Archived: “The Waiting Room” (exhib, humil, FF)

The Crysta and Donna stories are copyright 2002-2004 by Richard Hertz.  Each story may be copied and reposted in its entirety including this notice, but may not be excerpted or copied in part.  The stories have adult sexual themes .  You should press the “back” button on your browser now if you are under eighteen, or if laws in your part of the world forbid reading such things, or if you have so little control over your own emotions that stories like this might make you feel offended or otherwise unhappy.

The Waiting Room

“No, don’t put that on, Crysta.  Let’s stay naked a while longer.”

Crysta put her little fuzzy white sweater down on the bed and turned to her beautiful roommate, and began stroking her clean-shaven pussy.  “What’s up, little girl?”

Donna leapt onto Crysta, giggling, and kissed her playfully.  Crysta lost her balance and fell backwards onto her bed, and Donna fell on top of her.  “Here’s what, my lovely.”  Donna paused to kiss Crysta’s pussy, then she held up a piece of paper.  “A letter from my friend Julia.”

Crysta sat up.  “Julia!  What’s she up to?”

“Do you know Julia?”

“No, I was just playing along.”  Crysta grabbed Donna and pulled her down on top of her, and the girls made out for a minute until Donna broke free.

“You’ll like this letter, Crysta.  Julia gets herself into big trouble.”

“OK, Donna, I’m intrigued.  Start reading it to me while I give you a little massage.”  Crysta began stroking Donna gently about the inner thighs and buttocks.

Donna spread her legs apart, exposing herself fully.  She picked up the letter, and began reading.

“The agency sent me here,” I explained to the little girl behind the desk.  I kept my hands at my sides, unconsciously smoothing the sides of my skirt against my thighs.  I felt a bit awkward because my skirt (torn-off denim low-rise) was a bit shorter than I’ve been used to.  (And I don’t want to tell you what I was wearing under it — I’ll just say “not much”)   She popped her gum, and told me to have a seat on the couch. I turned around and saw it — a hideous bluish thing. Well, at least it matched the hideous carpet.  I sank into it and tried to make myself comfortable. But the receptionist kept staring at me.
The couch was directly across from her desk, so I felt very uncomfortable.  For some reason, the girl kept looking up my little skirt.  She couldn’t take her eyes off my pussy.
So I crossed my legs and put my hands in my lap to cover myself as well as possible.  I had debated whether to wear panties that morning, and I was glad I did.The receptionist picked up the phone, and appeared to be listening to it.  Then, after what seemed like a long time, she popped her gum and said my name into the phone.  I thought, good, I’ll get a chance to leave this horrible room and go on my interview.  The receptionist was quiet again.  Listening, perhaps.  Then she hung up the phone. “Are you wearing a bra under that top?” she asked.

I was shocked by the question. What business is it of hers whether I’m wearing a bra?  Is this her idea of small talk?  I could see she wasn’t wearing a bra.  Then again, she didn’t need one — her cute little ones were less than half the size of mine.  A hundred smart replies went through my mind, but I didn’t want to blow my chances here, so I simply answered the question. “Yes.”

“Well then, you won’t need to wear your top,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, then instantly regretted the question. Asking a question was a sign of weakness.  It was pretty clear what she meant.  She wanted me to take off my top, and just wear my bra.  Some sort of power trip, maybe, and now I put her in the driver’s seat.

She pushed her glasses down her little beak nose, and looked over the tops of them at me. I’m thinking, this kid couldn’t be more than eighteen years old, and she’s looking over the tops of her glasses at me. It was all I could do to not laugh in her little face.  “I mean, do you want this job or not? That’s what I mean,” she said.

I remained seated on the couch, and stared at her. She stared straight at my cleavage.  Jealous, I bet.  I thought, this is an improvement — at least she’s not staring at my crotch any more.  Finally, she went back to her work, whatever that is, and I relaxed a bit, still wondering if I would have to take off my top. I debated with myself.  What’s the big deal?  If I take off my top, I still have a bra on, and I wear less than that to the beach.  Yet, I felt that I would be giving up something more than just an article of clothing.  If I gave in to this little bitch’s demand, then I would lose a good measure of my dignity along with my top.  So I just sat on the couch and glared at the receptionist.

After a long time, she picked up the phone again, and listened.  Then she said, “No, she didn’t take it off.”  She listened some more, then hung up the phone.  She turned to me, took in a long look at my crotch (damn! forgot to cross my legs, but I’ll be damned if I’ll do it now!) and then said, “You might as well leave now.”

Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do.  I really wanted this job.  I thought about asking a question, like Why should I leave?  Or can I stay if I take off my top?  But no matter what question I thought of asking, I could see that more power would drain out of me and into that little receptionist.  So I said, “No, I think I’ll stay a while.”  I started to unbutton my top as if to relax and make myself more comfortable.  It was rather hot in the waiting room.  As soon as I undid the last button, the receptionist was on her feet.  She was beside me in a flash, helped me out of my top and took it faster than I could object.  But once again, I bit my tongue in an effort to retain some measure of dignity.  I sat back on the couch, and pretended I was fully dressed.

The door to the waiting room opened, and my heart started beating faster. Maybe it’s time for my interview.  But it was only a repairman with a ladder, so I felt a bit relieved, but still underdressed, though I tried not to show it.  Wait a minute — the repairman was a repair girl.  I relaxed a bit, that it was just a girl and not a man who would see me in my bra.  She had a long box of fluorescent lights with her.  I looked up, and saw the light right above me was out, then I looked back at her, and that’s when I noticed how short her dress was.  When she faced away from me, I had a chance to check her out.  Her dress was so short I could see the bottoms of her butt cheeks.  She was either wearing a thong or else nothing at all under the dress, and I was dying to know which, but tried not to stare.  I started to get up as she came toward me with her ladder, but she said, “It’s OK, I’ll work around you.”  She straddled me with the ladder, and started to climb.  I resisted the temptation to look up between her legs.  That is, until she asked me if I could steady the ladder.  I looked up at her, and saw she was holding one of the long tubes over her head with both arms.  Her dress had risen up, and her legs were apart, for stability, I’m guessing.

Donna stood on the bed, demonstrating.  Her legs were apart, and her arms high over her head, replacing an imaginary light bulb.  Crysta’s sexy massage had made Donna juicy.

“Keep reading!” Crysta giggled.

Standing beneath her, holding the ladder, I can tell you not only that she forwent the thong, but also that she was completely shaven.  The door opened again, and a guy walked in.  Her partner, evidently, because he asked her if she was done.  I was embarrassed for her because she seemed to be having some trouble getting the fluorescent tube to fit into the socket, and here was this guy staring at her nude pussy for a long time before he finally left.  I have to admit I got a bit wet myself just looking at her.  I don’t think she ever knew how uncovered she was, because she acted completely normal when she got down off the ladder.  When she bent over to put the used bulb in the same box the new one came out of, she inadvertently showed me another full view of her asshole and pussy, so I felt bad for her.  I thought if I just caressed her butt gently while she was bending over, she would realize she was on display, and then avoid bending over like that in future.

Donna faced away from Crysta, demonstrating how the repair girl bent over.  Crysta played Julia’s part, caressing Donna’s butt.

I had to think of a casual way to touch her cheek, so I decided to just stand close behind her and ask if I could help.  I leaned forward, too, and rested my hand on her cheek as casually as I could. I gently stroked her cheek, and let one of my fingers lightly touch her tight little asshole before caressing the other cheek.  She remained bent over for a long time — longer than necessary to put the bulb in the box.  I had expected her to jump up when she felt my hand on her naked ass, so when she didn’t jump, I didn’t know what to do.  I withdrew my hand, and let it hang awkwardly behind me.  Here we were, my breasts resting on her back, and my hand resting — nowhere.  Not knowing what else to do, I let my hand drift between her legs, and I gently stroked her inner thighs.  I accidentally touched her pussy again, and realized she was getting quite juicy.  Suddenly I put it all together.  Oh my god!  She thinks I’m coming on to her, but that’s not at all what I meant.  I just wanted to let her know that her dress was too short.  She stood up straight, and put her arms around me.  She pulled my head down toward hers (I’m a bit taller than her) and opened her mouth.  I had never kissed a girl before, and I didn’t think I wanted to start today, but having made this mistake, what could I do?  So I kissed her.  What a good kisser she was!  I might give up boys if every girl kisses like this!  I don’t know how long we were standing there, making out, but I can tell you my arms were around her tight little body.  I had her dress up around her shoulders, and I was feeling her butt, rubbing her back, and fondling her little titties.  While we were kissing, her partner came back into the room, and told her to get going because they had another job to do.  She wasn’t in a big hurry to get to the next job, but she did finally break away from me, picked up her stuff, and without saying a word, she left.

“Stop it, Crysta, or I’ll cum!”  Donna giggled.  She was laughing, but she wasn’t kidding.  Crysta acted out every part of Julia’s letter, including the make-out scene.  One more kiss, and Donna would have cum for sure.

“OK, OK,” Crysta said, still fondling her sexy roommate.  “Read on!”

I looked at the receptionist, and she looked me up and down, and popped her gum. I started to walk over to the couch, and noticed that my panties were down around my knees.  How did that happen? I wondered.  I grinned sheepishly, pulled them up, and sat down on that hideous couch.  Another minute with the repair girl and I would have cum.  Oh well.  I can’t imagine what the receptionist was thinking about me, but it couldn’t have been good, so I felt I needed to change the subject in her little brain. “Will this take much longer?”

“I think you should take off your skirt, now.” she said, as if this were a reply to my question.

“I don’t think so,” I said, defiantly. “I think I’ll just leave.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, popping her gum.

“Can I have my shirt, please?” I walked over to her and held out my hand.

“Not until after your interview.”

“But I’m leaving now.”

She glared at me, chewing her cud. Finally, she made herself crystal clear: “You can leave now without your shirt, or else you can take off your skirt and sit down like a good girl.”

Needless to say, I did not take kindly to her condescending attitude.  But there wasn’t much I could do.  “OK, so if I take off my skirt, then I can have my interview, and then I get all my clothes back, right?”

“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes.  Was I wrong to ask for a clear understanding of the procedure here?

“And I can leave on my bra and panties for the interview, right?”  She looked away, so I repeated myself.  “I don’t have to strip down any further, do I? I mean, because there isn’t really anything else I can take off now, is there.”  I said it like a statement, not a question.

“No, you’re right. After you take off your skirt, then you can’t take off anything else without becoming indecent.””And it would not be good to be indecent for my interview, would it.”  Another statement.

“No, you’re right again. You should be decent for your interview.”

Satisfied, I took off my skirt and gave it to her.  I sat down again, in my bra and panties, and then I blushed when I remembered that my panties were the semi-sheer thong.  Maybe no one will notice that my panties are see-through.  Since my pussy is shaved, there’s no pubic hair to be seen.  As long as I keep my legs together, my pussy is hidden, so I’m safe, I thought.

After I took off my skirt, I sat back down on the couch and waited.

The receptionist sat and popped her gum every few seconds.

Finally I spoke up. “Will this take much longer?”

She replied, “Would you like something? Coffee, perhaps?”

I brightened. “Yes, that would be very nice.”

“Well there’s a Starbucks on the corner…”

I stood up suddenly, planning to wring her neck, when she added, “Could you get me a Frappacino while you’re there?”

I was so mad I forgot all about keeping my legs together, but then I snapped back to reality when I saw her staring at my gaping pussy.  It was probably a good thing that I had to attend to staying decent for those few seconds, because I was able to calm down enough to ask her for some money to pay for the coffee.  “The company has an account, don’t worry about it,” was her reply.

I want you to know that I’m not normally in the habit of walking the streets of this city in my bra and panties — especially not see-through thong panties — but I had been waiting an awfully long time for this interview, and the idea of Starbucks coffee — well, it really hit the spot. Besides, I was not at all happy having to sit in the waiting room with that gum-popping bitch; I just had to get out for a while.  I left the room, and headed for the elevator. I pressed the “down” button and waited for about half a minute before the elevator came.  It was packed with guys in business suits, all looking me up and down.  My pussy was expanding from the excitement of being so much on display, and I was afraid to look down for fear I would see it was fully visible through my panties.  In unison, they all said, “come on in, we’ll make room”, and other words to that effect.  One of them held the door open.  I told them really, go ahead, I’ll wait for the next elevator, but the guy kept holding the door open until the buzzer went off, and then he still held it open, even though it was trying hard to close.  I’m no good with pressure, so I decided to take the path of least resistance and just get on the damn elevator.  The men all made room for me, pressing themselves against the back and sides of the elevator.  I stepped inside, and the door closed behind me.  There I was facing all these men.  And every one of them was looking at my pussy.  Uncomfortable isn’t the word.  So I turned around like everyone else and looked at the blinking numbers over the door.  I felt them still looking at me, but at least I didn’t have to see them any more.  I could pretend they weren’t still looking.  The elevator went down one floor, and the doors opened.  No one got on or off.  The doors closed, and the elevator went down one more floor.  I saw that someone had pressed every number, and it dawned on me what had happened.  One of the smart-ass boys in suits had pressed every number so they could spend more time with me.  I was glad they couldn’t see my pussy any more since I was facing front.  Then, as the door closed again, I noticed that it was silver — a perfect mirror — and then in that mirror I saw every one of them looking at my pussy.  I clasped my hands in front of my pussy as casually as I could (it was sopping wet), and endured the remainder of the long ride down in silence.

Once in the lobby I breathed a sigh of relief, and strutted out the revolving door to the sidewalk.  I looked for the Starbucks, but I didn’t see it.  I walked to the corner, and there it was, just a few doors down the side street.  I got on line and waited my turn.  I felt better when an elderly woman got on line behind me.  At least she won’t be tempted to fondle me, the way some guys do.  I hate that.  Oh no, I “spoke” too soon. She put her hand on my shoulder and leaned her wrinkly face toward mine.  “You should keep your cheeks together, dear,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Your thong,” she said. “It doesn’t really cover much, does it.”

That’s when I remembered — not only is this thong sheer in the front, it has a “dental floss” strap in the back.  I don’t know if other girls are built like me, but I have a definite space between my cheeks.  My asshole is pretty much out in the open for anyone to see, and the old lady was right — the strap doesn’t cover much at all.  I clenched my cheeks.

“That’s better,” said the old lady. She patted me on the shoulder, and then resumed her place in line behind me.  The trouble is, a girl can’t go clenching her cheeks for hours on end.  Have you ever tried it?  After just a few minutes, my cheeks started to burn, and I had to relax them.  I’m sure the old lady saw my cute little sphincter come into view again, but she didn’t say anything.  Then it hit me: all the guys in the elevator were probably looking at my asshole just as much as my pussy!  In a way I’m glad I didn’t realize at the time that my asshole was on display — I would have been just that much more embarrassed.

Finally it was my turn to order. “Two venti frappacinos,” I said.  By this time I had forgotten all about clenching, and just let my nicely rounded cheeks separate naturally from one another. If I had been thinking about it, I would have thought: what’s the big deal?  Everyone has an asshole, not just pretty girls, so I don’t see why there should be a special interest in mine.

“That’ll be seven dollars and twenty-eight cents,” said the pimply boy behind the counter.

“Put it on the company account,” I replied.

“What company?” he asked.

Suddenly I blanked on the name of the company I was interviewing for.  I fished in my bra (because I keep stuff there sometimes), and then, feeling silly, I made a show of fishing in my panties, too.  Some people laughed, but not the pimply boy.  I think he just felt sorry for me.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “When you remember the name, you come back and tell me, OK?”

A breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said.  I moved over to the pick-up counter, and tried to act as casual as I could in a see-through thong.

“Two venti frappacinos for the naked girl!” the Starbucks worker called out.  I felt all eyes turn in my direction, and I flushed as I picked up the drinks.  When I got to the door I didn’t know what to do.  I couldn’t open the door and hold the two drinks at the same time, so — I have no idea what put this idea into my head — I slipped one of the drinks into the front of my panties (ooh, that’s cold!), and then I was about to open the door with my free hand when I felt my panties slip down my legs.  Can you imagine what happened next?  With my panties at my knees, facing the clear glass door to the great outdoors, the cold cup slipped out of my panties, and began hurtling to the floor, upside down.  I saw it all happen as if in slow motion.  Somehow I was able to catch the drink between my legs before it hit the floor.  Then I was paralyzed.  I was holding one drink in my right hand, and the other between my ankles.  My panties were down around my knees, and everyone — I mean everyone; little children, old ladies, lecherous men — was looking at me.  One chivalrous man decided he would hold the door open for me.  I thought I had better rescue the coffee between my legs first, so I bent over, and picked up that drink with my left hand.  The nice man was still holding the door open for me, and trying not to stare at my smooth-shaven pussy (but the tent in his pants told me he was unsuccessful in that regard).  So I walked through the door.  I had to take little steps because my panties were still around my knees.  I looked around outside for a table or bench to put the drinks down, so I could pull up my panties, but I didn’t see one.  Normally, pulling up my panties would be high on my list of priorities.  But these panties don’t hide much anyway — they cover none of my behind, and they only thinly veil my pussy, so I figure I don’t gain much by pulling them up.  I decided to go into the building where my interview will be, and then pull up my panties there.  As I kept walking I felt my panties slip lower and lower until they were finally around my ankles.  I was starting to think they’re such a nuisance I should step out of them and be on my way.  But then I remembered the agreement I had with that bitch receptionist to have my interview in bra and panties, and I put the thought of discarding my panties out of my head.  Still looking around for something to set the coffees on, I find no such thing.  I pressed the “up” button on the elevator with my elbow, and prayed the elevator would be empty. One of the elevators opened behind me, and a whole bunch of people got out, eyeing me with great interest as they pass me. I wiggled my way to it and get on just before the door closes.  Thank God I was the only one on the elevator this time.  Finally alone, I set the coffees on the floor of the elevator, and pull up my panties.  Oh, it’s such a joy to cover my pussy again, even though the cover is semi-transparent.  I made it back into the room, and gave the receptionist her drink.

Expecting a thank-you, all I heard was “how did you pay for it?”

“I used the company account, like you said.”

She laughed. “There’s no company account, you idiot!”

That bitch! She sent me down there so that people would laugh at me begging for free coffee in my bra and panties.  Breathe in.  Breathe out.  Stay focused on your interview.  OK, I feel better now.  “Enjoy your coffee,” I said.

“They’re almost ready for your interview,” said the receptionist. “Just one thing, though.  Nothing major.  I hesitate to even mention it.”

“What is it?” I felt myself falling into her trap.

“It’s your bra, I’m sorry.”  She shook her head with mock sadness.

Reflexively, I put my hands over my breasts. “You said I could have my interview in my bra and panties.”

“Actually, I never said that. You might have thought I said that, but I never did.”  She paused.  So, if you could hand it over, I’ll take it now.”  She held out her hand.

“No,” I said. “I’m going to keep my bra on.”

“You can leave now if you like.”

This was deja-vu all over again. “You’re going to strip me naked, little by little,” I said.  “At each step, you get me to strip by telling me I can leave with what little clothes I have on at that point, or else I can take off one more item and then get my interview.” I was getting pretty upset by this point, and I might have let a few tears slip.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. Maybe she was feeling a bit sorry for me because I was half-naked already, and crying. “I just want your bra. Nothing else.”

“And then I get my interview.  I can leave my panties on.”

“And then you get your interview.  Your panties can stay on, I promise.”

I started to think it over.  This was my window of opportunity to escape this horrible situation.  I was still fully clothed, more or less — presentable enough for Starbucks.  I could leave like this, take the bus home, and just chalk it up to bad judgment.  Or I could take off my bra, have my interview, get all my clothes back, and go home successful.  That second thing sounds better, doesn’t it?  Besides, tits are like assholes. Everyone has ’em, even boys, and the boys don’t even bother to cover theirs up, so why should I be so bashful about mine?  Besides, my hair is long enough, I can just drape it over my front, and cover myself that way. (This picture shows how I imagine my hair covering my breasts.) “OK,” I said, “you talked me into it.”So I took off my bra.
I imagined my hair would
nicely cover my tits, so I
could safely remove my

So what if my hair doesn’t quite cover my tits? At least I will have my job interview with my panties on. I won’t be completely naked.”There,” said the bitch after she took my bra and locked it in her desk. “You’re almost ready for your interview. But first, are you hungry?”

I hadn’t thought about hunger, but now that she mentioned it, “Yes, I’m famished!”

“OK, well let’s have lunch first, and then the interview after that, OK?”

“That sounds good,” I said. I was picturing a bellboy delivering a silver domed tray of food to the room on a rolling cart. I would hold my hands over my breasts long enough for him to uncover it, get his tip, and vanish.”Then let’s go,” said the bitch. I must have looked startled — I know I gulped — so she added, “You can leave your panties on, if you like.”  Some favor!  Thanks, bitch.

I knew enough not to bother asking for any of my clothes back, but an idea occurred to me. “Are you sure you want to wear all those clothes to lunch? I mean, aren’t you overdressed?”

She looked down at her clothes, appeared to think it over, and said, “No, I think this is fine for me.”

This is how I really look
without a bra — alas,
my hair doesn’t cover
my tits, after all.

I just looked at her. I guess my expression was one of disbelief.

Finally, she sighed, and said, “OK, you win. Since you’re topless, I’ll go bottomless.” With that, she took off her skirt.  She wasn’t wearing panties, and she was fully shaved!  My heart softened towards her when I saw she was willing to strip, too.  When she stood up straight again, I saw that her shirt covered most of her pussy, but only half of her ass.  It left the cutest part of her ass cheeks hanging below the back of her shirt.  And like mine, her cheeks were separated so I could see her adorable little anus between them.  Unable to resist her charms, I gently stroked her cheeks, but she swatted my hand away. “Down, girl!” she said.  But then she put her hand on my cheeks, and felt around inside my panties.  I made no move to resist.  I knew the score — she would have her way with me, but I wasn’t worthy to screw her (yet, anyway).

In the elevator, we were alone.  She pulled my panties down to my knees, and felt me up.  I didn’t resist.  It felt good, I must admit.  On the 25th floor, the door opened, and my host exited the elevator, leaving me inside with my panties down.  A dozen people saw me pull them up.  With my pussy covered (more or less) by my panties, I used my hands to cover my breasts as I followed the bitch into the cafeteria.  For the first time in quite a while, I felt fully covered.

“Grab a tray,” she said.  So I did, uncovering my breasts to do so.  Oh well.  My pussy is still covered, anyway.  We surveyed the cafeteria.  There were sandwiches, hot food, salads, and desserts.  I could go for any of it, I was so hungry.  I felt a little awkward because the bitch kept her hand in my panties the whole time, running her fingers from my vagina to my asshole.  Gently, back and forth, in a flicking, almost tongue-like way.  Looking around, I was afraid people would stare at me; I thought they might think it was odd that a topless girl would be in the cafeteria being fondled by a girl in a minidress.  To make matters worse, I was starting to think of my panties as a hindrance more than a help, because I was getting a major frontal wedgie. You see, I was so wet, and this liquid was soaking my panties, and making them dig into my vagina.  But I kept them on, because even though they were semi-sheer, they afforded some degree of coverage.  I was thankful the bitch didn’t pull them down again, the way she did in the elevator.

After we got our food, I sat at a nice table for two, hoping the bitch would sit across from me, but she didn’t.  She sat next to me, and kept digging around in my panties.  It was all I could do to avoid cumming — I hate cumming in public.  I felt so hot, I so desperately wanted to touch her soft legs and pussy, but she wouldn’t let me.  I wanted to rub her flat belly, and reach up her shirt just a little bit, until I could stroke her firm little breasts, and feel her hard little nipples.  But she wouldn’t let me do any of that.  At least she let me eat.  The food was good.

As I finished my lunch she stroked my pussy mercilessly, and I really thought I would cum.  As you may remember, Donna, I can’t cum quietly, so I was really afraid I would lose it right there in the cafeteria.  I begged her to stop touching my pussy, so she offered me a deal: if I would give her my panties, she would stop touching my pussy.  But I objected, reminding her she told me I could have my interview in my panties.  She promised to give them back before the interview, so I agreed — anything to stop the relentless fondling.  I looked around, and felt the coast was clear — everyone was minding their business, and not looking at me.  So I slipped off my panties, but I was afraid to give them to her for fear she would keep them.

“It’s OK,” she said.  “You can hold your panties.”  Then she continued stroking my pussy.

“Oh!  Ooooh!” I was so close to cumming.  I swallowed hard and said, “You promised to stop!”

“After you give me your panties,” she reminded me.

I handed them over in a desperate bid to get her to stop fondling my dripping wet pussy.  She kept her word, but she didn’t stop touching me.  She stroked my inner thighs, and kneaded my breasts — I can’t tell you how good that felt!  Then she made me kneel on the table with my legs apart and my ass in the air.  I swear, Donna, I did it, and I didn’t even care who might be watching, because I was so afraid of cumming, and I knew she would stroke my pussy if I disobeyed her.  One more stroke of my pussy and I knew I’d be wailing!  So I let her use her feather touch on my shoulders, back, and — oh no! — my ass cheeks, and then it was all I could do to avoid cumming when she stroked my asshole.  I raised my ass even higher in the air and spread my knees so far apart I almost fell off the table as she stroked my perineum.  Pussy juice was streaming down my legs as she continued to touch me.  I begged her to let me get off the table, and after she brought me to the brink of orgasm at least half a dozen times, she relented.

After lunch, we went back to the office.  While we were waiting for the elevator, I remembered — “My panties!” (I might have said that a little too loud — some heads turned to look at me, and they must have seen I was naked.)  I started to go back to the cafeteria to look for them when the bitch held them out on her fingertip.  I reached for them, and she pulled them away, you know, teasing me.  She made me do some degrading things — I had to beg for my panties, in public.  Donna, you don’t know how embarrassing that is until someone makes you do it.  “Please, pleeeeease,” I said over and over, “please give me back my panties.”  I tried to say it quietly because I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact I was naked, but she made me say it louder and louder.  She made me spread my legs apart, and bend over and touch the floor with my ass facing the elevator door before it opened.  I had no idea who would be on the elevator, but I had to stand there, with my tits hanging down, and my asshole and sopping wet pussy, open and waiting.  She even fondled my pussy a few times to keep me inches from a public orgasm.  I begged her to stop, but she kept doing that for what seemed like endless torture, until she finally gave me back my panties, and let me put them on.  I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt, the soft fabric of my panties against my steaming hot pussy; the thin strap against my aching, asshole which was practically gulping I was so close to cumming.  What a relief!

The elevator came again, and we got on.  When we finally got back to the office, she said it was time for me to get naked, and then I could have the job interview.”No! Absolutely not!” I was adamant.

“I understand,” she said. “You can leave now. I’ll donate your clothes to the Salvation Army tomorrow.”  She practically pushed me out the door, and then closed it behind me.  There I was in the hallway of the 43rd floor, dressed only in sopping wet see-through panties.  Crying, I made my way to the elevator and pressed the button.  I should have left while I still had my bra, I thought.

“Ding!” The elevator door opened, and it was full of guys in suits.  Not again!  I went back to the office, and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said the bitch.

I opened the door and went in. I was defeated. “I’ll get naked,” I said, hanging my head.

“I knew you’d be back,” she said.

It took me a long time to build up the courage to pull down my panties — even though they were see-through, I was attached to them.  Even though the strap was so thin it didn’t cover my asshole, it covered me better than nothing.  You see, they were my last vestige of clothing.  Without my panties I was completely naked, and had no way to cover myself.  I took a deep breath, and started slipping them down. When they were finally off, I stood defiantly naked, and showed the bitch my fully shaved pussy.

“It won’t be much longer now,” she said. So I sat down, stark naked, and waited.In a way, I felt relieved.  It was easier than I thought to get naked.  I guess my see-through panties didn’t make that big a difference, because I didn’t feel that much more naked without them.

I had intended to have some clothes on for my job interview, but you can’t always get what you want, can you?  Anyway, I was feeling relieved, and looking forward to the interview, and then getting my clothes back and going home.

The door opened, and I hoped it was my interviewer — I snapped my legs together in anticipation.  I wanted to be dignified — as dignified as I could, naked.  But it was just the UPS delivery guy, so I relaxed, and spread my legs apart and smiled at him.  He smiled at me, too.  I could see he admired my beautiful body, so I was starting to feel really glad I was naked.I kept smiling, and spread my legs apart even wider, so he would enjoy me even more.  He couldn’t take his eyes off my pussy, which made me feel sexy.  I ran my fingers over my body, and even touched my pussy just a little bit.  I didn’t want to cum in front of the man, but I didn’t mind getting a little juicy.

After a while the UPS guy had to leave, so I was alone with the bitch again.

She smiled at my sexy display.  “You can lick my pussy now, if you want.” she said.I’ve wanted to fondle her all day! So I jumped at the chance. I knelt down in front of her, and felt her legs. I let my hair drape onto them, and I flicked my tongue over her soft thighs. Then, with my nose I tickled her hood. I used my fingers to hold her hood open, and licked her clit, making her gasp.  She leaned back and opened her legs even wider.  I rubbed her belly and her breasts with my hands while I used my tongue on her asshole, her clitoris, and everything in between. Whenever I passed over her open vagina, I plunged my tongue into it, and swirled it around in her juices. She screamed with pleasure, again and again, before collapsing in a sweaty, dripping mass of hot flesh. “That was very nice of you,” said the bitch in a dreamy voice. “Now, please sit on the couch and wait for your interview.”

Well, I was pretty hot and bothered myself by this time, even though no one was licking my pussy.  But I did as I was ordered, and sat on the couch, waiting for my interview.  I passed the time by touching myself, spreading the juices around.  I practiced bringing myself to the brink of cumming, but stopping just short of orgasm.

The bitch looked at the clock, and said, “Oh, look at the time. Five o’clock. Time to go home.” She put on her clothes again, and headed for the door. On the way, she stopped at the couch, and held out her hand to pull me up. “Thank you for spending this time with me. I really enjoyed it.”

“What about my interview?” I asked.

“Oh, there was never any interview,” she said. “I just made that up.”

I was stunned, but I kept my wits about me. There would be time for anger later. “Can I have my clothes back, please?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve already donated them to the Salvation Army. I’m sure there is some homeless girl who will really enjoy your see-through panties!”

I went to her desk, and opened the drawers.  They were all empty!  “Where are my clothes?!”  I was frantic.

“Come again,” said the bitch “Anytime.”  She smiled from ear to ear, and then walked out the door.

I stayed and trashed the room looking for my clothes — or any clothes.  But there was nothing to be found. The bitch was telling the truth — my clothes were gone. And now she was gone, too.

After I finished taking out my aggressions on the bitch’s furniture, I ventured out into the hallway, crowded with office workers leaving for the day, and made my way to the elevator.  I was so disgusted with myself that I didn’t even try to cover myself.  I just stood, legs apart, pussy swollen with fading pleasure, and waited for the elevator. The door opened to a crowd of suits.  I got in, and faced front, legs apart defiantly. One man offered me his jacket.  At first, I refused, blubbering that I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out of it, etc.  The man told me not to worry about it, and held out his jacket for me.  He told me I could return it tomorrow or next week, whenever I was able.  I swallowed my pride, and took it.  It was eleven sizes too big for me, which was just perfect.  It covered me from head to toe.  I cried myself to sleep on the bus ride home, and woke up a little happier and a lot closer to home.

Well, Donna, that’s my story.
I hope you enjoyed it.
Love, Julia.


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