Bad Day At The Office

by Greg Ossog

Narrator: Kathy Vaughn

Some of what happened that day was my fault. But not all of it.

I woke up late that Friday morning, with barely enough time to 
shower, dress and go to work. Wrapped in a towel, I quickly laid 
out a black skirt and cream-colored blouse; but for underwear, 
there was nothing clean. My undies drawer was as empty as the 
day I bought the dresser. I scolded myself; why did I not 
noticed this yesterday, when I apparently took the last bra and 
last pair of panties out?

Anyway, I absolutely had to go in to work today; I was 
conducting a presentation at 9:30, less than an hour from now. 
There was no time to do laundry or go shopping before that. I 
also didn't want to pull anything out of the hamper. I can't 
stand wearing dirty clothes. So the only thing to do was what an 
old boyfriend called "go commando": go to work with no bra or 
panties underneath. At about 11, after the meeting was done, I'd 
take an early lunch and go to Macy's.

I had always thought "go commando" was a dumb, silly expression: 
like Rambo running through the jungle with no tighty whities. 
But now it made a little more sense: it would take some bravery 
to make it through to 11 o'clock. Even if no one else knew (and 
I hoped that would stay the case), I would know.

I put on the skirt and blouse, and checked everything twice. The 
skirt was conservative and fell just below the knee; the blouse 
was a cotton blend, very professional looking, and as far as I 
could tell, opaque. I wanted to check this from all angles, as 
you could understand. No good having your nipples showing 
through the shirt while you're going over the marketing plan. A 
silk blouse would have been no good (cling too much to my 
braless breasts); and fortunately the cotton blouse was not too 
form-fitting, though it was shapely. I decided I would be OK.

Satisfied, I took my briefcase and walked out to the bus stop. I 
normally only took a handbag to work, but I had gone over some 
material the night before. Later, I would be very glad the 
briefcase was there.

That day, the bus was packed, and we all stood, jammed together. 
I didn't like the bus particularly much, but taxis in this city 
were quite expensive and not very clean either. A seated man in 
a three-piece suit glanced up, and for a moment I thought he 
would offer his seat; but instead, he checked out my figure and 
went back to his Wall Street Journal. So much for chivalry in 
the 21st century. I was unable to resist checking my blouse as 
well, to make sure everything was in place. But if I kept doing 
this, I'd only draw people's attention to it.

It was a little fun, at first, this "going commando" bit. I had 
a little secret, and I was getting away with it, right in front 
of everyone. To think that I would be fooling the board, too: I 
smiled briefly at that.

However, the fun wore off. It was a little hotter than I was 
comfortable with (I hoped I didn't start to sweat), and I was 
jostled against other passengers as the bus swayed and people 
pushed through. And the sensation of my braless breasts (even 
though under the blouse) pressed against a stranger's back, or 
arm, was a little creepy. I missed the extra psychological 
protection a bra gives. And when my hip bumped against someone 
else, I was reminded that underneath the skirt I wore nothing at 
all. In fact, my most private parts were open to the air under 
there.

Feeling a little vulnerable, I decided it would be best to get 
off the bus and hail a taxi. Pay a little extra for some peace 
of mind. I started inching toward the side exit doors, trying to 
squeeze a path between these men in suits, when something tugged 
on my blouse. "Hey!" I said, turning back; but I never saw what 
or who pulled it. The tail was pulled out on my left side.

Doing the best I could on a swaying bus and with one free hand, 
I tucked the blouse back in and smoothed everything out. Then I 
noticed my top button had somehow come undone. When I tried to 
button it, I found out things were worse: the button was gone. 
Oh, great! It must have snapped off, and was probably somewhere 
on the grimy floor. It might still be there. I had no intention 
of stooping down and pawing around for it.

It also occurred to me that, except in the fitting room at the 
store, this was the first time I had ever worn this blouse. Were 
the button threads that fragile that a slight tug could snap 
them off? I did not want to find this out on the bus. Clenching 
the collars with one hand, I pushed my way over toward the exit 
doors to get off at the next stop.

When the doors opened, a few of us stepped out, and I nearly 
tripped, coming down hard on my right leg on the sidewalk. Even 
before I could straighten up, I felt another button give way 
with a slight snap, as my breasts pushed forward on the blouse. 
This was bad news. The blouse only had four buttons, and now the 
top two were undone. The highest intact button was now below my 
breasts, and if I leaned forward and the blouse billowed out, 
someone could see everything. Even when standing up straight, 
there were side views and top views where it was obvious I was 
not wearing a bra.

The crowd was moving, and I would be much less conspicuous 
walking along than just standing there.

As it turned out, I was just a block away from the office: a 
quicky and thankfully anonymous stroll. I crossed one arm in 
front of me while entering the lobby, hoping to draw no 
attention, hoping I wouldn't see anyone. So far, so good. I 
walked directly to the back, hoping to get an unoccupied 
elevator. I did. Maybe my bad luck was over for the day.

I pressed the button for floor 17 and leaned back against the 
wall. Never mind the missing bra; my blouse was not suitable for 
the presentation in this condition. I'd have to call some 
coworkers and see if anyone could fix it up.

The car arrived at 17 and dinged. Please let no one be in the 
corridor, I thought; it was a short distance, around one corner, 
to my office. Where I could close the door. The elevator doors 
slid open, and the hallway was deserted. I stepped out and the 
doors slid shut.

At first I couldn't figure out what was happening next. Someone 
was tugging my skirt, pulling it down! I spun around, ready to 
slap that creep silly, but saw in horror that it was somehow 
stuck between the elevator doors, and was getting sucked down. I 
fell backward, hard, tripped out of my shoes by the skirt as it 
slid down my legs, into the gap between the doors, and out of 
sight!

I was woozy for a moment before I got a sense of my situation. 
My bottom was sore, and the carpet was scratchy, and I was in 
big trouble. I was laying backward, propped on my elbows, knees 
up. My shoes were off, my skirt gone... and even worse, all the 
buttons had popped off my blouse! A silly thought entered my 
head: never buy anything of that brand ever again.

The blouse had flopped open, to each side, exposing me 
completely. I was naked from head to toe, except my arms! As I 
lay there dazed, trying to get my balance back, the left sleeve 
of my blouse slipped down, baring one shoulder. I had to get out 
of sight!

I scrambled to my feet. Put my shoes on? No time. I could hear 
voices down the corridor. I stuffed the two wings of my blouse 
together, hoping they would stay, and grabbed my briefcase and 
held in in front of my lap like a shield. This left my bottom 
quite bare, but at least concealed my you-know-what. I had to 
get to my office. I couldn't afford to have anyone see me.

Down the hall; peering around the corner; the coast was clear. I 
had to run. No telling who was behind me, and I was afraid to 
look. If someone was there, and had seen my naked bottom, all I 
could hope for was that they couldn't recognize me.

I was nearly at my office when out popped, like a 
Jack-in-the-Box, Tom Talmadge. Oh no... the VP who was notorious 
for undressing women with his eyes, and I almost collided with 
him! Now what would I do? Even if I snuck by him, he was sure to 
look at me from behind as I walked past, and see my naked ass! I 
stood paralyzed, and I knew he suspected something was fishy. 
Even without glancing down I could sense a thin gap in the 
blouse creating a neckline just a couple inches wide, but 
plunging down behind my briefcase. Below, my bare legs. I hoped 
his mind was filling in a miniskirt where he couldn't see.

"Katherine," he said, looking me over with an oily grin. "All 
set for the presentation?"

"Sure thing, Tom," I said, quick and curt. "But I really need to 
get to the office right now."

Tom put one hand against the wall, leaning, blocking the way. 
"Did you wake up late this morning?"

"Tom, I need to go. I'll see you at 9:30," I said, and tried to 
figure out a way to sidestep around him.

"Your blouse is unbuttoned," he said, as if a completely 
different conversation was running in his head. I was starting 
to panic. Maybe the best thing to do was be rude, tell him to 
fuck off, whatever it took to send him away so I could get to 
safety.

Tom glanced over my shoulder and gave a smile of recognition. I 
was sunk. Someone was walking up behind me. It was over. 
"Helloooo, Tom," the person said cheerily. Barbara, it sounded 
like. At least she was a friend. What would she make of all 
this?

Barbara walked right past me and took Tom's arm. "I need to talk 
with you in your office." (Oh, hi, Kathy, she said to me) "It's 
pretty important." She was wearing a black miniskirt and green 
sweater, that clung to her slim waist and large breasts. Luckily 
Tom was a boob man; she got his attention and they walked 
forward, ahead of me. She glanced back and mouthed a single 
word: Go. I ran to my office, just one door down, slammed the 
door shut and locked it. Thank heaven for Barb. She did exactly 
the right thing. I don't think I would ever stop owing her for 
this.

My blouse was sticky with sweat, and I took it off. I had no 
idea what to do. A presentation in 45 minutes, and I was naked, 
sweating, shivering, and short of breath.

I sat on the edge of my desk, taking deep breaths, trying to 
calm down. Perhaps I could email the presentation and someone 
else could conduct it? No; I had to be there in person. I was 
still trying to figure it out when there was a quiet knock on 
the door. It was Barbara. I stood out of sight, unlocked the 
door, and had her step in.

Bless her heart; she never said anything judgemental, and didn't 
even flinch when her naked coworker gave her a huge, tearful 
hug, thanking her effusively. She was understandably worried, 
and wanted to know what happened. Without a snicker or even a 
smirk, she laid a hand on my shoulder and listened to my story.

Barbara was now superwoman in my book, regardless of what would 
happen later. She worked out a plan for me to give the 
presentation. I wouldn't borrow her complete outfit, because 
people would recognize it as what she wore. Instead, I would 
wear my own blouse, repaired by paper fasteners that would look 
like brass buttons, if you didn't look too closely. Underneath: 
her bra. Below: her miniskirt; short for my taste, but better 
than nothing. She would wear her sweater, and also keep her 
panties, as she waited in my room. After the presentation, she 
would put on all her clothes and shop for something for me.

The presentation went okay; my nervousness faded away as I got 
engrossed in the material, answering questions convincingly 
well. Everyone seemed to pay direct attention, which didn't 
always happen in a meeting.

I was walking back, feeling like the worst was over, when Tom 
caught up to me. Great. "I'm a little busy, Tom," I said. "Can I 
talk to you after lunch?"

He ignored the question. "Do you know why you had everyone's 
undivided attention in there?" I knew I didn't have the answer 
he was thinking of. I didn't want to know, but he continued. He 
took my arm and led me down a side corridor. 

"The light shines right through that blouse when you're up 
front." Tom whispered, leering. "We all know Barb has excellent 
tits. But yours are right up there too. Primo quality. You ought 
to show them off more."

I looked left and right, back against the wall. No one else was 
around. In fact, where was I? I didn't recognize this hallway!

He took one of my paper fastener buttons between finger and 
thumb. Squeezing the two prongs together through the fabric, he 
removed it and tossed it aside. What gave him the right to do 
this? Thinking back, I should have slapped him right there, but 
I didn't.

"You know, this morning, I don't think you had buttons at all. 
Isn't that weird?" For some reason, I was stuck, almost 
mesmerized. He took out another, and another, and soon my blouse 
was wide open. Barbara's bra was there -- I was very happy to 
have it -- but it was sheer, and my breasts were on full 
display. His expression was scary: almost a raw hunger.

"You didn't have a bra, either," he said, almost reminiscing. 
"You were holding a briefcase, and I guess you were wearing this 
skirt," he said, fingering the hem. "Funny, it looks like 
Barbara's. Not really your style. He reached under my skirt. His 
hand brushed bare skin: my hip. I could tell he was surprised as 
he reached back, exploring, and finding nothing under the skirt. 
I still couldn't budge as he moved forward. His fingers brushed 
my pubic hair -- it was obvious I had no panties. And I was 
getting wet, my body betraying me, and he gently fingered my 
labia and then inserted one in.

I shuddered and my briefcase fell from limp fingers to the 
floor. With his right hand fingering me below, his left hand 
clumsily pushed my blouse off one shoulder, then the other. A 
quick yank and it fell to the floor. His finger moved inside me 
and my back involuntarily arched, offering my bra-clad breasts 
to him. The catch was in front, between my breasts; when he 
released it, they quivered as the bra fell away. Then he removed 
his right hand, but only so he could use both to pull down my 
skirt. I couldn't believe he was going to strip me naked right 
here!

"No," I pleaded as the skirt was bunched around my knees. "The 
hallway --"

"You're right," he said, letting go. "Let's take a walk." As 
soon as I hiked my skirt back up, he took my arm and led me 
quickly away, into an empty conference room.

Tom had just turned on the lights when another man stormed in. 
Perry Berkline, the managing director. His demeanor and clothing 
always cemented his status as one of the top executives in the 
company. And he took a fraction of a second to assess the 
situation and act.

"Talmadge, my office, now. Go."

Tom was about to say something exculpatory when Berkline 
repeated his command, adding a trailing "or you're fired." Tom 
quickly stepped out.

Berkline shut the door, turned away from me and started taking 
off his suit jacket. For a moment, it looked like I was simply 
in for more of the same sex on the conference table, but with 
someone higher up the org chart. But Perry merely held the 
jacket behind him and said, "You can put this on for now."

Once I had it on, he turned to face me. "Miss Vaughn," (he knew 
my name!) "I can't tell you how much I regret what happened 
here. Of course, Mr. Talmadge will not be working here any more. 
But you need to be informed of your rights and options. You've 
done good work here, and hopefully we can figure out a way where 
you will feel comfortable staying on."

"Okay," I nodded. I stepped off the table, chose a chair and sat 
down. Berkline took another chair.

The first thing he recommended was to talk with Kitti Davis in 
HR. Totally confidential, he said. However, I knew a little 
something about Perry Berkline himself. There had been a 
25-year-old buyer, a cute little woman from Hong Kong, that he 
had taken a real liking to, and had spent the weekend in her 
hotel room. Then she had second thoughts, and word got to her 
superiors, and then to our board and HR. The whole thing was 
handled agreeably and Berkline stayed on. But the only reason I 
knew about this was that Kitti Davis couldn't stand to not share 
a really juicy secret.

So Kitti Davis was out. I didn't want the whole company finding 
out about this.

Instead, I asked to just be escorted back to my office. I'd talk 
with some friends and then decide what to do. Berkline urged me 
to follow up with HR soon, to get a written record; no doubt he 
wanted to tie up loose ends for the company's legal benefit. I 
promised I would do that pretty quickly, and wondered how long 
I'd be able to drag my feet. Maybe it was time to move to 
another firm.

Berkline knew the building well, and found the lowest-traffic 
route back to my office. Once inside my door, I took off his 
suit; hiding behind the door, I handed it back. Barbara was 
obviously puzzled as to what was happening but stayed quiet. 
Berkline probably didn't realize she was there.

I locked the door and basically collapsed into Barbara's arms. 
What an ordeal this had been! I leaned on her shoulder as I 
recounted what happened, and she listened with the right 
proportions of sympathy and outrage. She didn't even scold me 
for losing her bra.

"We can still go forward with my plan," she said. "I've still 
got enough to wear to head out to Macy's. You don't move until I 
get back, and then I'm taking you straight home."

"I've had enough bad luck for one day," I said. I couldn't wait 
to just curl up on the couch and read the spy novel I had picked 
up at the library. And have some lunch. And do some laundry.

Barbara wore her sweater, skirt and panties. Without a bra, her 
nipples were poking out as the sweater stretched around her 
breasts. But she was a lot more properly dressed than me: I had 
nothing at all to wear. I would pretty much sit naked in front 
of my computer, surfing the web, until she got back.

"Good luck, and thanks," I said, blowing a kiss.

She laughed as she unlocked the door. "You're hot," she said. 
"I'll be back soon."

Then she was gone. I figured about a half hour each way, and a 
half hour to get clothes; she'd be back at about one. And I'd be 
home before two. And then no more thinking about work until 
Monday.

(story continues in "Bad day at the office 2")

(Author's note: this story was inspired by a vignette in an 
online story I found long ago: a humid day was causing a 
businesswoman's white blouse to cling to her braless breasts. 
I've tried searching for this story several times without 
success.)

  
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