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The Cubicle Ch. 01

By: Scootertales



Author's note: This is a slowly developing story, but for a purpose. Please enjoy!

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Working in human resources can be a real bore. But there are days when it can get interesting.

Usually, it's the constant and tedious stream of forms, numbers, phone calls and petty complaints from employees about bosses and correspondingly petty complaints from bosses about employees. 

My corner cubical near the door of the HR director's office is drab enough to match the job. I never have been able to decide exactly the color of the rough cloth material that covers its walls. The quietly humming fluorescent lights overhead give them a hint of something that seems beige. But who can tell?

Over the three years I've spent in my dreary little cube, I've tried to brighten it up with a vase of silk flowers (I don't have to remember to water those); family pictures thumbtacked in cheery arrangements (Mom and Dad live four hours away by car, and my younger brother's home is the Army); a picture of me and the other bridesmaids at my best friend's wedding a year and a half ago; and a motley assortment of other typical funny little doodads a person collects and display in a cubicle in her vain effort to make homier.

As assistant HR director, I am part of a 12-person department for a large firm that specializes in financial law. There are about 300 lawyers, paralegals, administrative assistants and interns distributed across four floors of our building, which we share with insurance offices, a few medical practices and a wonderful Asian restaurant on the street level.

After my requisite eight hours, I usually leave promptly and walk to the subway, take the 30 minute ride to my stop, grab a bus, and 10 minutes later I'm sliding the key into the door of my apartment. Time to make dinner - usually something healthy, because I like to take care of myself. I read, or sometimes talk to friends on the phone, and maybe a little TV. In the morning, time for a two mile run, a shower, and then reverse the process from the night before.

I've dated off and on over the years, but I've never really found the guy I'm looking for. Who am I looking for? I'll know when I see him. This probably sounds snooty, but most guys seem interested in me because of my looks; maybe that's just a preconceived - or overly hopeful - notion on my part. But, it's a hard feeling to shake when you think all a guy wants is your body, and couldn't care less about who you are. Hitting 30 was kind of depressing for me, but now that a few years have passed since that milestone, I'm okay with it - okay with being single, okay with being 33, okay with myself, okay with my life.

And that has a lot to do with the part about my job that I've discovered that can be interesting. 

One fateful winter morning, as soon as I arrived, my boss called me into his office.

"Lisa, we have a terrible situation," he said. "Please close the door."

He motioned urgently for me to come in, not letting me even take my coat off. Whenever Antoine called me in a closed-door meeting, I knew it had the potential to be serious. This time, I was right to be concerned.

"After hours yesterday, Sherril from accounting found - " Antoine caught his breath and paused, his forehead furrowed. "I - I just don't know how to say this, especially to you." He put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in her hands. As I looked on I began to worry. A flood of fearful thoughts streamed through my mind, not the least of which, "Am I about to be let go?"

Finally, Antoine slowly turned her computer monitor toward me, almost whispering, with an apologetic tone, "I'm sorry, Lisa, but I have to show you this, since you're my assistant." My fears building, my heart beat wildly in my chest. He explained, "Sherril forgot her purse after she left yesterday, and came back for it. She saw Cal Limpkins ... " His voice trailed off.

I looked at the monitor, blinking dumbly at the screen. In an email window was a photograph. It was of the office space one floor below, in the accounting area, the light dimmed as it always was after hours, since half of the banks of light automatically went dark after quitting time. Near the middle of the screen was a dark male form, angled to the left. In his hand was a phone receiver, but it wasn't up to his ear. Because he was far from the camera, I couldn't make sense of it.

"I don't understand, Antoine," I said, looking at him quizzically. "What - "

"Look closely!" he whispered harshly. I rose from my chair and leaned in toward the screen. I could make out Cal's face. I'd seen him enough, since he made regular trips to the little counter attached to my cubicle for various errands, for personal information regarding changes to his benefits, and for business.

I could see the phone clearly in his left hand - the receiver cord was stretched horizontally across the desk, and he held the phone in front of him. And what was that in his right hand?

"Oh my!" I exclaimed. "Oh my, god! Oh my!" That was all I could say as I pulled away from the screen, startled, stunned, otherwise speechless. "Oh my!" I sat down and stared at Antoine.

"Sherril saw him, and he didn't see her. She thought something looked weird. So she hid behind a cubicle. He was going to all the female's desks ... And he was doing that."

"That" was revolting and scary, beyond creepy, beyond gross. He was rubbing his penis on all the phones at the desks of females! I was sick to my stomach. My mind became a torrent of questions I didn't really want to know the answer to:

How long has he been doing this? How many phones had he done this to? Did he have any diseases? What else has he done? 

Antoine angrily clicked the email closed and we sat in silence for a minute or so. He looked pale. I'm sure I looked the same way. My nausea turned to anger.

"How quickly can we fire the son of a bitch?" I demanded.

"Exactly," Antoine said. "We'll do that within the hour. I have to talk to his boss, first, of course. And then when it's time call his boss and him up, I'll let you know so you can contact IT to cancel his access immediately."

When Cal walked by my cubicle, I stole a glance at him. He was in his forties; nature had been good to him. He was handsome and friendly, the kind of guy you could trust. All of that only increased my hatred toward him. I felt betrayed. I felt hot with anger as he went by me, by his boss, and into Antoine's office. 

His boss was as shocked as we were, and disgusted by it. He had stood pacing in front of my cubicle while waiting for Cal, his face red, his fists clenched, his jaw set. I made the call to IT.

I was surprised that I heard nothing from inside, though i was so close to Antoine's closed door, save for a pleading tone that lasted about 30 seconds. After 15 minutes or so, his boss emerged, still red faced and with fire in his eyes. He stepped aside and glared at Cal, who walked past, head hanging, eyes red and swollen with tears. His boss followed him, to escort him to his desk to gather his personal things, and then out of the building.

We had a series of off-the-record meetings that day to decide what to do. I was in favor of calling the police, since we had photographic evidence. But I was outnumbered, most of the executives being male. They decided that by not pressing charges, they could essentially blackmail Cal into keeping quiet, not that he wouldn't anyway. They didn't want publicity like this, and the lawsuits that could arise would make a mess. So to protect themselves, they concocted a story that the phone headsets were faulty and needed to be replaced. I was relieved, at least, not to have to use a rubber glove when I picked up the phone, and hold it away from my mouth and ear.

That was the last of Cal. The official explanation for his firing was simply, "failure of integrity," which could mean a lot of things. Antoine and I met with Sherril, explained that he'd been fired, and the firm offered free counseling if she desired, along with a hefty check for her trouble. She seemed content.

I was not, however. It wasn't so much that the firm didn't pursue charges on him. It was the idea that he'd done what he did. It repulsed me. What other things went on around the office after hours? And I couldn't help but wonder how such an innocent, married, seemingly happy man could be such a pervert. 

I found myself dwelling on this more and more. My anger subsided over the weeks into intrigue. Why would he do that? What was the thrill for him?

One evening in February, the Friday before Martin Luther King's birthday, the office emptied out earlier than normal. Antoine left, too. I had a few things to wrap up, and since I had no plans, and since it was bitter cold outside, I decided to put off bracing myself for the walk to the subway by sticking around to clean my slate for next week.

I lost track of time as I was working on a draft for a new company policy on sick leave, when the lights on the floor suddenly went into "after hours" mode, half of them going dark. Startled, I looked at the clock: 8 p.m., much later than I'd thought. With half the lights off, it was noticeably quieter, and even more so since I was the only one there.

As my mind took all of this in, I looked across the office area in front of me, a collection of cubicles much like mine, snapshots, papers, a scarf here and there, a briefcase, all silently waiting. In the subdued light, a picture flashed through my mind: Cal, phone in one hand, and in his other, his ... I laughed out loud, surprising myself at my noisy outburst. I covered my mouth reflexively, listening to myself snicker, the image playing in my mind.

Some time must have passed by, because the next thing I knew, I found myself sitting there staring into space, my hand still over my mouth. The thought running through my head? "Try it, Lisa. Then you'll know why."

"No," I said aloud, startling myself again. I shook my head and went back to work. But again, I found myself staring into space a few minutes later. This pattern repeated itself a half a dozen times. Finally I got up, disgusted with myself, and went to the ladies room. I dabbed cold water on my face with a towel. Again, this time standing, I stared into space. "God, Lisa, get a hold on yourself!" I muttered as I came to.

I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink, looked into my eyes, and shaking a finger, repeated, "Lisa, get a hold of yourself!" I smiled reassuringly and nodded. I turned the water off and looked again. The water dripped, making the only sound besides the quiet rush of air in the heating system. I looked at myself again. "Not bad for 33," I thought to myself. I smiled contentedly at the way my auburn hair framed my face, almost touching my shoulders. I'd always liked the outfit I wore that day, too: brown leather knee-high boots with a short heel, a brown wool skirt to just above the knee, and a matching wool fitted blazer with an off-white button blouse underneath. 

Now I was staring at myself, and the thought wouldn't leave me. "Lisa, Lisa, Lisa," I thought. "You do have a devilish side! But this is nonsense. Go home before you get yourself into trouble!" 

I hurried out of the ladies room and back to my cubicle. I sat down to turn off the computer. As it shut down, I stared into space again. I looked at the clock: 9:30 already! I should go. I realized now that I was having an argument with myself, one that scared me, yet intrigued me. My heart beat fast, and my breathing heavy, almost as if I was running.

Just one thing. No one will know. You're the only one here. But what should I do? This is nuts! You're a grown woman! You don't want to be like that pervert do you? What if you got caught like he did? Just one quick thing. Come on, girl, have some guts! It might be fun! Of course, that's kind of what I'm afraid of - and hoping for ... No! No! No! This isn't like me! God, maybe I need counseling! Just one thing, just to see how it feels. Just one thing. Just one thing ...

That last refrain kept ringing in my head.  

Something inside had clicked. I could almost feel it happen. I knew I was going to do this.

But what, exactly?

I wasn't sure how to proceed. My breathing slowed, but my heart still pounded. Impulsively, I took my boots off. I decided to walk around the area in my stocking feet, both to scout and to think. It took about two minutes to slowly make the circuit back to my cubicle. I felt vulnerable out there, but back in my cubicle, I still felt vulnerable, but less so. 

I sat in my chair again, very still, and listened. All quiet. I slipped out of my blazer, folding it neatly in half and laying it on my desk. I sat still for another half minute I heard myself think, "Take off your skirt. even if someone came by, they couldn't tell with you sitting down."

Of course to do so required standing. Slowly, obeying my own command, I stood. Reaching behind my waist, I felt the zipper. "Oh god," I whispered, and pulled downward. I felt the skirt loosen around my hips. My heart thumped in my chest. I was in a dreamlike state, but I'd never felt more real and alive!

I stepped out of my skirt, and it joined the blazer on my desk. I felt wonderful, which surprised me. As intrigued as I'd been, I thought I would panic in disgust at myself and reverse this process posthaste. Instead, I stood there, eyes wide with excitement, and slight grin crossing my lips. 

Using my darkened computer screen as a mirror of sorts, I stepped back and looked at myself. My off-white tights matched my blouse, which hung free below my waist. I gathered the blouse in front of me, pulling it up and turning sideways so I could see my butt, clearly visible in the screen. My running had been good for my body; my butt was toned and round, and my thighs looked good in my tights. "Thirty-three and size six," I whispered in congratulations to myself.

I paused and stood still, listening intently. Coast still clear and quiet as a mouse, I stepped out in front of my cubicle and performed a little twirl in celebration of my bravery. I set my elbows on the little counter that so many employees used to talk to me and look over paperwork, imagining them next week as they stood there ignorant of my little display. I smiled.

I retreated again to my cubicle and sat in my chair. It felt strange and exciting, even though it was a place I normally thought of as the bedrock of boredom. Funny how not wearing one layer of clothing could make such a difference, in spite of the fact that my tights, though form fitting, we're not exactly revealing.

I stopped to listen again: Nothing. I looked at the clock: 10:17. "Why do I keep looking at the time?" I thought. "The subway and buses run all night, so no worries."

I was having fun, and I wanted more. I felt completely reckless, but in such an exciting way that I'd never experienced before. This was so out of character for me, so unladylike, so unlike my normally shy and even prudish self. But I was exhilarated.

I heard another command inside my head: "Take off your blouse."

"Oh god," I whispered again. Remembering the I had a chemise on as well, for warmth, made the task of courage a little easier than it otherwise might have been, but it was definitely not an outer garment either, with its lace at the top and its slightly sheer blend of spandex and cotton. When I finished unbuttoning the blouse, I stood to pull it off.

The air on my shoulders felt like erotic caresses. As surprised as before at my reaction when I'd removed my skirt, I let the blouse slip off and into my chair behind me. I crossed my arms in front of me, partly in embarrassment because of where I was, and partly to hug myself, and to feel my warm hands on the bare skin of my neck and shoulders. I looked out at the office in front of me in the dim light. It was a moment to revel in!

I stepped back to see myself in the computer screen again. Though not tight, the chemise was snug enough to reveal the curve of my breasts safely at rest in my bra. Matching my tights, my feminine form was clear in the reflection on the screen. I turned around and looked over my shoulder; my butt looked nice. The outline of my panties was evident even in the subdued reflection of the black monitor.

I walked around again to the counter, first facing the office area and stretching seductively, and then turned and placed my elbows on the counter, my butt sticking out. I closed my eyes and imagined Sarah and Miguel, who would have had the best view from their desks had they been there. I realized I was smiling broadly. I opened my eyes and looked down under my chemise at my cleavage, exaggerated a bit because of my leaning on the counter.

Another command: "The tights must go."

I sucked in a breath and hesitated, trying to reason with myself, my instincts telling me that I was nearing a point of no return very quickly. It was one thing to flirt with this, but any further, it would get serious. 

A disjointed series of images flashed through my mind, alternating between the good me and the newly discovered bad me: My parents, Cal, women I admired who clearly would never do what I was doing, Cal, a nun I knew while a growing up, Cal, Cal, Cal ...

Standing there at my counter, butt facing the office, I made my decision. Hooking a thumb at each hip under the waistband, I began working my tights downward. I felt the air brush across the backs of my thighs, and I knew I wasn't turning back. Working them over my calves, my butt in the air, I felt heavenly. As they slid over my toes, I felt incredible!

I threw the tights over my counter into my cubicle. I turned and walked over to Miguel's desk. I could see my reflection in his monitor through the opening in his cubicle. It was strange watching the woman in the reflection - her firm thighs flexing with each step, her hips moving as she walked - knowing that it was me! The off-white boy shorts were a good match for the chemise. I could even see the lace panel on the front that wrapped around my hips. I stood in Miguel's cubicle and turned to look at my butt again. My round cheeks were not quite covered because of the style, one which I think flatters me. It was obscene standing there like that in Miguel's cubicle. But I wasn't about to put my clothes back on.

I decided it was time for a stroll. I paused to listen. Hearing nothing, I walked without choosing a direction, tip toeing, stopping every few steps to listen. I found myself along the outside wall between the cubicles and the executive offices. At each door, I paused to make sure there was no one there. 

Next I turned left, into an aisle between cubicles. My heart was thrilled, beating wildly. My senses were more alert than I knew they could be, and I was hyper sensitive to touch - but touching my bare skin all the while, to feel my vulnerability and near nakedness. That word, "naked," played over and over in my head. I had never been this interested in it before. Occasionally I would stop and sit in someone's chair, feeling the rough material on my thighs and cheeks. 

I returned to my desk, disappointed that my tour was over. It was only 10:45! Only a little less than a half hour had passed since my last look at the clock. It had seemed like a long time, but my mind had been racing, compressing what seemed like minutes into seconds. It was an amazing high, far better than any of the substances I'd tried in college.

Reason raised its now ugly head to me at this point. I wanted to continue, and knew I would, but it would have to be some other time, after I'd had a chance to think about what I was getting into. I reluctantly slipped back into my clothes, stuffing my tights in my bag, thinking the cold air, though brutal, would do me some good. Pulling on my coat, I walked to the elevators, and out of the building, looking forward, for once, to next week.

The Cubicle Ch. 02



After my late Friday evening solo exhibition at the office, I arrived at my apartment broiling in conflicting emotions. I barely remembered the ride home on the subway and bus. My legs carried me from the bus stop to my door mechanically, as if on auto-pilot, my mind racing. I was barely aware of the frigidly cold air on my bare legs underneath my wool skirt.

I was aghast at myself. I had paraded around the office in my underwear! It was immoral, indecent, unladylike. I felt dirty. I was afraid I'd be discovered, even though I'd been careful - and being assistant HR director, I knew there were no cameras in the office. But still, Cal had been caught. I was just like Cal! Oh, god, a pervert! Who'd ever heard of a grown woman doing something so perverted?

The thing that disgusted me most, though, was the fact that I'd enjoyed it so much. I wanted to hate it, to hate myself for having done it. But I couldn't. I loved it. It had been so freeing. It was erotic and sensual, things I wasn't accustomed to feeling or even aware that I missed. I relished the riskiness of it, the feeling of vulnerability. It felt good to feel dirty. It felt good to break my own rules of decent behavior. It felt good to do something that people would be disgusted with if they knew.

I thought about my life up to that moment. I'd always behaved myself, been a people-pleaser, a rule follower, one of those girls that everyone just knew didn't have a bad bone in her body. I'd never smoked, and never drank alcohol. I never cursed. The guys I'd dated were decent. We'd become intimate only when we began to have real feelings for each other. Even my break-ups with them had been amicable, friendly, mutual, with no drama. I dressed very feminine, classic and pretty, but never provocatively, whether I wore a dress, skirt, pants, or business attire. I realized that I'd always been a goodie-two-shoes, a good girl.

As soon as I got home, I made sure all my blinds were tightly closed, and practically ran to the shower, hoping to wash away these new feelings and return to my old self. But I showered quickly, because I was enjoying being naked, which scared me. I dug out my frumpiest, old-lady flannel nightgown, along some granny panties, wool socks, and my big, fuzzy, warm bedroom slippers. That was my outfit for the next three days, as I watched old G-rated movies on TV and struggled to forget Friday night, struggled to revert to the conservative woman I was. I didn't even shower, knowing that I would enjoy it too much. 

It was all to no avail. I knew that I'd crossed some sort of line Friday night, passing an invisible gate through which there was no return. 

At the end of one movie, I realized that I'd didn't even know the plot because my mind had been replaying instead the image of my reflection in the computer monitors, the feeling of the air on my bare legs as I walked through the office, and of my hands tracing the outline of my butt in the boy shorts I was wearing.

When I tried to sleep, I dreamed about it, and I would wake with a start whenever the dream would take me to the next step - of removing my camisole to reveal my bra, or of sliding my fingers, palm inward, into my panties at either hip to begin working them down as I stood out in the open near Miguel's desk. I would wake up with my nightgown askew, pulled up and half off. I covered myself immediately.

Whenever I got up from the couch to go to the bathroom or get something to eat or drink, I felt my nightgown gently caressing my thighs and breasts. I considered putting in a bra to lessen the impact this was having on me, but I was afraid that even in those few moments of nakedness, I would lose control. I wasn't sure what that meant, since I was disciplined enough not to consider it in great detail, but I knew it would involve my balcony. 

I got a call from a couple of friends, one of them asking me what I wanted to do on Monday, that being a holiday. I declined, saying I wasn't feeling well; she offered to come over and keep me company, but I quickly told her that I was afraid I might be contagious. Sunday night was my weekly call to my parents, for which I mustered enough charisma to sound fine.

So that's how I spent my three-day weekend, in terrible conflict with myself, alternately feeling guilty and sexually free for the first time in my life. Tuesday morning began to loom in my mind as I ate a bowl of vegetable soup Monday evening. I was exhausted by the conflict I was feeling within. 

As I thought about my situation, I began to giggle. What was I so worked up about, anyway? It had been a lot of fun! And it felt so good! I hadn't hurt anyone. There was no good reason in the world to constrict myself sexually. The more I thought about it, the more I felt a burden falling away from me. Laughing joyfully now, I said out loud, "Let your hair down, girl! There's nothing to be ashamed of!"

With that, I stood up, pulled my nightgown over my head and flung it onto the floor. "Yes!" I cried. "Yes!" I felt the air tease my nipples, and I raised my arms over my head and jumped in exultation, feeling my breasts bounce happily. I trotted over to the kitchen and turned on the radio, and began to dance seductively.

It dawned on me that I really liked my breasts. I'm a 36B, and they looked so perky in the mirror in my living room as I kept the beat with them. My granny panties looked silly, though, so I pulled them off, too. Looking at my reflection, I could see my face was beaming. I'd never been happier. I felt alive, attractive, sexual, free.

I sat down on a stool at the counter to finish my soup, even though it was a little cold. I sang along to the music, occasionally hopping up to enjoy a particularly good refrain. I laughed and giggled and jiggled, pinching my nipples, rubbing myself. 

Suddenly I heard a loud knock on my door. I froze. Then it occurred to me that maybe I was being too loud. In my reverie, I hadn't noticed. I started for the door, and was reaching for the knob when it dawned on me that I was naked. 

"Crap!" I jumped back from the door. "Uh, sorry, be with you in a moment!" I shouted over the music. In a panic, I scurried around my living room looking for my nightgown. I finally found it under the coffee table. I fought with the folds of material as I found the opening and pulled it on - but I had it on backwards. I pulled my arms out of the sleeves and spun it around and shoved my arms back through the sleeves. I ran to the kitchen and turned off the radio, which only emphasized how loud it had been. "Coming!" I called out as I hurried to the door. I jerked it open.

It was the man from the apartment below mine. I had met him once or twice, and found him to be without personality. He was older, in his late sixties, and lived with his wife below me. He wore a severe scowl, and angry puffs of breath condensed with the cold outside air as he scolded me.

"Young lady," he said scoldingly, "we cannot even think because of all of this racket going on." Each word was staccato, sharp, harsh. "If you do not quiet down this instant, I will report you to the owners' association and to the police." He certainly wasn't one to waste time with a pleasant approach. He wasn't finished, either: "And you know that parties are not allowed except during weekends, and only then during approved times."

I wanted to slam the door in his face, to be honest, since he was interrupting my little personal party, but I knew that he had pull with the owners' association. So I said, as apologetically as I could, "I am so, so sorry, Sir. I'm not having a party, I just got a little, uh, carried away. How unthoughtful of me!"

His eyes squinted as they darted down across my nightgown, and then he spat, "That's the trouble these days, no one cares about anything but themselves - no consideration at all!" He stared at me.

"I beg your - er - right, I am considerate - I mean - I'm so sorry you feel that way, Sir. It won't happen again," I said, ending with a reassuring smile.

"Please see that it doesn't. Good evening," he snapped, glancing once again at my nightgown. He turned on his heel toward the stairs that led to his door below.

I watched him go, shaking my head in amazement. I closed the door and walked into the living room, pausing to gather my thoughts. I glanced in the mirror, and saw that I'd managed to put my nightgown on inside out; no wonder he kept looking at it. Then I noticed that my nipples were quite apparent. They become quite erect under the right conditions, and my reverie, as I began to think of it, certainly produced the correct circumstances, to say the least. 

I shook my head again and laughed. I walked over to the radio and turned it on again, this time at a much lower volume. I stripped naked again. I wasn't going to let Mr. Grump Face spoil my fun!

Wiggling to the music, I did the dishes that had accumulated over the weekend. Then I drew a nice, warm bath. I didn't put bubbles in the water, because i wanted to see my body as I caressed it and thought about how wonderful it felt. When the water cooled, I let the water out and finished with a hot shower, shaving my legs and armpits. I've never been one to shave "other" places, but I did neaten things up a bit around the edges and gave myself a light trim. 

By now it was close to bedtime, so I needed to get back into my routine. I always pick out the next day's outfit the night before, so there's less to think about in the morning. It was going to be even colder than it had been tomorrow, so I chose a pair of black wool mid rise pants, with a black fitted wool blazer, and a white long sleeve blouse. I laid out a pair of white boy shorts and a matching lace bra.

I returned to the living room. I needed to go to bed, but there was something else I needed to do first. It had been a long time since I'd pleasured myself, longer, in fact, than since I'd been with a man. I needed it now, desperately. But I wanted to be in an unusual place. So I changed the radio station to a classical station. I love to make love to that kind of music. 

So as it played softly, I laid down on the living room floor and began to savor the feeling. It was a place many of my friends had been, and even some strangers, like repair men and friends' friends. Closing my eyes, I lightly brushed my nipples with my fingers. I felt the yearning grow inside of me. Spreading my legs toward the door to my apartment, I pinched my nipples. God, it was wonderful! Involuntarily, my back arched off the floor as I slid one hand down past my belly button, teasing my pubic hair.  

I lost track of time as I writhed on my living room floor. I do know that I was smiling a lot though, until finally I felt those glorious spasms pulse through my body. As they subsided, I knew there were more to be coaxed out of me, and for the first time I yearned to smell and taste myself. I almost climaxed again as I covered my face with my hand, feeling its wetness and drinking in the fragrance. I licked my fingers and rubbed myself between my legs with the other hand.

Now I had to cover my mouth to keep from crying out in ecstasy as I climaxed, again attracting the attention of Mr. Grump Face. As the pulsing died down, and I giggled and thought of how funny that would be! Perhaps another time, though, because I needed one more orgasm before going to sleep. Quickly it came, and my hips thrust violently ceiling-ward. 

I lay there for a while, finally mustering the energy to stumble off to bed. I pulled back the sheets and fell in, naked, content, and forever changed. I drifted off to sleep thinking of how much fun work was going to be from now on ...

To be continued...



The Cubicle Ch. 03



Tuesday morning, my alarm jolted me awake at 6 o'clock sharp, as usual for a Tuesday. Normally a quick riser, it took me a moment or two to orient myself. 

Scenes flashed through my mind in random order as I tried to determine my place is the cosmos: a vague recollection of struggling up from the living room floor to my bedroom, setting my alarm clock and collapsing naked into bed; the powerful orgasms that climaxed my reverie from the night before; Mr. Grump Face's scowl as he confronted me at my door to demand that I turn my music down, his eyes flitting to my nipples poking up through the thick material of my nightgown; dancing naked; my stroll through the office at work after hours in my underwear; my subsequent nun-like seclusion in my apartment all weekend, blinds drawn, heavy nightgown hiding my body; the moment of my nakedness and the pleasure it caused in me.

As the jumble of scenes began to fall into place in my mind, I rolled to my back, arms over my head, and stretched, a contented smile on my face. I felt so relaxed, and so alive. Life was now more interesting than it had ever been!

At 8:25, I self-consciously walked from the elevator, through the scene of my Friday night escapade to my cubicle. I could remember every detail -- it seemed as if it had been one of those dreams that seemed vividly real, but was not. As I walked by Kevin Perine's desk, he was was catching up on emails; the last time I'd looked at his screen, I'd seen my own reflection as I'd admired the way my boy-shorts flattered my butt. I grinned to myself and sighed. 

I sat down at my desk and tried to go through my normal routine of checking emails, checking in with my boss, Antoine, checking the days calendar and to-do list, but scenes from Friday night kept penetrating my concentration. I was distracted at best. As I talked with Antoine, I found myself hypersensitive to his every gesture, every inflection of his voice, every possible double meaning to his words; I was paranoid that somehow I'd been discovered. My nerves were shot! I examined each word, each gesture for a hint that perhaps I'd been discovered. But as one hour blended into the next, I began to relax and enjoy each memory of my reverie. 

Because of the holiday the day before, the day turned very busy as we all caught up with the work to be done. It was good discipline for me to force myself to put my mind on my work. Then almost suddenly, it was time to go home.

As I unwound on the train and bus ride home, it occurred to me how good I felt, both physically and emotionally. Tomorrow morning I would rise an hour early to work out, as I always did Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I felt good about my body. I was in excellent shape, and with my newfound sexual freedom, I felt desirable and truly sexy. On the bus nearing my stop, with a middle-aged man sitting next to me, I resolved to go wherever my sexuality took me. I felt a warm wave of relief settle over me.

I reached for the cord to ring the bell for my stop, smiling at the man next to me as I indicated my need to get up, since I was next to the window. My eyes locked with his for a moment, and I let my gaze linger there far longer than I would have 5 days ago. His tired eyes suddenly looked surprised, and then pleased. I rose and stepped past him, brushing knees with the backs of my thighs, not pressing myself forward into the seat in front of me as I would done have so recently, wishing that I wasn't wearing the long wool, figure-hiding overcoat to ward off the cold. 

"No matter," I thought to myself, smiling, "that can be a reverie for another day."

Walking up the cold outside staircase between building sections to my floor, I unbuttoned my coat; halfway up, I tugged off a glove and unzipped my black wool skirt, which fell to my ankles, revealing my black tights. I picked up the skirt and laid it over my arm and continued up the stairs, my pumps clacking on the concrete stairs. I couldn't wait to be naked! I passed Mr. Grump Face's door, one more flight to go. I giggled silently as I thought of him, and how I must've looked. Hurrying up the last flight, I fumbled in my purse for my keys. I flung open the door, kicked off my pumps, and shed my clothes as if they were on fire. 

What a joy it was finally to be naked! I laughed out loud at myself. Such a change had come over me! I stood there in my little foyer, my clothes rumpled on the floor around me, and marveled. I don't know how long I stood there. It was almost as if time didn't exist. I was lost in another reverie, my fingers gently caressing my body, lightly brushing my erect nipples, tracing the contours of my breasts, down the firm flatness of my stomach earned by my early morning workouts, grazing my public hair, and feeling the roundness of my butt. As my fingers toured my body, my brain followed, yearning for more adventures, more reveries, more risk, more feelings of vulnerability.

I became aware of the ticking clock on my living room wall in the dark apartment, which brought me back to my senses. I flipped on the light and saw my naked form in the mirror. Looking at myself -- no, admiring myself -- I said quietly, "There's no turning back now, Girl. No turning back." The tone of satisfaction in my voice both surprised and pleased me.

Leaving my clothes in a heap, I turned up the thermostat, breathing a sigh of relief that utilities were included in my rent, and fixed myself some sautéed shrimp and broccoli for dinner. I learned that being naked while sautéing can painful as the oil pops. Not owning an apron, I grabbed my business suit jacket from the pile at the door to protect me from the painful darts shooting from the wok. I looked very slutty standing there that way, my butt and pubic hair plainly visible, and an almost unconstructed view of my breasts. I loved it! So that's what I wore the rest of the evening, as I ate and watched some TV. At 9 I picked out tomorrow's clothes -- this time a wool navy blue tailored pants suit, with a white long sleeve blouse. I also laid out my workout clothes -- a pair of tight black spandex long pants, a turquoise athletic halter top and a black spandex running jacket. 

I set my alarm for 5, curling up naked in bed, and drifted off to sleep with contentment all over me. It seemed a moment later that the alarm was ringing, and it was time to work out. I was very rested and eager to go. I brushed my teeth quickly and reached into my underwear drawer for some panties, but stopped short, and devilish grin running across my face. "Commando!" I whispered loudly, laughing. I pulled my spandex on over my naked hips, finished dressing, stretched, tied on my running shoes and headed out the front door. 

The dark, cold, early morning air was jarring. I skipped down the three flights and began my run. My routine was to zig zag along the sidewalks of the apartment complex, making my way to the gym in the pool house about a half mile away as the crow flies, but more like a mile the way I went. As I warmed up, the cold air felt good. When I got to the pool house, the covered pool looking forlorn under the streetlights, all of the chairs having been packed away for the winter, the glow of the rising sun was just beginning to appear on the horizon. 

I used my access card to enter the building. The warm air hit me and I began almost immediately to sweat, since my body was burning so much energy. I shook my head -- they always have the heat up too much! Entering the gym, I saw that it was the usual small crowd of diehards. Avoiding eye contact (I'd learned long ago that a girl in spandex has a hard time getting her workout in if she makes eye contact with the men, because they suddenly become very chatty), I headed to the rowing machine for my upper body workout. 

I took off my jacket and started my routine. Usually at this point I either would close my eyes or watch the TV on the other side of the room. But this morning, I stole glances around the room. Nearby was an overweight older woman on the treadmill. I cheered her on silently, "Go girl! Good for you!" Several men of various ages, shapes and sizes hefted weights. One was doing curls with free weights. I found my eyes returning to his biceps frequently. I noticed that his and others' eyes returned to me frequently too. In the past, I'd have been upset by it, but today it pleased me a great deal.

Done with my rowing, sweat glistening on my skin, I set up the universal weight machine for my own curls. Furtive glances kept coming in my direction. Done with my curls, I decided to stretch before my run back to the apartment. Checking the wall mirror, it was entertaining to watch the men pause in their workouts as I stretched. I noticed in the mirror that my nipples were pooching out the fabric of my top, and with no panties, my sweaty workout pants stuck in my butt crack. I also noticed as I did my butterfly stretches that going commando left little to the imagination between my legs. I was enjoying my new life!

Almost daylight outside, it was time to run back home. The cold air was always a challenge at this point. It was like stepping from a warm shower into a freezer. But my body was warm, and it was invigorating to run as fast as I could through the frigid air. This time, instead of putting my jacket back on, I tied it around my waist. The sensation was like jumping into a pond on a winter's day. I almost yelped as the stepped outside. I broke quickly into a sprint, this time taking a direct route back to my building, skipping steps as I vaulted up to my apartment. Once inside, I peeled away my workout clothes and stretched one more time, naked, on a towel on the carpet of my bedroom floor. I could smell my sweatiness. There was not time to tarry, though, so after a quick shower, I got dressed and headed off to work. 

Over the next couple of weeks, this was my routine: Monday, Wednesday Friday, my erotic morning workouts; off to work every day by 7:45; constant preoccupation at work with my secret life, but not so much that I couldn't continue performing at a high level; home a little before 6, usually starting to undress before opening my front door; spend the evening usually naked or close to it. Weekends I spent either naked at home, or out doing things with friends, both male and female, but never revealing to them my true nature, but content for now in being alone in my reveries. 

In early March, it was time to go through annual employee reviews just completed by department heads, looking for common threads, both positive and negative, that we HR types like to identify as trends within the company. It never made sense to me to do the whole company all at once -- I always pushed for staggering them by department, so the task of going through them wouldn't be so monumental. Antoine generally agreed, but his hands were tied by the executives over him. So we were stuck with it.

Since we still had our regular duties, this entailed taking reports home with us, but I hated the idea of working at home. Antoine left early one day in early March to study over his, and I opted to stay the office. I had brought my dinner from home, so I microwaved my Marie Callender Sweet & Sour Chicken and settled in for an evening of reading in my cubicle.

Absorbed in my reading and note taking, I was startled when the half the lights shut off for "after-hours" mode at 8 o'clock. "Goodness!" I said, shaking off the sudden and pointless fright. The silence was deafening. The muted darkness in the office made me feel alone. 

A flood of emotion enveloped me as I remembered my Friday night in a similar situation a little more than a month ago. I was instantaneously excited, and I felt a twinge between my legs. Underneath my dark green cashmere sweater, nestled in a dark grey bra, my breasts longed to be free.

"God, Lisa!" I whispered. I got up and went to the office kitchen to get a drink from the water cooler. Scenes from my near-naked tour of the office played in my mind as I walked. "God, Lisa!" I whispered again.

My little Dixie cup in hand, I leaned back against the counter in the kitchen. There was no question in my mind that I was going to do this. It was just a matter of collecting my thoughts and doing it smartly. I finished my water, and threw my cup away. "God, Lisa!" 

I stood still and listened intently. The cleaning folks had been around an hour and a half earlier. Employees from other floors could not access this floor after hours. I knew of no other projects like mine on this floor that required a late night like mine. As far as my project, I had gotten a good start tonight, and had another week to finish it. 

I decided I should take a walk around the floor to make sure I was alone. All I could hear was the heating system, now on a lower setting to save energy, but it was still warm and comfortable. Along one side of the office area were large windows overlooking another office building. In the front corner were the elevators, in a large foyer with glass walls overlooking the street. That's also where the receptionist's desk was -- in fact, I'd just read her review, and was impressed by how much her boss thought of her; women with women bosses sometimes have personality conflicts that get in the way of performance, but Kelby, in her mid-twenties, seemed to get along beautifully with her much older and very strict boss, Dianne. Walking by Kelby's desk, I realized I'd been jealous of her good looks since the first time I saw her. But she was a very nice person all the same.

From Kelby's desk, I continued through the waiting area, around behind the elevators and into the office space. Conference rooms lined the wall to the left, with big windows overlooking the street and hotel across the way, and the long wall 50 feet ahead contained several executive offices, including Antoine's. My cubicle was in the far corner next to his office. 

Arriving there, I was confident that I was alone. I sat down again in my chair, looking out toward the office. Below my sweater, I wore a charcoal grey wool wrap skirt with sheer grey stockings. My fingers, as if on their own, found the tie holding my skirt together and pulled. The feeling of my loosening skirt was glorious! I sighed audibly and whispered hoarsely, "Yes!"

I pulled away the ends of the skirt and draped them over the arm rests of my chair. Standing, I walked around the corner of my cubicle into the space in front of my boss' door. His door was closed tonight, and being dark inside his office, the full length glass made a perfect mirror. My reflection looked both silly and sexy -- silly, because there I was in my office in sheer stockings, black pumps and a sweater, and sexy because my sweater covered nothing below my waist. I could see the outline of my grey lace boy shorts through my stockings. 

I watched, mesmerized, as I slowly unbuttoned my sweater. As it loosened, it caressed my skin. Glancing around me reflexively, I let the sweater fall off my right shoulder, then my left, gravity pulling it to the floor down off my arms. My abs flexed as I breathed heavily, as if I'd just sprinted from the pool house to my apartment. I slipped my fingers into the waistband of my stockings, watching my reflection as I worked them down over my hips. I looked down, lifting one foot and then the other out of my pumps, and I pulled off the stockings, each foot landing again in my shoes.

Now I felt very naked, very vulnerable, very sexy, very pleased. I turned and looked t my reflection from all angles. I looked good. The moderate heel of my pumps flattered my toned calves and thighs, and my butt looked beautiful; I loved the way boy shorts made me look and feel. These were low rise, minimal, really. I could see clearly my pubic hair through them. Some strands were escaping the confines of the material, too. My matching grey bra was a simple underwire with no padding, lacy and feminine. I could see that my nipples were erect through the material.

Excited as I was, I collected my thoughts for a moment and stood completely still, listening. I looked around. Nothing. It was time!

Trembling, with a shaky right hand, I reached back and released the clasp of my bra. I inhaled sharply as it popped loose, sexual feelings enveloping every part of me. Holding my bra to me breasts with my left hand, I watched myself in the glass.

"Yes!" I whispered once again, both as an encouragement to myself and as an affirmation. So I let gravity to its work again, thrilled as I watched my bra fall away and my yearning breasts come into view. "Yes!" I said this time, aloud.

My breathing was fast and heavy now. I felt incredible -- unlike anything I'd ever felt before. To this day I can't really describe it. I have since felt it many times, as it is addicting drug-like euphoria that motivates me. It's one of those things things that can't be explained, it can only be experienced. 

Looking at my reflection was intoxicating, my white skin reflecting brightly in the door's glass: I struck quite an image, standing there in skimpy panties, topless, wearing pumps, in the middle of a law firm's suite of offices. And I was the assistant director of HR to boot, nearly naked right outside my boss' door!

My mind was racing. I wanted badly to touch myself, but even more I wanted to savor the moment. So I turned, glancing over my shoulder at my backside's reflection, and walked toward the window side of the building. Being careful to keep cubicles between me and the windows, I made my way toward Kelby's desk. I paused at the ceiling-high, curved wall between her area and the reception area, peering around the corner out of the windows to see if anyone was working late in the building across the narrow street. Seeing no one, I took a deep breath, stood straight and sauntered across the dimly lit open area to her desk, which was a beautiful wooden console facing the elevators, my heels clacking on the marble floor. Behind her chair was a small, windowless section of the outer wall, shielding her from the view of workers in the other building. 

I sat in her chair and imagined the daily stream of people who walked by her each day, myself included, the men who certainly would always try to catch her eye. I leaned back in her chair, my arms over my head, erect nipples pointing at the elevator doors, and said quietly, "Welcome, Sir, how my I help you?" I stifled a laugh at the absurdity of what I was imagining. Placing my feet on Kelby's desk and spreading my legs obscenely, as if at the OBGYN's office, I said, "May I get you something to eat?"

The sudden rise of my imagination shocked me. I'd never spoken like that before, even being silly with my girlfriends. It struck me now how I was enjoying being dirty, inappropriate, slutty. My legs still spread, I finally gave myself permission to caress a nipple. With the middle finger of my right hand, ever so lightly, I touched my right nipple. It took my breath away! "Ooohhhh!" I said involuntarily, louder than I felt was safe. I covered my mouth, but let my finger continue circling my right nipple, struggling to stay quiet. Now I began caressing the other nipple, and before long I was kneading and fondling both breasts. Suddenly, I had to be naked. My panties had to go! The population of the office could arrive, and it wouldn't keep my from my need. Legs still spread, I kicked off my shoes onto Kelby's desk, lifted my hips and pulled my boy-shorts off my hips, down my legs and completely off. I threw them out into the floor in front of the elevator.

I felt the danger of this acutely, but it didn't phase me. In fact, it seemed to encourage me. The thought of my boss Antoine, or anyone, for that matter, finding me like this seemed fantastic, a thrill beyond excitement. 

When the fingers of my left hand slid down across my pubic hair, they became drenched before even parting my lips. My moistness was pungent and lustful. I'm not sure how many times I came, but when I was done, I was weary with a deeply contented exhaustion. I lay there sprawled out in her chair with my legs spread on her desk for quite some time, catching my breath, savoring. Finally I managed to return my legs to the floor, and I sat there, naked in Kelby's chair, taking in the scene. My panties were on the floor in front of me, my shoes on the desk before me. I could still smell my lust. 




The Cubicle Ch. 03



When I mustered the strength to stand I grabbed my shoes and turned to slide Kelby's chair back into place, checking to make sure I hadn't disturbed anything else. To my horror, I saw a large wet stain on the light grey cloth of her chair! 

"God, Lisa!" I admonished myself. I grabbed some tissues from the ornate tissue box holder on her desk and dabbed the wet spot. But then I calmed down as I realized that by morning, it would be dry, hopefully, and if it left a permanent stain, it would be faint. And it would be a nice thing to think about whenever I walked by and saw her sitting there.

I walked naked back to my cubicle, smiling at my boldness, and looking forward to my next adventure. I discovered that I'd forgotten to get my panties from in front of the elevators, so I returned naked to retrieve them. Back at my cubicle, I stuffed them, along with my bra and stockings, into my bag, and put on my sweater and skirt, with my long wool winter coat overtop. 

As I walked out to the subway, I was very happy. "This is my new life," I said aloud. "And I love it!"

To be continued ... 



The Cubicle Ch. 04



It's hard to describe how erotic it felt to step into the elevator the next morning at work, for the ride up to my floor. The night before, after all, I had paraded around the office wearing nothing but jewelry and black pumps, and even had masturbated at the receptionist's desk, leaving a very wet, dark stain on her chair.

This was all so unlike the feminine, quiet, prim Lisa I'd been all of my life. My coworkers and friends would not believe it if you'd told them I'd become almost addicted to being naked, to the sexual high it brought me. And my name used in conjunction with the word "masturbation"? Not a chance!

As the elevator climbed, I thought about my day so far: It was Wednesday, so time for my usual run/workout; this morning I'd folded down the waistband of my Spandex workout pants a little further than normal, revealing more of my stomach below my belly button than I was used to showing, which seemed to distract the men in the apartment complex gym a little more than usual. That pleased me. When I reached my front door at the end of the sprint back to my apartment from the gym, I impulsively slipped my halter sports bra over my head before unlocking the door. That kind of scared me, but in a way that I liked.

So when the elevator doors at the office opened for my floor, without meaning to, I let out a little, quiet purr, which I think startled a couple of my coworkers who were stepping off with me. Kelby, the receptionist, was already there -- she was very contentious about arriving just before everyone else to make sure everything was in order. I always said hello to her, and today was no different, especially since I wanted to know if she suspected anything, considering it was in her chair that I'd behaved so uncharacteristically. 

"Morning, Kelby!" I said perhaps a bit too brightly as I approached the console of her desk. She looked up and smiled sweetly, "Hi, Lisa! How are you today?" 

I smiled in return, remembering my view from where she sat, looking down the length of my naked body at my legs spread out on her desk as I leaned back in her chair, bringing myself to a wet and noisy climax. 

"Fine, doing great, Kelby," I said. I noticed some courier deliveries in yellow envelopes on the shelf behind her. Nodding toward the shelf, and knowing she'd have to get up to check, I said, lying, "Anything for me? I was expecting something ... "

She hopped up in her cheerful, enthusiastic way and turned to go through the envelopes, giving me some long seconds to look at her chair. I could see a vague outline of the wetness my lust had left only 11 hours or so before -- and I could see clearly one of my very own public hairs! It surely didn't belong to Kelby -- she was a dark brunette, so dark her hair shined, and certainly hadn't been doing in that chair what I had been at any rate. This one was auburn, matching my own locks. The light was hitting it just right for me to see the color clearly. Neither the stain nor the hair was painfully obvious, but if one were looking for it ...

I blushed as Kelby turned back to me. "Nope, don't see it -- I'll be sure and let you know if it comes in!" She looked at me quizzically. 

There was nothing I could do, so I thanked her and walked mechanically to my cubicle. Sitting down, I went through the motions of beginning my day, my brain trying to process what I'd just seen. I hoped she was unobservant enough to miss it, but I assumed that both the stain and the hair might not escape her attention. She was very much on the ball, not missing anything that went on in the office. But even if she found what I'd seen, it's not like it would raise serious questions. If it were me, I reasoned, I'd just puzzle over it for a split second, and not making any connections at all, I'd just go on with my day.

Even with my startling little discovery neatly packaged in my mind as a non-worry, I was still very distracted the rest of the day -- now not so much for worry, but because of excitement, of wondering when I could do it again. As scenes from the night before played in my mind, I began to imagine new ones.

During a late-morning meeting in one of the conference rooms, I imagined myself lying naked in the middle of the large mahogany table, surrounded by men and women in their suits, legs spread wide toward one of the executives reading from a very dull report on company policy regarding nepotism. On the elevator to go out to lunch with a few coworkers, I imagined unbuttoning my blouse. On my way to the ladies' room, I passed the men's room, and had to fight a real urge to walk in to ... I wasn't sure what, but it a genuine urge.

By the end of the day, I felt both elated and concerned. My elation was from the sexual high that seemed to grow instead of subside. But I was concerned, because it took great effort to get my work done, and twice my boss, Antoine, asked if I was okay. I just told him I wasn't feeling particularly well.

The next day was a similar tension between constant, surprisingly bold, but erotic ideas popping into my head, along with the desire to dwell on them, and the very serious responsibility I had to get my work done. Antoine asked me again whether I was okay, and suggested I take the next day off, Friday, to get some rest. He attributed my difficulty with concentration on the extra workload of reading the reviews.

So Friday, I skipped my workout, reluctantly put on a padded bra and old, very pedestrian panties under my flannel nightgown, sequestering myself at home for the weekend to catch up with work. It took some determination, but I managed to subdue the strange new desires. My weekly talk with Mom on Sunday evening helped bring me back to the old Lisa.By Monday, I was virtually back to my old self. For my workout, I wore loose fitting running pants and a sweat shirt, and I barely noticed the disappointed faces of the men in the gym. I just had to get ahold of myself.

Back at work that week, when I took a break, there was temptation to return to the erotic thoughts, but with so much work to be done -- not to mention the fact that I was beginning to feel embarrassed and ashamed of myself -- I put myself into my job during the day, and into my friends at night and on weekends.

Weeks began to click by, and I met David one weekend in April when I participated in a "Walk for the Cure." His mother had died of cancer, so he had a lot of interest in raising money for research. I felt embarrassed by the fact that I'd signed up mainly to meet guys! 

We dated several times, and he was a perfect gentleman. I really liked him, and hoped mightily that this might be the one for me. But then one day it dawned on me that for the last several days, it was always I who initiated contact with him. We had developed a pretty fun and flirtatious texting routine, and talked at least once a day. Then in the middle of June, the texting trailed off. I had a couple of awkward phone conversations with him, and he had some lame excuses as to why he couldn't get together. Then he wouldn't answer his phone.

It was a depressing end on the one hand, but on the other, I was glad to find out he was a creep before I'd gotten too deep with him, especially before I'd had sex with him. That would have been too much to handle. 

With July 4 coming up, I decided it was time to take some time off. So I planned to leave for vacation for two weeks beginning the last week of June. Normally, I would go on vacation with friends and family, but I felt like being alone this time. After my experience with David, I needed time to think.

As is always the case before you leave for vacation, you've got to work twice as hard for a week to get everything done so you can go. That was certainly the case with me. My last day at work was a Friday, and Antoine stopped at my cubicle at 5:30 on his way out and wished me a happy time, teasingly ordering me not to stay too late.

At a little before 8, I wrapped things up -- reports were done, filing done, emails answered, everything in order for my return two weeks from now. I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, smiling at the fact I had two while weeks to myself!

I'd decided not to have an agenda, or any kind of itinerary more than the general direction I was heading (south) and general destinations (some mountain views, and some beach views). I didn't want obligations. I wanted freedom!

Freedom. That word stuck in my mind as i closed my eyes and I thought about the coming two weeks. Freedom -- it had a nice ring to it! 

Just then, I felt the room go abruptly quiet as the lights went into "after hours" mode, when half turned off to save energy. Just as it had in times past, it startled me, bringing me out of my reverie.

Reverie. I remember that word, I thought. I remember my reveries, too! I blushed and sat forward with my elbows on the desk, face in hands as I recalled how I taken off my clothes ...

Reverie. Freedom. Reverie. Freedom.

The words played off of one another in my head.

A thought slammed hard into my brain.

No! No, Lisa! I was fuming at myself. No!

But I was losing the argument with myself, and I knew it. And deep down, I welcomed my defeat.

I stood, and, leaving my cubicle, began walking. I took a circuitous route through the office, listening, looking. Halfway through my tour, at the men's room door, I paused. I stood there looking at it, aware that I felt out of breath, but in a beautiful way. It was excitement, joy, really. I stepped toward the door hesitantly, feeling dirty for doing so, but liking the feeling. I put out both hands, palm outward, and pushed slowly, feeling weak; it opened enough for me to squeeze through self consciously, front first, my chest pressing against the backs of my hands. Rounding the corner, I saw five urinals and stalls opposite, the white marble floor gleaming and smelling fresh from its scrubbing two hours ago from the cleaning crew. 

I sighed as I thought of the men in their dark suits standing at the urinals, their penises out. I walked over and stood in front of one, looking down to imagine the view. It worried me that I felt good thinking about that, but for now, I'd place that worry aside. I was on vacation, and I was free!

The buttons of my blouse were halfway undone before I realized I was taking it off. It was white, a feminine cotton Oxford-style, long-sleeve, tucked neatly into my navy business slacks. I watched my fingers release the rest of the buttons, tugged the shirttail from my waistband and felt my shoulders become bare. I hung the blouse on the plumbing of the urinal.

I turned toward the sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw a glow about my face, my brown eyes bright, dimples on my cheeks. My simple white cotton underwire bra contrasted with my skin and the dark material of my slacks. My abs were tight and flat, and when I turned to leave, I was satisfied with how fit I looked, even from the rear.

Exiting the men's room, leaving my blouse behind, I made my way toward the executive offices along the wall. The air felt good on my skin. Passing by Vickie Henderson's desk, an older, grumpy executive assistant to two Vice Presidents, I approached Mr. Farlan's locked door, one of the men for whom Vickie worked. He was handsome -- a grey head of hair, a carved face and muscular frame not usual for a man in his fifties. Watching myself in the reflection on the glass of his door, I unclasped my bra, slid it off and hung it on his doorknob. 

Now wearing only my slacks and pumps, my breasts looked obscene against the background of Vickie's cubicle in the reflection on Mr. Farlan's door. 

"God, Lisa!" I mused. "God!"

I turned in the direction of the far wall, the one with windows facing the office building across the street. My breasts felt wonderful as they bounced with each step. Beyond the cubicles, in the corner, in the shelter of a large potted plant, was a small sitting area next to the floor-to-ceiling plate glass. There was a gold French Provincial sofa facing the window, with two matching chairs with backs to the window, on an oriental rug, and a coffee table. Employees used this for impromptu meetings and for a change of scenery for reading or pouring over notes. The large plant shielded the sitting area from the window, but only partially.

Cubicles blocked my view of the windows across the street as I approached, but when I turned the corner, I didn't hesitate. I walked confidently toward the sofa, stepped around it, and sat down, putting one arm on the back of the couch. Looking out of the window, I could see into dimly lit offices across the narrow street, jackets slung onto chair backs, paperwork still on desktops. But to my surprise, one office light was bright -- I felt suddenly and horribly vulnerable in the pool of light falling on the sitting area, dim as it was, worried that the office was occupied.

Remaining still, I examined the scene more closely, and saw a man sitting at his desk, angled away from the window. His floor was level with mine. If he turned his head, and was paying attention, he might see me through the fronds of the extremities of the plant's branches. 

I sat frozen for a minute, unsure of myself. He was close enough that I could see his wire frame glasses, and his fingers moving across his keyboard. If he looked, I and my breasts would be in plain view!

Meanwhile, my nipples ached to be touched. I glanced down and they were as erect as I've ever seen them, ever sensitive to gentle currents of air caressing and tantalizing them. I slipped off my pumps and leaned slowly into the end of the sofa, feet up, and touched both nipples simultaneously with the middle finger of each hand. 

I gasped out loud. It was absolute heaven, watching this man who was so close yet so oblivious to my bare breasts, desire coursing through my veins. I arched my back, squeezed and closed my eyes. "God, Lisa!" I tried to keep it to a whisper. I fondled my breasts for a full minute, savoring the rush of emotions pour over me.

Resisting the urge to do more to myself, but full of boldness, I got up and stepped to the window, covering my chest with my arms, ready to dive behind the plant if necessary. I was testing myself. How far would I go? 

The man continued his travails all through this, completely unaware of what was going on just over his right shoulder. The street below was empty, as were all of the other office windows. I lowered my arms, revealing my breasts, and touched my nipples to the glass, which was cool from the night air outside. More absolute heaven! I struggled to keep my eyes open to keep vigil on the man, wanting terribly to close them and revel in this ecstasy. 

With my breasts against the glass, I deliberately unbuttoned and unzipped my slacks. Gravity needed a little help to loose them from my hips before pulling them down to my ankles. I stepped out of them, returned to the sofa to retrieve my pumps, and took another look at the man. He was still working.

"Work away," I thought to myself. "We'll see if you're back when I return."

Now wearing only my pumps and white cotton bikini panties, I left the seating area. I walked the entire length of the wall of windows. Approaching Kelby's desk, I had an idea. I pressed the elevator button and waited. I could hear the machinery kick into action, and soon, one of the doors opened. 

Having left my security card at my cubicle, I couldn't get in the elevator and expect to return. So, standing in the door to keep it from closing, I took off my panties and hung them on the railing. Stepping back into the reception area, the doors closed and I heard the elevator move to its default floor, the top floor, where the top executive offices were. 

Now I was naked except for my pumps and jewelry, my clothes scattered around the office, with my panties on another floor. 

My heels clicked on the floor as I left the reception area. I felt more alive, more sexual, more dirty, more desirable than I ever had in my life! The thrill of the risk I was taking was fueling my passions, my emotions, my decisions. Nothing was going to stop me.

I walked through the aisles, thrilling at the feeling of the air moving across my nipples and breasts. As I felt the coolness of the air on the moistness between my legs, I thought of my private parts in a new way, the terminology refreshing in its frankness: tits, pussy, ass. I had never thought of myself that way. Those were always bad words, demeaning and perverse. But now they described me. 

As I walked I fondled my tits and ass. I avoided touching my pussy. I was saving it. I stopped to sit in various coworker's cubicles, enjoying the strange feeling of being naked in my workplace. At each cubicle, I imagined its owner discovering me, and tried to guess their reactions. Most would be horrified, I supposed, which only made what I was doing all the more erotic to me. That mixed feeling of sexual high and shameful embarrassment would be intoxicating. 

Outside the conference room door I stopped. I could smell myself; by now I was sweaty, and my pussy was dripping with desire. I pushed open the heavy glass door of the conference room. Poking my head through the opening, the long table extended left and right across in front of me, the chairman's chair to my right, more empty chairs surrounding it in the subdued light. The blinds on the windows were up, giving a clear view of the hotel windows across the street. Most of the rooms' blinds were closed, and the few that were not were either dark or showed no signs of activity. 

My attention turned back to the conference room. In my mind I could see the executives and their assistants in their dark suits turning to look at me.

"Lisa is here to demonstrate for us our proposed new office policy on appropriate business attire," said Antoine's voice in my head. 

I stepped into the room, letting the door close behind me. Across the table, I could see my reflection in the window. The curve of my hips was clearly visible, and the dark patch of neatly trimmed, but full hair between my legs. I turned to the side to see my profile, arching my back and thrusting my breasts out, arms over my head. Watching my reflection, I walked slowly around the table, letting my right hand glide across the back of every chair. 

At the chairman's chair, I pulled it out and sat down. The cool black leather felt glorious on my body as I settled into it and leaned back. Now it was time to touch my pussy.

"God, Lisa -- yes!" I said out loud as my fingers brushed against the soaked hair between my legs. I spread my legs as far as I could and teased myself for minutes, feinting and dodging with my fingers, tugging slightly at strands of pubic hair. I could feel an occasional drop make its way down my crotch, over my ass cheeks, and onto the chair. 

In my mind I heard Antoine tell me to climb onto the table, to be the centerpiece as the imaginary meeting continued over a catered meal. Obediently, I lifted myself out of the chair, crawling onto the table on all fours, and made my way, slowly, catlike, my breasts swinging under me, to the middle. 

I rose to my knees, sitting back with my feet under me, spreading as wide as I could, and found my clitoris with my fingers. I imagine all eyes on me as the executives chewed their sandwiches and sipped on tea and coffee. 

It didn't take long for me to explode. I was glad I was in a closed room, because I was not quiet. Between my gasps I heard the liquid sound of my slimy pussy echoing metallically off the the frosted glass walls of the room. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" I gasped in rhythm to the pulsation of my pussy. My aroma filled the room.

I laid on my back now, legs spread, knees up, still imagining the meeting going on around me. I climaxed again quickly. 

Still aroused and needing more, I realized that I was beginning to push my luck like this in front of open windows. I crawled off the table and sat in a chair with my back to the window; because of the height of the chair back, I was now hidden. In the middle of the table was a small puddle, and smudges all over. I would need to clean that up before I left -- but that would happen after I had my third powerful orgasm, sitting in the chair. I dozed off.




The Cubicle Ch. 04



I don't know how long I was asleep, but I woke with a start, disoriented, wonderfully horrified, ashamed and happy all at once at my nakedness. I was sticky and smelly. I started to get up, but checked the hotel windows first: Hard to tell, so I kicked off my heels, slunk down as I got out of the chair and slipped out of the room. 

I needed something to clean up the wet mess I'd left in the conference room. I crossed the office floor feeling very conspicuous. Out of habit I went into the ladies' room, but then remembered the men's room, thinking I'd get paper towels there. But seeing my now long-abandoned blouse hanging there, I decided to use it instead, to make my ride home more interesting. I made my way back to the conference room, and slinking in, I used my blouse to wipe down the chairs I'd sat in, and the table. I grabbed my pumps and stepped out, and put on my blouse, now blotchy with wet, smelly spots.

I found my bra still hanging where I'd left it on Mr. Farlan's door. Looking around the corner at the sitting area a few minutes later, I found my pants, and the light was off across the street. At Kelby's desk, I called the elevator to retrieve my panties. But I couldn't get that elevator car to come! 

I debated about what to do. I had to leave very soon to catch one of the last buses from the subway for the night -- I was glad that they ran later on Friday nights. I decided that I would just leave my panties there: They would surely be found, either by some guy would get a thrill and not report having found them, or by someone who would most certainly report it. No one would know whose they were. We had no way of tracking who was last in the building, and there were no elevator cameras, so a memo would be written (normally I'd be the one drafting such a memo! But Antoine would be the one to do it since I'd be on vacation on Monday); it would remind employees in vague terms of various company policies regarding workplace behavior. Antoine would assume that some office romance had gotten out of hand.

So I gathered my things, looking forward to hearing about the panty caper when I returned, but more importantly, looking forward to my next two weeks of freedom and reverie. On my ride home, smelling like I'd just had sex, I made a pact with myself that would be my only rule for the next 14 days.

To be continued ...



The Cubicle Ch. 05



Standing on the platform waiting for the subway to take me home, I was in a state of utter bliss. My mind slowly volleyed from the picture of my panties hanging on the railing in the elevator, to the reflection in the conference room window of my naked, writhing, orgasmic body – hotel windows beyond my ghostly form in the glass.

I wasn't worried about the panties. Rather, I was pleased how my miscalculation had turned so favorable. I hadn't known when I hung them there that the same elevator would not return, but now it was thrilling to think of how they would be discovered, or, more specifically, of who would discover them. I doubted anyone would be coming into the office over the weekend, so the chances were that it'd be a sleepy-headed early bird Monday morning who would be rudely awakened. I wasn't sure who the early birds in the building were, since I always arrived when others were already there.

Regardless, my panties would be found, that was certain. But it was impossible for anyone to know whose they were. The only question was whether the naughty little find would be reported. I savored the idea that someone would have such a startling and intimate discovery because of me, and wonder. I debated about whether I hoped the incident would be reported to Antoine; I decided that I did, because then I'd get to enjoy everyone's reactions, all the while playing the innocent one as I helped my boss write a scolding memo to all the employees about proper conduct and decorum in a place of business.

But I had two weeks of reverie and freedom ahead of me. As I sat down in my seat in the near-empty subway car, I could still smell my sweaty, lustful scent from a half hour before. I thought of the pact that I'd made with myself as I got dressed at the office. The idea had flooded over me suddenly, and I accepted it without hesitation.

I had already planned an almost agenda-less vacation, with no particular destinations in mind besides a combination of mountain and beach scenery, and perhaps a city or two. This lack of schedule and commitments accommodated my little pact very well:

Besides my makeup bag, some changes of shoes and sandals and other small accessories like belts and jewelry, I would bring no clothes with me. Nor would I bring any underwear; I was to go without panties and bra at all times. Each day, I would buy something new and sexy to wear to change into that day – and here was the truly exciting part: I would not allow myself to change into those clothes for the first time in the privacy of a dressing room, hotel room, or even my car. It had to be in a public place, either within sight of other people or in a place where I could easily be discovered. The goal wasn't to be seen, but to risk it mightily. If I were seen, it would not be intentional, albeit a thrill.

I knew there were risks involved, like attracting the sort of attention from men who might see this as an invitation to rape me if they saw me; I would have to be extremely careful. I also didn't want to involve children in any way, so I'd have to choose my public changing rooms carefully.

But before I could change into the new outfit, I resolved that I had to be naked first. For instance, I was not allowed to slip on a skirt first before I took a dress off. The goal was to be naked in strange and public places, risky places. Each time I changed, I would leave the previous outfit there. The only thing I planned on buying and keeping was workout clothes, because I wanted to keep up with my exercise, and to give me something to wear to grab breakfast and the like. I also planned on finding a minimal bathing suit or two.

Thinking about these things, I was amazed at how I was still feeling. I wasn't quite aroused, but I felt a sort of relaxed sexual presence, a kind of hum in my body and mind. As the subway car jolted along the tracks, I could feel my braless nipples on the stiff cotton of my white Oxford blouse. I unbuttoned two more buttons, and left them that way for the rest of the ride, glancing down occasionally into my top.

A half hour later, I finished unbuttoning my blouse as I walked up the steps to my apartment. Opening my front door, I saw the big suitcase and other bags I'd packed over the last day or two waiting by the front closet. I stripped naked, and then grabbed the suitcase and dragged it to my bedroom, where I emptied it, putting everything back in its place, and slid the suitcase under the bed where I stored it. My accessories and makeup bags seemed puny waiting by the door.

Before going to bed, I emailed a few friends and my mom to remind them that I was leaving tomorrow, and that I would not be reachable by email, since I would disable it on my phone and iPad so I wouldn't see anything work-related, and that I really preferred not to be called either. I also laid out a pair of worn flip flops, a pair of old running shorts with built-in panties, an old and very modest tank top, and a bra; before going out of town in the morning, a few friends were taking me to breakfast as a send off, so I needed to look the part. Yawning, I realized how tired I was. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Seemingly seconds later, my alarm was blaring. I leapt up and fumbled for the button to turn it off. Catching my breath, I looked at the time and tried to orient myself: 6:30 am. "God, I'm going to be late for work!" I hissed. But then in my mind I saw the reflection of my nakedness in the conference room window, and my panties hanging on the elevator railing, and I remembered – I was on vacation, the first day of the most memorable one I would ever have, I was sure!

I showered, got dressed, letting my hair air dry, and picked up my two little bags as I left my apartment and hurried to my car, a 4-year-old grey Ford Focus. By 7:15, I was sitting down with my friends at a diner not far from my apartment. Of course, the conversation was dominated by probing questions about my trip.

"So c'mon, Lisa, tell us where you're going! You've got to have a plan!" Wayne said.

"I think she's going to see a guy!" Vero said. Her real name is Veronica, but we started calling her Vero several years ago, one day when we were in a silly mood and talking about the shortened versions of names.

Laughing, I said with a knowing look on my face, "No, there's no guy – but maybe there will be before I'm back!"

We all laughed, but Dirk pressed on, "But where are you going?"

I told them again what I'd already told them before, that I was just getting away, that I didn't want an agenda or any appointments. After my experience with David, I just wanted to be alone and footloose for a while – but nothing was wrong. I just wanted to relax and read books, pamper myself and watch silly movies on TV.  

Of course, I didn't reveal anything about what else was on my mind.

"Really, I'm fine, guys." I said assuringly. Everyone nodded approvingly and congratulated me, and said they'd love to do the same someday.

Laurie lifted her glass of orange juice in a half-jesting toast, saying with flourish, "Here's to Lisa and her trip! May she watch lots of dumb movies, take lots of long naps, and find a man to have great sex with – but not necessarily in that order!" I blushed and we all laughed as we clinked glasses – Laurie's juice glass, a glass of milk and two coffee cups, and my near-empty glass of water. 

We sat and visited for what seemed an eternity. The waitress came by more times than I could count to refill our coffee cups. I didn't really mind the company, since these were all my closest friends. We laughed a lot, and had a great time. It's just that I was anxious to get on the road, to get going with my freedom and reverie. I literally had to restrain myself a few times from abruptly saying I had to leave. It was hard to concentrate as I replayed last night's events in my mind, and anticipated what was to come.

But finally, a few minutes before 10, that funny group thing where everyone seems to know simultaneously that it's time to go, happened. I reached for my check, but Dirk snatched it from me, saying they'd all agreed to pay my bill. Out in the parking lot, we said some lingering, unhurried and happy goodbyes, everyone wishing me a wonderful time. One by one they peeled away, finally leaving only Vero. She gave me a big hug.

"Love you girl!" she said. "Have an awesome time – and be careful! See you when you get back!" As she turned to go, she said over her shoulder, "Can't wait to hear all about it!"

I stood and watched her go, and waved to her as she pulled out of the parking lot. I loved my friends. They were so supportive and caring, very loyal. I felt a twinge of guilt that I was getting deeper into this double life, as if I was somehow betraying them. But I also knew that there was no stopping me. I hopped into my car and started driving in silence, reminiscing about my friends.

After a while, out of town and heading south on the interstate, I neared the exit for the outlet mall. I'd been thinking this would be an excellent place to shop for my first outfit. There were also a few other stores I wanted to see, like Pfaltsgraff, the famous dinnerware brand. I was getting bored with mine, and thought I might be able to find something there. I'm a big fan of pretty dishes, and actually had a few sets already that would pull out when the mood struck. A new set would be fun to have. 

I also wanted a new pair of running shoes. My only question was what to do first, clothes, or dishes and shoes? I decided that I needed some time to scout things out, to let my mind catch up with what I was doing. So it would be dishes first, then clothes, then shoes; there was a nice Nike store there.

Of course, what I didn't bargain for was finding the dishes I wanted, much less so quickly. There they were on a big round display in the middle of the store – I spotted the full 8-place dinner setting from halfway across the store, the pattern catching my eye so well. I couldn't keep my eyes off of them! The dinner plates were square, with a beautiful Italian style floral design of pale orange, yellow, rose, shades of blue and light green. The bowls were square, too, and the set came with three serving dishes, and coffee mugs and saucers, and even matching salt and pepper shakers and sugar bowl.

Such a find for me is exciting, and it makes me chatty. The poor sales clerk who helped me must have gone home and told all his friends and family about what a nut he'd sold dishes to that day. I realized as I told him for the third or fourth time how perfect the dishes were, and how well they'd go in my kitchen and dining room, that I was extra chatty because I knew what was coming next. It wasn't apprehension, either. It was excitement.

Not being practical or prudent to carry a full set of dinnerware with me for the rest of vacation, I gave the clerk my information to ship my purchase home, paid, and left the store.

"Okay, Lisa, here we go!" I said to myself, smiling.

I went straight to the Under Armour store to buy some workout clothes. I looked for quite a while, but nothing seemed to strike me as to what I was looking for, which I would know only when I saw it. Then it dawned on me. I was looking through all of the outer layer sports bras and shorts, all of which were tasteful and relatively conservative. What I wanted was something more - or less, rather. I began looking the base layer section, and found what I was looking for, a pair of black 2.5 inch HeatGear microfiber/spandex shorts with a turquoise waist band and no liner, and an unlined microfiber sports bra, turquoise with black trim and accents.

When I tried them on in the dressing room, I was both pleased and breathless. This would be the most daring outfit I'd ever worn, even more than my bikinis through the years. Both the shorts and bra looked almost as if they'd been painted on, barely opaque and showing every curve and valley. In my excited state, my nipples were clearly evident. I quickly changed back into my old clothes and made my purchase before I chickened out.

Carrying my little bag so light that it almost felt empty, I browsed through some stores. I was looking for something decidedly summery, casual and flirtatious, but not obvious. I wanted maintain my innocent look, at least from a distance. Finally, I found a fitted mint green dress with spaghetti straps that flattered my shape, showed a small amount of cleavage, came to mid-thigh, and had a pretty and innocent look.

At the register paying for the dress, it dawned on me what I was to do next: Find a public place to change! In my distraction at the thought, I handed the cashier my library card instead of my credit card. 

"Uh, Ma'am, that ain't gonna work," said the gum-chewing teenager, her hair dyed a third black, two-thirds maroon. There may have been some blonde strands in there too, left over, I presumed, from a previous dyeing experiment. She jerked her head to thrust a maroon bang out of her eye as she raised a pierced brow at me. I fumbled for my credit card and traded with her. The rest of the transaction we spent in silence except for the crinkling of the plastic bag she put the dress into; I was deep in thought.

"Ma'am," I heard her say shortly. Snapping back to reality, I grabbed my card and bag from her and left without saying a word. I heard her gum snap behind me.

Walking back to the car, I searched all of the nooks and crannies I could find. I really hadn't thought this part through, I realized. What seemed so possible in my fantasy, seemed absolutely undoable in reality. I decided quickly that I couldn't do this near the stores, for fear of security cameras, even if I could find a relatively isolated spot. The parking lot, simmering in the heat, was full of cars and people, with too many windows that could have eyes behind them.

So I got in my car and drove on, thinking of my options, realizing three miles away that I'd totally forgotten about the running shoes. The old ones would do for now. As for my options regarding a place to change, really almost any commercial area of any size would be impractical to carry this through, because of the number of people and the possibility of electronic surveillance. I didn't want to spend any of my vacation in jail. Driving down the interstate would afford me few options as well, since rest stops were highly monitored, and so were the gas stations along the way. I'd have to get off the big road and find secondary roads where there were more open spaces, but still people and risk.

I took the next exit and looked at my map, and planned a general route southward through a mixture of small towns and rural areas, seeing that I could end up in a more populated area by early evening. Suddenly, my stomach growled – I'd been so engrossed in my shopping and planning, that I'd forgotten all about eating. There was a McDonald's ahead of me on the right, so I pulled through the drive thru and ate my salad in the car.

On my way again, I found myself in beautiful rolling countryside. I rolled down my windows and breathed in the hot air. Passing a farm, I saw tractors mowing hay. The smell was glorious! I passed through a small town, getting caught at both of its traffic lights. About two miles out of town, on the left side of the two-lane road, at a bend in the stream which paralleled the road, was a small pull-off, with one of those white historic signs and a picnic table. I turned off the road onto the gravel parking area. Nothing but woods and farm land was visible in any direction. I turned off the engine. I sat for perhaps a minute, listening to my heart beat inside my chest, and stared into space.

"Yes," I said finally, matter-of-factly. "Yes."

I pulled my new dress out of the bag and got out of the car. I stood there at first, not quite knowing how to proceed. Then, my mind calming and becoming clearer, I walked over to the picnic table, about 30 feet away on a gentle rise above the parking area. I went around the table to the far side, facing the road. I laid the dress on the table in front of me.

"God, Lisa," I said, pleased with myself. I was really going to do this! In a sudden surge of emotion and sexual arousal, my mind and body craved to be naked.

I kicked off my flip flops. Listening for oncoming traffic, and hearing none, I put my thumbs in the waistband of my running shorts and tugged them down as far as I could while still seated, feeling the breeze at the top of my exposed butt. I listened one more time. Only something in the distance. 

"Yes!" I said again, and, standing, I pulled down my shorts and quickly stepped out of them. I sat down with a thud, feeling bashful and excited. I could hear the car getting closer. I debated about whether I could get my tank top and bra off and the dress on before it passed by. Being unsure, I panicked for a moment and started to pull off my top, but then, the sound getting even louder, I tugged it back down and crossed my legs, hoping to God that the coming car didn't contain a hungry family out for a picnic at their favorite roadside stop. I put my elbow on the table, chin in hand, hoping to look nonchalant. 

The car breezed by. I don't think the driver, who looked like a middle aged man, even glanced my way. Even so, the high I felt at that moment was better than all the joints I'd smoked in high school put together. I felt a wild mixture of turned on, dirty, perverted, very vulnerable, naughty, demeaned, and yet thrilled and desirable and so sexy. About 60 feet away a strange man had sped right by me; I was in plain view, sitting there with not a stitch on below my waist, my bare ass and pussy resting on the wooden bench of the picnic table.

I sat there for a few moments after he passed, breathing fast and shallow, drinking in all of my feelings and emotions. I heard another car in the distance. Time to finish what I'd started!

Now in less of a hurry, and able to enjoy what I was doing, and knowing I had about 30 seconds before the car came by, I pulled off my tank top. Still seated, I looked down at myself, my beige bra all that was covering me. My pubic hair looked sexy between my parted legs, against the backdrop of the well worn, dark red picnic table bench. Now I reached back and released my bra, which I slipped off and tossed on the ground. I had about ten seconds left, I guessed. I stood, very naked, and pulled the dress on over my head as fast as I could. I fumbled with getting one hand through the thin shoulder strap properly, but just as a pickup came into view, the dress was settling into place. A man was asleep on the passenger side, toward me. The driver glanced over as he passed, an arm over the steering wheel. 

Hearing the truck fade away, I giggled with delight. This was more fun than I'd ever had! I left my old clothes where they were and walked back to my car. I looked back up at the table to see my bra cast off to one side on the ground, my running shorts next to my flip flops under the table, and my tank top rumpled on top of the table. The new dress felt wonderful on my naked skin underneath. From the car, I got out one of my bags and retrieved a pair of flat, burgundy leather sandals to go with my dress.

In the car and back on the road, I turned up the radio and sang along with abandon. A few hours later, at 7:30, I found a Days Inn on the edge of town and got a room. It had a pool, I noticed, and a small weight room. Next door was a Denny's. Before going up to my room, I crossed the parking lot to get a bite to eat at the restaurant. There were a few weary travelers eating quietly, scattered about the dining room. I asked for a booth so I could be a little more comfortable. 

At a table nearby, an older couple ate silently, not looking at one another. I have always wondered about couples like these. Are they bored with one another, or is their silence a sign of total contentment with one another, so much so that verbal communication is unnecessary? 




The Cubicle Ch. 05



Beyond them was a man in jeans and a baseball cap, concentrating on his pancake-and-eggs dinner. I caught him glancing my way.

A man in his early to mid twenties was my waiter – Zach, he said his name was as he brought my ice water. He was cute. He had dark, disheveled hair, a little goatee and a smirky, coy grin. I ordered baked fish and broccoli, with a caffeine-free Diet Coke, looking him directly in the eyes when I handed him my menu, letting my gaze linger a moment past the traditional point to look away. He cleared his throat nervously and his voice got tight as he told me he'd be right back with my drink.

"Careful, Lisa, you don't want to give him the wrong idea," I said to myself. I was tired from the day's drive and the heat, and I knew that my weariness was causing me to let my guard down a bit. I was also emotionally very tired, I realized, still being on a high from the events of the last almost 24 hours, but I didn't want to come off of it. Doing so would require some self-discipline, remembering, after all, that I still had a full two weeks ahead of me. No sense in being impatient.

Still, that didn't mean I couldn't have a little fun. I crossed my legs and pulled up the hem of my dress to show more thigh for Zach when he returned with my drink. I watched his eyes as he set it down. Yep, he looked. I smiled warmly at him. After my meal came, he checked on me often. I stretched for him a couple of times, telling him how tired I was from my traveling. He drank me in. When Zach brought the check, the man in the baseball cap was still there, stealing glances my way. I'd heard him say earlier, flirting with his waitress, that he had four more hours to go tonight. I hoped I'd given him something to think about while the miles passed by.

I said goodnight to Zach and got my two small bags out of the car, as well as the little one from Under Armour. I rode the elevator to the fourth floor and found my room. I had in mind to go for a lazy swim before going to bed, so I pulled out the bra and shorts, which I figured would have to do for a bathing suit. I was about to pull off my dress to put them on when I remembered my pact: Any new outfit I had to put on for the first time someplace public, and leave the old clothes there! I sat down to think, in a real dilemma. Changing into the workout clothes wasn't my issue – I welcomed the new opportunity to repeat what I'd experienced early in the day. I wasn't even overly concerned about going down to the little weight room in the morning to work out. My dilemma was whether I would attract too much attention wearing them tomorrow as I shopped for another outfit. It would be highly unusual to go shopping in workout clothes without at least pulling on a t-shirt and decent shorts overtop. 

I decided to play it safe. It was too early yet in my adventure to bite off more than I could chew. So I opted for a long, cool shower instead. Thinking about my dilemma, I realized that I'd have to make one exception with my workout clothes: I'd still change into them for the first time someplace public, but I have to give myself permission to change back into regular clothes to go shopping.Otherwise, I'd never avoid the dilemma! After my shower, I toweled dry, slipped into bed, the cool sheets feeling good against my skin, and flipped through the channels on TV, not really seeing or hearing anything. I turned off the TV, clicked the light off and rolled over to my stomach with a contented sigh. 

It had been an excellent first day of my two weeks of reverie and freedom.

To be continued ...



The Cubicle Ch. 06



I laughed as I came to my senses early the next morning. The sheets were in a wad around my upper half, my naked butt poking out from the tangle of sheets. My pillow was wet with drool. I must've slept well! In the bathroom, I saw in the mirror that my skin was etched with the impression of the knotted bed clothes, and my hair was a mess.

I wanted some exercise before I did anything else. I reached for my new workout clothes, but remembered the pact that I'd made: First time changing into anything new had to be done somewhere "unprivate," leaving my previous outfit right there wherever I changed. I didn't want to give up my summer dress yet, so I wrapped myself in a bath towel, picked up my workout clothes, and cracked open the door to my room. I could hear people stirring in the room above me, so even though it was Sunday morning, I'd have to be careful. As I peeked out, I heard someone coming, so I quickly let the door close. The sound of footsteps and a rolling suitcase passed by.

I thought of chickening out, of making an exception. After all, I really wasn't completely awake yet! But the thought of not going through with it disappointed me. Deep within, a voice said, "No, Lisa, you must."

"I must," I parroted in a whisper. "I must." And then the feelings from the day before came over me, and I knew that I would obey the voice. It was as if i had no choice. Taking a deep breath, I peeked out of the door again, and, hearing nothing, opened it, flipping the door lock to keep the door from closing behind me. I scampered as quickly and quietly as I could down the hall toward the small recessed area for the vending machines.

Once there, I dropped the towel from me. My naked body was reflected in the glass of the junk food machine. I could see clearly my dark nipples and pubic hair. I struggled getting the bra on over my head – fortunately with my hair the way it w, I didn't have to worry about it. Then I wiggled into the shorts. On the way back to my room, I heard voices behind me as a door clanged open. I ducked back into my room.

Giggling quietly, I was immensely glad at what I'd done. My breathing was shallow. Their was a deep craving and resolve to continue my pact to the end of my vacation. It shocked me, really, because in the moments before I drifted off to sleep only seven or eight hours ago, I'd considered whether I'd gotten my fill of the reverie and freedom, as I'd come to call it. Clearly, I had not gotten my fill. With the voice came an important epiphany: This was a compulsion, something I had to do. Leaning on the inside of my hotel room door, I realized that I enjoyed the risk for an important reason – that I didn't want to be in control, and the risks I was taking had to do with wanting to feel base, degraded and dirty. I would obey the Voice in my head no matter what, I decided. I must trust it.

I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My new microfiber sports bra did little to hide anything. My nipples poked out through the thin, unlined turquoise material, and the dark areola of each breast shown through faintly, but clearly enough. The shorts were low-rise, so a lot of skin was on display between my breasts and hips. In the bright light, I could see the shadow of my public hair contrasting with my pale skin through my shorts. Both bra and shorts were skin tight, leaving no doubt as to the contours of my body. Turning, I saw how the shorts showed off the roundness of my ass.

"God, Lisa," I said, staring in disbelief.

Gazing at myself, I brushed my hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. About to turn for the door, I heard the Voice say, "Roll down your waistband." I looked again into the mirror and complied, turning it down an inch or so, baring the points of my hips.

My trip down to the workout room and the workout itself were uneventful. Few people were up and about yet, it being Sunday morning. No one came in the room while i worked out. i ran on the treadmill for a half hour, working up a shiny sweat that made my nipples more visible. On the way to the breakfast room afterwards, I did pass a man in the hallway, who seemed to dwell on me during our short encounter. I blushed and couldn't bear to look at him. 

The breakfast room was surprisingly crowded, however. I almost decided not to go in, and wouldn't have if I were not so hungry. I felt eyes from all directions while I hastily acquired a bagel, a packet of cream cheese, and an orange juice. My sweaty face turned hotter. I left with the food in my hands and hurried back to my room. Inside, I sat at the little table and ate, sweat pouring off of me, reliving those moments of embarrassment. I couldn't understand why I felt aroused, and fought the urge to strip and rub myself to an orgasm.

Finished eating, I brushed my teeth. I was about to hop in the shower, but the Voice said, simply, "No, pack your things and go on your way." I obeyed.

Four hours later, I parked at a fast food restaurant and found a cabin in the mountains online while I ate a salad in the car. I made reservations for three nights. It was another four hours' drive. Heading out of town, I spotted a mall, and changed into my summer dress (since I'd already worn it, I could change in private now), finally peeling off my workout clothes. In the mall, I found a pair of nylon shorts with deep pockets, a loose fitting white cropped tank top that would be comfy in the heat, a small, floral backpack and some plastic water bottles for the hiking I was planning to do.

Nearing the mountains, I decided it was time to change into my new clothes – the Voice had told me not to use the air conditioning in the car, so I was sticky and craving the feel of fresh clothes. Passing through a small town, I spotted a narrow walkway between two frame storefronts on Main Street. I found a parking place and, carrying the bag containing my new outfit, I did a little window shopping. The stores had just closed for the day. Gradually, the street became empty, and I went to investigate the walkway. 

I peeked into the shadows, then looked around. No one was coming, at least along Main Street. I walked the length of the walkway; it was only a few feet wide. Reaching the other end, I saw a near empty parking lot. This was perfect.

I walked to the middle of the walkway and was about to remove my dress. But I had an idea that I knew came from the Voice. I continued to the Main Street end of the walkway and set down the bag containing my new clothes. Then I turned and made my way to the other end. There, I stopped, my heart pounding. I reached back and unzipped the dress, and pulled it off, dropping it to the concrete. Now wearing nothing but my sandals, I walked slowly toward my new outfit. Two-thirds of the way there, a couple walked past the entrance to the passageway. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt so terribly vulnerable. Reaching my clothes, I put the top on first, and as I stepped into my shorts, a man walked quickly by, unaware that a few feet from him in the shadows was a half-naked, sweaty but attractive woman. 

My heart pounded in my chest for the next hour as I completed my long trip. I picked up the key to my cabin and some groceries at a general store, acutely aware that it was pretty obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra, not to mention the fact that I was beginning to smell like a person who hadn't showered.

It was beginning to get dark ten minutes later when I drove up the gravel track to my cabin. It was a cozy little thing, a one-bedroom shanty with a porch nestled in the woods in a ravine. I could hear voices a hundred yards off or so, which I presumed to be my nearest neighbors. 

It was much more humid in the woods, so the heat felt almost oppressive. Already, my new clothes were most with perspiration. On the front porch, I took everything off and hung my top and shorts on a nail to air out. My body was shiny, my hair flat and dull. I hadn't shaved my legs since Friday morning, so they were beginning to feel prickly. 

But for some reason, it felt good. 

I fixed a banana sandwich in the dim light of the kitchen, and sat in the rocker on the front porch as the day faded into night. I spread my legs obscenely over the arm rests and tweaked my nipples as I ate. As I chewed my last bite, I slipped a finger into my sweaty, smelly pubic hair, between the folds of my pussy, and found my hungry clitoris, moaning as I hit the bull's eye. I came four times, my ecstatic cries resounding in the darkness. I smelled and tasted my fingers ravenously, the mixture of pungent, salty sweat and erotic juices filling my senses. I was in heaven.

I woke early the next morning, the birds making beautiful music to begin the day. It had cooled a bit overnight, but it was still humid. I lay there musing for a while, my fingers tracing the contours of my tits. It felt good again to be thinking of myself in vulgar terms: tits, pussy, cunt, ass, dirty. 

After I peed, I fixed a bowl of cereal and went out on the porch to listen to the birds. The morning air caressed my nakedness. Leaning back as I ate, a foot slung over the arm of the rocker, I imagined what that must look like from where my car was parked, my pussy on display. I giggled. In the morning light, I could see the dark stubble on my legs. I wondered if it would match my auburn hair. Under my arms there was visible stubble too. 

I decided to go on a hike. On the map I found a trail fifteen minutes or so away that went to a mountaintop that I wanted to try. So I threw some trail food together, filled my bottles, reluctantly put on my top and shorts and running shoes and headed out. It would be an eight mile hike, the information I had said, the first half, of course, being the challenging part since it climbed the mountain. After the top, there was a loop of about two miles before it met up with the main trail back down the mountain to the road. I was glad to have a rigorous workout ahead of me.

Rigorous was an understatement! The first mile and a half was fairly level, but then the trail turned into a snake, winding its way steeply up the side of the mountain. As the sun got higher in the sky, of course, the heat combined with humidity to create an oven like feeling. I loved it, though, for the sake of the exertion and the beautiful scenery. I didn't see any wildlife like I'd hoped, but the forest was deep and serene. Neither did I see any people, which didn't surprise me, since there were no other cars in the small parking area below. Even so, I behaved myself during the climb up the trail, concentrating on the exercise and experience of being deep in the mountain forest. I drank in the rich aroma of the trees with each labored breath, my thighs burning from the exertion. The thin cotton of my loose top stuck to me, drenched in sweat and becoming a bit translucent. 

Panting, I made it to the summit, where there was a series of rock outcroppings perfect for resting and enjoying the incredible view over the valley below. I found a spot in the shade on a large flat-topped rock a little higher than the trail, which was about 50 feet away. I sat down, the rock feeling surprisingly cool against the backs of my legs, even in the heat. I opened another water bottle, noting that I'd already had more than half of my supply. I didn't find that too concerning since the descent would not be as difficult. 

Catching my breath, I decided to take my clothes off to air out a bit. I found a suitable branch to hang them in the sun about 30 feet away, back toward the trail. I went back to my spot in the shade and laid down, appreciating the coolness of the rock on my bare skin. Propping my head on my backpack, I looked down the length of my toned body, framed between my breasts, beyond my flat six pack, my bush glistening with sweat and my athletic thighs was a gorgeous view. I could see tiny cars on a road sparkling in the sunshine a couple of miles away, but other than that, it was a panorama of green trees and mountains. Two hawks circled lazily high in the humid, hazy air.

A single dark cloud eased into view, and I could see a shower falling from it. I hoped it would pass over me. Sure enough, the slight breeze set it on course for me, and for three or four glorious minutes, I got a rinse from Mother Nature. Laughing, I stood and danced in the rain, the cool, clean water refreshing and invigorating me. The cloud moved on, and the sun shone again. I sat cross-legged in the sunshine to dry off a bit and then as the heat returned, I laid back down in the shade and dozed off.

I don't know how long I flirted with sleep, but gradually I became aware of male voices that were growing louder, accompanied by the clunking of hiking boots on the rock laden trail. At first, I thought I was dreaming. But suddenly they seemed very real, and very close. I sat up and spun toward the trail. About a hundred feet away through the thick brush, I saw movement in the direction I'd come from – perhaps a baseball cap and a red t-shirt. I wanted to run for my clothes, but I panicked. I was afraid they'd see me. Besides, perhaps they'd just pass me by, so the risk of being seen scampering naked seemed unnecessary. A feeling of dread came over me.

I rolled onto my stomach, laying low, so I could watch them. My nipples on the cool rock reminded me of how vulnerable I was. I looked longingly at my clothes hanging in plain view and hoped the men were too engrossed in their conversation to notice.

Panting, one of them said, "Damn! That was a climb!"

"No shit!" Was the breathless reply.

There was the sound of breathing and and heavy footsteps. 

"I'm ready for a break, man."

"Goddam, you ain't kiddin'" was the laughing reply. 

The footsteps stopped as they looked around. I saw the baseball cap turn in my direction.

"C'mon ... "

The footsteps resumed, coming right at me. Hugging the rock, I frantically looked around for an escape. To my left, the rock sloped off to the ground about six feet below. I grabbed my backpack and scrambled off the rock, then downhill toward the front of it where it rose about ten feet above me. 

As I became still, I picked up on their conversation again, having missed some of it while in the process of hiding.

"I don't know."

"I don't see anyone."

"Neither do I."

"Seems like an odd place to leave clothes."

"Probably somebody airing out stuff after the rain the other night, and they forgot 'em."

"Yeah, hard to say."

I heard boots on the rock right above me. I pressed into the face of the rock, trembling.

"Dammit, I hate it when people can't pick up after themselves."

"Yeah, it's fucking aggravating as hell."

"Remember the time we found all those tin cans?"

"Hell yes!"

"We'll, obviously, there's no one here, so we might as well pack this bitch's clothes out of here. Hate for this place to get trashed up."

I wanted to scream! My mind raced – I could call out to them and ask that they please leave my clothes; on the other hand, I was naked, alone in the wilderness with two men, who could easily do what they wanted with me. I was scared.

So I did nothing. I cowered below the rock for the next half hour, listening to them ramble on about girls, their wives, sports, jobs and even politics. Finally, they decided it was time to go.

"Don't forget the bitch's clothes," one said, laughing.

"Damn, they're still wet from that rain!"

I heard a backpack zipper open, a rummaging sound as my clothes disappeared into the pack, and then, receding voices and footsteps. I stayed in my hiding place for another five minutes or so, to make sure the men were well on their way. Then I crept around and back up onto the rock. I looked to the place where I'd hung my clothes, confirming what I already knew. I had no clothes whatsoever. 

My emotions were in a tumultuous conflict. I squatted down, hugging myself to cover my nakedness, stifling sobs. At the same time, I relished what was happening. I realized my sobs were more about the fact that I liked this, that instead of being truly horrified, I liked the feeling of absolute vulnerability, that this happened without my consent or control. I was sobbing because I was scared of my feelings, because I was gladly relinquishing control. I buried my face in my hands.

"God, Lisa! What's becoming of you?"

I sat down and considered what to do. First of all, I was thankful at least that I'd left my shoes on. I also had my pack with water and food. The question was how to get down the mountain without being seen. The trail didn't afford many ample views of the way ahead to spot oncoming hikers. And how would I hide quickly if necessary? These were questions without many ready answers, I decided. I was just going to have to start walking.

Before standing up, I looked out across the valley one more time. It was the middle of the afternoon now, another six or so hours of daylight ahead, plenty to get back to my car. I was relieved that I'd been lucky enough to put my car keys in the pack instead of my shorts. 

I realized that I needed to pee for the first time since I'd gotten out of bed – I lost most of what I'd had to drink through perspiration, but since I'd had a lot during my rest stop on top of the mountain, I needed to go. I rose to a squat and watched as the dark yellow pungent stream ran down the slope of the rock. I had nothing to wipe with, but decided that it didn't matter. I rose and felt a few drops run down my inner thighs. It felt good to be dirty.

The feeling of exposure as I began down the trail was tremendous. The pressure of the straps of my backpack made my tits feel especially exposed. I walked cautiously, stopping frequently to listen. I decided to skip the loop portion of the trail, since I was unfamiliar with it, and it would add two miles to the return trip. In the portion with the switchbacks, I heard clambering footsteps. It sounded like a group of people. I climbed off the trail, up a rock and into a small crevice about ten feet above and waited. The voices were young, both male and female, perhaps late teen or college age. The flirting among them was obvious and silly as they noisily went past. I realized as I lay there that if they were laying attention, they might catch a glimpse of me, since the trail rose quickly, overlooking my hiding place. I was glad for the thick foliage to camouflage me. Even so, my pale skin seemed to glow in contrast to my surroundings. I held my breath until they were past.

Moving on, I reached the flatter part of the trail without encountering anyone else. I could hear traffic in the road now. My pace slowed as I grew more cautious, since as the woods opened up, there were fewer obvious places to run for cover, and being closer to the road, I guessed that my chances of encountering people were greater. The trail wasn't as rocky, either, which meant that footsteps were harder to hear. 

Behind me, I heard laughter and voices from around the bend, coming closer, and quickly. Instinctively, I ran off the trail, searching desperately for a hiding place. Now I heard a sort of galloping sound, the thudding of many feet on the dirt. Twenty feet from the trail, I leapt behind a large tree and squatted, peering through the underbrush toward the trail. I saw familiar faces whiz by from left to right. It was the same group I'd seen before, and they apparently were racing back to the parking area.

I sat down in the leaves to rest and to give the runners some time put more distance between us. I got out a water bottle and drank. It felt so gloriously strange to be naked in the woods, literally miles from clothing. If anyone saw me, everything about me would be evident. At 33, I was too old to be considered young enough to be doing what I was doing, so immediately, there would be the indication that something was different about me. At 5'7, my long, toned legs, my perky tits and hard, flat stomach, I knew that I exuded sexuality. Sitting there I could smell myself. My prickly legs were not hiding the dark stubble rising up out of my pale skin. My pubic hair was neglected as well. It was I trimmed and unkempt, stubble growing on the sides where I usually shaped things up with a razor. A person would see all of this, and know that I was depraved, perverted, base.




The Cubicle Ch. 06



Finishing my water, I stood and returned to the trail, thinking about these things. In another ten minutes, I could hear the traffic clearly, and even voices. I realized I was almost back to the parking area. From the sounds I was hearing, however, there were people milling around. I went off the trail and crept closer, finally crawling under some thick bushes until I could see the cars. Sure enough, the group of young people was there, socializing. I also saw the men who had my clothes, sitting in the bed of a pickup drinking beers. They were parked right next to my car. I could see that it was going to be a long wait!

A while later, one of the men hopped out of the truck and headed toward me into the brush. I cowered under a bush in the deep shadows. The man kept glancing over his shoulder, coming to within twenty feet of me, and then suddenly stopped. All that was visible was his lower half. Facing me, his back to the cars, I watched his hands unzip his shorts, find his penis and pull it out. I watched, eyes wide and mouth covered for fear of making any noise. His penis was surprisingly long, and so was the amount of time that he peed! The beer must have gone right through him. It flashed through my mind that his penis would be even longer if he knew I was there. He sighed a few times. The steam pattered onto the leaves on the ground, reduced to a trickle, then to drops. He shook himself, pushed it back inside his shorts, zipped and walked back to his truck.

Next, two girls noisily clambered through the bushes, apparently on a similar mission. Understandably, they required a bit more privacy, so they came farther, a little past me on my left. Giggling, they squatted together, just out of my view behind a tree. I could hear the watery sound on the dry leaves.

After they left, I finally saw people get into a car, heard an engine start and tires roll on the gravel. There was more laughter and conversation as the car idled. Then, the car accelerated away. I heard car doors slam and another engine start, then another as they sped off. The men who had my clothes were all who remained. They sat and talked for a while, the shadows becoming long. Finally they stood. I one pick up his pack, rummaging in it for something. He pulled out something and put it in his pocket. Then he pulled out an energy bar and unwrapped it, taking a bite. 

"Hey!" I heard him say. "Here!" He reached into the pack and pulled out something white and tossed it into the face of his friend.

"Goddam!" The friend said, recoiling and throwing the cloth back at his taunter. "Nasty, man! You don't know where that's been!"

The taunter held it up. It was my top, still heavy with sweat and rainwater. He reached in his pack again and retrieved my shorts.

"I don't know, man, from the size of them, maybe the bitch was hot!"

"In your goddam wet dreams, dude!" They belly-laughed together.

The taunter threw my clothes on the floor of the truck's bed and hopped out, getting into the cab with his friend. The engine started, and the truck sped away. As the dust settled, I was amazed at the sudden quiet. I waited a minute or so, and crawled out from under the bushes. As I walked I found my car keys in the pocket of my pack. At the edge of the parking area, hearing no oncoming traffic, I trotted over to my car and got in. 

I'd never driven naked before. It was an odd feeling, but a nice one, with the air from my open windows playing across my grimy flesh. I pulled into my cabin driveway 15 minutes later. It was almost dark. I fixed myself a salad, noting that I'd need to get more groceries tomorrow. I ate in my usual spot in the rocker on the porch in the soft glow from the light inside the cabin, thinking about the day's events.

"God, Lisa!" I said, smiling. "You dirty, dirty girl!"

After my meal, I got up to do the dishes. I had drunk a lot of water since getting back to the cabin, and my bladder was beginning to feel it. Drying my plate and placing it in the drainer, I started toward the bathroom. Before I sat on the toilet, I heard the Voice command, "Lisa, no more bathrooms during your trip."

I let out a gasp. I stood staring down at the commode, considering the meaning of this, afraid of the answers. 

"Shit, Lisa!" I was too stunned to appreciate the pun embedded in my curse. I knew what it meant: I would not use a bathroom until I got home, period. I'd go outside. If I was in a hotel room, I would not use the bathroom. In fact, I would not use any sort of receptacle, like a bowl. I must find a place to do my business where others might find it.

"Shit, Lisa!" I repeated, ignoring the fact that this was not language I normally used. "What the hell is becoming of you?" I didn't want to believe it was the Voice. I stood there, frozen, my bladder aching. 

"Lisa, you must do it." It was the Voice.

I turned toward the front door and stepped out onto the porch, sitting on the top step, knees together, trembling. This was an idea utterly foreign to me, something that had never crossed my mind. Sure, I'd had to use the woods before, like today on my hike, and during college at concerts when the port-a-johns were all occupied. But that was always as a last resort, with a degree of privacy and modicum, a measure of dignity. But I always used a bathroom when one was available. The idea of not doing so had never crossed my mind, and my first response to it was disgust. 

My reaction was all the stronger since the command clearly intended that I not use a bathroom under any circumstances. The idea was the ultimate in degrading to me, to think of squatting to leave a puddle and pile someplace where not only someone might be unlucky enough to find it later, but also where I might be discovered creating the nasty mess. 

But I also felt that now familiar feeling of being pleased by such a degrading idea. "Shit, Lisa!" I said again, resting my head on my knees. I began to cry again. I was truly scared. I knew that I could not say no to this. Sniffling, I stood and walked down the steps into the driveway behind the car. "Do, it, Lisa!" I whimpered through tears. I squatted and let my pee go, listening to it splash into the gravel. I had nothing to wipe with again, but it didn't matter. I felt lingering drops of pee run down my thighs again as I walked back into the cabin. I went straight to bed.

To be continued ...



The Cubicle Ch. 07



I didn't really sleep much that night. Mostly, I tossed and turned, my naked, sweaty, smelly body clinging to the sheet under me, the covers in a heap on the floor.

As the night progressed, embarrassment for my state of mind and behavior grew to the point that I could feel waves of red hot color fill my face. I felt ridiculous and perverse. I began to crave a shower and real clothing like never before. Panic began to set in too, as I wondered how I would find some clothes -- I needed them desperately if I was to be able to be seen in public, which, of course, I needed to do since I was out of food, too.

At about 4:30 a.m., I gave up trying to sleep. A subdued thunderstorm was lazily passing through, so I walked out onto the porch with a glass of water to sit down and watch it. There were distant flashes of lightning with low rumblings rolling over head. Gradually the lightning subsided, and a steady rain fell.

I must've drifted off to slept finally, because the next time I opened my eyes, the first hint of daybreak was in the sky. I rubbed my stiff neck, got up and stretched. Needing to pee, I walked out into the rain and squatted. I rain was cold on my skin, but it felt glorious. Finished, I stood and spread my arms and turned my face skyward, relishing the feeling of the clean water trickling down my body.

My reverie ended with another spasm of shame. I hugged myself, covering my breasts with my arms, and walked back inside. I stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, lost in thought, a small puddle forming at my feet.

I nodded to myself, found my thin, smelly spandex bra and equally thin spandex shorts, and pulled them on. In the bathroom mirror, I could see my nipples protruding. I blushed again, but turn with resolve and grabbed my car keys, hopped in the car and left. 

Several miles down the road, I turned into a campground, and drove until I found the laundry and bathhouse in the middle of the looping drive that made its way around the place. It was light now, but only a few people were stirring, preferring, I'm sure, to stay sheltered from the steady rain.

I parked at the bathhouse and looked around before I got out. I could see no one through the underbrush, although the aroma of cooking bacon made me almost dizzy with hunger. I quietly got out of the car and slipped into the laundry. Inside the smell of dryer sheets competed with the bacon. 

On the small counter was exactly what I'd been hoping to find: someone had left a basket of laundry, figuring to retrieve it once the rain stopped. I prayed that it was clean, and that something would fit me. I hurriedly rifled through the clothes -- they felt and smelled clean. It was an assortment of t-shirts, men's underwear, socks, and some jeans. I grabbed a purple t-shirt and dug hopefully for a pair of shorts. I was about to give up when I found a pair in the bottom of the basket. They were blue sweatpants with a drawstring that had been cut off. Perfect!

Worried about being caught with my pilfered wardrobe, I hastily folded the clothes and held them close to my chest and scurried out to the car and hid the clothes under the seat. I looked around furtively: no one. I sighed in relief, and as calmly as I could, backed back out into the narrow road, and gently drove the rest of the loop and out of the campground.

I was shaking as I pulled back onto the main road to go back to the cabin. I'd never stolen anything in my life! I felt horrible, even though it was just a t-shirt and a pair of make-do shorts. My crime, small as it was, only gave me more resolve to fix myself, and return to the decent, normal woman I was so recently -- and to erase all traces of the horrible, slutty pervert I'd become.

Back at the cabin, I grabbed the clothes, got my bag of make up and toiletries out of the trunk, and almost ran inside. I turned on the shower and got in, still wearing my bra and shorts. The warm water felt glorious. After soaking my hair, I squirted a gob of shampoo into my hair and lathered. I moaned with ecstasy as if I was having an orgasm, if felt so good. I pulled off my bra and shorts, dropping them to the shower floor, and used copious amounts of body wash. I could almost feel the smell and grime falling away.

Next, I shaved my legs, underarms, and between my legs, leaving my usual, tidy landing strip -- stepping out of the shower, I trimmed it to perfection. I toweled off and grabbed my bra and shorts, throwing them in the sink, filling it with hot water topped off with a gob of shampoo.

I let them soak while I dried my hair and put on my makeup. I drained the water and rinsed the bra and shorts, using the hair dryer to dry them. I pulled them on, and the stolen shorts overtop. Even with the drawstring, I could barely get them tight enough to stay on. But they did cover me. Next, the t-shirt -- it was way too big for me, but at least my nipples didn't show, and they hid the fact that the shorts were enormous too.

It was then then that I noticed what it said on the t-shirt: Above a cartoon of a buxom woman exploding out of a bikini top and holding a frothy beer stein were the words, "Beer & Tits;" just below her bust it said, "Life is good!"

Shaking my head in disgust, I pulled it off, turned it inside out, and put it on again. I looked ridiculous, but I felt so much better covered up. The outfit would do until I could buy some better clothes. 

Stomach growling, I packed up my things and put them in the car. I went back inside for one more check to make sure I wasn't leaving anything. I was cutting my stay here one night short, but I didn't want to come back. I was ready to go to the beach and be a normal person. I threw my key on the kitchen table and left ...

A week later, my adventures at the cabin were a distant memory. I had driven to the closest town and bought several cute, tasteful outfits, along with a new bra and some cotton bikini underwear. I altogether abandoned my practice of changing clothes in public places, as well as the disgusting idea of relieving myself in public places. In fact, I altogether abandoned any thought of it. I kept up with my grooming, shaving my legs and underarms, and keeping myself tidy between my legs. I felt feminine again; it felt incredible to have smooth legs and underarms again, and hair that felt like hair. I felt normal, decent, wholesome again. I became the nice girl I'd once been, with a determination never to allow that slutty girl to surface again. 

I found a nice hotel a few blocks from the water -- the beachfront hotels were full. The first day I slept late and shopped during the early afternoon. I found a couple of cute bathing suits, a one-piece -- tastefully classic black -- and a solid purple string bikini that wasn't skimpy. I wore the one-piece late that afternoon, wearing a cute pale orange cover-up during the walk to my place in the sand.

And that's how my days and nights went -- I enjoyed the solitude, the long evening meals at sunset on the decks of family-oriented restaurants, taking drives during the heat of the day inland to poke around knick-knack shops in sleepy towns, usually sleeping late, with a late afternoon visit to the beach after the crowds had shrunk a bit. At night back in my room, I watched the Hallmark channel, and had some good cries at the happy endings. I even wrote a few postcards, one to my mother, to a few friends and an obligatory one to my boss.

Occasionally, my time at the cabin would flash through my mind, as well as my risky behavior at work, and I would feel the heat come to my face and I'd sigh sharply, ashamed. The Voice was almost silent -- occasionally, I could hear it ever so faintly, like a whisper carried by the wind. I would scold myself severely if I felt any temptation to hear what it was saying. Once, in a small town about 20 miles from the beach, when I was near the back of the store enjoying sampling the scents of several homemade soaps (I bought the one called "Wildflower"), I heard the whisper and paused to try to make out what it was saying. Dismayed, I scolded myself, out loud without realizing it. I'm not sure what I said, or how intelligible it was, but the store clerk came around the corner wanting to know if I'd asked for her.

By Thursday, I'd become a little bored with the short walk down to my spot among families and couples, so I decided to try another more secluded beach 17 miles down the coast. It was in a wildlife refuge, which sounded nice, and had easy access from a parking area by the main road. There were about ten cars when I arrived in the middle of the afternoon.

A long, wooden walkway traversed the dunes to the beach. The beach was narrow here, and backed by thick, green dune grass. The sand was speckled with seashells. Delighted, I turned south and walked for ten minutes, without going far because I stopped often to examine and collect shells.

I found a spot with a hundred yards between me and two couples on either side. I spread my towel on the sand and sat down, leaving my coverup on to protect me from the sun, which was quite warm. A gull swooped overhead, and other birds I couldn't identify ran in the sand, chasing the receding water, only to have to turn and run when the water revived its own courage to chase the bird. This was an absolutely delightful place, and I was sorry I hadn't tried it earlier in the week.

I spent two beautiful hours watching the waves and the birds. I even saw a school of dolphins arching through the water several hundred yards out. It was mostly sand in either direction, with the occasional umbrella interrupting the view. There were more parking areas all along this stretch of beach, but since most people preferred to be close to their hotels, the human population was relatively sparse, but there were just enough people that I felt safe to be a lone female.

The sun began to cool a bit, so I doffed my coverup. I was glad I'd worn my purple bikini, since the breeze felt good on my skin. I skipped happily down to the water and played in the surf until my muscles ached from treading water and struggling against the waves. 

I collapsed on my towel, cheerfully exhausted, feeling the sun dry my skin. I sat up, knees against my chest, elbows on my knees, and drank in the scene. Life was good!

Looking south, far beyond the couple lying under an umbrella a hundred yards away, I saw a male form jogging up the beach on the hard, wet sand toward me. Watching for the next few minutes, I became mesmerized by how he looked almost as if his growing silhouette were floating through the waves of heat coming off the sand. Lost in a trance, I was startled back to my senses when I heard what I thought was an audible voice: "Lisa, you know you want to."

Confused, I grabbed my coverup and hugged it close to me as I stood, looking behind me, and all around. But there was no one. Bewildered, still hugging my coverup, I sat down. I started to scold myself, especially since I felt a twinge of arousal.

"Dammit, Lisa," I said, about to launch into a tirade against myself. I was interrupted, and this time, I knew it was the Voice.

"Take your top off now, Lisa," it commanded. I trembled, straining to resist, looking for resolve to disobey.

"Take it off now, Lisa. You know you want to," it commanded again. I felt hot all over, and every nerve in my body, both physical and emotional, agreed. 

I hugged my knees to my chest and weakly pleaded with the Voice, "God, no, I mean, this is so wrong, please, please, please ..." Now I realized -- feeling the uninvited rush of emotional and physical pleasure -- that I was pleading with myself to obey the Voice.

I looked toward the runner. He was just beyond the couple and their umbrella. Still seated with my knees still up, I reached to the back of my neck and untied the string, and then behind my back and tugged that string. I felt my top loosen. I was breathing fast now. I spread my knees and sat crossed legged, and my top fell away. I brushed it aside. My nipples were very erect, and I felt the breeze across my bared breasts. Obeying the Voice, which barked still more orders, I did as I was told. Before the runner could see the details, but not until I was pretty sure he could see that I wasn't wearing a top, I drew my knees up to my chest again. 

Even so, I felt very exposed. I pretended not to be watching him, but I could tell he was watching me. He slowed his pace as he neared. He was trying not to be obvious, but he was in spite of himself. I felt myself blushing, my chin down, as if staring at the sand. My heart was pounding. When he was even with me, he smiled nervously and waved. I pretended not to notice.

As he shrank into the distance, my heart continued to pound. Discreetly I began to finger my nipples. It felt as though I were electrified. Looking both directions, I saw only the umbrella couple to the south, and another couple farther to the north, so I laid on my back and continued to caress my breasts. 

With each increasing wave of pleasure, I felt my my good-girl persona drowning, along with all of her deeply held convictions about morality and purity. I realized with a clarity that I'd never had before how much I loved sexual pleasure, and how little I liked my straight-laced self. Taking risks made me feel sexually vulnerable, and that for me was the mountaintop, to feel as if I had no control. 

With that void of control came a flood of desire -- a desire to be viewed as an object of desire, to feel the lust that another would have for me, and to lust for them, to be made to behave in all sorts of ways that were contrary to my upbringing, and that were contrary to the morays of decent people. 

"God, Lisa -- oh, fuck yes!" I said out loud. My tits were warm in my hands, and my nipples dark and hard and very sensitive. I looked toward the umbrella couple. They were oblivious to the ecstasy occurring so near to them.

"Take your bottoms off," the Voice commanded.

I sighed deeply, full of arousal. I untied the string on either hip. Bending my knees, I spread my legs, raised my butt off the towel and pulled the material out from under me. "Oh, fuck yes!" I said.

I laid there for a few minutes, letting my fingers lightly dance on my naked body. The thought that this was not a nude beach -- in fact I could get in a lot of very embarrassing trouble if I was reported or found by the beach patrol -- only increased my euphoria. 

Looking toward the umbrella couple, the man seemed more attentive than before toward my direction. I knew he was too far away to see details, but he probably could tell I was naked. As I watched him, I gently slid a finger between my pussy lips. I was soaked. 

Looking to the north, I could see the tiny silhouette of the runner on his return trip. I played with myself as I watched his form grow.

"This time show him your tits, Lisa," the Voice said. "Let him see that you're naked."

He was still a hundred yards away. I sat up, stretching my legs straight out in front of me, crossing one ankle over the other, and leaning back on my hands behind me. My breasts were on full display.

As he got closer, I became very anxious, of course. I'd never done anything like this before, so brazen. I was anxious of what might happen if he came in for a closer look, too -- I was glad for the other couple, and knew that this was the sort of safety net I would always need in the future.

But of course, this was all playing into my desire for vulnerability. I was fully aroused now. As he came close enough that I could admire his bare, muscled chest, I knew that he was admiring mine. He slowed to barely a jog, coming up the sand to the edge of the soft stuff, to be as close to me as he could when he passed. This time I didn't pretend not to see him.

The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering furiously ...

To be continued



The Cubicle Ch. 08



I don't remember a whole lot about what happened next, since my mind was racing and my stomach tightened more and more the closer the runner came. 

I do remember that he almost stopped to stare, a look of delighted bewilderment across his face as our eyes met, and then his gaze swooped across my bared breasts and down to my neatly trimmed pubic hair peeking out between my thighs. And I remember my embarrassment finally getting the best of me when I looked down at the sand and pulled my knees to my chest in a vain effort to cover myself. 

Mercifully, he did not stop or say anything to me, but I felt his eyes remain on me as he trotted reluctantly away. I hugged my knees and felt my whole body blush. I could scarcely breathe. My emotions were thoroughly conflicted, part of me desperately wanting to be clothed once again, but another, more powerful part of me reveling in the feeling of naughty vulnerability and sensuality, and the strange sensation of both shame and pleasure.

I don't know how long I stared at the sand, listening to my heart pound in my chest. Slowly, voices from the direction of the umbrella couple to my right penetrated my ears. I looked toward them, and saw that they were standing now. His palms were up and outstretched plaintively to either side. She was facing away from me, gesturing sharply, punctuating her loudest, most shrill words by turning to point at me. 

Frozen, I strained to process the words that made it intact to my ears over the sound of the waves.

"Why would ... naked! ... disgusting ... family beach! ... police!"

As she turned toward me and began marching furiously my way, she raised a phone to her ear. It suddenly registered with me what she was doing – calling the beach patrol!

In a panic, I reached for my top and fumbled with the strings, but realized quickly that there was no way I could put it on quickly enough, especially considering my trembling hands that would not allow it. So I threw my things into my bag and stood up, hastily wrapping my beach towel around me, and fled in the direction of the wooden walkway and the parking area.

Her angry voice followed me for a hundred paces or so, before she gave up the chase, yelling into her phone, "Well hurry up, because she's running away!"

The towel barely covered my nakedness. In my haste I wasn't able to secure it properly, so it hung loosely, and it was all I could do to manage carrying my bag on one hand and keep the towel around me while struggling to maintain sufficient speed over the hot sand. As I passed behind a couple resting on their towels, they eyed me curiously. A group of five or six was congregated near the exit to the walkway, and I seemed to catch their interest as well.

I ignored them and trudged on through the loose sand, glad that my workouts were paying off, with my firm legs succeeding in carrying me quickly to the walkway. Now I was able to pick up speed, having firm footing beneath me. The towel was very loose now, sliding down far enough to expose most of my breasts. To my relief, there was no one in the parking area. My car was tucked between an SUV and a minivan. 

The doors were locked, of course, and I realized in horror that my car keys were in the bottom of my bag, in a zippered pouch to ensure I wouldn't lose them on the beach. I sensed at any moment that the police might arrive, and I would easy to spot as the perverse woman they'd been called about.

I repositioned my towel over my breasts again, and set the bag on the trunk to dig for my keys, trying to hold the towel with my elbows. After some effort, my search for the keys was successful, but my struggle with the towel was not. By the time the keys were in my hand, the towel had fallen completely open, and my right elbow had lost its grip entirely, so the towel was dangling precariously from my left elbow, having fallen away from my breasts and back. Friction was the only thing holding it across my ass. 

As my shaking hands attempted to insert the key into the lock, I was astonished at the complete state of emotional and physical arousal I found myself in. For a few fleeting moments, it seemed perfectly rational to let go of the towel and stand there, nude, until the police arrived. Every inch of my body craved to be seen and touched in a perverse, carnal way.

But I also feared the unknown – I had no idea what I would be charged with, or whether it meant jail and court dates and other things I had never, ever considered in my whole life. So I finally shoved the key into the lock, hopped in with the towel draped over my front, and pulled out of the parking area onto the road. As I rounded the first bend for my trip back to the hotel, a park ranger vehicle sped past in the other direction; just as I went out of sight, in my rear view mirror I saw him pull into the parking area. I had barely made it.

Of course, I was nervous and tense for most of the 17 mile trek back to the hotel, concerned that the angry woman somehow knew what kind of car I was driving, or that someone had reported me, and that I'd be pulled over. Having only a towel draped over me would only confirm that I was the nudist they were looking for.

But even though I saw two other police cars, I made it to the hotel safely. I found a parking space in a corner between two large vans, large bushes in front, and parked cars behind. I felt an urgent paranoid need to get inside, still unconvinced that I was out of danger of being recognized. I began to dig in my bag for my coverup and bathing suit.

"Just wear the towel, Lisa," the Voice said.

I froze. I knew immediately that I would obey, feeling a stirring throughout my mind and body.

"Fuck, yes, god yes!" was my reply.

I looked back through the rear window. The coast was clear, with only the next row of parked cars behind me. I opened the door and stepped out, quickly wrapping the towel around me, doing a better job this time. Even so, to hide my ass and pussy, I had slide the towel down a bit, showing some cleavage. I tucked the top of the towel in under my left armpit, grabbed my bag, slipped into my sandals and started toward the door. 

I felt an incredible rush of euphoria. I felt very naked and exposed, with my bare shoulders and cleavage, and my long, firm thighs visible to within an inch or two of my most private parts. Though the towel was snug around me, I could feel how precarious it was – any wrong move, and it could fall away. I resisted holding it together, depending entirely on the tuck staying in place on its own.

Seeing a woman with a towel wrapped around her is no unusual sight at the beach, of course. I was used to men looking me over. But I imagine it was the more-than-average cleavage and the absence of straps or ties around my bare neck and shoulders that attracted more attention than normal. Walking through the lobby, I could see in my peripheral vision several male heads turn for extended looks. 

It seemed a long walk to the elevators. By the time I pushed the button, I felt the towel loosen a little. Still, I did not attempt to tighten or adjust it. A couple and a man joined me in waiting for the elevator to come. Finally, the doors opened, and a family emerged, dressed for dinner and a night on the boardwalk, I assumed. The teenage boy's eyes were glued immediately to the roundness of my breasts disappearing under the towel. His dad noticed, too.

I felt my face turning hot, and I knew it was flushed red now. I stepped into the elevator, my heart once again pounding in my chest, so hard I feared it would shake loose my precarious covering. I pressed the button for the sixth floor, and took my place in the front right corner next to the door. The others filed in. Since I was close to the buttons, crowding them, really, they asked me to press them for their floors. Their tone was hushed and polite. I hadn't realized there wasn't another panel of buttons.

The couple retreated to the back of the car, and the single man stood to my left, turned slightly toward me. I felt all eyes on me, as I stared down at the lighted buttons, blushing. 

The couple got off at the third floor. The doors closed. He stared. I had an itch on my nose. I scratched it, feeling the towel loosen slightly again. I held my breath.

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, where two middle-aged women boarded and asked politely for the tenth floor, the top floor of the building. 

Finally, the sixth floor arrived; I stepped out before the doors had opened fully, knowing the man would continue on to the eighth floor. My room was at the end of the long hall, near the inside corner of the L-shaped building. My sandals noisily slapped my heels as I walked, echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. I reached my door, and by now the towel was very loose.

It was then I remembered that my room key was in the same zippered pouch that my car keys had been in. In my rummaging for the bathing suit and coverup I had originally planned to wear into the building, the pouch was at the bottom of the bag again, buried also among the People magazine, sun screen, water bottle and uneaten fruit I'd brought along.

At first I tried holding the bag in one hand while digging with the other for the room key, but the bag was too floppy and deep. Besides, I was shaking too much; I knew what I was about to do. 

The Voice had been speaking to me all the way down the hall – commanding me, really, in no uncertain terms, "Drop the towel, Lisa. Be naked. Now."

I'd been trying to ignore it, but the command grew more stern.

"Now!"

Suddenly, I obeyed, hooking the thumb of my free hand into the tuck and pulling outward. The towel fell to the floor with a muffled flop. I closed my eyes and drank in the sensation.

"Oh, fuck, oh yes," I said under my breath. I opened my eyes and looked around me at the doors, listening, knowing that at any moment, one of them could open, or that someone might use their peephole to see who was outside their room, only to see a naked woman with a bag in her hand.

I felt ridiculous, bad, dirty, sensual, erotic, wonderful and scared all at once. Still trembling, I squatted obscenely to set my bag on the floor and dig for my room key. I spread my knees wide. I could plainly see my glistening pussy while I searched the bag. Finding it, I left the bag on the floor and opened the door, and with my bare ass holding the door, I leaned down and picked up my bag and towel, and slipped into my room, letting the door close behind me.

I dropped my things on the floor and leaned back against the cold metal door. I stood there for quite a while in a sort of trance, vaguely aware of the fading light as the sun began to set. I thought of nothing in particular, but watched as a parade of images and random thoughts marched through my head:

My mom.

Hiding naked on the mountain from the hikers who took my clothes.

Being naked at the office.

The embarrassment I had as a young teenager dressing before and after gym class.

My first kiss.

My first time having sex.

Going to church as a girl.

My daddy.

My friends.

Stealing the clothes from the campground laundry.

My panties hanging on the elevator railing at work.

Changing clothes in the alley in the small town.

The look on the runner's face when he realized I was naked.

The woman's anger as she called the police.

The time I failed a math test.

The guy who had a major crush on me when I started my current job, and I had to sternly tell him to leave me alone.

My mom wishing I would get married and "settle down."

Finally, the darkness pervaded the room, and my feet ached from standing in one place so long. I was still aroused, my nipples hard and protruding, my pussy wet. I touched my right breast, which felt sandy. I was covered with sand. So I went into the bathroom, and in the darkness, took a long shower to rinse off, not using soap or shampoo; I just stood there, still entranced, letting the warm water run through my hair and over my body. With my hands I helped the running water rinse away the sand while it cascaded over my breasts, down my stomach, and over my ass. I leaned down to rub away the sand from my thighs, calves and feet.

It was dark when I turned off the water and dried off. On the hook on the back of the bathroom door, I found the navy blue, silk, mid-thigh robe with embroidered coral-colored flowers I'd bought in Chinatown in San Francisco during a business trip a year ago. The cool cloth felt luxurious when I slipped it onto my naked, clean body. I tied the belt around my waist and walked through my dark room and out onto the balcony.

Between the moonlight and the glow of the lights along the boardwalk and parking lots below, it was surprisingly bright outside. I sat in a chair and propped up my feet on the little glass-topped table. My thighs seemed almost to glow. I sat for a while, enjoying the rest, and thinking about situation. 

A clarity came over me that I'd never had before, although I wasn't able to out it into words until weeks later: I truly wanted – no, needed – to be this dirty, risk-taking, sexual being that I'd become. To my friends and co-workers back home, I would remain the same prudish, straight-laced woman I'd always been. That could not change, for the sake of my relationship with my family, and my career. But in secret, and perhaps to a select few whom I might discover along the way, I needed to be this slutty Lisa. There would be no more turning back, no more resisting the Voice. I would obey, eagerly. It was a huge relief. I felt as though years of confinement had been lifted from me, as though I could finally exhale and enjoy the real me. 

Contemplating these things, searching for the words to articulate what I was feeling, I stood and leaned on the railing to take in the scenery. Beyond the hotel across the street, and beyond the brightly lit boardwalk, was the dark void of the ocean. I could hear the constant rush of the waves even above the sound of cars and the gentle, warm breeze. To my left was the other wing of my L-shaped hotel. Most of the balconies were unoccupied, even though the hotel was virtually full, with the majority of its guests out for dinner and fun. Below me a few floors, in the warm glow of light from his room, a man lay on a reclining beach chair reading a book. A floor above me, about ten or so balconies away, a couple leaned on their railing sipping drinks and talking. It was so serene, a beautiful, peaceful moment enhanced by my continued state of arousal. The breeze gently played with the hem of my robe and tickled my pubic hair and wet pussy underneath. 

The Voice whispered, "Lisa, this time it's up to you. If you want to be truly you, you will do it – you will remove your robe."

Without hesitation, I exhaled, saying, "Oh, yes. I do. I do."

Gone was the tension, the inner moral conflict. I felt a deep sense of satisfaction and eroticism as I slowly, but confidently, untied the belt on my robe. It fell open. I alternately watched the couple and the book lover. It occurred to me that they might not see me, since there were no lights on in my room. So I entered my room and turned on a lamp, and returned to the balcony, which was now embraced by a soft, warm glow. I leaned on my elbows on the railing again, my breasts resting comfortably on top of the cool metal. My robe fluttered in the breeze.

The couple and the book lover saw me, of course, since the light had suddenly appeared. The book lover didn't seem to take much notice, being farther away and engrossed in his book. The couple was more curious about the change to the scene, of course. Being lit from behind, I assumed that their view of the details of my front side was as ambiguous as mine was of theirs, but the shadow was not so deep that careful examination wouldn't suggest to them that my breasts might be bare. The rest of me, of course, was hidden by the vertical poles of the railing. He was shirtless, and she was wearing a loose tank top dress, which I assumed was a nightgown. I waved, and they returned the wave.

Discreetly, I placed my left hand over my right breast and began to play with the nipple, which felt absolutely incredible. My nipples had craved this kind of attention for a couple of hours now, but the Voice had forbade it. After a few minutes, the woman took his glass and disappeared, reappearing a minute later with two full glasses. He put his arm around her, continuing their vigil at the railing.

I continued mine as well. 

The book lover came to a stopping place and retreated into his room, not looking toward me, and closed his curtains. I stepped back a foot or so from the railing and became less discreet about pleasuring myself, using the fingers of my right hand to pleasure my right nipple, and my left hand for my left nipple, so that my chest was more exposed. The couple seemed quite interested now.

I felt very alive.

Caressing myself, I slowly arched my back, pushing my tits outward, and gently slipped my shoulders free of the silk robe, which slid down past my elbows and landed silently at my feet. I was naked now, on display for the watching couple. I cupped my tits in each hand, teasing the nipples with my thumbs. I stepped back from the railing until my back was against the glass door, my naked form more visible in the light from the lamp in my room. I was sure they could see all of me now, without the railing blocking their view.

I began to caress my body now, sliding my hands over my tits, my stomach and hips, down to my thighs. Then I turned and traced the curve of my ass. Finally, my tits against the glass, my ass toward the couple, the Voice said it was okay to touch my pussy. An audible gasp escaped my throat as soon as my fingers came close. I teased myself a moment more, touching my inner thigh, which was hot and slippery from the intense arousal between my legs. 

When I touched my pussy, my knees became weak, and I shook. My hand became soaked in an instant, and I smeared the slick vaginal excretions on my tummy, then my breasts, then my face, my tongue flicking my fingers for a taste.

This was the reverie I'd been waiting for.

I turned around, the fingers of my right hand deep in my pussy, while my left hand pinched a nipple. The couple was still watching. He was caressing her back.

Suddenly, the orgasm that had straining to happen for hours finally found satisfaction. I'm sure they heard my squeals and gasps. I was sweaty now – my wet back had lubricated my slow descent on the glass door during my orgasm to the floor of the balcony, where I sat with my legs splayed wide, panting. My pussy still pulsed a full minute later. I lay on my back, my pussy toward the couple, whom it looked at through the railing while I masturbated to three more orgasms.

After my last one, I lay there, shiny with sweat, and watched the couple, who were kissing now. I continued to smear myself with my pussy's wetness, tasting it, savoring the musky, sensual smell. Then they disappeared, and I watched him close their balcony door and draw the curtains. A few minutes later, I found the strength to stand up and retreat into my room. I did not close the curtains. I drank a tall glass of water, turned off the light, and fell in a heap on the bed.

To be continued ...