Message-ID: <46362asstr$1074935477@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20040124030302.12579.qmail@web21506.mail.yahoo.com> From: "flapaddict@yahoo.com" X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 23 Jan 2004 19:03:02 -0800 (PST) Subject: {ASSM} Revised, Reposted: Skirt Day 1-5 (exhib, humil) Lines: 1161 Date: Sat, 24 Jan 2004 04:11:17 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, dennyw 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. __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! SiteBuilder - Free web site building tool. Try it! http://webhosting.yahoo.com/ps/sb/ <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. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- 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: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+