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Subject: {ASSM} Revised, Reposted: Skirt Day 1-5 (exhib, humil)
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Several readers asked for the first 5 chapters again.
Here they are, with slight revisions.
Let me know what you think. Email flapaddict@yahoo.com.
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<1st attachment, "sd1r.txt" begin>
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.
Skirt Day - by C. Maxwell
Chapter one: how it began
Lisa wondered why it was that despite her successful career in
middle management and a plethora of dating options consequent to
her tall, blond good looks, she still felt empty and unhappy. In
fact she didn't much like dating - all too often she would find
the guy's shallow attempts to impress, to make her laugh, and to
get into her jeans to be frustratingly unsatisfying. She usually
delivered a forceful rejection to each guy, and even went on to
instruct him on how to improve his life.
Her career was taking off - she felt a promotion coming - and
with a recent raise and no children, a paid-off house and car,
and fully paid student loans, she had all the money she needed
and more; an indication of 26 years of hard work and little play,
she thought. Why not more happiness from such early stability
and success? This she asked her recently hired therapist, Joan.
After several weeks, Joan found it a major breakthrough when she
realized that Lisa's dating disappointments - and perhaps
business disappointments as well - came from her displeasure at
docile partners. Joan explained her theory to Lisa: you find
forceful men attractive, but you are so self-confident that you
are too forceful with them to allow them to assert themselves.
Joan thought of a potential therapy for Lisa. She began asking
Lisa questions about how she could tone down her aggressive
stature. One session, Joan had an idea:
"Lisa - I notice that at every session, you are always dressed
quite similarly. Baggy jeans, a dark-colored blouse or sweater.
You never dress in a particularly . . . feminine way," Joan
asked, looking for something.
"I prefer to dress this way. It's comfortable."
"And fairly gender neutral . . ."
"So?"
"So, why don't you ever wear a dress? Maybe a low-cut top? High
heels?"
"I don't think I would be taken seriously if I wore those things.
People would think I was, you know, just a girl."
"Do you even own any dresses?"
"I have one floor-length evening gown that I bought for a
Christmas party some years back, and another that I've had since
high school."
"Floor length? I'll bet it was more conservative than the other
dresses at the party."
"Of course. Many of the wives of the employees wore short little
cocktail dresses. You could just see the men looking at their
legs and breasts the whole time. I would never wear something
like that to an office party. What if my colleagues saw up my
skirt? They should be talking to /me/, not my breasts."
"Maybe so. But Lisa - I think this might be a route to explore
ways to enrich your life. I think you box yourself in too much.
You are always so concerned about earning respect and being the
leader. It even cuts into your wardrobe. But your wardrobe is
one of the easiest things we can augment. So, doctor's orders, I
want you to try this: after today's session, I want you to go
shopping. I want you to find something feminine - a dress or a
skirt - to wear to our next session."
"That shouldn't be hard."
"Actually, it should be, so I'm going to make it a little harder
on you. I want it to be short. Well above the knee. I want you
to buy a skirt that seems just long enough to you, but absolutely
no longer, and wear it here with bare legs. The weather is
plenty warm for it."
"You're not wearing a skirt, Joan. Why should I?"
"I almost always wear a skirt on a date. Do you?"
"No."
"Well, there you go."
That afternoon, Lisa went shopping, figuring she must be paying
her therapist for something. She had not worn a skirt above the
knee since childhood - and then she never liked the threat of
being exposed and teased by the boys. But she was an adult now
and she could handle it.
She tried on about 5 skirts and ultimately ended up buying a dark
green, loose a-line skirt that fell to just above her knees. She
put it in her closet and forgot about it until her session a week
later. As she shaved her legs that morning, it occurred to her
that although she shaved her legs almost every morning, there was
never really any point until today.
The feeling of going outside with her legs no longer safely
wrapped by denim or cotton pants, or at least knee-length shorts,
was one she had not felt in a while. She could feel the slightly
cool air on her knees and thighs as she took the subway to her
session, and she knew that she looked more feminine, more
exposed, more weak than her usual self. But there was something
else.
"What else?" asked Joan.
"I guess I do feel more attractive. That's the point of this,
right?"
"That's part of it. It is very nice looking, although you still
look quite conservative. What I want for you, Lisa, is to feel
/vulnerable/. I think that's what you're missing."
"Feeling vulnerable doesn't sound like a good thing."
"I think for you, it will be. Do you have a date next week?"
"No."
"An important business meeting?"
"Just one departmental meeting. Why?"
"This is what I want you to do: tomorrow, take your new skirt to
a tailor. Ask him to shorten it by 4 inches. Don't try it on
for him, just ask him to do it. Ask him to call you when it's
done. Then, the day he calls you, whatever day it is, you pick
it up. And then the next day will be important. On that day you
will wear the skirt, again with bare legs. You will wear it even
though it will feel too short for you. You will do this because
I told you. And whenever you wear that skirt, I want you to try
to be passive. I want you to do whatever anyone tells you,
whether it be a coworker, a friend, or even a stranger. So that
as you wear that skirt, you are labeling yourself as a humble
servant, at the mercy of the world. Of course, it's really our
secret that you will do what anyone asks, but that won't change
the /feeling/ of it. Do you think you can do that?"
Lisa was shocked. She did not know if she could do it. But it
sounded like a challenge. She thought about it, and Joan added
"I dare you to do it, Lisa."
So it was a challenge! Lisa believed nothing was too difficult
for her, so this shouldn't be, either.
"Remember, when you wear that skirt, you will do whatever anyone
asks, starting with putting on the skirt in the morning and
wearing it all day."
The tailor gave Lisa a slightly funny look when she asked to have
her perfectly nice skirt shortened, but would only tell, not
show, how short. Lisa felt a little embarrassed, but she did not
let it bother her since it wasn't her idea.
For the beginning of the week, Lisa felt a great anticipation for
her "skirt day." She resolved that she would indeed do what
anyone told her (not that anyone would, since no one would know
that they could) and the thought somehow excited her. She
rationalized that it was the danger of it. It's highly unlikely
that a stranger on the street could stop her and ask her to strip
naked and have sex with him, but if he did, she would /have/ to.
The more Lisa thought about it, the more simultaneous dread and
excitement filled her. On Tuesday she picked up the skirt, which
looked noticeably smaller in her hands although she did not try
it on. On Tuesday night she had a little trouble sleeping,
wondering what would happen the next day.
Wednesday morning. Lisa wakes up, showers, shaves her legs,
brushes her teeth, takes her birth control pill, and returns to
the bedroom. Wrapped in plastic is her fate for the day, hanging
next to the white blouse she planned to wear with it. She picks
out her favorite set of underwear - somewhat high cut white
panties and a bra with just a little push to it. She buttons up
the blouse (all but the collar button), and then removes the
skirt from the plastic. She slides it up her legs, and when the
hem reaches her knees she realizes that the waistband is still
half a foot from her waist. She slides it higher and when
finally she fastens the button at the waist she feels that her
legs are almost entirely exposed. She wonders after all if she
can go through with this!
She looks in the mirror. The skirt only covers half of her
thighs. She feels exposed, vulnerable, and anxious. She turns
around and bends over. It's hard to tell in the mirror, but
she's confident her panties are still covered, even though the
backs of her thighs are in plain view. She tries sitting down,
exposing more thigh as the skirt rides up. "This is how it will
be all day," she says. She knows she has to go through with it
now.
Then she feels it: with the vulnerability comes excitement. What
will happen to her? What adventures will befall her now that so
much of her is exposed? It seems very different, slightly scary,
and above all, /alive/. As she puts on a pair of flat sandals
she purchased yesterday, grabs her purse, and walks out the door,
locking her house and her pants behind her, she pulls down her
skirt as far as it goes, swallows her fear, and realizes why she
has been paying Joan all this time. For the first time in years,
she is looking forward to her day.
Chapter two: skirt day
The skirt is really too short for comfort. The loose cotton
sways around the middle of her thighs, reminding her that her
white panties are not far from view. As she walks down the steps
to the subway, a sharp underground breeze flies up her thighs to
her warm crotch. She quickly grasps the hem. Did her skirt fly
up? Did anyone see? Does anyone know how vulnerable I am?
As she waits for the train, she feels the eyes of the other
waiting passengers. A large black man on the bench blatantly
stares at her. (Will he order her to unbutton her blouse?) A
blue-suited businessman offers repeated glances from behind his
newspaper. (Will he demand her panties?) An Asian woman, herself
in a mid-thigh length dress, seems to be absentmindedly gazing at
Lisa's knees. (Would she make Lisa kneel and lick her feet?)
Lisa realizes that her thoughts are crazy. Her skirt says
nothing about her self-promise to obey. The pleasant weather had
several women dressed in short skirts and dresses (although very
few as short as hers). The thought brings her down to reality,
leaving her a little disappointed. Then she remembers: those
other women don't have to obey. But I must. The thought excites
her; she cannot understand why, and she realizes she is becoming
aroused.
When the train rolls into the station she holds her skirt down,
wondering what might have happened if she hadn't. She boards the
train and sits in a side-facing seat across from a young male
passenger. She places her purse on her lap and begins reading
the ads above. Of course, she has seen those ads a thousand
times. She just reads them to avoid eye contact. But today she
is facing her fears, she thinks. She looks at the passenger
across from her. He is clearly looking at her thighs, hidden
more by her small purse than by her tiny skirt. He realizes that
she sees him, and looks up to meet her eyes.
She is suddenly gripped by terror. Maybe it will start here, she
thinks. This confident young male will ask her to take her purse
off her legs, and to spread them apart so that he can see her
panties. Then he will make her follow him . . . what about her
modesty, her job, her responsibilities? How can she so easily
have sex with a stranger from the train?
But he says nothing; rather he gives an embarrassed smile and
looks away.
Lisa knows that strangers are not going to tell her to do
anything. She can merely walk among them, on her way to work
like everyone else, and they will look at her exposed legs, but
they don't know what those exposed legs mean. They don't know
that it means she's . . . available.
As she rides the elevator up to her office, it occurs to her that
it will be different with her coworkers. Her boss, her
employees. They know her - they will interact with her. What
will they say?
She tries to tell if they are looking at her legs as she walks to
her desk, but if they are they are trying their best to be
subtle. Lisa does not have her own office (yet) - she just has a
slightly fancier cubicle than those she manages. As she enters
her cubicle, she looks down at her legs. So much of them are
naked! She sits at her seat and feels its rough fabric against
her bare thighs. "This skirt is not appropriate for the
workplace," she thinks. She is flushed with embarrassment. What
was she thinking?
She turns on the computer and rubs her left thigh as her computer
boots. It feels good to rub her bare flesh here at work she
thinks . . . but is anyone looking? She wishes her cubicle
offered more privacy.
The computer comes to life, and her email program starts and
instantly sends a message. Lisa remembers, too late she thinks,
that she had programmed it to automatically send out a reminder
on Wednesday mornings for the departmental meeting after lunch.
She has to chair that meeting! That means standing in front of
her entire department in this tiny miniskirt. She wonders if she
should cancel, but the email goes to the entire department,
including herself. "Don't miss today's meeting," it says. She
remembers: I will obey, even orders I sent myself!
When she reflected upon her day later in the evening, she
remembered that every time she left her desk that morning felt
like an adventure. Her walk to her mailbox. Her walk to the
copy machine - her hope that no one else would enter the copy
room as she made her copies. Her walk to the desk of their new
administrative assistant, Steve. He was definitely checking out
her legs as she gave him a routine set of orders. He doesn't
know that he could be giving me the orders today, she had
thought. The idea of what he might ask if he knew he could ask
it distracted her for a full 15 minutes after the encounter.
When it came to be noon, she realized that she was heavily
aroused. She stopped in the ladies room on the way to the
cafeteria, and entered a stall. When she pulled down her
panties, she noted their dampness. The thought of masturbating,
right here in the public bathroom of her own workplace, crossed
her mind. But she knows it would make noise. Someone would
know. They would know it was her. She couldn't. She had to
survive her arousal.
At lunch, she recalled, she was somewhat grateful to have a
napkin covering her bare lap. She thought, although she wasn't
sure, that when Art from engineering dropped his fork from across
the table, and got down on his hands and knees to find it, he may
have been trying to look up her skirt. She believes that the
napkin maintained her modesty. "If Art had only asked me to
remove it . . . "
After lunch, it is time for the departmental meeting. Lisa sits
at her desk and rubs her bare knees. She has never been to work
in a skirt, and this skirt is /too short/. She will have to
stand up in front of everyone and give a progress overview. Will
they listen? Will they look at her thighs?
As she ponders, she realizes she is running late. She grabs her
notes and rushes to the conference room, her short skirt swaying
as she walks with long strides. She can hear the chatter in the
conference room, and as she opens the door there is an immediate
hush. All eyes are upon her.
"Uh," she says, "thank you all for coming." (I never thank them
for coming - it's their job!) She starts to go through her notes
and wonders - do they see how nervous I am? Do they see how much
I wish I could sit down? And then to her horror she wonders -
can they smell how aroused I am?!?
But she would never know. The meeting proceeds as it has every
week, and it ends no differently.
As the afternoon wears away to six o'clock, and most have gone
home, Lisa has calmed down. She thinks about how on edge she has
been all day, and reminds herself why she went through it. Most
days she felt so empty. But not today. It worked, she thinks.
It worked for one day, and all the time and money with Joan has
paid off.
At the same time, she realizes that the edge is fading. She has
promised herself that when she wears the skirt, (or any skirt,
she decides), she will secretly promise to obey. And maybe there
will be slight excitement. But in truth, she feels safe. No one
has given her opportunity to obey - and nobody will. There is no
real danger, she thinks. Why should this disappoint her?
As she shuts down her computer and swings her chair out from
under her desk, Steve stops by.
"Hi!" he says.
Lisa is now sitting in her chair, uncrossed legs almost fully
exposed, and Steve is standing above her, leaning on the side of
the cubicle entrance, looking down at her.
"Hi Steve," she responds, "Working late?"
"Yeah, I guess," he says. "I . . ." he hesitates.
"Yes?"
"I think you look awfully nice today, Lisa," he says.
"Thank you Steve."
He warms to her nice response. Clearly he was nervous. Lisa
wonders if this is going to get awkward. She has no intention of
dating one of her employees, but he's clearly here to flirt.
"I like that skirt."
"Thanks, Steve, but I think it's a little shorter than I thought
when I bought it . . . " Don't want him to think I did this on
purpose, she thinks.
"Nonsense. It's perfect. I think you should wear it more often."
"Excuse me?"
"It really made my Wednesday. You should wear it every
Wednesday!"
Lisa knows he is trying to be funny, or flirtatious. Her initial
reaction is to be offended, or maybe creeped out. But this is
it, she thinks. This is where my meddle is tested. That was an
order. And she has promised herself: she will obey.
"Okay, Steve, we'll see. I need to be getting home now."
She stands and pulls down the hem. Steve is watching every move.
He lets her out, watching her. It occurs to her that he was
trying his best to be confident. She likes to encourage
confidence in her workers. But more than that . . . she feels
her safety taken away. She must obey. She /will/ wear the skirt
next week. She will obey whenever she wears it. And if Steve
gets what he wants this time, will he want more?
The vulnerability and excitement that kept her aroused all day
reach a peak. She rushes to the subway and from the subway
rushes to her apartment. She throws herself on the bed, pulls up
the skirt, and shoves her hands on her panties. Here, in the
privacy of her bed, she can moan all she likes as she pleasures
herself to the best orgasm she has ever had, followed by another,
more comfortable one.
Chapter three: Just the beginning
Lisa had mixed feeling about her next session with Joan. She
almost didn't want to tell Joan about her feelings. Joan seemed
to understand too much, and Lisa's private thoughts seemed too
private even for her therapist.
"No skirt today?" was the first question Joan asked.
"Um, no, but I did what you said. On Wednesday."
"And how did that go."
Lisa hesitated. "Well, Joan, 4 inches was a lot. That skirt was
really too short for work. I don't think I should do that
again."
"Maybe once is enough," said Joan, "but tell me how you felt."
"Well, embarrassed, I guess."
"And . . .?"
Lisa didn't know what to say. She could not admit the pleasure
it gave her. She had just done it because Joan dared her, right?
"Well, you wondered if I could do it, and I did. I promised to
do whatever anyone said, and I did."
"Did someone tell you to do something?"
"Well, yes. Steve, the new, young hire, asked me to wear the
skirt again next Wednesday. So I will."
Joan smiled. "You don't really have to, Lisa. If you really
felt embarrassed . . . "
I did, but it felt good, she thought. "No, I can't back out now.
That was the point. I will wear it again."
Joan clearly sensed something, and seemed to drop the subject.
"Two weeks ago we talked about how stressful you feel when an
employee disappoints you . . ."
And then the session with Joan turned back to normal. Lisa later
thought: thank you Joan. I still need your help, but you
revealed my need to feel vulnerable at the hands of others. You
showed me, but did not abuse it.
Next Wednesday. Skirt day. Lisa, hair wet from her shower,
looks at the skirt, hanging in her closet. It's so short, she
thinks again. She'll be more naked if she doesn't go with bare
legs, she thinks. She'll buy some pantyhose. Just like pants,
they will be, and she will still be obeying by wearing the skirt.
Of course, she doesn't own any. She can be a little late for
work.
She stops by a drugstore, on the way to work. She buys a few
pairs of dark pantyhose. She finds a restroom, removes the
packaging, and pulls them on to her legs. Much better, she
thinks. Just like pants. Just tighter, and more transparent . .
. maybe not really like pants at all.
The subway is packed this morning, probably because she's a
little later than usual. The crowd in the train is so thick she
cannot turn around. She keeps one hand on her purse and the
other on the metal bar above her head. She knows she needs to
worry about pickpockets in crowds this thick.
Suddenly, between stops, she feels a hand on her inner leg,
between her knees. She cranks her head around to see who it is,
but this causes the hand to disappear, and all the passenger
faces look the same: innocent, normal, waiting for the train to
get to the next stop. She looks forward again, and the hand
appears again. It must be someone sitting, for the hand to be
that low, she realizes. There are really only two possibilities,
then. It was either that Hispanic guy, or the other guy I didn't
get a good look at.
I am wearing the skirt. I will obey. I will let him touch me.
This time, she does not try to look back.
The hand feels good rubbing against the nylon on her legs.
Without much friction, it wanders freely over her knees. Lisa is
nervous, but the hand feels good. She realizes she doesn't know
whose it is. Someone has no idea who she is: he just knows she
has pretty legs, and they are shown off by this skirt. Perhaps
he couldn't resist. Or maybe, somehow he knows what the skirt
means? Lisa realizes she is getting warm, especially at her
crotch. The combination of panties, pantyhose, and skirt keeps
all that warmth and moisture in. And that hand in starting to
move upwards - it is now caressing her inner thigh, at the hem of
her skirt. It does not have much higher to go. It seems to be
hesitant, though. Is it afraid of getting caught? She must
obey. She will let it go as high as it has confidence to go.
She realizes, in fact, that she wants it to go. She wants to
feel it against her crotch, she wants it to rub her here on the
crowded subway car. She /needs/ it. As the hand slips under her
skirt, she hears herself give off a quiet moan. The older man
standing next to her glances at her face; she blushes. Nothing
going on here, she hopes he will think. I'm just standing here,
not feeling a hand underneath my skirt. Not feeling it wander
higher. No, it has not now reached the junction of her thighs.
I can't feel the hand squeezing between them. No, sir, I am not
spreading my legs ever so slightly, no, it's not wandering higher
still, no OH! That's not a strangers hand on my panties,
applying a massaging pressure against my OH YES! Just a little
more, I need it . . .
But the hand stops when the train reached the next stop, and the
hand is lost in bustle of passengers pushing their way off the
train. Lisa fights her urge to put her own hand there, and give
herself a little more.
When Lisa arrives at work, she realizes her panties are soaked.
She is almost uncomfortable. She heads towards the restroom, but
is stopped as she passes Steve's desk.
"Lisa - you wore it!"
Lisa blushes. She had forgotten why she had worn it. It had
been Steve's orders, she realizes.
"Oh, yes, I guess I did." She doesn't know what to say. She
fears what Steve will ask next. But she cannot leave. She must
obey.
"Listen, Lisa, I'm really amazed that you wore that again for me.
For the past few days your clothes went back to normal - so I
thought I'd never see you like this again."
"Well, Steve, every once in a while I like to dress up a little."
"Every Wednesday, right?"
Was that an order or a joke? Lisa worried for a moment. But it
must be a joke. He can't possibly know that she will obey . . .
even his jokes. /Vulnerable/, Lisa thought. Vulnerable and
alive.
"Lisa?"
Lisa realized she had stopped responding.
"Lisa? I was wondering if maybe you'd like to get some dinner
with me tonight."
There it was. The standard date request. Dinner.
"I don't know, Steve. I'm your boss, technically, and . . ."
"No one has to know. Meet me at Chez Lou's at 7pm. I'll have a
present for you."
That's how the date was made, Lisa remembers as she sits in her
apartment, asking herself whether she will really make the date
or not. She remembers that she was taken aback by his sudden
confidence. Joan claimed she would find this attractive . . .
and she did. Even though Steve was younger, and an employee . .
. anyway, it didn't matter what she thought, because it was a
skirt day, and on skirt days she would obey. It made her feel
vulnerable, and alive, and she would not give it up. She would
obey.
"I'll see you there," she had replied. And she intended to.
It was shortly before her weekly departmental meeting, later that
day, that she realized how warm and squishy she again felt
between her legs. Right before the meeting, she retreated to the
ladies room, pulled down her pantyhose and then removed her
panties. They were sopping wet. She had no desire to put them
back on. She cleaned herself up as best she could, and pulled
her pantyhose back up. They would offer enough decency, she
thought.
But as she stood in front of her employees, she could feel that
it was a little breezier under her skirt than normal. The warm
cotton of her panties somehow offered more protection than the
nylon of her pantyhose. Protection from what, she wondered?
Now she has to decide whether or not to put on a clean pair of
panties for her date. Already she feels warm. She knows it is
because of the danger. She knows that Steve's confidence is
increasing, and she knows that she cannot stop obeying now. She
knows that she will do what he says, and all she can do is hope
that he will be a gentleman tonight. What if he isn't?
Needing a little more protection, she finds a pair of modest
black panties in her drawer, puts them on, and heads for the
restaurant.
Steve is waiting at a table for two. There is an open bottle of
red wine. There is a small box, wrapped in shiny green paper.
This must be the present he promised. He's trying too hard, she
thinks. He doesn't need to give me a corny present. It is
probably chocolate. Not that she didn't like chocolate. It just
seemed too much like payment.
"You made it," he says, as she sits, briefly showing her
nylon-clad legs as her green skirt rides up, but hiding them
under the tablecloth immediately after.
"Steve," she says, "before this goes further . . . "
Steve pours her a glass of wine.
"Thank you. Now, before this goes further, you should know . .
."
"Lisa, I understand. I'm younger, an employee. This doesn't
have to go any further than you let it."
I have to let it go, Lisa thought. I cannot let you let me feel
safe. But what will people think?
"Let's just not let it get out of hand, okay?"
"Okay. Now, order. They always have good fish here."
By the end of the meal, the wine has left Lisa a bit tipsy. She
eyes the green box. Mmmm . . . chocolate. Steve sees her
looking at it, and hands it to her.
"For you," he says. "But don't open it now; open it when you get
home."
"Awww," she replies, "I can't open it?" She weighs it in her
hand. Too light for chocolate. What could it be?
"Open it later, when you get home. I really hope you like it."
"I'm sure I will," she says. And then she thinks . . . "when I
get home." This means she will be going home. Steve will be a
gentleman, tonight. Oh goodness, she thinks, I /am/ attracted to
him. Or am I attracted to the idea of doing everything he says?
She thanks him for the dinner, and he walks her home. Not so
much as a good night kiss is offered as he says goodnight and
leaves her, present in hand, to return to her bedroom.
What is in the box? She cannot wait to find out. She lies on
the bed with the box and tears off the green wrapper, revealing a
plain white cardboard box. She removes the lid, and unwraps the
white tissue. It is a garment, black. She pulls it out, and
holds it up.
It is a skirt. Black, pleated . . . and short. Maybe only an
inch longer than the one she is wearing, but she is not sure.
There are many pleats, and the skirt sways around as she holds
it. It looks like it is even her size.
In the box, is a note:
Lisa,
Please, please wear it tomorrow so that I know if it fits.
Return it to me if it doesn't.
- Steve
Lisa remembers her promise to herself: when I wear a skirt, I
obey. She looks down at her green skirt, and then the note. If
that little black skirt fits, then I will have to wear it
tomorrow. And then tomorrow I will have to obey as well.
Anxiously, she removes her green skirt and pulls the black one
over hips. It sits a little higher on her waist then the green
one, but it has a little strap that she pulls tight and buttons.
It fits perfectly.
And she was wrong. It is shorter, perhaps an inch shorter than
the green one. And as she poses in the mirror, she twirls, and
the skirt flies up. Those pleats aren't meant to keep it down,
she thinks. And she believes she saw her panties! She twirls
again, and there they are! She can't wear this to work! One
overenthusiastic turn and her employees - and maybe her boss -
will see her underwear! How can she?
But she knows she will. She must.
Chapter 4: Intensification
Thursday morning. The black skirt lies on the bed. The pleats
taunt her. This skirt is way too short. I will be exposed.
Everyone will see how vulnerable I am.
Already she feels warm and moist between her legs. She remembers
how uncomfortable her cotton panties felt. The pantyhose are
enough by themselves - but the skirt leaves her so exposed! If
someone does see under her skirt, she cannot let them see the
shadow of her pubic hair under the nylon. She puts on black
panties - any other color would be too visible, followed by the
dark pantyhose. She looks in the mirror again, and cannot help
but twirl. She must remember not to do that in public!
The breezes in the subway seem especially fierce this morning.
She has to hold down the skirt with both hands, and still she can
feel parts of it blowing up. She knows that the nylons are more
transparent around the upper part of her thighs, where the
material is more stretched. She knows someone else must be
noticing that, too.
As she boards the subway car, she realizes that she stands in the
same place as yesterday. A little less crowded, but still quite
packed. She remembered her experience yesterday - that warm
hand, so confidently massaging her legs, and wandering upwards.
What if the same person sits in the same place? Would the same
thing not happen?
She forces herself not to look at the seat, where the man must
have been sitting. She turns the other way, puts one hand on her
purse and the other on the metal bar above her head. Here I am,
she thinks. Both hands are occupied. I cannot protect myself.
I cannot see you. My skirt is even shorter, my legs are even
more inviting. She stands and waits, hoping the hand will
return. Maybe I'm too early, she thinks. After three stops, she
can feel her pussy begging for the hand, any hand to rub her
legs.
But no hand appears.
As she enters the office, she immediately sees Steve at his desk,
watching the door. When he sees her, his face lights up with a
smile. Lisa blushes. That's a knowing smile. He knows. He
knows he has me. He knows. . . . what I am. The thought thrills
and terrifies her. The safety she thought she had from no one
knowing was gone. But still there was a little: Steve seemed to
be a gentleman. Of course, despite their date, she still knew
very little about him. Fresh out of college, his resume did not
say too much of relevance. What would he make her do? Would he
leak the secret?
Right before lunch, she was nervous. She had been since she
first arrived and sat down. She had booted up her computer. An
email awaited her:
"L-
Meet me for lunch, third table from the salad bar.
-S"
There was no "please." It was clearly an order. She noted that
her nylon-clad thighs were nearly completely exposed by the
skirt. She would obey, of course. But she did not leave her
cubicle that morning. She had some paperwork that she would
normally give to Steve, but she did not feel she wanted to
interact with him, at least not before lunch. She set it aside
and decided to bring it to him later. She worked quietly at her
desk, hiding her new skirt from the office, when another email
arrived.
"Lisa:
Can we have a meeting in my office at 3 today?
I'd like to discuss your recent progress.
Regards,
Jim"
Jim was her boss. He had been watching her carefully recently,
she hoped because a promotion was in the works. But did she have
to meet him today? In this little pleated black skirt that
flashed her panties whenever she moved?
She was nervous, but she would make her lunch date. She walks to
the cafeteria carefully, her hands at her side to keep the skirt
from flipping up. She can still feeling it swaying behind her,
accentuating the movement of her ass. (Was she wiggling it more
than usual in this skirt?)
Steve is waiting for her at the bare wooden table. She pulls out
a chair and sits across from him. She feels the cool wood
through the nylon on the back of her thighs.
"I'm pleased it fits so well," says Steve. "It looks great."
"It's a little short for the office," says Lisa.
Steve smiles. "I think it's perfect."
Lisa has no response. Maybe he doesn't know. Maybe he thinks
she's just being nice.
Steve pauses for a moment, studying Lisa's nervous face. "Now,"
says Steve, "I want you to go to the salad bar and make me a
Caesar salad with croutons, shaved parmesan, and a little bit of
cucumber. Also bring me a Coke. You may get some extra for
yourself."
Lisa feels her mouth fall open. Her first instinct is to glare
at him, put the acid in her voice and tell him to get his own
salad. But she stops herself. If she does that, then she has
not met her personal challenge. If she does that, she goes back
to the old emptiness. If she is going to feel this way, she has
to answer his question. She has to say yes, I will do what you
say. You found me out.
She gets up, and prepares the salad and drink to his order. She
realizes that she is paying for it as well - somehow this reminds
her more directly that this is not just a simple favor. She
brings the tray back to the table - as she holds it she feels the
skirt flipping around, but she cannot hold it down.
After she puts the tray before him, he says, "One more thing. I
accidentally dropped my napkin, and it floated over there." He
points to the ground, where a napkin lies about 5 feet away.
"Could you get it for me?"
She knows what he wants. He wants to see her bend over. He
wants to see her panties poking out from behind the skirt. But
he did not ask for it, so she faces him, and picks up the napkin
by crouching down. More of her thighs are revealed, but she
doesn't think he could see her panties. Still, he is smiling as
she hands him the napkin.
"Thanks," he says.
Lisa is short on words. She steals a few bites of the salad she
assembled. She is hungry, but she feels she needs to hide under
the table as best she can. Steve seems to be scheming.
When Steve finishes, he says, "I'll let you get back to work.
You probably have some paperwork for me, since you didn't see me
this morning - feel free to deliver it at any time. I don't want
anything that's happened to interfere in our work." With that
Lisa returns to her desk.
At 3 o'clock Lisa heads to her bosses office, and knocks shyly on
the door. "Come in."
Jim's office is large and elegant. His desk is a large glass
table on black marble legs. Art-deco lighting and several
abstract paintings decorate the walls, and a large window looks
over the city. Across from his desk is a cushioned arm chair, to
which Jim beckons Lisa to sit.
As she sits, she notes that her tiny black pleated miniskirt
rides up her thighs showing the full length of her nylon
pantyhose. Lisa crosses her legs to make sure her panties are
not showing, but she realizes that more of the side of her thigh
is shown to Jim. She has no desk to hide behind. She is worried
about the impression she is giving. But, she thinks, that fear
is what I need. A new fear to face. Face it I will. I will
obey no matter what.
Jim and Lisa discussed various business matters for nearly an
hour. When the loose ends seemed to be tied, Jim paused, seeking
words. Lisa fidgets with the hem of her skirt.
"You've been doing good work, Lisa," he says.
"Thanks." Where was this going?
"I want you to know that I've noticed your good work."
"Okay . . . "
"I guess what I want to say is that I have /also/ noticed a
change in your attire."
"Ah," she says, "If you ask it of me, I have no problem dressing
more conservatively. It was actually my therapist who
recommended . . . "
"Lisa, I would never ask that of you. In fact, what I really
wanted to say was that I like your change in attire. You're
showing a little more personality and that is increasing the
morale of your subordinates. It's up to you, of course, but I
think you should keep it up."
No, it isn't up to me. I would never wear such a revealing skirt
if Steve hadn't made me.
"Well, I don't know if it's really me . . . "
"Lisa, you know the opening for assistant director of marketing
is coming up."
"Yes sir."
"You know you should call me Jim. Anyway, you probably know that
you are in strong consideration for the position."
"Thank you."
"If the rest of the board thinks like me," Jim says, hesitantly,
"then your new state of dress ought not hinder your
consideration."
What did that mean? Lisa gives a confused look. Jim clearly
does not want to explain.
"Thanks Lisa. We'll talk again soon," and with that Jim waves
her out of the office.
Lisa's head is spinning. Could her short skirts prevent her from
getting the promotion, if the board disagrees with Jim? Is that
what he meant? Or did he mean that, in his opinion, the short
skirts would help her get the promotion? She would not accept
the latter - she had to make it to where she was going with hard
work and intelligence. If the former, then if she does get the
promotion, it means she gets it /despite/ the short skirts. A
woman, truly a woman, dressing as womanly as she chooses, rising
to a position of respect. That sounds good to her, but she
doesn't know if she can do it. It sounds like a personal
challenge, she thinks. "I can do this."
Her nerves thus restored, she takes the paperwork that has been
sitting on her desk to Steve.
"Steve, I need this done before you leave today."
He smiles. "Of course. I'll drop it on your desk before 5."
Lisa's confidence is restored, and she finds that she has a very
productive afternoon. So much so that she finds she can leave
early, and she greatly desires to get home to the privacy of her
bed where she can take care of the arousal that has been taunting
her all day. She turns off her computer at 4:30 and makes a
quick trip to the bathroom. When she returns, the completed
paperwork from Steve sits on her desk. On top of the pile is
another box. A plain, white cardboard box with a thin, dark
green ribbon around it. A small note says "L - Open it now. -S."
Lisa feels her legs weaken. She knows that Steve knows her
secret. She knows that the box must contain another order,
probably another skirt. It can't possibly be a shorter one, she
thinks.
Nervously, she cuts the ribbon and slowly opens the box. It is,
as suspected, a garment, black, beneath a white note. The note
reads
"Lisa,
You looked beautiful today. Almost perfect. This will bring
you closer to perfect. Please wear it with the same black skirt
you wore today.
-Steve."
She looks at the garment in the box. There's something lacy,
strappy, and something else underneath and she is not sure what
it is. She doesn't want anyone else to see it here at the
office, but she cannot tell unless she pulls it out of the box,
so she does so. She holds it up, and her heart stops. It is a
black, lacy garter belt, with nylon stockings underneath. She
has never worn such a thing - what would it feel like? She
quickly returns it to the box and closes it before anyone sees.
"I will obey," she reminds herself, and she rushes home in order
to appease her throbbing arousal.
Chapter five: Underneath
Friday morning, as the hot water pours down her naked back, Lisa
contemplates her situation. It's not so bad, she thinks. So I
attracted a man who likes to see me in sexy skirts and stockings.
I can do that. It doesn't change who I am. Very little has
actually changed. Then she thinks of the four orgasms that she
had the previous night, and realizes that she has to continue, no
matter what. She has not felt this fulfilled in a very long time.
Probably never, she thinks.
She begins to have doubts in her abilities to continue, after she
puts on the
stockings and clips them to the garter belt. The belt and lacy
stocking tops
frame her black panties, as if her pussy were a work of art on
display. She
imagines her co-workers seeing what she sees in the mirror. Their
eyes would be instantly drawn to her womanhood. She imagines
this, and it excites her, but it also scares her. She quickly
reaches for her skirt to hide the sexy undergarments.
When she pulls the black skirt up, however, she realizes that she
can't do
what Steve said. The lace of the stocking tops are not fully
covered by the
short, pleated black skirt, and when she twirls the skirt swishes
up, revealing her white flesh above the stocking tops. She simply
can't wear this to work! It is too indecent!
She wonders whether to back out of the whole promise, but decides
that she doesn't want to be so easily defeated. She finds the
green skirt in her closet instead. It's a little longer, and as
she pulls it on, she is happy to find
that it covers the stocking tops, although just barely. Steve was
probably not aware of how much the stocking tops would show in
the black one, she says to herself. He'll understand. She puts
on a lacy white bra (her favorite) and a cream colored blouse,
which she tucks into the skirt.
She rushes into the kitchen and microwaves some water for her
morning ritual of instant coffee. I am such an addict, she
thinks, as she pours the coffee into her thermal mug and rushes
out the door.
As she steps outside, and locks the door, she immediately feels a
cool wind on her naked upper thighs. The waving trees on the
street tell her that it's a windier day than most. Her coffee in
one hand allows her to only hold down one side of her skirt at
once. As she walks to the subway, she can feel the wind blowing
her skirt up, above the stocking tops. She can feel the eyes of
the men on the street, hoping to catch another glimpse. She is
embarrassed, and she rushes as quickly as she can into the
subway.
Again she is running later than usual and again the subway car is
completely full. And again, she finds herself standing in the
same place, one hand on her purse and the other on the metal bar
above her head. She can feel her breasts pressed against the man
standing next to her; the car is packed like sardines. Just
like the other day, she thinks. The other day when . . .
And then she feels it. At first she thinks she must be imagining
it, but then she realizes it is back. The hand. It is gently
stroking the smooth nylon of her inner left knee. She closes her
eyes. Her heart speeds up. She will not look back. She will
not move. Is it the same hand, she wonders? Does it matter?
At first, the hand just strokes the soft nylon at her knees and
lower thighs. It feels delightful, but then she remembers that
she is not wearing pantyhose today. The hand is sure to wander
upwards, where it will find her bare inner thighs! Her instinct
is to shut her legs to stop it, but she does not. Vulnerability
- that is the point, she reminds herself. But she realizes as
she considers her options that her panties have become very, very
wet. Surely the hand will discover this!
The hand begins its upward journey and Lisa's heart beats even
faster. She can feel it at the hem of her skirt. She can feel
it stroking the inside of her thigh. It strokes higher, inching
its way, until it finds the warm, exposed flesh above the
stocking. The hand is now completely under her skirt, feeling
that tender expanse of flesh between her stockings and her
panties. Lisa cannot help but moan, it feels so good to be
touched there, in that sensitive area, on a crowded subway train.
The hand then cups her panties and caresses her sex through her
panties. She feels her own wetness - and knows that whoever is
so boldly touching her knows she is enjoying it.
She is nearing orgasm and she wonders whether she can go through
with it here on the subway train. Nervous that people are
watching, maybe even someone she knows, she tries to hold back.
The hand continues its caresses, and she is not sure she can
stand it any more. She feels she will have to come at any
moment. She decides she has to . . . she wants to. She presses
her crotch against the hand, hoping for a firmer touch. The hand
complies; it finds her clitoris through the cotton panties and
applies pressure. It feels so good!
But the orgasm, so close to happening, is prevented by the train
reaching the station and the subway car clearing out. Lisa is on
edge - she needs that orgasm! She looks around for a public
restroom and the only one in the station is locked. "Out of
Service," reads the sign.
Late, she rushes to her office building. The elevator is
crowded, and she wonders if any of the men standing inches away
from her know about the sexy stockings beneath her skirt. Did
any of these men see my stockings in the wind outside? Do any of
them now how aroused I am right now?
When she reaches her floor, she walks immediately towards the
restroom. She needs to satisfy her arousal; she doesn't care if
another woman hears. But as she rushes to the bathroom she is
stopped by Steve.
"Lisa!"
"Oh, hi Steve."
"Come into my cubicle." He is stern. Lisa remembers that she
disobeyed slightly by wearing the slightly longer green skirt.
Lisa enters his cubicle and stands by his desk. He is seated in
his office chair. Suddenly, she feels his hand on her thigh. It
reminds her of her experience on the subway, and she is flushed
with excitement. Again, she feels the hand caress her and move
upwards, past the top of her stockings. But this time, it is
Steve, and he is looking at her face. His hands touch the bare
skin above the stockings and Lisa realizes that if he feels her
panties, he will discover that they are sopping wet with desire.
How embarrassing, she thinks! He will know how much this turns
me on! He will know how much I need to come!
But the hand stops and leaves her skirt.
"I'm so glad you wore them," Steve says. "Why not with the skirt
I bought you, though?"
"It was too short," Lisa says, "The stockings showed."
"Ah," says Steve. "We can't have that." He smiles, and Lisa
feels relief. She did not know what she would do if he did not
approve.
"But," says Steve, "I think we both know that I asked you to do
something and you didn't, and I'll bet you agree that some sort
of punishment is in order." Lisa's jaw almost drops to the
floor. Punishment? Her instinct was to slap him. But why were
her panties so warm and moist?
"Your punishment, Lisa," he says, "is going to be a little
uncomfortable. Take this." He hands her a bottle of water.
"Drink this down before lunch. You are not to use the bathroom
without my permission."
Lisa doesn't understand. Without his permission? Is she back in
grade school? "Um, okay, well, I need to use the bathroom now.
May I?" she asked.
"No. Now get to work."
Lisa ambles back to her desk, aroused, confused, and uncertain
about the
future.
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