I always seem to wake up exactly five minutes before the alarm is set to go off. Still too early for my brain, but not enough time to even make a difference. I laid in bed staring at 5:55 in the big red LED symbols on my clock, letting out a huge sigh. It was Wednesday, which meant I would have to stay after work with Indira for our weekly “special session,” and that I would have to check my email before getting dressed to find out what to wear.
I certainly don’t have the worst boss in the world, and Indira has done many things for me and my career. While a lot of other girls I know are either struggling to make ends meet, or trapped with hopeless loser boyfriends, Indira quickly promoted me to personal assistant, and I definitely have a more blessed life because of it. However, I do have that nagging feeling that many of my talents are physical, and have to do with my mocha skin and slender figure, and that Indira just likes the way a young black woman like me looks in a business suit.
My first project when I was hired was to go shopping for myself, using a company credit card to get fitted at all the stores that Indira had picked out. Many of the boutiques were quite specialized, and more than two were very intimate, requiring me to bare all to get accurate measurements. Indira wanted a “complete teardown,” as she called it, of my wardrobe, and I was to wear only the clothes that she picked out for me. She even extended this requirement to casual-wear and I was to only wear t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that she and her special line of stores could provide.
In my bedroom I stripped down out of my pajamas and headed straight for the kitchen, fully nude, to make myself breakfast. This morning ritual was another thing that Indira wanted me to do exactly as she instructed each morning. Of course, there was no way for her to check up on me, unless she was in cahoots with the landlord and they installed cameras or something, but I complied since Indira made such a good case that this was for my own good, and professional development. She had said that she did this each morning, and I did look to her as a mentor, and so I followed her example.
After breakfast, I made my way to the bathroom and showered, using the special soap that Indira picked out. This was something she did have the power to check up on, and would often come over to my desk and lean over my shoulder. I knew she was smelling me when she did this, I could hear her taking in a whiff through her nose, and she was always pleased with the fruity peach scent that I gave off. I covered my body in this, since I would have to stay extra late this evening, on account of tonight being Wednesday.
After the shower, I dried off and headed to my laptop to find out what I was to wear. Indira had an inventory of all my clothes, and everything was cataloged completely. Most days, I picked out whatever I wanted, but Wednesdays were for Indira. If there was no email, I could wear pick out anything from my wardrobe, but today there was an email, which meant she would decide. I opened it and found my assignment of a familiar gray skirt, pink blouse and sportcoat. The email also cam with a surprising postscript:
“Adanya, you’ll notice that there is no specification for bra or panties for today. I’m sure you will not deviate from this.”
I read that line again, making sure I understood it, and sighed. This was a little over the line, even for Indira, but there was no way for me to reject this command. I pulled together the outfit and slipped it on, feeling the fabric against my skin for the first time at every point in my skin. I found myself walking more slowly on the streets of the city, as each sway and movement rubbed the fabric against a new area of my skin that was simply not used to such stimulation. While I knew that nobody else could see, or even suspected there was something different about me, I knew that once I got to the office, Indira would be able to look directly through this suit, which was really the company’s and see just a naked girl underneath. And tonight, we had a special session which was usually anything but work, and I was certain she would use the opportunity to take full advantage of the state of my dress.
Five in the evening came and went, and I was summoned by email to Indira’s office. The sun was setting beautifully on the water, and Indira sat in her chair, mesmerized by it. These special sessions were never really about accomplishing work, but usually just involved me sitting patiently, listening to her reminisce about her childhood, growing up in India, moving to the United States in her teens, getting her MBA, and everything that a biographer would need to know. She would also ask about my relationships, and it was assumed that during these times I would be an open book to her. Over the past weeks, I had revealed almost all the personal details of every relationship I had ever had, from first puppy love crushes, to boyfriends and girlfriends that had occupied my time. I hoped that tonight she would not force me to reminisce about my sexual experiences, like she had done before, as I feared my braless and pantieless state would prove too exciting for such discussions.
“It’s my birthday today,” Indira started as I entered and closed the door. “I’m forty-one.”
“Happy birthday,” I politely responded. She had not said a word to anyone about it, and nobody I worked with had mentioned it.
“You can make it a little happier for me,” she said, with a little wink. My stomach was filled with butterflies as she said that. While Indira had listened intently as I revealed all my sexual relationships to her, she was married and had two beautiful children. And, I was just not prepared, nor did I have any desire to be, the office slut.
“Indira,” I said forcefully and in an almost accusatory manner, “I don’t know what you have planned for this evening, but I am a professional, and I demand to be respected as such.”
Indira’s smile widened. “Yes!” she hissed. “That’s it, tell me more.”
“More?”
“Yes, please tell me how inappropriate I’ve been!” Indira rose from her chair and took a seat on the couch of her office. “Please, this is good executive practice for you. Let me know exactly what’s wrong with how I’ve been treating you.”
“Indira,” I said, “well, the wardrobe and daily ritual you have for me, is something we should discuss.” I wanted to test the waters with this leeway she was giving. “I don’t appreciate being told what to wear every Wednesday, or how to get myself ready for the day. These are things that I already know how to do.”
Indira put her head down, refusing to look at me in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I understand, it was too far-reaching of me to suggest such a routine, Ms. Jackson.”
Ms. Jackson hit me by surprise. Indira would never call me with a title, but here she was, taking an obviously submissive stance. While offended at being objectified throughout the day, I also recognized that she was giving me carte blanche for a little retribution. I contemplated if this was another test of executive willpower on my part, a game, or a little bit of both. I decided that since I had the power here, I would decide whether or not to continue.
“It’s ok, Indira,” I said, addressing her by her first name again. I was expecting a correction, as she normally did, but it never came. “And I can forgive you for it, if I was certain you had instituted the same rules for yourself today, in what you are wearing.” I could see that there were no visible straps of a bra in the light that came through her shirt, and she was sitting a bit differently that how she normally did.
“Oh, but I did Ms.Jackson,” she said to me, with the intonation of a student in trouble with her teacher. I told her to stand and I sat on the edge of her desk. She obeyed and stood straight and I could see in the light the outline of her dark nipples showing through her cotton shirt. I crossed my legs, and saw her eyes drift down to see my skirt riding up my thigh. I kicked off my heels and said, “but how do I know you really did, Indira? Maybe I should send your little email to me to HR if you don’t prove to me right now you are not doing the same.”
I knew that at that moment that I was either on the precipice of a good time, or getting fired. I was relieved when Indira started fumbling at the buttons for her blouse. They came undone one by one, and she opened her shirt to reveal her olive skin, and dark brown nipples. She still had young and refreshing skin, and she obviously took care of it well. “That doesn’t prove everything,” I pressed knowing I was safe. I was beginning to get used to my new found power and wanted to push Indira as far as she wanted to go.
She dropped the shirt to the ground and nervously undid the skirt she was wearing and let it drop to the floor. She now stood nude in her own office, staring at me, breathlessly awaiting a new order.
My mind took in her body and was a bit dumbstruck at what to do next. Indira’s body was certainly very sexy, and I could see myself getting very turned on by this power, but did she have the courage to really go the distance with me? She came from an extremely conservative family, and had so much to lose, I needed assurances that she would put it on the line for me.
“Sit on the floor and lift your leg up, as I high as it can go,” I ordered. She proved herself to be quite flexible and soon her leg was pointed up, awaiting a new order, and displaying a rapidly moistening pussy. I walked over barefoot and raised my own foot directly above this slit, feeling her heat radiate from her excitement. She expected the sole of my foot to make contact, and I did not disappoint.
“This is no place to do this,” I said sternly. “I’m not just some cheap office tramp,” I declared, pressing my foot into her exposed labia and clit. She shuddered as I made contact with my foot and hot pink pedicured toenails. “But you have the means to make it better.”
I released my foot from her pussy and said, “We are going to go to the nicest hotel you can get a room for. There we will not have some tawdry one night stand for your forty-first birthday, Indira. We are to make passionate love to one another, understood? Put your leg down now.”
Indira nodded as she put her leg down, her taught olive toned body still groveling on the carpeted office floor at my feet. “I understand Ms. Jackson.”
“And I want you to get on the phone right now with the hotel, don’t make your assistant do YOUR job,” I said sternly. She nodded in agreement again and made her way to the phone. Instead of walking she crawled on all fours, her breasts jiggling comically as she was reduced to a groveling servant before me. Indira would still be my boss, but I would forever have a special power over her, at least every Wednesday.
As she dialed for the hotel, and started ordering the room, I knew that my job would never be quite the same again. I looked over the city, and across the water as the sky darkened, and knew this was my time to be Ms. Jackson.
I certainly don’t have the worst boss in the world, and Indira has done many things for me and my career. While a lot of other girls I know are either struggling to make ends meet, or trapped with hopeless loser boyfriends, Indira quickly promoted me to personal assistant, and I definitely have a more blessed life because of it. However, I do have that nagging feeling that many of my talents are physical, and have to do with my mocha skin and slender figure, and that Indira just likes the way a young black woman like me looks in a business suit.
My first project when I was hired was to go shopping for myself, using a company credit card to get fitted at all the stores that Indira had picked out. Many of the boutiques were quite specialized, and more than two were very intimate, requiring me to bare all to get accurate measurements. Indira wanted a “complete teardown,” as she called it, of my wardrobe, and I was to wear only the clothes that she picked out for me. She even extended this requirement to casual-wear and I was to only wear t-shirts, jeans, and sneakers that she and her special line of stores could provide.
In my bedroom I stripped down out of my pajamas and headed straight for the kitchen, fully nude, to make myself breakfast. This morning ritual was another thing that Indira wanted me to do exactly as she instructed each morning. Of course, there was no way for her to check up on me, unless she was in cahoots with the landlord and they installed cameras or something, but I complied since Indira made such a good case that this was for my own good, and professional development. She had said that she did this each morning, and I did look to her as a mentor, and so I followed her example.
After breakfast, I made my way to the bathroom and showered, using the special soap that Indira picked out. This was something she did have the power to check up on, and would often come over to my desk and lean over my shoulder. I knew she was smelling me when she did this, I could hear her taking in a whiff through her nose, and she was always pleased with the fruity peach scent that I gave off. I covered my body in this, since I would have to stay extra late this evening, on account of tonight being Wednesday.
After the shower, I dried off and headed to my laptop to find out what I was to wear. Indira had an inventory of all my clothes, and everything was cataloged completely. Most days, I picked out whatever I wanted, but Wednesdays were for Indira. If there was no email, I could wear pick out anything from my wardrobe, but today there was an email, which meant she would decide. I opened it and found my assignment of a familiar gray skirt, pink blouse and sportcoat. The email also cam with a surprising postscript:
“Adanya, you’ll notice that there is no specification for bra or panties for today. I’m sure you will not deviate from this.”
I read that line again, making sure I understood it, and sighed. This was a little over the line, even for Indira, but there was no way for me to reject this command. I pulled together the outfit and slipped it on, feeling the fabric against my skin for the first time at every point in my skin. I found myself walking more slowly on the streets of the city, as each sway and movement rubbed the fabric against a new area of my skin that was simply not used to such stimulation. While I knew that nobody else could see, or even suspected there was something different about me, I knew that once I got to the office, Indira would be able to look directly through this suit, which was really the company’s and see just a naked girl underneath. And tonight, we had a special session which was usually anything but work, and I was certain she would use the opportunity to take full advantage of the state of my dress.
Five in the evening came and went, and I was summoned by email to Indira’s office. The sun was setting beautifully on the water, and Indira sat in her chair, mesmerized by it. These special sessions were never really about accomplishing work, but usually just involved me sitting patiently, listening to her reminisce about her childhood, growing up in India, moving to the United States in her teens, getting her MBA, and everything that a biographer would need to know. She would also ask about my relationships, and it was assumed that during these times I would be an open book to her. Over the past weeks, I had revealed almost all the personal details of every relationship I had ever had, from first puppy love crushes, to boyfriends and girlfriends that had occupied my time. I hoped that tonight she would not force me to reminisce about my sexual experiences, like she had done before, as I feared my braless and pantieless state would prove too exciting for such discussions.
“It’s my birthday today,” Indira started as I entered and closed the door. “I’m forty-one.”
“Happy birthday,” I politely responded. She had not said a word to anyone about it, and nobody I worked with had mentioned it.
“You can make it a little happier for me,” she said, with a little wink. My stomach was filled with butterflies as she said that. While Indira had listened intently as I revealed all my sexual relationships to her, she was married and had two beautiful children. And, I was just not prepared, nor did I have any desire to be, the office slut.
“Indira,” I said forcefully and in an almost accusatory manner, “I don’t know what you have planned for this evening, but I am a professional, and I demand to be respected as such.”
Indira’s smile widened. “Yes!” she hissed. “That’s it, tell me more.”
“More?”
“Yes, please tell me how inappropriate I’ve been!” Indira rose from her chair and took a seat on the couch of her office. “Please, this is good executive practice for you. Let me know exactly what’s wrong with how I’ve been treating you.”
“Indira,” I said, “well, the wardrobe and daily ritual you have for me, is something we should discuss.” I wanted to test the waters with this leeway she was giving. “I don’t appreciate being told what to wear every Wednesday, or how to get myself ready for the day. These are things that I already know how to do.”
Indira put her head down, refusing to look at me in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I understand, it was too far-reaching of me to suggest such a routine, Ms. Jackson.”
Ms. Jackson hit me by surprise. Indira would never call me with a title, but here she was, taking an obviously submissive stance. While offended at being objectified throughout the day, I also recognized that she was giving me carte blanche for a little retribution. I contemplated if this was another test of executive willpower on my part, a game, or a little bit of both. I decided that since I had the power here, I would decide whether or not to continue.
“It’s ok, Indira,” I said, addressing her by her first name again. I was expecting a correction, as she normally did, but it never came. “And I can forgive you for it, if I was certain you had instituted the same rules for yourself today, in what you are wearing.” I could see that there were no visible straps of a bra in the light that came through her shirt, and she was sitting a bit differently that how she normally did.
“Oh, but I did Ms.Jackson,” she said to me, with the intonation of a student in trouble with her teacher. I told her to stand and I sat on the edge of her desk. She obeyed and stood straight and I could see in the light the outline of her dark nipples showing through her cotton shirt. I crossed my legs, and saw her eyes drift down to see my skirt riding up my thigh. I kicked off my heels and said, “but how do I know you really did, Indira? Maybe I should send your little email to me to HR if you don’t prove to me right now you are not doing the same.”
I knew that at that moment that I was either on the precipice of a good time, or getting fired. I was relieved when Indira started fumbling at the buttons for her blouse. They came undone one by one, and she opened her shirt to reveal her olive skin, and dark brown nipples. She still had young and refreshing skin, and she obviously took care of it well. “That doesn’t prove everything,” I pressed knowing I was safe. I was beginning to get used to my new found power and wanted to push Indira as far as she wanted to go.
She dropped the shirt to the ground and nervously undid the skirt she was wearing and let it drop to the floor. She now stood nude in her own office, staring at me, breathlessly awaiting a new order.
My mind took in her body and was a bit dumbstruck at what to do next. Indira’s body was certainly very sexy, and I could see myself getting very turned on by this power, but did she have the courage to really go the distance with me? She came from an extremely conservative family, and had so much to lose, I needed assurances that she would put it on the line for me.
“Sit on the floor and lift your leg up, as I high as it can go,” I ordered. She proved herself to be quite flexible and soon her leg was pointed up, awaiting a new order, and displaying a rapidly moistening pussy. I walked over barefoot and raised my own foot directly above this slit, feeling her heat radiate from her excitement. She expected the sole of my foot to make contact, and I did not disappoint.
“This is no place to do this,” I said sternly. “I’m not just some cheap office tramp,” I declared, pressing my foot into her exposed labia and clit. She shuddered as I made contact with my foot and hot pink pedicured toenails. “But you have the means to make it better.”
I released my foot from her pussy and said, “We are going to go to the nicest hotel you can get a room for. There we will not have some tawdry one night stand for your forty-first birthday, Indira. We are to make passionate love to one another, understood? Put your leg down now.”
Indira nodded as she put her leg down, her taught olive toned body still groveling on the carpeted office floor at my feet. “I understand Ms. Jackson.”
“And I want you to get on the phone right now with the hotel, don’t make your assistant do YOUR job,” I said sternly. She nodded in agreement again and made her way to the phone. Instead of walking she crawled on all fours, her breasts jiggling comically as she was reduced to a groveling servant before me. Indira would still be my boss, but I would forever have a special power over her, at least every Wednesday.
As she dialed for the hotel, and started ordering the room, I knew that my job would never be quite the same again. I looked over the city, and across the water as the sky darkened, and knew this was my time to be Ms. Jackson.
Brilliant piece of writing and extremely hot. I loved it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, I may do a sequel at some point, but maybe not for a bit.
ReplyDelete