by Bridy McAvoy
The blouse had short sleeves—after all, it was just turning into August, and the heat lay heavy in the old building. Once I’d pulled it out of my waistband, I shucked it back over my shoulders and let it whisper down my arms. Instead of letting me drop it to the chair, he held his hand out for it and I threw it to him. I was standing in front of a man with just my bra covering my breasts for the first time in my life. I expected to feel embarrassed, grossed out, given his age, but I didn’t. I didn’t even try to cover them with my arms—I knew he’d simply get me to lower my arms.
“Very nice, and I compliment you on your choice of underwear, Samantha. Now lose the skirt.”
That I hadn’t expected and he laughed as my mouth dropped open in shock. Still, my now trained hands—trained to follow his instructions—went to the button at the top of the zip. Once that had been disposed of, the sound of me drawing down the zip on my skirt seemed to echo in the room.
A minute later I tossed him my sole remaining outer garment and stood before him in my underwear.
“You didn’t let me see you in just your underwear till we’d been going out a year.”
“I know, honey, I know, and I’m sorry. But you were a keeper. Let me get to that part of the story later, please.”
“Hmm.”
“I know you’re getting angry but please let me explain it all the way through—then you’ll know why I treated you so differently, why I loved you so much.”
His eyes feasted on me, his head bobbing as his eyes ranged from my feet, up over my thighs, to my mound, covered as it was by only a thin layer of lace. Then over my stomach, still flat—I was only nineteen, after all—then up to the lacy bra that covered but didn’t fully conceal my breasts. At least being a blonde, my pussy hair didn’t show through the lace like it would have if I’d been a brunette. I’d have died if it had.
After several minutes of drinking his fill, he made that twisting gesture with his fingers and I turned to face away. It wasn’t a thong, so most of my ass was covered, but he was seeing a lot more of it than anybody other than a doctor had seen for years. He spent just as long studying my back view. I heard him push his chair back and I wondered if this was where he was going to touch me, caress me, or bend me over and carry out his threat to spank me. He did neither. He walked past me, opened his office door and gestured for me to walk, in just my underwear, down through the body of the now silent library. My heels click-clacked on the wooden floor and I was trembling as I walked. I did as he asked though, even turning and repeating the walk of shame several times until he tired of the game.
“You may resume your duties now. Come back to my office to reclaim your clothes just before you go. Unless…” he chuckled “…you’d prefer to go home as you are.”
I guess my blush was all the answer he needed but he left me there at the main desk of the library in just my underwear until four o’clock. I noticed he came out and looked at me several times during the hour and a half, and I knew, without a doubt, he would be doing the same next week. He did, however, give me my clothes back, although he gave some more instructions for the next week.
“Shave down there for next week, Samantha. That way your bush won’t make an ugly bulge in the front of your panties. You can leave a nice tidy little strip if you like, but the rest goes.”
It didn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to realize that within the next few weeks, he’d be inspecting that part of me after making me remove my panties too.
* * * *
I hate to admit this, but when I got home that night I masturbated before I took a shower, then put the black set of underwear on, and did the same before I got dinner. I spent the entire evening wearing the soiled black underwear, with just my silk robe over the top and felt wanton and wicked. I didn’t get much sleep that night. On the Saturday I returned to the underwear shop and bought two more white sets, this time even smaller, and one of them was almost transparent. Then, using an old razor of my dad’s and a pair of nail scissors, I trimmed my bush down to a narrow strip of blonde hair, leaving my slit bare. The act of doing that pushed me over the edge twice too.
My working life at the library had become routine. Every day, with the exception of Thursday afternoon, we were an effective, competent team. That library ran like clockwork. On Thursday afternoon I turned into something else, and dreams about what he might get me to do started to fill my head. I rarely got much sleep on Wednesday nights, my dreams filled with anticipation. I got just as little sleep on Thursday nights as I kept masturbating myself with dreams of what he’d done.
That next Thursday he did indeed get me to remove my outer clothes, then walked around me, looking at me from a much closer angle as I stood there in the middle of the room. I’d worn the new underwear set, thinner and more transparent, and I knew he could see the details of my nipples through it—my very hard, erect nipples. The panties were tight too, and I knew, having checked in the mirror before leaving for work, that my narrow landing strip showed as well, as did the shadow-line of my slit.
As he stood behind me I could feel the heat of his breath on the side of my neck, and I knew he was looking down over my shoulder at the valley between my breasts. Then he did something he’d never done before—he touched me. Or rather he touched the back of my bra. With a practiced tweak of his fingers he undid it, and I guess the first indication I had was when the fabric of the cups went slack. I squealed—I couldn’t help it—but, telling me to stand still, he pushed the straps off my shoulders. The bra snagged on my hands, covering nothing as he walked around in front of me, gazing on my unfettered breasts, naked in front of him for the first time.
“Magnificent, Samantha, magnificent.”
I closed my eyes, unable to look at him as he stood right in front of me, his stare fixed on my nipples. They were straining, aching to be touched, but he didn’t.
“How do you feel, Samantha—all right?”
“I guess, sir.”
“Good girl. Now what will you say if I ask you to take your panties off.”
“Please don’t, Mister Bryant. Please don’t.”
He chuckled. “Okay, I’ll leave that till next week.”
I gasped. He’d just told me I’d be naked in front of him next week. I was horrified, but part of me seemed exultant.
“You have magnificent tits, Samantha. Truly awesome. Now, seeing as I’m doing you a favor by leaving your panties covering what I believe will be just as magnificent a pussy, please come and sit on my desk.”
“On your desk, sir?”
Two minutes later he was twisting me around, and then spreading my legs so I was sitting where he wanted me. He resumed his seat in the big leather chair behind the desk. I was facing him, sitting on the desk, my legs splayed far apart, my knees bent, my lower legs hanging over the edge. I was leaning slightly back, my arms taking my weight, my naked breasts in full close-up view, my panties stretched tight across my mound, equally open to his inspection.
“Just sit there, baby. Just sit there.”
I shuddered but did as I was told, and he picked up the phone and punched in a number. With me sitting there, almost naked, he proceeded to have a conversation with the Chair of the Board of Directors for the library—about me. He delivered a glowing report on my first couple of months, how attentive I was, and how good I was at satisfying every requirement of the job. I heard him recommend that my status be upgraded from probationary and, as he said that, his eyes were fixed on my nipples. I tried hard not to shudder, knowing that would make them move in front of his face, but I couldn’t help it.
I was trapped and he knew it. At that moment I knew something very profound. He wasn’t going to stop with just getting me naked. I was going to end up surrendering my cherry to the dirty old man. And even if I didn’t like it, I’d be doing it willingly.
If that isn’t a contradiction in terms, I don’t know what is, but it was true. That little epiphany set me shivering. I’m ashamed to say he cut the phone cal
l short then watched as I had a small orgasm without even touching myself.
Chapter Four – Taking Stock
What Sammie had told me took time to absorb. Here was the woman who’d convinced me she was pure and innocent throughout our time dating. The woman it had taken fifteen months to get her to let me touch her breast, another three to get her to suck my cock—the first time she’d done that for anyone, she’d said. It had taken a thousand-dollar diamond ring and a romantic question to allow me into her panties—again, for what was supposedly the first time. Yet, here she was telling me this old man, who’d given her away at our wedding, had been there, done that, the year before we met. Now I knew why she hadn’t bled—nothing to do with the surgery after the accident.
In the mood I was in, it was lucky for him that he’d died of natural causes six weeks earlier, and we’d attended the funeral together with his family two weeks later. Samantha had been crying her eyes out, comforted by both me and his two sons. Now it would appear those tears had been for an entirely different reason than losing a valued colleague and substitute father. I couldn’t get to him, couldn’t do what I wanted to do to him—there was only my wife in front of me. I tried to hold the anger in check, but it wasn’t easy.
“Honey, I know what I’ve told you is difficult to understand…”
“That’s an understatement if ever there was one.”
“Trust me…”
“Trust you? Trust you? That’s rich!” My anger was spinning up, out of control. “Fuck this, Sammie, I can’t hear this.” Rising to my feet I headed for the archway into the dining room. She’d obviously risen to her feet after me and I felt her hand on my arm but I shrugged it off, blind rage leading me out of the room. I couldn’t stay in her presence, not after that confession. Not with the visions of what had to have happened next.
I marched into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The wine we’d been drinking together somehow seemed tainted now. I remembered how she’d been tonight when she got home, how she’d given me one of her special blow jobs, without prompting. Remembered how she’d been that first time, so tentative, so innocent, but so eager to try to please me. Those memories were now surely all false. I could hear her broken sobs form the den, guessed she’d wisely chosen not to try and follow me. I needed some space, so walked out the kitchen door, across the outside decking, down onto the lawn. It was getting gloomy now, not quite full dark, but darker than twilight—as dark as my mood.
Sammie, perhaps wisely, didn’t try to come and find me. She’d recognized I needed some time to myself. By the time I returned to the house she’d tidied herself up and, I guess, washed her face. I did the same, relieved myself, and then returned to the den.
“Honey…”
“No, tell me the rest. There’s obviously more, and it’s time for the secrets and lies to stop.”
She bit her lip, but nodded.
* * * *
The next Thursday I expected him to strip me naked, but nothing happened. I’d forgotten it was a stock-take, and we had several volunteers in to help with the process. We worked late into the evening, checking every book against the computer system. Then, on Friday and into next week it would be my job to make sure Mr. Bryant’s precious cardex system was accurate too. We never had time to do anything, never a minute alone. Part of me was grateful, but part of me missed the stimulation he’d been providing into my otherwise lonely life.
He resumed our games the next week, only he added a new twist. I was no longer invited into his office. He motioned for me to walk out into the main foyer of the library, the largest open space in the whole place.
“Now, one ground rule, okay, Samantha?”
“Er. Yes, okay, Mister Bryant.”
“Your shoes, stockings and garter belts do not count as clothes, therefore when I tell you to strip naked you will leave those on, understand?”
I nodded.
His next words were obvious. I was about to get naked in front of a man for the first time.
“Good, take your clothes off, Samantha. All of them apart from the ones I just named.”
“What—here?”
“Well, of course, here. Why do you think you’re standing there?”
“Oh.”
There had been some semblance of privacy in his office, some shred of decency in what he had me doing. Out here, where I worked every day, that was something different, somehow far more wicked and more perverted. I hesitated but could see he was getting impatient and, given his threat of spanking me for transgressions, I didn’t want to risk his patience running out.
I watched as he visibly relaxed, leaning back against my desk, as my hands went to my neck and started unbuttoning the blouse. The blouse hit the floor—he was obviously going to make me leave my clothes in plain view of the entire library. Tomorrow morning, every time I looked up as someone came in, I knew I’d be looking right at the spot where I had been stripping for him. I shuddered as my skirt joined my blouse. This time he wasn’t stepping forward to undo my bra, he wanted me to do it myself. Somehow that was far more humiliating, looking him in the face as I exposed my breasts. Nevertheless, I did it, my fingers trembling as I popped the catch and stripped the straps down my arms, watching as his gaze dropped to the hard points of my nipples. I paused there, taking deep breaths as I fought to control my emotions, hoping he would stop me there, but knowing, deep down, he wouldn’t. After a moment he seemed to realize I’d stopped and made an impatient gesture for me to strip off my panties—my last vestige of modesty.
My hands were shaking as I slid them down my sides and allowed my thumbs to snag the waistband of my panties. I couldn’t stand there looking at him watching as I removed them, so I spun round to face the locked and shuttered doors, turning my back on him.
He clapped. “Good girl, show me that fabulous butt of yours.”
I blushed, even though he couldn’t see it. Even so, my hands continued their downward movement, dragging my panties with them. I could feel every inch of their progress, as they rolled into a sharp line across my cheeks, then slipped down and onto my thighs. When they started to pull away from my mons I seemed to meet some resistance—I guess that was my own juices. I couldn’t help it. I was wet from the anticipation of turning round and showing him my cleanly shaven slit, with just a short landing strip of fine blonde hair above it. My underwear came loose and whispered down my legs. I lifted my left foot and stepped out, then repeated the movement on the other side. He whistled appreciatively, and I looked down to see I’d finished the maneuver with my feet spread shoulder-width apart. I guess my pussy was peeking from between my legs.
“Turn round, baby. Let the dog see the cat, or rather pussy.”
The line was corny, but I balled my hands into fists at my side, desperate to reach out and cover myself from his gaze, but kept them to the sides as I turned to face him. Actually, my body was facing him, I wasn’t. My gaze was turned down, looking at the floor. I couldn’t look at him at all, couldn’t lift my eyes from the area of the floor directly in front of me. I heard him stand and move toward me. Just as a fortnight earlier, I expected him to walk around me, examining every inch of me from up close, but instead he stepped right in front of me. The first inclination I had was when his feet entered the space I was looking at. Then he shuffled closer. I almost shrieked—as more and more of him came into my field of view, I could see what he’d done. His fly was open and his erection was poking out, right there, right in front of me.
I took a step back but he grabbed my arm before I could move any further, then pulled me back closer. “Why are you shying away? You knew this moment would come.”
“I…I…”
The words wouldn’t form, choking themselves to death in my throat as I looked down at a long smooth and very erect cock for the first time.
“Touch it. Use your hand. Wrap your fingers around it.”
I shook my head, no. I guess you’d have been proud of me in that moment. I really di
dn’t want to touch it, but he grabbed my other hand, pulled my fingers apart and then roughly forced my hand between us. He pressed my hand against it, forcing me to wrap my hands around his hot erection.
I tried not to move, but his hand was wrapped around mine, and he forced me to stroke it. I could feel the blood pulsing through it, feel the way it throbbed in my hand. I’m sorry, honey, I liked that feeling, I liked that feeling a lot. He took his hand away and I kept stroking him, giving him a hand-job, only moments after seeing a cock for the first time.
Obviously my little performance, my stripping naked for him, the sight of my naked body, had him aroused. He didn’t last long. He gave me no warning, but suddenly he groaned, and there was some sticky wet goo splattering back down over my hand. His cock lurched again and I watched this time as another spurt left the swollen end of it. Then another, and another, splashing down to coat my hand. Another line had been breached—I knew I’d be doing this again.
“Ew!”
“Ssh…it’s natural, and should feel almost as good for you as it does for me. Now, go and wash your hands.”
He, of course, didn’t let me retrieve my clothes, making me leave them lying there in the open while I scurried off to the washroom. When I came back he told me to leave them there—I could get dressed at four o’clock—and to get on with my work. He disappeared into his office, and surprised me by staying there for the rest of the afternoon. He did, however, re-emerge just before four, and stood there watching me get dressed again. If anything, that was the most humiliating part of the two hours.
“Wear the black underwear next week.”
“But it’ll show through my blouse.”