“I wish they’d shut the door,” Sarah said when the last of the salesmen left the office. “There’s a cold draught right round my legs.”
He grinned, glancing briefly at her legs under her knee-length skirt as she got up to close the door.
“You want some woolly tights,” he said laughingly. “That would keep you warm.”
“I don’t wear tights,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well what...?” he started to say, pointing at her legs.
She looked away from him. “Stockings,” she said. “I only wear stockings.”
She looked back at him as if daring him to say something. “You wouldn’t like it if the wind was whistling up your legs because some annoying salesman keeps leaving the door open.”
“No, I don’t suppose I would,” he admitted. There was a pause. “You really wear stockings?” he asked, turning to stare at her legs again. “Nice,” he added quietly, but loudly enough for her to hear. He turned rapidly back to his desk and shuffled papers from one pile to another.
“Woolly knickers,” he declared after a moment. “Big, woolly knickers. That’s the answer.”
“I don’t wear those either.” She had sat down and was now intently tapping away at her computer keyboard.
He, too, remained intent on the paperwork in front of him.
“You don’t wear big, woolly knickers?” he asked, trying to sound casual, “Or you don’t wear knickers?”
She replied equally casually, “I don’t wear knickers.”
He froze. For some reason no suitable reply came to mind.
“Behave yourself,” she said.
He had to turn round.
“I was behaving myself,” he said in an injured tone, then added. “Don’t you really wear any knickers?”
“Don’t you believe me?
He could not answer. His eyes were fixed on her.
“Look,” she said, standing up, sideways to him from where he sat..
His mouth dropped open as quite deliberately she pulled the side of her skirt right up to her hip, exposing the tops of her dark stocking and bare flesh above it.
“You like stockings?” she asked innocently.
“Very nice,” was all he could manage.
“Want another look?”
Speechless, he nodded.
Once again she raised the side of her skirt.
“They feel nice,” she said bending and running her hand down the outside of her thigh as far as her knee.
“Yes,” he stammered.
She was looking at him as though trying to make up her mind about something. “You can feel them if you want,” she told him quietly.
He was on his feet and across the office in a moment.
“Slowly, slowly,” she admonished, “There’s no rush!”
“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “Can I...?”
He indicated her leg. She grinned at him.
“Sure,” she said, raising the side of her skirt up to her hip once more.
He put his hand on the naked flesh just below her hip. She wagged one finger at him, but she did not move away from his hand.
“You’re supposed to be seeing whether you think the stockings feel nice.”
“Oh yes,” He slowly moved his hand all the way down to her knee, keeping it flat against the outside of her thigh.
“Wow.” He stopped without moving away, as though his hand was stuck to her leg.
She leaned towards him slightly. “You can take your hand off now,” she whispered.
“They’re very nice,” he confirmed, taking his hand from her leg but not moving away from her.
“I think so,” she agreed. “I think they feel even nicer on the inside of my legs. It’s softer there.”
His hand was poised. She looked from his face to his hand and back again.
“Go on,” she said, her voice trembling very slightly.
He touched her just above the knee, wrapping his hand around the inside of her leg. He move it slowly up to the top of her stocking until he just touched the flesh above, and then down again, and then up. He did not stop at the top of her stocking, continuing up very slowly although he was sure that any second she would say something or stop him
She did not stop him until his hand reached the very top of her leg, then she slapped his cheek.
“I told you to behave yourself.”
“Sorry. I got carried away.” He stepped back, away from her. She still held the side of her skirt raised to her waist.
“You know,” she said as though nothing untoward had happened, “I bet the stockings would feel really nice against your face with my legs inside them.”
“I expect so,” he said nervously, his cheek stinging from the slap she had given him.
“Want to try it?” she asked.
He glanced behind him at the window. “Someone might see,” he pointed out.
“Not if you get under my desk,” she suggested reasonably. “No one would see then, not even if someone came in.”
He looked doubtfully at the small space under her desk “I’m not sure I’d fit in there.”
“Of course you would,” she assured him, “There’s plenty of room. But of course if you don’t want to.”
His eyes were fixed on her bare hip and her long stockinged leg. “I want to,” he said positively.
“Just one thing,” she said more than a little sternly, “I’m not having your hands wandering everywhere.”
“Of course not,” he assured her. “I won’t put my hands anywhere you don’t want them.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “You can’t keep your hands off any woman given half a chance,” she accused him “So I’m quite sure I can’t trust you to keep your hands off me!”
“No, really,” he promised. “I won’t.”
“I’ll make sure you won’t.” Dropping the side of her skirt, she walked purposefully from the office. He had not moved when she re-appeared a few moments later with a large roll of parcel tape in her hands.
“Hands behind your back,” she told him, waving the parcel tape.
“You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” she said. “If you want the pleasure of my delicious stockinged legs caressing your face then I’m going to make sure your hands are under control. It’s your choice. Take it, or leave it.”
“OK,” he grumbled, “But you make sure you let me go when I tell you.”
“Of course,” she promised as she held his wrists behind his back and wrapped the parcel tape round and round them.
“On your knees,” she ordered, “And get under the desk.”
With some difficulty he managed to kneel down and shuffle backwards under her desk.
“You see?” she said, “You can’t see the window, so no one can see you. In fact no one could see you at all, even if they were standing right by my desk.”
She kicked off her shoes then sat down and raised her feet, placing them on his shoulders. Playfully she wriggled her toes, rubbing his cheeks with them. He turned his head and kissed one of her feet.
“Don’t,” she said firmly. “That tickles.”
She moved her chair forward, sliding her legs either side of head and pressing against him. When the backs of her knees reached his shoulders and his head was between the lower part of her thighs, she stopped. She crossed her ankles and squeezed.
He tried to look up at her, but found that instead he was staring straight up her skirt. His eyes were riveted.
She saw where he was looking and she squeezed her legs together harder and moved forward onto the edge of her chair to get a better grip. He gasped and then squawked with discomfort. She gripped harder.
“Stop. Stop,” he gasped. “You’re crushing my head!”
“Serves you right for trying to look up my skirt,” she told him.
“I can’t help it,” he protested, “There’s nowhere else to look.”
The pressure on his head release suddenly. “Hush,” she said urgently, “There’s someone coming.”
“Let me out. Quick,” he whispered.
“No time. Keep still. Keep quiet.”
He heard the door open. Rapidly she moved her chair right up to her desk to keep him completely hidden. Her silky stockinged thighs slid past his face, and he found himself pressed right up under her skirt between her legs. He heard her muffled gasp as his face came into contact with her, but she recovered her composure quickly and greeted the visitor.
“Hello, Rita. What can I do for you?”
“Ian not here? Taking the day off, is he?”
“He had to go out for a while,” she lied.
“Just as well. I can’t stand the way he always stares at my legs.” Rita laughed.
He felt the thighs round his head grip and squeeze in a quick movement of disapproval. He was more than a little surprised when she defended him.
“Nothing wrong with looking,” she said. “Anyway, I think he’s rather nice.”
He nodded slightly although he really could move only a very little. The brief, fierce squeeze he received this time told him to keep still as clearly as any words.
“I need to order a couple of new computers,” Rita announced. “I was hoping Ian could give me some advice.”
“No problem. Give me the details and Ill get him to call you when he’s back. I don’t suppose he’ll be too long.”
The two women talked for a while about nothing in particular. Under the desk, he was beginning to become extremely uncomfortable and frightened to move in case Rita realised he was there. He needed to find some way of letting Sarah know that he needed to be released from his little prison.
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he did what he had wanted to do from the moment Sarah moved her chair up to her desk and he found his face pressed against her: he stuck out his tongue. Sarah gasped.
“Are you all right?” asked Rita, very concerned at Sarah’s sudden agitation.
Sarah, her face bright red, assured her that it was nothing but a twinge of cramp.
“Well, I’d better be going,” said Rita reluctantly. “I need to get back to work”
“OK,” Sarah replied “I’ve a lot to do as well. I’ll see you later, and I’ll make sure Ian phones you as soon as he’s back.”
As Rita left and the door closed, Ian’s muffled voice came from between Sarah’s legs under the desk. “Let me out of here!”
“THAT was very naughty,” Sarah told him.
“What?”
“With your tongue. I can’t believe you did that.”
“Oh, that. I needed to attract your attention. I’m very uncomfortable down here and I couldn’t keep still much longer.”
Sarah sniffed disbelievingly.
“Look,” he pleaded, “I need to get out of here. I hurt. You’ve no idea how uncomfortable it is. It wasn’t my fault you squashed me up between your legs.”
“So it’s my fault, is it?” As she spoke, Sarah slid her chair even further under the desk so that he was squeezed harder against her. At the same time she pressed her thighs hard together around him and reached down with both hands to pull his face tightly into her.
His muffled cries were unintelligible. He was unable to breathe, and his head and face felt as though it was being crushed in a fleshy hydraulic press. She held him there for nearly a minute.
“Whose fault was it?” she asked as she released him.
“Don’t do that again,” he said, gasping for breath, “I nearly suffocated.”
“Pooh! It would take more than that to suffocate you,” she told him. “Don’t be such a wimp. Anyway, answer my question.”
“I told you I had to attract your attention. It wasn’t my fault.”
Once more her thighs closed tightly around him and he was pulled tightly into her. This time, although she knew he had not fully recovered from the minute without air he had just suffered, she held him there for a minute and a half.
“No, no,” he panted as she relaxed and let him breathe again. “Please. Yes it was my fault. Just let me go.”
“I thought you liked the feel of my stockings against you?”
“Yes, yes I do.” His voice was becoming more and more frantic. “Your skin is against me, not your stockings!”
“Oh, so you don’t like my skin? Why not?” She sounded offended and angry.
He felt the twitch of her thighs and the movement of her arms to pull him to her again.
“Yes I like you,” he said urgently, “I like all of you, every bit. Please let me go.”
He felt her relax again.
“I’m glad you like me,” she said slowly, “Because now you’ve got me all excited. So before you come out from down there you’re going to have to finish what you started.”
“What?”
“Lick,” she explained. “Use your tongue properly. It’s what you wanted to do, isn’t it? When I’m properly satisfied you can come out, not until. Understand?”
“You’re joking!” he said, shocked.
“Not at all,” she told him. “The sooner you get started, the sooner you get out of there. So you had better make a serious effort, or I’m afraid you’re going to be rather uncomfortable for a very long time...”
*********************************
"Shut the Door" is part of a collection of short stories recently published by A1Adult eBooks. Details on
