It is with a heavy heart that I have to report to you that I am a victim of sexual harassment. I don’t like to do this, but in the light of your email yesterday (“Making the Workplace a Safe Space”), I feel I owe it not just to myself, but to all of the women in the office, to bring this matter to your attention.
First, some context. As you know, I have lost a lot of weight over the past year: over sixty pounds, in fact. I am quite proud of my new figure – understandably and justifiably, I hope you’ll agree – and as the weight came off, I started wearing shorter hemlines in order to show off my legs. And yes, I knew I was breaking the 2-inches-above-the-knee rule, but that rule is rarely if ever enforced – Polly Cope and Danita Thompson get away with shorter skirts all the time. Please don’t think I’m trying to get them into trouble! I just mention them as evidence that it doesn’t seem to be a very important rule, as far as management is concerned.
Anyway, I hoped Max wouldn’t object ... and nor did he. Quite the reverse, in fact: he was very complimentary. I was flattered, at first ... but then he started getting a little more ... attentive. Coming up behind me in my cube, he would put his hands on my shoulders, and lean over me, and talk to me with his face just inches from mine. It seemed a little ... what’s the word ... ‘familiar’, I guess ... but, you know, he’s a good-looking older man. It didn’t really bother me too much – I guess I was still feeling flattered.
But then he started actually massaging my shoulders as he talked to me ... and his visits were becoming more and more frequent. Whereas previously he would come and see me maybe once or twice during the course of any given day, and often not at all, now he was visiting me four or five times every day. And on the slightest of pretexts; sometimes he would just ask me how things were going, or what I was up to. And always the hands, massaging my shoulders.
On one occasion I tried to forestall the inevitable shoulder-massage by turning my chair around to face him as I heard him approaching my cube. But I had not thought this through as well as perhaps I should have; my skirt, which was pretty short to begin with, had ridden up as I sat, and was showing quite a lot of my thighs. This of course was not lost on Max, who looked down at my legs and said, “Whoa, what a pretty sight! Your legs really look fabulous, Angie.” Feeling rather embarrassed, I clasped my hands in my lap, but during the ensuing conversation, he could barely keep his eyes off my legs.
The next day, I wore pants. I didn’t want to – I liked feeling slim and sexy in a short skirt – but I felt I should try to discourage Max from escalating his attentions. But Max was not happy about this. The first time he came to my cube, I turned around ... and he said, “No miniskirt today, Angie?” He sounded (and looked) so disappointed! I mumbled some remark about variety being the spice of life, or something, but he said, “Please stick with the miniskirts, Angie – you shouldn’t be hiding those gorgeous legs away.” And then he turned and walked away!
I was stunned. I couldn’t believe he’d actually said that. I knew it was wrong of him to do so, and that I could in theory report him for it ... but I didn’t want to make a fuss and cause strife. With the justification that I did enjoy wearing short skirts, I kind of talked myself into acquiescing to Max’s request. I just hoped that he would not try to take things any further.
That was a naive hope, of course, in hindsight. The next day, when Max came into my cube, I turned around with my hands clasped in my lap, and he said, “Good! Nice to see those legs again.” He sat down in my spare chair, and I had to keep my hands in my lap the whole time he was there, otherwise he’d probably have been able to see up my skirt. I did think about crossing my legs instead, but that might have given him a peek anyway.
Anyway, he didn’t stay long ... but a little while later, he was back, and this time I didn’t hear him coming. So I got another shoulder massage ... and I couldn’t help noticing that his hands were sliding further down at the front than previously ... his fingertips were dipping well below my collarbones.
At what point do you object, though? I’d sat through a bunch of these massages already; it seemed a bit foolish to complain just because his fingers were pushing down a bit lower than before. So I said nothing, even when his massaging kind of pulled my blouse open a bit and I caught a glimpse of my bra (I’m sure he did, too). At this point, the massage still didn’t seem particularly sexual – just over-familiar.
As a result of all these visits, Max and I were actually starting to to get to know each other pretty well. He was sharing all kinds of personal information and stories unrelated to work, and in the spirit of reciprocity I was doing the same. And for a while I was thinking, like, hey, this is pretty cool – maybe it’s worth enduring some uncomfortable physical contact. After all, Max is an interesting guy.
But little by little, he was pushing the envelope with the massages. His hands would roam all over my shoulders, then down my upper arms, almost halfway to my elbows ... then back up, over the shoulder joint and inwards almost to my neck, then down over my clavicles towards my breasts. By now I guess he was actually touching my breasts through my blouse, but it still didn’t seem like a major transgression ... I mean, as you move from the clavicle down towards the nipple, there’s no clear point where the breast begins, is there? He was still stopping short of the cups of my bra, so perhaps, even at that point, it didn’t really count as a grope. Still, he was definitely into the soft part of my chest, and inching closer and closer to my bra.
It sounds bad, I know, but it all happened so gradually! There was never any one point where I felt like he had crossed the line. It was like he was just nudging the line back further and further with each visit. But anyway, there came a time when he had something personal to tell me, and he didn’t want other people to hear ... so he pulled my spare chair all the way up to my desk, and sat down in it, right next to me. And he told me a very interesting story, which I won’t relate here.
While he was telling me this story, he casually laid a hand on my thigh. It seemed like a fairly innocent thing, and I was just internally debating whether to say something or gently push his hand away, when he removed it himself. There was no massage, no stroking ... it was barely more than a pat really. So I didn’t say anything.
But then he did it again ... for a little longer. I was beginning to get worried, but he did remove his hand; it was probably on my thigh for just a couple of seconds. I was expecting it to happen again, though, and for longer still, and I was prepared to do something about it ... but in fact he didn’t touch my thigh again. Not on that visit, anyway.
On the next visit ... which was the next morning ... he got to work massaging my shoulders as usual. I hadn’t noticed him approaching, as I was on the phone. His hands came pretty far down my chest, but once again stopped just before my bra. He spent enough time on my chest to make me feel a little uncomfortable, though, and I quickly wrapped up my call.
But as soon as I hung up, Max pulled up the spare chair and sat down next to me. We started chatting – it was quite nice at first – but then he put his hand on my thigh, a few inches above my knee. And then ... he gave my thigh a squeeze! And he said, “Wow, that’s some muscle tone, Angie – I can tell you’ve been hitting that treadmill a lot. You’re getting some great definition there.”
This was very gratifying, and I thanked him, and we talked about my fitness regimen ... and all the while, he was squeezing and stroking my thigh! I know I should not have ignored this, but I confess I was enjoying the fact that my new muscle tone was so evident to him. So I let it pass – for the moment. I had no intention of letting it become a habit. Anyway he stopped, and went back to his office ... but of course he came back a little later.
This time he massaged my shoulders and upper chest ... and the two sides of my blouse kept being pulled apart ... until suddenly my top button popped open! I was mortified, but Max just laughed! He said, “Oops! Well, I have been thinking you’re sometimes a little too buttoned-up. This is more comfortable and casual, don’t you think?”
Out of politeness, I agreed, but I was very aware that the gap in my blouse was now being pulled into a wide V every time he moved his hands outward, and my bra was getting a bit of exposure. I was very relieved when Max said he ought to get back to work, and left my cube. I quickly fastened the button he had inadvertently undone, and hoped he would not visit again for a while.
But of course he was back, shortly after lunch. He started massaging my shoulders, then he noticed I had done my button up again. “Oh!” he said. “I thought you were going to leave this one undone?” And he deliberately unfastened it! I was so flustered, I actually found myself apologising! Which was stupid, of course, because now I felt like I couldn’t fasten that button again, and would have to leave it undone for the rest of the day!
On his next visit ... just before the end of the day ... he did something different. He pulled up the spare chair, but turned it so it was pointing in the opposite direction from mine. This meant that we were very close when we were chatting ... and when he put his hand on my leg – as I expected him to – his fingertips, tucked between my thighs, were way higher up than they had been before. Very close to being under my skirt, in fact. And then he complimented my legs again, and started kneading and stroking my thigh ... and there were definitely times when his fingertips disappeared under my skirt. But I was so busy thanking him for his kind compliments and telling him about my latest adventures in fitness (my husband Jordan had just bought me an elliptical), that I didn’t really get a good opportunity to complain about Max’s hand. It just didn’t seem like the right time.
Speaking of Jordan ... I had told him some of what Max had been doing, though I did kind of tone it down a bit for his benefit. He wasn’t happy, naturally, and thought I should report Max ... but I told him I didn’t think it had gotten bad enough for that, and he agreed to let me play it by ear.
The next day, I reluctantly left my top button undone when I went into work. Not really the top button – just the topmost one that I usually fasten. But it was mid-morning before Max came over. First, he put his hands on my shoulders and then peered over to check out my buttons – and he voiced his approval when he saw the top one undone. He massaged my shoulders and upper chest while he talked to me ... I had become quite desensitized to this by now, as you might imagine, but I did feel uneasy when he slid his hands into the gap in my blouse, and started massaging the bare skin in the middle of my chest. He didn’t go any further than this, but it did make me a bit nervous.
On his next visit, he pulled up the spare chair and turned it around, like before, and sat down next to me. His hand almost immediately went to my thigh, and began massaging it. It wasn’t long before his fingers were creeping up beneath my skirt. I was literally about to say something, when he said, “You know, Angie, you could probably get away with wearing shorter skirts, if you wanted to. As you know, the two-inches-above-the-knee rule isn’t really enforced, and you certainly have the legs to carry it off.”
I was so taken aback, I didn’t know what to say. And while I was struggling for words, he was still stroking my thigh ... with half his hand disappearing up my skirt! Then he gave my inner thigh a squeeze, and pulled his hand out. “Think about it,” he said. “I think you would look amazing.”
I was so stunned, I didn’t even say anything as he left. The crazy thing was ... I was torn! On the one hand I had been enjoying showing off my legs, and seeing guys check me out ... and I had actually been considering trying a shorter hemline. On the other hand ... and the main reason I hadn’t done so yet ... I didn’t want to encourage Max! He was getting way too familiar, and having his hand up my skirt was kind of freaking me out.
On the flip side, I didn’t want to upset or disappoint Max either. So, after a lot of soul-searching, I came to a decision. I would wear a shorter skirt the following day ... but if he tried to put his hand up it, I would stop him, and tell him firmly to look but not touch.
This seemed like a good plan, and it helped get me through the afternoon, when he again sat down next to me and started massaging my thigh. This time he got his hand even further under my skirt ... so far in fact that I was afraid his fingertips were going to come into contact with my panties. Fortunately, this did not happen! But it further strengthened my resolve.
The next morning, I put on a skirt that came just halfway down my thighs. An outrageous flouting of the skirt length rule, I know ... but I figured since I had my boss’s approval it would be okay. I’m guessing it was about five inches above the knee. And when I sat down, it got even shorter! I had to be seriously careful about turning my chair around, if anyone was behind me. I was feeling nervous ... but yes, I have to confess, a little excited ... about what Max would think when he saw it.
He stopped by around nine o’clock, and started massaging my shoulders. Then he leaned over my shoulder and peered at my lap, and said, “Wow! You did it! Good girl! Turn around and let me see.” And he pulled up the spare chair and sat down, facing me.
Feeling very embarrassed, I turned around, keeping my hands clasped in my lap. He placed both of his hands on my thighs, and said, “Wow, such nice legs! Good for you, showing them off like this. How does it feel?”
“I feel quite exposed,” I admitted. “But it’s nice to have legs I don’t feel embarrassed about.”
“I’m sure it is!” he said. “I mean look at them; they’re gorgeous!” And ... he took hold of my hands, and lifted them off my lap! I’m sure he just meant to uncover my legs, so we could both admire them ... but I squealed because I was very sure that from that angle, he could see right up my skirt to my panties!
But all he said was, “See? Legs to die for.” And then he let go of my hands. He did not act like he had seen anything ... in fact, he did not act like he had done anything wrong at all. And because I was kind of pleased at how highly he thought of my legs, I managed to convince myself that he really did not have any ulterior motive in his actions. So, once again, I let it go.
During his next visit, he sat beside me with his hand on my thigh, stroking higher and higher ... and I told myself, if his hand goes up my skirt, I’m definitely going to say something. But my skirt was so short! He didn’t have to go under it in order to caress my thigh pretty high up. Still, I waited for an obvious, blatant transgression.
But although he massaged my thigh pretty much constantly while we talked, he didn’t actually put his hand up my skirt. Partly I think this was because his hand was angled downwards more than before, so although his thumb reached my skirt (but went over it, rather than under it), his other fingers were just sandwiched between my thighs, next to the skirt’s hem but not actually under it. It really was very intimate, thinking back on it, but I was like a frog in a pot being slowly brought to the boil ... you know how they don’t jump out, because they don’t realise how hot it’s getting until it’s too late.
On his next visit, because I didn’t hear him coming, he was back to massaging my shoulders and chest. And just like before, his hands pulled my blouse wide open and then massaged the bare skin in the middle. I’m not sure if he actually touched my bra this time, but it seemed like his fingertips lightly traced the skin along the top of each cup, from the middle, upward and outward towards the straps. His fingers actually went inside my blouse at this point, but only for a moment, before coming back up to my shoulders.
Most of the volume of my breasts was inside my bra, of course, but the part that was outside got very thoroughly explored. It was not much different from the last time, really, but it did feel quite naughty, and I knew I needed to draw a line somewhere. I decided that if he tried to put his fingers inside my bra, I would stop him.
But his next visit didn’t quite go that way. He did pretty much the same routine, but this time he put so much strain on my blouse as he pulled the two sides apart, that the next button popped open. “Oops,” he said with a little laugh. “Well, perhaps you don’t need that one done up anyway.”
I had to disagree! The button he had unfastened was right between the cups of my bra; the next one down was 3 or 4 inches lower; maybe an inch below the bra itself. So as he continued massaging my now very exposed chest, I said, “Max, I’d prefer to keep that button fastened, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong with showing a little cleavage?”
“It’s a little inappropriate for the office?” I suggested. I’m glad I had my back to him, because I’m sure I was blushing!
“I don’t think it’s inappropriate,” Max replied, “and you wouldn’t be the only woman here showing a bit of cleavage. Why don’t you try it for the rest of today, and see what kind of feedback you get – if any.”
I was pretty sure I would get some kind of comments – probably negative – and I figured I’d be able to use this to make my case ... so I reluctantly said, “Okay.” I know I should have pushed back harder! In fact I immediately regretted that “Okay” because Max said “Good girl”, then pulled my blouse even further open, exposing half my bra! He thoroughly massaged my upper chest, and yes, his fingertips once or twice did dip very slightly behind the seam along the upper edge of my bra cups, but I don’t think it was intentional – just a result of over-enthusiastic massaging.
For the rest of the afternoon, I was actually too busy to leave my desk, so I didn’t get any comments, negative or otherwise. But I had done what I had agreed to, so I felt foolishly pleased with myself as I packed up and left the office.
The following Monday, I wore another miniskirt, and a blouse with a bra-level button fastened, but open above that. Similar to Friday’s outfit, before Max got his hands on it. Anyway, Max wasted no time in coming to see me. He put his hands on my shoulders, peered down at my chest, and said, “Buttoning up again? Did you get some nasty comments on Friday?”
I replied, “No, but to be honest, hardly anyone saw me like that.”
And Max reached down and undid the button! He said, “Let’s try it like this today, and see if you get any negativity.” Then he started massaging my chest, working his hands from my shoulders down to my bra, and back up again. That Monday’s bra was a little different from the previous Friday’s; it slopes downward more towards the middle, with a fairly narrow strip of material connecting the two cups. So the inner curves of my boobs got quite a stroking, even though he stayed outside my bra. In fact, that’s where his hands mostly stayed, caressing and kneading my cleavage. And when I say he stayed outside my bra, I should mention that he pushed against the upper edge of the cups with his fingers, exposing a little more of my boob flesh for him to stroke. He was treading a very fine line! I very nearly called him on it.
On his next visit, he sat down next to me, and tucked his hand between my thighs. As we chatted, he massaged the inside of my left thigh, from just above the knee all the way up to the hem of my skirt. And although he did not stick his hand up my skirt, he did push the hem back with his hand as he stroked higher and higher. I felt myself starting to panic, and as he got closer and closer to my panties, I was literally on the point of saying “Hey! Enough is enough!” But then he pulled his hand back. Bear in mind, we were conversing all the time, and he had just told me a poignant story about his sister, so it did not feel like the right moment to jump into a complaint about his behaviour, especially since he had just stopped doing what I was about to ask him to stop doing.
Twice more that day, he massaged my inner thigh in a similar way. Each time he pushed my skirt up with his hand, and got uncomfortably close to my panties ... but each time he stopped before it got to the point where I felt I had to object. It was like he knew exactly how far he could push ... but perhaps that’s just my paranoia talking. More likely he just had an idea of what was allowable that was similar to mine. I’m just not quite sure how my own limit got to be so permissive!
On his last visit of the day, I swear, he must have stopped with his hand less than an inch from my panties. My skirt had gotten pushed so far up my thighs! As he left my cube, I could hardly believe how far I had let him get. I was really kicking myself; it’s one thing to tell someone off for doing something inappropriate; it’s another to object to something you’ve allowed several times already. It’s harder, it’s more embarrassing ... it feels more unjustified.
Anyway, that was his last visit of the day, but I need to tell you about the previous visit, when he had massaged my chest instead of my thigh. He pulled my blouse wide open, of course, and kneaded the flesh of my cleavage while he chatted with me. But then he went back to massaging my shoulders ... inside my blouse. In fact, he used his hands to push the collar of my blouse back and outwards, away from my neck, until he had slipped it all the way off my shoulders! He was only able to do this, of course, because it was so unbuttoned, but even so, it was quite tightly stretched around my upper arms and chest.
This was such a new development that I found my voice at last. I said, “Hey, Max – what are you doing??”
“Your shoulder muscles feel tense,” he said, as he massaged my shoulders, from the base of my neck out to the joint.
“Oh,” I replied, lamely. I knew I couldn’t complain now about him massaging my shoulders; after all this time, it would have seemed a bit ridiculous. But I tried. I said, “You couldn’t work on them through my blouse...?”
“Not as effectively,” he replied, and I had to be satisfied with that explanation, but it’s the only one I got. So he massaged my bare shoulders, then he worked his way down my chest, and gave my cleavage plenty of attention, pushing against the edges of my bra cups to give him access to more skin. And all the while, we chatted politely. I just tried to ignore what his hands were doing.
The next day, I entered the office with my blouse buttoned up above my bra, but once I was at my desk, I unfastened the bra-level button. I knew Max would make a fuss otherwise, and since I hadn’t got into any trouble the previous day (I’d tried to avoid people for the most part), I figured I didn’t have sufficient grounds to challenge him.
On his first visit of the day, he got right to work on my top half, and it wasn’t long before he had slipped my blouse off my shoulders. And not just my blouse, but the straps of my bra as well! As he massaged my shoulders, he actually went all the way out and down my upper arms a little (deltoids I think?), pushing my blouse and bra straps halfway down my upper arms.
Then he went back to my chest, roaming over the entire area above my bra cups, and pressing down on the cups with the sides of his hands as he stroked the skin above with his palms and fingers. I could see (and feel) my bra cups getting pushed outwards, away from my breasts, and the edges of Max’s hands just beginning to slide down inside them.
This all sounds very outrageous, I’m sure, but honestly it didn’t feel like it at the time. I mean, we were having a very pleasant chat – about our experiences as teenagers going to our first rock concert, if you can believe – and I had become very used to tuning out the whole chest massage thing as just something that was going on in the background. It wasn’t too dissimilar to previous occasions; the only reason it even registered at all was that Max was getting very close to sliding his hands right into my bra. That didn’t happen, exactly, so I just ignored it, prepared to object only if the situation worsened.
After he left, I pulled my blouse and bra back into position, and got on with my work. A couple of hours later, he came back ... but this time he sat down next to me. I steeled myself for another thigh massage, but to my surprise he merely stared at my legs. Then he looked up at me and grinned. “Do you think you could get away with wearing an even shorter skirt?” he asked me.
“I don’t have any shorter skirts!” I told him, feeling my cheeks getting quite hot. This wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that! Then I added, “And I really don’t think I should try to push the envelope any further.”
“Awww, why not?” he asked, still grinning. “Isn’t it fun to see what you can get away with?”
He was right about this, to a certain extent, but I had to think about my job. It wasn’t him who was taking the risk here! “I don’t want to get into trouble,” I said. “How short are you thinking?”
That was a mistake! He took it as licence to show me, by taking hold of the bottom of my skirt and pulling it up my thighs! From the angle of his line of sight, he couldn’t see my panties, thank god, but it was a near thing and I had to turn slightly to make sure he was looking directly from the side. Anyway, his proposed skirt length was alarmingly short, and I told him so.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll take you out at lunchtime and we’ll shop for some shorter skirts for you. I’ll pay for anything we buy. You wear one of them for the rest of today, and if you get away with it, then you carry on wearing that kind of length of skirt from now on. If you do get into trouble, I’ll take full responsibility; I’ll tell George I coerced you into it.”
“You’ll get fired!” I warned him.
“I doubt it,” he said. “A slap on the wrist, perhaps, but I’ll weather it. So, what do you say? We can shop wherever you like – as long as it’s somewhere that sells miniskirts.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but I was not keen on the idea of going any shorter than the skirts I was wearing currently.
Max did not wait for me to reply, however! He said, “How about I swing by at noon and pick you up?”
Okay ... I’m sorry, but clothes shopping is never not fun. Against my better judgment, I agreed to go shopping with Max. At noon he picked me up, and off we went. I suggested Dahlia’s, and he agreed. It turned out to be a good choice; we found several skirts of the length he wanted. They were ultra short!! I also picked out a couple that I liked. I tried them all on in the fitting room, and came out and modelled them for Max, and he gave me a thumbs-up or down. He was nice enough to give me a double thumbs-up on one of my picks – a quite elegant plaid miniskirt – even though it was a little longer than his choices. I flatly vetoed one of his – a super short, super tight leather skirt which would have looked horrendous on me – and he was a bit disappointed, but accepted my decision.
We ended up buying seven skirts! Well, Max bought them. He let me have my pick of which one to wear back to work, and I chose my plaid one. It was a couple inches shorter than any I had yet worn to work, and I was nervous as I walked back into the office ... but although I got a couple of surprised looks as I walked back to my desk, nobody gave me a hard time.
About half an hour later, Max came over to check out how I looked sitting down in my new skirt. But he didn’t pull the spare chair all the way up to mine as usual; he just pulled it up behind mine, sat down, and asked me to turn around. I did so, having first clasped my hands in my lap ... but he took my hands and lifted them out of the way!
I gasped, and said “Max!”, and I tried to turn my chair away from him, but this was difficult because he was still holding my hands. He asked what was wrong, and I said to him in an urgent but hushed voice, “I’m concerned you can see my panties!”
He looked down, and nodded! And he said, “Well it’s not the first time. Don’t worry though; I’m not the type to judge you for a wardrobe malfunction. You have nothing to be ashamed of – your panties look very nice, and clean. Just try to accept that it’s an inevitable consequence of wearing such a short skirt.”
I think I sort of whimpered at that point, but Max seemed to think it was no big deal that he could see my panties – he looked at them, but didn’t stare, and then he complimented me on how nice my legs looked, and asked how Jordan felt about the new me ... and he was just talking so calmly and casually that I gradually started to feel like maybe I had overreacted. And even though Max was still holding my hands and could still see my panties, I began to relax a little and feel like maybe it wasn’t such a big deal after all. It’s weird how your brain can normalize things like that.
Anyway, then he got up, still holding my hands, and he said, “I’m proud of you, Angie.” And he left. I couldn’t help thinking, proud of me for what?? I didn’t think I’d done anything especially praiseworthy. But then I thought perhaps he meant that I was learning to be more comfortable in my skin. Which was true, of course. When I was overweight, I was very self-conscious. Being thin has given me pride in my efforts and encouraged me to show off my legs ... but I thought maybe I was still feeling some residual shame about it. And maybe Max was helping me get over that. Still, showing legs is not the same as showing panties! That’s a whole other level of exhibitionism which has more to do with a sexual thrill than with pride in one’s appearance.
But I digress. Naturally, it wasn’t long before Max was back. This time he went for the shoulder massage ... and as before, my blouse and bra straps were soon halfway down my biceps. Max massaged my shoulders, and my chest, working his way down to my bra ... then back up, then back down ... and he was being very thorough with the parts of my breasts that he could get to without going inside my bra.
But he kept pushing my bra cups further and further down! Just with the sides of his hands ... but it got to the point where he was cupping the upper part of my breasts with his hands, with maybe only an inch between his little fingers and my nipples. The progression was so gradual, though – it wasn’t until I looked down that I suddenly realised my bra cups had popped back up, over his hands. Almost half of his hands were now, actually, inside my bra!
I was so caught by surprise that I didn’t react quickly enough, and he pulled his hands out before I could say anything. After all of my internal pep talks about what I would say to him if he put his hands in my bra, I was kicking myself at having missed my window of opportunity! As his hands continued roaming over my chest, my mind raced as I tried to come up with a new plan. While I was thinking, he sank his hands back into my bra cups, coming perilously close to my nipples, but thankfully stopping short. Then he withdrew his hands, and to my surprise he actually replaced my bra straps and my blouse before bidding me goodbye and going back to his office.
Later, when Max returned, he pulled up the spare chair, sat next to me, and sank his hand between my thighs, just next to the hem of my skirt. Since the skirt was so short, this meant his hand was only 2 or 3 inches from my panties! He’d been closer than that before, admittedly, but I was feeling super tense and on high alert in case he tried to grope my pussy through my panties. If that happened, he was getting a slap – and a sharp rebuke! The escalation had to stop, and feeling up my pussy, I decided, was my breaking point.
Well, he edged closer and closer to my panties as we chatted over the next few minutes, but eventually he stopped massaging my thigh ... and although I could not feel his hand touching my pussy, I’m guessing he stopped because he felt his hand brushing against my panties. If that was not the case, then I doubt you could have fit a credit card between his hand and my panties, it was tucked that high up between my thighs. Almost slap-worthy ... but not quite! And that’s where he left it – and that was his last visit of the day.
I was actually feeling kind of disappointed! Not because I had wanted him to feel me up, of course, but because I had psyched myself up to bring this whole thing to an end with an eloquent rant, and I felt like the wind had been taken out of my sails.
I went home and had a long talk with Jordan. He was very concerned at how far Max had pushed the massages, and he was not keen on the fact that Max had bought me miniskirts ... but on the other hand, he did like the miniskirts! He wanted me to wear them for him, at home and when we go out together at the weekends ... but I told him that if I was going to be so exposed at work all day, five days a week, I would rather spend my home time in more practical, comfortable, and concealing clothes! He was disappointed, but said he understood. He’s a good man.
There had been some startled looks from my colleagues, and one or two pointed remarks, but I had not actually got into any trouble on account of my plaid miniskirt. The next day, therefore, I felt obliged to wear another of my new skirts ... and the rest were all shorter than the plaid one! I chose a dark blue skirt with wide pleats. It was so short that I couldn’t even tuck it completely under my butt when I was sitting down! On the plus side, it did not have the same tendency to ride up as a tighter skirt would have, so it covered about the same amount of my thighs as the plaid skirt. Still, I was fairly sure Max would work his hand all the way up to my panties ... and I was ready for that.
On his first visit, though, upon finding me on the phone, he pulled my blouse open and slipped it off my shoulders, along with my bra straps. I was getting used to this by now, and I ignored him as I helped a customer with an inquiry. He was soon massaging my chest, and once again his hands sank into my bra cups. And there they pretty much stayed, massaging the flesh of my breasts, but always stopping short of my nipples. He must have got very close though! Anyway the phone call went on for ages, and eventually Max fixed my bra and blouse, and left me alone.
When he came back, an hour or so later, he sat down behind me and asked me to turn around. I did so, with my hands in my lap ... but he said, “Move your hands, Angie – let’s take a proper look. No need to be shy!” I was very reluctant and embarrassed, but the previous day had gotten me used to the idea of him seeing my panties ... so I moved my hands, and let him have a good look. He seemed very happy about this! We chatted for a bit, then he left.
Just before noon, he was back ... and this time he sat next to me and slipped his hand between my thighs again. Very high up! After just a short time squeezing and stroking my thigh, I felt his hand nudge against my panties. This was it, I thought to myself. This was my time to act – to slap his hand away and tell him he was out of line. But then I misgave. Was this perhaps still too soon? After all, he could still claim to be massaging my thigh, and that nudging against my panties was unintentional. And then I would look like I was overreacting. Perhaps it would be better to wait for a definite pussy-grope.
But the grope never came. His hand nudged my pussy a couple more times, but he was still definitely massaging my thigh at the time. And then he withdrew his hand, and that was it for that visit.
After lunch, however, I got another opportunity, because Max came back and pretty much picked up where he had left off, massaging the very top of my thigh, just next to my panties. But although his hand spent quite a bit of time actually touching the front of my panties, and sliding against my pussy as he massaged my thigh, he was, still, ostensibly massaging my thigh. It was starting to drive me crazy! I wished he would just get on with it, grab my pussy and give it a good grope, and give me the reason I needed to push him away and say, “That’s it! You’ve gone too far!” But it seemed he was not going to make it that easy for me. And perhaps, I couldn’t help thinking, he had no intention of groping my pussy at all.
He visited me once more that day, and this time he worked on my chest. He took my blouse and bra straps off my shoulders, of course, and pulled them well down my arms ... so far, in fact, that my bra cups were starting to fall open! Looking down, I could actually see my nipples! And then I could see Max’s hands, working their way down my chest, into my bra, squeezing my breasts, but stopping just short of my nipples before working their way back up again.
The next time, I did actually feel his pinky fingers brush against my nipples – just slightly. I nearly said something ... and you’re probably wondering why I didn’t ... but you have to remember this was all happening in the context of a nice chat. It’s hard to jump out of a conversation and say, “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing you grazed my nipples just then while your hands were in my bra.” I mean, how stupid does that sound?
Anyway, stupid or not, I didn’t say anything, and the next time his hands went into my bra, my nipples got a definite rubbing from his little fingers. Then he reoriented his hands so his fingers were pointing downwards, and he pushed them down into my bra to the inward side of my nipples – i.e. to the right of my left nipple and to the left of my right nipple. And he started massaging the inner part of my breasts, avoiding my nipples, except for brushing against them once or twice.
Then he pulled his hands out, and sank them back in on the other side of my nipples, so that he was massaging the outer part of my breasts. It was very sneaky! I don’t know if he had guessed that I was only going to object if he massaged my nipples, but it was a frustratingly perfect way of making the massage naughtier without pushing me too far.
It was frustrating in another way, too. I’m not immune to getting aroused, and the light touches on my nipples were stimulating me in ways I couldn’t control. My nipples hardened, and I’m sure Max noticed that. Then suddenly he whipped his hands out and replaced my blouse ... just as Nicki came along. I don’t think she saw anything. But that was the end of that visit.
The next day (Wednesday), I wore another very short skirt. And I have to confess, yes, it was exciting to walk into the office dressed so scandalously. This one was black, and tight, with buttons up the left side. It covered my butt with only a couple of inches to spare, I’d guess – very inappropriate for the office! Good thing Max had said he would take full responsibility, otherwise I don’t think I would have dared to wear it to work. Jordan was very supportive about it, bless him – he said I looked fantastic. He also told me to be brave and tell Max off if he got too gropey. I promised him I would.
Once I sat down at my desk, I was a little alarmed by how little of my legs my skirt covered. Pulling it down as far as I could, I could cover my panties, at least, with a couple of inches to spare, but over the next few minutes, as a result of shifting my position every so often, the skirt rode up until I could actually see my panties just by looking down at my lap.
Then Max came by, and sat down behind me. “Good morning Angie!” he said. “Let’s see what you’re wearing today.”
I knew if I covered my panties, he would just move my hands. So I simply swung my chair around, and let him feast his eyes on the large white triangle of panty material between my thighs. “Awesome!” he said. “I love that skirt. So listen, I’m going to a conference tomorrow in Ashbrook. I’d like you to come along; it’ll be good experience for you, and frankly I could use your input. You know our systems and processes inside out.”
“Oh!” I said, very surprised, but also excited. I had never been to a conference before; this sounded like a great opportunity. “Yes please! What time does it start?”
“8am,” he said. “It’s a three hour drive, so I’m going to travel down tonight and stay at the Marriott, where the conference is being held. I suggest you do the same, otherwise you’ll have a very early start in the morning! The company’s paying for the hotel, of course.”
“Oh!” I said. “Wow. Well, I’ll run it by Jordan, but I expect he’ll be supportive.”
“Great!” said Max. Then he glanced downward. “I like your panties, by the way – very pretty.”
“Thanks,” I replied – very embarrassed!
Jordan, by the way, thought it sounded like a great idea when I told him about it. He was happy to think that my career seems to be going somewhere. He asked when I would be driving down, and I said probably after dinner.
When Max came back for his next visit, he pulled up the spare chair and sat down, tucking his hand between my thighs, right next to my panties. As we chatted, he massaged my thigh as usual, but his hand was so high that he was rubbing my pussy as well, through my panties, with the side of his hand. I wasn’t certain that he was doing this on purpose, but it was definitely having an effect on me. I tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t easy! I just focused on the conversation we were having, while he rubbed and rubbed and rubbed...
I was quite relieved when he left! It took me a little while to regain my composure after that visit, I’ll tell you. As I worked, I tried to prepare myself mentally for his next visit. Max’s massages were starting to get very arousing, and although I was trying to fight it, to stay calm and suppress my arousal, it wasn’t fair to Jordan that Max was getting me horny. I had to get Max to stop, or at least dial it back a bit. I figured it was only a matter of time before he started rubbing my pussy with multiple fingers; I just had to watch out for that, and take that opportunity to call him out.
But I didn’t notice his approach next time! He pulled my blouse and bra straps down my arms, and started massaging my chest – and of course his hands were soon in my bra. I was ready to object if he blatantly grabbed my boobs, nipples and all, but he was very careful to stay above or to one side of each nipple as he caressed and kneaded my breast flesh. Then, while his fingers were outward of my nipples, he curled them underneath, and during the rest of our conversation he pretty much massaged every part of my breast except my nipples. Not that they didn’t get rubbed a lot, but it was probably unintentional. At any rate, at a certain point I realised that he was actually clutching my breasts with his fingers splayed, and my nipples nestling in a gap between them. And still I hadn’t said anything. You probably can’t imagine why or how I had let it get this far – all I can say is, don’t judge unless you’ve been in my shoes! It all happened so gradually; there just hadn’t come a point where I’d felt justified in objecting. Still, I was very close to blurting out an exclamation of sheer panic, when he pulled his hands out.
I thought he might go for my thigh on his next visit, but no, he doesn’t seem very predictable that way. Sometimes he alternates; sometimes he doesn’t. This time he pulled my blouse and bra straps down and started working on my shoulders. He actually spent a fair bit of time on my shoulders, which was nice – he said they felt very tense, which they probably were! Anyway he got me feeling pretty relaxed by the time he started working his way down my chest. Soon his hands were in my bra again, cupping my breasts, but leaving my nipples alone for the most part.
Still, even between his fingers they were getting quite a thorough rubbing. And gentle pinching, whenever he closed his fingers up too much. This was actually happening more and more, and my nipples were getting hard – quite beyond my control. Max was kneading, squeezing, caressing my breasts very firmly and thoroughly – it was making it difficult for me to concentrate on our conversation! Still, I tried, as my nipples got rubbed, tweaked, pinched ... until it occurred to me that he was now full-on groping my boobs, nipples and all. His fingers may have started out being splayed around my nipples, but he was taking no pains to avoid touching them, and it was impossible for me to tell at what point his inadvertent touching became deliberate.
Because it was definitely deliberate now! I realised that he was now gently pinching them between the index finger and thumb of each hand, then letting go and clasping his hands around my breasts, giving them a good squeeze, then rubbing his hands around, making no apparent effort to avoid my nipples.
I was still sorting all of this out in my head, while also trying to pay attention to what he was saying, and wondering if I had left it too late to object to the groping ... when he pulled his hands out and tugged my bra straps back up. As he repositioned my blouse as well, I silently cursed for having missed yet another opportunity to stop him. I consoled myself with the thought that I would get another chance when he hand was next between my legs.
But towards the end of the afternoon, when Max was in a meeting that was dragging on and on, I began to wonder if perhaps he was not going to pay me another visit that day. I was rather worried about this; I wanted to resolve the situation before our trip, so that he wouldn’t get any ideas at the conference.
Fortunately, with about ten minutes to spare, he did stop by, and this time he sat down. Tucking his hand between my upper thighs, he said, “All right, let’s talk about the trip. I was thinking: we might as well carpool; no sense in taking two cars, right?”
This did make sense. “Okay,” I said. “Whose car?”
“Might as well be mine,” said Max, gently massaging my thigh with the side of his hand pressed up against my panties. “I’ve been before and I know the way well. Plus – and I mean no offence here – I think my car’s probably a little more comfy.”
“Oh I’m sure it is,” I replied, with a little laugh. I had no illusions on which of us had the nicer car!
“Shall I pick you up around 7:30, then?” he said. “Will that give you enough time to have dinner and pack an overnight bag?”
I hesitated while I thought about this. I was a little distracted by his index finger sliding up and down against my pussy, gently rubbing my clit through my panties. “Probably,” I said. “Yes – yes I think that sounds fine.”
“Good,” he said. His thumb was also rubbing against my pussy – unavoidably, I guess – and I was starting to get a little flushed in the cheeks. His finger felt like it was worming around, exploring my pussy, feeling out every contour through my panties, and when it wasn’t directly stimulating my clit, his thumb was taking over that job.
I think I gasped a little, then I quickly covered it up by clearing my throat. “What should I wear?” I asked him quickly.
“Same as for the office,” he said, sensuously rubbing my pussy with his thumb and index finger ... and it seemed like his middle finger might have joined the party too. I wasn’t sure, though – and he was still massaging my thigh, too, so I didn’t feel I could accuse him – yet – of crossing the line. “And bring your laptop, obviously ... and your thinking cap. There’s a workshop on resource management that I think you’ll be good at; we’ll split into teams and solve problems. It’s actually quite fun.”
“Will I be on your team?” I asked, a little nervously.
“Not necessarily,” said Max, “but don’t worry – you’ll be fine! And I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends there. It’s really quite a fun atmosphere, I think you’ll find.”
My cheeks were burning ... as were my loins, despite my best efforts at ignoring Max’s fingers. He was blatantly rubbing my pussy now – with two, or three, or four fingers – it was hard to tell.
“Oh,” said Max, “there’s a pool at the hotel, so feel free to bring a swimsuit if you like.”
“Good to know!” I said, still trying to ignore his fingers. I desperately didn’t want to get aroused ... but my body was not listening to me! “I haven’t actually bought a new swimsuit since I lost weight, though – I think my old one will be too big on me!”
“Ah well,” said Max with a little shrug. “It’ll probably be a little late for a swim by the time we get there anyway. Oh – after the conference tomorrow, there’s a dinner. It’s up to you whether you want to stay for that or come straight home. Should be a nice meal though.”
“I’ll talk to Jordan,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could manage. But I was finding it hard to think straight. I had been looking for a moment when I could say, “Hey, stop that!” ... but it was starting to occur to me that I may have missed it. He was rubbing my pussy; there was no denying it. When I glanced downward, hoping unrealistically to see him still mostly massaging my thigh, my stomach turned somersaults as I saw his hand literally cupping my pussy, his fingers rubbing and kneading my labia and clit through my panties. He had probably been doing this for the past couple of minutes, yet I had been in denial as to the extent of his naughtiness. I quickly looked back up; I didn’t want him to think I was aware of what he was doing, in case he thought I approved of it. How silly was that?? I know, I know ... I handled the situation very poorly!
We continued to chat about the conference until after five o’clock, while he casually but confidently stroked my pussy through my panties. Eventually, feeling utterly mortified because my panties were getting very damp, I said, “Well I’d better get home so I can have dinner and pack.”
“Okay!” said Max, finally removing his hand. “I’ll see you at 7:30 then.”
Over dinner, I told Jordan what had happened. “Oh God!” he groaned. “And now you’re going to an overnight conference with this guy?” Then, noticing my unhappy face, he added, “Don’t get me wrong, I know this is a great opportunity for you to further your career; I just worry about what he’ll do when he’s got you alone.”
I shivered; the same thought had occurred to me. But I bravely said, “I’ll be okay. I just have to figure out a new place to draw the line. Something clear and definitive; not like rubbing me through my panties, which was apparently too fuzzy a transition from stroking my thigh.”
Jordan thought about this for a minute, then said, “Is he likely to try to put his hand actually inside your panties?”
I was shocked at the idea. “God, I hope not!” I said. “But ... I guess it’s possible. You think that should be the point at which I call him out, then?”
“I think that point came and went a few times already,” Jordan replied wryly. “But I think it would be the kind of definitive moment you’re looking for, right?”
I nodded and said, “All right then.”
I was in the bathroom when Max arrived, so Jordan let him in. I didn’t even realize he was downstairs until Jordan came up to tell me. He said, “I didn’t know how long you’d be, so I sat him down in the living room with a beer.”
“Oh!” I said, a little taken aback. “Well I’m ready to go, but I guess we won’t be heading out just yet.”
“It’ll give me a chance to get to know the guy who’s been groping my wife,” said Jordan, smirking. I could tell he was bottling up some resentment, which was understandable ... but I was worried he would make a fuss and make things uncomfortable between Max and me.
“Be nice!” I begged him. “I’ll handle the groping thing. Please don’t say anything about that ... please?”
He sighed, and nodded. “Obviously I don’t want to make things awkward for you,” he said. “But if I see him groping you...”
“Don’t make a scene!” I said anxiously. “Just ignore it; pretend you didn’t notice. I’ll put a stop to it somehow, okay?”
“I know, I know!” said Jordan. “I was just going to say that if I see him groping you, I might have to leave the room.”
“Don’t do that either!” I said. “Or he’ll know why. Just ... try to be cool?”
Jordan nodded. “All right,” he said. “I still want to get to know him a bit though. I mean, he is your boss...”
“That’s fine,” I said. “The two of you should definitely chat. Just ... keep it polite, and away from the subject of groping!”
We went downstairs, and found Max looking at our paintings. (Jordan’s brother is a talented artist and sends us a new work of his every Christmas.) I sat down on the sofa while Jordan went over to Max, and said, “Ah yes – that’s my parents’ house on the lake. Very pretty area. My brother Chuck painted it ... and all of these, in fact.”
“He’s good!” said Max. “And yes, it looks like a beautiful location.”
“So, this conference,” said Jordan. “Good opportunity for Angie to get her name and face out there, I’m guessing?”
“Absolutely,” said Max, turning towards Jordan and nodding. “Angie knows the business well and has good instincts. I’m hoping she’ll make some useful contacts at this thing; networking is what it’s all about.”
“She’s got a good head on her shoulders,” said Jordan, smiling at me. “I’d like to see her climb the ladder a bit.”
“Not just a bit!” said Max, walking over to the sofa and sitting down next to me. “A lot, I’d say. She’s proven invaluable to our team – and to me personally.” He laid his left hand on my right thigh, and gave it a squeeze. “Many’s the slip-up I’ve made, that would have been embarrassing if Angie hadn’t caught it ... right Angie?”
“Yup,” I agreed, nervous about his hand. I was very used to it being there, of course ... well, usually on the other leg ... but it was different now that my husband was just a few feet away! I hoped Jordan would live up to his word and keep it cool. “Your grammar is kind of terrible.”
“It is,” conceded Max, now stroking the uppermost part of my right thigh.
Jordan, poor thing, didn’t know where to look! He sat down in the armchair next to our fish tank, a few feet away, and pretended to be fascinated by the tetras and gouramis that we keep in there. “Angie’s definitely got a good grasp of the English language,” he remarked, a little stiffly.
“Yes,” agreed Max. “But it’s not just my grammar that she fixes. Sometimes I think I’m accurately describing some facet of the business or other, and Angie points out that I’ve got it wrong. So I’ve learned to let her review a lot of my more important emails before I send them out. It’s really quite amazing how well she knows the business.” He was now stroking the front of my panties.
“I’m glad to be able to help,” I said, pleased by his praise but wishing he would stop stroking my pussy so blatantly. I was afraid Jordan would lose his cool, and freak out. He had promised, and I had to trust him, but I didn’t want him to have to endure any more of this than absolutely necessary. “How are you doing with that beer?” I asked Max. “We should probably get going soon...”
“Oh, there’s no rush,” said Max cheerfully, as he sensuously rubbed and kneaded my pussy through the dampening material of my panties (clean ones which I had just put on because of soaking my previous pair!) “You know, Jordan, I personally think Angie’s an inspiration to us all. Her newfound dedication to her fitness regime ... her weight loss ... her increased confidence ... it’s all very impressive!”
“Oh, I know,” said Jordan, staring down at the floor. “Once she gets fixated on something ... some goal, whether personal or professional ... she’s like a dog with a bone.”
“I’ve noticed!” said Max. “I mean ... I know how hard it is to stick to a weight loss program; I’ve tried it myself. But the transformation...”
“Oh, totally,” said Jordan, with a little more enthusiasm. “The way Angie’s slimmed down ... amazing.”
“Guys...” I said, feeling flattered but embarrassed.
“Yes – what a figure she has now!” said Max. “I mean, check out these legs!” Then, to my horror, he took hold of my knees with both hands, and pulled my thighs apart!
Jordan glanced over at me ... but of course his eyes were drawn not so much to my legs as to my exposed panties, which Max then mostly covered up as his hand returned to my pussy and resumed massaging it. I’m not sure why I left my thighs spread apart; possibly it was because Max’s right hand was still holding on to my right knee ... but I think I was just a little bit shell-shocked. Also, I confess, I might have been secretly hoping that Jordan, despite his promise to be cool, might jump to my defence ... which career-wise would have been awful, of course, but I’d have loved him for it anyway.
But Jordan simply said, with his eyes fixed on Max’s hand, “Yes, her legs are unreal now. Beautiful muscle tone.”
Max pressed his middle finger between my labia, making my panties bulge either side of his finger as it sank into the groove in my pussy. He ground it against my clit, making little slow circles, which set my loins buzzing and caused my cheeks to burn very hot (and bright red, I’m sure). Jordan looked away, but I could see his jaws were clenched.
Max let go of my knee, and I closed my thighs. Then he removed his hand from my pussy, and downed the rest of his beer. “All right!” he said. “Let’s go, Angie.” He got to his feet. “Nice to have met you, Jordan,” he said.
“Likewise,” said Jordan, taking his hand and shaking it without enthusiasm.
“I’ll go and grab my bag,” I said, getting up from the sofa.
“I’ll see you outside,” said Max.
With bag in hand, I kissed Jordan goodbye, and gave him a hug. “Have fun at the conference,” he said, looking rather unhappy. “But, you know, be careful. Max obviously likes having an underling who’s too nice to fight off his gropings. Just make sure you stand up to him if he tries to get inside your panties.”
“I will,” I assured him. “Trust me, I don’t like him groping me any more than you do.”
I left the house, tossed my bag in the back of Max’s car, and climbed into the passenger seat. I’m not sure exactly for what percentage of the next three hours Max’s hand was tucked between my legs, gently stroking my pussy through my panties ... but it was high, and by the end of the journey, my panties were totally soaked.
We checked into the hotel at about 10:45. But at this point I got a bit of a shock: Max had not booked a separate room for me. “You mean we have to share a room?” I asked him in disbelief.
“Yes,” said Max, seeming surprised that this was coming as a shock to me. “Angie, I only decided today to bring you along. Did you really think there would still be rooms available?”
“Well ... are there at least two beds?” I asked plaintively.
So we went up to the room ... and there was just one double bed! “Looks like I’ll have to curl up in the armchair,” I said, feeling a little morose. I’m not a great sleeper at the best of times; this was going to be a very unpleasant night.
But Max said, “Don’t be silly, Angie. I wouldn’t dream of making you sleep in a chair. We’re both grown-ups; I think we can manage to share a bed without making a big deal out of it. Now, I know you’re probably tired, but do you fancy a swim before we call it a night?”
Since ‘calling it a night’ apparently meant climbing into bed with my gropey boss, any opportunity to postpone my fate sounded tempting ... but as I had told Max earlier, I did not currently own a swimsuit that fit me. I reminded him of this.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Max, snapping his fingers. Then he grinned slyly. “Good thing I bought you a new one, then!”
I was astonished. “You did?”
He opened his bag, rummaged through it for a moment, and then produced a hot pink two-piece swimsuit. “Ta daa!” he said.
“Oh my God!” I said, in genuine shock. It looked very skimpy. “You really ... shouldn’t have...”
Max handed me the bikini top and bottom; they seemed to be all strings. “You’re welcome,” he said with a grin. “So ... shall we swim?”
I could hardly refuse, now that he had bought me a swimsuit. “Thank you,” I said. “Sure, I’m up for a quick dip.”
We took the elevator down to the first floor, and headed to the pool. In the deserted women’s changing room I put on the swimsuit; it was as skimpy as I had feared. My boobs were practically falling out of it, the cups were so small! The panels covering my butt and pussy were also embarrassingly small.
I went out to the pool; Max was already there, but there was nobody else. He looked me up and down, grinning, and said, “Very nice! It suits you!”
Once I was in the water, I felt much better! I challenged Max to a race, and he accepted. We both swam freestyle, and he won. I then suggested breaststroke, which is my best stroke. He still won, but only by a little. We then swam lengths together, at a leisurely pace, and we talked a bit.
Then Max said, “Hot tub?”
“Sure!” I said.
The hot tub was just a few yards from the pool. It was quite small, and after I climbed in, Max got in and sat down right next to me. The water was lovely, but I had an uneasy feeling as Max put his hand on my thigh. As we chatted, he massaged my upper thigh, then he subtly transitioned to rubbing my pussy through my bikini. Since we were alone, I thought he might try for more, and I was ready to vocally object if he tried to slip his hand inside my bikini.
But he did not. And after a bit, he said, “You seen tense. Would you like a shoulder massage?”
Anything to get his hand away from my pussy! “Yes please, that would be nice,” I said, relieved.
“Okay, turn away from me,” Max said, and I did so. But then he said, “Actually, I’ll just get myself behind you...” The ledge we were sitting on was quite wide, and as he gently pushed me to the front of it, he tucked one of his legs behind me, then straddled me with his legs either side of me. This meant we were in a bit of an intimate position; I was glad Jordan wasn’t there to see it!
Anyway he started massaging my shoulders ... and then my chest ... and I suddenly noticed the strings holding up my top – which had been tied behind my neck – had come loose and were floating in the water in front of my chest! Come loose – I mean of course Max had untied them! As if anticipating my reaction, he said, “Figured I’d get the straps out of the way” ... which kind of took the wind out of my sails. I could hardly reply to that with, “Hey, you just undid my bra straps!” So I didn’t say anything ... and soon of course he was grasping and fondling my bare boobs. Good thing they were underwater ... but that wasn’t much comfort.
We talked amiably enough, but I was feeling very uncomfortable ... and it didn’t help matters when he withdrew one hand, used it to undo the strings behind my back, and then pulled off my top entirely! I was already effectively topless, of course, but this made it unpleasantly official! He said, “I’ll just get this out of the way”, and he tossed it out of the hot tub! It landed a few feet away; too far to reach from the tub. I was going to have to climb out, topless, to get it!
But I soon had more pressing things to worry about. After massaging my breasts for a couple of minutes, Max slid his left hand across from my left breast to my right breast. In order to reach it, he had to pull me backwards a bit, until my back was resting against his chest and belly. With his left arm wrapped around me, holding me against him, he then slid his right hand down my belly, tucked it between my thighs, and resumed stroking my pussy through my bikini bottoms.
This felt extremely intimate, and I was feeling very uncomfortable ... but also, to my shame, I was getting aroused. I told myself it was a natural and understandable physiological response, and it wasn’t my fault ... but I felt bad all the same.
Then Max gave me an opportunity I wasn’t expecting. He said, “You’ve gone a bit quiet. Are you okay?”
I thought quickly. I wanted to get out of this situation, and prevent a recurrence ... but on the other hand, I didn’t want to upset Max. So I said, “It’s just ... I’m feeling a little exposed. I’ve never been topless in a hot tub before.”
Max replied, “Oh, it’s just you and me here. No need to be embarrassed. I mean, Jeez, you’ve certainly got nothing to be embarrassed about! You have a lovely body – and lovely boobs. If there were kids here, of course, I wouldn’t dream of taking your top off. But there’s nobody here but us, and ... do you mean to tell me you’ve never been topless in a hot tub?”
“Never,” I said, as he gently teased my right nipple between his finger and thumb.
“Huh!” he said. “Well, I think we need to cure you of your shyness!” He took his right hand out from between my legs, and lowered his left hand ... and before I realized what he was doing, he had tugged on the strings at the sides of my bikini bottoms, and undone them! I gasped in shock as he lifted me up a little (easy enough for him to do in the water) and pulled my bikini bottoms out from under me! I made a grab for them, but missed ... and he tossed them out of the tub, where they landed just beyond my top!
I was now naked in the hot tub with my boss, and his arms were around me. I was very nervous, as you might imagine! “There!” he said. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Reaching around me, he tucked both his hands between my thighs and started massaging them.
I was in a near-panic. He had departed from the script! I had been prepared to call him out if he put a hand in my panties ... and that applied to my bikini bottoms as well ... but he had taken them right off! My carefully rehearsed plan was thrown into confusion, and now I had to improvise. As he rubbed higher and higher up my thighs, I came to a quick decision: if he touched my bare pussy with his fingers, I would say “Hey! Enough is enough!” It seemed like a good plan.
“You should try to relax,” said Max, exerting outward pressure on my thighs.
Easier said than done! But perhaps, I thought, if I let him spread my legs, he would go right for my pussy, and I could put an end to this. I felt that victory was in sight; I just had to be brave, and stick to the plan. So I relaxed, a little, and he pulled my thighs apart. Then, hooking his hands underneath my thighs, he hoisted me up on to his lap. I could feel a firm lump in his shorts beneath my naked butt.
His left hand slid up my belly, and grasped my right breast, which was now out of the water. His right hand resumed massaging my right thigh, creeping ever closer to my pussy. This is it, I thought to myself, as his index finger reached my groin. Get ready...
I tried not to tense up as I awaited the inevitable. His finger crept still further inward, grazing my labia at first, then more firmly rubbing its outer edge, and I took a deep breath.
“Well, we should probably get to bed,” said Max, pulling his hand away. “Get some sleep, be nice and fresh for tomorrow.” He lifted me off his lap, stood up, and climbed out of the hot tub.
I was utterly taken aback! Why had he stopped? I felt like the rug had been pulled from under my feet. “Uh, yes,” I said. I felt disappointed, betrayed ... and then silly and guilty for feeling this way. But he had ruined my plan! And now we were moving on ... and I had let him strip me naked, without consequence. It was so frustrating!
I awkwardly covered my breasts and pussy with my hands as I climbed out of the tub. Max was looking me up and down, and smiling. “What a body!” he said. “Jordan’s a very lucky guy.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, as I trotted over to pick up my bikini. It seemed foolish to put it back on, so I simply grabbed my towel, wrapped it around me, and headed into the changing room.
After I had showered and changed, I returned to the room, only to find it locked. And I had no keycard of my own. I knocked ... and fortunately Max opened the door. He was brushing his teeth. “Sorry about that,” he said indistinctly.
I got myself ready for bed, while wondering what I should wear. I had not brought any pajamas; I hadn’t been planning to sleep in the same bed as my boss! I decided to opt for a t-shirt and panties; I changed in the bathroom, and then climbed into bed.
Max watched me. “You’re going to overheat in that t-shirt,” he remarked.
He was right. The room was very warm, and I would be sharing a rather small bed with another person. But I was not about to strip down to my panties! “I’ll be all right,” I said uncomfortably.
Max undressed right there by the side of the bed. As he pulled down his underwear, exposing his bits and pieces, I turned away from him, feeling rather shocked! Then he turned out the light, and climbed into the bed, behind me ... naked! He snuggled up against my back, put his arm around my waist ... and I felt his cock pressing against my bottom. I’m guessing it was erect; it felt pretty firm.
It was all very alarming! But I wasn’t exactly surprised when Max’s hand sneaked up inside my t-shirt and started fondling my breast. I was getting quite used to this. I’d actually expected him to stick his hand between my legs.
After he’d been playing my my boob for a while, and gently pinching my nipple, I found I was getting uncomfortably warm. Perhaps Max noticed this; in any case, he said, “Let’s get you out of this t-shirt; I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.” And he started pulling it up my torso. I didn’t want to vocally agree to this, but I was not actually averse to the idea at this point, so I raised my arms and let him take it off. Now I was wearing only my panties ... and he wasn’t wearing anything at all!
But my plan had not changed; if he tried to put his hand in my panties, I would stop him. I had this new opportunity to end the escalation, and I was determined not to blow it.
Soon enough, he reached down between my legs, and started rubbing my pussy through my panties. I just lay still and said nothing, waiting for him to go further. I had my words prepared; I was ready.
But Max had other ideas, apparently. Next he slipped his left arm, which he was lying on, beneath my waist, and curled it around, tucking his hand between my legs. It took over rubbing my pussy, while his right hand took hold of my right knee, and pulled it up and back towards him, spreading my thighs apart. This gave him better access to my pussy, and the rubbing became more ... intimate, I guess is the right word.
The fingers of his left hand were thoroughly exploring my pussy through my panties, kneading my labia, teasing my clit, sliding up and down the cleft in the middle, even as far down as my vagina. I could feel one of his fingers pressing the material inside me just a little. But he hadn’t stuck any fingers inside my panties yet, so I didn’t say anything about this. Besides, I think it was a knuckle, rather than a fingertip, that was going slightly inside.
Now he was really going to town on me. He would cup my pussy, sliding my panties around so they rubbed all over my pussy, then he would rub around my vaginal opening, pressing my panties further and further inside, while rapidly rubbing my clit with his thumb. I was getting more and more aroused; I couldn’t help it! I tried to just ignore everything, but it was impossible ... and in any case I had to stay focused so I could leap into action as soon as he put a finger in my panties.
But what he was doing was almost worse than that anyway! My pussy was getting such a sensual, attentive, erotic massage, that I was getting wetter and wetter by the second. I could barely suppress gasps and moans of sexual pleasure. I know I was breathing heavily; there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop that. The urge to grind my pussy against Max’s hand was almost overwhelming! But I resisted. I was feeling terribly guilty ... and close to panic as I realised I was getting nearer and nearer to an orgasm.
Honestly, I’d have climaxed much sooner if I’d let myself! But I stubbornly resisted; I thought about spreadsheets, and traffic congestion, and college lectures ... anything I could think of to keep my arousal at bay. And so the minutes dragged on ... and on ... but Max seemed to have infinite patience! His fingers were all over my pussy ... he had hooked one of his legs around mine, to keep my thighs spread, so that he could use his right hand to fondle my breast ... then he switched hands, so his left was on my left breast and his right was rubbing my pussy. At one point I realized my panties had gotten bunched between my labia ... and I figured he had done that ... but I didn’t know when! Everything was a blur; my head was swimming. Max was pushing my panties deeper and deeper inside me ... and ... oh my god!
I climaxed. I couldn’t stop myself! At that point, I’m not sure I even wanted to. It was such a relief ... an overwhelming release ... oh my god what an orgasm it was!! My whole body shuddered and shook, and I could not help moaning out loud.
For a little while after that, Max continued to slide my wet panties around my pussy. Then he pushed my thighs closed, and whispered in my ear, “Oh dear, your panties are very wet, aren’t they? I’ll just help you out of them.” I gasped anxiously and reached down, but he had already pulled my panties down below my butt, and was tugging them down my thighs. I felt powerless to resist as he finally got them off my feet and tossed them out of the bed.
He pulled my right leg up again, spreading my thighs, and I thought to myself, “This is it; he’s going to stick his cock in me.” I couldn’t have stopped him if he had. But he didn’t ... he just lowered my thigh back down, and I felt his erect cock get sandwiched between my upper thighs, pressing against my pussy. Then he reached his hand down past my belly, and cupped my pussy. “Goodnight Angie,” he whispered.
Did that mean it was over? At the touch of his hand on my naked pussy, I was tempted to say “Hey...!” – as futile as that might have been. But if this was as far as he was going to go – and it seemed that way – then I figured it might be best to leave well alone. So I just muttered “Goodnight”, and hoped he would let me go to sleep now. I was very conscious of his cock nestling against my pussy, but he was keeping it still, so I kept still too, and tried to relax enough to fall asleep.
It was a naive hope, of course. I’d had my own itch scratched, but Max hadn’t ... and his still-hard cock was indicative of his continued arousal. Less than two minutes after apparently settling down for the night, I became aware he was slowly, subtly, easing his cock back and forth between my thighs. It wasn’t surprising that he was aroused, nor that he was feeling the need to climax himself ... but I wasn’t keen on him doing it so close to my vagina! I was a little worried that he would try to stick it inside me.
Then I thought: if he does that, it’ll be a perfect moment for me to freak out. I’ll have a totally valid reason; everything else up until this point will pale into insignificance. I tensed ... and braced myself for the feel of his cock trying to get inside me.
The pace of his subtle thrusting increased ... then became more vigorous still ... then suddenly he grunted, and I felt a sudden burst of wetness against my pussy. Apparently he caught it all in his hand, because he then proceeded to thoroughly smear it all over my pussy. Gross!
But at least I was now safe from penetration. I lay still and quiet while he massaged his semen into all the contours of my pussy, his fingers stroking my clitoris, pressing between my labia, sliding up and down ... but slowly he stopped moving, his breathing gradually grew heavier ... and a little while later, I decided he was definitely asleep. Gently, I removed his hand from my pussy, and tucked it up against my belly. Finally able to relax, I eventually drifted off to sleep myself.
When I awoke the next morning, the horror of the previous night came crashing down on me. I couldn’t feel Max behind me, so I turned ... and found he was not in the bed. Then I heard the toilet flushing, and a moment later, Max emerged from the bathroom. “Good morning!” he said. He was already dressed. “Did you sleep well?”
He seemed his usual normal, cheerful self. If there was to be any awkwardness, it apparently was not going to come from him. I therefore decided to act as normally as I could. “Yes thanks,” I said. “You?”
“I did, yes,” he said, nodding. “Well, it’s just after 7:00; I figure we’ll eat at 7:30, if that’s okay with you?”
That didn’t leave me much time! “I’ll go and get ready,” I said hurriedly. Then I hesitated. I was still naked. The bedclothes were currently covering me, for which I was grateful, but now I was going to have to get out of bed. Naked. In front of Max. After last night, perhaps it was silly of me to be anxious about this ... but I was, all the same.
Max chuckled. “Still shy, Angie?” he inquired, amused. “There’s really no need to be. Just bite the bullet, and throw back those covers.”
My cheeks burning, I pulled back the sheets, climbed out of bed, and hurried to the bathroom without even stopping to pick up any clothes. I felt gross; I just wanted to wash Max’s cum off my pussy. I also really needed to pee.
Once I had taken care of these things, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. My makeup and hair, I decided, could wait until I was dressed. Taking a few deep breaths, I steeled myself, then I opened the bathroom door, and hurried over to my bags. But as I was rummaging for a clean pair of panties, Max sauntered over. “How about a good morning hug?” he suggested, spreading his arms.
“Oh,” I said, flustered. With a pair of white panties in my right hand, I turned towards him, and tentatively spread my arms as he pulled me into a hug. He had never hugged me before; I guess he felt like our relationship had changed. Which, I suppose, was understandable, though the change had not been through any desire of mine.
He wrapped his arms around me, then he slid his right hand down my back, and grasped my bare buttock. Squeezing and caressing it, he said, “Mmmm ... this is nice.” His fingertips sank between my buttocks, brushed over my anus, and then grazed the opening of my vagina. Fighting a mounting sense of panic, I said, “I should really get dressed...”
“Of course,” said Max. He drew back a little ... then he bent his head down, and kissed me on the lips! Not a quick peck, either, but a full-on, moist, lingering smooch that had my stomach doing cartwheels. I kept my mouth firmly shut, but this did not stop him from tracing my lips with his tongue.
Then he stepped back, and said, “Oh! Did you know we have a balcony? Come and see the view!” And he took hold of my hand, and started walking towards the window!
“Max, but I’m naked!” I squealed, as I trotted along after him.
“Oh, don’t worry,” he said cheerfully. “Nobody will see you. And if they do, it’s not like it’ll be anyone you know.” To my mounting horror, he pulled the curtains open, slid the French window across, and stepped out on to the balcony with me in tow!
Fortunately, though, he had been right: there was nobody in sight. The ground behind the hotel sloped down to a small river, on the far side of which was a wall of deciduous trees, whose leafy crowns merged to form an attractive green horizon, well above my eye level.
“Very pretty,” I remarked.
“Is that you, Max?” came a voice to our left. I gasped and looked over to see a middle-aged man standing on the next balcony. He recovered quickly from his astonishment, and added, “Who’s your naked friend?”
I squealed, and ran inside. Quickly putting my panties on, I then put on a bra, a blouse, a very short skirt, and my 2-inch heels. Then, because Max was still out on the balcony, I went back into the bathroom to do my hair and makeup.
When I was done, I was feeling much better. It was nice to be fully dressed again, at long last! The skirt was inappropriately short, of course – it was dark green, and about the same length as the previous day’s miniskirt – but I finally felt like I was back in control.
“Looking good!” said Max, when I emerged from the bathroom. “Shall we go and eat?”
To my surprise and relief, the rest of the day was fun, interesting, and relatively free of gropings. At breakfast we met up with a couple of men that Max knew, and he had to sit opposite me instead of next to me, so ... no gropings. Then we went to the conference, and although I got a lot of looks – and a few comments – once the presentations began, nobody paid any attention to me. I was starting to feel quite normal again! Already, the memory of Max rubbing his cum into my pussy while thrusting his cock between my legs was beginning to feel like a bad dream.
The workshop was cool, though part of it was slightly embarrassing because we were all sitting on chairs in a circle, and of course my panties were highly visible to the guys sitting opposite me whenever my hands weren’t in my lap. We had signs with business clichés that we had to hold up above our heads whenever we identified them in a given scenario, and mine seemed to come up a lot!
Lunch was laid on, and Max spent the time networking; he introduced me to a bunch of people whose names I’ll never remember. One woman pointedly asked if I wore “that outfit” in the office, but mostly everyone was very nice. But then we met the guy from the balcony who saw me naked ... and of course he had to bring it up in front of several other people ... I almost died! They all thought it was very funny, but I was mortified!
I had found a little time during the morning to text Jordan, and I’d given him a brief account of what had happened the night before. I had been vague on details, but it was enough to freak him out, and when I checked my phone at lunchtime, I saw he had texted me a bunch of times. He was quite upset! I called him, but he didn’t answer, so I left him a message assuring him that I would figure out a way to stop the situation from escalating any further.
Otherwise, it was a good day. I learned a lot, met a lot of new people, and Max barely touched me, except for giving my butt a squeeze through my skirt a couple of times. But that was trivial compared with rubbing his cum all over my pussy – a memory that made me shudder whenever I thought of it! And all day I was beating myself up about letting him get away with doing that ... and wondering why I didn’t object. I think it was maybe because my brain was still fried from my own amazing orgasm – I just wasn’t able to think straight.
During dinner, Max sat next to me ... and of course he wasted no time in sticking his hand between my thighs and rubbing my pussy through my panties. After a while he pulled the front of my skirt up enough that he could get his hand actually inside my panties ... and he spent the rest of the meal fingering my pussy. I tried to ignore it, but inevitably I was getting wetter and wetter. I didn’t say anything because I figured I’d missed the boat on objecting to him touching my bare pussy ... and of course we were in public, and the last thing I wanted was to make a scene. I consoled myself with the thought that we would be driving home soon.
But after dinner, some of Max’s friends invited us out to a local bar. Max really wanted to go, so I reluctantly agreed. I had one drink (a margarita), while Max had a couple of beers. I said he shouldn’t drink because he was driving, but he said two drinks wouldn’t put him over the limit. He then had a third, but said this wouldn’t put him over the limit either.
We talked, and talked ... Max played some 8-ball ... and the evening went on and on... Max had another drink – he said enough time had elapsed since his first. And when we left the bar, I admit he did seem pretty sober ... but it was almost 10:00! He said we should stay another night at the hotel ... and although I was anxious to get home to Jordan, I was a little worried about Max driving after four beers. I said okay, and I called Jordan to let him know. He was pretty upset – he agreed my safety as Max’s passenger was important, but he wanted to know if I would be sleeping in the same bed as Max again. I said yes, but I would be careful not to let things get out of hand. Eventually I managed to calm him down ... and Max and I went back to our room.
I asked Max what time he wanted to leave in the morning, and he said after breakfast – about 8:00. I told him that would get us back to the office around 11:00, but he said that wasn’t a problem. He’s the boss, so that worked for me.
He then asked if I wanted another swim. I was dreading getting into bed with him again, so I said okay. But as I picked up my swimsuit, he grinned and said, “How about a nude swim? I’m sure there won’t be anyone else there.”
This was an alarming idea! “But what if there is?” I said nervously.
“Then they’ll think you’re a bit of a free spirit,” said Max with a shrug. “At this time of night there shouldn’t be any kids, so I very much doubt there would be any complaints.”
“What about you?” I asked, feeling sure he wouldn’t dare swim naked himself. “Will you be swimming in the nude?”
Max laughed. “Unlike you, I don’t have a body worth showing off,” he said. “But I’ll make you a deal. If you swim naked ... then I will too.”
This was not what I’d had in mind. “I’ll only do it if there’s nobody there,” I said, hoping desperately that there would be.
“Fair enough,” Max acknowledged.
We went down to the changing rooms; I changed into my bikini, and met Max by the pool. My hopes that there would be someone else there were soon dashed, unfortunately, as I scanned the empty pool for signs of life. Max grinned, and held out his hand ... no doubt for my swimsuit.
Feeling very embarrassed, I took off my top, then my bottoms, and I handed them to him. “I’ll go and put all these in my locker,” he said, pulling off his own swim shorts. His cock, I couldn’t help noticing, was semi-erect.
He disappeared into the men’s locker room, and I found myself alone and naked, standing by the pool! I jumped into the water, and began swimming. I felt much better in the water; my naked body would only be a wobbly blur to anyone coming into the pool area.
Max returned, and jumped in with me, and we had quite a pleasant swim together. But then, to my horror, a couple of young men and a young woman arrived! They said hi, and then I noticed the guys peering curiously at my body.
“We’re swimming naked!” Max announced cheerfully, forestalling any awkward questions. “We were alone, so we figured it would be okay. If it bothers you, we’ll be happy to go and put our swim costumes back on.”
“No, that’s okay – you do your thing,” said one of the guys, while grinning at me.
The other guy said, “Just keep your distance, man, and we’re cool.”
The young woman – about my age I guess – didn’t say anything, but she looked kind of amused.
After a bit, Max said to me, “Want to move to the hot tub?”
“Sure,” I said. I really wanted to go and get dressed, but that would mean going to bed with Max. The hot tub wasn’t a much better option, but I hoped that with other people not far away, he would not dare to go too far with his groping.
Well that was a vain hope! I followed Max out of the pool, hurried with him over to the hot tub, and climbed in ... and Max sat down next to me, put his left arm around me, and stuck his right hand between my legs. Then, as he began sensuously massaging my naked pussy, he began talking casually about the conference, as if what he was doing was no big deal!
I tried to tune out the sensations coming from my loins, but my contribution to the conversation was pretty minimal. While he rubbed my clitoris with his thumb, he was teasing my vagina by circling it with another finger – his middle finger, probably – and occasionally dipping it slightly inside. With Jordan in mind, I knew I had to come up with a new place to draw my line in the sand, and I considered “finger in vagina” as the new line ... but Max had already started flirting with that, and I just knew he was going to go deeper and deeper by gradual increments ... so I discounted this as unworkable.
Which was probably just as well, because while I was thinking about this, he was in fact going deeper with his finger. I could feel his fingertip stroking the inside of my vagina, further and further in, until he was rubbing my g-spot in concert with my clit.
Oh god – I was starting to get super-aroused! I just couldn’t help it; I hoped Jordan would understand, and forgive me. But Max really knew how to use his fingers! Then, with his left arm wrapped around my waist, he lifted me and pulled me around in front of him and on to his lap, facing him. I found myself sitting on his lap, my legs straddling his thighs. His finger was still inside me.
He pulled me in close, and I felt his cock poking between my buttocks. His fingers continued working their magic, and I was starting to breathe heavily. Then he reached up with his left hand, cupped the back of my head, and pulled me into a kiss!
As before, I kept my mouth shut, but his lips and tongue were very persistent! It was hard to breathe through just my nose, particularly as Max began rapidly thrusting his finger in and out of my vagina. I felt really guilty, but I knew I couldn’t keep my orgasm at bay forever.
I gasped ... perhaps I moaned a little ... and Max’s tongue wormed into my mouth. Then I couldn’t close it again, otherwise I’d have bitten his tongue! He swirled his tongue around mine, while finger-fucking me and rubbing my clit ... and the intensity of all this stimulation soon sent me into sensory overload. I moaned and shuddered in another intense orgasm, while Max continued to thrust his fingers – he seemed to have slipped in another – in and out of me. Then he pulled his fingers out, and I felt the tip of his cock rubbing me all the way from my clit, down to my vagina, and beyond to my anus ... and then back again ... and it occurred to me that he could shove it inside me at any moment, and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop it.
He was still kissing me ... I was panting ... his tongue was all over mine ... his finger was gently pushing against my anus ... the head of his cock had come to rest beneath the opening of my vagina ... I could barely think ... but I was expecting to feel him sink inside me at any moment...
Then he pulled his face away from mine. “We should probably get to bed,” he said, smiling enigmatically.
I nodded, still acutely aware of where his cock was. He reached up and gave my bare breasts a squeeze, but I barely noticed. Then he lifted me off his lap, and climbed out, his wilting cock swinging back and forth. I climbed out after him, and then noticed that the three in the pool were staring at us! Horrifying ... but I was becoming a bit numb to this kind of humiliation, or something. At any rate, it didn’t bother me as much as I would have expected.
I showered, got dressed, and returned to the room. Max was already there, and he let me in, then silently undressed me. I don’t know why I didn’t stop him; I felt kind of powerless. After everything else he had done, somehow it didn’t seem all that weird for him to unzip my skirt, unbutton my blouse, take them both off as I stepped out of my shoes, then unclasp and remove my bra, and finally, pull my panties down. We both got ready for bed, and climbed in. Max didn’t turn off the light, though; he just turned towards me and reached down to cup my pussy. He ran the tip of one finger back and forth between my labia, then he slipped it inside me, and thrust it in and out for a few moments.
Then ... oh my god ... he climbed on top of me, pulling my knees apart and then kneeling between them. His cock flopped against my pussy, then he took hold of it with one hand, resting his weight on his other elbow, and guided it up and down the groove between my pussy lips.
But I was no longer in a haze of arousal. I had been thinking hard – while I showered, while I got dressed, while I took the elevator back to our floor ... even while Max was undressing me. And what I was thinking was this: he’s not going to fuck me. This was my new plan: I was going to stop him as soon as I felt his cock begin to go inside me. I had all my words ready; I had rehearsed them out loud in the shower. I knew that he would probably take it slow, tease me with his cock, rub it around the edge of my orifice, dip it in slightly and then withdraw, dip it in a little further...
But that little strategy was not going to work any longer. Not this time! That first little dip inside was going to be my trigger. It was foolproof. This whole thing with Max was finally going to come to a long-overdue end, mere seconds from now.
Max paused, then reached over and fetched something from his bedside table. I had not noticed it before; it was a tube of KY jelly or some such thing. He pushed himself up into a kneeling position, which of course uncovered me down to my knees! I felt very exposed and mortified, but my feeling of humiliation only grew worse as he squirted a GIANT quantity of lube into his hand, and began rubbing it all over my pussy!
With my legs spread, and the light on ... he could see everything! My most intimate parts, exposed to his gaze and now being slathered in clear jelly! I felt like I was dying inside. But it got worse; he pushed my knees back, further presenting my pussy for his viewing, and then he sank two fingers into my vagina! As he thrust them in and out, slickly lubricated by the jelly, I found myself wishing he would just hurry up and stick his cock in me, just to bring an end to it all!
Finally, he lay back down on me, and I thought, this is it: now he’s going to fuck me. But he didn’t, at first; he kept his two fingers in me, stroking my g-spot, getting me all squirmy...
I mean ... you have to give me a break. I didn’t want any of this, I hadn’t asked for it, I hadn’t consented to it ... but this was still an undeniably erotic situation. Max is an older man, with a receding hairline, and he has a few extra pounds around his middle ... but he’s still a good-looking guy, very smart, capable, confident, personable, articulate ... he’s a catch! And I love Jordan and I’m 100% faithful to him ... but my body doesn’t always obey the commands of my brain, and despite my earlier orgasm, it was once again getting super-aroused!
Slick with lube, Max’s fingers were now fucking me hard. Then he took them out, and rubbed his cock up and down the cleft in my pussy, sliding over my vaginal opening without going in. Every time it slid over the entrance, my carefully-prepared words were on my lips, ready to spring from my mouth. All I had to do was get them out; whether Max paid any attention to them or not was another matter. He might well bury his cock in me and slam it in and out until he came ... and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. But at least I would have done my part, and fulfilled my obligations as a dutiful and faithful wife.
In went the fingers again. As he thrust them in and out, Max planted his lips on mine, and snaked his tongue into my mouth. I guess I was panting pretty hard by now, so my mouth was open a little. He swirled his tongue around mine for a bit, and withdrew his fingers so he could rub my pussy with his cock again. He sucked on my lips, on my tongue ... I gasped and couldn’t help moaning softly as I felt my climax getting nearer. He slid his fingers in me again and slid them in and out with rapid, firm strokes as I tried not to writhe my hips from the sheer erotic pleasure I was experiencing.
He grasped my right breast with his hand, and squeezed it while he continued to kiss me ... and slowly, the horrible realization dawned that what was slamming in and out of my vagina right now was not actually Max’s fingers. It was his cock, thick and firm and erect. I had missed my opportunity! The initial shock of this, however, quickly gave way to resignation. I had tried, but Max had been too skillful a player. He was now fucking me, and it was too late to do anything about it.
I shuddered and moaned loudly in my climax – the best yet. But still Max hammered his cock into me, keeping up the intensity, keeping my orgasm going ... I was in a daze of sexual bliss. Guilt, hovering at the edges of my consciousness, was something I would just have to deal with later. My body just wanted to be fucked.
Then Max groaned, and stiffened, and pressed his cock deep inside me as he climaxed himself. My orgasm winding down, I just lay still, panting, as he thrust a few more times, emptying the last of his cum into the depths of my vagina. Then he rolled off me, turned the light out, gave me one last kiss on the lips, and said, “Goodnight, Angie.”
“Goodnight, Max,” I replied. What else could I say, at that point?
I remained on my back; Max cuddled up to my right side, with his right hand cupping my pussy. When he fell asleep, I didn’t bother moving his hand; it felt kind of pointless. So I fell asleep with his hand cradling my pussy.
When I woke up the next morning, Max was already awake, and stroking my pussy. Then it occurred to me that his touch felt very slippery, and I realized he was lubing me up again. Clearly, he intended to start today as he had finished last night.
You might think I would have woken up all “Oh my god, I can’t believe what happened last night!” ... but I guess the manner of my waking just kind of put me right back in the previous night’s frame of mind. I was not given a chance to remember and regret ... it was all still happening! And my feeling was one of resignation: I had failed to stop Max from fucking me last night; what difference did another fuck this morning make?
He climbed on top of me, pushed his cock inside me, and began fucking me. Mercifully he did not go for a kiss this time; I think morning breath would have been a serious issue!
Afterwards, I went to the bathroom, then I started to get dressed. But Max stopped me as I was putting my bra on. “Let’s see how your outfit looks without a bra,” he said, pulling it off my shoulders. Then he helped me into a clean blouse. I tried buttoning it up a little higher than usual, but when he simply undid the button I had just fastened, I gave up. “There,” he said. “That looks great! No bras at work from now on, okay?” It was not really a question, and I did not bother to reply; I just knew I would not be wearing any more bras to work.
“In fact,” said Max cheerfully, “let’s give your entire outfit a bit of an overhaul. We’ll stop at the mall on the way to the office.”
We had breakfast, drove back to Jonesville, and went to the mall. Max bought me a few low-cut, clingy, short-sleeved tops that I figured would give him nice easy access to my breasts, in several different colors. Then he took me to Victoria’s Secret, and bought me a couple of ridiculously tiny, stretchy skirts that not only barely covered my butt, but started riding up immediately as I walked. He also bought me some even shorter plaid skirts that had pleats – ‘naughty schoolgirl’ skirts, he called them. It was one of these that he insisted I wore back to work.
We had lunch together, then went back to the office. I was dreading walking in with my panties showing! I made it to my desk okay, but a while later, I went to the bathroom ... and Deena Gleason said, “What the hell are you wearing, Angie?”
I had been afraid of this! I said, feeling very embarrassed, “Oh, I just felt like showing off my legs a bit.” I didn’t want to throw Max under the bus.
“Well you look like a slut,” said Deena, nastily. “Even worse than usual. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’re lowering the tone of the office. Everyone’s talking about you. You look like a hooker, for God’s sake! Go home and put some more clothes on!”
I felt so humiliated! It was worse than being seen naked on the balcony at the hotel! I had never felt so cheap, so worthless ... and so it is with great sadness that I feel I must report Deena for sexual harassment. I believe her behaviour qualifies, under the legal definition.
Anyway, I must get going – Max invited himself to dinner. Gulp!