index


Message-ID: <46353asstr$1074892206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "flapaddict@yahoo.com" <flapaddict@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Skirt Day 8-9
Lines: 488
Date: Fri, 23 Jan 2004 16:10:06 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

If you like this story, please send an email to
flapaddict@yahoo.com.

Please do not repost without asking permission; a
revised version will be available for reposting
following requests.

Previous chapters can be found at www.asstr-mirror.org. 
Don't forget to send in a donation while you're there.

Chapter 8: Lisa's Dream

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 9: A New Skirt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lisa - 

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

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

Dear Lisa,

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

Best,
Cheryl

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

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

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

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

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

Cheryl pauses for a moment.  Lisa is speechless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free web site building tool. Try it!
http://webhosting.yahoo.com/ps/sb/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+