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Message-ID: <46230asstr$1074071420@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Ah Um <flapaddict@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Skirt Day 3-5 (F, exhib, humil, ds)
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Date: Wed, 14 Jan 2004 04:10:20 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Skirt day - by Chris Maxwell

Chapter three:  Just the beginning

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

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

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

"And how did that go."

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

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

"Well, embarrassed, I guess."  

"And . . .?"

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

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

"Did someone tell you to do something?"

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

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

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

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

And then the sessions with Joan turned back to normal.
 And they stayed that way.  Lisa later thought: thank
you Joan.  I cannot do what you say any more --  I
still need your help.  But I need to feel vulnerable
at the hands of others.  You taught me that, and did
not abuse it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lisa - you wore it!"

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

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

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

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

"Every Wednesday, right?"

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

"Lisa?"  

Lisa realized she had stopped responding.

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

There it was.  The standard date request.  Dinner.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve pours her a glass of wine.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the box, is a note:

Lisa,

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

-	Steve

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

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

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

But she knows she will.  She must. 

Chapter 4: Pleats

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

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

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

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

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

But no hand appears.

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

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

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

						-S"

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

"Lisa:

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

Regards,
Jim"

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

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

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

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

"It's a little short for the office," says Lisa.
Steve smiles.  "I think it's perfect."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks," he said.  

Lisa was short on words.  She stole a few bites of the
salad she assembled.  She was hungry, but she felt she
needed to hide under the table as best she could. 
Steve seemed to be scheming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."  Where was this going?

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

"Okay . . . "

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir."

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

"Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lisa,

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

-Steve."

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

Chapter five: Underneath

Thursday morning.  As hot water pours down her naked
back, Lisa contemplates her situation.  It's not so
bad, she thinks.  So I attracted a man who likes to
see me in sexy skirts and stockings.  I can wear that.
 It doesn't change who I am.  Very little has actually
changed.  And she thinks of the four orgasms she had
the previous night, and realizes that she has to
continue, no matter what.  She has not felt this
fulfilled in a very long time.  Probably ever, she
thinks.

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

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

She wonders whether to back out of the whole promise,
but decides she does not want to be so easily
defeated.  She finds the green skirt in her closet
instead.  It is a little longer, and as she pulls it
on she is happy to find that it covers the stocking
tops, although just barely.  Steve was probably not
aware at how much stocking would show in the black
one, she says to herself.  He'll understand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lisa!" 

"Oh, hi Steve."

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

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

But the hand stops and leaves her skirt. 

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

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

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

"But," says Steve, "I think we both know that I asked
you to do something and you didn't, and I'll bet you
agree that some sort of punishment is in order." 
Lisa's jaw almost drops to the floor.  Punishment? 
Her instinct was to slap him.  But why were her
panties so warm and moist?  "Your punishment, Lisa,"
he says, "is going to be a little uncomfortable.  Take
this."  He hands her a bottle of water.  "Drink this
down before lunch.  You are not to use the bathroom
without my permission."

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

"No.  Now get to work."

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

----------

Want more?  Don't wait for it.  More postings will not
occur without a little feedback.  Send me a note at
flapaddict@yahoo.com.  


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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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