Member of the Club

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I wore the blue skirt as I’d been told – no underwear, no panty hose. Garters held my stockings so I could feel bare skin between my legs. As I walked, cool air caressed my private places, tickling pubic hair the way a lover’s gentle hand would softly graze against it. Beneath the folds of my thin skirt, my ass enjoyed the touch of the garment as it swayed about my skin and dabbled with the crack of my ass. I was fixated on the sensation and could think of nothing else. s****l stimulation was paramount, overriding everything else, all my trivial concerns, the daily duties, all the empty conversations, everything. What my body felt reigned supreme in my mind to the exclusion of all else.

I arrived at work early in the morning and spent some time concerned with negotiating my posture on the chair: how to sit gracefully so my skirt was raised, but not so it could be noticed by my co-workers in the office. Fortunately, my desk was in one corner of the room, removed from the others, giving me the privacy I needed.

As I sat with my bottom tightly fixed against the seat, I arranged my long skirt around me so that to the casual eye nothing appeared unusual. I was comfortable with the instruction, safe within its rule, and content to relax and savor the crude reality of my secret.

When I leaned forward my p***y pressed against the rough textured cloth of my desk chair. I could feel it prickly on my tender folds, creating such a wild response that I found my crotch pulsing into the chair the same way I’d pulse my cunt into a lover’s c**k. It prevented me from paying full attention to my job, but it was a welcome change, a lewd interlude in my otherwise unremarkable life.

I remained as instructed for the entire day. Once, I caught Joanna with eyebrows raised looking my way, and I cast a similar glance at her, to tell her I was following the instructions.

“You look flushed,” she commented discreetly as she passed by my desk.

“I do?”

She looked down at my chair, knowing my secret. “Enjoying yourself?”

“My god! It’s almost more than I can tolerate,” I whispered back.

“Oh, I think you’re doing pretty well.”

It was difficult to say more, but reassuring to have her know my secret and share my thoughts and fears.

My s****l fires burned all day, I couldn’t wait to return home that night and satisfy the s****l longing. The surreptitious messages – and the thought of more – had the power to stimulate my need for orgasm as nothing I’d ever known.

The only lacking element was real hands on my body.

I knew myself well; I knew every place that stirred my s****l juices, and begged to be touched. I knew how to stoke the fires and bring myself to a rapid or sometimes drawn-out conclusion. This was easy s*x that met the physical need, a world of my own, both private and voracious. And yet, once this stranger intruded on my world, I wanted more of what that stranger had to offer; I wanted other hands and other lips and other bodies to play with me.

I spent that night, longing for another message, for other instructions to come; I desperately hoped that they would continue. I hoped for that, rather than worry that this extraordinary adventure could end in an unsavory nightmare. Though I was obsessed, I didn’t want a nightmare. I’d keep my wits about me and proceed with care.

If there was some schedule to the messages arrival, it certainly wasn’t apparent to me. The next came days later after many disappointing days without a new note. I was afraid that there would be no more. Several mornings I woke with the thought that I’d repeat my scene with the blue skirt and my bare bottom, but I knew it wouldn’t be the same doing it for myself. I’d be the only one who’d know. What I relished most was performing on someone’s command, and being submissive to that secret someone who remained hidden and unknown to me.

As much as I desired another note, I was forced to be patient. I wasn’t in charge of this drama, but in the hands of a stranger, subject to their needs and their commands. It was a totally new concept for my sexuality. Perhaps being in control all the time wasn’t as provocative as the submissive alternative. I felt lost those days between memos, unsettled not knowing how to look at myself as the communications had altered so strangely the way I thought of my s*x life.

Then to my relief, ten days after the first instructions, I reached into an inner-office file and surprised myself with another plainly addressed note solely for my eyes. Fear washed over me, titillating my body to my toes.

“Buy yourself a push up bra, and wear it tomorrow with a blouse that will properly display your ample bosom.”

The phone rang. My boss buzzed me for a conference. Before I could react to the s****l memo, I had to pull my agitated body into its perfect business form and listen to his suggestions for our next inner-department meeting, which was my responsibility. I’d be giving a presentation before the entire office staff, and though this was nothing new for me, it was all I could do not to react with a bit of trepidation when Mr. Moore reminded me that the meeting would take place at ten o’clock the next morning.

It wasn’t like me to wear anything remotely suggestive at work. I may have a racy exhibitionist streak, but I found the attentions I got from men too frightening to allow me to dress in anything even a bit risky during business hours. I wore tailored business suits and simple dresses. It seemed clear to me that whoever sent this latest instruction was aware that I would be on stage the next day. I couldn’t imagine how I could actually follow through.

As I pondered my dilemma that afternoon, I found the thought of displaying myself as I’d been instructed magnified my s****l desire. I sat at my desk waiting for the clock to turn five, feeling a creeping dampness between my legs, and my cunt throbbing against the seat. My imagination took flight. I would do exactly as ordered, buoyed by the bizarre excitement.

I began plotting in my head how to pull off the instructions. Where I would go to buy the bra? Frederick’s or Victoria’s Secret? Fredericks, perhaps, their lingerie was more risqué. And then, what would I wear... the fuchsia-colored blouse, I decided. It tapered to fit tightly at the waist tucked into my slim gray skirt.

In the Frederick’s dressing room later that evening, I tried several bras – a real first for me, taking the time to look at myself in the mirror as I changed from one to another. I couldn’t help but admire the way my generous breasts were augmented by the little bit of lace and underwire. With just a half cup to hold them and the benefit of a construction that pushed them much higher than their usual place, I viewed that familiar flesh with new eyes, appreciating what I saw. They jiggled when I moved like the bosom of a voluptuous eighteenth century maiden wearing a revealing low cut gown.

Interesting – such apparel was designed for the male eye. I admired myself realizing that it turned me on as surely as it would any man. I thought of Joanna, how I’d relished the time I caught a glimpse of her breasts when we’d traveled to Florida together on vacation.

At the time I pushed aside the s****l thoughts; I’d been tempted to touch her creamy skin. Though her breasts were much smaller than mine, they enticed me with their smooth surface and the way they swelled from her slender chest as two small, firm peaks. The memory of her came roaring back as I looked at my own chest in the mirror. As my eyes reviewed the entire picture of my unclothed body, I remembered Joanna’s long graceful legs, her tiny waist – much tinier than my own trim one – and the patch of golden pubic hair; neatly shaved it almost glistened in the low light of the hotel room lamp.

Did I lust for women, too? Could I run my hands over a woman’s body and pleasure her the way I did myself? Could I invade a woman’s private places with my mouth and tongue just as I did with men? It was an alarming thought.

I left the store that evening with a lavender bra. Its cool color blended with my skin, and more than the others I tried on, it fit the instructions I’d been given perfectly. My only concern was how it would look the next day beneath my blouse as I gave my presentation before a room full of staring eyes.

By morning, I was scared. I’d been haunted all night long with the notion that this was a set-up for some terrifying conclusion. I was afraid the instructions would come crashing down around me in some appalling way. Joanna’s comments rattled around my brain, confusing me even more. At one point, she’d cautioned me; another time she encouraged me to do what felt good. Did it turn me on? Did I enjoy the feelings? Her messages were mixed and no help at all.

I drank a steaming cup of coffee, trying to settle my apprehensions and ease my mind. Perhaps Joanna was only suggesting that I not act rashly either way. It was sound advice. In truth there was nothing dangerous yet... and least not yet.

Putting aside my fears, I went ahead with my plans. I dressed without looking in the mirror – perhaps I wouldn’t be so scared if I didn’t know how I looked. Yet, as soon as I buttoned the fuchsia blouse and looked down at my breasts, I couldn’t help but peek in the mirror,

I was startled with the picture. The slim skirt fit tightly at my hips, and was belted at the waist. My figure was a perfect hourglass, accentuated as it had never been before, breasts pinched together and pushed forward in the new bra. I was used to hiding my more than ample treasures, and this was so different, so forward, so... so lewd. The thoughts I’d had in the dressing room the evening before began to surface again – the same fascination with my body and the recollections of Joanna’s alluring shape.

Why not be this erotic? Instructions or not, I had the right to look as I chose, and what I saw pleased me. It didn’t matter why; it mattered only that it turned me on. I was surprisingly grateful for my secret director; obviously he knew something about me that I’d concealed from myself.

Tossing on my overcoat, I left my apartment. And, at least for the moment, a bit of impudent self-confidence replaced my fears. The instructions from my director worked just as they had a week before. My body was on fire, and my mind consumed by the s****l fantasy.