The skin she lived in

The presenter looked like a live shiny polished Ken doll, his thick black hair gleamed wetly as he stood looking powerful and in control, the knife crease on his slacks breaking just perfectly about two inches above mirror finished wing tips, his arms bent at a comfortable 135 degrees that prevented them from creeping across his body defensively yet left them soft and unlocked not betraying any stress, instead exuding confidence. He looked around the room and smiled and nodded at some of the attendees, making eye contact and building that important relationship between the bore-r and the would be bore-ees. The screen behind him dissolved into a picture of multicultural group of people smiling blindingly at the watching audience.
Her phone flickered just as the lights dimmed and she discreetly tapped on the alert. Her face still held on to a pleasant expression, her precision cut hair shifting softly as she looked up again, the phone upside down in her hand. Just then, the presenter looked straight at her and smiled, and she widened the angle of her lips, allowing a rueful chuckle to escape as the slide highlighted the challenges her department had faced that year.
“Did you forget something? I don’t see the stockings. You were to follow the instructions exactly as set.”
As the next slide was displayed, and the attention shifted to another department, she allowed herself to look around the room. She had seen him when she first entered the room but with almost 200 people there, it was hard to keep track. She felt the familiar heat of tension build deep within her as she softly tapped out an answer.
“I am wearing them. I am dressed underneath just as you requested. Are you here?”
“Requested?! I think you are confused about what we are doing here. Let me know if you remember your role.” Came the swift response.
A curl of defiance unfurled in her, and she resisted the impulse to be defiant. Only kids and the weak rebelled, rebellion implied consent to be ruled. No one ruled her. The moments ticked by, slides changed and people around her nodded or laughed as needed, exchanging reassuring glances. The skin at the back of her hands tightened, and she rubbed her groomed French tipped thumb across her knuckles as if to soothe it.
“Commanded. I am dressed as you commanded.” She finally gave in.
“Good. During the break, go and remove your underwear. Leave the rest in place. By the way, love the new perfume. It suits you.”
Just then, the lights brightened again and she realized the next presenter was preparing her setup while a short break allowed power networking. She stood up casually and strolled to the door, pausing a couple times to greet the other new executives. Her expensive Italian shoes tip tapped softly, insistently as she walked to the beautifully appointed restrooms. Once safely latched in, she reached under her skirt to hook her fingers under the thin edge and rolled down the black bikini, balled it into her purse, and then hesitated for a moment, to lightly run her fingers across soft smooth damp lips, the unaccustomed bare exposure raising tiny goosebumps, the heat of her skin warming up the perfume she had applied to the pulse points where her inner thigh creased. Her finger tips brushed against her clit, her nails scraping lightly against it, and she shuddered and leaned against the wall for a short moment then straightened and walked out to wash her hands.
“I love the way your ass moves in that skirt.” The room had darkened again, and a woman, a senior VP was dramatically gesturing against the charts on the screen. A few people were moving about at the back of the room, picking up copies of presentations, coffee or fruit, pencils and highlighters. She felt someone sit right behind her, and lean forward as though interested in the figures being explained.
“You shouldn’t have touched yourself. That was naughty. I hadn’t given you permission to do that.” The edge in his voice rasped across her nerves, and she held herself perfectly still, her face neutral but her hands suddenly clenched around the phone.
“You didn’t believe you would be so wet, did you? You don’t know yourself. You were made to serve.” She felt his breath cool against her ear, her neck where it tickled unbearably, his words wickedly knowing. She felt irresistibly aroused, deliciously shamed that he could so effortlessly make her do what he wanted. She leaned forward as though she were taking notes, and let her gaze angle to the side.
His long legs crossed at the ankles, draped in subtly striped charcoal grey, brown hands clasped loosely, resting on well fitted pants. Her eyes traced his fingers, remembering their magic from the sleepy mists of early dawn. The two thumbs were braced against each other, their strong pressure had stroked impossible depths, hidden swathes of unfamiliar yet incredibly sensitive skin. And in her mind, she knelt between his knees looking up at him, and slowly, carefully set aside those hands, pulled down the zip, and reached in.
Her cheeks heated scaldingly, as the lights came on abruptly and he chuckled softly. She couldn’t move, her legs felt alien, so she looked through the hard copy of the presentation as though it held some thing interesting.
“I’ll see you later,” he murmured, and then stood up, carelessly touching her shoulder in a friendly gesture and walked to the front of the room. He was presenting next.
©alka