Short Skirt Office Obedience

Kendra had been the office manager at Hartwell Interiors for six years, long enough that the showroom’s pale oak floors and the smell of sample books felt like home. She was twenty-nine, sharp in a charcoal blouse, and she had spent the last three months watching her assistant watch her.

Estelle was twenty-two, hired out of a design program, all eager notes and coffee runs. She had a mouth that smiled too easily and a habit of lingering in Kendra’s doorway after closing. Last Friday she had lingered until the parking lot emptied, then asked, very plainly, if Kendra would like to kiss her. Kendra had. They had talked in the dark of the stockroom afterward, Estelle’s fingers hooked in Kendra’s belt, Estelle saying she had been thinking about it since her first week, since she turned twenty-two and stopped pretending the heat in her stomach was just nerves.

This morning Estelle had arrived twenty minutes early with a garment bag and a look that was already flushed.

“I want to do the thing we talked about,” she said, shutting Kendra’s office door. “The skirt. No panties. The white shirt with nothing under it. I want you to tell me to wear it. I want you to use it. If I have to bend or help someone, I want you looking. I want your hands if you can get them on me. I asked you last night and I’m asking again. Yes. All of it. If I tap twice, we stop. Otherwise I want you to take every chance.”

Kendra stood, closed the gap, and kissed her until Estelle made a small sound against her teeth. “Say it once more.”

“I’m asking you. You’re not making me. I want to work like that for you. Please.”

Kendra unzipped the bag. The skirt was a gray wool so short it would barely cover the crease of Estelle’s ass. The shirt was thin white cotton, office-appropriate from ten feet, ruinous from two. Estelle stripped without being told, folded her bra and panties on the guest chair, and stood there in nothing while Kendra dressed her. The shirt clung. Nipples showed as soon as the air hit them. The skirt sat high; when Estelle turned, the lower curves of her ass were a rumor under the hem.

“Walk,” Kendra said.

Estelle walked the length of the office, then bent to pick up a dropped binder clip she had brought for the purpose. The skirt rode up. Bare, flushed skin. The dark line between her cheeks. She stayed bent a second longer than she needed to, looking back, waiting.

“Good,” Kendra said. “That’s yours. You wanted it. Go open.”

The showroom sat at the front of the suite: desks, fabric walls, a long table of catalogs, a glass door that chimed. Estelle took the front. Kendra took the inner office with a sightline. By nine-thirty a client named Bridget arrived for swatches. Estelle came around the table to help, and when a sample book slid off the stack she dropped into a crouch that was all thighs and no coverage, the white shirt gaping as she reached. Bridget was looking at herringbone. Kendra was looking at Estelle’s cunt, pink and already shining, and Estelle knew it. She stayed down an extra beat, then stood, smoothing nothing, and smiled at Bridget like a professional.

When Bridget left, Estelle crossed to Kendra’s door. “Did you see?”

“I saw. Come here.”

Estelle came. Kendra’s hand slid up the inside of her thigh in full view of the empty showroom and found her wet. Estelle pushed into the touch, a quiet, hungry roll of her hips. “Yes. Like that. Whenever you want.”

Kendra took her hand away because the door chimed. Dante, a contractor in work boots, needed the manufacturer binder from the low shelf. Estelle went to her knees to pull it, skirt hiking until there was nothing but skin and the shadowed split of her. Dante thanked her without looking down. Kendra, from the doorway, looked down plenty. Estelle’s cheeks were hot when she stood. She passed Kendra the binder and whispered, “Again. Please take it again.”

Lunch was a sandwich Estelle didn’t eat. She ate Kendra’s fingers in the copy alcove instead, sucking them clean after Kendra had worked two of them into her from behind while Estelle pretended to restock letterhead. Estelle’s forehead on the cabinet, her yes yes yes bitten into her wrist, the skirt rucked to her waist. A timer on Kendra’s phone. They stopped before the noon walk-in, Estelle shaky and grinning, shirt translucent where she’d sweated through it.

Afternoon brought Corinne from accounting in the building next door, asking for a referral packet. Estelle had to fetch it from the bottom drawer of the reception desk. She bent at the waist. The skirt became a belt. Kendra, standing beside Corinne with a polite smile, let her knuckles graze the back of Estelle’s thigh, then higher, a single slow stroke over bare ass that Estelle pushed into, shameless. Corinne was reading the packet. Estelle’s breath hitched once. When she straightened, her nipples were tight points against the white cotton and she didn’t fold her arms.

“You’re doing so well,” Kendra murmured after Corinne left. “You wanted this. You’re dripping on my floor.”

“I know. Don’t stop using it.”

They almost didn’t make it to five. A sales rep named Sergio called from the lobby about a delayed fabric order; Estelle went out to sign, and the wind from the street lifted her hem. She caught it a half-second late. Kendra, behind the glass, saw the flash of her and the way Estelle’s mouth opened, not in panic, in thrill. Estelle came back inside, locked the front deadbolt because it was closing time, and walked straight into Kendra’s office.

“Now,” Estelle said. “Nobody’s left. I want you to take everything you looked at.”

Kendra sat on the edge of her desk and pulled Estelle in by the hips. The kiss was messy. Estelle’s shirt came open; Kendra’s mouth found a nipple and sucked until Estelle’s knees buckled. The tiny skirt stayed on because Estelle asked it to, a filthy little frame. Kendra turned her, bent her over the desk among the purchase orders, and went to her knees.

Estelle’s cunt was slick and swollen from a day of being looked at. Kendra spread her with both thumbs and licked a long, flat stripe from clit to hole, then did it again, slower. Estelle’s fingers clawed the blotter. “Don’t tease— I’ve been empty since lunch— Kendra—”

Kendra sealed her mouth over Estelle’s clit and sucked. Two fingers pushed in, curling, and Estelle shoved back onto them with a sound that would have carried if anyone had been there. Kendra fucked her with her hand and her tongue, wet noises filling the small office, Estelle’s ass flexing, the white shirt hanging open, one breast crushed to a stack of invoices. When Kendra added a third finger Estelle came hard, thighs shaking, a broken please yes that’s it that’s it spilling out of her. Kendra didn’t stop. She licked her through it and kept going until Estelle’s voice went high and she came again, messier, dripping down Kendra’s wrist onto the desk.

Estelle dragged her up and kissed her own taste off Kendra’s mouth. Then she dropped, shoved Kendra’s skirt up, and put her face between Kendra’s legs like she’d been starving since Friday. Kendra held her hair and watched that eager twenty-two-year-old mouth work, Estelle’s chin shiny, her bare ass still in the air behind her, the little gray skirt a joke. Kendra came on Estelle’s tongue with her head thrown back and Estelle’s name in her throat.

They stayed like that a minute, breathing. Estelle nuzzled her thigh, then laughed, wrecked and happy. “I loved every second of being used out there. Every bend. Every customer. I asked for it and I’d ask again.”

Kendra stroked her hair. “You set the rules. You can keep setting them.”

Estelle stood, shirt still open, cunt still wet, already thinking. “Thursday. The Palmers are coming at ten for the living-room board. I’ll wear this again, shorter if I can find it, no panties, no bra. I’ll drop the board on purpose. I’ll get on the floor to pick up every chip. You stand where you can see. If they’re looking at fabric, you can put your hand under the skirt. I’ll say yes with my eyes. After they leave I want you to fuck me on the sample table before lunch. And Friday—” she bit her lip, scheming already, bright with it “—Friday we stay late and you make me file the low cabinets one by one while you watch, and then you take me over the copier. I’m writing it down so you don’t forget I want it.”

Kendra kissed her, slow. “Thursday, then. I’ll be watching.”

Estelle buttoned two buttons of the white shirt, left the rest, and went to get her coat, already planning the exact angle of the drop.