
to meet her eyes.

She is suddenly gripped by terror. Maybe it will start here, she
thinks. This confident young male will ask her to take her purse
off her legs, and to spread them apart so that he can see her
panties. Then he will make her follow him . . . what about her
modesty, her job, her responsibilities? How can she so easily have
sex with a stranger from the train?

But he says nothing; rather he gives an embarrassed smile and looks
away.

Lisa knows that strangers are not going to tell her to do anything.
She can merely walk among them, on her way to work like everyone
else, and they will look at her exposed legs, but they don't know
what those exposed legs mean. They don't know that it means she's .
. . available.

As she rides the elevator up to her office, it occurs to her that
it will be different with her coworkers. Her boss, her employees.
They know her - they will interact with her. What will they say?

She tries to tell if they are looking at her legs as she walks to
her desk, but if they are they are trying their best to be subtle.
Lisa does not have her own office (yet) - she just has a slightly
fancier cubicle than those she manages. As she enters her cubicle,
she looks down at her legs. So much of them are naked! She sits at
her seat and feels its rough fabric against her bare thighs. "This
skirt is not appropriate for the workplace," she thinks. She is
flushed with embarrassment. What was she thinking?

She turns on the computer and rubs her left thigh as her computer
boots. It feels good to rub her bare flesh here at work she thinks
. . . but is anyone looking? She wishes her cubicle offered more
privacy.

The computer comes to life, and her email program starts and
instantly sends a message. Lisa remembers, too late she thinks,
that she had programmed it to automatically send out a reminder on
Wednesday mornings for the departmental meeting after lunch. She
has to chair that meeting! That means standing in front of her
entire department in this tiny miniskirt. She wonders if she should
cancel, but the email goes to the entire department, including
herself. "Don't miss today's meeting," it says. She remembers: I
will obey, even orders I sent myself!

When she reflected upon her day later in the evening, she
remembered that every time she left her desk that morning felt like
an adventure. Her walk to her mailbox. Her walk to the copy machine
- her hope that no one else would enter the copy room as she made
her copies. Her walk to the desk of their new administrative
assistant, Steve. He was definitely checking out her legs as she
gave him a routine set of orders. He doesn't know that he could be
giving me the orders today, she had thought. The idea of what he
might ask if he knew he could ask it distracted her for a full 15
minutes after the encounter.

When it came to be noon, she realized that she was heavily aroused.
She stopped in the ladies room on the way to the cafeteria, and
entered a stall. When she pulled down her panties, she noted their
dampness. The thought of masturbating, right here in the public
bathroom of her own workplace, crossed her mind. But she knows it
would make noise. Someone would know. They would know it was her.
She couldn't. She had to survive her arousal.

At lunch, she recalled, she was somewhat grateful to have a napkin
covering her bare lap. She thought, although she wasn't sure, that
when Art from engineering dropped his fork from across the table,
and got down on his hands and knees to find it, he may have been
trying to look up her skirt. She believes that the napkin
maintained her modesty. "If Art had only asked me to remove it . .
. "

After lunch, it is time for the departmental meeting. Lisa sits at
her desk and rubs her bare knees. She has never been to work in a
skirt, and this skirt is /too short/. She will have to stand up in
front of everyone and give a progress overview. Will they listen?
Will they look at her thighs?

As she ponders, she realizes she is running late. She grabs her
notes and rushes to the conference room, her short skirt swaying as
she walks with long strides. She can hear the chatter in the
conference room, and as she opens the door there is an immediate
hush. All eyes are upon her.

"Uh," she says, "thank you all for coming." (I never thank them for
coming - it's their job!) She starts to go through her notes and
wonders - do they see how nervous I am? Do they see how much I wish
I could sit down? And then to her horror she wonders - can they
smell how aroused I am?!?

But she would never know. The meeting proceeds as it has every
week, and it ends no differently.

As the afternoon wears away to six o'clock, and most have gone
home, Lisa has calmed down. She thinks about how on edge she has
been all day, and reminds herself why she went through it. Most
days she felt so empty. But not today. It worked, she thinks. It
worked for one day, and all the time and money with Joan has paid
off.

At the same time, she realizes that the edge is fading. She has
promised herself that when she wears the skirt, (or any skirt, she
decides), she will secretly promise to obey. And maybe there will
be slight excitement. But in truth, she feels safe. No one has
given her opportunity to obey - and nobody will. There is no real
danger, she thinks. Why should this disappoint her?

As she shuts down her computer and swings her chair out from under
her desk, Steve stops by.

"Hi!" he says.

Lisa is now sitting in her chair, uncrossed legs almost fully
exposed, and Steve is standing above her, leaning on the side of
the cubicle entrance, looking down at her.

"Hi Steve," she responds, "Working late?"

"Yeah, I guess," he says. "I . . ." he hesitates.

"Yes?"

"I think you look awfully nice today, Lisa," he says.

"Thank you Steve."

He warms to her nice response. Clearly he was nervous. Lisa wonders
if this is going to get awkward. She has no intention of dating one
of her employees, but he's clearly here to flirt.

"I like that skirt."

"Thanks, Steve, but I think it's a little shorter than I thought
when I bought it . . . " Don't want him to think I did this on
purpose, she thinks.

"Nonsense. It's perfect. I think you should wear it more often."

"Excuse me?"

"It really made my Wednesday. You should wear it every Wednesday!"

Lisa knows he is trying to be funny, or flirtatious. Her initial
reaction is to be offended, or maybe creeped out. But this is it,
she thinks. This is where my mettle is tested. That was an order.
And she has promised herself: she will obey.

"Okay, Steve, we'll see. I need to be getting home now."

She stands and pulls down the hem. Steve is watching every move. He
lets her out, watching her. It occurs to her that he was trying his
best to be confident. She likes to encourage confidence in her
workers. But more than that . . . she feels her safety taken away.
She must obey. She /will/ wear the skirt next week. She will obey
whenever she wears it. And if Steve gets what he wants this time,
will he want more?

The vulnerability and excitement that kept her aroused all day
reach a peak. She rushes to the subway and from the subway rushes
to her apartment. She throws herself on the bed, pulls up the
skirt, and shoves her hands on her panties. Here, in the privacy of
her bed, she can moan all she likes as she pleasures herself to the
best orgasm she has ever had, followed by another, more comfortable
one.

Chapter three: Just the beginning

Lisa had mixed feeling about her next session with Joan. She almost
didn't want to tell Joan about her feelings. Joan seemed to
understand too much, and Lisa's private thoughts seemed too private
even for her therapist.

"No skirt today?" was the first question Joan asked.

"Um, no, but I did what you said. On Wednesday."

"And how did that go."

Lisa hesitated. "Well, Joan, 4 inches was a lot. That skirt was
really too short for work. I don't think I should do that again."

"Maybe once is enough," said Joan, "but tell me how you felt."

"Well, embarrassed, I guess."

"And . . .?"

Lisa didn't know what to say. She could not admit the pleasure it
gave her. She had just done it because Joan dared her, right?

"Well, you wondered if I could do it, and I did. I promised to do
whatever anyone said, and I did."

"Did someone tell you to do something?"

"Well, yes. Steve, the new, young hire, asked me to wear the skirt
again next Wednesday. So I will."

Joan smiled. "You don't really have to, Lisa. If you really felt
embarrassed . . . "

I did, but it felt good, she thought. "No, I can't back out now.
That was the point. I will wear it again."

Joan clearly sensed something, and seemed to drop the subject. "Two
weeks ago we talked about how stressful you feel when an employee
disappoints you . . ."

And then the session with Joan turned back to normal. Lisa later
thought: thank you Joan. I still need your help, but you revealed
my need to feel vulnerable at the hands of others. You showed me,
but did not abuse it.

Next Wednesday. Skirt day. Lisa, hair wet from her shower, looks at
the skirt, hanging in her closet. It's so short, she thinks again.
She'll be more naked if she doesn't go with bare legs, she thinks.
She'll buy some pantyhose. Just like pants, they will be, and she
will still be obeying by wearing the skirt. Of course, she doesn't
own any. She can be a little late for work.

She stops by a drugstore, on the way to work. She buys a few pairs
of dark pantyhose. She finds a restroom, removes the packaging, and
pulls them on to her legs. Much better, she thinks. Just like
pants. Just tighter, and more transparent . . . maybe not really
like pants at all.

The subway is packed this morning, probably because she's a little
later than usual. The crowd in the train is so thick she cannot
turn around. She keeps one hand on her purse and the other on the
metal bar above her head. She knows she needs to worry about
pickpockets in crowds this thick.

Suddenly, between stops, she feels a hand on her inner leg, between
her knees. She cranks her head around to see who it is, but this
causes the hand to disappear, and all the passenger faces look the
same: innocent, normal, waiting for the train to get to the next
stop. She looks forward again, and the hand appears again. It must
be someone sitting, for the hand to be that low, she realizes.
There are really only two possibilities, then. It was either that
Hispanic guy, or the other guy I didn't get a good look at.

I am wearing the skirt. I will obey. I will let him touch me. This
time, she does not try to look back.

The hand feels good rubbing against the nylon on her legs. Without
much friction, it wanders freely over her knees. Lisa is nervous,
but the hand feels good. She realizes she doesn't know whose it is.
Someone has no idea who she is: he just knows she has pretty legs,
and they are shown off by this skirt. Perhaps he couldn't resist.
Or maybe, somehow he knows what the skirt means? Lisa realizes she
is getting warm, especially at her crotch. The combination of
panties, pantyhose, and skirt keeps all that warmth and moisture
in. And that hand in starting to move upwards - it is now caressing
her inner thigh, at the hem of her skirt. It does not have much
higher to go. It seems to be hesitant, though. Is it afraid of
getting caught? She must obey. She will let it go as high as it has
confidence to go. She realizes, in fact, that she wants it to go.
She wants to feel it against her crotch, she wants it to rub her
here on the crowded subway car. She /needs/ it. As the hand slips
under her skirt, she hears herself give off a quiet moan. The older
man standing next to her glances at her face; she blushes. Nothing
going on here, she hopes he will think. I'm just standing here, not
feeling a hand underneath my skirt. Not feeling it wander higher.
No, it has not now reached the junction of her thighs. I can't feel
the hand squeezing between them. No, sir, I am not spreading my
legs ever so slightly, no, it's not wandering higher still, no OH!
That's not a strangers hand on my panties, applying a massaging
pressure against my OH YES! Just a little more, I need it . . .

But the hand stops when the train reached the next stop, and the
hand is lost in the bustle of passengers pushing their way off the
train. Lisa fights her urge to put her own hand there, and give
herself a little more.

When Lisa arrives at work, she realizes her panties are soaked. She
is almost uncomfortable. She heads towards the restroom, but is
stopped as she passes Steve's desk.

"Lisa - you wore it!"

Lisa blushes. She had forgotten why she had worn it. It had been
Steve's orders, she realizes.

"Oh, yes, I guess I did." She doesn't know what to say. She fears
what Steve will ask next. But she cannot leave. She must obey.

"Listen, Lisa, I'm really amazed that you wore that again for me.
For the past few days your clothes went back to normal - so I
thought I'd never see you like this again."

"Well, Steve, every once in a while I like to dress up a little."

"Every Wednesday, right?"

Was that an order or a joke? Lisa worried for a moment. But it must
be a joke. He can't possibly know that she will obey . . . even his
jokes. /Vulnerable/, Lisa thought. Vulnerable and alive.

"Lisa?"

Lisa realized she had stopped responding.

"Lisa? I was wondering if maybe you'd like to get some dinner with
me tonight."

There it was. The standard date request. Dinner.

"I don't know, Steve. I'm your boss, technically, and . . ."

"No one has to know. Meet me at Chez Lou's at 7pm. I'll have a
present for you."

That's how the date was made, Lisa remembers as she sits in her
apartment, asking herself whether she will really make the date or
not. She remembers that she was taken aback by his sudden
confidence. Joan claimed she would find this attractive . . . and
she did. Even though Steve was younger, and an employee . . .
anyway, it didn't matter what she thought, because it was a skirt
day, and on skirt days she would obey. It made her feel vulnerable,
and alive, and she would not give it up. She would obey.

"I'll see you there," she had replied. And she intended to.

It was shortly before her weekly departmental meeting, later that
day, that she realized how warm and squishy she again felt between
her legs. Right before the meeting, she retreated to the ladies
room, pulled down her pantyhose and then removed her panties. They
were sopping wet. She had no desire to put them back on. She
cleaned herself up as best she could, and pulled her pantyhose back
up. They would offer enough decency, she thought.

But as she stood in front of her employees, she could feel that it
was a little breezier under her skirt than normal. The warm cotton
of her panties somehow offered more protection than the nylon of
her pantyhose. Protection from what, she wondered?

Now she has to decide whether or not to put on a clean pair of
panties for her date. Already she feels warm. She knows it is
because of the danger. She knows that Steve's confidence is
increasing, and she knows that she cannot stop obeying now. She
knows that she will do what he says, and all she can do is hope
that he will be a gentleman tonight. What if he isn't?

Needing a little more protection, she finds a pair of modest black
panties in her drawer, puts them on, and heads for the restaurant.

Steve is waiting at a table for two. There is an open bottle of red
wine. There is a small box, wrapped in shiny green paper. This must
be the present he promised. He's trying too hard, she thinks. He
doesn't need to give me a corny present. It is probably chocolate.
Not that she didn't like chocolate. It just seemed too much like
payment.

"You made it," he says, as she sits, briefly showing her nylon-clad
legs as her green skirt rides up, but hiding them under the
tablecloth immediately after.

"Steve," she says, "before this goes further . . . "

Steve pours her a glass of wine.

"Thank you. Now, before this goes further, you should know . . ."

"Lisa, I understand. I'm younger, an employee. This doesn't have to
go any further than you let it."

I have to let it go, Lisa thought. I cannot let you let me feel
safe. But what will people think?

"Let's just not let it get out of hand, okay?"

"Okay. Now, order. They always have good fish here."

By the end of the meal, the wine has left Lisa a bit tipsy. She
eyes the green box. Mmmm . . . chocolate. Steve sees her looking at
it, and hands it to her.

"For you," he says. "But don't open it now; open it when you get
home."

"Awww," she replies, "I can't open it?" She weighs it in her hand.
Too light for chocolate. What could it be?

"Open it later, when you get home. I really hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," she says. And then she thinks . . . "when I get
home." This means she will be going home. Steve will be a
gentleman, tonight. Oh goodness, she thinks, I /am/ attracted to
him. Or am I attracted to the idea of doing everything he says?

She thanks him for the dinner, and he walks her home. Not so much
as a good night kiss is offered as he says goodnight and leaves
her, present in hand, to return to her bedroom.

What is in the box? She cannot wait to find out. She lies on the
bed with the box and tears off the green wrapper, revealing a plain
white cardboard box. She removes the lid, and unwraps the white
tissue. It is a garment, black. She pulls it out, and holds it up.

It is a skirt. Black, pleated . . . and short. Maybe only an inch
longer than the one she is wearing, but she is not sure. There are
many pleats, and the skirt sways around as she holds it. It looks
like it is even her size.

In the box, is a note:

Lisa,

    Please, please wear it tomorrow so that I know if it fits.
Return it to me if it doesn't.

- Steve

Lisa remembers her promise to herself: when I wear a skirt, I obey.
She looks down at her green skirt, and then the note. If that
little black skirt fits, then I will have to wear it tomorrow. And
then tomorrow I will have to obey as well.

Anxiously, she removes her green skirt and pulls the black one over
hips. It sits a little higher on her waist then the green one, but
it has a little strap that she pulls tight and buttons. It fits
perfectly.

And she was wrong. It is shorter, perhaps an inch shorter than the
green one. And as she poses in the mirror, she twirls, and the
skirt flies up. Those pleats aren't meant to keep it down, she
thinks. And she believes she saw her panties! She twirls again, and
there they are! She can't wear this to work! One overenthusiastic
turn and her employees - and maybe her boss - will see her
underwear! How can she?

But she knows she will. She must.

Chapter 4: Intensification

Thursday morning. The black skirt lies on the bed. The pleats taunt
her. This skirt is way too short. I will be exposed. Everyone will
see how vulnerable I am.

Already she feels warm and moist between her legs. She remembers
how uncomfortable her cotton panties felt. The pantyhose are enough
by themselves - but the skirt leaves her so exposed! If someone
does see under her skirt, she cannot let them see the shadow of her
pubic hair under the nylon. She puts on black panties - any other
color would be too visible, followed by the dark pantyhose. She
looks in the mirror again, and cannot help but twirl. She must
remember not to do that in public!

The breezes in the subway seem especially fierce this morning. She
has to hold down the skirt with both hands, and still she can feel
parts of it blowing up. She knows that the nylons are more
transparent around the upper part of her thighs, where the material
is more stretched. She knows someone else must be noticing that,
too.

As she boards the subway car, she realizes that she stands in the
same place as yesterday. A little less crowded, but still quite
packed. She remembered her experience yesterday - that warm hand,
so confidently massaging her legs, and wandering upwards. What if
the same person sits in the same place? Would the same thing not
happen?

She forces herself not to look at the seat, where the man must have
been sitting. She turns the other way, puts one hand on her purse
and the other on the metal bar above her head. Here I am, she
thinks. Both hands are occupied. I cannot protect myself. I cannot
see you. My skirt is even shorter, my legs are even more inviting.
She stands and waits, hoping the hand will return. Maybe I'm too
early, she thinks. After three stops, she can feel her pussy
begging for the hand, any hand to rub her legs.

But no hand appears.

As she enters the office, she immediately sees Steve at his desk,
watching the door. When he sees her, his face lights up with a
smile. Lisa blushes. That's a knowing smile. He knows. He knows he
has me. He knows. . . . what I am. The thought thrills and
terrifies her. The safety she thought she had from no one knowing
was gone. But still there was a little: Steve seemed to be a
gentleman. Of course, despite their date, she still knew very
little about him. Fresh out of college, his resume did not say too
much of relevance. What would he make her do? Would he leak the
secret?

Right before lunch, she was nervous. She had been since she first
arrived and sat down. She had booted up her computer. An email
awaited her:

"L-
    Meet me for lunch, third table from the salad bar.

                        -S"

There was no "please." It was clearly an order. She noted that her
nylon-clad thighs were nearly completely exposed by the skirt. She
would obey, of course. But she did not leave her cubicle that
morning. She had some paperwork that she would normally give to
Steve, but she did not feel she wanted to interact with him, at
least not before lunch. She set it aside and decided to bring it to
him later. She worked quietly at her desk, hiding her new skirt
from the office, when another email arrived.

"Lisa:

    Can we have a meeting in my office at 3 today?
    I'd like to discuss your recent progress.

Regards, Jim"

Jim was her boss. He had been watching her carefully recently, she
hoped because a promotion was in the works. But did she have to
meet him today? In this little pleated black skirt that flashed her
panties whenever she moved?

She was nervous, but she would make her lunch date. She walks to
the cafeteria carefully, her hands at her side to keep the skirt
from flipping up. She can still feeling it swaying behind her,
accentuating the movement of her ass. (Was she wiggling it more
than usual in this skirt?)

Steve is waiting for her at the bare wooden table. She pulls out a
chair and sits across from him. She feels the cool wood through the
nylon on the back of her thighs.

"I'm pleased it fits so well," says Steve. "It looks great."

"It's a little short for the office," says Lisa.

Steve smiles. "I think it's perfect."

Lisa has no response. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he thinks she's
just being nice.

Steve pauses for a moment, studying Lisa's nervous face. "Now,"
says Steve, "I want you to go to the salad bar and make me a Caesar
salad with croutons, shaved parmesan, and a little bit of cucumber.
Also bring me a Coke. You may get some extra for yourself."

Lisa feels her mouth fall open. Her first instinct is to glare at
him, put the acid in her voice and tell him to get his own salad.
But she stops herself. If she does that, then she has not met her
personal challenge. If she does that, she goes back to the old
emptiness. If she is going to feel this way, she has to answer his
question. She has to say yes, I will do what you say. You found me
out.

She gets up, and prepares the salad and drink to his order. She
realizes that she is paying for it as well - somehow this reminds
her more directly that this is not just a simple favor. She brings
the tray back to the table - as she holds it she feels the skirt
flipping around, but she cannot hold it down.

After she puts the tray before him, he says, "One more thing. I
accidentally dropped my napkin, and it floated over there." He
points to the ground, where a napkin lies about 5 feet away. "Could
you get it for me?"

She knows what he wants. He wants to see her bend over. He wants to
see her panties poking out from behind the skirt. But he did not
ask for it, so she faces him, and picks up the napkin by crouching
down. More of her thighs are revealed, but she doesn't think he
could see her panties. Still, he is smiling as she hands him the
napkin.

"Thanks," he says.

Lisa is short on words. She steals a few bites of the salad she
assembled. She is hungry, but she feels she needs to hide under the
table as best she can. Steve seems to be scheming.

When Steve finishes, he says, "I'll let you get back to work. You
probably have some paperwork for me, since you didn't see me this
morning - feel free to deliver it at any time. I don't want
anything that's happened to interfere in our work." With that Lisa
returns to her desk.

At 3 o'clock Lisa heads to her bosses office, and knocks shyly on
the door. "Come in."

Jim's office is large and elegant. His desk is a large glass table
on black marble legs. Art-deco lighting and several abstract
paintings decorate the walls, and a large window looks over the
city. Across from his desk is a cushioned arm chair, to which Jim
beckons Lisa to sit.

As she sits, she notes that her tiny black pleated miniskirt rides
up her thighs showing the full length of her nylon pantyhose. Lisa
crosses her legs to make sure her panties are not showing, but she
realizes that more of the side of her thigh is shown to Jim. She
has no desk to hide behind. She is worried about the impression she
is giving. But, she thinks, that fear is what I need. A new fear to
face. Face it I will. I will obey no matter what.

Jim and Lisa discussed various business matters for nearly an hour.
When the loose ends seemed to be tied, Jim paused, seeking words.
Lisa fidgets with the hem of her skirt.

"You've been doing good work, Lisa," he says.

"Thanks." Where was this going?

"I want you to know that I've noticed your good work."

"Okay . . . "

"I guess what I want to say is that I have /also/ noticed a change
in your attire."

"Ah," she says, "If you ask it of me, I have no problem dressing
more conservatively. It was actually my therapist who recommended .
. . "

"Lisa, I would never ask that of you. In fact, what I really wanted
to say was that I like your change in attire. You're showing a
little more personality and that is increasing the morale of your
subordinates. It's up to you, of course, but I think you should
keep it up."

No, it isn't up to me. I would never wear such a revealing skirt if
Steve hadn't made me.

"Well, I don't know if it's really me . . . "

"Lisa, you know the opening for assistant director of marketing is
coming up."

"Yes sir."

"You know you should call me Jim. Anyway, you probably know that
you are in strong consideration for the position."

"Thank you."

"If the rest of the board thinks like me," Jim says, hesitantly,
"then your new state of dress ought not hinder your consideration."

What did that mean? Lisa gives a confused look. Jim clearly does
not want to explain.

"Thanks Lisa. We'll talk again soon," and with that Jim waves her
out of the office.

Lisa's head is spinning. Could her short skirts prevent her from
getting the promotion, if the board disagrees with Jim? Is that
what he meant? Or did he mean that, in his opinion, the short
skirts would help her get the promotion? She would not accept the
latter - she had to make it to where she was going with hard work
and intelligence. If the former, then if she does get the
promotion, it means she gets it /despite/ the short skirts. A
woman, truly a woman, dressing as womanly as she chooses, rising to
a position of respect. That sounds good to her, but she doesn't
know if she can do it. It sounds like a personal challenge, she
thinks. "I can do this."

Her nerves thus restored, she takes the paperwork that has been
sitting on her desk to Steve.

"Steve, I need this done before you leave today."

He smiles. "Of course. I'll drop it on your desk before 5."

Lisa's confidence is restored, and she finds that she has a very
productive afternoon. So much so that she finds she can leave
early, and she greatly desires to get home to the privacy of her
bed where she can take care of the arousal that has been taunting
her all day. She turns off her computer at 4:30 and makes a quick
trip to the bathroom. When she returns, the completed paperwork
from Steve sits on her desk. On top of the pile is another box. A
plain, white cardboard box with a thin, dark green ribbon around
it. A small note says "L - Open it now. -S."

Lisa feels her legs weaken. She knows that Steve knows her secret.
She knows that the box must contain another order, probably another
skirt. It can't possibly be a shorter one, she thinks.

Nervously, she cuts the ribbon and slowly opens the box. It is, as
suspected, a garment, black, beneath a white note. The note reads

"Lisa,

    You looked beautiful today.  Almost perfect.
    This will bring you closer to perfect.
    Please wear it with the same black skirt you wore today.

-Steve."

She looks at the garment in the box. There's something lacy,
strappy, and something else underneath and she is not sure what it
is. She doesn't want anyone else to see it here at the office, but
she cannot tell unless she pulls it out of the box, so she does so.
She holds it up, and her heart stops. It is a black, lacy garter
belt, with nylon stockings underneath. She has never worn such a
thing - what would it feel like? She quickly returns it to the box
and closes it before anyone sees. "I will obey," she reminds
herself, and she rushes home in order to appease her throbbing
arousal.

Chapter five: Underneath

Friday morning, as the hot water pours down her naked back, Lisa
contemplates her situation. It's not so bad, she thinks. So I
attracted a man who likes to see me in sexy skirts and stockings. I
can do that. It doesn't change who I am. Very little has actually
changed. Then she thinks of the four orgasms that she had the
previous night, and realizes that she has to continue, no matter
what. She has not felt this fulfilled in a very long time. Probably
never, she thinks.

She begins to have doubts in her abilities to continue, after she
puts on the stockings and clips them to the garter belt. The belt
and lacy stocking tops frame her black panties, as if her pussy
were a work of art on display. She imagines her co-workers seeing
what she sees in the mirror. Their eyes would be instantly drawn to
her womanhood. She imagines this, and it excites her, but it also
scares her. She quickly reaches for her skirt to hide the sexy
undergarments.

When she pulls the black skirt up, however, she realizes that she
can't do what Steve said. The lace of the stocking tops are not
fully covered by the short, pleated black skirt, and when she
twirls the skirt swishes up, revealing her white flesh above the
stocking tops. She simply can't wear this to work! It is too
indecent!

She wonders whether to back out of the whole promise, but decides
that she doesn't want to be so easily defeated. She finds the green
skirt in her closet instead. It's a little longer, and as she pulls
it on, she is happy to find that it covers the stocking tops,
although just barely. Steve was probably not aware of how much the
stocking tops would show in the black one, she says to herself.
He'll understand. She puts on a lacy white bra (her favorite) and a
cream colored blouse, which she tucks into the skirt.

She rushes into the kitchen and microwaves some water for her
morning ritual of instant coffee. I am such an addict, she thinks,
as she pours the coffee into her thermal mug and rushes out the
door.

As she steps outside, and locks the door, she immediately feels a
cool wind on her naked upper thighs. The waving trees on the street
tell her that it's a windier day than most. Her coffee in one hand
allows her to only hold down one side of her skirt at once. As she
walks to the subway, she can feel the wind blowing her skirt up,
above the stocking tops. She can feel the eyes of the men on the
street, hoping to catch another glimpse. She is embarrassed, and
she rushes as quickly as she can into the subway.

Again she is running later than usual and again the subway car is
completely full. And again, she finds herself standing in the same
place, one hand on her purse and the other on the metal bar above
her head. She can feel her breasts pressed against the man standing
next to her; the car is packed like sardines. Just like the other
day, she thinks. The other day when . . .

And then she feels it. At first she thinks she must be imagining
it, but then she realizes it is back. The hand. It is gently
stroking the smooth nylon of her inner left knee. She closes her
eyes. Her heart speeds up. She will not look back. She will not
move. Is it the same hand, she wonders? Does it matter?

At first, the hand just strokes the soft nylon at her knees and
lower thighs. It feels delightful, but then she remembers that she
is not wearing pantyhose today. The hand is sure to wander upwards,
where it will find her bare inner thighs! Her instinct is to shut
her legs to stop it, but she does not. Vulnerability - that is the
point, she reminds herself. But she realizes as she considers her
options that her panties have become very, very wet. Surely the
hand will discover this!

The hand begins its upward journey and Lisa's heart beats even
faster. She can feel it at the hem of her skirt. She can feel it
stroking the inside of her thigh. It strokes higher, inching its
way, until it finds the warm, exposed flesh above the stocking. The
hand is now completely under her skirt, feeling that tender expanse
of flesh between her stockings and her panties. Lisa cannot help
but moan, it feels so good to be touched there, in that sensitive
area, on a crowded subway train. The hand then cups her panties and
caresses her sex through her panties. She feels her own wetness -
and knows that whoever is so boldly touching her knows she is
enjoying it.

She is nearing orgasm and she wonders whether she can go through
with it here on the subway train. Nervous that people are watching,
maybe even someone she knows, she tries to hold back. The hand
continues its caresses, and she is not sure she can stand it any
more. She feels she will have to come at any moment. She decides
she has to . . . she wants to. She presses her crotch against the
hand, hoping for a firmer touch. The hand complies; it finds her
clitoris through the cotton panties and applies pressure. It feels
so good!

But the orgasm, so close to happening, is prevented by the train
reaching the station and the subway car clearing out. Lisa is on
edge - she needs that orgasm! She looks around for a public
restroom and the only one in the station is locked. "Out of
Service," reads the sign.

Late, she rushes to her office building. The elevator is crowded,
and she wonders if any of the men standing inches away from her
know about the sexy stockings beneath her skirt. Did any of these
men see my stockings in the wind outside? Do any of them now how
aroused I am right now?

When she reaches her floor, she walks immediately towards the
restroom. She needs to satisfy her arousal; she doesn't care if
another woman hears. But as she rushes to the bathroom she is
stopped by Steve.

"Lisa!"

"Oh, hi Steve."

"Come into my cubicle." He is stern. Lisa remembers that she
disobeyed slightly by wearing the slightly longer green skirt.

Lisa enters his cubicle and stands by his desk. He is seated in his
office chair. Suddenly, she feels his hand on her thigh. It reminds
her of her experience on the subway, and she is flushed with
excitement. Again, she feels the hand caress her and move upwards,
past the top of her stockings. But this time, it is Steve, and he
is looking at her face. His hands touch the bare skin above the
stockings and Lisa realizes that if he feels her panties, he will
discover that they are sopping wet with desire. How embarrassing,
she thinks! He will know how much this turns me on! He will know
how much I need to come!

But the hand stops and leaves her skirt.

"I'm so glad you wore them," Steve says. "Why not with the skirt I
bought you, though?"

"It was too short," Lisa says, "The stockings showed."

"Ah," says Steve. "We can't have that." He smiles, and Lisa feels
relief. She did not know what she would do if he did not approve.

"But," says Steve, "I think we both know that I asked you to do
something and you didn't, and I'll bet you agree that some sort of
punishment is in order." Lisa's jaw almost drops to the floor.
Punishment? Her instinct was to slap him. But why were her panties
so warm and moist?

"Your punishment, Lisa," he says, "is going to be a little
uncomfortable. Take this." He hands her a bottle of water. "Drink
this down before lunch. You are not to use the bathroom without my
permission."

Lisa doesn't understand. Without his permission? Is she back in
grade school? "Um, okay, well, I need to use the bathroom now. May
I?" she asked.

"No. Now get to work."

Lisa ambles back to her desk, aroused, confused, and uncertain
about the future.

Chapter six: Cheryl

When she visits Joan later that afternoon, Lisa has trouble
remembering exactly what happened earlier that day, after Steve
sent her back to her desk. She does remember that Steve's order not
to use the bathroom heightened her urge to do just that, and her
willingness to obey the order provided a continuation of the
arousal that had been increasing in her all morning. After she got
back to her desk, Lisa found it extremely difficult to work. She
continued to be extremely horny for hours - all she could think
about was that hand on the subway, feeling her wetness through her
panties. That hand had felt so warm against her bare thighs. But
more than that - had anyone been watching her? She could not even
remember, even though it had only happened a few hours before.
Someone must have noticed, she thought. She had probably moaned.
She had probably been writhing. She had a picture of herself in the
subway, flushed with excitement, humping the hand of some unshaven
homeless pervert, trying to cum while mothers hid the eyes of their
children on the train. Was I that bad? Her memories were already
blurred by the pressure and the insistent itch of her crotch.

Add to this the fact that she really, really needed to pee. Her
morning coffee and half a bottle of water were pressing her
bladder, but she was afraid to ask Steve's permission to use the
bathroom. And she needed his permission, she remembers, because the
day was, like the day before, and the day before that, a skirt day.

She tried her best to ignore her bladder and her morning's
adventures and get some work done. As soon as she started typing
her weekly report, however, her thoughts wandered and her right
hand perpetually drifted to her lap. How easy it was to sneak that
hand under her skirt. How nice that there was nothing but those
thin cotton panties between her hand and the source of her
pleasure. She tried to type with one hand as her other hand stroked
herself beneath her short green skirt.

Suddenly, "Lisa, can I get a copy of the Roberts report from you?"
It was Cheryl. She poked her head into Lisa's open cubicle. Lisa
looked down and realized her skirt was resting far above the tops
of her stockings and her hand was . . . oh my god, did Cheryl see?

"Um, of course, hold on a moment," said Lisa, as she straightened
her skirt as if she had only been innocently scratching her knee.
She dug to the bottom of a stack of folders on her desk and found
the report. Cheryl stood at the cubicle door, silent. Lisa handed
her the report, looking into her eyes to see if there was any
response. Cheryl was silent and stoic. She took the report, smiled,
and then abruptly walked away.

I have /got/ to get my own office soon, Lisa thought. She has some
10 employees - does that not warrant her an office? But then she
thought: why do I need my own office? So I can masturbate while I'm
supposed to be working? She sat in contemplative stillness for
probably twenty minutes. Did Cheryl see? What did she think?

Finally she snapped out of it. Oh my god, she thought, I so need
some privacy, a splash of water, and a pee!

She stood up and pulled her skirt down as far as it would go, which
was not very far, she thought. She marched to Steve's cubicle.

"Steve, may I /please/ use the restroom now?"

"Did you drink the bottle of water I gave you?"

"I drank half of it. If I have any more I'll burst. Please Steve."

"Stand a little closer."

Lisa approached Steve, who remained seated in his cubicle chair.
She is quite tall and his chair was low, putting his face at the
level of her crotch. His hand reached for her thigh, which he
gently stroked.

"Why do you want to use the restroom now? I was going to play a
little game with you at lunch. All part of your punishment,
remember?"

Lisa shuddered at the feeling of Steve's hand on her thigh. It was
different from the subway hand; that hand was much firmer, and its
anonymity made it seem larger. Steve's hand was gentle, almost a
tickle - and she needed more than a tickle. She looked at Steve's
face; at his large, childish grin, and wondered what she really
felt about this man. He is assertive, but . . .

"Steve, I need to pee. Okay? You said not to go without your
permission, but I have to go, NOW." Steve's hand had now gone under
her skirt, where his fingernail was gently tickling her bare thigh.
He tickled her for a few seconds, as Lisa waited for a reply, her
distraction mounting.

"Okay, boss," said Steve, " . . . but we'll play a little game
right now instead of later." He removed his hand from her skirt and
folded his arms. "That's a nice blouse you're wearing," he said.

Lisa looked down at her blouse. With the garter and skirt, she had
barely given any thought to her shirt that morning, choosing a
simple cream cotton blouse.

Steve turned away from Lisa and jotted something down on a piece of
paper, which he then folded twice.

"Here's the game: on this page is a number," said Steve. "It is the
number of buttons of your blouse you will have to unbutton in order
to use the bathroom now. If you want to use the bathroom, you have
to tell me a number of buttons. If it is smaller than the number on
this page, then you may /not/ use the bathroom; rather you will
have to wait until after lunch. If it is equal to or larger than
this number, then you have to unbutton the number of buttons that
/you/ say. And the buttons will stay unbuttoned all day long."

Lisa was confused at first, but then she thought about what number
to guess. She couldn't guess too low; she HAD to get into the
bathroom NOW. She had to guess Steve's number. She looked down at
her blouse. Five buttons showed above her skirt. He wouldn't ask
for all five - that would not pass in the office. Neither would
four. Three might, MIGHT just barely pass for decent. That's
probably his number.

"Three," said Lisa.

"Well, then," said Steve, his grin wider still, "unbutton three
buttons."

Lisa did it, she guessed right! She unbuttoned the buttons; the
first was one she might have unbuttoned on her own when it got too
hot. The second showed a bit of cleavage. The third showed the
middle of her lacy white bra. The thought of her office mates
seeing her underwear unnerved her. I have to leave these open all
day?

"Now," continued Steve, "you may use the restroom, but only to pee,
since, as you said, that's the reason you needed to go. You may do
nothing else. That's an order."

Steve handed her the piece of paper and turned back to his
computer.

Lisa walked down the hall towards the restroom. As she walked, her
blouse strayed open, showing large amounts of her upper chest. She
hoped no one would see her in this state of dress. She felt so
exposed - her legs were on display, her thighs were naked under her
short skirt, her white lacy bra was visible to all - and her pussy
felt like a river with a leaky dam about to burst.

But 10 feet from the bathroom, her boss Jim turned the corner and
spotted her. "Hi, Lisa," he said as he passed, an obvious smirk on
his face. Lisa rushed into the bathroom.

Finally in the privacy of a stall, she lifted her skirt and pulled
her panties down to her stocking tops. (That was easier than usual,
she thinks.) The relief of emptying her over-full bladder filled
her with pleasure, and she almost orgasmed from it. Almost. As she
sat on the stall, feeling relieved, she noted she was still holding
a piece of paper. What's this? She unfolded it. Scrawled in pencil
was a single large number: "1."

Oh, she thought. She looked down at her chest, at her C-cup breasts
behind the lace of her bra. She could have guessed 2. Or even 1.
And then she would not have had to have her bra on display. She
must have been confused by the game. It was that hand at the
subway, she thought. It left me so confused. She again started
stroking herself, as she sat on the toilet. But I must not do that,
she thought. Steve ordered me not to.

She cleaned up as best she could - finding herself and her panties
extremely wet - and exited the stall. Then she saw something that
gave her pause.

There, in the large mirror above the sinks, she saw a 26 year old
blonde woman, whose blouse was open to her bra, whose skirt was 4
inches too short, and one of whose stockings had fallen so low that
the start of the lacy stocking top was visible beneath the skirt's
hem. Her cheeks were red, her breathing was heavy, and as she
looked she could see that the woman's right hand was sneaking under
her skirt, stroking her pussy through her wet panties. That woman
in the mirror is going to go back out to the office, looking just
that, she thought. Everyone will know that she desires sex. They
will see it in her exposed cleavage, in the glimpses of bare thigh
above her stockings. They will smell it in her pussy which gushes
all day, feeling no relief. And anything they ask, she thought,
anything, she will do. That woman in the mirror - that's a SLUT.
Look at how lustfully she is rubbing her panties. But she won't let
herself orgasm, because Steve told her not too. Yes, a slut. She
thought of saying the word out loud. It is what Steve wants, isn't
it? She said it. "Slut." Her stroking intensified. "SLUT." She knew
Steve ordered her not to masturbate, but it felt so good. So very,
very good. Her entire body was warm and sensitive with pleasure.
"Ssssslut" she gasped, as she felt the orgasm, the biggest one
ever, she thought. Her fingers were inside her panties, her skirt
pulled obscenely to her waist, and the pleasure overwhelmed her.
She felt the orgasm hit her, and hit her hard. Her eyes closed as
the waves of sexual release began to surge through every part of
her body.

But just then, the door opened. Cheryl walked in, and without
another word walked right back out. Lisa was shocked by the
intrusion; her orgasm was cut short and she tried to quickly
straighten herself up, but she knew it is too late. "She definitely
saw this time," Lisa said to the slut in the mirror, as she felt
the pleasure start to fade away.

        Chapter seven: The First Relapse

This has gone too far, Lisa decided. She buttoned up her shirt,
including even the collar button, which she would usually leave
undone, to make a point. She pulled her stockings up and assured
that the tops are well hidden by her skirt. She splashed some cold
water on her face. She had disobeyed, but it is for the better, she
thought. She couldn't go into the office looking like . . . that.
She could not let her employee give her orders. This had all gotten
quite ridiculous.

Satisfied that she looked as professional as she could in her cream
blouse and miniskirt, she left the restroom and immediately went to
Steve's desk.

"Steve," she said. She saw his eyes scan her shirt, buttoned to the
top. "I need you to put the final touches on my weekly progress
report. I'm going to take a long lunch and then I have my usual
afternoon appointment. I don't think I will return today after
that. I'll see you Monday morning."

"Uhh, okay, boss," said Steve, with obvious disappointment in his
face.

Feeling back in control, Lisa walked back to her cubicle, emailed
Steve the documents he needed, packed up her handbag, and walked
out of the office, down the elevator, into the street, into the
subway, making eye contact with no one. She went straight home,
laid in her bed, and stared at the ceiling for the better part of
an hour.

She meets Joan that afternoon, after changing into some old, comfy
jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. Joan's office looks a little like a
library; three of its walls are covered in bookshelves, mostly
filled with books and journals, with the occasional piece of
sculpture or framed free-standing photograph. Two armchairs face
each other in the middle of the room. Sitting in one is Joan, who
wears a dark blue skirt-suit with bare legs. She is gazing through
her bifocals at Lisa, who sits silently in the other chair,
thinking about her day while reading the titles of the books.
"Modern Psychology." "Games People Play." "The Problem of Sex."

"Lisa?" Joan's tone is gentle.

"I don't want to talk about it," says Lisa.

"Isn't talking about it what you pay me for?" jokes Joan. "Well,
talk about something. Don't be childish."

"Childish? I am /not/ being childish. Fine. I'll tell you."

Joan waits.

"Okay. Ever since your little 'dare' I've been following the orders
of this employee of mine."

"And?"

"And today I found myself in a public bathroom, half-naked, ready
to prance around my office like a . . a . . . like someone not as
professional as I am and should be, all because of . . . "

"Why were you half naked?"

"Well, it was a skirt day. Like you said. I was wearing a skirt and
opening myself up. Big mistake."

"Why a mistake? You seemed to enjoy the feeling last week."

"But it got out of hand."

"How exactly?"

"Well, the skirt was so short - it only fell this high on my
thighs." Lisa gestured with her hand how long the skirt had been.

"Well, that's about where my skirt is sitting," says Joan, pointing
out her own hemline. "That still passes as professional in this
decade."

"Well, it's not only that; my shirt was undone."

"All the way?"

"Well, three buttons, but . . . "

"Lisa, that seems a little more revealing than usual for you, but
it's actually quite trendy these days to wear a blouse half
un-buttoned. I still don't see why this is 'out-of-hand.'"

"Well, I was in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror, and
my co-worker, Cheryl saw me."

"So you were in the privacy of a woman's bathroom, and a coworker
saw you in a skirt as short as mine and with three buttons of your
shirt undone. And this is out of hand why?"

"I looked like . . . a slut." Lisa blushed as she said the word.

"Lisa, I doubt it. You looked a little sexier than usual, for sure,
but a slut? This is the problem, Lisa. You are too hard on
yourself."

"Well, my employee, the one who was giving me orders, made me get
his permission to use the bathroom."

"And you obviously got it, since you were in the bathroom."

"Well, that's why my shirt was unbuttoned. To get permission."

Joan waited for more, but Lisa fell silent again.

"Lisa, last week you told me that not backing out of these little
orders was the point - that it made you feel better. And now? Is
there something you're not telling me?"

"No, but . . . " Lisa rolls her eyes and starts reading the titles
on another bookshelf. "Fear of Flying." "My Secret Garden."

"Lisa," says Joan, leaning forward, "I think we need to find out
where all this. . . repression comes from. You've told me that your
father left you when you were, what, twelve?"

"Yes."

"Lisa, did he ever . . . touch you in a way that he shouldn't
have?"

"Oh my god no!" Lisa exclaims. "No! If anything he didn't touch me
enough. He mostly ignored me, except to scold me for staining his
precious furniture. No! How could you ask such a thing?!"

"I'm sorry, Lisa," says Joan, "modern psychology is a quagmire of
inappropriate presumptions. Let's focus on the present. When was
the last time you had sex?"

Lisa is silent.

"I'm guessing it's been a while. A year, maybe?"

Lisa blushes.

"More than a year?"

"Not since college," she says, reluctantly. "I've been busy, and
guys have been so . . . well, I've been busy."

"I see. Have you been masturbating regularly?"

Lisa's blush intensifies. "I don't want to . . . do we have to talk
about this?"

Joan pauses, contemplates, and then asks "Lisa, were you
masturbating in that bathroom today?"

Lisa's hands fidget.

"Well, were you?"

"Okay, yes. Yes I was. I was masturbating in a public bathroom. Are
you happy now? And I'm mad at my employee because he told me I
couldn't but it's not the sort of thing you can stop, you know?"

Joan allows a brief pause, and continues. "Lisa, I think I see what
happened today. Masturbation is a natural, innocent activity, but
you don't see it that way. This is why you thought you were slutty.
It's not because of your flirtatious games with Steve."

Lisa shoots back: "How did you know his name is Steve? I never
mentioned him by name!"

"You said his name last week!"

"I did not! You know him, don't you? Oh my god, you told him I was
going to follow his orders! That's how he knew! That's why he was
so confident! You knew all along!"

"Hold on, Lisa, hold on. I don't know Steve. Heck, I don't even
know what company you work at, or even what exactly you do. I only
know his name because you said it last week."

"I didn't!"

"You did!"

Another silence pervades the room. Joan says calmly, "Lisa, you are
very untrusting right now. You are defensive, suspicious . . . and
it's all because you were caught masturbating."

"I'm sorry, you're probably right."

"Look, I am right. Now, let me ask you - are you going to keep
going with this skirt dare, or are you going to back out because of
this coworker who caught you at a moment of being a normal woman?"

"Oh, Joan, you're right, I've been silly. I shouldn't give up so
easily, should I?"

"Here is what I would recommend. Are you listening?"

"I'm listening."

"Okay: a new rule, for when you are wearing a skirt. You may only
masturbate with someone's permission. You have my number - you can
call me up if you want. Or call up a trusted friend. Or ask Steve.
But if someone else tells you it's okay to masturbate, then you
won't feel so guilty about it. Do you understand?"

"I do."

"Do you think you can do it?"

"What if I really, really need relief?"

Joan smiles. "Then you'll really, really need permission."

"Okay Joan," Lisa says. "I'll try again."



That weekend, Lisa went shopping and bought a new skirt. It was a
little more conservative - dark brown, straight cut, and almost
knee length. A long slit up the back made it somewhat sexy, though,
she thought. Professional but sexy: that's what I'll be. And no
matter what, it was still a skirt, and she would still follow the
skirt day rules. She looked forward to it. She felt worried and
lonesome all of Saturday and Sunday, and found that she missed the
feeling that she was "following orders." She did like Steve, and
although it was awkward to have to be his boss and follow his rules
at the same time, it seemed more awkward to ignore the warm feeling
his knowing gaze could give her.

On Sunday night as she drifted to sleep, she made a resolution: on
Monday, I will go to Steve. I will wear my new skirt and the
stockings he gifted me. I will pull him out of the office and go
someplace private - the park adjoining the office complex - and I
will apologize. I will tell him that I will do whatever I can to
make it up to him for not obeying his orders.

She wondered what he would do. The thought made her pussy moisten,
for the first time since her episode in the bathroom, but she was
too tired to do anything but drift into a deep but anxious sleep.



Chapter 8: Lisa's Dream

That night Lisa had a dream. In her dream she was in high school
again. She saw herself walking down her crowded high school
hallway, wearing her green skirt - this was before it was
shortened, knee length. Of course, she didn't have that skirt in
high school; indeed, when she was in high school, she wore jeans
all the time, just as all the other girls and boys did in real life
and in this dream. But Lisa was definitely wearing a knee length
green skirt. Conservative, calm, she is stopped by a boy she had
dated. Brad.

In her dream, Lisa knows that her skirt is very, very strange. It's
length . . . changes. It changes when she is aroused. The more
aroused she gets, the shorter the skirt gets. As Lisa stands by her
locker, chatting with Brad, she is aware of her girlfriends looking
at her from across the hall. They see her finger playing with her
hair as she chats with Brad, about homework, about the dance coming
up, about television. And they giggle as they see her skirt shrink.
They know why it's shrinking! Lisa hears them giggle and looks
down: half her thighs are now visible. Her legs are naked - she is
the only student not wearing jeans, showing off her 15-year-old
thighs. They are soft and fair skinned and they seem to glow, and
Brad can see them too. Lisa is blushing, and with each blush the
skirt goes higher, because she is aroused at the thought of Brad
seeing her legs. She cannot make the skirt stop shrinking, so she
keeps talking to Brad as if nothing is wrong. Soon her butt cheeks
will be poking out, and the giggling will intensify.

Somehow, she finds herself in French class - and now she is wearing
a cheerleader's uniform. When she will wake up later, she will find
the memory of this strange, since there were no cheerleaders at her
high school, and she certainly has never donned a cheerleader's
uniform in her life. But it doesn't seem strange in her dream. It
seems like she was supposed to be wearing it, because the big game
was that day, and all the football players need to have their
spirits lifted. So she is wearing the uniform, for the football
players, who grunt at each other and drool as they ogle her bare
legs. Her white and red sweater is tight, showing off the shape of
her perky teenage breasts. Her blonde hair is pulled back into two
little pigtails - has she ever worn her hair that way? And of
course her skirt barely covers her legs. If her green skirt
shortened as much as it did earlier, what will become of this very
open garment? And she is still aroused, and it does make the skirt
get shorter, and shorter. The desks in the room are arranged in a
big circle; the middle of the room is empty, and she can feel all
the boys and girls in the class, all wearing blue jeans and
tee-shirts, looking at her exposed legs. She needs to stop her
skirt from getting shorter, or else it will vanish entirely. She
has to stop her arousal.

She opens her legs, and hears a gasp from the boys across the room.
Her hand slips between her thighs, to her extremely wet, bright red
cheerleader panties. When she touches them, they completely melt
and drip down her leg, making a little puddle on the floor by her
feet.

At the thought of wearing such a short, shrinking skirt with no
panties at all, her arousal doubles, and the length of her skirt
shrinks correspondingly. She must stop it! She must get relief! She
starts stroking herself, rubbing her wet clit, as the boys and
girls all watch with open mouths. The humiliation is overwhelming,
but oh the pleasure!

As her climax nears, her French teacher, Monsieur Brideaux, slaps a
ruler on the desk,

"Excusez-moi Mademoiselle!" he shouts. But she cannot stop. He
opens his mouth to speak again and says: "Beeeeeeeep"

It is Lisa's alarm clock. She wants to return to her dream. What
was her teacher going to say? She wants the orgasm - she needs to
stop her skirt from disappearing! She slams on the snooze button
and falls quickly back asleep.

She is dreaming again, but she is no longer in French class. She's
at the mall, where all the kids are hanging out. And she's wearing
her green skirt again, but this time she is wearing her new
stockings and garter. And she hears her friends start to giggle
again. Brad is there, looking at video game posters in a store
window. She is trying to get his attention, "Brad? Brad? Do you
want to fuck me? Brad?" But he is paying no attention. As her
friends' giggling gets louder, she realizes she is still aroused.
She never got her orgasm in French class! The alarm clock had
prevented it. So her skirt is still shrinking! "Brad! I need you to
fuck me now!" But Brad has started playing a demo of some game. Her
skirt is still rising. It is now at the top of her stockings.
"Please, Brad! Hurry!!!"

"Hey Lisa," calls Samantha, one of the girls, "nice stockings!" Her
skirt is now two inches above her stocking tops, and she cannot
pull it back down. There is simply not enough material any more.
She tries to look nonchalant as her friends giggle, but she knows
everyone can see her naked thighs above her stockings. Soon, her
short skirt will expose her bare pussy. The skirt rises higher.
"Brad! Fuck me now!!!"

Brad turns to her, annoyed, and says "Beeeeeeep."

Oh dammit, Lisa says. She looks at her alarm clock. She is going to
be late for work.

This is not the first time she has woken up from an erotic dream
with her right hand on her crotch, so wet her pajama pants are
soaked through leaving a small puddle on the sheets. No, it
happened one month ago. And probably a month before that. This is
the time of the month when Lisa is at her horniest.

Of course, she remembers that last month she had no men in her
life, nothing sexual in her agenda, and so she lay in bed for
nearly an hour fingering herself to multiple orgasms. As she
arrived at work, late and exhausted, she rationalized her guilt and
emptiness in a language of hormones and biological necessity.

This month was different though. This month - this Monday of this
month - Lisa had an agenda for feeling better. Yes. She was going
to don a new skirt, Steve's stockings, a sexy top, and she was
going to march right up to Steve, fresh and on time, and apologize
for not following his orders on Friday. She would make it clear
that she was still . . . available. For she would be, she drilled
to herself: she will do what he asks; heck, what /anyone/ asks, and
she will not selfishly amuse herself, no. This time, she will not
masturbate without permission.

Her morning shower almost made her late again. She could not get
her mind off her dream. Brad had never fucked her - neither in her
dream nor in real life. Her college boyfriend, Eric; he was the
first, and as she recalls, the last, since she decided since then
that her own hand did better work than the only cock she ever felt.
But she had a feeling that Steve would be different; and he is
clearly interested. Lisa realizes as she has these thoughts that
she is again stroking herself under the spray of warm water. She
snaps back into focus and turns the water off. I must be fresh for
Steve, she thinks.

A little wet from the shower, legs freshly shaved, she examines her
nude body in her mirror. Her skin is fair - almost pale, but very
smooth and unblemished. She notices that her nipples are hard from
her arousal. She picks out a bra - as she did last week, she
chooses a white, lacy bra that adds a little lift and covers her
pointy nipples well. She picks out panties: white, simple,
functional. She then puts on her new garter belt and the stockings
Steve gave her, rolling them very carefully up her legs. She looks
at herself again in just her underwear; she looks sexy, but still
herself, she thinks. Yes. This is me - the new me.

Her spirits brighten when she pulls her new skirt out of the
closet. To think, before a week ago she did not own a single skirt;
only two formal dresses. But now she has a skirt that she bought
just for today, her third, and the excitement builds in her as she
considers what it means. This is a skirt. When I wear it, I am
making myself vulnerable. Sexually vulnerable. And at least one man
knows it, and today I am going to remind him. Suddenly, an image
comes to her mind of Steve with no pants and a large, erect penis,
nearly ready to plunge into her own very wet slit. She smiles as
she pulls up her skirt. She needs this.

This morning she pays more attention to her shirt than she usually
does, trying on several before choosing a thin, pale blue sweater.
It is sufficiently tight that the shape of her breasts is very
clear, and it shows off how thin her waist is. It is a little
short, and the skirt is a little low on her hips, revealing about
an inch of flesh at her waist when her arms are raised, or behind
her. Perfect, she thinks. She notes how the outfit shows off the
curve of her hips and the fullness of her breasts. She has never
felt this sexy - this attractive - in her entire life, and as she
drinks a quick mug of coffee, eats a cold bagel, slips on her work
shoes, and runs out the door, she thanks Joan again for allowing
her to look forward to her day.

Chapter 9: A New Skirt

The subway is a little more empty today, as she is running about
thirty minutes late. Still, part of her hopes that the hand - her
hand - will somehow find her again today. She knows the slit in the
back of her new brown skirt should make it easy for the hand to
find it's way to her bare thighs again. As she stands in her usual
place on the train, she feels a scratching at her nylon-covered
leg.

"Oh!" She involuntarily releases a small moan at the feeling,
knowing how good the hand will feel when it starts to rub her.

"Excuse me," mutters the businessman behind her. She turns to look
and sees that the scratching was the corner of his notepad sticking
out of the top of his bag on the floor of the train. There is no
hand.

And in fact, Lisa looks more carefully and sees that this
businessman's notepad snagged her stockings enough to cause a small
run. "Dammit!" she says, and then she stares at the businessman,
"Watch it, buddy!"

"I'm sorry," says the man, but then the train stops and he rushes
out.

As Lisa walks to her office, the run in her stockings keeps on
running, and by the time she reaches her cubicle she declares them
a lost cause. As her computer boots, she walks to the bathroom,
enters a stall, and takes off her skirt. She pulls the stockings
off her legs and removes the garter belt. Dammit, she thinks, I
wanted to wear these for Steve when I apologized to him. I hope he
understands.

Maybe, it occurs to her as she walks back to her cubicle, stockings
balled up in her right hand, legs bare, maybe he'll do something to
punish me again. The thought wakes up her sex drive again; she
feels that spark of arousal and decides that she cannot wait to
apologize to Steve. She changes course and walks directly to his
cubicle.

It's empty. Maybe he's late, or getting coffee.

She walks back to her own cubicle and stuffs her stockings and
garters into her handbag. She opens up her email program, and a
variety of messages arrive. Most are business related, but two are
personal. The first reads

Lisa -

I'm taking a sick day today. Sudden cold. I should be back
tomorrow.

- Steve

Damn, she thinks. There goes her plan. The second email reads

Dear Lisa,

I think we should talk about what happened on Friday, so that
things don't get weird between us. Maybe we can meet for coffee
this morning?

Best, Cheryl

Oh great. Lisa sinks into her chair and says aloud, "I hate
Mondays."

At about 11, Cheryl pokes her head into Lisa's cubicle and asks,
"Is now a good time to talk?"

Lisa, who had never bothered to reply to Cheryl's email, hesitates,
but then replies "Okay, Cheryl. Let's see if there's a conference
room free."

Situated behind the (mostly) sound proof glass of conference room
#2, Cheryl and Lisa sit in silence at first, following a short
conversation about how warm the weather is becoming. Lisa looks at
her bare thighs, slightly exposed by her new brown skirt, and tries
to remember the joyous anticipation she felt this morning at the
thought of giving herself to Steve. A meeting with Cheryl to talk
about an obviously mutual embarrassment was /not/ in her plan
today.

Finally, Cheryl speaks up: "So, on Friday, after seeing what I saw,
at first I didn't think I should say anything, because what you do
is your own business, but then I thought about the fact that I do
need to work with you, and we have to work in an environment in
which we feel comfortable, and I think maybe you should keep up the
professional environment that all the rest of us do, so that, you
know . . . "

Cheryl pauses for a moment. Lisa is speechless.

Cheryl has short red hair. She is slightly short and plump, but
only slightly. She is wearing beige slacks, tight black blouse, and
3" heels. A little bit of makeup makes her face seem girlish; Lisa
guesses, however, that Cheryl is about 5 years her elder. Lisa
remains silent as Cheryl catches her breath and starts again.

"That came out wrong. Look, Lisa, if you think about it, what you
do in the public places of this office do affect those around you,
like me. I have to admit I was a little annoyed at how you were so
blatantly flirting with Steve, . . . and the way you so coldly
rejected him, after all that. You need to be a little nicer to him,
but most importantly you need to take this behavior out of the
office."

"Wait a second," says Lisa, "I never 'rejected' Steve. I don't
think you understand."

"Lisa, as I see it, you made Steve think you were interested in
him; I saw you chatting with him at your cubicles and at lunch. I
saw how you were dressing for him, with those short little skirts
and your breasts hanging out of your blouse. And then on Friday you
clearly revealed, to me at least, that you were only doing it for
self amusement, as evidenced by your . . . displays at your desk
and in the restroom. And everyone saw how curt you were with Steve
right before you stormed out of the building, not returning. Jeez.
Steve must have been devastated. It's no wonder he didn't come in
today."

"No, wait, Cheryl, you have it all wrong."

"Do I? Well, feel free to correct me, then."

Lisa begins: "well, I was. . . " and then she pauses. How can she
explain this? How can she tell Cheryl about her skirt days, and
what they meant to her? And if she does tell her, then Cheryl will
know her secret; she will know her vulnerability. The thought of
this again causes a stirring below Lisa's waist. She crosses her
legs, and her rising skirt reminds her of her dream. I have to tell
Cheryl the truth, she thinks, as she feels her courage waning and
her panties moistening.

"Okay, here it is," she begins. "I was wearing those skirts because
Steve told me to. See, I have this rule that whenever I wear a
skirt, I have to obey, so Steve was telling me stuff to do. He
bought me the skirt I wore on Thursday, and the stockings I wore on
Friday, and he made me wear them to work, even though I thought
they were too revealing. And on Friday, he made me unbutton my
blouse before using the bathroom. That's why I was dressed like
that. And on Friday I rushed out because I started to find the
whole situation a little too embarrassing, after you saw me, you
know, touching myself. So that's why I left."

Cheryl looks confused. "I'm sorry - why are you doing whatever
Steve says?"

"It's because it's a skirt day. It's because I'm wearing a skirt.
That's all. It's because I want to, really."

Cheryl nods her head. "I think I get it. This is about the position
that's opening up. The assistant director position. And the empty
office. I've seen the way Jim has been looking at you, and I heard
him talking about you at lunch. You're probably flirting with Jim
to get the position, and playing your little games with Steve in
order to get a good employee recommendation from him."

"No, Cheryl. I wouldn't do that. I would not use my body to get
ahead."

"I didn't think you would either, but how else can I understand
this sudden change in your behavior?"

"It's very simple, really, Cheryl. I just wanted to feel . . .
vulnerable, so I decided that I would wear a skirt and be
vulnerable, and Steve took advantage. It's no more complicated than
that. It's not about the position. Really."

Cheryl eyed Lisa suspiciously. "If it's that simple, then you
should be doing what I tell you to do, too, right?"

"Well, sure, I guess. I mean, within reason. I'm not going to give
you all my money or anything, or take out your garbage, but if you
want me to rub your shoulders or something . . . it is NOT about
the position!"

"Lisa, stand up." Cheryl spoke with conviction, but watched Lisa's
response inquisitively. This is it, thinks Lisa. My test. She
stands up.

"Close the blinds." A little nervous, Lisa closes the vertical
blinds separating the conference room from the rest of the office.
The windows of the other wall remain open, offering a view of the
city from the 23rd floor.

"If that skirt means only what you say it does, then take off your
sweater." Lisa feels a warmth in her crotch at the command. She
looks into Cheryl's blue eyes as she pulls her sweater over her
head, revealing her lacy white bra.

"The bra too," adds Cheryl. Lisa blushes, and unhooks the bra from
behind. She puts it on top of her sweater on the conference table.

Cheryl sits back in her chair and looks at Lisa's breasts. "Very
nice," says Cheryl, "but not as nice as mine. You skinny girls have
your drawbacks." Lisa says nothing. "Okay, you can put the sweater
back on now."

Lisa reaches for her bra. "Leave that with me," says Cheryl. "I
want to see those little nipples pointing through your sweater all
day. If they soften up, give them a little pinch to wake them up."

Lisa pulls the tight sweater over the breasts and indeed sees her
hard nipples clearly through the thin cotton.

"I guess I'm going to believe you," says Cheryl, "but I'm not too
sure what to think. I'll get back to you." Cheryl takes Lisa's bra
and stands up. "I'll be checking on your nipples from time to time,
to see if you're really into this or if you're just making up a
story."

As Cheryl starts to leave, Lisa stops her, and before she has a
chance to think about it, blurts out, "Wait, Cheryl, there's one
more thing. You see, when I wear this skirt, I also need permission
to, you know, masturbate. I was going to ask Steve, but he's out,
and maybe he's mad at me, and I don't want anyone else to know, and
it's that time of the month when I'm really horny, and so I wonder
if you would just give me permission." Lisa closes her eyes in
embarrassment. I can't believe I just said that.

Cheryl smiles. "We'll see," she says, as she walks out.

Lisa looks at her nipples again, still hard and very visible. Right
now, her urge to find a bathroom stall and pleasure herself seems
overwhelming, but she knows she cannot. She straightens her skirt,
summons her courage, and walks back into the office.



Chapter 10: A Little Help


Throughout that day, Lisa felt the eyes of the office on her
nipples, and did not find that she needed to, as Cheryl put it,
"give them a little pinch to wake them up." No, they were quite
awake on their own, as well as the rest of her body.

At about 3:15pm, she found herself in the bathroom. Sitting in the
stall, her panties and skirt at her knees, she noticed that her
finger was teasing her clit. She pulled it away, but the pleasure
she so desperately needed drew it back. The conversation she had
with Joan about getting permission seemed to make sense at the time
- and isn't that why Friday had gone so awry? But she had barely
managed to get any work done at all that day, thinking only about
her naked legs, about her pointy nipples under her blue sweater,
about Steve tickling her thighs, and about the smile Cheryl gave
when she left the conference room. And about her pussy, which
selfishly demanded attention. Getting permission seemed like a good
idea, but maybe not this time of the month when her hormones were
telling her to find a man, now!

Then it occurs to her: Cheryl hadn't /denied/ her permission. Maybe
she could get permission from someone else! Then she could give her
needy pussy the attention it craved and not feel guilty about it!

She pulls up her panties and skirt and rushes to her cubicle, and
picks up her phone. Who should she call? Her first thought is
Steve, but then she thinks better of it and realizes that Joan will
surely give her permission. Quickly she dials her therapist's
number.

The phone rings three times. A recording comes on: "Hello, you have
reached the office of Joan Goldman. I am with a patient right now
and have de-activated my phone. However, I will be happy to return
your call as soon as I have a free moment. If this is an emergency,
press pound at any time. Otherwise, please leave a message,
including your telephone number. Thank You." As the beep sounded,
Lisa started to panic. Is this an emergency? What will Joan thinks
when her session is interrupted by a request to masturbate? Should
she leave a message? What should she say? And will someone in the
next cubicle overhear her? This is hopeless, she thinks. She hangs
up.

The moment the phone hits the hook, it rings again. Hopeful, Lisa
picks it up. "Hello?"

"Lisa! It's Jim. I got a busy signal the first time I called. Who
were you calling?"

What should she say? She can't tell her boss she was calling her
therapist! Not if she wanted that promotion. "A client. Roberts."

"Oh? I thought we were close to closing that account. What was the
call about?"

Lisa feels like a schoolgirl in trouble. She looks down at her lap
and thinks: you! You got me into this! It's time to be an adult,
she thinks.

"I'm sorry Jim, it wasn't Roberts. It was a personal call I'd
rather not discuss."

There's a pause.

"Hey, no problem. As long as it wasn't long distance."

"No sir, of course not."

"Listen, Lisa, I'm trying to set something up. It could be a good
opportunity for you. But I need to ask you a personal question. Do
you mind?"

Does Jim know something? She responds, "Go ahead."

"Feel free not to answer. I mean really. There's no obligation
here."

"Go ahead and ask." Lisa worries, but reminds herself: it's a skirt
day. Jim is clearly uncertain, or covering himself against sexual
harassment, she thinks. But he needn't worry. She feels the same
suspense she remembered having on her first date.

"Okay: it's just this. What, um, what dress size are you?"

Well, she knew it wouldn't be something she wrote on her resume.
Jim has something in mind . . . and although she's worried, she is
anxious to know what.

"What's this about, sir?" she asks.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, if I can get this set up. But if I can't,
then it's better that you not know. "

She realizes she is playing with her hair. "Well, I'm usually a
size 5, sometimes a 6, depending on the clothes."

"Okay, Lisa. Thank you. I'll call you in for a meeting tomorrow
afternoon if this works out, okay?"

"Okay, sir." Jim hangs up, and then Lisa does too.




At 4:30 Cheryl came to her cubicle. Her face was bright with a
smile.

"Lisa, listen, I'm sorry I was so cross with you earlier."

Lisa looked down at her sweater and made sure her nipples were
still perky. Seeing that they were, she smiled back at Cheryl.

Cheryl continued, "You know, I've been thinking about what you
said, and I think I believe you. Actually, I kind of want to give
you a little help."

"Help? How?"

"Well . . . hey, can you take off a little early today? Maybe we
can get some drinks and perhaps dinner together."

Lisa realized that she was dying to leave work, and Cheryl's
friendly tone was alluring. "Okay."

Soon Cheryl and Lisa were walking through the downtown streets
together. Cheryl led Lisa into a parking garage, where her car, a
six-year-old luxury sedan, waited on the third floor.

"How can you afford to drive to work?" asked Lisa, "Parking is so
expensive around here."

"My husband gets two parking spots in this garage with his job."

"You're married?"

Cheryl smiled and showed off her engagement and wedding rings. The
diamond was so large and shiny, Lisa could hardly believe she had
never noticed it before. "It has its advantages," she said.


The drive out of the city was not quick, as they caught the
beginnings of the rush hour traffic. But they had plenty of time to
talk.

"I think I believe you that you're not dressing sexy to get the
promotion," said Cheryl, "although it was hard for me to believe at
first. After all, I'm hoping to get the same position, as I'm sure
you know."

"I'm sure you'll get it, Cheryl. You've been at the company longer
than me."

"I'm not so sure. Since you've been here you've really shaken
things up. We're all very impressed at the efficiency of your
department."

"Well, thank you," said Lisa. "It's just a matter of hiring the
right people . . . and putting in the extra hours when they're
needed."

Cheryl smiled. "We all know how often you're the last one out of
the office, Lisa. How late do you work most of the time?"

"Well, usually until 7pm, depending on how hungry I am. There's
always so much to do."

Cheryl laughed. "See, this is why I don't think you're dressing
sexy to get the promotion. You don't need to dress sexy. Everyone
knows you'll get it, despite my seniority."

Lisa tried to gauge Cheryl's emotions. Was she bitter? She seemed
perfectly friendly.

"But," continued Cheryl, "I'll bet you haven't got many friends."

Lisa thought for a moment. "Well," she said, "My best friend is
Christie; she was my roommate in college. Of course, she lives in
Denver now, but we see each other every now and then, when she
flies into town."

Cheryl glanced at Lisa, and then back at the road.

"And, well, there's . . . Joan."

"Who's Joan?"

"Joan's my therapist."

Cheryl laughed and put her right hand on Lisa's bare knee. "Lisa,
since you've come here you've been like a drill sergeant. You bark
orders at your employees and even your coworkers. You never come to
any of the office's social functions, except to the very first
Christmas party when you were first hired. As I recall, that was
the only time - until recently - that I ever saw you in clothing
that isn't described as 'stern corporate bland.' But still it was
prudish as hell. It's no wonder you haven't many friends. But
that's nothing that can't be changed."

Lisa felt the warmth of Cheryl's hand on her knee, and it felt
good.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl; it just didn't seem important."

"Don't be sorry, Lisa. The point is, it wouldn't make sense for you
to be dressing like you are to get a job. It's just not you. Of
course, it's not you to dress like this anyway. Do you often go
without a bra?"

Lisa looked down at her breasts and blushed, and then realized that
Cheryl was laughing.

"I doubt you have too much experience with men, either," said
Cheryl, gently squeezing Lisa's knee. "I don't mean that in a bad
way. I mean, clearly you aren't entirely inexperienced, but you
probably don't have as much time to date as you'd like."

Lisa listened carefully; as she knew Cheryl was right.

"I may have not fully understood what was going on between you and
Steve," Cheryl continued, "but nonetheless, you probably did hurt
him pretty badly. I'll be surprised if he comes to work all week."

"But he was so assertive. I doubt he feels rejected. He's bigger
than that."

"See," said Cheryl, "you /don't/ have too much experience with men.
Steve's still wet behind the ears. He's what, 22? 23? But don't
worry. I'll help you get him back."

Lisa wasn't sure how to react. She read the license plate cover of
the car ahead of her. "Jesus loves you," it said, "no matter what."

Cheryl continued, "I think it's good what you're doing. Good for
you. And for the rest of us."

Lisa looked out the passenger window at billboards crawling by.
"Hey," she asked, "where are we going, anyway?"

Cheryl flipped on her right turn signal. "To the mall," she said.
"I want to help you pick out the skirt you'll wear tomorrow."


    Chapter 11:   Cheryl's First Cliche


The mall was not very crowded on an early Monday evening, but a few
after-work shoppers and after-school hangers-out gave it a healthy
buzz. Lisa followed Cheryl past the stores where she might usually
find her pant-suits, her simple blouses, her conservative sweaters,
and her simple cotton slacks, to a smaller store featuring lots of
black, pink, and denim. The pop music blaring in the background was
neither Lisa's first nor her last clue that this was not a store
for the corporate woman.

"Uh, Cheryl," said Lisa, as Cheryl began flipping through a rack of
black skirts, "I think this store is more for the high school
crowd."

"Nonsense," said Cheryl. "I saw how good your legs looked under
that pleated black skirt. But I thought you might look better in
something tighter."

Cheryl pulled out a black cotton skirt that looked like far too
little material for Lisa. "This looks like it will fit you," she
said. "Go try it on."

Lisa took the skirt into the dressing room. She looked at the
label: "Hottie," it said, in pink bubble letters. "Cotton/Polyester
Blend." "Small." She pulled off her brown skirt - her new brown
skirt that came almost to her knees, she recalled - and pulled the
new skirt up her legs. When it reached her hips, she had to pull
hard. The material was stretchy, and eventually she got the skirt
to her waist.

Now she is looking at herself in the mirror, wondering what to do.
The skirt fits her body, she realizes, but does it fit Lisa? Does
it fit the woman she thinks she is? The hem hugs her thighs only
inches below her ass. The material is so tight the outline of her
panties is visible. She would never buy this skirt, not even for a
date. But she knows that Cheryl, Cheryl who was so nice to her in
the car, is waiting for her. She can't back out now, she thinks.
But she can't leave the dressing room either. Her skirt leaves her
legs entirely exposed, and lewdly shows off her small but still
very visible ass! She sits down on the tiny bench in the dressing
room. As she does so, her white panties come clearly into view.
"How is it?" Cheryl calls from the store.

"Um, I think it's too small."

"Let me see. Let me in." Lisa stands up and opens the door.

"See," says Lisa, showing her ass to Cheryl, "It's so tight it
shows the outline of my underwear."

"Oh," says Cheryl, "you're just wearing the wrong kind of
underwear. Here, take off those panties."

Lisa looked at Cheryl and almost cried. She felt her pussy twitch.
"You can't be serious."

"Take them off! I want to see how the skirt looks on you without
that panty-line."

Lisa looked at herself in the mirror again, standing nearly a foot
taller than Cheryl beside her. It will be okay, she thinks, and
turns away from the mirror, pulls up the skirt to her waist, and
pulls her white panties down to her ankles. She pulls the skirt
back down as far as she can, but it won't go more than a few inches
past her nude pussy.

"There," says Cheryl, as Lisa looks over her shoulder at her rear
in the mirror, now free of a panty-line, "that looks much better.
This will be your skirt tomorrow."

"Cheryl, I can NOT wear this to work. It is way too short. And
tight. Do you really think this is appropriate for the workplace?
Besides, I have a meeting with Jim tomorrow, and Steve is coming
back, and . . . "

Cheryl puts her finger on Lisa's lips. "It's okay, Lisa. It's okay.
You felt this way when you first put on the skirt Steve gave you,
didn't you? It wasn't that much longer than this one."

"Well, yes, but . . ."

"And how did that go? Did the world end? Were you kicked out of
work? Did anyone laugh at you?"

"Well, no, but . . . "

"But what?"

"But this is different. This is . . . scandalous." Lisa can feel
the cool air of the store's air conditioning on her naked pussy.
She is getting wet again, very wet. "Cheryl, I simply can't go to
work without . . . without . . . without panties."

Cheryl smiles. "Is that what you're worried about? Oh, don't you
worry; you can wear panties. It's just these white ones won't
work." Cheryl picks up Lisa's panties off the floor and puts them
in her purse. "In fact, let's go find you a pair that /will/ work,
right now."

Cheryl opens the door of the dressing room. "Wait!" said Lisa,
"Can't I put on my other skirt first?"

"No," says Cheryl, "I rather like the one you're wearing. Come on,
let's go pay for it and get you some panties, hm?"

Cheryl leads Lisa to the register, where she asks the salesgirl to
remove the tags from the skirt. The salesgirl looks like she is 16
years old, wearing tight jeans and a pink tank top. She looks at
Lisa and smiles. She comes around the counter with a pair of
scissors and crouches in front of Lisa, putting a slightly sweaty
left hand on Lisa's left leg to steady herself. She brings her
right hand to the bottom of the skirt, holding it against Lisa's
thigh as she cuts off the tag. As she brings the tag back to the
counter and scans it, Lisa can still feel the warm spot on her
thigh where the girl's hand had been. It is high - very close to
her crotch.

"Go ahead, Lisa," says Cheryl, "Pay her."


As they leave the store, Lisa becomes more and more aware of her
lack of undergarments. Her black skirt rides up a little as she
walks, and she knows that nothing is protecting her modesty
underneath. She can see that Cheryl is looking at her legs from
time to time, as are the men they pass who turn their heads in
clear indication that they are checking her out. Some of them, she
thinks, might be looking at her breasts, which bounce around
unfettered beneath her tight blue sweater, her ever-present nipples
making it clear that there is nothing constraining them.

"There's a lingerie store just down this way," says Cheryl, "but
first . . . "

They stop in front of a ladies' shoe store.

"First, you need some better shoes to go with that skirt."

Lisa did think her work shoes looked a little off with this sexy
skirt. But Cheryl's grin indicated something amiss . . .

"Surely, you know how this works," says Cheryl. "I'll wait here.
You go in, and see if you can catch the eye of that salesman over
there. That one. The one with the green tie. Yes. Tell him you're
looking for a red shoe with a four inch heel. If he asks your size,
tell him you aren't sure and ask him to measure your foot. Then let
him put the shoe on for you."

Lisa could see where this was going. Of course, this would have to
happen after buying the short, tight skirt, but before buying the
underwear.

"Cheryl," she says, "I don't think I can do this."

Cheryl puts her hand on her back. "This is an old cliché, Lisa.
It's more than that. It's a rite of passage. All women do this, at
some point. The salesman has gone through this a hundred times.
It's your turn now. Go."

Lisa closes her eyes for a moment, pulls down the hem of her skirt
again, and steps into the shoe store. The salesman in a green tie
notices her immediately, approaches her, and asks, "Can I help you
Miss? Something particular you're looking for?"

"Yes," she says, not making eye contact, "something red. With a
four inch heel." This store is even cooler than the last, and Lisa
feels it between her legs. This man is going to see it, she thinks.

"Ah, we have a couple choices in red. What size?"

"Um, I'm not sure. Can you measure for me?"

The salesman smiles and nods. "Please, have a seat."

Lisa remembers how easily she could see her white panties when she
sat down in the dressing room. Her white panties were now tucked in
Cheryl's purse. Cheryl is standing at the window, as if window
shopping for shoes. Cheryl holds the plastic bag with Lisa's modest
brown skirt inside. Lisa thinks of walking out of the store, but
she is afraid to tell Cheryl that she can't do it. All women do
this, Cheryl had said, right?

Lisa sits down on a leather seat. She feels the cool, smooth
leather against her bare skin; there is nothing between her
nakedness and the chair. She crosses her legs immediately as the
salesman goes into the back room. Another salesman, by the
register, is clearly gazing at her legs. The male half of a
shopping couple is looking over his shoulder every thirty seconds.
"All women do this," Lisa muttered to herself, not believing it but
wanting to very badly. Her embarrassment heightens when she
realizes how wet she is, and feels her moisture starting to puddle
on the leather chair.

The salesman returns with a foot measuring device. "Slip out of
your shoes and put your heel here." Lisa finds it comforting that
he is giving orders, and finds it easy to follow them. She does not
think much as she uncrosses her legs to bend over and take off her
shoes. With her legs uncrossed, she suspects the salesman, who is
on one knee, can see her bare pussy. As she puts her right heel in
the device, there is no doubt.

It takes a few seconds for the salesman to tear his gaze away from
under her skirt and look at the device. He pushes some metal pieces
around and completes the measurement. "You're an 8 1/2 , Miss. Let
me see what I have in your size." He gets up and rushes to the
backroom.

The male shopper looks over desperately as the salesman gets up;
clearly he wants a glimpse himself. Lisa quickly crosses her legs
again, causing her skirt to ride up to the very top of her thigh.

I have never felt so naked in my life, she thinks, as the salesman
returns, with a single box. He kneels in front of her again. "Let's
try these."

Lisa uncrosses her legs, and her skirt has ridden up so high that
she can see some of her pubic hair past the hem. She lifts herself
from the seat for a moment to tug down the skirt, but when she
gives her left leg to the salesman to slip on the shoe she knows it
was of little use. His gaze remains fixed on her crotch, and she
knows she is completely exposed to him. All women do this, she
thinks to herself. This is an old cliché. She looks at Cheryl, who
is watching her from the window. Cheryl gives her a thumbs up,
which fills her with sudden happiness. Why is Cheryl's approval so
important, Lisa wonders? The salesman puts the right shoe on as
well, gently stroking her bare calf as he does so. "Give them a
try," she says.

She stands up, and gives her skirt yet another tug. The salesman is
watching her. The other salesman is watching her. The couple that
had been shopping are now both sitting down, watching her. And -
she looks again to make sure - Cheryl is watching her.

She walks around the store. She has never worn heels before, and
her walking is unsteady. These heels seem so tall that she feels
unsafe about putting weight on them, but walking on her toes
doesn't seem right either. She blushes. She is doing this for the
very first time, and probably doing it wrong. She is wearing the
shortest skirt she has ever seen, and her nipples are still evident
in her tight sweater, and it seems everyone is watching her,
wondering what she will do next. She feels out of place, but she
knows she is putting on a show. She looks back at the salesman and
smiles; he is kneeling by the chair, where she notices she left
behind a small puddle of moisture. She turns away, hoping no one
else notices, but feels that her pussy is still leaking its fluids.
She can feel them on her upper thighs, and now she feels a drop
starting to drip down. Oh god, how I wish I still had my panties.
She hopes that her audience will not notice her juices dripping
down her leg, past the hem of her skirt; in order to not call
attention to it, she does nothing about it.

She looks in a mirror by the register. Her legs look especially
long and sleek in the heels; the position forced on her calf
muscles gives them a shape that looks especially inviting. Her gaze
moves up to her thigh, exposed by the short skirt. She can see the
light reflecting off her inner thigh where it is moist. She blushes
and rushes back to her seat, almost tripping in the heels.

She sits on the seat, and feels that it is still wet. "Okay,
they're okay, I'll take them," she stammers as she pulls them off.
"Ring them up. I'll take them."

"Well, hold on, Miss," says the salesman, "I have another pair that
you should try as well. Hold on just a minute." Lisa watches as the
man adjusts his pants, stands up, and runs to the back room.

Cheryl comes into the shoe store and sits next to Lisa. Lisa is
almost in tears, and Cheryl hugs her. "Okay, Lisa, Okay." says
Cheryl, "I believe you now. I still had my doubts, but now I really
believe you."

Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes. "All women do this?"

"Well, most women wear panties when they do this."

"You did this?"

Cheryl smiles. "Maybe I got married too soon. I never did. But I
wish I had. How do you feel?"

Lisa looks down at her legs. "Exposed."

"Yeah, but you're not the only one," says Cheryl. "Did you see the
salesguy?"

"Huh?"

"He had a tent in his pants big enough for a three ring circus.
He's probably jacking off in the back room right now."

Lisa blushes. "No, he's getting me more shoes."

"Sure he is," says Cheryl. "Sure he is. I think this first pair
looks great on you. Why don't you put them back on and we'll pay
for them. They don't match your shirt, but they look better than
your old ones. Then we'll get you some panties, and then a couple
drinks, hmm?"

"Okay." Lisa slips the red shoes back on as Cheryl puts her old
ones in the box. They walk to the register, Lisa still unsteady,
just as the salesman rushes out of the backroom, out of breath.

"I have the other pair, Miss."

Cheryl interjects: "That's okay, she'll take the first pair, thank
you." Lisa is glad Cheryl is taking over. "This one's on me," says
Cheryl, as she takes a credit card out of her purse, "a present."

"Thank you," says Lisa. As the salesman scans the card, Cheryl
asks, "So, how often does this happen?"

"What?" asks the salesman.

"You know, how often do women come in here and let you look up
their skirts?"

The salesman blushes, and Lisa looks desperately at Cheryl. "Oh
come on," says Cheryl, "to whom was this a secret?"

Lisa looks at the salesman, making eye contact for the first time.
He looks at Lisa and then at Cheryl and then down at the counter
and says, "Oh, it happens about once a week, but none are as pretty
as yours."

Chapter 12: Hangover

The alarm clock sounds like an air siren when Lisa wakes up. She
has a throbbing headache and her stomach is queasy. As she wipes
the sleep from her eyes and desperately fights the temptation to
stay in bed, she tries to remember what day it is. After a few
minutes of thinking, she realizes it is Tuesday. Oh goodness.
Tuesday morning, nowhere close to the weekend. She needs to get to
work!

As she pulls off her pajamas and prepares her shower, she tries to
remember what happened last night. Why is she so hungover? She
remembers having a couple of shots of Vodka - Cheryl's suggestion.

Oh yes, Cheryl. She did this. She took Lisa out on a Monday night
and got her drunk. As Lisa stands beneath the warm water, eyes
closed, head aching, she tries to piece together what happened last
night. She remembers the conversation in the car (Cheryl really
seemed like she was going to be a good friend); she remembers
buying a new skirt (I guess I have to wear that today); and she
remembers . . . the shoe store. Oh my god, the shoe store! Lisa
covers her bare pussy in the shower, as she remembers being so
naked.

She snaps out of her reverie. Must shampoo hair! Must wash body!
Must get dressed! Must get coffee! Must get to work!

She hasn't had a hangover like this since she played a drinking
game in college with a party of girls from her dorm. Even then she
only had vague memories of what happened during that drinking game
so long ago; she remembers a pair of dice, some complicated rules,
4 or 5 giggling girls, and having to drink shots of Tequila
whenever she rolled a 6 or an 8. She remembers something about a
telephone; something else about an envelope. But the alcohol had
blocked her memory then, and she never spoke of the evening with
those girls afterwards. She has only kept in touch with one of
them. Christie. She should call Christie sometime. It's too bad she
lives so far away now.

Lisa puts on her bathrobe and goes immediately to the kitchen to
make some coffee. Her head is pounding and she is not sure whether
breakfast will make her feel better or worse.

Returning to her bedroom, she looks around for some clothes. On her
dresser, she sees her new black skirt next to multiple bags.

She takes off the robe and pulls on the black skirt first. After
pulling it past her hips, she is again surprised by how short it
is. So much of her thighs are visible! Wearing the skirt reminds
her again of the shoe store, and how much the salesman must have
seen when he held her calf and slipped on her shoes. What did he
think of her? Why did he think she was wearing so short a skirt?
And coverless otherwise? As she remembers it, she starts to feel
aroused. She feels her bare breasts as she looks at her legs and
skirt in her mirror. I'm going to wear this to work today, she
thinks. This tiny skirt will be all that covers me!

The thought of going to work without panties occurs to her and
sends a sudden jolt of pleasure to her crotch, but she quickly
reconsiders. A stranger in a shoe store is one thing, she thinks,
but how humiliating would it be if her colleagues saw her unclothed
pussy? No, no, no. I need panties.

Then she starts to remember. Last night, after buying her shoes,
Cheryl took her to a lingerie store. Lisa had never been in a store
specializing in underwear before. The mannequins wore sexy
transparent garments, some of which Lisa did not even know the
names for. Lisa blushed to be shopping in a place so devoted to
sex. But her own sex was uncovered and dripping wet, and the
thought of having panties to protect her made her find the courage
to follow Cheryl in.

Lisa remembers having trouble walking in her new red shoes. The
heels really seemed quite high, and Lisa noted how effortlessly
Cheryl walked in heels (although Cheryl's looked to be a good inch
shorter). Lisa was mostly concentrating on walking when Cheryl held
up a very tiny piece of red fabric.

"What do you think?" asked Cheryl. "Do they match the shoes?"
Cheryl squatted down and held the fabric against the shoes. Lisa
thought about how much of herself would have been exposed if she
had squatted down like that. It occurred to her that Cheryl could
have made her do so! "They look like a pretty good match to me. I
think we've found you some panties!" Cheryl stood back up and
handed the garment to Lisa. Lisa held it up. It was just a silk
triangle of red fabric and three strings connected in the back.

"These are barely panties!" said Lisa.

"These won't show under that tight skirt," said Cheryl. "Trust me,
they're what you need."

Lisa had never worn a thong. She imagined how uncomfortable a
string between her butt cheeks would feel if worn all day long.

She remembers that she thought then that she should forget the
whole deal and tell Cheryl she couldn't wear this. But she knew
Cheryl would ask "Why not?" Not knowing the answer, she stayed
quiet.

"And to match," said Cheryl, holding up a simple red silk cami
hemmed with lace. "You'll wear this instead of a bra, with a white
blouse."

Lisa was reminded of her lack of bra. She looked down at her blue
sweater and saw that her nipples were still visible.

"Okay," said Lisa, suddenly noting that the salesgirl was watching
her underwear being picked out by another woman, "can we just get
out of here?"

Now Lisa reaches into the bag from that store and pulls out the red
silk thong. She had wanted to wear it after buying it in the store,
but Cheryl had told her not to get it dirty. Lisa slips it up her
legs; she pulls up her skirt and slips the silk up. The panty fits
snugly. She notes a few stray hairs that the small silk front does
not contain.

Lisa thinks: someone might see up my skirt today. This skirt is so
short, I probably can't avoid it! The thought terrifies her but the
arousal she feels tells her that she will - she must - go through
with it. But if someone does see her, she thinks, it won't do to
have these stray hairs! She finds a small pair of scissors and,
skirt pulled to her waist, panties pushed aside, spends a few
minutes trimming what she can. "I can't believe I'm trimming my
pubic hair to prepare for work," she says aloud.

After suitably containing herself, she pulls the skirt down. She
turns around. The skirt hugs her bare ass. She feels the silk
string between her butt cheeks; it feels very naughty. But she can
see no evidence of her underwear behind the tight skirt, unlike at
the store.

She goes back to the bag and finds the red silk cami that Cheryl
had instructed her to wear in place of her usual white bra. She
slips it on. The silk feels soft and light against her skin, and
this cami hangs fairly loosely on her. It is no substitute for a
bra, she thinks. Most notably, her nipples harden at the luxurious
feeling of the soft silk, like little pebbles, blatantly visible
through the red garment. She finds a white blouse in her closet and
puts it on, buttoning all buttons but the collar. The red cami is
only barely visible beneath the shirt, but the shape of her nipples
is still quite obvious.

Finally, Lisa puts on the red shoes that she found next to the
door. She had worn them all last night, and was never certain
whether her difficulty walking was due to the 4 inch heels or the
alcohol.

She remembers starting to get the hang of walking as she followed
Cheryl from the lingerie store to a restaurant in the same mall. It
must have been 8pm by then, and Lisa remembers being starving. The
popular and bustling restaurant had no tables immediately
available, though, so Cheryl and Lisa waited at the bar. That was
when Cheryl ordered 3 shots of Vodka. "One for me and two for you,"
she said. "I will have to drive you home later."

Lisa was not usually one to drink hard alcohol, especially not
straight, but after feeling so humiliated at the shoe store she
thought the drinks might calm her, so she downed the shots, one
after the other. With her empty stomach and nervous mood, the
alcohol went straight to her head.

Lisa only vaguely remembers the ensuing events. She remembers being
at the bar for a bit longer. She remembers that the bar stools were
rather high, and the unpadded stools felt cool against her
nakedness. She was still wearing that tiny little skirt and nothing
else.

She vaguely remembers Cheryl's hand on her thigh, gently stroking,
as she whispered into her ear. "You are hot tonight," she thinks
she remembers hearing, although it seemed to make more sense then.
What else? "Men are checking you out. They know what you want."
Lisa isn't sure now whether Cheryl actually said these things, or
whether she had just been thinking them. "I know how aroused you
are. I can /smell/ it. It's your wetness. Your nectar and your
pheromones, leaking out of you. You smell like you need it.
Everyone in here can smell it."

Maybe I dreamed all that, thinks Lisa. Her memory of the bar has
become so clouded; she tries to imagine herself there in this skirt
and these shoes and it doesn't seem like something she would do.
The high heels seem to put her naked legs on a stage; they seem to
make an exhibit of her bare calves and thighs uncovered by the tiny
miniskirt. "I can't go to work like this," she says to herself. She
has worn short skirts to work before, but the high heels add more
to her appearance than she could have imagined.

She sits on her bed and considers her options. She could put on her
favorite pair of black slacks - how comfortably would they clothe
her legs and hide all that flesh from her coworkers. She wouldn't
have to worry about what people could see when she sat down. She
walks to her closet and finds the slacks hanging there. She runs
her hand across the material and then thinks: no. Cheryl told me to
wear this skirt. If I ignore /this/ instruction, then I am not
doing what she says. And if I am not obeying, then my previous
behavior must have been my own choice. Including exposing herself
to the shoe salesman. No, that was not me, thinks Lisa. Cheryl
wanted that. I am proving something here. I will wear the outfit
she asked.

Having made the decision, Lisa looks at herself in the mirror. So
much legflesh appears before her! Her head is still aching from her
hangover, and she is again running late for work. And most of all,
she realizes, she wants nothing more than to return to bed, tear
her skimpy red panties off, and give her the orgasm she has been
craving for days.

"All right," she says to the mirror. "I've done this before. I can
do it again. I'll wear the skirt. But I'll wear pantyhose, in order
to stay looking professional."

And that decision was enough to allow her to finish dressing and to
propel herself out the door, through the streets, and into the
subway.

Even that short walk in her new heels, coupled with her aching
muscles and throbbing head, makes her seek a seat in the still
crowded subway. Only one seat is available, next to a younger man
in a navy blue business suit.

She smiles at him as she sits down, and sees that he is looking at
where the short hem of her tight miniskirt meets her nylon-clad
legs. She suspects that he is tempted to rest his hand on her
thighs and feel the smooth nylon. Or maybe she just wants him to. A
skirt day, she thinks. This man can do what he likes. She knows he
is not going to touch her, but the knowledge that she is not going
to stop him gives her a familiar thrill that awakens her desires
and makes her forget her headache for the rest of the subway ride.
And indeed, the young man politely keeps to himself, even as Lisa
starts rubbing her own thighs while her thoughts begin to distract
her.

By the time Lisa reaches the elevator to her office, she realizes
that the thought of her coworkers seeing her in these high red
heels and a skirt that hugs her figure and then stops so abruptly
is making her anxious and very, very horny. She remembers that she
needs permission to masturbate, and she decides she has to ask
Cheryl again. It would feel so good right now, she thinks.

Walking down the halls from the elevator to the cubicle, she can
see the men of her office turn their heads. The heels have changed
her gait, making it into more of a hip-shaking strut. They make it
seem as if she is showing off her body in this provocative outfit.
What must they think of me?

Then she notices another effect she had not considered: this skirt
rides up, and much more so against the nylon of her pantyhose than
it ever had against bare legs. Knowing that her office is looking
at her, she finds she needs to tug down her skirt every few steps.

Finally in the safety of her cubicle, Lisa sits down and tugs at
the hem of her skirt a final time.

Her morning email check yielded another message from Steve:

    Lisa -

    Can't seem to shake this cold.
    I'm sure I'll be good to work tomorrow.
    Let me know by email if there's any way I can help from
    home.

    - S

Lisa realizes she was hoping Steve would see her new outfit. Would
Steve comment on the scandalously short skirt and the bright red
heels? She remembers what Cheryl said: Steve is not sick; he's
sulking. That's ridiculous, thinks Lisa, and she is about to write
an email apologizing to him when Cheryl sneaks her head into Lisa's
cubicle.

"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

Cheryl is wearing black pants and a burgundy blouse. She looks
elegant and professional.

Lisa tugs at her skirt again before swivelling her chair to face
Cheryl. "I . . . think so."

"You think so?"

"Actually, Cheryl, I don't really remember what happened last
night."

Cheryl smiles and offers her hand to Lisa. "You look a little
hungover. No surprise, after how many drinks you had last night.
Come on, come with me to the bathroom, I'll help you hide the
evidence."

Lisa takes Cheryl's hand and follows her lead to the women's
bathroom, periodically tugging the hem of her skirt.

Both women are standing by the mirror. Cheryl takes some make-up
out of her purse.

"You need to learn some make-up tricks," says Cheryl, as she starts
her work, first on Lisa's eyes. "You'd do better with a bit more,
generally, but on morning's like this it's the only way to hide the
evidence of your partying last night!"

"What happened last night?" asks Lisa as Cheryl continued to work,
"I really don't remember anything after you ordered those shots of
vodka."

"You don't remember Joe and Joe?"

Lisa had forgotten, but the names Joe and Joe made her remember.
"Oh, right, they offered to buy us drinks. I remember that. Two
guys, both named Joe."

"They saw your cute little skirt and closed in like wolves, those
two," says Cheryl as she continues to work on Lisa's make-up. "I
think the first Joe, the big one, wanted to get better acquainted
with your bare legs, and the second couldn't take his eyes off your
nipples."

"It was so funny how they were both named Joe," says Lisa. "They
wouldn't listen when I told them I had had enough to drink."

"Hey, they were paying, so don't complain. They bought us dinner,
too."

Lisa tries to remember, but only vaguely remembered eating.

"There," says Cheryl, looking in the mirror. Lisa looks at her own
face. Her eyes are carefully outlined, her cheeks a little redder.
She did look less hungover, she thinks, but also more . . .
womanly.

"Um, thanks," says Lisa.

"Do you have any meetings today?" asks Cheryl as she starts to
unbutton the top buttons of Lisa's blouse.

"What are you doing?" asks Lisa.

"I didn't buy that you pretty red cami to be hidden. It matches
your shoes and your panties. It's bad enough you've hidden your
panties behind those dark pantyhose. You need something to go with
your shoes."

Lisa sees in the mirror that Cheryl unbuttoned enough buttons to
reveal the red lace of the cami beneath her blouse.

"Now," continues Cheryl, "do you have any meetings today?"

"Um, one, I think. With Jim."

"Ah, Jim. More ass-kissing for the promotion, I guess?"

"No! Not at all!" Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes. "He called this
meeting. I don't know why. I thought you said you believed me -
anyway you should believe me. I'm not doing anything but my normal
work to get that promotion."

Cheryl finishes straightening Lisa's blouse. "Oh, you're probably
right. You're just wearing this sexy outfit because I told you to,
right?"

"Of course! I wore exactly what you said!"

"Well, not exactly. These pantyhose were not part of the outfit."

"But, don't you think bare legs would have been too
unprofessional?"

Cheryl looks at Lisa's legs and sighs. "I'll tell you what," she
says, "Jim is the boss. It's his opinion that counts. Here's what I
want you to do. You can wear your hose while you work at your
cubicle, but right before your meeting with Jim I want you to take
them off and leave them with me. Then, in your meeting, you can ask
Jim whether you think your attire is suitable for the office or
not. If he says it isn't, I'll give you back the pantyhose and you
can wear them for the rest of the day. If he approves of your bare
legs, though, then I'll just keep them, and you shouldn't ever have
to wear them again."

"But . . . "

"But what?" Cheryl steps closer to Lisa and puts one finger on
Lisa's lips. Her other hand reaches down to Lisa's ass, tightly
encased in the black miniskirt. She lightly touches Lisa's right
butt cheek, sending shivers up Lisa's body. The feeling of Cheryl's
hand there, almost a tickle, is awakening her desire. "Do as I
say," whispers Cheryl, "and later on, I'll give you that permission
you wanted. I haven't forgotten your request."

Cheryl's hand and the promise of a masturbatory orgasm almost makes
Lisa moan. Certainly she could think of nothing to say, and only
nods her head.

Chapter 13: Opportunity Knocks

That is why, when Jim called Lisa's cubicle at 2 o'clock, she told
him she needed fifteen minutes to finish something up. During those
fifteen minutes, she goes to the bathroom and removes her
pantyhose.

Looking at herself in the mirror reminds her of why she had chosen
to wear the nylons in the first place. Her tiny miniskirt really
only barely comes a few inches past the juncture of her thighs, and
with her red high heeled pumps, her legs are very obviously on
display. Her blouse is unbuttoned to reveal her lacy cami. Looking
at herself in the mirror reminds her of last Friday. She remembers
seeing herself in the mirror then, just as now, thinking how sexual
she looked. Indeed, her professional stature, her intellect, her
bossy personality - none of that is visible. All she sees is
something sexual; something that desires pleasure. She remembers
sneaking her hand under her skirt and giving herself that pleasure
last Friday. She remembers how good it felt.

But then she remembers Cheryl interrupting her, and how guilty she
felt. Not this time, she thinks. She fights the temptation to touch
herself. She tugs down her skirt and marches straight to Cheryl's
cubicle.

When she looks in on Cheryl, she sees that she is in a meeting with
Art, another colleague. Cheryl sees Lisa. "Lisa, you have something
for me?"

Lisa's pantyhose are balled up in her hands. Art is staring at her;
at her blushing face, her silky underwear, at her exposed legs.
"Yeah, um, I'll just get it to you later."

"Nonsense," says Cheryl, "give them to me now."

Unsure, Lisa hands the balled up nylons to Cheryl, who makes no
effort to hide their identity to Art. "Have a good meeting."

Lisa rushes away as fast as she can in her heels, not waiting to
see Art's reaction. She feels humiliated, but she remembers
Cheryl's promise: soon she will get to give herself the pleasure
she's been longing for all day.

She knocks timidly on Jim's door. "Come in."

She enters the spacious office and sees that Jim is seated at his
art-deco desk. On that desk is a pair of white cardboard boxes.
"Have a seat," he says.

Lisa looks at the low armchair facing Jim's desk. With her
pantyhose gone, sitting in this skirt seems indecent. But she
thinks of no other choice and sits. She feels her bare ass on its
leather.

"Red!" says Jim.

"What?"

"Your . . . shoes. I mean. Your shoes. Red. I like your red shoes."

Lisa blushes. He must mean my panties. She rests her hands at her
crotch to try to hide them. An awkward silence ensues.

"Thanks. About the shoes, I mean." She thinks for a second,
remembering what Cheryl asked her to do. "Do you think the heels
are too high for the office?"

"Not at all," says Jim. "High heels give you more authority, I
think. They are very professional."

"Sure," says Lisa, "but what about bare legs? Don't you think my
bare legs and short miniskirt are a little bit unprofessional? I
shouldn't have worn this today. Let me apologize . . ."

"Nonsense," says Jim. "Just like I told you last week, I have no
problem with bare legs; in fact I like your attire."

"Yes but surely bare legs are simply too casual and too
unprofessional for the office? Would you want me to meet a client
like this?"

Jim smiled. "We have no dress code here, Lisa. You can wear what
you want to wear - including when you meet with clients. Looking at
your reports, whatever you're doing is clearly working, so wear
whatever you want."

"But sir, I . . . "

"Call me Jim. And really, don't worry about it. Yes, your skirt is
a little shorter than the norm, but it looks good on you. Wear it
whenever you want."

Lisa slumps into the chair, defeated. Jim was not going to save
her.

"However," says Jim, "this leads me to the reason I wanted to talk
to you."

Lisa absentmindedly crosses her legs, and the skirt rides up
revealing most of her ass. She uncrosses and tugs her skirt back
down again. She sees that Jim's gaze is directly at her crotch.

"I, um," Jim stammers, "I want you to get the assistant director
position. I want the promotion to go to you."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir," says Lisa.

"I told you to call me Jim. Now, my opinion is important, but
unfortunately it's not entirely up to me. The other directors have
a say, too, and they are inclined to choose someone with more
seniority than you, like George or Cheryl."

"Well, sir, I would understand if . . . "

"Nonsense. We both know you're more qualified than either of them.
The other directors have seen your reports but they haven't met you
in person. That's what I want to change. I want there to be a
meeting before they decide."

"When are they going to decide?"

"Monday morning. And, unfortunately, I couldn't think of a
business-related opportunity for such a meeting. But I did think of
one thing . . ."

Lisa is nervous and excited. She has been working hard for this
promotion.

"Golf," says Jim.

"Golf?"

"Golf."

Lisa looks confused. Golf?

"On Friday mornings, me and a couple of the directors meet to play
golf up north. It's the only chance for you to meet these guys. I
want you to come with us."

"But I don't play golf."

"That's okay. You can be my caddy."

"Caddy?"

"Look, it's not important. All that is important is that you're
there, and that you talk to the directors and show them that you're
not too young for the job."

Lisa looks confused, but she says, "Okay, Jim, I'll go golfing with
you."

"Great. But, there's one thing . . . I hate to mention it, but I
thought it might be an issue. See, this office has no dress code,
but the golf club does. And you couldn't go dressed like . . .
that."

Lisa feels blood rush to her face and to her crotch. "No, sir, of
course not, I wouldn't. I mean, I only . . . "

"Lisa, don't worry. I told you I think you look fine. It's just the
golf club that's a little stuck up. That's why I bought you these."
He pushes the white boxes towards her. "I didn't want you to feel
out of place, so I bought you some clothes to wear. You'll look
like you golf every other day in these."

Lisa opens up the first box and sees a white and green golf shirt.

"They should be your size," says Jim. "Meet me at the office at 6am
and we'll drive together to the course."

Lisa thanks him, still flustered. She takes the boxes, and leaves.

Cheryl is waiting outside the door. "Well?" she asks, as the two
women walk back towards her cubicle.

Lisa stands several inches taller than Cheryl, especially in her
high heels, but the heels, her tiny skirt, and unbuttoned blouse in
contrast to Cheryl's simple elegance makes her feel vulnerable to
Cheryl's judgment. "He thinks my bare legs are okay," says Lisa.

"Well, then, that's it. There's no need for you to ever wear
pantyhose again."

Lisa feels a new wetness in her crotch. She feels the air currents
beneath her tiny skirt; her skimpy silk panties provide almost no
protection. And now she is forbidden the protection of her
pantyhose!

"What else did he say?" asks Cheryl.

"He . . . he wants me to go golfing on Friday. He asked me to go
golfing with him."

"He invited you to Friday golf?" Cheryl is silent for a moment.
"Interesting. Very interesting. Oh, I have a great idea. Are you
leaving from here?"

"Yeah, I guess. 6am."

"Great. I want you to come a little early - say 5:30. I might have
some advice for you."

"Advice?" Lisa looks worriedly at Cheryl.

"Oh, and see if you can wear a skirt that day. I want that day to
be another skirt day."

"Actually, he bought me some clothes to wear. It's probably a pair
of shorts."

"Probably?"

At this point the women have reached Lisa's cubicle. "I think so,"
says Lisa, but to make sure she opens the second box. She pulls out
the white cotton garment.

It is a skirt. Pleated. She holds the skirt against herself and
sees that it comes nearly to her knees. She looks at the tag:
"Bob's Golf World. $119."

"Oh my god," says Lisa, "it's over a hundred dollars!"

Cheryl grins. "I always suspected Jim was a . . . well, he's a good
guy. What a nice gift. A golf skirt. So, it looks like Friday will
be another skirt day. I'll see you at 5:30." And Cheryl walks away.



    Chapter 14: Permission

Lisa has a bad feeling about Friday. Her feelings on Cheryl are
mixed. Cheryl seems so nice, but she worries that Cheryl is going
to make her humiliation worse and worse. She wishes she had never
told Cheryl about her skirt day promise.

And yet, Lisa finds herself checking her email, hoping that Cheryl
will send her a message. She rubs her bare thighs, feeling the soft
flesh close to her red panties. The thought of what Cheryl has in
mind on Friday makes her nervous, but then she thinks about meeting
the directors of her corporation in a skirt, knowing that she has
to obey. Her pussy moistens and beckons her to touch herself. She
looks over her shoulder to make sure no one can see her and starts
to touch the red silk of her panties. The material is so soft, and
the combined feeling of the soft silk and her own wetness against
her lips sends warm waves of pleasure through the rest of her body.
She rubs the silk top behind her blouse, feeling her nipples. They
are very sensitive, and she pinches them through the silk.

Usually, this time of the month she masturbates at least twice a
day. Ever since she started taking her birth control pill, in
college, her hormones have driven her mad at this part of her
cycle. But now, she has promised not to pleasure herself without
permission. She remembers that Cheryl said she would give
permission! She looks up Cheryl's number and calls her.

"Cheryl here."

"Cheryl, it's Lisa. You told me earlier, in the bathroom, that if I
did what you said you would give me permission to . . . you know."

"I really love it how you ask. So shy. Remember when you asked last
night?"

"Last night? No, I don't really remember. I asked last night?"

"Oh, you were so drunk last night. Joe and Joe were having a great
time. You don't remember sitting between them at the table?"

"Oh, I'm starting to remember." Cheryl's words made Lisa recall the
scene. They were in a booth in the restaurant. Lisa was in the
middle, and Joe was sitting to her left. His larger friend, also
named Joe, sat to her right. And Joe the larger had started feeling
her bare leg. Lisa could barely complete a sentence at that point
in the evening. But Joe's hand was warm and she remembers thinking
that it would feel good on her bare pussy. So she opened her legs a
little for him, but this bumped Joe, the smaller, in the knee. When
he saw what was going on, he put his own hand on her leg.

This hardly seemed real to Lisa now. She had just met these two
men; they had bought her several drinks at the bar, and then all
that wine with dinner, and now their hands were on her bare thighs.
She thinks she would have crossed her legs and clamped them shut,
but she knows she didn't. No. She opened them, just a little.

Big Joe's hand was about midway up her thigh, and little Joe's hand
was only inside her knee. But little Joe slid his hand upwards
until he collided with big Joe's hand, which caused Big Joe to
slide his hand higher. Lisa looked at Cheryl, who sat opposite her,
in a chair on the other side of the booth. Cheryl had a knowing
smile on her face.

"So," Lisa had said, trying to break the silence, "What kind of
work are you two boys into?"

The larger one said, "I sell computer equipment." He slid his hand
to the hem of Lisa's skirt, mere inches from her naked pussy. "Joe
is a high school teacher."

"Really?" said Lisa, turning to the smaller Joe, but the feel of
big Joe's hand against her upper thigh was driving her crazy. She
wanted to feel his hand on her pussy. She knew it would be enough
to make her come, and with the alcohol, she didn't care who saw.
She needed to feel it, and knew she would.

"Lisa, are you still there?" says Cheryl, over the phone. Lisa had
been silent as she tried to remember what had happened the previous
evening. Her memory again starts to fade.

"Yeah, I'm still here. I'm still having trouble remembering what
happened last night. Did Joe, you know, the bigger one, did he . .
. touch me in that restaurant?"

"You really don't remember, do you? You were pretty wasted. Don't
worry. I thought you'd regret having an orgasm in so public a
place, so I made him stop."

"You did?"

"Oh, he was touching you alright! It was pretty obvious. You
probably weren't aware of how much you were moaning and writhing
around. The couple at the next table were having a ball watching
you. They knew what was happening too!"

Lisa felt her entire body blush. The thought of all those people
watching her being fondled in a public restaurant . . .

"But you made him stop?"

"That's right. You were about to come, and I told him to cut it out
or he'd regret it. He got pretty nervous. You don't remember any of
this?"

"Only a little. I . . . I remember him touching me. His hand was
warm and, well, he knew what he was doing. I was so wet, and his
fingers had found my . . . oh my god, Cheryl, we should /not/ be
talking about this in the office."

"Relax, no one can hear. Yeah, he was pretty nervous when I made
him stop. But then you were just adorable. You looked at me with
little puppy dog eyes and mouthed the word 'please.' You looked so
desperate!"

"I didn't!" exclaims Lisa.

"Oh, you definitely did. I could see you squirm when Joe's hands -
and the other Joe's hands -- returned to the table. Big Joe had to
clean off his fingers with his napkin! It was a riot!"

Lisa wants to hide, she feels so ashamed. And yet, she can feel
that she is very, very wet.

"Cheryl, can I do it now?"

"Not just yet, Lisa. You probably have lots of work to do, and
besides, you don't want to get caught pleasuring yourself in the
middle of the work day! I'll tell you what, though. Around 6pm, get
yourself an early dinner somewhere nearby, and come back to the
office. I have something I want to show you after everyone has
left. And then, you can have permission."

The rest of Lisa's day passed in horny frustration and
anticipation. She knew Cheryl had something planned - something
exposing and humiliating and horrible - but nonetheless she found
she could think of little else, and could hardly wait for whatever
it was.


Chapter 15: Cheryl's second cliché

Lisa had dinner at a sandwich shop on the first floor of her
building. The shop was fairly crowded around 6, mostly with
businessmen in large groups who would come into the shop, see Lisa
in her short skirt and high heeled shoes, her nipples poking
through her blouse. They would comment to each other as if she
weren't there, eating her sandwich, trying to keep her legs closed
even though she knew everyone could see her panties. Lisa tried to
ignore them, but found that their audible comments and their
laughter only served to heighten the arousal that had already
reached record highs in anticipation of Cheryl's unknown plan.

When she comes back to the office, it is indeed empty. One or two
workers are still there, but from countless nights working after
hours Lisa knows the place would be deserted in a few minutes.

She finds Cheryl in her cubicle. She is reading her email.

"Hi," says Lisa. Cheryl looks over at her.

"C'mon," says Cheryl, "let's go over to your cubicle." Cheryl grabs
a black bag from under her desk before they go.

At Lisa's cubicle, Lisa sits in her usual chair and Cheryl pulls up
a chair from the next cubicle over.

"Okay," says Cheryl, "It's time we had a talk."

Lisa is worried. This is all so much easier if she doesn't have to
talk about it, she thinks.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" asks Cheryl.

"Well, yes, I guess I did. I don't really remember."

"Do you remember the shoe store?"

Lisa tugs at her skirt. Her legs are still naked. "Yes."

"Did you enjoy showing off?"

Lisa remembers how aroused she was. It felt so very good, but . . .
but how could she have enjoyed such humiliation? "Of course not.
That was . . . obscene. I would never do that again."

"Really? You seemed awfully . . . turned on . . . at the time."

Lisa crosses her arms across her chest. "Well . . . " she admits,
"I was turned on, because I didn't know what would happen. But
that's all. I would never do it again. Never."

Cheryl smiles and reaches into her bag. She pulls out a long,
plastic object with a power cord dangling from one end.

"Lisa, I want you to put your hands behind your head, and leave
them there. It's a skirt day, and this is a direct order." Lisa
gives a worried look but puts her hands behind her head. Her body
seems to be presented to Cheryl.

"Are you turned on right now, Lisa?" asks Cheryl, touching Lisa's
bare knee. "You don't know what's going to happen now, do you?"
Cheryl traced her finger up Lisa's thigh, sending shivers
throughout Lisa's body.

"I am very turned on," says Lisa. "You said I could have
permission."

Cheryl plugs the plastic object into an outlet by Lisa's desk. "Do
you know what this is?"

Lisa looks closely at it. White, plastic, smooth, wand-shaped. "It
looks like . . . a vibrator?"

"Have you played with one of these before?"

Lisa had heard of them, but had always been too shy to go to any
kind of store where she could buy one. "No."

"Well, then, I can't wait to see what you think." Cheryl pushes
Lisa's legs apart and rests the tip of the plastic wand against
Lisa's panties. The feel of the hard object against her makes her
shudder with pleasure. "Are you ready?"

Lisa can feel her pussy gushing. She couldn't believe she was
letting Cheryl do this, but she knew she wanted it. "Yes," she
says. And suddenly, a flick of Cheryl's fingers starts what felt
the injection of pure pleasure straight into Lisa's engorged
clitoris. Lisa had no idea how good it would feel. The vibrations
on her barely-covered sex cause her to moan and push herself
against the wand. She can feel her orgasm coming quickly, very
quickly!

But Cheryl flicks off the switch. "How was that?"

"Oh my god, I need more. I need more NOW," says Lisa. "Please."

Cheryl pulls the vibrator away. "Then be honest with me. Did you
enjoy what we did in the shoe store?"

Lisa still has her hands behind her head, but the arousal in her
crotch left behind by the vibrator seems to scream for one of her
fingers. She looks at the vibrator. "Please, Cheryl. Please!"

"Did you enjoy yourself? Just be honest!"

"I already said I did!"

"Would you do it again if I asked?"

"Well, if you asked, I guess I would."

"But you said you'd never do it again."

Lisa feels like she is on trial, but she could feel the juices from
her pussy starting to leak from her silk panties. This would all be
so much easier if I could just have that orgasm, she thinks.

"I really would do it again if you asked."

Cheryl smiles. "I'm not so sure. We'll come back to the vibrator in
a few minutes; I want to show you something first."

Cheryl reaches over to Lisa's computer keyboard. She opens a web
browser and types in a URL. "This is what I want to show you." A
web page loads with a window for streaming video. Cheryl clicks the
play button. The video shows an office Lisa has never seen before.
Nothing happens for a few seconds.

As Lisa watches the movie, Cheryl lightly touches Lisa's thighs,
occasionally brushing her fingers against Lisa's panties, just
inches from the hem of Lisa's skirt. "There's no sound," says
Cheryl to Lisa, "so I'll have to tell you what's going on."

A blonde woman in a beige, knee-length skirt, white hose, and white
blouse enters the office. The camera's field of view includes one
edge of a large desk; the blonde sits at a chair a few feet away
from that edge of the desk. Cheryl says "This woman's boss is on
the other side of the desk. He is asking her a few questions, and
reminding her of an agreement they had made the previous day."

Lisa sees the woman start to look worried. She looks down at the
buttons of her blouse.

"See," says Cheryl, "this woman is a lot like you, except she got
herself in some trouble. Her boss caught her making fraudulent
purchase orders in order to embezzle over $14,000 of company money.
She should have been fired and sent to prison, but she was saved by
her good looks. Watch this."

The woman starts to unbutton her blouse. When it is completely
unbuttoned, she pulls it off and hands it to the man on the other
side of the desk, off-camera. Her white bra is extremely low-cut,
and Lisa thinks she can see the woman's nipples, except the
resolution of the video leaves her unsure.

"Like you," says Cheryl, "this woman agreed to do everything she
was told. That's why she's undressing. See, she has no choice."

Lisa watches as the woman unhooks her bra and removes it. Then she
stands up and pulls her beige skirt up to her waist, revealing a
white garter belt holding up her white stockings. Lisa sees that
she is not wearing any panties.

Meanwhile, Cheryl's hand is tickling Lisa's inner thigh, reminding
her of her own arousal. Cheryl whispers "That woman is so aroused
right now, she can barely stand it. She is just like you. Well,
almost." Lisa's hands are still behind her head, and she wishes
Cheryl would touch her panties again. She has never before been
touched by a woman but the vibrator left her in dire need.

The woman in the video sits back down in the chair and, looking
ahead across the desk, hesitantly reaches between her legs and
begins stroking herself.

"He has ordered her to pleasure herself," says Cheryl. "She says no
at first; she says she can't possibly do that in front of someone
else, but then he threatens to go to the police, and she tells him
she'll try. What do you think? Is she going to go all the way?"

Lisa sees the woman close her eyes as her rubbing speeds up. Lisa
has never seen another woman masturbate, and it desperately makes
her want to touch her own pussy. "Yes," said Lisa, "I think she
really wants to go all the way."

"Wait. Watch this." Lisa watches. It looks as though the woman in
the video is now looking at her, Lisa, right in the eye! She must
be looking at the camera, Lisa thinks! "He told her she's on film
and pointed out the camera." Lisa notices that the woman has not
stopped touching herself. Now the woman is looking at the camera as
she strokes her clit.

Lisa is transfixed by the woman. "See," says Cheryl as she pulls
away from Lisa and gets another item from her black handbag, "she
is just like you, but unlike you, she has no choice. She needs to
do this or go to jail."

The woman's eyes have closed again, and she is clearly writhing in
pleasure. Both hands are at her pussy now, and their motions are
nicely framed by her white garters and stockings.

"You can touch yourself now, Lisa, but you may not come," says
Cheryl. Lisa takes her hands from behind her head and starts to rub
her panties as she watches the woman. Cheryl is doing something in
her bag, but she looks up and says, "Take off your panties, Lisa.
Don't worry, no one is here." Lisa pulls the red silk panties off
and pulls them down her legs, leaving them puddled at her ankles.
They really do match her shoes. She immediately starts rubbing her
clit again. It feels so delicious to finally touch myself, she
thinks, as her fingers fill her with her familiar warmth.

"Now," says Cheryl, "don't come yet. Just listen. You are not like
that woman, because you have a choice. You don't have to do this."

Lisa is confused. "Yes, I have to do this. It's a skirt day. I'm
wearing a skirt. So I have to do what you say."

"What will happen if you don't?"

"Well, nothing, but . . ."

"Who enforces your skirt day rules?"

"Just me, I guess, but . . . "

"But nothing," says Cheryl. "You have a choice. You could stop
touching yourself right now, pull up your underwear, and go home,
couldn't you?"

"I guess."

"Wouldn't it be nice to not have a choice? Wouldn't it be better if
you knew that, like the woman in the video, you were doing what I
and everyone else said because something awful would happen if you
didn't?"

Lisa is furiously rubbing her clit now, as is the woman in the
video. Lisa can see that the woman in the video is close to her
release, but Cheryl had told Lisa she could not yet come. Why /did/
she have to listen to Cheryl? She knows she could disobey and have
the orgasm she craves right now. Not having a choice seems easier.
It seems . . . better.

"Be honest, Lisa," says Cheryl, "this is all your choice, but you
would rather it were mine, don't you? If you're honest with me,
then you may use the vibrator."

The thought of the pleasure that the wand brought her drives Lisa
to the edge. She has to stop rubbing to keep from coming. "Yes,"
she says, "yes! It would be better!"

Cheryl finishes her work in the bag and pulls out a digital
camcorder. She points it at Lisa. "Okay, Lisa. Like the woman, you
are on film." Lisa pulls her attention from the video and scrambles
to hide her wet, nude pussy from the camera. She looks at the
camera lens which seems to stare at her, unblinking. "If you want
to," says Cheryl, "you can take that vibrator and give yourself all
the pleasure you want. But if you do, I will capture it on film."

Lisa looks at the vibrator and remembers how good it felt. "You can
get up and leave right now if you want," says Cheryl, "but then you
and I will always know that your skirt days are your choice. We
will both know that you are the sort of woman who simply enjoys
shoving her wet, naked cunt in the faces of unsuspecting shoe
salesmen. But if you're really doing it because it's not your
choice, then it shouldn't matter if I've caught you on film."

Lisa looks at the camera, confused. She looks at the woman on the
video who is now clearly moaning her pleasure as she orgasms on
film. The woman's nipples are hard, her back is arched, her head is
back, her eyes are closed, and her fingers are deep inside her
dripping pussy, and although there is no sound Lisa can almost hear
her screaming in pleasure. Lisa's own sex can still remember the
pleasure of the vibrator, and Lisa is dying to feel it again, but
the camera continues its steady gaze.

This is it, thinks Lisa. She thinks about what has led her to this
point. She knows that if she pulls on her panties and leaves, her
life will go back to normal. But if she gives herself the orgasm
she craves, then she knows that she is embarking on a new, sexual
adventure that could lead her to unthinkable pleasures. She reaches
for the vibrator on her desk. She knows the camera can see up her
tiny skirt; she knows it can see that she is wet, that her clit is
giant and red, and she knows that it can see her touch the vibrator
to herself. "Good," says Cheryl. "Go ahead, turn it on."

When Lisa flicks the switch, the pleasure is overwhelming. With the
vibrator in her hands, Lisa realizes that nothing, not Cheryl, not
even a pair of panties, stands between her and the orgasm. The
vibrations on her clit are almost too much; they make her scream
out loud. She moves the vibrator between her lips with one hand and
touches her clit with the other. She gently pushes the vibrator
inside her, feeling the vibrations emanate pleasure all through her
body. The pleasure is so intense she forgets the camera, but only
for a moment.

"If you disobey me," Cheryl says as she films, "then this video
will end up on the internet, just like that woman's." Lisa looks
over at the video and sees that there is now a large black man in
the shot, his pants around his ankles, his cock in the mouth of the
blonde woman. "She disobeyed, and now everyone knows. Think about
that, Lisa. Do you want to end up like her?" The vibrations are
sending Lisa over the edge. She looks at the camera. She knows what
this means. This means she is committed. This means that she will
have no choice. She is now thrusting the vibrator in and out of
herself as she furiously rubs her clit. This means that skirt days
are for real. The thought that Cheryl can now ruin her if she backs
down sends the final jolt of pleasure through her body, sending
every muscle in a violent, pleasurable convulsion. "OOOOH
GOOOOOODDDDD!!!!" she screams as the orgasm rips through her,
stimulating every nerve from head to toe.

The orgasm seems to last for hours, coming back in little spurts as
Lisa returns the vibrator to her clit, as she opens her eyes and
sees the camera's unblinking lens, as she recalls what she has
gotten herself into.

When it is over, she feels completely exhausted. The video is still
playing; she sees that the woman is now being fucked from behind by
the large black man, whose uniform suggests a custodial position.
She realizes what Cheryl's video has captured. It has captured
Lisa, in her cubicle, at work, furiously masturbating with a
vibrator as footage of a woman giving a blowjob to a large black
man is showing on her computer screen. The video shows no struggle,
no circumstance, no context. Lisa realizes that if her coworkers
saw this video, she could not work here again. She probably could
not work anywhere. And yet, she thinks, she did this to herself.
She wanted this.

"Please," says Lisa, "Don't show that video to anyone. Please."

Cheryl smiles as she packs the camera and the vibrator in her bag.
"Don't worry," she says. "It will be for my eyes only, as long as
you stick to your promises. When you're wearing a skirt, you do
what anyone says. Just like you promised. If I find you've
disobeyed me or anyone else, then I know just how to get that
promotion." Cheryl patted the camera. "But as long as you stick to
the deal, you'll probably get the promotion. Heck, you deserve it
more than me. You work much harder."

Lisa pulls her panties up her legs. The wet silk makes contact with
her even wetter pussy.

"And don't forget," says Cheryl, "to meet me before you go golfing
on Friday. And no more pantyhose, ever. And no masturbating without
my permission."

Lisa nods, realizing that she will really have to obey, now. "Oh,
and I almost forgot. You and I are going to a party on Saturday. My
friend Martin - you'll like Martin - he gave me lots of advice
about you and really wants to meet you, so he's throwing a small
party. I'll pick you up at your place. Wear one of your skirts, of
course. We'll go shopping and buy an appropriate cocktail dress
before we go."

Lisa's nervousness grows. But now she has no choice. "Okay," she
says.

"I have one last thing for you to do this evening," she says. She
takes a notepad from Lisa's desk and scrawls down an address. "Go
to this address now. You can get there by taking the red-line.
Don't worry, it's a safe neighborhood. The apartment is just a
couple blocks from the subway stop. Knock on the door, and don't
leave until someone answers. Then you are to do everything that
person says. Understood?"

Lisa again nods.

"Good night," says Cheryl. "See you tomorrow morning!"

Cheryl leaves with her black bag. With the vibrator that gave Lisa
so much pleasure. With the camera with the footage. With Lisa's
future.

Meanwhile, the blonde in the video is still being fucked from
behind, this time by the janitor's mop handle. The woman is still
screaming in ecstasy. "Is this really real?" asks Lisa, as she
looks at the footage more carefully. It starts looking more and
more like a low-production-value porn movie. "It doesn't matter
now," she thinks, as she closes the window and shuts down her
computer.

Chapter 16 Who's the Boss?

The city is dark and uncrowded as Lisa takes the subway to an
unfamiliar stop. She feels vulnerable in her tiny skirt and high
heels, but indeed she is able to find the address Cheryl gave her
without any difficulty.

It is a small apartment complex. The apartments make a U-shape
around a shared parking lot. She looks at door number 3, where she
is supposed to knock according to Cheryl's instructions.

She tries to imagine what---and who---lies behind the door. Her
imagination tends toward the large black janitor, forcing himself
into the blonde woman who had no choice. What if she was going to
have to have sex with this person? What if this person beats her?
She feels very frightened. Her trust for Cheryl is uncertain, but
not completely absent. The danger awakens her pussy again. She has
no choice, she thinks, as she feels the warmth return to her pussy.

She knocks on the door three times. After a brief pause, she knocks
again. "Hold on," shouts a male voice. She waits.

Finally, the door opens. She looks down and sees that the man is
wearing simple gray sweat pants and a plain white undershirt. She
looks at his face, which is unshaven and looks confused.

Then she recognizes him. It is Steve.

"Lisa!" he says, "Wha---what are you doing here?"

Lisa is as surprised as he. "I. . . didn't you talk to Cheryl?"

"Cheryl? Cheryl from the office? Why would I talk to Cheryl?"

There is a pause, and Lisa can see Steve's eyes wander down her
body, past her red lacy camisole beneath her mostly unbuttoned
blouse, to her black skirt, barely hiding her sex, and onwards down
the full expanse of her bare legs to the high red heels. Lisa feels
exposed, standing outside Steve's door.

"Can I come in?" asks Lisa, and Steve nods, watching her ass as she
walks past him into his small living room.

"I, um," stutters Steve, "I've been sick, but I'm okay now, and was
going to return to work tomorrow morning."

Lisa lets out a little laugh. "Oh, don't worry about it. I
understand. May I sit?"

"Of course," says Steve, as he clears some newspaper from a small
black couch. The couch is quite low, and as Lisa sits she suspects
that she cannot help but show Steve her bright red silk panties.

Steve sits on an armchair across from the couch. Then Lisa notices:
Steve's loose grey sweatpants reveal a rather large lump at his
crotch. He's clearly hard. Very hard.

She realizes that she is staring, and Steve seems to notice. He
uncomfortably crosses his legs. Lisa wonders---does this embarrass
him? Is it humiliating for him to have his arousal on display in
that way? She crosses her own legs, knowing that this exposes more
of her ass than she feels comfortable with. She smiles at him. He
smiles at her. An awkward silence ensues.

Lisa waits for Steve to speak, but he seems nervous. He seems so
different from the confident, almost cocky man who ordered her to
wear stockings, to unbutton her blouse, to do all those things. She
finally loses her patience with his hesitant silence.

"Steve," she begins, not quite knowing what to say, but trying to
imagine instead what Joan, her therapist, would say, "maybe we
should talk about why you \emph{really} have not been at work. You
haven't actually been sick, have you?"

Steve blushes and uncrosses his legs. His erection is still visible
through the thin sweatpants, and Lisa catches herself staring
again, but then forces herself to look at Steve's face. He crosses
his legs the other way. "Well?" she prods.

Steve stammers, "Well, I guess, when you wore that skirt, like I
asked, I thought maybe you wanted to play a game with me, where I
was the boss. You know, with the stockings, and the water bottle,
and all that. You really seemed to be into it. But then you got
really upset, and you yelled at me and gave me a huge pile of work,
and I got really worried. I didn't know what to do or what would
happen on Monday so I took a sick day. This morning I still didn't
know. . . "

Lisa remembers that she had meant to apologize, and that she never
got around to it. But Steve's reluctance this evening, and the
sight of his large erection beneath his pants, somehow makes her
feel less apologetic. Perhaps even a little annoyed with him. He
was supposed to be calling the shots, right? Why does she have to
direct this awkward conversation?

"Well, Steve," says Lisa, feeling herself for the first time today,
"that was a pretty wimpy response. Apparently, if you don't know
what to do, you just don't show up."

"I thought maybe. . . "

Lisa finds herself on familiar ground. She is the boss. "I don't
think you thought at all, Steve. I expect my employees to confront
their problems. If you need to ask for help, ask for help. But
don't just run away."

"I thought you needed time."

Lisa raises her voice. "And how can you possibly know what I need?
The fact is I needed you at work. And if you want to keep your job,
you had better return tomorrow morning, since it is very clear that
you are not at all sick!"

Steve's erection only seems to grow as he silently listens to Lisa
berate him.

When she seems to be done, he raises his hand, as though he were
again a young student in the schoolroom. "Yes?" says Lisa, still
wearing a scowl.

"Are you going to wear a skirt tomorrow, again, like last
Wednesday?"

Lisa is stunned. Usually her stern voice and harsh words resulted
in only hushed compliance. Perhaps it is her naked legs and her
visible red underwear that undermined her authority, she thinks.
Unable to take her eyes off Steve's crotch, she feels her pussy
moisten again. How would that cock feel inside her?

"I am," she says, with waning confidence.

"And does that mean you're doing what I say, like last week?"

Lisa again does not know what to say. Cheryl had told her to obey
Steve, hadn't she? And she promised to obey while wearing a skirt.
The answer is clearly yes. Yes, Steve, I will do what you say. She
thinks it but does not say it. She again looks at the shape of his
cock beneath his sweatpants; his erection had not shrunk in the
least. Yes. Yes. Fuck me, yes. Yes!

"Maybe," she says.

"Maybe?"

Lisa starts to feel uneasy. Does she want him? She begins to feel
threatened. He looks. . . big. Ever bigger. Will it hurt? It has
been so long since she's been with a man, and that one time was. .
. small.

"What is it that \emph{you} want, Lisa?" Steve raises his eyebrows,
expectant. Lisa feels she has lost her ground, but somehow, after
everything that happened with Cheryl, wants to regain it.

"I want you at work tomorrow. I have a lot of work for you to catch
up on." She tries to exert her authority, but her voice is now
uneasy. I want you to fuck me, she thinks.

"Okay," says Steve, "I'll go to work. Is there anything else?"

How would it feel? she thinks. Maybe I could just touch it. . .

"If not, I guess you should be getting home. It's getting late."
Steve stands up, and his erection is even more obvious when
standing. He walks to the door and opens it.

"But. . ." Lisa stands up, spreading her legs and flashing her red
panties as she does so. "Wait, Steve, I. . ."

"Yes?" Steve holds the door open, waiting for Lisa to speak.

"I. . . " Lisa still does not know what to say. She cannot ask him
for what she wants, can she? If he knows. . .

"The answer is yes. Yes, I will do what you say, when wearing a
skirt."

Steve smiles. While still holding the door, he pushes Lisa by her
tightly-skirted ass through the door. The feeling of his hand on
her rear is electrifying, but very brief.

"Excellent. Then this is what I want you to do. Tomorrow, I want
you to wear the world's shortest skirt."

Lisa is again standing on the doorstep, conscious of her
visibility. She sees a couple walking down the sidewalk; surely
they can see how much she wants him, in her tiny skirt, high heels,
and unbuttoned blouse, desperately trying not to leave. They must
think me lusty, horny. . . and why doesn't Steve want me to stay?
And what did he just say?

"What?" asks Lisa, "what do you mean, world's shortest skirt?"

"Here's the rule," says Steve, "and this goes for every Wednesday.
I want you to wear the shortest skirt in the world. The one you're
wearing would probably do, it's barely there; but you really
shouldn't wear the same thing twice in a row. So whatever skirt you
are wearing, make sure that no one is wearing a shorter one."

"But how will I know if someone is wearing a shorter one?"

"Well, how about we work it this way. If I see someone wearing a
shorter skirt than you, I will point her out, and then you'll be in
trouble. Then you'll be punished."

"Um, punished how?" Lisa feels her arousal build. Why won't he just
fuck me?

"When we find someone with a shorter skirt, you will be required to
give me your underwear. All of it. That's the rule. Now, I had
better get to sleep. I have to go to work tomorrow." And he shuts
the door.

Lisa stood on the doorstep, perplexed, for a few minutes, before
walking back to the subway, barely balancing on her heels. Why must
he play these games? She thought of his hard cock, straining his
sweatpants, and wondered why it was not inside her, right now. Oh
well, she thought, I'll just have to get myself off when I get
home---but then she remembered Cheryl, and her skirt, and knew that
she could not.

Chapter 17: World's Shortest Skirt

The next morning, Wednesday, skirt day, Lisa spent nearly an hour
deciding what to wear. She was horrified at the idea of being
pantiless at work, so she wanted to make sure she was indeed
wearing the shortest skirt she had. That would be the one she had
worn yesterday. But Steve had indicated that she shouldn't wear it
again, and it was /so/ short. She cannot remember anyone in the
office---or for that matter, anyone at all---wearing a skirt so
short. Surely, she could get away with wearing a longer one.

She considered the black pleated skirt that Steve had given
her---surely it would be short enough! But then she remembered how
every twirl exposed her underwear. What if Steve saw a shorter
skirt and she had to remove that protection? That skirt exposed so
much.

She thought of her brown skirt, the one she bought to feel a little
more covered on her skirt days. Maybe that's too long, she thought,
and she looked in her dresser and closet but could not find it,
anyway. Cheryl must still have it, she thought. She would have to
buy another one.

That left her first skirt, the green one that used to be perfect
but that she had shortened by 4 inches. Still only mid-thigh
length, but less likely to flip up than the pleated one. She tried
it on her naked legs. A lot was exposed, she thought. This would be
short enough, wouldn't it? Still, she knew her white panties would
be only inches from view. She imagined confronting her coworkers
without any panties at all under so short, so open a garment, and
prayed she wouldn't have to. It's short enough---no one wears
skirts shorter than this unless they're forced to, she reasoned!

Looking at her naked legs in the mirror, she remembered that she
was forbidden pantyhose. And her only pair of stockings were torn.
She would have to buy more. But today she would have to leave her
legs bare.

With the skirt she wore one of her white blouses. It was low cut
and slightly transparent, she could see the outline of her white
bra through it. She didn't have a jacket to go with her skirt,
though, and her open window told her that the day would be warm
enough. Should she find a more conservative blouse? Something less
tight, less see-through? No, she thought. She wanted to impress
Steve.

What about shoes? Her new shoes were too much---too high, too red.
She dug in her closet and found a pair of black, 2-inch pumps.
Heels were expected of her now, she sensed. She would have to buy
more.

As she prepared and drank her morning coffee and bagel, she jotted
down a shopping list:

    more short skirts
    stockings
    high heels
    thongs?
    camis?

She posted it on her refrigerator door and rushed off to the
subway.

As she walked, she took note of every other woman she saw. What if
someone is wearing a shorter skirt than me? Should I tell Steve?
Most women she saw on her walk were wearing jeans, or shorts, or
calf-length skirts. Just before entering the subway, she saw a
brunette woman with a straight-cut beige miniskirt walking down the
street. Her heart skipped a beat, but then she realized that the
woman's skirt almost reached her knees. She looked down at her own
skirt and saw much, much more exposed thigh. At first she felt
safe, but then exposed. She found herself strangely anxious for
Steve's approval. As she thought of how he would react to her
outfit, she could feel the first pangs of arousal. Her pussy was
waking up, and already starting to moisten.

As she waited for the subway train, her thoughts drifted to Cheryl.
Cheryl! She had forgotten about her, and that video tape. What
would Cheryl make her do today? The thought scared her, but also
excited her. She was now decidedly horny.

Finally, the train arrives. The subway car is packed, as usual for
this hour. She squeezes past the (mostly) business men by the door
to find a spot to stand near the seats. She holds on to the bar
overhead with one hand, and clutches her handbag close with the
other. The train begins to move, and Lisa looks down at her
breasts, avoiding contact with the men she is so closely pressed
against. She notices her bra, slightly visible through her blouse.
She begins to regret the choice, but knows she cannot turn back
now.

After the first stop, the train becomes even more crowded, and Lisa
is pushed from all sides. She cannot move; her arms are fixed in
position as the train continues its journey.

Then, ever so lightly, she feels it. A hand. The hand. It is ever
so lightly caressing the inside of her knee. It feels warm. She
knows it will journey upwards, up her naked flesh. The first time,
she remembers, she was wearing pantyhose. Then, stockings. Now, her
entire legs are bare, and the hand's caress feels especially
intense.

She cannot resist looking behind her. Who is doing this to me? How
do they always find me? But she can barely move to turn around, and
there are so many people she cannot tell who it could have been.
She suspects a large man in a suit sitting at the nearby seat, but
she cannot see his face. She stops looking back, and takes in a
breath as she waits for the hand to return. Please come back, she
thinks, as blood rushes to her sex. She spreads her bare legs a
little, inviting, anticipating. . .

. . . and she is not disappointed. The hand returns, immediately
feeling the soft, warm skin of her inner thigh. It strokes her
gently, and then more firmly, and then wanders upwards, towards her
ever moistening panties. Lisa's breathing quickens. She had
forgotten how it felt to be touched in so private, so sensitive a
place while surrounded by so many men. She wants to thank the hand,
somehow -- to return the favor, if she could. All she can think to
do is to spread her legs apart as far as she can in the crowded
car, and she does.

The hand seems to embrace the invitation by firmly cupping her
crotch. Lisa knows it can feel how wet she is. It must realize how
turned on she is, how much she wants it. How nice it would be to
have a morning orgasm, here on the train, before even getting to
work. All that tension, all that horniness, would be dissipated
without needing to ask Cheryl's permission. She gives in to the
hand and pushes herself against it. It starts to vigorously rub her
clit. "OH GOD YES!" she moans, as she writhes herself against the
hand.

Her moan does not go unnoticed. It seems to echo in the crowded
train for a second, followed by an embarrassed silence. She sees
most of the eyes of the train shoot in her direction. The hand
disappears. A deep blush appears on her face. Some of the men are
smiling, some are whispering. She knows they can see her naked
legs, her see-through blouse. They heard her lustful moaning -- can
they smell her need? What has she become? She has never felt more
embarrassed in her life.

When the train reaches the main station, she notices that many of
its riders sneak an extra look at her as they disembark. Lisa tugs
her skirt down as low as she can and folds her arms across her
chest as she walks the short distance to her office. Her little
show left her ashamed -- but very, very aroused. She feels that
spark of exposure as her skirt sways around her thighs. This is not
my fault, she thinks. This is Steve's doing. Or is it Cheryl's? Or
is it her own?

Few people are in the office when she arrives. Lisa walks from
cubicle to cubicle, slyly peering in to each open entrance to check
out the women. She is looking for skirts. After her mortifying
subway experience, she could not bear to lose her underwear. It
would be too much.

Fortunately, the few women in the office she sees are all wearing
pants. She returns to her cubicle, and begins her work day, which
begins with her email. There is nothing out of the ordinary -- and
nothing from Steve. What was she expecting? Her final email is from
herself. "Don't miss today's meeting," it says.

After a short while, Cheryl arrives and finds Lisa in her cubicle.
When Lisa sees her, she worries -- Cheryl would be the one to wear
a skirt shorter than me! She's working with Steve to humiliate me!
So she looks immediately at Cheryl's legs.

But Cheryl is wearing elegant black slacks. As usual, she looks
conservatively professional.

"So," Cheryl asks, "how did it go last night? Did you find Steve?"

Lisa is nervous. "Sure. We talked for a while and then I went
home." Lisa looks back at her computer screen.

Cheryl does not leave. "You just talked? I saw how you were dressed
last night. I'll bet Steve jumped you as soon as he saw you. Tell
the truth, Lisa."

Lisa continues looking at her computer. "No, Cheryl, he did not
jump me. We just talked, and I went home."

Cheryl gets close to Lisa's ear, and whispers, "Listen here, Lisa.
You know what I'll do if you lie to me. I want you to be completely
honest, or you will very much regret it. Now, what happened with
Steve last night?"

Lisa speaks softly, still not looking at Cheryl. "We really only
talked. I wanted to have sex but he showed me out."

"Hmm. What did you talk about?"

"I made it clear to him that I would do what he said. It's all been
spelled out."

"And did he ask you to do anything?"

Lisa hesitates.

"Or should I ask him?" Cheryl threatens.

"No, I'll tell you. He said I had to wear the world's shortest
skirt. He said that if he sees anyone wearing a skirt shorter than
me then I'll have to remove my underwear. And I really can't do
that today. I chair my department meeting today and it would be
humiliating to do it without panties. So I'm praying that no one
will wear a shorter skirt than me today."

Cheryl laughs. "With that tiny thing, you probably don't have to
worry." But then Cheryl thinks for a second. "But you might go down
to the third floor and see what Yukie is wearing."

"Yukie? Who's Yukie?"

"You don't know Yukie? You've probably seen her on the elevator
once or twice. She's a secretary on that floor, from Japan. She
likes to wear really, really short skirts, every once in a while.
She really has the legs for it, too. Cute girl. She's only been in
the U.S. for a few months. I should introduce Steve to her. . . "

And so Lisa finds herself on the elevator, going down nervously to
the unfamiliar third floor to find a girl she's never met, and
compare the length of her skirt.

As the elevator doors open, Lisa sees a Japanese secretary at a
nearby desk who simply must be Yukie. Beneath her open desk, Cheryl
sees white and black striped socks stretching from her platform
mules to a couple inches above her knee, followed by bare thigh.
Lisa knows there must be a skirt up there somewhere, but she cannot
see it. Her hair stands in two vertical pigtails, and her eye
makeup shows shapes of pink and blue. Glittery earrings hang from
her ears.

Lisa approaches her, tempted to peer under the desk, but not seeing
a way to do so politely. "Can I help you?" asks Yukie with a
high-pitched voice.

Lisa smiles. What should she say? "Are you Yukie?"

"Yes! Pleased to meet you." She pulls her chair away from her desk
and extends her hand for a handshake. "And you are?"

Lisa looks at Yukie's lap. Her navy blue, pleated skirt is barely
there, leaving Yukie's bronze thighs exposed to the top of her
over-the-knee socks.

"I'm Lisa. I work upstairs. I heard about you from Cheryl, and
thought I should meet you."

"Cheryl's a nice lady," says Yukie, nodding. "Pleased to meet you,
Lisa."

Lisa smiles again. How can she explain? Should she just ask her to
stand up and show off her skirt? "Yukie, do you want to come
downstairs and get some coffee with me? My treat."

Yukie looks briefly at her desk. "Okay, but we must be very fast."

Yukie stands up. Lisa notices first that Yukie is more than a foot
shorter than herself. Then she notices that Yukie's skirt falls
down her thighs barely at all. It is clear that Lisa's fears are
confirmed -- Yukie is actually wearing a much shorter skirt! It
seems to cover Yukie okay, but then, Yukie's short stature and thin
hips allow the short garment to be sufficient.

As Yukie and Lisa get back in the elevator, Lisa wonders what to
do. She knows that Cheryl will show Yukie to Steve. She feels her
panties against herself, that small, thin protection, and already
begins to miss them. What should I do?

The elevator quickly reaches the first floor, and as they get out
Lisa notices Steve waiting at the elevators. Oh no! He'll see!
Quickly, she pulls Yukie around the corner into a public restroom,
hoping that Steve didn't notice. She thought she saw him turn his
head. Was she fast enough?

"What are you doing?" demands Yukie, looking at Lisa as though she
is crazy. "I think I should leave."

"No, wait, Yukie, I'm sorry. Please don't leave. Let me explain."

Yukie folds her arms and waits. Lisa hesitates.

"Well?"

"Okay, okay. That guy out there, waiting for the elevator, he's. .
. well, we have a deal. The deal is that I have to be wearing the
world's shortest skirt, or at least the shortest in the nearby
vicinity. I simply have to be. And I heard you were wearing a
shorter one, and I was afraid he'd see you. That's why I pulled you
in here."

Yukie smiles. "That's funny! Why did you make this deal with him?"

"It's. . . a long story. But you see, that's why we have to hide."

"I need to get back to work. My boss will be angry if I am gone for
too long." She walks toward the door.

"Wait! He might still be out there."

Yukie turns around. "So what do you want? You want to wear my
skirt?"

Lisa had not considered the option. Did she have a choice? "Would
you mind? Do you think it will fit?"

Yukie looks down at her skirt. "I've had this skirt since high
school, in Japan. It used to be my uniform."

"That was your uniform? It's awfully short, isn't it?"

"Well, we shorten our skirts to our tastes. There was cute boy in
my class and I wanted his attention, so I shortened it a lot! We
went out on a few dates after that. Of course, then I was stuck
with this tiny skirt every day at school!" She giggles. "I'll tell
you what. We can trade, but only if you do something for me."

Lisa paused. Another one, she thought? "Anything," she says.

"Buy me lunch today, be my friend! I've been here for months and
only boys to talk to."

Lisa smiles. "Of course! You've got it."

Yukie smiles and unfastens her skirt. She pulls it down her legs
revealing white panties with cartoon kittens. Lisa tries not to
stare as she removes her own skirt, revealing her plain white
cottons. She feels a little strange, standing in a public restroom
with this half-naked girl she's never met, wearing only her blouse
and panties. She hopes no one comes in!

The girls trade skirts. Lisa pulls Yukie's skirt up her waist, and,
although it must sit high on her slim waist, she is able to fasten
it. Meanwhile, Yukie fastens Lisa's skirt. On Yukie, the skirt
comes almost to her socks.

Lisa is not so nicely covered. Lisa's extra height, the fact that
the skirt sits so high on her waist, and the simple fact that the
skirt is very, very short leaves Lisa looking indecent. She looks
in the mirror and thinks she can barely see the bottom of her white
panties. She tugs the skirt down as far as she can, and her panties
seem to be covered. Just barely.

Of course, the skirt is pleated. She gives a twirl and her panties
are immediately on display. She would have to move very, very
slowly today.

"Okay?" asks Yukie.

Lisa is not so sure. She is barely wearing anything on her legs.
She can't possibly go into her office like this, can she? What
about her meeting?!? But what choice does she have?

"Okay," says Lisa, and they leave the restroom.

Lisa is grateful to see that Steve is not waiting for them. Maybe
he didn't see them.

The girls decide to meet at Yukie's desk at noon. They return to
their respective offices. As Lisa walks from the elevator to her
cubicle, she is very conscious of her short skirt. She tries to
hold it down as she walks as slowly as she can. She wishes she had
not worn heels, as they add a motion to her hips that makes the
skirt swish around, probably exposing her panties.

When Lisa returns to her cubicle, she is glad to be out of sight,
and eagerly returns to her work.

At about 11am, she gets an email from Steve. "Lisa, please come to
my cubicle. I have the paperwork you requested."

Lisa reads the email and scowls. Usually, Steve brings her
paperwork when it's done. Clearly, he wants her to have to walk
across the office.

She stands up and tugs down her blue pleated skirt as low as it
will go. She thinks it is covering her panties, but she is worried.
She pauses, takes a deep breath. She thinks Steve will be
impressed, and the thought reawakens her arousal. She hopes he will
touch her.

She walks between the long rows of cubicles, occasionally noticing
glimpses from her male coworkers. Some of them poke their heads out
of their cubicles after she passes. They try to be subtle, but she
notices them. She hears their chairs squeak; it is the only sound
except for the sound of her heels on the linoleum floor, announcing
her humiliating parade.

When she reaches Steve's cubicle, she steps in, away from the
prying eyes. Steve looks her up and down and smiles.

"You've outdone yourself, Lisa," he says. "When I said world's
shortest skirt, you took it to heart, didn't you?"

Lisa blushes. "Can you see my panties?"

Steve looks carefully. "Um, no, not quite. They're covered."

"Good. Do you like it?"

Steve smiles. "I do. I like that shirt, too. Nice and tight." Lisa
blushes, and feels herself get wet. He approves! He looks her in
the eye. "Say, did I see you on the first floor this morning, with
a Japanese girl? I couldn't tell, but I thought maybe she was
wearing a shorter skirt than you."

Lisa panics. "No, that couldn't have been me. How could anyone be
wearing a shorter skirt than me? Look at this thing!"

Steve laughs. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But maybe, when I saw
you, you were wearing a longer skirt? Perhaps your green one?"

Lisa remains silent. She knew she was caught.

"The rule was that you had to wear the world's shortest skirt all
day. You've only half followed it, haven't you?"

"But. . ." Lisa is scared. How could he take her panties now?!?

"Maybe you should, therefore, be half punished."

"No, please, Steve, come on, look, this skirt is clearly short
enough!"

"Don't try to cheat me, Lisa. Now, the punishment was for you to
remove your underwear. So your half punishment is for you to remove
half your underwear. Remove either your bra, or your panties. Your
choice. You may come back here in 5 minutes with either in your
hands." Steve turns away.

Lisa doesn't know if she can do it, but the instruction from Steve,
she realizes, has awakened in her a lust and excitement that is by
now familiar but no less intense. Yes, of course she'd do it. As
she walked to the restroom, she considered her options.

If she removes her bra, she is certain that the outline of her
nipples would be visible through her thin blouse. But if she
removes her panties, in this tiny pleated skirt, then she will
truly be naked. Nothing will cover her ass, and everyone will see
her most private parts if she so much as turns a corner too
quickly. She could not have that. She decides to remove the bra.

And that she does, while watching herself in the restroom. She
pulls off her blouse and unhooks the bra. Looking at herself in her
mirror, she realizes just how large her breasts are. And as she
buttons her blouse, she realizes just how tight---and low cut--- it
really is. She had worried so much about her skirt that she hadn't
realized how much her buxom chest was exposed. And now, without the
bra, the full shape of her breasts and nipples were evident through
the thin, almost transparent blouse. What will her coworkers think
of her now? As she looks at herself, she lets her right hand creep
under her ever-so-short skirt and touch herself through her
panties. Why does it feel so good to be so exposed? Do I enjoy this
humiliation? Why am I so horny?

Knowing that the clock is ticking and that Steve is waiting, she
takes one last look and gives her skirt a final tug. She makes the
long walk back to his cubicle, her bra hidden in her hands, and
delivers it to Steve.

"Good choice," he says.

Lisa thinks, will you fuck me now? Please?

Steve puts the bra in his drawer and gathers a large, disordered
stack of papers from the top of his desk. He stands up and hands
the stack to Lisa.

"This is all the work you've given me over the past couple days. It
was a lot but I've been working hard. I hope you find it
acceptable."

Lisa looks down at the stack of papers. Forms, letters, memos,
purchase orders, inventories -- everything she asked, all filled
out. But she wished the stack were more orderly. She could barely
hold all the paperwork in her arms.

"Do you mind if I organize the stack a little before I go?"

"Yes, I do mind. Please, I don't want to see them anymore. Go."

And with that he pushes her by her ass out of his cubicle. Just
like the night before, Lisa yearns to feel his hand more, but the
push was ever so brief, and Lisa finds herself in the hall holding
the ungainly stack of papers with both hands.

She starts to walk back, and realizes that her skirt is swaying as
she walks, probably flashing her panties. She tries to free up one
of her hands to hold it down, but she almost drops the papers.
While recovering, she hears a sharp yell: "LISA!"

It was Steve. She turns around to look at him, and as she does so
the stack of papers falls and scatters around the floor. Other
workers hear the yell and they all poke their heads to see the
commotion. What they see is Lisa, the bitchy, arrogant young
professional, wearing the world's shortest skirt and a tight,
see-through blouse, surrounded by a stack of papers and holding
only a file folder, swaying open, its contents on the floor below.
Everyone in the office eagerly awaited her picking them up.



Chapter 18: The Cold Seat

Lisa knew that if she bent down to pick up the papers, her panties
would be clearly on display. Even if she squatted or knelt, there
is no way her modesty would be maintained. For a few seconds she
stared down at the papers, wondering what her office would think of
her after everyone saw her panties under her skirt---and indeed, it
seemed everyone was watching.

As she stared at the papers, Steve walked over. Lisa turned and saw
him, and realized that this was all his doing.

"Why did you yell at me? You knew I'd drop these papers. They were
a mess when you gave them to me!" Lisa's loud voice could be heard
clearly throughout the otherwise silent office.

Steve's smile faded and he started to speak. "I . . ."

"Forget it," she said. "This is intolerable. I want you to pick all
these papers up and bring them to my desk in a neat pile. Now!"

And she quickly marched off to the semi-privacy of her cubicle. She
sat down at her chair and stared at her blank computer screen for
several minutes.

A thousand thoughts went through her head for those minutes.
Mostly, she was regretful for yelling at Steve. All day, she had
been hoping to feel his hard cock inside of her. She could not put
the image from the night before of the bulge in his sweatpants out
of her head. Didn't he think she was attractive? Why didn't he take
her, then? And now she has yelled at him, while everyone was
watching. Did she embarrass him? Will he be mad? Would it have been
that bad to flash my panties for him? Why did he yell? What would
he have said if I hadn't interrupted? She yearned for his touch
more than ever, but she knew she would not---could not---apologize.
Having her wear short skirts was one thing, but making her pick up
his messy papers from the floor while everyone gawks is just
unreasonable, isn't it? Still, she wonders how many of the men were
aroused by her legs, by her hard nipples poking through her blouse.
. . she began wishing she had bent over at the waist, and just let
them look as she gathered the papers. Maybe one of them would have
whistled their appreciation---it occurs to her that no one has ever
whistled at her that way, and that she would love to be appreciated
in that way once in a while . . .

Her thoughts are interrupted by Cheryl, who walks uninvited into
Cheryl's cubicle and hands her a neat stack of papers.

"I ran into Steve on the way here," says Cheryl, "and when I told
him I was on the way to see you he was happy to let me deliver
these to you."

"Was he mad?" asked Lisa.

"I don't know. We didn't talk much."

Lisa starts to leaf through the papers.

"Put those down," says Cheryl.

Lisa puts them on her desk.

"Nice skirt," says Cheryl. Lisa looks down. Her pleated skirt
covers almost none of her bare thighs. Lisa rests her hands over
her thighs, attempting to hide her panties.

"Nice shirt, too. I see you're going without a bra again!" Lisa
blushes and folds her arms around her chest, again exposing her
thighs. She hopes no one in nearby cubicles is listening to Cheryl.

"That must be Yukie's skirt, hm?" says Cheryl. Lisa nods.

"But I remember you wearing a bra this morning. Why did you take it
off?"

Lisa feels nervous as Cheryl stands over her, and knows she should
tell the truth. "Well, since Yukie was wearing a shorter skirt than
me, I had to remove my underwear."

"Because of Steve's game?"

"Yes." Lisa speaks quietly, hoping that Cheryl will be similarly
quiet.

Cheryl obligingly whispers: "So, you're not wearing any panties
under that tiny skirt? No wonder you made Steve pick up those
papers!"

Lisa whispers back: "No, no, I'm still wearing panties. Since I was
only wearing a longer skirt for a short time, in the morning, we
decided I only had to remove half my underwear---so I gave up my
bra."

"Why not your panties? Your shirt is almost see-through, but your
skirt isn't. You want to show off your nipples, huh?"

"No! Not at all. It's just that this skirt is so short, and it
flips and sways all over the place, and I just couldn't possibly
chair my meeting this afternoon worrying that everyone might see my
bare ass, or my . . . I just couldn't."

"You couldn't?"

"No! It would be too humiliating." Lisa's whisper is barely
audible.

Cheryl has a huge grin on her face, and a stern glare. She puts her
mouth right next to Lisa's ear and whispers "Take off your panties,
Lisa. Right now."

Lisa's hands instinctively cover her crotch. "What?!? Why?" Her
desperate voice is no longer a whisper.

"But we agreed that losing the bra was enough! I get to keep the
panties!" Lisa wishes she had said that more quietly.

Cheryl shakes her head. "Take them off. Now."

"No! It's not fair!" Lisa emphatically whispers.

Cheryl whispers back, sternly: "Fair? Why is it fair that you play
Steve's games, but then you yell at him and make a fool of him in
front of the whole office! Everyone saw that YOU dropped those
papers, so YOU should have been the one to pick them up. Steve may
be your employee, but I doubt his job description includes the
words 'picking up the crap my boss drops.' Besides, you're the one
who made the rules, and they were very simple. If you're wearing a
skirt, you do what I say. And I'm telling you to take off your
panties, right now, unless you want the whole office to see the
little video I made!"

"Okay, okay!" whispers Lisa. "Can I go to the restroom and bring
them to you?"

"No! Why? Just reach under that little skirt, and pull them down!"

"Okay, but can I PLEASE have them back before my meeting?"

"I'll tell you what. Since you asked so nicely, you can have them
back right after the meeting. Come to my cubicle to pick them up."

Lisa pauses and nods. She looks around Cheryl to make sure no one
is watching. She reaches under the skirt and does not have far to
reach. She quickly pulls the panties down, knowing that she
probably flashed her bare pussy. She pulls them from her ankles and
Cheryl snatches them away.

"Now," says Cheryl, as she puts the panties in her pocket and bends
down to whisper into Lisa's ear again, "was that so bad?" Cheryl
puts her hand on Lisa's thigh. Lisa tries to cross her legs, but
Cheryl's firm touch discourages her. "Spread those beautiful thighs
a little, Lisa. I want to see if you really wanted those panties or
if you're just being a brat."

"What do you mean?" asks a very nervous Lisa.

"If you're really as turned-off and concerned as you say you are,
then maybe I'll give you your panties back. But if you're wet down
there, then that tells me you're enjoying this, despite all of your
bratty complaining. Now spread your thighs."

Lisa shuts her eyes and opens her legs, just a little, as she feels
Cheryl's warm hand caress it's way to her bare snatch. She knows
what Cheryl will find.

"Oh my god," whispers Cheryl, "you're like a faucet!"

Cheryl's fingers swirl Lisa's moisture around her clit, sending
pangs of pleasure through her body. All too quickly, though, Cheryl
withdraws her hand and puts it in front of Lisa's face. Lisa is
overwhelmed by her musky scent.

"I think you like it. Would you like to taste yourself?"

Lisa scrunches her nose at the idea, but can see by Cheryl's face
that she has no choice. A moment later she finds herself with
Cheryl's finger in her mouth, sucking off the juices of her own
arousal. This position, these clothes---what have I become? she
thinks.

Cheryl smiles and pats Lisa on the head with her hand, now moist
with saliva. "Good girl," she says. "I'll see you after your
meeting." And she leaves.

The rest of the morning, Lisa tries to work, but the thought of
being so naked and so wet under her tiny skirt distracts her. She
spends much of her time reminding herself to walk slowly, to be
careful bending over or sitting down. If she's careful, she thinks,
no one will notice.

When lunchtime comes, she remembers her promise to buy lunch for
Yukie. She wants to stay in the refuge of her cubicle, but she
knows she wants to keep her promise, since Yukie had been so nice.
She stands up and slowly walks to the elevator, holding her skirt
down to keep her swiveling hips from swishing her tiny skirt around
and exposing her secret. She can feel the cool, air-conditioned air
of the office on her moist pussy. She can sense the eyes of her
coworkers as she walks past.

As she waits for the elevator, a crowd of men emerge from another
office. Their noisy chatter stops as they approach her, and she can
hear them whisper to each other. She does not look at them, but
only pretends that they are not there. She knows that they are
looking at her body so exposed by her short skirt and tight blouse.

When the elevator arrives, everyone packs in. It is more crowded
than the subway was, and Lisa is pressed against men on all sides.
She feels something hard pushing at her hip, and hopes it is not
what she knows it is.

Finally at the third floor, she has to push her way through the men
to leave the elevator. She feels her skirt get caught as she does
so, and worries about what the men might have seen in the second it
took for the garment to fall back into place.

She finds Yukie's desk. Yukie looks modest in comparison to this
morning, her green skirt hiding her thighs and her stripy socks
covering the rest of her legs. Upon seeing Lisa, her face lights up
with a smile, and Lisa finds that she cannot help but smile back.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?" asks Lisa, and Yukie looks at
the ceiling as she considers her options. "Mmmm, how about the
diner across the street! I love their hamburgers!"

Lisa nods their assent, and the two women walk back to the
elevator, discussing the relative merits of the different
hamburgers available in the downtown area.

When they step outside, Lisa immediately notices the breeze under
her skirt. This is the first time she can remember being outside
without anything covering her sex, and with so short a skirt she
fears she could be exposed at any moment to the busy crowds on the
sidewalks. But the crosswalk is flashing red, and Yukie makes a run
for it. Lisa hurries to follow, letting go of her skirt and feeling
its pleats swish around her naked ass as she trots across the
street. She hears a stopped car honk. Was that for me? she thinks,
noticing that the light has not yet changed.

When they reach the diner, they find a couple of seats facing
against the large window to the sidewalk. Lisa puts her purse on
the small wooden shelf and climbs up on the stainless steel bar
stool. The exposed metal feels cold on her ass; her skirt is not
long enough to cover her and without panties, it is her bare flesh
on the metal.

Yukie and Lisa continue to chat about their workplace and the
weather, and finally a waiter takes their order: two hamburgers,
two side salads, a milkshake for Yukie and a diet coke for Lisa.
"How can you drink those milkshakes and stay so thin?" asks Lisa,
and Yukie giggles. "I'm lucky, I guess."

By the time their food arrives, Lisa is feeling quite comfortable.
Yukie's girlish excitement relaxes Lisa and helps her forget about
the stress of her job. She hadn't had a hamburger for lunch in some
time, and she begins to wish she had ordered french fries and a
milkshake for herself. "Do you want to share mine?" asks Yukie, and
Lisa enjoys a few sips of the chocolaty drink.

They were done with their food and their bill and were chatting
about a recent movie when Yukie looks Lisa in the eye and says:
"Don't look! But have you noticed the guy who has been standing
against that parking meter for the last 20 minutes? Don't look!"

Lisa looks. Indeed, there is a young man in tee shirt and blue
jeans with dark hair and sunglasses, arms crossed, standing at the
parking meter just beyond the window outside the diner. "He's been
looking this way," continues Yukie. "He's looking away now, but
he's been looking at us. I think he likes your legs."

Lisa feels a deep blush in her face. She looks down at her legs. On
the bar stool, her legs are slightly spread and facing the clear
glass window. The floor of the diner is slightly raised, and on the
high stool she knows that the man has a good angle of view straight
up her skirt. "Oh my god," says Lisa, "he's looking up my skirt."

Yukie giggles. "So what? So he can see your panties. People see my
panties all the time when I wear that skirt. That's why I have to
choose my underwear very carefully in the morning! I think the guys
like white ones the best, they always get the biggest smile!
Anyway, he's kinda cute! You should wink at him!"

Lisa's blush grows and she crosses her legs, revealing her thigh up
to her ass. This doesn't seem any better, so she uncrosses them
again and clamps her legs together. "Yeah, I guess he could see my
. . . my panties. I'm so ashamed!"

"Don't be silly!" says Yukie. "He's not offended!"

"I'm not worried about offending him. Don't you think it's
inappropriate to show your panties in public?"

"Well, sometimes, I guess. I told you that I shortened that skirt
in high school, you know, for my boyfriend. I had to wear it every
day, and I was always afraid the other boys would see my panties.
But it's not that hard to prevent, so it's not a big deal."

"It seems hard to prevent to me! I can't even sit down in this
without revealing everything!"

"Back in school, I would ALWAYS sit in the front of the class, so
that all the boys were behind me. Then only the teacher could see
up my skirt, and I don't think he was looking."

"That's a good point. I guess people who are sitting behind you
can't see up your skirt. Simple but true. I'll have to remember
that for my meeting today. If my coworkers saw my . . . my panties,
I think I would just die."

"Good luck!"

"Thanks," says Lisa. "Speaking of which, we'd better get going."

"Okay!" says Yukie, jumps out of her stool, and bounces over to the
door.

Lisa looks out the window as she stands up. She sees the man's
glance steal away. She knows he has been looking at her all through
lunch. She knows that he knows she's not wearing any panties! What
does he think of her? But as she stands and walks to the door, she
sees him walk away down the sidewalk, as if he had been waiting for
a friend who never showed up, or just chose that spot to rest
during a long walk. Lisa hoped she would never see him again.
Although Yukie was right, she thinks, we WAS kinda cute.

As they walk back to the office, Lisa holds the back of her skirt
to her ass. She simply does not want to take any more chances, and
the breeze outside threatens to bare everything to the world.

In the elevator, Yukie says: "That was a lot of fun, Lisa!"

Lisa smiles in agreement. "That was the best lunch I've had in a
long time!"

Yukie continues: "So, every Monday a bunch of the secretaries have
lunch in that diner together. There's about 6 of us who go. I don't
really know any of them well, but I always go. I know you're not
one of the secretaries, but you seem a lot of fun and I think you
should come with us! I'd love if it if you came!
 Please?"

Lisa hesitates to answer. Her status as a rising executive was
important to her --- what would people think of her if she hung out
every week with giggling secretaries? And yet, she did have fun
with Yukie, until she realized the show she was giving through the
window, at least. She couldn't decide what to say, but then she
remembered. This is a skirt day, isn't it? She felt her pussy
moisten at the concept, at not having to make the choice, at having
her garment or perhaps her moistening pussy decide for her. "Yes,"
she said, "yes, I will join you! See you Monday."

After leaving Yukie on the third floor, Lisa realizes she is again
running late for her meeting. On her own floor, she rushes down the
hallway of cubicles to get her notes. As she goes, she can feel her
skirt flip around her thighs, but she knows she doesn't have time
to get it under control. She just hopes nobody notices.

She grabs her notebook from her desk and rushes into the conference
room. Her entire department is already there, seated, and complete
silence enshrouds the room at her entrance. All eyes are upon her.
Lisa looks down at herself. She can see her nipples through her
blouse. She can see the entirety of her naked legs. Her skirt is
just barely hiding her ass. She can see the top of her chest start
to turn red, and she knows her face must be a similar hue. And her
lack of panties becomes most obvious to her as she feels the
moisture of arousal start to slide down her inner left thigh. "Oh
my god," she says to herself under her breath, and all she can
think about is masturbating. It would feel so good. Maybe Cheryl
will let her after the meeting! Her frustrating arousal is getting
the better of her, she thinks! "I can't believe I'm thinking of
masturbation at a time like this!" she thinks to herself. She tugs
at her skirt and says to the room, "Art, you're first. Let's hear
your report."

She needs to sit down and do her best to hide. A few chairs are
open in the conference room, but she sees that one of the tables in
the front of the room is free. She remembered her conversation with
Yukie: if I sit in the front, they can't see up my skirt. As
humiliating as her outfit was, she couldn't be seen without her
parties! So she quickly rushes to the seat, hangs her purse off the
back, puts down her notebook, and sits. She feels the wood of the
seat against her completely bare ass.

Art begins talking about the budget and Lisa's mind drifts. She
starts to wonder how she should approach Cheryl about masturbating.
She is annoyed that Cheryl took her panties for no good reason, but
she wants Cheryl's permission to masturbate! She decides she should
be very nice when she goes to get her panties back, and ask. She
knows Cheryl wants to humiliate her, so she will show humility when
she asks. Then she realizes that as she daydreams about
masturbating, she is missing the budget report for her department!
She needs to pay attention!

She picks up her pencil and begins to take notes on Art's
presentation. As she starts to get lost thinking about how to
change spending to compensate for the low numbers Art is
presenting, she feels a slight itch on her lower back. She puts her
pencil down and reaches behind her to scratch her back, and she
hears some giggling behind her. She quickly turns to look to see
who it is. The giggling behind her stops as she turns around. Who
was giggling? Were they giggling at her? Could they have somehow
discovered that she was pantyless today? And if so, HOW?!! Oh my
god, she thinks! What if I'm not covered from behind?!? She looks
behind her and found that her scratching was lifting up her skirt,
and the skirt is so short that her bare ass might have been visible
from behind! Embarrassed, she sits up and pulls the skirt under
herself as far as she can, but it hopelessly falls away behind the
chair again. She tries to return her attention back to the budget
report but she finds that she cannot focus. Did someone see her
bare ass? Does someone in the room know? She looks at Steve, who is
sitting at the side of the room, but he is taking notes and paying
no attention to her. Who saw? Who was giggling? Maybe they were
giggling at something else.

When Art finishes his report, Lisa barely notices. As the
chairperson of the meeting, the room's attention falls on her, but
she is still adjusting her skirt, trying to maintain her decency.
Finally she notices the silence and snaps back to attention. "Uh,
thank you Art, no questions from me today. Anyone?" The room is
silent.

Lisa is flustered. Her pussy is screaming at her for attention, but
she is in the middle of a meeting and in charge of directing it!
Never before has she felt so much in the "hot seat," although
ironically her seat still feels cold on her bare flesh! "Thank you
all for coming to the meeting today, but I think I need to go make
some decisions regarding Art's very revealing, um, figures.
Numbers. His numbers. His revealing numbers. So let's cut it short
today -- send me an email with any other concerns, and we'll meet
here again next week."

Lisa tries to smile at her coworkers as they file out of the room.
They are giving her strange looks. Usually these meetings run for
hours and hours as she asks questions and piles more and more work
upon her employees. Even those at the meeting not directly employed
by her feel burdened by the work they have to catch up on after
talking to her. But today, she thinks, today she just seemed
clueless. She wasn't even paying attention. What is wrong with me?

She knows what is wrong with her. She needs to have an orgasm.
Something about the way all these men are looking at her, something
about how Steve's hand felt earlier as he pushed her by the ass
into the hallway, something about how Cheryl demanded her panties
for no good reason --- all these things have turned her on to the
point of frustration. She needs to orgasm now, so she can focus her
mind back on her work. And she knows that if she does it without
permission, she will feel guilty and worry all day that Cheryl
might find out, and somehow punish her!

She stands up and smooths out her skirt. With her handbag and her
notebook, she walks slowly, so as not to be any more exposed than
she has to be, back to her desk. She drops off her things and
slowly approaches Cheryl's cubicle. Cheryl is there, working on her
computer.

"Cheryl," whispers Lisa. Cheryl continues working on her computer.

"Cheryl!" whispers Lisa, a little louder. Cheryl, still looking at
her computer screen, holds up a finger indicating to wait.

Lisa waits. She waits a little longer. She is standing at Cheryl's
cubicle door at a time in the afternoon when there is a lot of
traffic in the hallway, and she feels the eyes of passersby on the
backs of her naked thighs. She holds down her skirt, hoping her
buttocks are not visible. Cheryl continues reading from her
computer screen.

"CHERYL! CAN I TALK TO YOU PLEASE?" says Lisa in her loudest
whisper.

Cheryl snaps her head around and looks sternly at Lisa.

"Bend down here," whispers Cheryl, "I want to whisper something in
your ear."

Lisa bends her knees and squats so that her ear is close to
Cheryl's mouth.

"No, not like that," says Cheryl. "Keep your knees straight and try
again."

Lisa stands up. She knows at least the bottom of her ass will be
revealed if she does it. Should she refuse? She reminds herself: be
nice, ask permission. She does as instructed and bends over at the
waist. She feels the skirt ride up the tops of her thighs and then
up her bare ass. She knows people are walking down the hallway
behind her. Surely someone will see!

Once Lisa's ear is close to Cheryl's mouth, Cheryl whispers "I told
you to wait, and you did not listen. You are not my boss yet. Now,
I told you I'd give you your panties back, but now I'm not so sure
I should."

Lisa, still bent over with ass exposed, whispers back, "Cheryl, I'm
truly sorry. I just . . . well, I really need to orgasm. Please,
may I have permission to go to the bathroom and touch myself? I
don't think I'll be able to get any work done if I don't."

Cheryl turns her chair and puts her left hand on Lisa's thigh.
"Aroused, are we?"

Cheryl's soft hand feels like electricity on Lisa's sensitive
thigh. "God yes. I really need it."

Cheryl touches Lisa lightly, and traces her fingers up the insides
of Lisa's thigh. "Tell me again what you need?"

Lisa feels Cheryl's hand coming close to her very wet pussy. It
reminds her of the hand on the subway, except Cheryl's is gentle
and teasing. Lisa yearns to be touched higher. "I need to come. I
need very badly to come. Please."

Cheryl slides her hand up Lisa's skirt and puts her thumb on Lisa's
naked pussy lips. They are extremely moist, and Cheryl rubs the
moisture up and down. Lisa's knees become shaky and she releases a
small, whispered moan. "I like you like this," says Cheryl, "all
frustrated. I don't like it when you're pushy, like you were a few
seconds ago."

Lisa can barely stand the touch of Cheryl's teasing fingers. Her
arousal is causing her head to spin. If Cheryl would just touch her
clit, she knows she could orgasm, right there with her butt exposed
to the whole office. That would be so humiliating, she thinks ---
so much that maybe Cheryl will do it! She finds herself yearning
for it. "Please," she says, "Cheryl, please touch me harder. Touch
my . . . my . . ."

"Your what?" asks Cheryl, as she continues to tease Lisa's wet
lips.

Lisa can't bring herself to say "clitoris" out loud. It seems like
such a dirty word. "You know! Please, I'm begging."

Cheryl smiles and whispers, "Now, Lisa, you know you are not
allowed to orgasm without permission." Lisa nods, her mouth gaping
open from pleasure, "and you do NOT have permission. Pushy girls
like you don't get to orgasm until they learn not to be so pushy!"
Lisa's heart sinks. "Also, you are forbidden to ever orgasm while
not wearing a skirt, do you understand? This means you only get to
come on skirt days, and even then only when I say you can. Do you
understand?"

Lisa tries to rub herself on Cheryl's hand, but Cheryl pulls away.
"Do you understand?" repeats Cheryl. Lisa, now left hanging and
frustrated, whispers "yes, I understand."

"Now," says Cheryl, "I promised you your panties back and here they
are."

Cheryl opens her bottom desk drawer and takes out a plastic bag.
She hands the plastic bag to Lisa.

Lisa stands up and takes the bag. When she opens it, she gets a
strong whiff of something. What is that smell? It is familiar, but
she has not smelled it in a long time.

She pulls the panties out of the bag and sees something drip from
them.

"Eww," she says, "they're wet!" Cheryl smiles as Lisa examines the
panties further. She looks inside them and finds that the inside of
the crotch is covered with a white slime. That's not from me, she
thinks. Then she realizes what it is---what she smelled.

Cheryl laughs as she sees Lisa slowly come to understand. She
beckons with her finger, "Bend back down here."

Lisa squats down. "Not like that!"

Lisa straightens her knees and again bends at the waist, never
failing to notice her tiny skirt raising above the bottom of her
butt cheeks. "You don't get to come," says Cheryl, "because you
were so pushy. But you've got a secret admirer who had quite a,
shall we say, bountiful orgasm. He also knows you weren't wearing
panties today. As soon as I mentioned that and handed him this
garment he shot his load into it like there was no tomorrow. I wish
you could have seen it!"

Lisa cannot believe what she is hearing. Her humiliation washes
over her, and she feels a little queasy.

"Go ahead, put them on!"

Lisa looks again at the drenched panties. "Who was it?" asked Lisa.

"I won't tell you unless you put them on. And even then I might
not. But if you don't put them on, then your little video is in an
office-wide email in about 15 seconds."

Lisa looks at Cheryl and sees that she is serious. She bends down
and puts her high-heeled shoes through the panty legholes and
begins pulling the wet, smelly garment up her legs. When it reaches
her thighs she can feel the slightly warm, gooey fluid on her bare
leg. She pauses, and Cheryl beckons her to continue. When she pulls
them all the way up, a small squishy sound is heard and she can
feel the soaked crotch against her own wetness.

"There now," whispers Cheryl, "you're decent."

"Who was it?" asks Lisa.

Cheryl smiles. "I promised him I wouldn't tell. And I always keep
my promises. Now do try to get some work done!"


Chapter 19: Willpower

Lisa was not able to get much work done. All day, her pussy
continued to gush and she could think of little except how good it
would feel to touch herself. As she tried to read budget sheets,
her hand unconsciously drifted under her tiny skirt to her panties.
She was disgusted by the presence of an unknown man's slime there,
mixing with her own honey, but she could not help but touch that
wet spot. After fingering herself mostly to orgasm she would stop,
remembering both that Cheryl had forbidden her, and that any
passer-by could peer into her cubicle and see this very private
behavior. She cursed herself each time, first for raising the risk
of getting caught masturbating in her office, and second for
keeping her arousal so high. If she could just forget about it,
perhaps she would calm down?

But she did not calm down, and when the clock struck 5pm she
decided it was time to give up and go home.

She had avoided any further departures from her cubicle, knowing
that her panties were so easily exposed in her ultra-short skirt,
and that anyone could see how wet they were. What would they think?
As she walked out of the office, she did so slowly, attempting to
hold down her hem.

The subway was especially frightening, since the gusts of wind in
the tunnels threatened to flip up her skirt, and the cold air made
her especially conscious of her moistness. When finally she got in
a subway car, she decided not to even try sitting down.

By the time she got home, she was shaky. She had been on edge for
hours: nervous, anxious, horny. As soon as she walked in the door,
she pulled off the wet panties and threw them into her laundry
hamper. ``So nice to get that disgusting thing off," she said
aloud.

She ate a microwave dinner and had a glass of wine and decided to
head into bed early.

Sitting in the privacy of her bed, her hand drifted beneath her
pajama pants as she thought of her day. Goodness. It hardly seemed
real. Thinking of herself in that skirt, and that blouse, with
everyone watching. It seemed more like a slapstick cartoon than her
life. But she had no doubts about her feelings: the idea that her
dripping wet pussy was so close to being exposed to her entire
office gave her a warm, tingly feeling that she did not fully
understand. As she thought about it and touched herself, she felt
herself come closer to orgasm.

She stopped herself. Cheryl had forbidden her. But really, she
thought, how would Cheryl know? There would be no way for Cheryl to
prove if she brought herself to orgasm, right there in her bed
before going to sleep. So why not?

The temptation was overwhelming, and the orgasm so very, very
close, but she thought of her cartoon life and somehow knew that
the warm, tingly feeling she had all day would be ruined if she
didn't show her willpower now. Yes, Cheryl was trying to humiliate
her --- and maybe so was Steve --- but she felt that her own self
dignity would only truly be lost if she gave in to this temptation.
So she removed her hand from her pants, closed her eyes, and tried
to sleep.

She had trouble sleeping, though, with images of Steve's erection
through his sweatpants and Cheryl's unblinking video camera running
through her head. She wasn't sure when she drifted off, but it was
surely after two in the morning.

When her alarm clock rings at 6, then, Lisa can barely get out of
bed. Her eyes feel as though they are glued shut, and her muscles
don't seem to respond.

Her shower wakes her up a little, but her body truly arises when
her routine comes to her clothes. What should she wear today?

She looks through her skirts. There's the pleated black skirt, that
swirls around, threatening to expose her with every step. And then
Yukie's skirt, which actually /does/ expose her with every step.
And then the black skirt that Cheryl bought her, which is tight and
hides nothing. And that's all that's in her closet! Where is the
brown skirt she bought? Where is the green one? She didn't pick out
any of this! All these skirts leave her practically naked from the
waist down!

She couldn't bring herself to pick one out. Despite all she's been
through, it seems wrong to her to dress so provocatively in the
office! She only did so previously because she was ordered to, she
thinks. So she runs through her memory: what do I /have/ to wear
today? Thinking about it, she can think of no instructions. It's
not a Wednesday; nobody said anything about what I have to wear
today!

This simple revelation has a strange effect on Lisa. She is not
certain whether it is relief that she feels, as she picks out her
favorite pair of beige slacks and slides them up her legs, or
whether it is disappointment.

Dressed in a normal work outfit, she gets her usual morning coffee
and boards the subway at her usual time. No strange looks greet her
as she enters the office, and when she gets to her cubicle, her
normal workload occupies her mind and her time.

As the hours drift by, Lisa begins to acknowledge that her life has
not changed much. Her coworkers still seem to treat her with
respect. She has heard nothing from Cheryl---no humiliating orders!
And although she tried to smile at Steve more than she used to he
seems to be his normal, businesslike self. Did all that stuff
really happen, she wonders? Was that really me?

Her lunch goes by, and as usual, she eats alone. She looks for
Steve but cannot find him in the cafeteria. She thinks of saying
hello to Yukie but would not know what to say. She finds herself
even hoping to hear from Cheryl. But besides the usual interaction
with her coworkers, her day goes by without so much as an unusual
glance. I suppose my beige slacks and green blouse don't turn as
many heads, she thinks.

At about 3 o'clock, her telephone rings. Not expecting any calls,
her head goes through a list of possibilities as to who it could
be.

"Hello?"

"Lisa?"

"Yes, this is Lisa."

"Lisa! This is Christie!"

"Oh, hi! You know, I was just thinking the other day I should call
you!" Lisa is excited to hear from her old friend.

"Were you? You haven't called me in over a year, you know."

Lisa knows that she is bad at keeping track of her old friends.
Christie is the only one she has tried to stay in touch with, but
she knows she lets herself get too busy, and forgets to ever pick
up the phone. The weeks turn into months, the months into years . .
.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Has it been that long? The time seems to just
fly by. I'm so busy with work, you know, and - "

"Don't worry about it, Lisa. I've heard all that before. I know
you're busy. And heck, I haven't called you either, have I? Anyway,
I know you're at work so I'll keep this short. I'm flying into town
a week from today! I can explain why later. It's kind of
complicated. But anyway, do you think I could stay with you in that
big empty house of yours?"

Lisa laughs. "Of course! I look forward to it!"

"It is still empty, isn't it? Or is there finally a man I might
meet?"

"Oh," Lisa begins, not certain if she should say anything about
Steve, "I've gone on a date or two. Um. Well, I guess it was only
one. Seems like it was more . . . "

"Well, even one sounds like progress for you! Anyway, I'll let you
go, but I'll see you in a week and we'll talk all about it then.
I'll call you from the airport; I get in next Thursday about 6pm.
Kay?"

"Great! See you then!"

Thinking back on it that night, Lisa realized that if it were not
for one other event, that phone call would have been the only
out-of-the-ordinary event in her entire day. Have all her days been
so empty, she thought to herself? Am I that boring?

Lisa was not worried, though, because of that other event. As she
had walked down the hallway on a small errand later in the day, she
ran into her boss, Jim. He smiled at her, said "I'm looking forward
to tomorrow. It's your big chance!" And he made a Johnny Carson
golf swing gesture.

Lisa had not forgotten about the golf outing, but now that the
event was near she started to worry. She knew nothing about golf.
What if the directors didn't like her? What if . . .

 . . . what if Cheryl chooses this event, which could be the most
 important in her career, to completely degrade and humiliate her?

 Of course!  Cheryl had instructed her to show up at the crack of
 dawn in the office before leaving.  5:30 am!  Cheryl wouldn't
 come in that early unless she really, really wanted to do
 something horrible, Lisa thought.  What could it be?

 As she lay in bed early that night, Lisa couldn't tell whether
 her anxiety was fear of Cheryl's unknown plan---or eager
 anticipation. "Probably it will be horrible.  Humiliating and
 horrible," she said to herself in the darkness of her bedroom, as
 she made herself pull her hand out of her pajama pants in order
 to sleep.

 20: To the Links

When Lisa's alarm began it's cruel buzzing at 4am Lisa was
extremely tempted to turn it off, sleep in, and forget about her
whole career. But she knew she could not do that, so after a few
cycles of the snooze button she got out of the bed and made herself
a cup of coffee. The sun was not yet up at this hour, but she had
to prepare for her big day.

A long, warm shower helped only a little to shake her from her
sleepiness. She simply had not gotten enough sleep.

After the shower, wearing her long bathrobe and sipping coffee from
a white mug, she laid out her clothes for the day. They were
chosen, this time, by Jim, and she realized that she had not yet
even tried them on. "I hope they fit" she said to herself. She lay
the green and white golf shirt and the white pleated skirt on the
bed and searched for some suitable underwear.

She began with a simple pair of cotton panties and a matching bra.
Then she pulled the green and white golf shirt. It was actually a
little tight over her breasts, and the slightly rough cotton
material hugged them tightly. However, it was the right length and
fit well in the arms. Then she pulled on the skirt. It fit very
well at the waist and came to just above her knees. The pleats gave
it a nice A-shape and a nice swirl when she moved. "Downright
prudish compared to the other skirts in my closet," she said aloud
again. She picked out some white socks and athletic shoes, and made
her way to the subway.

It was now 5:05 and she was running late. It seemed unlikely that
she would reach her office by 5:30, when she promised to meet with
Cheryl, but at least she was in a pair of running shoes so she
could rush into and out of the subway train.

The subway itself was almost empty at that hour. Hardly anyone was
awake at that hour to see Lisa running from the train, her skirt
swishing as she jogged to her office.

It was 5:48am when she rushed directly to Cheryl's cubicle. Cheryl
was at her desk sipping a cup of coffee. She gave Lisa a stern look
when Lisa arrived at her door, panting. "About time," she said.
"You're late! We don't have much time. Come with me to the ladies
room."

Lisa followed Cheryl to the bathroom, wondering and worrying. What
is she going to make me do? she thought. She noticed Cheryl
carrying a brown paper bag. What's in there?

Once in the privacy of the bathroom, Cheryl reached into her paper
bag and first pulled out a blindfold. "Put this on. This will be
more fun with a little bit of surprise. Hurry." Lisa did so and
found that the darkness greatly increased her worry and her
arousal. She felt herself beginning to moisten.

She heard the rustle of the paper bag, but nothing happened for a
few minutes. She could hear Cheryl doing something, but she could
not figure out what it was. Suddenly she felt Cheryl's hands
reaching under her skirt and pulling down her panties.

"Can I please keep the panties today, Cheryl," Lisa pleaded. Cheryl
laughed and she lifted Lisa's feet one by one to remove the cotton
garment. Lisa felt vulnerable. She had to meet the directors of her
company today. Her career depended on today. She always imagined
that on a day like this she would at least be wearing underwear.

Suddenly, Lisa felt a cold, slimy, firm object beginning to enter
her asshole! "Oh my god!" she shrieked.

"Quiet!" said Cheryl, as the large but slippery object slid further
into Lisa's ass. "I'm sorry I don't have time to do this less
brutishly, but you were late." She felt the object inserted inside
her and it seemed to get wider and wider. Lisa worried that the
pain would get worse and let out a yelp. Cheryl continued to push
it in firmly, and Lisa eventually relaxed and let it in. Lisa
worried as it got wider still, seeming to fill her from behind, and
then suddenly it stopped and stayed there! She expected it to fall
out, or keep going in, but it did neither.

"We're not done," said Cheryl. Lisa felt the urge to push the
object in her ass out, and she even tried doing so with her
sphincter, but it persisted. Then, she felt Cheryl's hands on her
pussy. "Nice and wet," said Cheryl. "I knew you'd like this." Lisa
could feel Cheryl rubbing some slippery fluid on her slit and a
little on her clit, and indeed it felt extremely erotic. But just
as Lisa felt an orgasm starting to build, Cheryl stopped for a
moment. Then, Lisa felt something hard and round at her slit.
Cheryl was pushing it in.

This time Lisa said nothing, expecting another large dildo-like
object, but a moment later she felt the object slide in completely.
It must have been small, about the size of a golf ball, although it
felt much, much larger. "Is that my golf ball today?" she asked,
dying to know what Cheryl was doing. Her blindfold left her
completely sightless.

"No," said Cheryl, "this one will stay hidden. I'm sure Jim will
provide other balls for you to play with. You are not to take this
one out for any reason today." Lisa could feel the little ball
inside her. She also felt a small piece of stiff string against her
inner thigh. That must be for getting it out, later, she thought.
Then she felt Cheryl's hands on her ankle, lifting one foot, and
then the other. Then, the biggest surprise of all! Cheryl was
pulling Lisa's cotton panties back up her legs! Cheryl pulled them
all the way up and adjusted them neatly. She then let Lisa's skirt
fall back down.

"Thank you," said Lisa, genuinely grateful for the protection of
her underwear.

"We're not done yet," said Cheryl, as she started to pull Lisa's
shirt off. Lisa helped get the tight golf shirt off. She felt
Cheryl starting to unhook her bra. "Since you asked for your
panties so nicely, I thought I'd let you keep them. But I'm taking
this horrible bra." Her breasts bare, Lisa then felt Cheryl rubbing
and pinching her nipples. They became stiff. She then felt Cheryl
pull the nipples out and wrap something tight around them. Lisa
guessed they must have been little rubber bands. Then Cheryl put
the tight golf shirt back on Lisa, without the bra. The rough
material again rubbed against Lisa's breasts, and this time with no
bra the feeling on her erect nipples was electric.

"It's 6:04, Lisa. You're late. You'd better go find Jim," Cheryl
said as she took off the blindfold.

Lisa took a quick look at herself in the mirror. She looked like
she had in the morning. Her knee-length skirt hid her thighs and
her golf shirt looked quite appropriate for a country club,
although she could easily see her nipples poking through the shirt.
Obvious though they were, she hoped they would be sufficiently
subtle in front of the directors---heck, she thought, they might
even help me get the job.

But as she turned to walk out of the bathroom, she almost fainted
from the sensations. The object in her ass felt like a baseball
bat, and it seemed to move around inside her as she walked. The
object in her pussy also moved against her inner walls as she
walked, making her feel full and calling constant attention to her
crotch. But also the motion of her arms rubbed her tight, rough
shirt against her nipples, which were constantly pinched by the
rubber bands leaving them extremely sensitive. Even as she walked
the 8 feet from the mirror to the bathroom door, she was extremely
conscious of her ass, her pussy, and her breasts, and felt almost
as if the sensations could lead her to orgasm.

When she got out of the bathroom, she realized she was not
receiving these sensations in the privacy of her bedroom, or even
the ladies room. She was now in her office, and some of the early
birds were starting to arrive. Cheryl whispered in her ear just
before she left, "Keep everything how it is until you get back from
your trip. No touching any of your clothes. Now hurry. Have a good
time!"

Lisa walked quickly to Jim's office, feeling the plug in her ass
and the egg in her pussy wiggle and torment her. Jim was there,
waiting, wearing khaki pants, a navy blue golf shirt, and a white
baseball cap. "There you are!" he said. "Are you ready to go?"

"I'm ready!" Lisa said, and she followed Jim to the underground
garage for his car, feeling her insides sensually poked as she
walked.

The ride to the golf club took about forty minutes, during which
time Jim and Lisa mainly spoke about work. Lisa did her best to
concentrate on the conversation, but the giant plug in her ass and
the constant irritation of her nipples distracted her, and to make
things worse she was still feeling sleepy.

As Jim pulls into the club, he changes the topic of the
conversation.

"Today we'll be golfing with Bill Masters and Tony Parkins. Bill,
Tony, and I have been friends for a long time. They will have a lot
of clout to help me get you that promotion. After I introduce you,
call them Bill and Tony. If you call them Mr. Masters or Mr.
Parkins you will seem undeserving. And be sure you only call me
Jim. No "sir" today. Is that clear?"

So, Lisa thinks, he wants me to think of myself as an equal. She
chuckles for a moment, thinking of her skirt, her promise to obey,
and today's "preparation." She is anything but an equal today! But
she sees Jim trying to help, and knows she must take his advice.
"Okay, Jim" Lisa says.

They park and Jim takes his golf clubs from the trunk. "So, you
said you don't know how to golf? Do you have any experience?"

Lisa swallows nervously. She had blocked from her thoughts the fact
that actual golfing would take place. "I've never touched a golf
club," she says.

"Well," says Jim, "it doesn't matter. Just follow us around. We'll
teach you a thing or two whenever we're far enough ahead. But it's
probably not worth renting your own set of clubs . . ."

Lisa begins to relax knowing that she wouldn't be expected to
compete. But then Jim begins to quickly walk from the parking lot
to the clubhouse, and Lisa keeps pace. Every step moves her
butt-plug around and causes her pleated skirt to swish around her
bare legs. By the time they come in sight of the start of the
course, Lisa is feeling very distracted and very aroused. She isn't
sure she will be able to last the whole day!

As they approach the course, Lisa sees two men waiting with their
clubs in a golf cart. They spot Jim and wave. "There they are,"
says Jim. He then reminds her: "It's important that you make a good
impression." At that moment, Lisa suddenly feels a sensation in her
pussy unlike any she has felt before. "What the?" she says out
loud. She nearly collapses. The sensation is pleasurable, but
intensely so. After a moment she realizes that the object Cheryl
inserted in her that morning has started vibrating!

"Is something wrong?" asks Jim, looking surprised.

Lisa glares at him. "Why are you doing this to me?" asks Lisa.

"Excuse me?" Jim and Lisa stop walking for a moment. "I'm
introducing you to Bill and Tony because I want you to get the
promotion. You're the best we've had in our department since I
arrived, and even though you're young you're the most qualified.
It's that simple. Now please don't be nervous and just - "

"No, not that," says Lisa, the pleasure beginning to overtake her.
She worries that she is beginning to sweat noticeably. She worries
that she will soon orgasm. "The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You know, the other thing!"

"Lisa," says Jim, "I really don't know what you're talking about."

Lisa looks for a smirk or a knowing glance from Jim, but she sees
only confusion. Maybe he doesn't know what's happening under here,
thinks Lisa. She quickly looks around, wondering if Cheryl is
hiding in a bush somewhere with a remote control. But she sees
nothing suspicious. Lisa decides she must play it cool, and despite
the giant plug in her ass, the vibrating egg in her pussy, and her
extremely erect nipples rubbing against her rough shirt, she wipes
the sweat from her forehead and resolves to make the most
professional impression she can.

"Never mind," says Lisa. "It's nothing. I'm ready to meet Bill and
Tony."

21: A Long Day

Lisa stumbles quickly into Joan's office. Joan is waiting behind
her desk, reviewing paperwork.

"Sorry I'm late," says Lisa, panting, looking at the clock on the
wall. Nearly 35 minutes late to her hour-long session, she sits
exhausted onto the couch. Her white pleated skirt flares out
beneath her.

"It happens," says Joan, as she closes the folder of papers. "You
look exhausted. Long day?"

Lisa thinks back. Yes, a very, very long day, and she nods. It is
only late afternoon and she feels completely spent. There is no way
I'm going back to work today, she thinks. But she is not sure what
to say to Joan.

"Want to tell me about it?" Joan asks.

Where do I begin? thinks Lisa. "Well," she says, "today I met some
of the board of directors of my company, at a golf outing, in a
move to get a promotion."

"Ah, sounds like a big day. Were you nervous?"

Lisa thinks to herself: well, I was a little nervous about the fact
that my nipples were obvious through my shirt, constantly engorged
by the little rubber bands pinching them all day, adding to the
attention to my breasts bouncing unfettered by undergarments. I was
a little more nervous about the feeling of having a plug in my ass
all day, reminding me of its presence every step I took. And the
vibrating egg inside my pussy didn't help one bit. This is what she
thinks, but she says: "yeah, a little bit. A little nervous."

"But this is a big day for you. You must have realized how far
you've come in so short a time when you shook hands with the big
executives of your company."

Actually, she thinks, I felt like I was being fucked in public. The
combination of the egg vibrating all of a sudden with the butt plug
were sensations I had never experienced, and to be receiving them
while shaking hands with the most important people in my career
almost made me faint. But . . . "I just smiled, and said 'pleased
to meet you,' and they seemed very nice. Yes, I felt that I had
come a very long way."

"Do you golf regularly?"

"No, in fact, I never had. But Bill and Tony and Jim -- those are
the directors -- they gave me lessons." What she does not say is
how personal those lessons got, with Bill's arms stretched around
her, showing her how to swing the golf club, while her plugged ass
behind her pleated skirt was shoved into his crotch. She wonders if
he could feel the vibrations that always seemed to start from that
damned egg when a ``lesson" occurred. She wonders if, in fact, Bill
was causing them to happen. And most of all, she wonders if he knew
that when she felt his crotch push the plug up her ass just a
little fuller, on the third such lesson, making internal contact
with the buzzing egg, that the sensation made her come -- that
right there in the middle of the fairway, with Tony and Jim
watching from the bench, she had the orgasm she had been waiting
for for days. She knows she made a small moan, unable to fully
contain herself, but Bill continued to show her how to swing the
club as if nothing happened, and she pretended all was normal as
well.

"So, what do you think?" asks Joan, "Did you impress them?"

"Well," she said, "I think I made an impression on them." She
thinks: Bill must have known, there is no way he didn't feel her
body shudder or hear her stifled moan of ecstacy. What must he
think? Lisa sat silent for a moment, not sure what to say. "Joan,
what do you think of my outfit?"

Joan looked her over. "It looks like a fine outfit to play golf in.
I like that skirt, it's very retro. But Lisa, are you wearing a
bra?"

Lisa looked down at her breasts. "No. Can you tell?"

"Yeah, I can tell. This is how you were dressed during the outing?"

Well no, not exactly, thinks Lisa. If you could tell I'm not
wearing a bra now, then how must it have looked when there were
rubber bands keeping my nipples erect? I must have looked like such
a slut, and I sure felt like one.

"It was, yes. I guess I got dressed too quickly this morning. Is it
that bad?"

"No, I don't think so," said Joan. "My opinion is that a woman
should not have to dress to hide herself in order to be taken
seriously. Do you agree?"

"I suppose."

"I note in particular that you're wearing a skirt. Are you still
playing that game with skirts we've been discussing?"

"Yeah, well, about that, I wanted to discuss with you. I think it's
gone too far, I wanted to know what you think."

"Too far? In what way?"

"You said I should try getting permission to, well, give myself
pleasure, when wearing a skirt, and I said I'd try it, and I've
been good. But, well, it may be too much, I mean, it's very awkward
to ask someone for permission, and what if that person takes
advantage of me?"

"Lisa, last week you were in a panic because someone saw you
touching yourself in the woman's bathroom. This told me you had
some severe guilt issues. I just want to work through those. I want
you to have someone who you can trust tell you it's okay. You can
call me any time. Do you have another friend you can trust to
discuss this with?"

Lisa considered it. "Well, my friend Christie is coming into town.
I've always trusted her."

Joan paused, a brief look of concern on her face.

"Christie was your college roommate, right?"

"Yes," Lisa replide.

"Good," she said, hesitantly, nodding. "Okay. Go ahead and tell her
about this arrangement. I think you'll find that if you just
discuss your issues, and if she makes you feel like you're allowed
to do these things, you'll be a lot happier. You'll probably find
that she has very similar feelings."

"Okay, I suppose. But it's not just that. I mean, this whole skirt
thing has gone too far in other ways. I've been meaning to tell you
about it, but it's kind of embarrassing."

"Well how about we start there next week? I'm afraid I have another
appointment."

Lisa looks at the clock. "Uh, okay, next week then, I'll try not to
be late."

As Lisa walks out of Joan's building, she feels a little empty. Not
emotionally empty, but physically so. The butt plug and egg she had
been wearing all day were gone now, removed by Cheryl when she
returned from golf, and the simple experience of walking felt very
different without them. Although she had orgasmed earlier in the
day, it did not take long for the feeling of the periodically
vibrating egg, the plug, and her pinched nipples scratching against
her shirt to turn her on again, and she secretly hoped that another
lesson would push her over the edge to give her another orgasm. She
got very close, but all too soon they were at hole 18, and the
group disbanded, needing to get back to work.

On the ride back Jim had said he thought she did well. "You seemed
nervous," he had said, "that's not like you."

Lisa squirmed a little, as sitting down in the passenger seat made
the plug delve deeper into her now sensitive insides. "Well," she
said, shifting in her seat,"I guess I was nervous. How do you think
it went?"

"If I know Bill and Tony," he said, "I think they'll agree to the
promotion. But this might not be the last golf outing you're
invited to, so you might want to get more lessons."

Lisa remembers squirming all the way home, wondering if there would
be more days like this and whether she would enjoy it or not. She
remembers not knowing whether she wanted the plug to remain in her
ass or not, and feeling a combination of pleasure and pain as
Cheryl pulled it from her ass later in the day, in the ladies room,
as she told Cheryl all that had happened. Part of her wanted Cheryl
to put it right back in.

Lisa had been worried that Cheryl would disapprove of her orgasm,
and considered keeping it secret from her, but decided against it.
She was delighted that Cheryl seemed, if anything, pleased. "My
my," Cheryl had teased, "having an orgasm in the middle of a
prestigious golf club. How naughty you are!" Lisa remembers trying
to take advantage of her delight to get permission for another,
much needed orgasm, but Cheryl indicated that one a day should be
enough for now, and that there would be ample opportunity at the
party tomorrow.

The party! Lisa is worried and excited at the same time. Cheryl had
mentioned a party "in her honor." Not knowing what to expect, she
wonders if she can try to guess.

So as Lisa walks back to the subway, her white pleated skirt
swishing around her thighs, she feels empty, wishing for another
opportunity to try out the butt plug, the egg, and for another golf
lesson, and the thoughts keep her panties damp, which she feels as
the air circulates under her skirt. But she decides to be good, and
returns home.

That night, while eating a small microwave meal, she turns on her
computer. She had heard vaguely of butt plugs and vibrating eggs
and such, but had never considered that these things were real, and
never imagined one inside of her. Although embarrassed, she thinks
of the orgasm fondly, and finds herself hoping for a similar
experience at this party. Anxious, she decides to investigate the
possibilities of what might happen with a little online research.

Not certain where to begin, she runs a Google search on "sex toys."
She had not even seen the objects Cheryl had inserted into her that
morning, and when finally a picture of a butt plug appears on the
screen, she knows by tactile familiarity that this is the correct
object.

She continues to read:
    * Anal beads consist of a string of beads which is inserted into
the anus and then slowly pulled out to provide a very satisfying
stimulation, often at the moment of orgasm, in order to enhance the
strength of the orgasm in both men and women.
    * Butt plugs are devices that are inserted in the anus, typically to stimulate the prostate gland for pleasure. They should have a flared end to
prevent the device from being lost inside the body.
    * An electrode is used in erotic electrostimulation to apply electricity to various parts of the body for sexual gratification. A stainless steel urethral sound may be used as such an electrode when connected to electrostimulation equipment.
    * G Spot sex toys are dildos or vibrators that are designed, usually with a curved or hooked end, to hit the G Spot
    * Fucking machines are mechanical devices used to simulate penetrative intercourse, usually, but not always, requiring electric or gas power to function.
    * Sexual lubricants are lubricants used to facilitate anal or vaginal sex, or as an aid to masturbation.
    * A strap-on dildo and harness, generally strapped to the groin and hips, allows a person to penetrate a partner as if the dildo were the penetrator's own penis. In particular, they allow a woman to penetrate a man anally, referred to as pegging, or another woman vaginally or anally. They may also be used by impotent men to allow them to penetrate their partner; strap-on dildos used this way are generally hollow, rather than solid.
    * Sybian is the brand name of a combination of a saddle-shaped mount with a vibrator built onto it.
    * Sex dolls more commonly known as "blow up dolls," are imitations of the human form intended for simulation of some sexual acts. They may consist of a representation of a face, the buttocks, genital areas, or the entire body. Most sex dolls are inflatable. Love pillows, especially popular in Japan, are inflatable pillows with a life-size picture of a porn star or anime character and optionally a hole for penetration. More expensive realistic sex dolls exist, such as the Realdoll, the cost of which runs into several thousand dollars.
    * Nipple clamps are a family of tools which apply pressure to the nipples. They are often used as BDSM toys or torture devices. Some of them can also provide constant, intense nipple stimulation and heightened sensitivity.
    * Sex Games are usually like traditional board or card games but their terminology, content and objectives are sexually oriented.

Each object generates a small fantasy in Lisa's mind. She continues
to peruse the web, even filling an online shopping cart full of
toys. When the total comes up to over $2000, she thinks to herself,
What am I doing? She clicks cancel and looks at the time: she has
been online for hours.

Exhausted, she shuts down her computer, brushes her teeth, and
changes into her pajamas. Thinking of what Cheryl might do to her
at the party, she must use all her will power not to masturbate as
she drifts to sleep.

22: Preparing for the Party

Lisa allowed herself to sleep in on Saturday morning, knowing that
Cheryl had a long, possibly humiliating day in store for her. After
waking and showering, she poured herself a bowl of cereal and
silently ate while thinking about her day.

Cheryl is going to humiliate me, she thought. Lisa knew that they
would go shopping, that she'd be forced to wear some incredibly
skimpy party dress, and that the people at this party would
probably fondle her and grope her. The thought is not unwelcome,
Lisa realized. She absent-mindedly stroked her pussy beneath her
bathrobe and could feel that she had become quite moist in
anticipation.

Why not, she thought, why not just enjoy it? She made a resolution:
accept the inevitable.

Her resolution made, she goes to her bedroom to choose her
clothing. Feeling naughty, she flips through her skirts, choosing
the short black pleated skirt that Steve got her. She knows that
every time she takes a step this skirt swishes around exposing her
panties, but it is what Cheryl would expect. Removing her bathrobe,
she pulls the skirt on and remembers how high it sits on her
thighs. She digs in her dresser for some panties and, knowing that
they will likely be seen under her skirt, does not find any that
she likes.

This is not acceptable, she thinks, as she throws piles of
underwear around her apartment. What will I wear under this skirt?
The large, white cotton panties that had been her staple comfort
wear under her work clothing just seemed wrong for this occasion.
She thinks of wearing the red thong Cheryl had picked out for her,
but she had not laundered it, and she remembered just how wet it
had gotten.

The thought of going commando occurs to her, but a quick glance in
the mirror makes her worry about getting arrested. Still, she
remembers how it felt to be in her office in Yukie's skirt, which
was just as short as this one, without any panties. It felt free,
and arousing.

"I'll just go buy some new panties, I have time," she says aloud to
no one in particular. Feeling spontaneous, she grabs a white
tee-shirt and pulls it over her naked breasts, slips into a pair of
her brown work shoes, grabs her purse, and walks to her car. She
starts the ignition and begins driving to the closest strip mall.

When she pulls in the parking lot, she realizes that she still
isn't wearing any panties. With her skirt as short and as pleated
as it was, her danger of showing everything to the world is very
high. "What am I doing?" she asks herself, noticing now that as she
sits in her car planning her next move she is still absent-mindedly
rubbing her bare pussy, which is now quite wet.

She forces herself to stop and opens her car door. She carefully
slides out of the car, taking care to hold her skirt down, and then
slams the door.

Fortunately, the weather is warm and sunny, with only a light
breeze tickling the hem of her short skirt. As she walks to the
store, she notices her breasts, unfettered by a bra, bounce beneath
her tee-shirt. Cheryl would be proud, she thinks.

She walks into the store and heads straight for the lingerie. Not
many people are shopping at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, but enough
people are milling around the store to make her self-conscious in
her revealing outfit.

She picks out a few pairs of panties, mostly thongs in the style
Cheryl had chosen for her a few days before. In particular, a black
thong she chooses should go well under the skirt she is wearing.
She is tempted to put it on to hide her wet, naked sex, but she
knows she must pay for it first. She is about to take her pile of
panties to the express check-out lane, when she spies a rack of
camisoles much like the one she had bought with Cheryl. She decides
to buy more of those as well. All in silk and in many colors, she
picks up a large variety.

Now she has so many pairs of panties and so many camis that she can
barely hold them all. She walks back to the front of the store, her
skirt swishing around her upper thighs, and finds a basket to put
them in.

On her way, she passes the shoe department, and sees a very
fetching pair of black heels that would go much better with her
skirt than the brown work shoes she was currently wearing. Basket
in hand, she walks back to the shoes and picks one up from the
rack. They have a 4 inch heel, seeming a bit high for her, but the
curve of the shoe and the silvery straps look beautiful to her. As
she is admiring it, a salesman steps out of the back room and sees
her, and asks "Can I help you? Would you like to see those in your
size?"

Lisa, having been momentarily hypnotized by the shoes, looks up at
the salesman. A young boy, really, probably only 19 years old, and
he appears to be looking her up and down. She takes stock: she's
holding a shoe in one hand, and in the other a basket full of thong
panties and silky camisoles, and she realizes again that her
panties are still in the basket and not on her crotch! "Miss?
Hello?"

"Oh, um, sure," she says, "sure, size 8 1/2 please."

"You got it" says the boy as he disappears into the back room. Lisa
sets down the shoe and puts her shopping basket on the linoleum
floor. What have I done, she thinks? She remembers the last time
she did this, buying shoes with such a short skirt and no panties.
What must the salesperson think? And now, here she is, doing it by
herself with no one forcing her. What have I become?

The boy comes back and hands her the box. "Here ya go, size 8 1/2,"
he says, and Lisa takes the box. A moment of silence ensues.

"Um," says Lisa, looking down at the blue shoe box, "aren't you
going to help me try them on?"

"Sure," he says, and gestures Lisa to sit. She does so, noting that
her pleated black skirt rides high on her thighs, and that even
with her legs together he can probably see her pussy. "Let's start
with the right" he says, as he kneels and holds her bare calf. He
opens the box and slips the right shoe onto her foot, looking at
her thighs as he does so. "And now the left."

Did he see it, she wonders? Did he see how wet it is? With both
shoes in place, Lisa stands and walks around, and finds that the
shoes fit quite well, and are reasonably comfortable despite the
rather challenging heel. She sees the boy looking at her, and can
feel the hot arousal between her legs. She realizes that she loves
this.

"Okay, they're great, I'll take them," she says, thinking that he
can probably see up her skirt from his kneeling position even as
she stands.

"Can I ring up all your items?" he asks, and she says yes, takes
her basket and walks to the register in her new shoes.

As he scans the shoebox and the pricetags on the undergarments, she
gathers her courage and asks him, "Do you mind my asking, could you
see up my skirt back there?"

The boy blushes and shakes his head. "No Miss. I mean, I wasn't
looking. Um, that will be 86 dollars and 14 cents. Would you like
to open a credit account?"

Lisa found his embarrassment a little annoying, and decided to push
him. "Really, you weren't looking? What color were my panties?"

"Your panties?"

"Yes, what color were they? The ones I'm wearing?"

"Um, I didn't think you were, I mean . . ."

"Ha. I knew you were looking," she said. "Do you have a pair of
scissors?"

He digs around behind the counter, and finds some scissors. Lisa
takes them and cuts the tag off the black thong. "Excuse me a
moment" she says as she steps into the thong and pulls it up her
naked legs. "There, much better. Now, how much did I owe you?"

After paying and returning to her car, Lisa sits for a moment and
thinks about what just happened. Cheryl would be proud, she thinks,
and the thought pleases her. Still, she wasn't sure what had gotten
into her. What would people think of her, flashing herself to
teenage salesclerks in shoe stores? I shouldn't do that again, she
thinks, as she starts the car, suspecting that someday she just
might.

Back at home, she looks at herself in the mirror again, this time
sitting on the bed. The shiny material of her new black thong is
evident between her legs, giving her little doubt as to what the
sales boy must have seen. Further, her hard nipples were clear
under her tee-shirt.

"That's just indecent" she says aloud, as she strips off the
tee-shirt and finds a white cotton bra.

Later that afternoon, she hears a knock on the door. Wearing her
black pleated skirt, shiny black thong panties, a white cotton bra
and a white tee-shirt, she goes to the door. Cheryl is there.

"Well," says Cheryl, "are you ready to go shopping?"

"I started without you, Cheryl! Come in, and look at my new shoes."

Lisa puts on her new black heels and models them for Cheryl. Cheryl
smirks and looks Lisa up and down.

"Tell me, Lisa, did you buy those shoes wearing that outfit?"

Lisa blushes. "Well, not exactly. I wasn't wearing any underwear,
then."

Cheryl's smirk grows to a grin. "So after all the fuss you put up
about our visit to the shoe store, you went and did the same thing
by yourself, didn't you?"

Lisa nods.

"I knew you were a slut," says Cheryl. "Come on, we need to find
you a proper dress for tonight."

Cheryl and Lisa go to Cheryl's call and begin driving to an upscale
mall some distance away. In the car, Lisa asks about the party.
"Where is this party again? Who is going to be there? What kind of
dress are we looking for?"

"I told you before," said Cheryl. "This party is at Martin's house.
Martin is a friend of mine and he has a huge house north of here.
When I told him about you he was kind enough to offer his beautiful
home for a party. I expect you to thank him for that."

All kinds of fantasies began to swirl in Lisa's mind. Martin, huh?
She imagines that he is tall, and handsome, and suspects that he
will tie her to a large, four-poster bed . . . she can feel her
panties get positively wet. Yes, accept the inevitable, she thinks.
"I will thank him," says Lisa. "I suppose I should get a hot dress
for him."

"Oh?" asks Cheryl, somewhat mockingly, "I didn't think you the type
for too hot a dress. You've always been pretty conservative at
company parties!"

"Well, this isn't a company party, is it? And if I know you,
Cheryl, you won't let me get anything that doesn't make me look
like a . . . "

" . . .a what?" prods Cheryl.

". . . a tart."

Cheryl laughs as she pulls into the parking structure. "Okay," she
says, "I'll make a deal with you. If you choose a dress that I
think is 'tarty' enough, I'll let you wear panties. You seemed to
enjoy a similar game with Steve."

Accepting the inevitable, Lisa puts out her hand for a handshake,
resolved to find the hottest dress she could.

And she didn't have to search long. She went straight to a store
known for racy evening wear, and scanned the shelves for the
smallest pieces of material she could find. Cheryl kept her
distance, keeping her hands behind her back and only slightly
raising her eyebrows when Lisa showed her each dress she pulled off
the rack.

Three dresses made it to the dressing room with her while Cheryl
waited outside. The first she tried was black, tight, and extended
only to mid thigh. However, it had thick black straps and covered
her breasts more than she thought Cheryl would like. The second was
white, low cut, and almost transparent, but the skirt fell nearly
to her knees.

The third dress she tried was the ticket. Silky, shiny black and
extremely short, it exposed all of her long legs, just barely
hiding her panties by only a few inches. This was what first made
her think Cheryl would like it. But when she put it on, she
discovered that the halter style top left her back completely
exposed, all the way down to the top of the curves of her ass. The
back of the dress was a small band of material that just covered
her behind. There was no way she could wear a bra, and the silky
material clinging tightly to her breasts did little to hide the
shape of her now erect nipples.

As she looked in the mirror, Lisa thought that only a few inches
was an awfully small amount of material to hide her assets from the
world, but then she remembered to accept the inevitable. This was
the sexiest, most revealing dress she had ever worn -- or even the
most revealing she had ever seen. Could she really wear this at a
party? A party with people she has never met? Looking over her
shoulder at the back of the dress, she realized she was nearly
naked. Worse than naked -- wearing a dress that oozed sex, that
clearly labelled the person wearing it as . . .

"How's it going in there?" shouted Cheryl from outside the dressing
room. Lisa thought she seemed impatient.

"Uh, I think I've found it. I don't think there's any doubt I'll
have won my panties with this one."

"Well come on out and let me see!"

Lisa could hear the drone of shoppers in the store, including
couples with their teenaged children. She looked at herself in the
mirror again, and realized that while she might have agreed to
herself to let Cheryl have her way, she couldn't put on the show
she knew she would put on in so public a place. So she shouted back
"Can we wait until the party? I want to surprise you!"

A silence followed. Lisa could hear her own heart beat. Her
confidence was failing as she stood half naked in the mall. Don't
make me go out there, Cheryl.

"Okay," she said. "Put your little black skirt back on. We'll get
you some new makeup and get out of here."

And so Lisa changed back into her skirt and tee shirt, which
exposed her legs, as well as her bare ass and panties with every
step. Seeing herself in the mirror reminded her just how much was
exposed, and that reminder increased her self-consciousness from
what it had been before they arrived. She found herself tugging at
her skirt and doing what little she could to hide her panties as
Cheryl took Lisa to the make-up section of a nearby department
store for a full, "tarty" makeover. The make-up, once complete,
emphasized Lisa's lips like she had never seen them before, and
darkened her eyes to a degree that did not look like herself. Her
first reaction was one of self-consciousness, but her second was
one of security. The person in the mirror didn't really look like
Lisa -- it was a new person, a different person, a sexy, fun
person. Cheryl said it looked great, and Lisa surprised herself by
saying, "Yes, it looks fabulous. Thank you!"

On the car ride to Martin's, which was well over an hour's drive
away, Lisa was surprised to have a fairly normal conversation with
Cheryl, mostly about work, but also about recent movies and
favorite books. As a result Lisa was feeling quite at ease, and
barely noticed her exposed legs. Then Cheryl asked, "So, how are
you feeling about this party?"

"You know," said Lisa, "I'm actually really looking forward to it.
I mean, I think it might be a lot of fun."

"Really?" said Cheryl, "even though you're either going to wear a
slutty dress or no panties? Even though you're wearing more make-up
then you've ever worn before? What do you think is going to
happen?"

"Well, you've been pretty secretive, but I actually have a guess. I
think that Martin is an experienced 'dom,' well accustomed to 'the
lifestyle,' and he's going to invite a whole bunch of his other
friends over, who are also into 'the lifestyle.'"

"The 'lifestyle?' What lifestyle is that?"

"You know, BDSM."

Cheryl laughed. "Lisa, do you even know what that stands for?"

"Of course I do! How naive do you think I am? And I imagine that
these people are going to tie me down, and they are going to use
all matter of toys and gadgets on me, and I don't think I can avoid
the fact that they might even have sex with me."

Cheryl glanced away from the road to look at Lisa's face, which had
a large, nervous smile on it.

"Is that what you think?"

Lisa nodded. "I do. I was doing some reading last night. It was the
toys at the golf game that really got me thinking as to what you
were going to do with your newfound control over me. You don't want
the promotion or money or anything . . . you just want to humiliate
me sexually. And I decided that I have no choice but to play along.
So that's what I'm doing. Just wait until you see the dress. You'll
love it."

Cheryl shook her head as she watched the now twisty, hilly road.
"It sounds like you've got it all figured out, Lisa."

Lisa watched the road as well. Am I really ready to have sex with
strangers tonight? The warmth inside her panties suggested to her .
. . yes, yes I am.

23: The Party

Martin's house stood on a large hill, on a large tract of forested
land. The gate to the brick driveway featured brass-trimmed black
bars, and the driveway curved around a beautiful flower garden. As
Cheryl drove her car to the front door, Lisa thought that this
mansion looked like a hotel or an embassy, and could barely believe
it was someone's home. "Wow," she said, "what does Martin do?"

"He does many things, but mostly just spends his money these days."

She pulled up to the door and parked the car. Lisa gathered her new
dress, wrapped in a plastic garment bag, and followed Cheryl to the
door. Cheryl knocked on the ornate, gargoyle brass knocker, and
smiled at Lisa. "Now, Lisa, whatever assumptions you may have about
Martin, please be open minded. Okay?"

Lisa nodded just as the door opened. On the other side, a young
woman in a maid's outfit greeted them. Remembering her reading from
the night before, Lisa looked for the revealing bodice, the short
skirt revealing the tops of nylon stockings, and impossibly high
heels. But to her surprise the maid's dress was quite conservative,
with a high neckline, a skirt falling mid-calf, and sensible shoes.

"You must be Cheryl and Lisa." Lisa could see the maid looking at
her up and down, and suddenly her short black skirt felt much more
revealing. "Martin is expecting you. Please come in."

As they walked in, a tall, thin man in a brown suit with grey hair
approached with arms outstretched. "Ah, Cheryl, welcome back!" He
walked to Cheryl, put his hands on each of her shoulders and kissed
each cheek.

"Always a pleasure, Martin! And this is my coworker Lisa, the guest
of honor tonight."

Martin extended his hand and Lisa shook it. "Pleased to meet you. I
imagine I have some stories to hear from you! Well, please step in
to the salon, have a seat, we'll have Martha bring us some drinks.
The house is just about ready for the party tonight."

The salon was huge; the velvet-cushioned oak furniture seemed too
fancy to sit on, and suddenly Lisa felt underdressed in her short
pleated skirt and tee-shirt. The maid took Lisa's plastic-wrapped
dress, followed them in and asked for drinks. Lisa ordered a
martini; not her favorite drink but somehow it seemed the
appropriate one to ask for. Martha disappeared.

Cheryl and Martin chatted for some time about the weather and the
drive in, while Lisa sat quietly, occasionally adjusting her skirt
which sat very high on her naked thighs as she sat. When Martha
brought drinks, Lisa sipped her martini and began feeling a little
tipsy, but no less self-conscious. After some time, Cheryl seemed
to notice Lisa's discomfort. "Martin, Lisa has just bought a new
dress for the party tonight and I haven't gotten a chance to see it
yet. I think she should change into it now, don't you?"

"Sounds splendid. Lisa, Martha will show you where you can change."

Lisa suddenly felt worried about her dress. Martin seemed like an
ordinary, jolly, wealthy gentleman; not the dominating master Lisa
imagined. She feared her dress would seem scandalously skimpy in
these austere surroundings. Did she really pick it out?

Martha returned with drinks and Martin told her to take Lisa to the
second guest bedroom. "Right this way, Miss," said Martha to Lisa,
and Lisa followed Martha up the stairs and down a richly carpeted
hallway.

"How long have you worked here?" asked Lisa, feeling more
comfortable now that she was away from Martin and Cheryl.

"Just over a year now. The previous help -- a butler last time, he
retired, and I am quite happy to have the job."

"Oh yeah? Is it unusual in any way?"

Martha looked questioningly at Lisa as she opened the door to the
bedroom. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Lisa looked at the stately bedroom and her tiny dress, still
wrapped in plastic, lying on the double bed. "I mean, do you ever
wear a different uniform, or do, um, non-standard duties?"

Martha's mouth hung open at first, but then she smiled. "I think I
see what you're getting at, and I understand why you might think
that. No, I am just the maid, and the only thing unusual for me is
Martin's love of tradition. I just do things the way they have
always been done and we are both quite happy."

Lisa smiled, realizing her question had been too forward. "Ah,
thanks. I guess I'll find my way back to the Salon when I'm
changed."

"Very good. Is there anything else you'll be needing?"

"No, thank you."

Martha left, and closed the door. Lisa looked at herself in the
standing mirror and wondered again how she had gotten into this
situation. She noted again how she looked like someone else with
the heavy make-up she had put on at the mall.

She slipped out of her skirt, shirt, and bra and unwrapped the
shiny black dress. Slipping it over her head and tying the halter
behind her neck, she looked at herself again in the mirror. The
dress, if anything, seemed shorter now than it did in the store.
Seeing herself in the mirror, it was really something she would
expect to see in a sleazy nightclub, rather than in this lavish
home of antique furniture and traditional manners.

As she turned around, she noticed something else. The back of the
dress hung so low that if she moved the right way she could see the
string of her thong panties. "Damn," she said, "why didn't I notice
that in the store?"

She stood in the mirror and deliberated for some time. Without the
panties, the low back of the dress could be construed as elegantly
daring, albeit in an extremely risque fashion. With the panties
occasionally showing, it seemed trashy.

Lisa slipped the panties down her legs and over her high heeled
shoes and put them on the pile with her tee shirt and her black
skirt. Turning around again, the bare skin of her lower back and
the start the curves of her ass, with a little hint of rear
cleavage may have looked less trashy, but left her feeling more
naked than naked.

"And to think," said Lisa to herself as she continually twirled in
front of the mirror, "I chose this dress so that I *wouldn't* have
to lose my panties."

Finally she steeled her nerves and left the bedroom. As she walked
back to the salon in her heels, her dress swished around her upper
things and her ass and reminded her of how much of her body was
exposed. As she walked into the Salon, Martin and Cheryl were
laughing over their drinks, but their laughter stopped as Lisa
entered the room. Lisa could see Martin's jaw drop when he saw the
dress, and Cheryl had a huge grin on her face.

"Wow!" said Martin. "That's, er, quite a dress!"

"Turn around," said Cheryl, "let's see it all!"

Lisa turned in place, and heard Cheryl clap her hands when she saw
the back of it. "Wow," said Martin again, "Wow. Are you sure you
want to wear that tonight?"

Lisa looked at Cheryl, wondering if perhaps she was being offered a
way out. Cheryl only looked back at her, offering no assistance.
Lisa's throat felt dry, and so she picked up her martini, took a
drink, and said "You're only young once, right?"

Martin chuckled slightly. "Indeed. Yes."

Just then Martha poked her head into the room and asked "I have
some final preparations to make with the kitchen staff. Will you be
needing anything?" Lisa could see Martha checking out her dress,
and trying to refrain from making a facial expression.

"No, in fact, do leave us alone for a few minutes."

"Very good," she said, and walked out, closing the door behind her.

"So, Lisa," said Martin, gesturing to the chair. Lisa sat, feeling
her bare ass on the velvet of the couch. Cheryl, who sat across
from her, probably saw her lack of panties.

"I heard you have taken an interest in my special hobby?"

"Special hobby?" asked Lisa.

Cheryl interrupted, "Oh, Martin, she doesn't know what you mean
yet, at least not exactly. Why don't you bring her your latest
design to show her?"

Martin nodded and briefly left. Lisa looked at Cheryl and asked
"what does he mean?" but Cheryl did not reply, and soon Martin
returned. He was holding some sort of white plastic device,
spherical in shape, with a black wire hanging from it.

Martin sat on the couch with Lisa, and showed her the device. "Look
familiar?" he asked, but Lisa shook her head. A moment later it
occurred to her what she was looking at. This was the device that
was vibrating in her during the golf game!

Cheryl said "Lisa enjoyed it very much the one time she used it.
She used the 'finish' mode."

Lisa looked at Cheryl, "The finish mode?"

Martin unscrewed the device into two hemispheres and showed them to
Lisa. "This is my hobby -- it has been for some 10 years now. I
design and arrange for the manufacture of these expensive little
gadgets. Not many people know about them, but that's probably for
the better. I've even sold a few, but I keep it discreet."

Lisa picked up the device from his hands and studied it. She could
see several small switches inside along with a battery and some
circuitry. "My dream is to make the ultimate female toy, and it has
taken substantial research. I am glad you volunteered to help."

"Well," said Lisa, "I wasn't sure I was helping."

"Well you can help now by telling me how finish mode worked for
you. Did it, indeed, finish you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the part of the device that has taken me years to perfect is
the ability to detect a woman's state of arousal electronically
through internal measurements of temperature and, well, fluid
viscosity. Although I got a few other modes to work years ago,
finish mode has been my recent project."

"What exactly is 'finish mode'?" asked Lisa.

Martin looked at Cheryl. "You didn't tell her, did you? Oh, she
must have been quite surprised." He turned to Lisa. "Finish mode is
made to detect your arousal level, and when it sees that it is
beyond a certain threshold, the device turns on, increasing its
intensity until you orgasm. So, did you?"

Lisa looked down at her naked thighs. "Yes," she said, "but I'm not
sure the device is entirely to blame."

Martin laughed. "Ah, well, perhaps more careful tests are needed
then. It has been quite a hobby of mine adjusting its operation to
work well. I am always eager to hear how different women experience
it. Apparently, this mode never works for Cheryl."

Lisa glanced at Cheryl, and thought she saw her blush. "Cheryl is
helping you test this thing?" asked Lisa.

"I see Cheryl hasn't told you much of anything. Yes, indeed, Cheryl
has helped me improve several of its modes."

"What other modes does it have?"

Martin took the device back from Lisa and flipped two of the small
dipswitches with his fingernail. He then snapped the device closed.
"I would love to show you. This is the first adaptive mode I
perfected. You'll find a watercloset through that door --- if you
could please insert this inside you, we can find out together if it
works on you as well as Cheryl." He handed the closed, spherical
device back to Lisa.

Lisa looked at it nervously, and then looked at Cheryl, who nodded.
Lisa looked at the short skirt of her new dress and realized that
she again had no choice.

As she stood, allowing the hem of her dress to fall the few inches
below her ass, Martin said, "I'm afraid you'll have to insert it
without any artificial lubrication, as that disturbs its detection
function. Take whatever time you need."

Lisa nodded and walked to the bathroom. As she walked, she could
feel how squishy her naked pussy felt, and knew she would have no
trouble with the device. Once in the bathroom, she did not have
much to do. Her unclothed pussy was only inches from the hem of her
dress, so she needed only slightly lift it slightly out of the way.
Resting on the countertop, she inserted the sphere into herself. It
easily slid in, leaving behind a small black wire.

She readjusted her dress, looking at herself in the mirror.
Everytime she saw herself, she was reminded of how naked she was in
this dress. She thought of the little black wire that protruded
from her pussy, and although it was not long, she worried that when
she sat it would become visible, so she bent it upwards to blend
with her pubic hair. As she did so, she rubbed her clit, which was
now very sensitive, and felt a rush of excitement course through
her. Was she really going to have to attend a party of strangers in
this condition? Her resolve to let things happen and enjoy them
started to diminish, and her familiar feelings of
self-consciousness and humiliation began to overwhelm her, making
her hornier still.

She walked back to Martin and Cheryl, feeling the sphere move
around inside her as she walked. It was large enough that it seemed
unlikely to slip out, but still she worried about it until she was
safely seated on the couch.

"Well?" asked Martin, "is it doing anything?"

"No," said Lisa, "maybe its batteries are dead?"

Cheryl and Martin looked at each other, and Cheryl was clearly
grinning. "Maybe," said Martin, "let's give it some time. Would you
like another drink?"

For the next half hour, Lisa sipped on her second martini and
Martin started to ask them both about work. Cheryl began to explain
that reorganization of management was occurring, and about how
budgeting strategies were being carefully scrutinized. This was
familiar territory for Lisa, and when Martin began asking about the
details, Lisa chimed in and began explaining the mistakes she
believed her colleagues were making. As she was discussing the need
to adapt pricing strategies not to existing market conditions but
to expected market conditions, she suddenly stopped and gasped!

"Lisa?" asked Martin. "Are you okay?"

"It's the device, it just switched on. Oh my god . . ."

Martin and Cheryl glanced at each other again, smiling. "Tell me
what you're feeling, Lisa," requested Martin, politely.

"Uh," said Lisa, as she felt the vibrations coming from deep inside
her. They were so overwhelming she had to lean back on the couch
and close her eyes. "It's vibrating much stronger than I would
expect for such a small device, and, oh, god . . ."

"And . . ."

" . . . but it's not too fast, it seems like just the right speed,
or . . ." She paused again and bit her lower lip. "It's not just
one speed . . . it seems like it's always steadily going at one
speed, but also getting faster and slower . . . oh, it just got
faster, but not . . . oh god, it feels so good."

"Excellent," said Martin, "it sounds like it is working well. See,
your physiology responds quicker to stimulation than you might
think, and this thing has a simple algorithm to learn what is
working and amplify that, while removing any vibration modes that
seem to have a detrimental effect. Go on, how does it feel now?"

"I don't know how to describe it. It feels . . . swirly, and, in
some ways, warm, and, oh . . . it's going to make me . . . I'm so
close . . . oh god oh god it ---"

Just then, Lisa opened her eyes. The vibration stopped. "It
stopped!" she said. "Oh my god, why did it stop? Please make it
start again!" She had been so close, and now her pussy craved more
stimulation. She began to reach down to adjust the sphere, or
perhaps to touch herself, not caring what Martin or Cheryl saw, but
Cheryl grabbed her arm. "Ah ah, just leave it Lisa. It's fine."

"But, it stopped. We need to fix it."

Martin, now with a big smile on his face, said "It will start again
when you're ready for it, Lisa. I call this 'simmer mode,' although
Cheryl has said that the name sounds way too gentle. In many ways,
it is the opposite of finish mode. It is made to sense your
arousal, and if it drops *beneath* a certain threshold, it turns
on, until you are above a rather high threshold, and then it shuts
down again. Putting both those thresholds as high as possible for a
variety of women has taken substantial tweaking, but I think I have
it nearly perfect. Only one woman tester had an orgasm at this
level, but she--- "

Martin was interrupted by the sound of a loud knock on the door.
"Ah!" he said, "the door! That must be the first guest! I think
Martha is busy in the kitchen, so we should go answer the door!"

Cheryl, still holding Lisa's arm, stood and offered her hand. "Are
you ready to `play along,' as you said earlier?"

Lisa, still recovering from her near orgasm, took Cheryl's hand and
stood up, again wishing her dress fell a little further down her
thighs when she stood, and noting that her inner thighs felt wet
with her juices of arousal. "I'm not sure anymore," Lisa said.

"Well," said Cheryl, "let's at least see who's at the door."

Cheryl, Lisa, and Martin walked back to the front door, and just as
they arrived the chime went off again. "They're getting impatient,"
said Martin. "Lisa, would you like to invite the first guest in?"

Lisa walked to the large, imposing door, and wondered who was on
the other side of it. She adjusted her dress, first pulling up the
back of it which seemed to hang so low on the top of her ass, and
then pulling down the hem, which pulled the back right back down
again. She took a hold of the door handle, turned it, and opened
the door.

On the other side was a man she recognized. It was Art, the short,
balding engineer from her workplace. We was wearing casual pants, a
blue sport jacket, and no tie. "Hello, Art, I'm glad you could make
it. Um, come on in."

Art came in and looked around, and as he was shaking Martin's hand,
more guests arrived. They were more people from Lisa's department;
George, and Alex, and Beth, and a few minutes later Jim arrived.
Lisa noted that only few of the men wore ties, and most of the
women wore jeans or casual dresses, making her risque evening wear
seem extremely out-of-place!

By now, trays of hors d'ouevres had been laid out, and Martha and a
pair of caterers were providing drinks to the guests. After getting
a glass of gin on ice, Jim returned to Lisa and said, "Wow. Nice
dress, Lisa. I feel underdressed. Or maybe even overdressed."

Lisa flushed with embarrassment, feeling an accompanying tingle in
her naked pussy. "Well," she said, "I guess I wanted the party to
be fun."

The door chimed again, and again Lisa opened the door. The newly
arriving guest was Steve, who clearly looked Lisa up and down
several times. "Well, hello, Boss," he said.

Lisa blushed again. "Come on in, get a drink."

During the next half hour, Lisa mingled with her workmates and
drank three more drinks, and now felt decidedly drunk. While
talking to George about lunch options near their office, she nearly
dropped her drink when the device sprang to life inside her.

"Oh, god, excuse me," she said to George, and walked to a nearby
chair, leaning with her hands on the back. She looked around her.
Her head was a little fuzzy from the alcohol, but she could swear
everyone was looking at her. And she knew that her entire back, and
probably the top of her ass cheeks, were exposed. She could feel
that her nipples were almost painfully erect and pressing against
the front of her thin dress. And she knew her dress was so short
that they could probably see the juices now dripping from her naked
sex. And the vibrations from the device felt like they were filling
her body, as if they were coating her insides with raw, hot
pleasure. She could feel her breathing getting heavy, and could not
suppress a slight moan.

Steve approached her, a drink in hand. "Hey Lisa, how's it going?"

Lisa wanted to say, "I need to orgasm, now!" but knew that everyone
could hear. She looked at Steve, but could think of nothing to say
as the vibrations ripped through her.

"So, um," said Steve, "I don't mean to embarrass you, but are you
wearing panties under that dress?"

Lisa's eyes widened with worry. Just what can people see? The
device was driving her crazy. Then she took his drink and put it
and her own on a nearby table. "Steve, can you come with me for a
moment?" She grabbed his hand, and led him into the salon, which
was empty.

She knew people watched her walk out so quickly, and that her dress
was flipping up on her naked ass as she walked, but she could not
stand it any more. The swirling and buzzing inside her pussy was
taking her so close to orgasm she felt like she needed to scream.
After entering the salon, she shut the door and pulled Steve
against her, grabbing his muscular arms.

"Steve, please kiss me," she said. Steve hesitated for a moment,
but then pressed his lips against her half-open mouth, feeling her
tongue impatiently enter his mouth. Lisa nearly melted at the
feeling of his warm lips, and nearly orgasmed when she felt his
warm right hand touch her bare lower back. As Steve broke the kiss
to catch his breath, Lisa said "Oh god don't stop," and Steve began
kissing her again, while rubbing her lower back and the top of her
ass. The combined feeling of his tongue pushing into her mouth, his
hand caressing to top of her bare buttcheeks, and the vibrating in
her ass was too much for her drunken state, and Lisa felt herself
finally slipping into orgasm, when suddenly the vibrating stopped.

"Mmmmph" she screamed through the kiss. Steve backed off, alarmed.
"No, don't stop. Just please touch me, please, down there, under my
skirt. Please."

Steve kissed her again, and moved his hand to her upper thigh. The
feeling of his hand on her thigh was like electricity, and with the
vibrations stopped she was dying for it to touch her clit. So she
grabbed it and started moving it upwards.

First Steve cupped her pussy in his hands, and while lightly
massaging it he stopped the kiss and said, "Oh my stars you are
wet! I've never felt such a wet pussy!"

"Don't stop," said Lisa, and pulled his head back to continue the
kiss.

Steve's massaging of her pussy increased, and Lisa's protruding
clitoris started to get the stimulation it needed. Again she felt
the warm embrace of a powerful orgasm coming on, when the salon
door suddenly opened.

"Ah, there you are," said Cheryl. Steve immediately stopped kissing
Lisa and removed his hand, and Lisa's short dress fell down again
to barely cover her throbbing, wet, unsatisfied pussy. "Come on,"
said Cheryl, "it's time for the speeches."

She grabbed Lisa's hands and led her back to the foyer, where Jim
is now standing on the steps above the crowd clinking his glass.
Lisa again feels everyone's eyes on her, and she feels her juices
running down her fully naked legs as her tiny dress flits around
her thighs.

"Ah, there she is," says Jim. "Well, let's get this over with.
First, let me thank our new friend Martin for sharing his large and
beautiful home with us this evening."

Everyone applauds, and Martin raises his glass. Lisa looks over at
him, not applauding in her frustrated, humiliated state, and he
winks at her.

"And," says Jim, "let us thank Cheryl for organizing this event.
When Cheryl suggested having a party to celebrate the department's
recent success, I of course turned her down thinking of how
expensive such an event would be, especially on such short notice."

A small amount of muffled laughing ensues.

"But then she said she would put it together for free at this
beautiful venue, and then I could hardly refuse. And so here we
are. Now, some of you might not be aware of what exactly we are
celebrating. The official announcement will be tomorrow, but most
of the details are settled now, so without further ado, let me be
the first to bring you the good news.

"This quarter, our department was remarkably successful, fiscally,
I mean. Our revenues were higher than any other department, and
they were higher than our department has had in its history. These
successes can be attributed in part to changes in the market that
have been beneficial to us, but it took the expertise of our
youngest new manager to take advantage of it to this degree. So, on
Monday it will be announced that every employee in the department
will receive a substantial bonus, and for this, we can thank Lisa!"

At this moment all eyes turn to Lisa. As the crowd applauds her,
she realizes she has barely heard what Jim said. All she can think
about is how much of her wet, naked thighs are plainly visible, and
about how good Steve's hand on her pussy had felt, and she looks at
him, applauding with the rest of the crowd. Her sex aches to be
touched again, and she wishes the device inside her would kick in
again.

"Lisa," says Jim, "would you like to say something? What's the
secret of your success?"

Lisa slowly realizes she is going to have to give a speech in her
drunk, aroused state. She stands in silence for a minute, as the
crowd quiets down and looks at her. She can see that many of the
men and some of the women were not looking at her face, but rather
at her upper thighs, or at her nipples which are clearly outlined
by the silky black dress.

She has to snap out of her aroused, drunken reverie and come up
with something to say! She quickly deduces that she was being
invited to congratulate the product engineers, accountants, and
other employees she managed that made this success possible, but
all she could think about were people staring at her body. She
starts to speak.

"Well, I, uh . . ." she begins, "I think it's not my success alone,
but the success of everyone in the department. I am particularly
happy with the way the accounting section quickly adapted to the
new strategies I brought from recent ideas in the university, and .
. ."

Just then the sphere started vibrating again. She was just getting
into her public speaking mode, why would it start now? It's too
soon! Not now!

" . . . and . . . I want to, um, I want to thank each and every . .
."

The vibrations again overwhelm her wet, sensitive pussy, and she
can barely keep still. She self-consciously crosses her arms around
her breasts, but she can feel that this raises her skirt a little
bit, and she fears people can see the bottom of her ass and her
dripping pussy.

" . . . I want to thank each and every one of you for making this
success possible. Oh god."

The vibrations seem to be getting deeper. Not harder, not faster,
but *deeper*.

". . . this is a proud, um, moment for me, and I'm feeling a little
overwhelmed. Thank you all."

As she speaks, she cannot help but squeeze her legs together,
trying to get the clitoral stimulation to take her over the edge.
Just as her speech comes to an end and the crowd applauds she
starts to let the feeling take over, and the vibrations stop again!
She looks again at Martin, who seems to have a huge grin on his
face as he applauds, and she looks at Cheryl, who is giving her a
thumbs up.

"So, now I have some more sensitive topics to discuss," continues
Jim as the applause dies away. "As you know, we have been meaning
to restructure our department, and we have nearly decided how to do
it. I think everyone agrees that anyone as successful as Lisa
should be given more leeway to enact her ideas throughout the
department, and so Lisa is of course an excellent candidate for
promotion to assistant director."

Some applause ensues.

"However, I think it's a secret to no one that Lisa's success came
at some cost. We've all been working a little overboard to catch up
to the changes Lisa is suggesting. While this sudden success is of
course a good thing, the directors fear that if we give Lisa *too
much* leeway, the sudden changes may overwhelm our ability to
adapt. I tell everyone this, so that there are no rumors about this
decision. The decision of the directors is that Lisa's promotion
should be accompanied by the promotion of a colleague more familiar
with our traditional way of doing things, to keep things in check."

There is some quiet talk as people look around the room.

"For this reason, the assistant director's office will be shared by
the new and spunky Lisa, and by another, more conservative manager
for whom a promotion is long overdue. This will be Cheryl. Her
organization of this party tonight is an example of the things she
does that keeps her team cohesive and hard working, and we believe
she is the perfect complement to Lisa's management style."

There is some applause, and Cheryl holds her hand up to gesture
acknowledgement, but does not give a speech.

"I hope you two don't mind sharing an office. Cheryl tells me that
she and Lisa have been working together well recently, so hopefully
this will work out well for everyone!"

Tempered applause is heard as Lisa does her best to smile at
Cheryl. On the one hand she is relieved to hear that she is getting
the promotion she believes she deserves, but on the other she was
looking forward to having her own office, and wonders what it will
be like working in such close proximity to Cheryl and her devious
ways every single day.

"Now," says Jim, "at the risk of embarrassing some people here, I
think we've all noticed that Lisa has seemed a little . . . happier
recently."

The crowd laughs, and Lisa feels herself blush. She wishes she
could touch herself, but everyone is looking at her.

"I think we all have our guesses as to what brought this on, and
most of us are not expecting that it's the promotion. Steve, do you
have any ideas?"

Suddenly everyone looks at Steve, who is taking a large sip of his
drink. He nearly spits out his drink at the question. "I can't
imagine what you mean, Jim" he says with a smile, and everyone
laughs.

"Oh?" says Jim, "maybe you should go back into the next room with
Lisa and ask her what she thinks!"

Again there is laughing, and Lisa feels completely humiliated.

"Seriously, though," says Jim, "with Lisa and Cheryl being
promoted, there are some manager positions open that may go to some
of you admins, so it is time to start kissing ass! And Steve, I
don't mean that literally!"

Raucous laughter ensues, and Jim steps down from the staircase.
Almost immediately the chatter of the crowd fills the room as
people discuss what they have just seen and heard.

Lisa notices that several of Steve's friends are enthusiastically
asking him questions. Meanwhile Martin, Cheryl, and Jim are shaking
hands and thanking each other. Everyone has something to say to
each other, it seems, but no one is talking to Lisa. She decides
she cannot take it anymore and walks through the salon, into the
bathroom, shuts the door, sits on the counter again with her legs
spread, and begins furiously rubbing her wet, sensitive clit.

The feeling of her fingers is a welcome relief, although she feels
guilty for not asking permission to touch herself, and momentarily
stops. She hears all the people still chatting at the party,
probably about her promotion, and Jim's insinuations about her and
Steve, and she starts rubbing herself again. She wishes the device
buried deep inside her would begin its heavenly vibrations again,
but it remains quiet. She keeps rubbing herself anyway, bringing
herself closer and closer to orgasm, but as she gets close, her
guilt for not getting Cheryl's permission begins to overwhelm her,
causing her to stop and listen for a few minutes to all the chatter
in the party.

This cycle of near orgasm and guilt-induced hesitation continues
for 15 minutes, until finally Lisa hears a quiet knock on the door.
She stands up, straightens her tiny dress, and opens the door. It
is Cheryl.

Lisa immediately says "Cheryl, I touched myself but I promise I
didn't orgasm."

Cheryl closes the door of the small bathroom behind her and rests
on the counter next to Lisa.

"People are wondering where you are," says Cheryl.

"Listen, Cheryl, I am so aroused from this damned device. May I
please, PLEASE have an orgasm now?"

Cheryl smiles and gives a short laugh. "You really have a one-track
mind these days, Lisa. I thought you'd have something to say about
us sharing an office. Is it okay with you?"

"Anything is okay as long as I get to cum. Please, Cheryl, I am so
frustrated."

Cheryl makes a sniffing gesture and says "Yeah, I can smell it. I
love keeping you this way, you know. This is how it is going to be
from now on. Because of those videos I have, you are now my toy.
You realize this, don't you? And there's no escape from me. We're
literally going to be working in the same office, and I will make
sure you behave."

Lisa felt on some level that she should feel upset or threatened by
these words, but instead they only turn her on. She feels certain
that the slightest touch would bring her to orgasm.

"You may touch yourself again, Lisa, if you want, but you may not
orgasm."

Lisa needs no further instruction. She reaches under her short
dress and starts touching her clit again, but very gently, as she
knows she is very close to cumming.

Cheryl starts idly flicking her fingernail across Lisa's erect
nipple, and continues speaking softly. "There will be lots of skirt
days from now on. And on those days you are mine to play with. Some
days I will keep you on the edge of orgasm like this all day long
at your desk, possibly with one of Martin's little magic devices,
possibly by making you touch your pantiless cunt under your short
little work skirt. Maybe I'll even hire us a handsome male
secretary and have him help tease you. Does that turn you on?"

Lisa nods, as she rubs her inner thigh, knowing that if she touches
her clit right now she will have the orgasm that is forbidden her.

"And that's not all," says Cheryl. "There will be other things you
will have to do. Things you have never felt before, that you will
find humiliating. You said you wanted to experience 'the lifestyle'
and play along with whatever I dish out. Well, that's exactly what
will happen . . ."

Lisa gently rubs her clit again, feeling the start of her orgasm,
but then slips her fingers inside of her, pushing the little egg
device further inside, and moans.

"In fact," Cheryl continues, "on Monday, you will wear one of your
short little skirts, and when we move in together to our new,
shared, private office, you will start this journey by giving me a
long foot massage. If you do well, then I will let you massage your
wet, horny little cunt on my nylon covered toes. I'll even let you
cum."

Lisa touches her clit again. The idea of getting to cum in any way,
even on Cheryl's toes, nearly causes her an orgasm right now. She
feels she can barely hold on. "Cheryl," she says, "Please, Cheryl,
I can't wait that long. I can't wait until Monday. Please let me
cum now. Please. Anyway you want."

Cheryl flicks Lisa's nipples again and starts rubbing her breasts.
"Stop touching yourself," she says, and Lisa obeys, frustratingly
removing her fingers from her wet pussy. "Stand a little closer."

Lisa approaches Cheryl, and feels Cheryl hands slide down the waist
of her thin, silky dress. When Cheryl's hands go over her hips to
the tops of her naked thighs, Lisa's breathing quickens. "Open your
legs a bit," says Cheryl, and again Lisa obeys. She feels Cheryl's
hands move under her short dress and slide up the insides of her
now very slippery thighs. Then she feels Cheryl's hands rubbing
through her pubic hair, and then gently pulling on the wire of the
device inside her. The feeling of it pushing out of her wet slit
nearly sends her over the edge, but not quite.

Cheryl takes the device and lets Lisa's skirt fall to her thighs
again. She rubs the device with a towel, and unscrews the two
hemispheres of the device. She then uses her fingernail to adjust
the small dipswitches.

"Since you asked so nicely," says Cheryl, "I will give you
permission to orgasm, but only under the following conditions."

She screws the sphere closed and then slips it again under Lisa's
short dress, and begins rubbing it up and down her slit.

"You may not touch yourself. You said that this thing 'finished
you' on the golf course, so if it happened once, it will happen
again. I put it back in 'finish mode.' After I put it in, it will
take a few minutes for it to adjust, but then I think that if it
sees that you are as horny as you are now, it will switch on and
take you the rest of the way."

Lisa can feel the smooth device being rubbed up and down her slit,
and yearns to feel it pushed inside her.

"But you can't be so antisocial. When this happens, you'll be out
there, with your workmates, at the party. Shh, listen."

They are both silent for a moment, and they can hear the party just
on the other side of the door of the bathroom. Clearly it has moved
into the salon, where there is more seating.

"I want you to go find a seat on the couch. I think you'll agree
that when you're sitting. the vibrations from the device are much
more intense. If you just keep yourself aroused, I'm sure you'll
get the orgasm you crave."

"But Cheryl, I can't cum in front of all those people! What will
they think of me?"

"Oh, everyone is completely drunk at this point, anyway. We'll
chalk up any strange behavior to alcohol anyway. Now, how does this
feel?"

As she asks, Cheryl pushes the egg into Lisa's pussy, and again
buries the wire in her pubic hair. The feeling of the device
entering her and the 'schloop' sound it made keep Lisa's arousal
high. She says, "It feels really good, but I don't think I can do
this."

"Don't forget," says Cheryl, "you wanted to play along, right? And
you don't have a choice, because this is an order, one of many that
you will have to obey from now on, assistant assistant director.
Now, you leave the bathroom first, and then I'll slip out later, so
that we aren't seen leaving together."

At this Cheryl opens the door and pushes Lisa by her nearly naked
ass out into the Salon.

The entire party had indeed moved into the Salon, and although most
people were left standing, all of the furniture in the room is
occupied. Lisa sees Steve, Art, and Beth on the couch, and
approaches them, feeling the device move inside her again, and
wonders when it will switch on. "Is there room for me on this
couch?" she asks.

The three people look up at her, their eyes level with the short
hem of her minidress. Steve quickly says, "Of course," and he
squeezes against the side of the couch while Art squeezes against
Beth's blue-jeaned thighs to make room. Only about a foot of free
couch space is created this way.

Lisa tries to sit down in this spot. She suspects that as she sits,
Steve and Art can see her naked ass under her tiny dress. When she
puts her weight down, she is mostly sitting on Steve and Art's
legs, but then she wiggles into the spot. As she does so, her skirt
gets hiked up, and her naked, wet pussy is briefly exposed. She
quickly covers it with what little material she can pull out of the
tight space between her legs and her partners, but the tightly
compressed hips prevents her from covering her crotch by more than
about an inch of tightly stretched material. She can no longer see
her pussy, and hopes that Steve and Art cannot either, but suspects
that anyone sitting across from the couch must be able to see her
nakedness.

It doesn't matter, she thinks to herself. it will all be chalked up
to alcohol later. She is starting to sober up herself, but everyone
else is holding a drink. Although she wants to get one, she does
not want to repeat the humiliating experience of sitting in this
tight space.

As Steve and Art begin to continue their conversation, which was
apparently about a recent spy thriller movie and how unrealistic
its special effects were, Lisa begins to get bored. Her pussy,
though exposed, is not getting any stimulation, and though the
thought of her coworkers seeing her so naked under so short a dress
is a perpetual turn on, she has worried that the device has not
switched on. Knowing that she needs her arousal to pass some
threshold before it will activate, she begins to fantasize. She
thinks of what it will be like to share an office with Cheryl. She
imagines a day where she will show up early in the morning. She
imagines she will be wearing her tight black skirt with no panties.
She imagines that Cheryl has had her permanently remove all of her
pussy hair, so that she is completely naked. She imagines that she
will be wearing her commuter butt plug, a small butt plug that
Cheryl makes her wear on skirt days, designed to tease her during
her commute. She imagines that when she gets to the office, well
before Cheryl does, she immediately crawls under Cheryl's desk and
begins stroking her moist, naked pussy, bringing herself close to
orgasm but not quite reaching it repeatedly. She does this because
Cheryl has told her that she must be hot and horny when Cheryl
arrives.

Finally, Cheryl will walk into the office, wearing a conservative
grey skirt and professional looking suit jacket. She will be
holding a cup of coffee, and will immediately sit at her desk. If
this is a good day, Lisa imagines, Cheryl will stroke Lisa's hair
behind her head, slip her foot out of her shoe, and tease her pussy
with her nylon-covered toes, just like she said. Maybe, if it is a
very good day, Cheryl will open up her legs, and pull Lisa's head
between her thighs. Lisa will find that Cheryl is wearing
stockings, and when she spreads her legs, Lisa will pull her
conservative panties aside and begin licking her pussy, bringing
Cheryl to a lovely orgasm. Then, Lisa thinks, Cheryl will hold
Lisa's head against her wet crotch, while still teasing her with
her toe. "Orgasms feel so good," Cheryl will say. "It's too bad you
can't have one now," she will say, and Lisa will moan into Cheryl's
pussy with frustration.

No wait! thinks Lisa. That's not what I want. I'm not a lesbian! I
don't want to be teased all day. I want an orgasm! I want it now!

She finds that her fantasy about Cheryl has turned her on, but the
device has not yet turned on. So she tries to think of something
else arousing, having completely lost track of the conversation
between Steve, Art, and Beth happening on the couch. She thinks of
the time she was in the restaurant with Joe and Joe, and imagines
that Steve and Art both start feeling her legs, their hands moving
higher and higher up, but this time, with permission to orgasm,
they do not step, and instead they slip under her tiny dress and
begin to caress her achingly hard slit.

At this point Lisa thinks that if she doesn't cum, she will
literally go insane. So, when Art starts flirting with Beth, she
whispers in Steve's ear: "Steve, please, touch my leg. I don't care
who sees. I need to feel your hand again."

Steve does not say anything, but he obliges, resting his hand just
above Lisa's knee. Lisa loves the feeling of his warm hand on her
naked leg, but wishes it were higher. Then Beth asks Steve what he
thinks about Art's comments about the cafeteria food at work. Steve
says he disagrees, and continues idly chatting, and idly rubs his
hand over Lisa's naked thigh as he does so. Lisa knows that
everyone can see his hand on her exposed thigh, but she doesn't
care. She wishes she could spread her legs wide open, putting one
on Steve's lap and the other an Art's. Then Steve would have
complete access, and he could touch her completely exposed clit
while everyone in the room halts their conversation and watches her
have her much deserved orgasm.

The notion of everyone seeing her orgasm is what pushes her over
the threshold. Suddenly she feels incredibly horny, and the device
inside her wakes up. The vibrations begin slow, but with the device
pressed between her compressed legs they seem especially intense.
Lisa wonders if anyone else can feel them, but then decides she
does not care. She feels the device start to increase in speed and
closes her eyes.

Steve's hand continues to tease her thigh as she feels the
vibrations take over. Her eyes still closed, she grabs Steve's
teasing hand and moves it up her thigh until it is resting against
her naked pussy. Focusing on the vibrations which have moved from a
steady drone to more of a sweeping oscillation, Lisa can feel her
long-awaited orgasm coming close. She pushes Steve's hand against
her naked sex, and the feeling of his warm fingers rubbing her
sopping wet clit pushes her to that threshold, that level she has
been flirting with all night, but this time he does not stop
touching her, and the vibrations do not stop filling her, and she
has permission! Suddenly the vibrations increase their intensity,
and Steve's finger rubs a perfect circle over just the right spot,
and she feels the orgasm explode from inside her.

"Oh goooooooddddddddd . . . " she whispers into Steve's ear as the
pleasure washes over her.

As the orgasm begins to subside, she finally opens her eyes again.
She realizes that, although there is still some muttering in the
room, all nearby conversation has stopped, and all eyes are on her.
Art and Beth are no longer flirting, and everyone seems to be
looking at her. She looks down and realizes she had absentmindedly
lifted her right leg, the one in contact with Steve, to give him
more access. His hand continues to rest on her inner thigh.
Although she cannot see her own pussy, she wonders what show she
must have given, and to whom, and with the pleasure of the orgasm
fading away she feels deeply humiliated.

She quickly pushes away Steve's hand and struggles to stand up from
the crowded couch. She pulls the dress down over herself as best
she can. She sees everyone looking at her, and knows she must say
something.

"Oh, wow, I'm drunk," she says, and abruptly rushes back to the
bathroom.

24: A New Office

It is Monday morning, and Lisa sits quietly on the subway, paying
little attention to the crowd around her as the train passes
station after station. She was lucky to get a seat this morning,
she thinks. She feels shaky, her legs are weak. She is full of
anxiety on her way to work, in a way she cannot remember feeling
ever before, even on her very first day.

She knows she should be ecstatic. She knows that her promotion will
be formally announced. She knows that she will move into the empty
office she has been eyeing from her cubicle. She knows she will be
making more money, and that she will have more responsibility,
responsibility that she has sought, and that she welcomes.

But she also knows she is now fully owned by Cheryl.

She looks down at her legs. She can just barely see the start of
the lacy tops of her stockings, peaking from under the hem of her
little grey skirt. The skirt is new, but already she had it
shortened, indeed before wearing it even once. She had it shortened
at the department store, along with three others.

She remembers her logic at the time: at this point, her employees
have seen her wear scandalously short skirts and dresses several
times now. If she does not continue to do so, she thinks, they
might start to ask why she did so last week. Was it to get the
promotion that she ultimately received? Was it under orders from
someone, like her employee Steve, as many may already be thinking?
Even if it might have been, or under orders from Cheryl, she had to
make people believe it was her own choice. It was her only chance
of maintaining authority. This has to look like my own
stubbornness, my own sense of impractical but irrefutable style. So
she shopped for more skirts last weekend, finding the shortest,
most daring ones that still looked vaguely office appropriate --
and then made them more daring still with a little inexpensive
alteration. Remembering one of her very first skirt days, she had
decided not to try on the shortened grey skirt before leaving for
work that Monday.

Ever since leaving Friday's party, a nagging anxiety had built in
her. The glorious orgasm she enjoyed, she now remembers, was seen
by everyone she works with. She had run to the bathroom afterwards,
and then she had come out to demand a ride home from Steve.
Everyone watched them leave together. They must have assumed they
were going to have sex. Probably even Steve assumed this, but
instead they had a very quiet and awkward ride back into the city.
"See you on Monday" were perhaps the only four words Lisa said to
Steve in the car, except for occasional directions to her home.
Right now, Lisa is worrying what Steve will think when he sees her.
She is worried what everyone else has assumed, and what this will
mean for her new position of authority.

The black stockings were another new purchase, one of many. She
knew her skirts would be short, and bare legs seemed like too much
flesh on display in the office. But Cheryl had forbidden pantyhose.
So these hold-up stockings seemed to be the right choice. She spent
quite some time in the lingerie store finding a size and style that
would sit very high on her upper thighs, so that the elastic tops
would be fully hidden under the short skirts. This turned out to be
difficult to do, and although the pairs she found seemed that they
would be sufficiently high, the elastic was never quite enough to
hold them high enough. So she knew she would be constantly
adjusting them, pulling them higher, likely showing her panties to
anyone who happened to be looking. But what other choice was there?

She tried garter belts as well, but these were even worse. None
seemed to be short enough to hold the stockings fully under the
skirts she intended to stubbornly wear. Moreover, when she tried
them on she thought of Steve, and as she shopped on Saturday and
then again on Sunday she wanted to forget about Steve, about his
hesitation, about the embarrassing situation he allowed herself to
put her in. If he was to see under her skirt, she didn't want him
to think she was wearing the garter-belt gift he had given her on
that first date.

Was that a date? Lisa realizes why she is angry at Steve.
Everything seems so ambiguous with him. The uncertainty of their
situation made her want to avoid him, but she knew she could not,
as he was still one of her most valuable employees, and would
likely be even more so in her new position.

And then there's Cheryl. There is no ambiguity with Cheryl. As she
thinks of Cheryl she feels impelled to cross her legs. Her attempt
to do so leads her to lightly kick a standing passenger with her
silver shoes with the four-inch heel, another new purchase, this
one anticipating the raise she expects. It also leads her skirt to
fall back, briefly exposing the creamy flesh above the black
stocking before she pulls the grey wool skirt back down, followed
by a light adjustment of the matching grey jacket. She could feel
enough cool air on the bottom of her thigh to suspect that part of
her bare thigh was still on view to some passengers on the crowded
train, but having crossed her legs and made such a fuss, she
figures she has to stubbornly stay in this position.

Stubborness now seems a requirement, she thinks, in the strategy
that has been building in her all weekend. She must stubbornly obey
Cheryl's arbitrary requests. No pantyhose. No orgasms without
permission. No orgasms on non-skirt days. Panties must match shoes.
To disobey is to show a weakness that will eliminate all hope of
feeling the confidence that has guided her to this point. She knows
that Cheryl owns her. It is not only that she promised herself or
that she promised Joan to obey in her skirt. It is not even the
video that Cheryl has, the one of her so blatantly and heatedly
playing with herself in the office where she works.

No, she knows that is not where Cheryl's power is. She realizes now
that Cheryl's power comes from the fact that, even now, Lisa is
aroused and very, very wet.

The sight of the short grey skirt, chosen for Cheryl's request to
come to work on Monday wearing "one of your short little skirts,"
starts the tingle. The sight of the lace of her stocking tops,
reminding her of Cheryl's order to not wear pantyhose, elevates the
tingle to an itch.

And she remembers, has remembered all weekend, among all her
thoughts, her worries, and her anxieties, Cheryl's promise that on
Monday morning, she would arrive in the new office, give Cheryl a
foot massage, and then be allowed to cum while rubbing her pussy on
Cheryl's nylon-covered toes.

She has imagined herself doing this. At first, shortly after the
party, the idea of it seemed somewhat revolting. But as the weekend
progressed and she shopped for her new position, her desire began
to build, and she knew this would be her next orgasm. By Saturday
afternoon the desire for contact from Cheryl in that sensitive
place -- even if only from her nylon-covered toes -- seemed like it
would be the most pleasurable feeling imaginable, and now, knowing
that this event could be only minutes away, her pussy is dripping
with need. It starts to feel hot, almost uncomfortably so, so she
uncrosses her stocking-clad legs, carefully avoiding the other
passenger, and lets her thighs part just enough to feel fresh air
on her bare upper thighs and her hot pussy covered in her new
silver satin thong panties.

She thinks of the times on this train where some person or persons
felt her thighs under her skirt. She never knew who that was, but
wished they would find her now, pull her up from her seat, rip her
panties off, and. . .

The lustful thought is interrupted by the train reaching Lisa's
station. She stands and pushes her way through the crowd, knowing
that her stockings need adjustment, that the tops of them can
almost certainly be seen as she rushes out of the train and to the
escalator. Ignoring the inevitable fact that someone some number of
steps down from that elevator must be able to see up her skirt, to
see her bare thighs, her bare cheeks, her shiny panties . . . she
says to herself she must be stubborn, as if she doesn't care, as if
this is all her own deliberate choice as a woman.

When she gets to the office, she finds that she does not actually
know where to go. She knew that her informally announced promotion
means moving into office 3311, the one with the glass face to the
cubicle sea on one side and a view of the city skyline from its
wide window on the other. But she is not sure if she can occupy the
office yet, and when she starts by walking to its door, her
uncertainty is higher still. She gingerly opens its door and looks
around. There is one desk in the office, facing the window, but
there is also a filing cabinet in the middle of the floor facing
the wrong way, and a desk chair and mat across the office but no
desk. The shelves are empty, but there is a plastic bag of what
looks like garbage resting in the corner. She steps in to take a
closer look, and then is startled by the sound of the door shutting
behind her. She turns around, and sees that Cheryl has followed her
in.

"Good morning," says Lisa, not sure, feeling somehow like she
should bow, or kneel. The site of Cheryl, wearing a form-fitting
burgundy sweater, a knee-length black cotton skirt, dark pantyhose,
and elegant black leather anklet boots, immediately reminds Lisa of
Cheryl's promise. Lisa finds herself looking at Cheryl's boot-clad
feet, wishing immediately to remove the boots and begin the
humiliating ritual she was promised on Friday.

"Nice skirt," says Cheryl, approaching Lisa, grabbing the hem of
her short wool skirt, and giving it a straightening tug. "It looks
quite good on your long legs."

Lisa blushes, still looking at Cheryl's feet. Why does she suddenly
feel like a child? She is an important professional woman in this
office.

"The office isn't ready," said Cheryl. "This is my desk, but your
desk had a problem, and they're getting a new one from inventory.
It should be here this afternoon. You should use your cubicle until
then."

"So we're literally sharing this office?" asked Lisa.

"We are, and the job too. But don't worry. I won't stand in the way
of all the revolutionary changes to account management you wrote
about in your email to Jim last month."

A look of alarm flashes on Lisa's face. "You read that?"

"Sure."

"But it was a private email to Jim! Did he share it with you?"

"Don't worry about it," says Cheryl, "You got the job, didn't you?
Now you should get to your cubicle and prepare to move. By the time
you return from your appointment today, your new desk should be
ready, and you'll need to move all of your files and personal
effects over."

"I'm sorry, appointment? I didn't think I had any appointments
today."

"I made you one." Cheryl reaches into a pocket in her skirt and
retrieves a piece of paper, and hands it to Lisa. Lisa opens it and
sees simply a handwritten address, a few blocks away, and a time:
11am.

"What's this?" asks Lisa, looking on the other side of the paper
for any further information.

"It's going to be a regular appointment for you now, every three
weeks on Monday. Just go to that address, and they'll take care of
you."

"But what . . ."

"No more questions," says Cheryl, starting to walk out of the
office.

"Wait," says Lisa.

Cheryl pauses, turns around, and folds her arms. "Yes?"

"On Friday you said if I wore a short skirt, you'd let me . . ."

"Let you what?"

Lisa looks down at her stockinged legs revealed by her short skirt.
She can feel that her satin panties were getting wet again.

"You know, massage your feet?" She lifts her head only enough to
see Cheryl's nylon-covered calves between her long skirt and her
short boots.

"I see," says Cheryl. "As usual, only your wet pussy is on your
mind." She walks back to Lisa, and unbuttons her grey wool jacket.
She then unbuttons the top button from her blouse. "Go to your
appointment, and remember to do what you're told in that skirt."
She unbuttoned the next button. "After lunch, we'll go over the
office rules, now that we have to share." She unbuttoned another,
revealing Lisa's cleavage and a hint of her white lacy bra. "If
you're very good and you've obeyed all your rules," Cheryl
continues as she widens the gap in Lisa's shirt, "and if I think
you haven't touched this blouse today, then maybe I'll let you
'massage my feet' as you call it. Okay?"

Lisa looks down at her silvery shoes and simply nods. She can feel
her wetness increase. She is not sure she can wait until the
afternoon.

"Okay," says Cheryl, and walks more abruptly out of the office.

As Lisa goes to her cubicle, she wonders why her body keeps
reacting this way. Why can't she stand up to Cheryl? Why can she
not take her mind off of sex?

She attempts to get her cubicle organized and packed in the
morning, interrupted only briefly by Jim who comes by, clearly
ogling the visible stocking tops peaking under her skirt and her
visible bra from her gaping blouse, and tells her that her new
office will indeed be ready this afternoon. At 10:30, Lisa adjust
her stockings and gets up to find this mysterious appointment that
Cheryl made for her. Although she estimates it is a short walk
away, she knows she walks slower than usual in her 4-inch heels.

Indeed, as she walks down the street in the downtown area, she
begins to regret buying heels quite so high. It is not so much that
they are uncomfortable -- it is more that they make her walk with a
posture that seems to lift her ass and show it to the world, and
she can almost feel the gazes of passers-by on the street, looking
at her long stocking-colored legs revealed by the short skirt.
After walking only a block, she realizes that her right stocking
has slipped enough to show the lacy top beneath the hem of her
skirt, so she steps aside to pull it up again, knowing that people
are watching her.

When finally she reaches the address, she sees that it is an
upscale beauty salon. She feels a nervousness in her stomach. She
has allowed Cheryl to control her choice of clothes, but a salon
means that Cheryl now wants to take control of other aspects of her
appearance. A new hairstyle, perhaps?

She enters the salon and finds it rather busy with women, mostly
older, under hair-dryers and in chairs chatting with their
stylists. She approaches the front desk and tells the
receptionist---a teenage-girl in tight black jeans, a lime-green
tank top, and clearly no bra---that she has an appointment. The
girl looks in her book.

"Ah yes, here you are. Looks like you're set up for a Brazilian
with Angie."

"A Brazilian?"

"Angie's the BEST. You'll barely notice she's working! She's with
another client right now so please have a seat."

It takes Lisa a second for this to sink in. Oh my god, she means to
wax off all of my pubic hair! Lisa has never imagined doing such a
thing, thinking it the behavior of porn stars. But more
importantly, it seems so . . . personal. This is what Cheryl likes?
Although Lisa is apprehensive, the idea of "being prepared" for
Cheryl leaves her tingling.

She sits in a chair in front of the salon, giving her skirt a tug
to try to hide her constantly appearing stocking tops. She idly
flips through the fashion magazines on the nearby table, seeing
plenty of women in short skirts, with crazy hair and crazy high
heels. This is not a world she is used to, but she tries to tell
herself this is normal. Most women do this, right?

Finally, a woman approaches her and offers her a hand. "You must be
Lisa," she says. "I'm Angie." Lisa takes her hand and stands up.
"Come with me," says Angie.

Angie leads her to a room in the back with a padded table. "Go
ahead and take off your skirt and panties, if you're wearing any.
You can just lower your stockings to your knees," says Angie,
"while I get the wax ready."

Lisa nods, nervously, noting that Angie knew she was wearing
stockings instead of pantyhose, more evidence that everyone can see
more than they probably should. She unzips the grey wool skirt and
pulls it down, revealing her bare thighs. She feels a little
strange taking off her panties in front of Angie, but knows she has
to get over it, as at this point she has no choice. She pushes her
stockings down to her knees. Should she take off her shoes? she is
not sure, and decides against it. She puts her skirt and panties on
a nearby counter. Angie pats the table, beckoning Lisa to lie on
it, which she does.

"Have you done this before?" Angie asks. Lisa says no, never.
"Well," says Angie, "it's better to just ignore me and think about
something else. I work pretty fast so you'll be done in no time.
Close your eyes, and think about being someplace else."

Lisa does just that. She closes her eyes and thinks about this
coming afternoon. She allows Angie to handle her thighs as she
imagines her new desk, her new office, and the lovely orgasm Cheryl
has promised to give her this afternoon. She feels Angie dabbing
her sex with a towel; she tries not to think about how wet she has
been all day, and what Angie must think of her. Instead she tries
to piece together her feelings about Cheryl. Is she responding to
blackmail, or is she seeking Cheryl's approval? She realizes that
as she proceeds, she rarely thinks about those videos, or anything
else Cheryl might do to ruin her. No, she thinks of Cheryl's
approval; she thinks about how much more intense her orgasms are
when she has Cheryl's permission. As she thinks about this, she
feels something warm being spread on her, and it feels good. She
thinks back to Cheryl's nylon-covered legs. That simple little
promise . . .

"OWWW!" she screams as she feels the wax being pulled away from
her. Angie pats her knee. "It's going well," she says. Just a few
more. And then wax after wax, pull after pull, rip after rip
centers the entire universe on her tender sex. Lisa bites her lower
lip to suppress any further screaming.

"That's it," says Angie. "Believe it or not, you're done. And you
look great! Go ahead and put your clothes back on and meet me out
front." Angie cleans up a little, and walks out of the room.

Lisa looks down at her now bare pussy. There is not a single hair
visible. Every detail of her slit is visible. Her pubic area is a
little red and it stings from the waxing. Lisa has not seen it so
bare since she was a little, pre-teen girl. She thinks about the
fact that Cheryl has done this to her, that Cheryl has this much
control over her. She gets off the table and takes her skirt from
the counter where she left it. She doesn't see her panties,
however. Maybe they fell on the ground? She searches the floor, the
entirety of the counter, and eventually the entire room. She cannot
find them!

She pulls the skirt on and adjusts her stockings, pulling them as
high as she can. Without panties and now without the slight
protection of her pubic hair, she feels more naked than ever. She
pulls the skirt as low as it will go -- not much -- and walks out
of the room to find Angie.

Angie is at the front desk, preparing a bill. Lisa immediately asks
her, in a hushed but urgent tone, "Angie, I can't find my panties."

"Are you sure you were wearing them when you came in?" Angie asks.

"Of course I was!"

"Well, where did you put them?"

"On the counter, in the room."

"I'll keep an eye out for them. In the meantime, I've prepared your
bill. I have a cream that I recommend to help the stinging, would
you like to purchase a jar?"

"Sure, fine, but I really don't want to leave without panties. This
skirt is too short to go without them."

"Fine, hold on."

Angie walks back to the back room, and returns after a couple
minutes. "I don't see them. I don't think you were wearing any."

Lisa feels panicked. She did not imagine spending this day without
panties. But she does not seem to have any other options.

"I guess I wasn't," she says, wondering whether Cheryl is somehow
behind this. She pulls her wallet from her purse to hand over a
credit card.

"If I find them later," Angie says as she swipes the card, "I'll
hold on to them until your next visit. See you in a few weeks!"

The walk back from the salon is very different to Lisa. Still she
can feel the eyes from passers-by on her tiny skirt and her
stocking-clad legs, but now she knows that ever-so-slightly out of
view is her very bare pussy, devoid of all hair and starting, once
again, to get wet. Indeed, she can feel her own moisture on her
sensitive skin, as she walks the few blocks in her high heels. She
is glad that when she returns, she will have the privacy of her own
office.

Finally Lisa reaches the door of her building. Before she can walk
in, though, a half-dozen women walk out, and among them, in a short
pink pleated skirt, grey tights, and a white off-the-shoulder
sweatshirt is Yukie.

"There you are!" she says to Lisa. "We were looking for you!"

Lisa looks at the women. Besides Yukie, she also recognizes Audrey,
who is Jim's secretary. This must be the secretaries' lunch Yukie
had mentioned. Audrey in particular seems to be giving Lisa a funny
look.

"Will you join us for lunch?" asks Yukie, full of enthusiasm.

"Um," hesitates Lisa.

"You said you would! You must. I want everyone to meet you." Lisa
feels a sharp breeze under her skirt on her naked sex, and it blows
open her unbuttoned blouse, reminding her of Cheryl, and her
reminder that she obeys on skirt days. "Yes," says Lisa, resigned,
I'll come.

And so Yukie says "Great! This is Nancy, Racquel, Yoon, Rachel, and
Audrey." Lisa shakes hands one at a time, saying "I'm Lisa, pleased
to meet you" to each one, except when she gets to Audrey, she
declares "Audrey and I actually work on the same floor."

Audrey, in her tan pants and simple black blouse, has her arms
crossed and says "Yeah, I work for Lisa's boss. Lisa's quite the
favorite -- I can't tell you how many times she's taken
off-schedule meetings." Lisa laughs, but sees that Audrey seems a
little annoyed, but perhaps also a little amused?

The women walk down the block, Lisa more conscious than ever of her
gait in her high heels and the moisture from her naked sex which is
starting to accumulate and drip onto her bare thighs. Why am I so
aroused all the time these days, she wonders, as she quietly
follows the group into a diner on the corner. The ladies are guided
to a C-shaped large booth, and Yukie tells the women in which order
to go into the booth so that Lisa sits in the middle. As she slides
in, she feels her skirt ride up past her stockings. She hope that
neither Racquel, who was already in place on her left, or Audrey,
who slides in after her on her right, saw her thighs, or even
worse, her completely naked sex.

"So," says Yukie, after everyone has ordered, "I have to tell all
you how Lisa and I met."

Lisa turns red. "No, please don't."

"No, it's too funny!"

Lisa squirms. "Yukie, please, I don't think . . ."

"So, I'm sitting at my desk one day," Yukie begins, unperturbed.
The other women listen intently. "And I get a phone call, from
Cheryl. You know Cheryl, right Audrey?"

Audrey nods. "I've known her for years," she says, and as she says
so, Lisa suddenly feels Audrey's left hand rest on her right knee.
This is strange, Lisa thinks, but is mostly worried about Yukie
continuing her story. Cheryl called Yukie that day?

"So Cheryl call me, and she says this executive woman is on her way
to me, and that I should give her fashion advice."

"Fashion advice?" asks Rachel. "What does that mean?"

"I did not know!" says Yukie, laughing, "but seconds later, here
comes Lisa, she tells me her name, and she asks to take me for
coffee!"

Lisa does not like this story being told, but is beginning to be
distracted by Audrey's hand, which is gently squeezing Lisa's knee.
Audrey, like everyone else, is looking intently at Yukie, and Lisa
cannot figure out what her touch means.

"So," Yukie continues, "we get in the elevator, and when we get
out, Lisa pulls me into public bathroom! And she asks if we can
trade skirts!"

The girls laugh, and Lisa blushes. She feels like she wants to run
away, but she is trapped in between these girls, and Audrey's hand
has just slipped higher, now obviously in contact with the exposed
elastic of her stay-up stocking.

"Yeah!" says Yukie. "Lisa told me she was playing a game with some
guy, and she had to wear the shortest skirt."

"That's kinda hot," says Nancy, and asks Lisa, "who's this guy?
Your boyfriend?"

Lisa is about to answer when she feels Audrey's hand squeeze her
thigh, starting to touch her bare inner thigh. "Probably Steve,"
she says. "Was it Steve?" she asks, finally looking Lisa in the eye
but not removing her hand from under the table.

Lisa pauses. "I'd rather not say," she says.

Audrey slides her hand higher, and Lisa finds the feeling of this
female hand on her sensitive inner thigh strange but arousing. "Oh
god, it wasn't Jim, was it?"

Lisa sighs some relief to know that Audrey didn't "know" it was
Steve, but still says nothing, and puts her hand on Audrey's,
preventing it from sliding higher, from discovering her naked,
shaved, and dripping wet pussy.

"It was just a game," Lisa says, trying to end the story, and
thankfully at that moment the food arrives, and Audrey's hand comes
above the table.

Once the orders are distributed to each girl, Yukie continues. "But
do you still play it? Your skirts are still very short for an
executive. They look good."

"No," says Lisa, "that game is over. I just enjoy the look of short
skirts. They are very fashionable today, just look at the
magazines." Lisa is looking at her salad as she says this, hoping
that her choice of wardrobe will appear her own choice today.

"We should go shopping together," Yukie says. "I know great places
to buy cute sexy skirts. You'll love it!"

"Sure," says Lisa, sensing that Audrey is looking down her blouse,
which she just remembered is half unbuttoned.

"Okay", says Yukie, "how about Saturday? We meet at the mall.
 You can wear my skirt and I can wear yours and we'll trade.
 Anyone want to come with?"

Audrey says "Oh, I would!"

After they finish their food, they continue to chat, mostly about
office politics, as they wait for the check. Lisa mostly stays
silent, but while the other girls are chatting about ridiculous
paperwork for ordering office supplies, she feels Audrey's hand
return to her thigh. Audrey is looking at the other women as they
speak, her head turned away from Lisa even as she rubs her. Lisa
could stand the tension no longer and whispers quietly in her ear,
"What are you doing?"

Audrey does not turn or answer, but slides her hand higher, up
under Lisa's skirt, and before Lisa can stop her, she slides the
side of her hand against Lisa's naked and wet pussy. The sudden
touch and the knowledge of Audrey's discovery make Lisa squirm, and
she attempts to cross her legs but can not in the tight booth.
Audrey continues looking at the other women, until the check
arrives, and they start removing themselves from the booth.

Lisa gave her skirt a strong tug as she exited the booth and tried
to pull her jacket and blouse closed. She looked at Audrey but
Audrey did not look back, instead following the women as they left
the restaurant and returned to the office as if nothing unusual had
happened.

When Lisa reaches her new office, she is delighted to finally
return to a place of her own, where she can be away from the
humiliation of being so nearly naked with those secretaries. When
she reaches 3311, she finds it in much better shape. She discovers
her name has been put on the door, right underneath Cheryl's. And
now the office is tidy, and there are two desks. Cheryl's faces the
glass window looking out on the skyline. And hers faces the glass
window facing the rest of the office.

She sees that Cheryl's desk is already set up with Cheryl's
belongings, and begins the process of moving her own stuff from her
cubicle. As she makes the multiple trips from her cubicle to her
office, she feels the eyes of her coworkers watch her move,
carrying stacks of papers and supplies in her high heels. She
worries that her stocking tops have fallen where they might be
visible, and attempts to adjust them every time she thinks she is
out of sight.

Although she knows many are watching her, only Steve approaches her
and strikes up a conversation, although he does not offer to help
carry things.

"New office, eh?" he says, clearly ogling her stocking-covered
legs, barely covered by her tiny grey skirt, and her cleavage
revealed by the blouse gaping still gaping open beneath her trim
jacket.

"Yes," she says, as she carries a stack of papers, many of them
prepared for her in months past by Steve. "Big step!"

"Big steps can't be easy in those heels," he says. She wonders
whether this is supposed to be a joke.

"People are talking about last night, you know," he says.

Lisa feels herself turning red.

"What are they saying?"

"Some of the guys asked 'how you were.' They think I'm being a
gentleman by not saying."

"I see."

"You know," he said, just as she enters the office, "I'd like to
find out."

She doesn't respond as she enters the office and then shuts the
door behind her. She doesn't have the energy to deal with Steve
right now. The thought of what people must be saying about her,
about her behavior last night, about the sight of her in this
outfit moving her things, it is too much. She sits down in the new
leather executive office chair -- HER chair, by HER new desk, and
thinks about how nice it is to finally have an office of her own.

Especially, she notes, because she sees her skirt has ridden up
indecently. Her stocking tops are not only visible, but about an
inch of naked skin above them. With her relaxed legs uncrossed,
surely it cannot be hard to see her panties -- if she were wearing
any. Was her skirt ridden up like that when she came in? She
briefly stands to pull down her skirt, instinctively looking around
to see who might be watching! But of course, no one is watching,
this is a private office!

Not that private, she realizes, as her desk faces a
floor-to-ceiling window looking out on a corridor between cubicles,
and he sees people glancing as her as they walk from desk to desk.
No matter, she thinks, the desk is here. But then she notices that
the desk hides nothing; with no front panel it does nothing to hide
her legs from someone standing outside the office.

That's not good, she thinks. In her current state, someone could
see that she was wearing stockings; worse, that she had no panties;
and now, that she was waxed bare.

Fortunately, the window has vertical blinds, and quickly she gets
up and closes them.

It is strange, she thinks, that her desk doesn't have a panel. The
desks all seem to be the same in the offices, and she knew Jim's
desk has a panel. She stands up and walks to Cheryl's desk, moves
her chair, and bends over to peer under her desk. Cheryl's
otherwise identical desk has a panel too! What the?

Just then she hears the door open. She is still bending over the
desk and bangs the back of her head as she starts to stand up.
"What are you doing?" says Cheryl as she walks in.

"I was just noticing," says Lisa, as she rubs the back of her
throbbing head, "that your desk has a front panel and mine
doesn't."

"So?"

"Well, my desk faces this big glass window, and if the blinds are
open, and if I'm wearing a skirt, I worry that people will be able
to see under the desk."

"So?"

"Well." Lisa sees that Cheryl is smirking. Her heart briefly sinks.
At her cubicle, while working, her legs were hidden under her desk
and by the cubicle wall. Now, in her supposedly private office,
things are worse. Now her legs will be there, on display, all day,
for anyone walking among the cubicles. Her privacy has actually
decreased.

Cheryl smiles and approaches her. She unbuttons the next button of
her blouse, fully exposing Lisa's lacy white bra. "Did you adjust
this blouse today?"

Lisa shakes her head, looking into Cheryl's eyes. The assertiveness
with which she approached, the direct question, and now the privacy
of their office makes her realize the potential of her situation,
and she feels that she is suddenly (once again) sopping wet.

Cheryl unbuttons Lisa's jacket and another button of the blouse,
the second-to-last of the untucked blouse. "And did you go to your
appointment?"

"Yes," says Lisa, nodding, looking into Cheryl's severe, steady
gaze.

Cheryl unbuttons the final button, and the blouse falls open. "And
do you still want your reward?"

Lisa feels her wetness dripping down her thigh. "God yes, please,"
says Lisa, realizing fully the power Cheryl now has over her, and
how much she craves it.

Cheryl sits down in her chair. "Go ahead and take off my boots."

Lisa gets on her knees, and unzips Cheryl's boots, pulling them off
one at a time. She has never before considered herself a lesbian,
and she has never until now thought about how sexy a woman's foot
is, but at the present moment Cheryl's stockinged feet look like
the most erotic thing she has ever seen. She relishes the feel of
them after she removes each boot, and slowly lets them go to the
floor.

"You may take my right foot, and you may do as you like with it."

"Should I take off my skirt?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate for the office, do you?"

"No, of course not," says Lisa, as she crawls on her knees closer
to Cheryl and takes the right foot, placing it on her thigh and
sliding it upwards, relishing the feeling of the nylon foot sliding
onto and upwards on her bare thigh as she guides it.

"Go ahead," says Cheryl, "don't be shy."

As Lisa presses Lisa's big toe against her sex, she almost -- but
not quite -- orgasms immediately. Feeling an urgency to her need,
she immediately begins rubbing her throbbing, engorged clit against
the stockinged foot.

"Now," says Cheryl, "your first rule is that you must not come
without my permission. Do you remember?"

"Yes," says Lisa, "I remember, please, please, Cheryl, may I please
please come?"

"No. But don't stop rubbing." She wiggles her big toe and Lisa
gasps. "While you do that, I want to make sure you remember all the
rules we have."

"Rules?"

"Yes, rules. Rule number one is no orgasms without permission. What
other rules do we have?"

Lisa continues to rub, starting to insert Cheryl's toe ever so
slightly into her wet slit. "Um, when I wear a skirt, I am to obey
all instructions."

"Good. What else?"

"Um, I may only masturbate on skirt days."

"Good. What else?"

Lisa feels close to orgasm. The contact of the nylon on her pussy,
her bare, recently waxed, sopping wet, untouched-all-day pussy is
too much, and she feels the orgasm beginning. She slows down the
rubbing.

"Don't slow down" says Cheryl.

Lisa tries to pick up the pace again.

"What else?"

"Um . . . " Lisa is finding it hard to concentrate. "Um, no
pantyhose allowed?"

"Good. What else?"

"Umm, my panties much match my shoes?"

"Okay, we'll call that a rule too. Do you panties match your shoes
now?"

"Um."

"We'll make an exception when you go without, I guess, since you
seem to like that."

Lisa feels her orgasm rapidly approaching again.

"Please, may I please come now?"

"Not quite yet. What other rules do you have?"

"Um."

"What other rules do you have?"

"Um. Wednesdays. All Wednesdays are skirt days."

"Just skirt days?"

"Departmental meeting days?"

"Didn't you agree with Steve that Wednesdays are the SHORTEST skirt
days?"

"Oh, yeah."

"So what's the rule?"

"On Wednesdays I will wear the shortest skirt in the world. If I
see anyone in a shorter skirt I will remove my panties."

"Good. And now I have another rule for you. These blinds, I don't
like them closed. We should not separate ourselves from our
employees. They need to see us working. On skirt days, you are not
to close them without my permission."

Lisa pushes hard against the foot. She worries she cannot stop the
coming orgasm, but she fights it. "But Cheryl, in my short skirts
people will be able to see my panties."

"Then you'd better keep your legs together, hmm?"

She feels the orgasm coming fast. "Okay, anything, please, please
may I come now?"

Cheryl pauses, clearly enjoying the feeling of a horny submissive
woman in a short skirt and unbuttoned blouse riding her foot and
begging her for release.

"Wait for it" says Cheryl.

Lisa cannot hold back. "PLEASE"

"Wait for it."

Lisa knows she can wait no longer. She clenches her teeth and
squeezes her eyes closed.

"Oh god PLEASE" she cries.

All of a sudden Cheryl wiggles her toes and lifts her leg, and the
added pressure sends Lisa over the edge. She cannot help but let
out a stifled scream as the orgasm washes over her.

"Yes," says Cheryl. "You may come."

Lisa rides multiple waves of the orgasm, pushing the foot away as
she relaxes on the rough carpeted floor, the front of her skirt and
the tops of her stocking tops sopping wet with her own juices. As
she begins to calm, she realizes how much noise she must have made,
and prays that no one heard.

"Now," says Cheryl, "you should thank me."

"Oh, thank you, thank you."

"Now, my foot seems to be very very wet. Take your blouse off and
dry it off.

Lisa pulls off her jacket and her blouse and wraps the blouse
around Cheryl's foot, wiping the wetness into the white cotton.

"Now," says Cheryl, "you can put that blouse back on, button it up,
and go open the blinds."

Lisa does so. The blouse is damp, like her skirt. It smells of sex.

"There are two papers on your desk," continues Cheryl. "Have a seat
and let's go over them."

Lisa sits at her text, tugging her damp skirt knowing that her legs
and bare, still wet pussy will be on display to the whole office if
she is not careful. She sees two small sheets. The first is clearly
a legal document, containing many lines of small, difficult-to-read
text. The heading reads "Consent and waiver to WS Industries, LLC."

"What is WS Industries, LLC?" asks Lisa.

"That is Martin's company. This form is essentially indicating your
consent to test products produced by the company, and waive any
rights to litigate in the case of malfunction. But don't worry --
Martin's very good, nothing ever goes wrong."

Lisa starts reading the legalese of the form, but cannot make much
sense of it.

"Don't bother," says Cheryl. "It's lawyer-speak. Anyway, your
little skirt indicates that you don't have a choice. Sign it, and
give it to me."

Lisa does so, seeing that the next paper in the stack is a letter
to her on her company's letterhead. She begins to read it, and sees
that it is an announcement of her promotion, including a
substantial payraise. Even though she knew it was coming, and even
though her situation is nowhere near what she ever imagined, it
still brings her joy to see it in print.

"And yes, it's official. We've both been promoted. It's a good
thing we get more pay too because you're going to need it on
wardrobe improvements. Shoes aren't cheap!"

Lisa reads the letter a second time, still feeling the warm
afterglow of her orgasm. She cannot remember feeling happier.

"Now listen," says Cheryl. "Here's the deal. You deserved this
promotion, I know it, everyone knows it. You've been working harder
than hell and never settling, never compromising. I know you want
to change things from this position, and you'll probably be
promoted again and will change things even more later. Take my word
for it, whatever else I make you do, I won't stand in your way.

"Me, on the other hand, I don't think I deserved it. You seem to
want the extra responsibility. I don't. I spend most of my day on
the internet, chatting with a community of sadists and masochists,
working only when I have to. And I intend to keep it that way.
You're in control of the business side of this office, but you're
going to make sure I still get paid. When it needs to look like a
memo, or an invoice, or a report is coming from me, I will sign the
associated form and leave it in your bottom right drawer. You will
write the report or whatever and hand it to Jim with my name on it.
Roughly half the output of this office will appear to come from
you, and roughly half will appear to come from me. In fact it will
all come from you. If you don't like it, if you try to complain, I
WILL ruin you, and you know I can. Is this clear?"

Lisa, in part humiliated but in part pleased that she won't
actually have to argue with Cheryl about business decisions, nods
and says "Yes, I understand."

"Great. Now, a few more things. One mistake I've seen you make is
that you take Jim way too seriously. He is a total pushover. He
also will not stand in your way. If he has any complaints about
what you do here, just saunter over there in that skirt and shove
your boobs in his face. He will back down. If he doesn't, talk to
Audrey. She'll tell you the real scoop about what's going on with
him. He's more likely to make a decision based on yesterday's golf
game than on any real analysis or thought. Audrey is the only one
who understand what's going on in that office anyway. I've seen you
ignoring her, walking right past her to have useless conversations
with Jim. From now on you make appointments with Audrey first, and
get her advice on whatever you need from Jim. You'll find things
happen more effectively that way. Is this clear?"

"Yes, I think so. Is Audrey . . . um . . ."

"What?"

"Is she into girls?"

Cheryl laughs. "Are you?"

Lisa blushes and is not sure what to say.

"Now," says Cheryl, "you'll see that there's already a pile of
paperwork in your lower right drawer. And you might not want to
leave this office for a while. You really smell. I'm heading home
early today. Tomorrow, I suggest you not wear a skirt. There will
be lots to do and I can't have you begging to play with yourself
all day. Is this clear?"

"I guess," says Lisa, not sure if she is disappointed.

"Great. Have a good first day, Assistant Director."

And Cheryl walks out, leaving Lisa with her thoughts, and with her
papers. As she pulls the not insubstantial stack of her papers from
her drawer and starts looking through the material, she thinks
fondly of her orgasm, and wonders why exactly it felt as good as it
did, given that it SHOULD have been completely humiliating. Her
smile somehow persists in a way it doesn't usually, even as the
moisture on her naked sex begins to dry and she feels an urge to
soothe her sore, tender, recently waxed flesh, but doesn't, knowing
how anyone could see through her new office window.