Show and Tell - and Then Show Some More
by Mr. Flip
Thursday - A Difficult Day at Work
The soft chime on my alarm clock is all I need to wake me up at 6:30. I roll out of bed and go through my usual workday preparation. Shower, makeup, breakfast, etc. Breakfast is just a stale doughnut and some coffee; my lover won't like the doughnut part of that, but that's all I've got in the house.
I'm still naked, because I'm not allowed to get dressed until I leave for work. I look around the apartment to make sure that there's nothing I need to do before leaving, and then my phone rings with the wonderful ring tone indicating my lover is calling. My heart goes all aflutter as I pick up the phone and say with a cheerful tone, "Good morning, Ma'am."
She replies, "Hi, Pet. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, Ma'am. I did." I almost want to add that I wished I'd slept with her, but I decide that's not appropriate.
"Good girl. Now, let me give you your instructions for the day. You have your garment to wear; that's the blue company T-shirt. Nothing else - no shoes, no socks, no jacket, and most especially no underwear. Understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I sigh.
"Tonight I want you to come to my place after work. Figure out something to fix for dinner, stop at the grocery store if you need to, and then have it ready for me when I get home." She pauses, and I realize she is expecting me to answer.
She goes on, "And one more thing. I want you to check with HR about your pending request. You know, your request to come to work naked. And I want you to ask it exactly like this. 'Hi, this is Pet Schofield, and I am wondering if there has been an answer to my request to start coming to work naked.' I want you to use your nickname, Pet - not Pat, Patty, or Patricia. Okay, repeat it back to me."
I bite my lip and then carefully repeat what she told me.
"Okay, Pet, sweetie. That's good. Now you be a good girl for me today, and I will see you tonight."
"Yes, I'll be good. I love you, Ma'am."
"I love you, too, Pet. Bye."
"Bye-bye", I say sadly into the phone. But my spirits are buoyed by the thought that I'll be seeing my sweetheart this evening, and I hope that the evening will be topped off with a wonderful "roll in the hay" with her.
I slip on my T-shirt and step out into another cool spring day. I shiver as I run barefoot down the stairs and over to my yellow VW Bug. The drive to work is routine, and I'm at my desk at 8 o'clock.
An hour or so later, my heart's beating wildly as I key the four digit extension on the fancy telephone console on my desk. I hesitate after the third digit, and I rehearse in my mind the words that my lover told me to use. She instructed me to use exactly these words. I let out a sigh and press the fourth digit.
The phone rings five times, and I'm almost ready to hang up when it is answered. "Hello, Human Resources department, this is Sara Lynne Jacobs. How can I help you?"
I sigh and then say, "Hi, Sara Lynne, this is Pet Schofield. I was wondering . . ."
"Oh, hi, Patty, how are you doing? I hear you're having some unusual things happening in your life recently, and I hope you're okay", she replies somewhat nervously.
I have to be very careful here, because my lover has told me the exact words. I have slurred over the word "Pet" in such a way that it probably sounded like "Pat" which is my real name, actually it's short for "Patricia", but my sweetheart did not allow me to use "Patricia" in this conversation. But then I must continue, and I precisely say, "I was wondering if there has been an answer to my request to start coming to work naked." There, I said it just like my lover told me to.
Sara Lynne is a nice young lady, probably 24 years old. I've come to know her pretty well over the last two years in my position as secretary of our research department. There are many personnel related issues that require me to talk with her. For example, just last week, she called me to set up a series of interviews for a man who is applying for a job as a researcher in our group.
She says, "Oh, Patty. I'm sorry, but there's been no reply from the committee yet."
I gulp because I don't know about any committee being involved, but I'm actually relieved, because it postpones the day that I would have to come to work wearing nothing at all. I say, "Oh well, thanks, Sara Lynne. I guess I'll have to keep checking. Have a good . . ."
Sara Lynne interrupts, "Wait, Patty. There is something else."
From the way she said it, it sounds as if this might be a real work related issue, such as setting up another interview for that job applicant. So, I relax a little bit and say, "Okay, Sara Lynne, go ahead. Is there a personnel issue related to our department?"
She muffles a brief laugh and says, "Actually, there is, but it is related to you. Mrs. Harding would like to meet with you this morning. Are you available at 11 o'clock?"
I tense up again, because I have not expected this. Joanne Harding was one of the founders of our company, and she put up a lot of her own money to help get the company going. She has no background in software, but she is friends with the two programmers who wrote the original program that our software company is known for. Harding originally handled all of the personnel issues herself, but now that our company is well established and much larger, she is mostly the honorary head of the Human Resources department. Sara Lynne has told me that Harding comes into the office only a few hours each week, and that's probably just as well as far as Sara Lynne and her colleagues are concerned. She says that Mrs. Harding is difficult to work with and that most people don't like her. Even my lover has had a few run-ins with Harding and has told me that the woman is privately referred to as "Joanne Hardass".
I have seen "Mrs. Hardass" only a few times, but I have never met her. But I am very familiar with her reputation as a no-nonsense woman. I hesitantly answer, "Yes, Sara Lynne, I am available at 11."
Sara Lynne says, "Good, Patty. Come to her office here in our building. You'd better plan to be here a few minutes early, because she sure doesn't like to be kept waiting. Bye."
My heart is racing a mile a minute again as I hang up the phone. I wonder what "Mrs. Hardass" wants with me, but based on the previous few days of my life, I'm pretty sure that it can't be good.
I had fidgeted during the awkward phone call, and the T-shirt that I'm wearing has ridden up my back. Normally, that would not be a problem, but today that T-shirt is the only piece of clothing that I'm wearing. My lover gave me a dark blue company T-shirt to wear today, and that was it - no shoes, no panties, no bra, no socks, nothing except this shirt. And now with it bunched up behind me, I am sitting with my bare ass on my secretary's chair. I panic when I realize how exposed I am, but fortunately there's no one around at that moment. I quickly pull the shirt back under my butt as far as it will go which is still several inches above the knee.
This T-shirt is actually a slight improvement over the very short tight skirt that my lover had me wear on Monday and Tuesday, because the shirt provides me more cover. I can actually shove the front edge of the shirt between my legs to keep my pussy hidden from view. Those two days, my pussy had been pretty visible as I sat in my chair, because there is no modesty panel on my desk - my lover had removed the panel over the weekend. Yesterday's skin-tight full body stocking was only a slight improvement, because it left little to the imagination. This is all part of her plan to keep me embarrassed and on edge while my request for working naked is pending. My lover wants me to keep my pussy covered until the nude-at-work thing is approved, but her choices of my clothing and the lack of that desk panel make that very difficult; it's been a constant struggle to be vigilant about keeping my privates out of view.
The next couple of hours pass quickly, because my boss gave me several tasks to do before lunch. I didn't tell him about my meeting with Harding at 11 AM, but I did ask him if I could take an early lunch break and then finish up the tasks after that. He reluctantly agreed.
Since our department is in an outlying building on our corporate campus, I have to leave at 10:45 AM, and my boss raises his eyebrows at me as I tell him I am leaving. It was cool and breezy when I came into work at 8 AM, and I'm hoping that the weather will be better for my long walk to the main building. But I shiver as I step out the door, because it's actually colder now than earlier in the day. And naturally, my mistress did not allow me to wear a coat to work today. I cross my arms under my full breasts and set out down the steps to the walkway. But I am still freezing cold. The only good thing is that the cool weather has kept almost everyone else inside, and I have the walkways pretty much to myself. I start to run, but I realize that with my arms under my boobs that the shirt is pulled up a couple of inches higher, and when the shirt flaps in the breeze as I'm running, I know that my pussy and butt are exposed. So, I slow down and walk along with my hands holding the shirt down as far as it would go. I pass a few folks along the way, and I can feel them looking at the outline of my breasts and nipples that are clearly visible through the dark blue fabric that I'm pulling down tightly.
I am relieved to be alone as I scoot up the set of stairs to the main entrance of the admin building. As I reach for the door handle, a gust of wind blows up the T-shirt exposing my pussy and ass; the only person around is the receptionist, and she's on the phone and not looking at me yet. As I step through the door, I quickly re-adjust the shirt and point to my employee badge clipped to the shirt sleeve. The receptionist smiles and waves to me as I turn into the Human Resources office area, which is just off the lobby.
Even though my shirt is now adjusted so that it extends to a modest distance above my knees, I still feel awkward walking through the area, because I'm barefoot and my hard nipples are outlined through the shirt. I know that I'm blushing as I walk up to Sara Lynne's desk glancing at the digital clock which reads 10:56.
She's on the phone, but she smiles and points to one of the easy chairs in the waiting area outside of Harding's office. Even as she is talking on the phone, she watches me as I settle my butt into the chair; I try to be graceful as I carefully pull the shirt down between my legs. She hangs up the phone and says over to me, "Hi, Patty. Mrs. Harding will be with you in just a minute."
As she starts to stand up, Sara Lynne says, "Let me check . . ." And at that instant, Harding's office door opens, and the older woman comes out. I immediately stand up, and Sara Lynne hurries over and says, "Mrs. Harding, let me introduce Patty Schofield from the research department. Patty, this is Joanne Harding."
The woman's eyes scan over me, and she reaches out her hand. I shake it and say, "Hello, Joanne, nice to meet you."
The woman scowls and says, "Ms. Schofield, let's keep this professional as possible. Please call me Mrs. Harding or Ma'am. Please come in."
I'm immediately put on edge by her formal tone, but then she smiles and ask, "Coffee, Ms. Schofield?" I just nod, and she says to Sara Lynne, "Two coffees, Sara Lynne. Black for me, and Ms. Schofield?" I look over at Sara Lynne and say, "Black is fine." I usually like it with cream and sugar, but this woman is very intimidating, and I just want to keep things as simple as possible.
Harding seems to be about 60 years old and has pretty gray hair cut short. She is a big woman, probably six feet tall, and she's wearing a dark brown pants suit and heavy medium heel shoes. I'm only 5'6", and I'm wearing only a T-shirt and no shoes.
She puts her hand lightly on my back and guides me into her office and over to an easy chair facing her desk. She says, "Please, be seated", and she walks around and sits down in her big leather desk chair.
Again, I carefully sit down and shove the shirt between my legs. I think about crossing my legs, but I'm certain that from Harding's position that she would see my pussy, and so I just sit there straight legged with my hands in my lap.
I look up at her and notice the nameplate on her desk is a very fancy one with the following inscription laser-burned into the wood: "Joanne S. Harding, Executive Vice President, Director Emeritus, Human Resources Department". That imposing title just raises my level of apprehension another level or two.
I'm surprised when she starts the conversation with, "Ms. Schofield, did you see our stock price this morning? The market has reacted favorably to our good earnings report earlier this week."
I saw the headline on the company web page, but since I don't understand the stock market, I'm not really interested. But I want to keep the conversation neutrally upbeat and say, "Yes, Mrs. Harding, that earnings report was certainly good news and I'm glad that investors picked up on it." I don't really understand what I had just said, but I'm repeating something that I had heard over my cubicle wall earlier in the morning.
I'm afraid that she's going to continue the financial discussion, which would be all Greek to me. But she changes topics saying, "We have not met before, have we?" I just shake my head and mouth, "No". She goes on, "I see on your employee record that you have a degree in English. Does that mean you like to read? Who are your favorite authors?"
I do like to read, but I don't have much time for that, because my spare time is usually taken up doing tasks for my lover. It's been months since I read a book, but I want to give her a substantive answer and say, "I like the American authors from the 30's and 40's; Faulkner, Hemingway, Steinbeck. Oh, and I really like Robert Frost, the poet from that same era." I decide to stop there, because I realize that I'm trying to impress her too much.
"Well, I like those writers, too," she says. At that moment, Sara Lynne comes back into the room with the coffee. I smile at her as she hands me the cup; I take a brief sip and put the cup on the table next to the chair. Harding takes the other cup from the secretary and says, "Thanks, Sara Lynne. Please close the door on your way out."
Sara Lynne leaves, and Harding says, "But we're not here to chit-chat, are we?" Again, I shake my head and mouth "No" with my lips. But I am not really sure why I she has called me here this morning.
She looks at something in the manila folder that she's holding and says, "Well, Ms. Schofield, I want to discuss two things with you and they are both somewhat related. First, there are some handwritten notes which were added to your file just in the last few days. And I find them interesting, because I had also heard some things about you recently, too." I gulp and just nod my head a little bit as she continues, "I heard from a friend that you put in quite an appearance at an arts and crafts show on Saturday. Naked and bound all day in a busy room, weren't you?"
I bend my head and whisper, "Yes, Ma'am."
She says, "Please look at me." I raise my eyes, but keep my head bent, and she then says, "And a note here says that you were seen naked at lunch on Sunday at a place named Rickey's. Is that correct?"
I raise my head a little bit but not all the way and say only slightly louder, "Yes, Mrs. Harding. The restaurant is named Rick's."
She scribbles something on the piece of paper she's holding and says, "I'll make that correction here. And I also see here that you've requested to start coming to work naked." She is giving me a hard stare, and I merely nod.
As she stares at me, she goes on, "And there are several notes here about your skimpy clothing here at work this week. And I can see that for myself right now." She pauses for effect for just a moment before saying, "You're not wearing any panties under that shirt, are you?"
I thought I had been so careful here in her office to keep my shirt pulled down, and I reply defensively, "No, but how . . ."
She cuts me off, "You want to know how I know? Well, look out the window."
I turn and look out the floor-to-ceiling window. I can see the front steps of the building, and there are a couple of people walking there. Then, I realize that she could have seen me as I walked up those same stairs just a few minutes ago when the wind caused my shirt to blow up above my waist. I almost say something, but I decide to just nod my head in understanding.
She says, "I got a brief view of your nether regions, both front and back, as you walked by."
I whisper, "Sorry."
"Well," she continues, "you seem to want to show off your body all of a sudden. Are you a closet nudist that has decided to come out?"
I had not thought of it that way, but I couldn't deny it. I bite my lower lip and then slowly say, "Yes, I guess so."
"You guess so? What kind of answer is that? Why the sudden nudity? Do you have a skin condition that clothing makes worse?" I shake my head. "Are you being paid to do it?" I shake my head again. "Has someone bet you or dared you to do it?" Another shake. "Is it some sort of strange religious thing?" I shake my head a bit harder as my eyes start to tear up. "Is someone making you do it?"
This time I hesitate and answer verbally, "No."
"Ah, Ms. Schofield, you hesitated there, didn't you? So, someone really is making you do it against your will."
"No!" I say loudly, "I'm doing it voluntarily."
"That's not what your body language says. Someone is making you do this, and you are embarrassed as hell, aren't you?"
I feel the tears start to well up more in my eyes. I wipe them away, and in a breaking voice, I say, "Yes, you're right."
She says, "Is it Cassandra Campbell? I understand that you two are an item. My friend saw Ms. Campbell with you on Saturday. Ms. Campbell was definitely dominating you according to my friend. Leading you around naked on a leash. Putting your nude body on display for everyone to see."
I start crying and say, "Yes, Cassie is my lover. It makes her happy to have me nude - both privately and now publicly. And I'll do anything to make my lover happy."
"Ah, the truth finally comes out, doesn't it, Ms. Schofield?" I nod and continue to sob. She tosses me a box of Kleenex and says, "Wipe your eyes, and stand up."
It take a big handful of tissues to wipe away the tears. I somewhat regain my composure and toss the tissues in the nearby trash can. I hesitantly stand up and look at the woman.
"Take off the shirt", she says authoritatively.
I feel the tears welling up again as I say, "What? Why?"
"Well, you seem so focused on showing off your nude body, and I want to see what we've got to work with."
"Huh? Does this mean that my request has been approved by the committee?"
"No, it means that I want to see you naked. That's all. Now, do it!"
"But it's not allowed yet. Why should I?"
"Ms. Schofield, this is my office, and I can do what I want in here. If you don't do it, I'll have you fired for insubordination. So, do it - or else!"
Tears start to stream down my cheeks and I reach down to the bottom of the shirt and start slowly lifting it. But after a couple of inches, I just can't go any higher. My hands and shirt freeze in that position.
Harding says angrily, "Listen, Schofield. If you don't do it, I'm going to fire Ms. Campbell as well as you."
I blubber, "But you can't do that. Cassie hasn't done anything wrong. She's the best programmer in this entire company. You can't just go around firing anybody you want - you have to have a reason."
"Actually, I can. I'm on the board of directors, and that makes me a pretty powerful person. And I can always figure out a reason. In this case, I'll just say that Campbell is forcing you to be nude in public. That happens to be true, and it would be sufficient reason for her dismissal."
I just can't let my lover lose her job. She absolutely loves her work and this company. If she were fired, she would quickly figure out that I was responsible, and that would severely affect our relationship. I can't let that happen. And so, without saying a word, I resume pulling the shirt up - revealing first my pussy lips then the pubic hair coifed into 3 neat triangles and finally my full 34C boobs.
I pull the shirt over my head and for a moment hold the shirt in my right hand. I then turn and toss the shirt onto the chair. I'm now standing totally naked in front of this intimidating woman.
She says, "Pick up that shirt. Fold it nicely. And bring it over to me." I do as I'm told, and after handing it across the desk to her, I resume my position.
It's really embarrassing to be naked in this nicely decorated office in front of this awful woman. And then I remember the windows both of which are tall stretching from floor to ceiling. There is a sidelight window right next to the office door; Sara Lynne could easily look in and see me standing here naked. That window is behind me, and I don't dare turn around to see if she or anyone else is looking at me through that window. And then there is the outside window looking out onto the front steps of the building. The blinds are raised and anyone passing by could look in and see me. I turn my head to look out that window, but Harding says, "Eyes straight ahead, Schofield."
I notice that she's no longer calling me "Ms. Schofield"; I'm just "Schofield" now. She's really exerting her control now.
"Schofield, hands at your sides." I hadn't realized that my hands are now folded in front of my pussy. She goes on, "Do you want them tied behind you like they were on Saturday?" I let my arms fall to the side, and my fingers nervously skim my thighs. "Thank you, Schofield. Now, I can see your pubes more easily." I stare at her, and she stares back, but not at my eyes. She's focused on my pubic area. This goes on for what seems like an hour, but it's probably only a minute or two. Then she orders, "Come here. Come around behind the desk and stand in front of my chair. I want to examine you more closely."
I do as I'm told, and I have to cross right in front of the outside window. Less than ten feet away there is a group of four men on the steps who seemed to be leaving for lunch. If any one of those guys turns and looks into that window, he could see me clearly; I'm lucky, because they don't notice me. The indoor window is still behind me, and I have no idea if Sara Lynne or anyone else is looking in from that window or not.
My eyes are still a bit damp from my sobbing a few minutes ago. And now my underarms are soaking wet from nervous sweat as I step to the spot that Harding pointed to. "Legs slightly apart. And I don't want to tell you again about your hands, Schofield." I do as she commanded, and I'm only a foot or so away from her. She's still seated and her eyes are about level with the top triangle of my pussy hair. She stares and I stand for what seemed like another hour or minute or whatever.
Finally, she reaches out towards my pussy, and I reflexively step back. I know I shouldn't have done this, and I expect a rebuke - which I quickly get. "Whoa, Schofield. I didn't tell you to move. Back in position, now!" I take my spot again and slightly spread my legs. A moment later, I feel her lightly stroking the very edge of the hair of my three triangles. I close my eyes and endure it.
I can hear her breathing heavily as she says, "Go close the blinds on both windows. And lock the door." I shuffle my feet through the deep carpet to the outside window. Because of the bookcases on each side, there is no way to lower the blinds except to step right in front of the very visible window. I reach over and tug on the cord to release the blinds which are bunched up at the top of the window. At that instant, I see the main outside door start to open just a few feet from my naked body. As the door opens, I yank the cord to the left, but nothing happens. The door opens a few more inches and I yank on the cord to the right and breathe a sigh of relief as the blinds fall. I catch the faint outline of a group of people walking out the door while the blinds are falling. I suspect they see my bare feet and maybe even my bare legs through the window, but that is all.
I scurry over to the office door where I can easily access the blinds cord without being seen by Sara Lynne from her desk. I yank the cord quickly to the right, and I let the blinds fall all the way to the floor. Then, I turn the small latch above the door knob to secure the deadbolt lock; it makes a very loud click which I'm certain that Sara Lynne and her colleagues heard from their desks outside of Harding's office. But they didn't see even a tiny portion of my naked body during this time.
I don't think Harding cares at all if anyone else sees my nude body, but I think she does care about other people seeing her looking at or touching my body. She surely knows about the "Joanne Hardass" nickname that she has around the company, but for some reason, she doesn't want to be seen abusing me in any way - even though she certainly is.
Harding is still behind her desk, and she yells at me, "Good job, Schofield. Get back over here."
I scoot back and resume my position right in front of her.
"You're really getting into this, aren't you, Schofield?"
"Excuse me, Ma'am, what do you mean?"
"Well, I saw how you just scampered around the room closing the blinds and then getting back here so quickly. I like it when a subordinate follows my orders so promptly. Keep up the good work, and we'll get along just fine."
I hadn't realized that I was moving so quickly, but I suppose it is just my usual tendency to obey orders from a person of authority. I meekly replied, "Thank you, Mrs. Harding."
But I'm still confused, because she makes it sound like this is the start of some sort of relationship, and I'm hoping that this would be the one and only time that we will ever meet - I just want to get this embarrassing meeting over with and get back to my office.
She reaches out her hand toward my groin again, and I almost start to bend back, but I remember the admonishment that I had gotten before. So, I steel myself and hold still as she pats the inside of my thighs just below my pussy. I obediently spread my legs a bit more. She taps again, and I spread farther. It is a real struggle to keep my hands at my sides; I want to swat her hands away from my most private area.
Then, she pushes back her chair and stands up. She towers over me as she looks down at me for a moment. She says, "I want you to hold still while I examine you for a few minutes. I want to see what we've got to work with here."
Again, this sounds ominous. I wonder who the "we" are that she's referring to. I stiffen. And an instant later I flinch as she gently lifts my right breast in her left hand. She cradles it in her hand and then slightly squeezes it. Then, she uses her right hand to lightly twist my nipple for several seconds as she continues to lightly massage the breast with her left hand. I'm breathing hard as she lets go of that boob and shifts her attention to the left breast. As she twists that nip, I feel both of my nipples tighten up and a faint tingle starts in my pussy. Oh, shit, I'm getting aroused.
She says, "Oh my, Schofield, you're getting turned on, aren't you?" I silently nod. She goes on, "And we're only getting started, too!"
My breasts are heaving as she lowers her hands. I follow her eyes which are focused on my tits, and I see my rock hard nipples protruding like springtime buds. She lightly brushes both nipples again and walks around behind me.
I feel her breath on my back as she says, "Oh goodness, Schofield, has anyone ever told you what a perfect ass you've got? I thought it looked nice as you were scampering around the office a minute ago, but up close, it is even better." I'm just about to answer when I feel her squeeze my two butt cheeks simultaneously. Then, she lightly lifts my left cheek as if cradling it like she had my boobs. After another light squeeze, she swats that cheek fairly hard and a moment later, she spanks the right cheek. Compared to the paddle smacks that my lover has given me many times, these swats are nothing, but they are certainly more embarrassing coming from this woman who is a virtual stranger. And I'm all the more embarrassed, because I'm becoming more and more aroused.
She slowly comes back in front of me looking at my flushed face and chest and at my hard nipples and at my heavy breathing. She says, "You're already extremely aroused, and we haven't even gotten to the good spot yet, have we?"
I just nod, but again I wondered who "we" are.
She gets down on her knees and the first thing she does is to run her fingers vertically through my three pubic triangles - top to bottom. She says, "Well, this is certainly different. What's the story, Schofield?"
I stammer, "Uh, my lov. . . Sorry, it's Ca-Cas-Cassie's d-d-d-design."
"Ah, of course. I should have known. I can't say that I care much for it, but as I said, it is different."
She taps my inner thighs again, and I spread even wider. I'm looking up when I feel her fingers touch my pussy lips. She spreads my outer labia with one hand and strokes my inner lips with her other hand before spreading them as well. She thrusts two fingers up into me and works her way all around the walls of my vagina. I shudder as she touches my G-spot. I can't believe this is happening to me, but I have no choice - I simply cannot allow her to fire my lover. And I can't believe how turned on I'm becoming. My juices are going to start flowing soon all over her hands.
"Ah, what a randy little cunt you are. Just look at how you are gushing! Just what we want."
I can feel an orgasm building. I try my best to suppress it, but an instant later, it washes over my body as I shake violently in a frenzy of sexual pleasure. I have to reach back to her desk to avoid falling on top of her. I'm still breathing hard as I lean by butt against the desk.
Harding stands up, and a moment later, she angrily slaps my breasts and says, "Hey, you slut, don't sit your bare ass on my desk!"
I jump away from her and her precious desk and say, "Sorry, Ma'am."
She grabs a handful of tissues, and I think she's going to wipe my pussy with them, but instead she wipes the edge of her desk. While she's doing that, I sneak some Kleenex out of the box and wipe my pussy myself. I walk around the desk and drop the tissues in the waste basket, but she exclaims, "Get back here, I'm not done with you." She sits back down in her chair, and I meekly return to my spot right in front of her and spread my legs again.
Both of us are still breathing hard. I look down at my heaving boobs and see that my nips are still hard and erect. And I see her push back her chair and kneel in front of me again. Oh god, is she going to go probing for my G-spot again?
Instead, she spreads my upper pussy lips and goes looking for my clit. It takes her a few seconds, but she finds my little nub and starts kneading it. She says, "Tiny little thing you've got here. We wish it were bigger, but I guess we'll have to work with what we've got, won't we?" There's that "we" word again.
Fortunately, she doesn't spend much time with my clit, and so the orgasm that is just rebuilding fades away.
She stands up and says, "Open your mouth." I give her a quizzical look but I do as she asked. She takes a little flashlight out of her desk drawer, and shines it in to my mouth. She looks in, up, down, left, right. And she sticks her finger in and pokes at my back teeth. She steps back and grunts a little bit. And then says, "Show me your best toothy smile." I smiled for her, and she says, "Ah, that's better. You have a pretty smile." I'm happy to have some nice words come out of her mouth, but I'm still confused.
She says, "These Arabs are obsessive about good teeth. I see you've had some extensive dental work on your back teeth, and they won't like that if they see it. Just give them your pretty smile with lots of teeth showing, and they'll be happy." More confusion, what Arabs is she talking about? Sounds ominous.
Then she glances down my front, and I think she's going to go back to my boobs or pussy. Instead, she kneels down and seemed to be looking at my feet. She stands back up and scowls, "Let me see your hands." I reach out palms up, and she says, "Over." I turn them over and she grabs my right index finger and rubs the finger nail. What the hell is she doing?
She says, "For Saturday, I want your finger and toe nails done nicely. Your finger polish is a sloppy job, and it doesn't look like you've ever done your toes, have you?" I opened my mouth to explain that my lover has never complained about nail polish; I guess it's just not important to her. But Harding says, "Anyway, I'll give you some polish that we'd like to use for Saturday."
Saturday? What the fuck is going on? And she said "we" again.
Hesitantly, I ask, "What's Saturday?"
The woman answers, "Oh, sorry. I guess I wasn't clear. Remember when you came in, I said there were a couple of things I wanted to discuss with you. One is your sudden nudity thing, and the other is a meeting on Saturday. I guess the two discussions sort of blended together." I open my mouth to complain, but she holds up her hand and continues, "We have some customers from Qatar and Dubai coming for a series of meetings. The first one is all day Saturday, and it's an informal get together, probably a barbeque and maybe some tennis. You will be the special entertainment. You'll come to the meeting dressed exactly as you are now; that is, completely naked. These men really like the naked Caucasian women that we show them. You'll be perfectly safe, but totally nude, the entire day. We will tell you where and when to report; we might want you to stay overnight on Friday, that is, tomorrow night, and then again on Saturday night. We'll work that out and let you know by tomorrow afternoon. Got it?"
I'm stunned, because this is absolutely the first that I'd heard about this; usually, word of such visits by special customers works its way around the company, but not this time. So I say as evenly as I can, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Harding, but Cassie and I have other plans for Saturday, and I won't be able to make it to your meeting." My lover had told me that she made a hair appointment for me for Saturday morning, and that I'm going to drive to it nude all by myself. And later we are going to go shopping for materials for the vegetable garden that I'm going to plant at her place. She has not told me yet, but I assume that I will be nude for that shopping trip as well.
She sternly says, "Well, change your plans. You will be there on Saturday."
I retorted, "But Saturday is not a workday. I have . . ."
She interrupts again, "Read your employee contract, Schofield. There is a paragraph in it about helping out on marketing support and customer service. It says that we are permitted to require your help as needed. And we need you on Saturday to service these customers."
I don't like the implication of that last part, "service these customers", but I now remember that paragraph, because it caused the friction between Harding and my lover at least twice that I know about. Harding had used it in an attempt to force my lover to do an interview with a newspaper reporter, and again to help at a trade show. My lover was very busy on projects both times, and she argued vigorously trying to get out those things. My mistress was successful once, but she was forced to go to the trade show, and she publicly blamed Harding for causing a project to be late in completing.
In a non-confrontational tone, I say, "Yes, I now remember that. But please, Mrs. Harding, I just can't . . ."
She breaks in, "Listen, Schofield, you will be there on Saturday. Understand?"
"Or you'll fire me?" I whisper.
"Yes. And Ms. Campbell, too. If you're not there on Saturday, then Monday will be the last day at this fine company for both you and Campbell. Is that clear enough?"
It is certainly clear enough to me, and I cannot allow my sweetheart to lose her job. This awful woman has me in her grasp; I will have to do anything that she asks now. I start crying and I feel my full breasts swaying beneath me as I reach over for some more Kleenex. In a badly breaking voice, I say, "O-okay, I'll d-d-do it on S-s-sat-saturday." I know my lover will punish me severely, but that's better than her being fired.
Harding merely says, "Good. I'm glad we've got that settled. There will be a form for you to sign at the end of this meeting." She pauses for a moment and takes a drink of her now cool coffee, and then she says, "Now, one of the things that these particular men like is to dominate a woman. And from what I've seen, you are a woman that is easily dominated. So, you and I are going to practice a few things that they might want you to do. Okay?"
No, it really isn't okay, but I have no choice. I'm still blubbering, but I nod and manage to say, "Yes."
She takes another sip of coffee and says, "One of the things you'll be doing is serving the meals. I don't think we need to practice that, because I heard that you did that last Saturday at the craft show, right?"
Again, I manage a nod and meekly say, "Yes."
Harding continues, "Come over here, and bend over. You can put your hands on my desk." I turn and put my hands on the spots she pointed to. She has me spread my legs and move my feet back about 20 inches, and now my boobs are swinging freely below me. She gets a hair clip from her purse and pins up my long hair so that it will not block the view of my breasts.
As she reaches in and fondles my tits, she says, "Wonderful. I suspected that these would dangle nicely, and they do. The guys will have fun playing with these." She squeezes and twists for at least another minute. When she finishes, I start to raise up, but she says, "Stay put." And I put my hands back on the desk.
Her pant suit brushes my bare thigh as she moves around behind me. I know that my pussy and asshole are now on full display, and an instant later I feel her hands spreading my vaginal lips again. She works two fingers in, and I have trouble not squirming. She says, "Keep still", and she spanks my ass with her other hand. She withdraws her fingers, and now I'm afraid she's going to stick them up my ass, but she just lightly touches the opening and says, "Be sure to shave this area before Saturday." Then, she gives my butt cheeks a quick squeeze and a light swat. And she removes the hair clip.
She says, "You did that okay, but you can't squirm like that. Stand up. Legs together." As I shuffle into position, she opens a desk drawer and brings out some menacing looking things that I am well acquainted with. A ball gag, a leash, and a few pieces of rope.
"Open your mouth". As soon as I do, she shoves the ball gag into it and ties its strap behind my head. Next, she ties my hands behind my head and attaches them to the ball gag strap. And finally, she hooks the leash (which had Y end to it) to each side of the ball gag itself. She steps back and appraises her work. But she shakes her head and says, "No, the leash should be attached farther out closer to your ears." She makes that adjustment and checks again. Now, she smiles and picks up the loop end of the leash. She gives it a yank, and starts leading me on a short tour of her big office. I'm completely under her control; naked with my hands tied behind my head and being led by a leash. She says, "Yep, this is going to be very effective especially in the bigger room and yard that we'll have on Saturday. And your boobs and pussy on dramatic display and completely accessible." She hooks the leash loop over the door handle, and I'm now tethered like a horse. Somewhat similar to last Saturday's leash leading, but the ball gag adds a special aspect to the setup.
She leaves me attached there for a couple of minutes, and I hear some clicking as if she is typing something on her smartphone or computer keyboard. Then, she comes over and undoes all of my bindings. I flex my jaw a bit after the gag is removed; I can tell that I will be really stiff if I have to wear that thing for very long.
She says, "Okay, Schofield, you're doing good. Now, down on your hands and knees." I'm still near the office door, and I sigh and just lower myself right there. She clips up my hair again and says, "Okay, most of these men are rather short, but they like to dominate a woman by towering over her. And a crawling, naked, Caucasian woman is perfect. So, start crawling. Go around the perimeter of the office a few times." Tears well up in my eyes as I start this humiliating exercise.
I make one circuit around the big room, making my way around a few obstacles - a chair, a potted plant, and a small file cabinet. Harding corrects me a few times; she tells me to keep my head down to show the proper respect, but make sure that my back is straight. And she wants my knees a little farther apart so that my pussy is clearly visible from the rear.
When I'm about halfway through the second circuit, I feel a rush of cold air blowing against my rear end. Then, there is a loud male voice almost yelling, "Hey, Jo Babes!" And Harding says, "Hey, yourself, Big Jack." I instinctively turn to look and see a tall man who is just turning to look in my direction. I scramble to my feet, cross my arms across my breasts, and take a step towards the door.
Mrs. Harding says, "Whoa, Schofield, who told you that you could get up? Get back down there on the floor, but quit crawling until I tell you to continue."
The man looks just as surprised as I am. I can't figure out where he came from until he steps back and closes an outside door that I hadn't even realized is there; he had come in that door and let in a blast of cold air along with him. As I sink to my hands and knees again, he says, "What the hell, Jo?"
Joanne Harding says, "Hi, honey, you're right on time. I thought I'd surprise you after texting you a few minutes ago. This is Saturday's entertainment for the Arab customers. Come on over and I'll introduce you. Schofield, stay down; I'll tell you when you can get up."
I hold my hands-and-knees position with my back straight, legs apart, and head down. And I feel the two people come and stand over me; one on each side near my shoulders. The man is on my right, and he has massive boots on his feet; I realize that he must be a very large man. I am not allowed to look up at him then, but I can feel his eyes scanning my naked back and butt.
Joanne says, "Honey, this is Pamela Schofield. Uh, no, I don't think it's Pamela. Maybe, Paula? No, that's not right either. Anyway, if you need to call her something, it's Ms. Schofield." She then looks at me and says, "Schofield, this is my husband, Jack Harding. I call him Big Jack; he's Mr. Harding to you. Continue your crawling. Two or three more circuits ought to do it while I talk with my sweetie."
I start my slow naked crawl again with two sets of eyes now watching me.
The woman says, "Honey, I'm just putting her through some practice runs for the things she'll be doing on Saturday. I've also examined her, and I think she'll work out okay, but after she finishes her crawling, I'll let you look her over."
I continue crawling while the man asks, "How much do we have to pay this one? The others have been pretty expensive." I blushed at being referred to as "this one"; I guess I'm not really a human being with feelings to these two.
Joanne answers, "Nothing. She works for the company, and she's doing this as part of her job."
He replies, "Well, we've used girls from here before, and we've always paid them, if for no other reason than to keep them quiet afterwards. We don't really want them blabbing about having naked fun with some of your customers. Remember, we even paid that gorgeous hot-shot programmer a while back even though she is paid oodles by the company."
His use of the phrase "gorgeous hot-shot programmer" makes me think immediately of my lover who is gorgeous and the best programmer in this entire company. Had my sweetheart really participated in one of their perverted events?!?!?
The woman says, "Programmer? When was that?"
"Oh, you know, that blonde bombshell in the apps division. It must have been six or seven years ago."
I'm now relieved, because my lover is a beautiful brunette and she has only been at this company for five years.
"Okay, I know who you mean. She left the company shortly after that to start her own consulting firm."
Her husband continues, "Yeah, and the money we paid her probably kept her mouth shut afterwards, too. We probably should pay this one a little something to keep quiet."
"Don't worry about it, honey. We don't have to pay her anything. And she certainly will keep mum about it."
He persists, "So, she's doing it voluntarily?"
"Uh, well, no, not exactly, but in a sense, yes. Let's just say that she'll do anything I ask." She pauses and then raises her voice, "Isn't that right, Schofield? We've got an understanding, you and I, don't we?"
I continue crawling as I reply, "Yes, Ma'am", loud enough for both of them to hear.
They are silent for a minute or so, but I know that they are watching me. Then, the lady says, "See how her boobs sway under her. I think she's a C cup, which I'm sure the men will like much better than the little A and B boobs the last few times."
He says, "Yeah, I noticed. I can't wait to feel them." I'm just a piece of meat to these people.
Then he adds, "But you know, Jo Babes, you're a B cup yourself, and I think they're wonderful."
I don't dare look at the woman, but I'm sure she's blushing. She says, "Oh, you're so sweet, honey. But my best years were a long time ago. Schofield's boobs are in primetime right now." They both laugh.
A minute later, I arrive back at the office door, and Mrs. Harding says, "Okay, Schofield. That's enough. Come back over here and stand in front of my chair again." I scramble to my feet and head back towards them. She's seated in her desk chair, and the huge man is standing next to her. He must be at least 6 feet 10 inches tall, maybe even 7 feet. Anyway, he is well over a foot taller than me, and he is staring down at my naked front. Like his wife, he has bright gray hair as well as a neatly trimmed mottled gray beard. He is nicely dressed in an outdoor outfit; he looks like he could be going out hunting. He is a very handsome man for his age and height.
The woman rolls her chair back, and the big man winces as he kneels down in front of me. His eyes are now at the same height as my breasts, but he is looking down at my pubic triangles. He says, "What's this all about?"
I don't know if I'm supposed to explain the design to him or not. So, I wait and the lady answers, "It's a special design from her lesbian lover."
Jack says, "Ah, a lesbian, eh? And a gorgeous lesbian, at that. But gay or straight doesn't really matter for Saturday, does it?"
The woman says, "I don't really care for the design. And I'm not sure the men will either. I think she should shave it off before Saturday, don't you?"
He says, "I agree, because those men seem to like smooth pubes. But why don't we have the men shave it off themselves on Saturday? That would be a new wrinkle for these meetings."
Joanne smiled and says, "Big Jack, that's a great idea. The men will get a real kick out of that." Oh, god, that means that a bunch of strange men are going to be pawing at my pussy, and even worse, my lover will not be happy about it at all, and I'll have some additional punishment to endure.
The man turns to me and says, "Ms. Schofield, I'm going to examine you now. I'll be gentle. I hope you don't mind." I really, really do mind, but his wife has me by my balls, so to speak. So, I just blush and nod silently.
He starts to get up from his knees, but he pauses part way up and reaches over to the desk for support. He struggles a bit more as he pushes himself to his feet. He says to me, "I've got a bum right knee, and it's difficult for me to get up and down. So, let's do the exam over at the table." He grabs my elbow and guides me over to the round conference table. He says, "Up you go."
I look at the table; it is probably five feet in diameter, with a single pedestal base in the middle. It will surely tip over if I climb up on it. But the man realizes that and says, "Here, I'll hold it steady, and you get on your hands and knees right in the middle." The woman also holds an edge of the table, and I awkwardly place a knee on one edge and push up with my other leg. The table wobbles a bit, but I get myself in the required position.
As I settle into position, I glance up and see him looking directly at me; actually, he is looking at my boobs which are hanging beneath and he can see them clearly from where he is now seated. He smirks as I look at him. At that instant, I feel a hard whack on my bare ass, and I hear the lady say, "Schofield, you don't learn very well, do you? What did I say to you when you were crawling? Head down, back straight, and legs spread." And then she swats me again even harder. I quickly make the corrections.
The big man's hands then find their way to my dangling boobs. He reaches in under my chin and almost juggles my fleshy mounds. The woman gives a brief sarcastic laugh and says, "Big Jack, continue checking her out. I've got an idea." The man is now massaging my breasts, and I'm getting a bit turned on. And I hear the lady rummaging through desk drawers, and finally she says, "Keep going, honey, I need to talk with the secretaries."
She walks back past me to the office door, and I tense as she unlocks it and walks out to the waiting area. She leaves the door open, and I'm afraid that Sara Lynne will look in and see me in this super embarrassing position on top of the table. The man is now working on my boobs from the side; he twists and pulls at my nipples which are now getting hard. After a minute there, he moves behind me and I feel his big fingers spread my dramatically displayed pussy lips. And I gasp when I feel his index finger work its way into my vagina. All of this happening with the door wide open a few feet behind me.
After a minute or so of probing my private cavity, he pulls out his finger. And just as he starts poking at my asshole, the woman comes back in and says, "Okay, I've got it." Thankfully, she closes and locks the door again. And I'm just as thankful when the man stops prodding my anus and asks, "What's that, babes?"
Instead of answering her husband, Mrs. Harding says to me, "Schofield, are you thirsty? You haven't touched your coffee, it's probably cool but still drinkable."
I reply, "No, but thank you, Ma'am."
But she persists, "Oh, come on, girl." And she places a shallow dish on the table beneath my face and pours the black coffee into it. "Drink it", she orders.
Her husband abandons my rear end and comes around to join his wife in front of me. I glance up and see that they are both watching me. I know I don't have a choice, and I blush as I lower my mouth to the dish and start slurping the coffee with my tongue. Even though my hands and arms are resting on the table just a few inches from the dish, I know I'm not allowed to use them. They want me to drink like an animal. It takes me a couple of minutes, but I finish the coffee. I raise my head and arms, returning to the hands-and-knees position with my mouth and chin covered with coffee. As I look up sheepishly at them, the woman pours the rest of the coffee from the cup into the dish. I sigh and start lapping it up. I hear them chuckling as I noisily slurp it up.
After I finish, I raise up again, but the woman says, "Get those last drops, Schofield." I go back down and use my tongue to wipe the dish clean. The little dish moves with these last attempts, and I'm afraid that either the dish is going to fall off the edge of the table or my shifting weight would cause the table to tip over. But the dish stops an inch or so from the edge and I keep my hands and knees in the same spots over the middle of the table. Again, my lips, nose, cheeks, and chin are covered with excess coffee; I use my tongue as best as I can to clean it off, but I can feel that my face is a mess. A moment later one of them wipes my face with a scratchy paper towel. And a moment after that, my bare ass is spanked several times.
My hands and legs are not tied to the table in any way, but they might as well have been. I just feel compelled to follow their orders; this just seems like the best way to hasten the end of this humiliating episode.
The man slowly moves back around the table again; he pauses to play with my swaying left breast, and the nipple tightens up again. His fingers then trail along my side to my hip, and a moment later, they part my pussy lips again. He doesn't force his way inside this time; instead, he pokes around somewhat under me until I feel him touch my clit. I flinch a little bit, and he laughs, "I guess I found your little nugget, didn't I?" I don't answer, and he starts to massage it.
I'm getting turned on again, and I know that I'm getting wet down there. But I'm not as intensely aroused this time as I was when the woman had fondled me earlier. This man's big fingers just are not as appealing to my private parts as the woman's more delicate fingers. That really shouldn't surprise me, because I am a lesbian after all.
He says, "Wow, Jo, there's a real cascade down here. She's almost spurting out juices."
The woman agreed, "Yeah, I noticed that earlier. The men will really like that."
He continues to massage my clit for another minute or so, and I can feel the juices running down my leg. I'm afraid that I will come again, but he stops and pats me on the ass with his wet hand. He rejoins his wife near the desk and says, "Okay, Ms. Schofield, please get down from there and stand here in front of us." I'm only a tiny bit relieved to get out of that embarrassing position, because standing there naked in front of these two large people is nearly as embarrassing. The woman waves her hand back and forth a couple of times, and I know that she's telling me to spread my legs again. I do as she wishes.
The big man then circles me and says, "No tattoos?" I silently shake my head. And then he takes hold of my right nipple, but instead of massaging it, he is inspecting it. A moment later, he checks my left nip. Then he says, "Open your mouth, please, and stick out your tongue." After I do, he takes the tip between in thumb and index finger, and pulls down and to the sides all the while looking. He lets go and plays with my lips raising the upper and pulling down the lower and examining. Then, he runs a finger along my eyebrows. Next, he abandons my face and goes to my ears slowly kneading and stretching the lobes. Then, he unclips my hair and lets it fall down my back.
He says to his wife, "Except for the ears, no piercings either that I could see. That's also a good thing." And he turns back to me and asks, "I realize you're a lesbian, but you do use birth control pills, right?"
This catches me by surprise, because I stopped using them years ago when I stopped having sex with men. I hesitate and begin, "Uh, what? Am I . . ."
He interrupts, "Oh, Ms. Schofield, surely you can be stimulated by men as well as women? I've seen for myself how turned on you are getting from my examinations. On Saturday, you are going to be surrounded by some good looking men, and you might want to . . . Well, you know, do the hootchie kootchie with some of them." And then he looks straight at me and winks with a smirk on his face.
I'm almost ready to start crying again, but the woman says, "Big Jack, I think we're done here, and I'm hungry." Then, she comes over to me and says, "Schofield, you are going to work out fine. This envelope contains the form that you need to sign. We will let you know soon where and when to report tomorrow evening. Bring the signed form with you. Now, get your slutty ass out of here!" With that, she slaps my butt and turns away.
I'm still stark naked, and my only piece of clothing is nowhere in sight. What am I supposed to do? So, I say, "Umm, Ma'am, does this mean that you now have approved my request? You know, to starting working here in the nude?"
She turns around and stares at my heaving boobs and says, "Well, if it were up to me alone, the answer would be 'yes', but I only have one vote on the committee. So, I guess you're asking for your clothes back - such as they are - right?" I just nod sheepishly, because even though the long T-shirt isn't much, but it's better than walking back to my office totally bare.
She pauses for a moment, sighs, and then unlocks her desk drawer. With a flourish, she pulls the dark blue T-shirt out and unclips my employee badge from the sleeve of the shirt and shoves it into her pocket. Then, she holds the shirt up in front of her as if to examine it and says, "Schofield, this is dirty and needs ironing."
It can't be really dirty, because it was fresh and clean when my lover gave it to me to wear, and I've only been wearing it for a few hours. But she's right about it needing a hot iron to smooth out the wrinkles. I say, "Ma'am, do you have an iron available? I'll be happy to . . ."
She yells, "Schofield, what the fuck do you think this place is? A laundromat? Of course, I don't have an iron." She glares at me for a moment and goes on, "But I will make you a trade. I'll give you a clean shirt to wear, and I'll keep this one. Okay?" I hesitantly nod. She says, "Good, in fact, I'm going to give you a bunch of shirts to take home. And you can wear one of them each day to work until the committee gets off its ass and makes a decision one way or the other." Since it's my lover who decides what I wear each day, I'm not so sure about this, but I just want to get out of here, and so I meekly answer, "That's fine."
With another flourish, she throws my T-shirt in the trash can and walks over to a closet in the corner. She unlocks it, and steps back as she opens it to show me hundreds of shirts neatly folded on the shelves. Then, she starts pawing through them to select several to give to me. After a couple of minutes, she says, "Okay, I've got eleven shirts here. One for today, and then ten more for the next two weeks. That should give you time to wash them after wearing them. I sure don't want to see anymore dirty, rumpled shirts on you. Understand?" I whisper, "Yes, Ma'am."
She closes and locks the closet door, and I expect her to hand me ten identical dark blue shirts like the one that I was wearing earlier. But instead, I see several different shades of blue, and there's also a yellow one, a white one, and a gray one. As she gets closer to me, she takes the top shirt from the stack and tosses it to me. She orders, "Put it on."
I quickly slip it over my head, and it feels wonderful to have the smooth light blue cotton material fall down in front covering my breasts. But I fumble around trying to get my arms into the sleeves, and I immediately notice that the shirt has no sleeves. It's more like a vest that covers my shoulders, but then instead of short sleeves, it just has big cutouts below my armpits. I quickly lift my right arm and glance under it. The side of my boob is clearly visible, and I suspect that only a slight movement will expose my nipple, too. I gasp, but the woman takes me by the hand and leads me over to a full length mirror on the back of her office door. She pulls out my badge from her pocket and clips it to the collar of the shirt. I then feel her wrapping something around my waist; it's a blue and white cord with tassels at each end. She ties it off in front sort of like a belt and says, "What do you think, Schofield?"
With the cord tightened, the shirt is pulled close to my body, and my breasts are prominently outlined as well as being somewhat visible from the sides. But worse than that, the shirt is an inch or so shorter than the dark blue shirt that I had worn earlier in the day. It's going to be even harder to keep my pussy hidden.
I open my mouth, but I can't find any appropriate words to say. And it doesn't matter anyway, because she hands me the stack of ten T-shirts, lifts the back of the shirt that I'm wearing, and slaps my ass again. "Off you go, Ms. Slutfield." As she opens the door, I realize what she has just called me, and that brings tears to my eyes again. I tentatively step out of her office, and after looking briefly at the aghast looks on faces of Sara Lynne and her colleagues, I scurry past them, out into the lobby, and then through the front door and down the steps.
It's still cold and breezy, but it is now noontime, and there are more people on the walkways going to lunch. The stack of shirts that I'm carrying shield my outlined boobs from view as well as providing a bit of additional warmth. But the passers-by can see my bare feet and bare legs, and they might even be able to see the curve of my butt cheeks at the edge of the short shirt. I hear a few people say, "Hi, Patty", and some others say cruder things. But I ignore them all and just trudge onward back to my office.
As I walk into our building, I really want to go to the ladies room and bawl my eyes out. But I manage to keep a stoic look on my face and walk back to my desk. I don't hear much activity in our department, and I'm guessing that most folks are out to lunch. And that's a good thing, because I really want to call my lover.
I see that the conference room is empty, and so I scoot in there and pick up the phone on the table. I start to breathe heavily as I dial my sweetheart's extension. Mostly, I just want to hear her lovely, friendly voice, but now I have to quickly think what to say when she answers.
A moment later, I hear her brusquely answer, "Hello, this is Cassandra Campbell. How can I help you?"
I meekly say, "Hi, Madam, it's me."
Her tone softens, but only a tiny bit, "Oh, hi there, Pet. I didn't recognize the phone number that you're calling from. What do you want? I'm kind of busy right now."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am, I'll call you . . ." But then I burst out crying into the phone.
My lover's tone changes completely now, and she soothingly says, "Oh, Pet darling, what's wrong, sweetheart?"
I choke out between sobs, "Oh, Ma'am, I need to talk with you. But you're busy, and I'll talk to you later and . . ."
"Pet, honey, you're the most important thing in my life. I am busy, but if you tell me quickly what's wrong, maybe I can help. Okay?"
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Ma'am. I just met with Joanne Harding, and she . . ."
My lover interrupts, "Mrs. Hardass? You met Hardass??!? What the hell did she want?"
My sobs become harder as I say, "She made me take off my clothes, crawl on the floor. Saturday I have to be naked around a bunch of Arabs. She felt my boobs and pussy. Her husband did too. She kept my shirt. She led me . . ."
"Whoa, Pet. Slow down." She pauses for a moment, and I almost resume, but she says, "Where are you? I'll come right over."
"Oh, Ma'am, that would be wonderful, but I thought you were busy?"
"I am, but this sounds more important. Now, sweetie, please tell me where you are? You must be on campus somewhere, right?"
"Yeah, I'm in the research conference room. It's across from . . ."
She says tersely, "I know where it is, Pet. I'll be there in 10 minutes. Now calm down. Bye." And I hear her slam down the phone receiver.
I'm confused by her several changes of tone here. From brusque to soothing to concerned to terse. Am I going to get in trouble? Probably, but I really need to talk with her.
The short shirt has ridden up, and I'm now sitting bare assed on the chair. I quickly pull down the shirt so my butt isn't showing, and then I just twiddle my thumbs - literally - until my lover walks in the door a few minutes later.
She is carrying a can of Coke, a bottle of juice, a muffin, and a banana. I didn't realize it, but I am hungry, and that muffin looks tempting, but she puts the juice and banana in front of me along with a stack of napkins. I guess that even in a crisis, she's going to make me eat healthy. She hugs me and kisses the top of my head before sitting down in the chair next to me. She pushes the Coke and muffin off to the side, and then she softly squeezes my bare leg several inches above the knee. My sweetie says, "Okay, Pet. What's going on?"
I spend the next ten minutes telling her what happened in Harding's office. It probably comes out as a convoluted story, because I'm sobbing and upset. As I'm talking, her hand moves slowly up my leg, and when I'm finished with the story, her fingers are under the edge of the shirt only an inch or so from my bare pussy.
I flinch as her finger lightly brushes my pussy lip, but I continue to look her straight in the eye. She says, "All right, Pet, you've told me what happened, but not why it happened. Why didn't you just leave? Did she threaten to fire you? Is that the reason?"
I answer in a very faint voice, "Yes, Ma'am, but . . ."
My lover interrupts defiantly, "Well, you should have told her to fuck off and let her can you. You can easily get another secretary job. And anyway, I can support you for a few weeks until you find something."
I'm not so sure about finding another job so easily. It's probably easy for her, but not for me; it took me months to find this job. And now if I'm not allowed to wear any clothes, who will want to hire me?
But that's not my main concern, and I say, "But, Madam, she said she'd fire you as well as me if I didn't do everything she said. And I just couldn't let that happen."
Now, my lover looks stunned. She stares at me, and I see her lips move a few times, but she seems at a loss for words. Finally, she stammers, "Hardass can't . . . wouldn't . . . fucking bitch . . . doesn't have permission . . . I'll call Seth and Byron . . . love this company . . . my project's crucial for quarterly earnings." She's almost babbling; I have never seen her like this before. Now, it's my time to console her, and I reach down and squeeze her hand that is still high on my inner thigh, and I lean over and gently rest my forehead on her bent over head. Then, with tears in her eyes, she looks up at me and quietly says, "Thank you, Pet. You did the right thing." And now tears of happiness pour down my cheeks. She leans over and we embrace awkwardly while still seated. We hug and pat each other for a couple of minutes before finally breaking apart.
We each use a couple of the napkins to wipe our eyes, and she says, "Okay, Pet, let's eat quickly now." I make short work of the banana, and I'm surprised when she splits the muffin and gives half of it to me. It's blueberry. Oh, yum, one of my favorite junk foods. Nothing is said for a couple of minutes while we finish the muffin and start on our drinks.
She has regained her composure and says, "Pet, I don't want you to worry your pretty head about this Saturday thing. I'll make some phone calls and get it all cleared up. Byron and Seth won't put up with shit like that." Byron Wong and Seth Northcutt are the founders of the company; Byron is the CEO and Seth is the CTO (chief technology officer). My lover is good friends with both of them.
She removes her hand from my thigh and tenderly squeezes my cheek - my facial cheek, not my butt cheek. Then, she says, "Stand up, Pet. I want to see this shirt you've got on."
I do as she said. Momentarily, I think about pulling the shirt down to adjust it, but I realize that this is my one true love who is looking at me, and she has seen every inch of my body many times before. As I stand up, the corded belt pulls the front of the short shirt up, and she can see my pussy lips peeking out from beneath the shirt. She reaches in and quickly brushes her fingers along the top of my nether lips just grazing my clit. I shudder in pleasure, and she says, "Hold still" while she pulls my shirt down to cover my privates. Then, she stands up herself and walks around me to see the rest of the outfit. As she returns to the front, she unties the cord around my waist which lets the shirt fall another inch or two. That helps to hide my pussy better, but it makes the underarm cutouts open wider and my boobs are more visible from the sides. She says, "Raise your arms." I do, but she says, "Higher, straight out from the shoulders." I do as I'm told. And now she reaches in through one of the big cutouts and cups my breast. After a light squeeze, she removes her hand and says, "Hands down at your sides."
She looks at me sternly and says, "Pet, you've earned a DD. Actually, two DD's." A DD is a discipline demerit, which she gives to me when I do something bad. She uses the word "discipline" to describe what happens afterwards, but to me it is just another word for punishment. And it is usually pretty severe punishment. For example, just last Saturday, I was tied spread-eagled in a doorway and she used an alligator clip to attach a cord to my clit and then clipped a tiny live lizard by the tail to the other end of the short cord; the lizard and I were left in that position all night, and every time the lizard squirmed, a jolt of pain shot through my tiny clit.
My eyes start to water and I am just about to say "Why?" when she says, "First, you've caused me to waste a bunch of time coming over here today. I'm not going to have my little test program ready for our afternoon team meeting. That's one DD. Second, you are wearing an outfit that I did not authorize. And you're lucky that I didn't assign a third DD for losing my dark blue T-shirt; it was one of my favorites. But I'm certain that I can get a replacement. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"
"Thank you, Ma'am, for not giving me three DD's." I wanted to say something about being forced by Mrs. Hardass to change shirts, and I wanted to apologize for delaying her work, but I decided that it wouldn't help, and she might interpret such comments as insolence and punish me for that as well.
She says, "Okay, good girl. We'll take care of those DD's tonight. As we agreed this morning on the phone, you will come to my place and spend the night." Normally, I would relish such an order, because spending the night usually means an exciting lovemaking session, but that probably won't happen this time. I whisper, "Yes, Ma'am."
She goes on, "I probably won't get home till 6:30 or so now, because I'll have to stay longer to finish that test program. I will expect you to have dinner prepared for me when I arrive. I'm going to leave now, but you be sure to keep your cunt and boobs covered this afternoon, but keep your knees open when sitting at your desk." Those are seemingly contradictory orders, because she removed the modesty panel from my desk and my pussy is pretty visible to anyone who walks into our department. But I just nod at her. And then she gives me a loving kiss on the nose, and she turns to leave.
She walks out the door, and I turn to clean up the lunch trash from the conference room table. But a moment later, she returns and says, "Oh, by the way, when you come this evening, bring your panties and bras."
My heart leaps a little at this order, because it sounds like she's going to allow me to put on underwear for the first time in several days. I smile and say, "Oh, thank you, Madam. Are my pink ones with ruffles and the matching bra okay? Those are my favorites; they look nice and fit just right."
She gives me a puzzled look, but then she says, "Uh, Pet, I don't think you understood what I just said. I said 'panties and bras' - plural. I want you to bring all of your panties and all of your brassieres tonight. Every single one of them. Understood?"
I blush at my stupidity, but I still don't completely understand. "Yes, Ma'am, I understand. But why?"
"Careful, Pet. You're not really permitted to ask why, but this time I will tell you. You are not going to need your panties and bras anymore; you are never going to wear them again. I know that your panties will fit me perfectly, and some of your bras will work for me, too. Your boobs are a little bit fuller than mine, but some of your slightly smaller bras might fit me. There's no sense in having that underwear sitting unused in your drawer. And a nice little bonus is that I will feel so much closer to you when I'm wearing your panties; my pussy will be touching the same fabric that was previously pressed against your pussy. You know, you've told me that you feel closer to me now that I'm having you be naked more in public - your nudity is a constant reminder about your love for me. And now, I'll get a similar special feeling from wearing your panties."
She is definitely right about my thinking of her when I'm naked or almost naked all the time now. I love her dearly, and if my nudity makes her happy, then I'll do it even though it's terribly embarrassing.
She continues, "We'll just do the panties and bras tonight. Sometime later, we'll empty out your clothes closet and drawers. After the committee approves your request to work naked, then you won't need any clothes at all. I'll take what I want, and we'll give the rest to charity. You'll get a nice tax deduction for that, you know."
I have to bite my lip to avoid complaining, because I like my wardrobe. I've accumulated a lot of nice outfits over the years including many that she herself has bought for me, plus a couple of blouses and three skirts that she designed and made for me - those are very special to me, and now they are all going to be given away! But I just say, "Yes, Ma'am, I understand."
"Bye-bye, Ma'am. I will see you tonight." I know I'm being silly, but I'm starting to tear up as I say good-bye to her. I'm going to see her again in only a few hours, but it felt so good to talk with her just now. The next few hours will probably be difficult as I attempt to catch up on my work while trying to keep myself somewhat covered with the short sleeveless shirt. And then I will have do several things after I get off work at 5 o'clock and before she gets home at 6:30 - I need to figure out what to do for dinner, stop by my apartment to pack up all of my panties and brassieres, stop at the grocery store, go to her place, fix dinner, and have it already when my wonderful lover gets home. But just knowing that I will see her soon will be more than enough incentive to get me through these next few hours.
I turn back to the conference table and pick up the lunch trash again. There's still half a can of Coke that my lover did not drink, and oh, how I want that instead of the yucky fruit juice that's still left in my bottle. I look furtively around, and seeing no one, I raise the Coke can almost to my lips. But I stop as I know I must, because my lover would not allow me to drink it if she were here. I sigh, put down the can, pick up the unfinished orange mango juice bottle, and quickly swig the rest of it down my throat. Ugh, it tastes like piss to me! I shudder and put the bottle back on the table. But only for a moment as I pick up the trash yet again. I drop the banana peel and the muffin wrapper in the waste basket by the door, but I'm careful not to put the recyclable containers in with them. My lover is a recycling fanatic; as I mentioned, I call her my "greenie weenie", and so far, she's lets me get away with that with just a pretty smile.
So, I carry the can and bottle into the break room and regretfully dump the wonderful smelling Coke down the drain of the little sink. Then, I carefully rinse the can and bottle before depositing them in the recycle bin by the sink.
I'm just about to leave, but then I notice that the room is slightly messy. I've assigned myself the job of keeping this room clean, organized, and well stocked. I find my sponge under the sink, run it under the faucet, and then quickly wipe the small counter top area clean of coffee spots and spilled sugar. Then, I straighten the chairs, pick up a paper towel from the floor (someone did not have very good aim at the waste basket), fire up the coffee maker to re-fill the almost-empty decaf pot, etc. Things look good now, but just as I'm leaving, I shake the powdered creamer can. It feels empty and after confirming that visually, I want to get a new can of the stuff from the supply in the cabinet. I stand on my tiptoes and reach up to the second shelf where the creamer cans are stored. As I'm almost ready to grasp the can, I hear "Oh, I'm sorry, Pat." I turn my head and see Nate Singleton looking at me - not at my face, but at my lower backside, and I realize that my bare ass is probably exposed to him beneath the pulled up shirt. He quickly averts his gaze and mumbles, "Sorry again. I'll come back later." Nate is the oldest researcher in the department (he is 53 years old), single, introverted, soft spoken, and probably never been kissed, but he is very well respected in our department. I'm sure that he is just as embarrassed as I am about the incident. I quickly latch onto the creamer can and bring it down to the counter. Then, I dash out into the hallway to catch up with him. As I grab his arm, I say, "Oh, Nate, it's me who should be sorry. And I really am. Please accept my sincere apology for embarrassing you with my near nudity."
He is blushing, but he smiles and says, "Thanks, Pat. But I will come back later. Please go ahead and finish your job in there."
I'm also blushing as I smile back at him and say, "Okay, Nate. And again, I'm very sorry." As he walks away, I turn and go back to the break room. Thankfully, it is now empty, and I quickly open the new container of powdered creamer and put it on the counter next to the sugar packets. I'm breathing hard as I return to my desk. Just another little bit of embarrassment in my new nearly nude life.
The rest of the day goes fine for me. I see a few raised eyebrows, but I don't hear any crude comments like I did earlier this week. My great boss, Bill Johnson, usually meets with me at 4 o'clock every day, but earlier in the afternoon, he said he had another appointment at that time. So, I just continue working as 4 o'clock comes and goes. But about 4:40, I've run out of things that must be done, and I'm sitting at my desk with my hands folded, and again I am literally twiddling my thumbs. My boss then walks by my desk on the way to his office, but he pauses when he sees me idle. He asks, "Did you get that Lathrop letter typed up yet, Patty?"
"Yeah, Bill, it's in the mail, and . . ."
"What about getting a video conference set up with London next week?"
"All set. I got them to agree on 8:30 AM next Tuesday. Is that okay with you?"
"Perfect. Make sure that the appropriate guys here know about the early start time."
"I already did that, too. And I will remind them again on Monday."
"Patty, you are amazing in spite of all the other stuff going on in your life."
I blush and respond, "Thanks, Bill."
"Have you got any special plans for the evening?"
I gulp and say, "Uh, well, ummm, Cassie and I are having dinner together, and . . ."
He interrupts with a big smile on his face, "Okay, Patty, I've heard enough. Get out of here and have fun with your special friend."
That's what I was hoping he would say, and I answer with a big smile of my own, "Thanks, Bill. I will see you in the morning."
I pack up my things, including the ten new T-shirts and the envelope that Mrs. Hardass gave me. I carefully fold the short shirt under my ass as I stand up. I can see the weird look on his face as he stares at me. I think I have covered everything up, but maybe he got a brief view of my boobs through one of the cutouts - I just don't know. As I give him a quick finger wave, I scoot quickly down the hall and out the door before he can say anything else.
As I pass the security guard station, I smile at the friendly old guard, Henry. He says, "Good night, Pat."
I reply, "Night, Henry. See you tomorrow." Even though I am now past him, I can feel his eyes on me. A girl just knows when a man is staring, and even though he must be 70 years old, he's still a man who likes to look at pretty women - especially scantily clad women like me.
Fortunately, there aren't many other people leaving work now; the people in the other half of our building get off at 5 o'clock, and that is still 15 minutes away. I scurry to my yellow VW, drop the stack of T-shirts and my purse onto the passenger seat on top of the folded white body stocking, and climb in. I'm sitting bare assed again because this stupid shirt is so short, but this time there isn't anyone who can see me. I let out a huge sigh of relief at my momentary privacy and I think about what I need to do now.
End of part 3
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