The Contract

It began with a dress.

She had always loved it. Loved how men looked at her when she wore it. But she always felt a little guilty. She had built her rep and her career on being being smart, forthright and right pretty much all the time. She fought the office battles on equal terms and never allowed her sexuality to come into it. So why did she feel such a anxiety about looking good? Was she letting herself down? But something always drove her back into that dress. The fleeting glimpse of shame quickly surpassed by the barely suppressed grin as she felt the impossibly light material slip against her hips and cling to her buttocks and the sure knowledge of the stares that followed her.

And it's crimson hues matched her blush.

"Lovely dress" was all he said and suddenly he had her attention. She looked into his eye to politely thank him and was floored by a hunger she saw there. He was composed and casual. But his eyes gave him away. She felt him greedily eat her up across the conference table and a heat rushed over her.

He was the head of some dept, as was she. Their paths had crossed a few times and she realized she had noticed him before as she passed by his office on the way to the bathroom.

He was not her usual type. She most often found herself with men like Jared - somewhat athletic, solid if somewhat unimaginative.

He was the antithesis. Where Jared wore t-shirts and cut-offs this man wore a crisp and contemporary suit. Where Jared slouched this man walked straight and tall, his angular features and slender frame giving him a commanding air. Where Jared was easy going this man was a force and was known within the company to be less than agreeable on many occasions.

She stuttered some reply and looked away. But as the meeting wore on she became more and more aware of his eyes returning to her.

As the meeting closed she engineered herself to get by him as the rooms occupants squeezed through the doorway and he lightly placed his palm against the small of her back as he offered her the exit.

Her skin still tingled from touch minutes later as she let herself into the spacious bathroom on the executive floor. Locking the door she stood before the mirror admiring herself, she put her hand where his was and with another she cupped and squeezed a breast through her dress thinking about how it might look if it where his hand.

She had masturbated many times in this cool space, often watching herself in the mirror and today was to be no exception. Her panties pushed down to her thighs and a hand between her legs she stared at herself and her blurring fingers.

Afterwards she would be shocked at herself at the images that came to her mind. Often sexually she saw herself in a more dominant role. But today she could think of little else than kneeling before him and taking him in her mouth. Of being roughly held down, having her hair pulled as he pushed himself in her. She felt she was going to come hard and she squatted down to spread herself wide. Reaching back to caress her anus lightly with a fingertip her head bowed and her face just inches from her panties that where stretched dangerously between her knees. She smells her own sex on her panties and the aroma, the dirtiness of it - squatting in a bathroom playing with herself inhaling her own musk - drives her over the edge and she bucks as she is racked by the orgasm.

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The next day she has the oddest experience, an almost sensory illusion. A pheremone hallucination. As she passed his office she sees him staring out at her, seemingly in deep thought and as her eyes meet his her nose is suddenly filled with the aroma from her session in the bathroom the previous day. As if from nowhere she can smell and taste nothing but her own sex and suddenly the sensation passes as quickly as it began. She stumbles a little in surprise and as she curses herself she sees him up and at his door, lightning fast.

"Are you OK?" he enquires and his smile seems genuine.

She is flustered and waves him off. As she walks away she is strongly aware of his eyes on her and the fire burring between her legs.

Another visit to the bathroom is surely due.

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She cannot resist. The memory and intensity of the hallucination and the magnetism of this man draws her to him. She finds reasons to pass his office several times a day. The hallucination is not repeated but now she has taken to actively burying her face in her own underwear when she comes in the echoey privacy of the bathroom just yards from his office.

On the third day she surprises herself again. As she squats in the bathroom she detects a second scent under the smell of her own pussy. The faintest hint of stale pee and as she realizes this she is overwhelmed with shame and also desire. Her fingers shake as she sniffs again - first timidly then inhaling deeply. She cannot believe what she thinks to do and like a character in a cartoon looks around to see if she is being seen even though she knows she is alone.

She pulls her panties back up and lowers herself onto the toilet seat. Holding her dress up and looking between her own legs she holds her breath. Seconds tick by. Nothing. She exhales hard and a tiny spurt of pee escapes her and soaks into the gusset of her panties.

She laughs at herself and slides a hand inside her underwear. So very wet. She brings her fingers to her face and sniffs. Smells good. Something in it reminds her of fresh coffee and she pees again - this time a bold spurt that escapes her underwear and lands in the bowl.

Now she has two hands between her legs, both inside and out of her sodden underwear as she wriggles and enjoys the wet clingyness.

She raises a finger to her lips and her head swims with images of him as she comes while tasting her own piss for the very first time.

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She tells Jared nothing of this. She suspects he would be disgusted. In some ways so is she. But, as she sits at her desk, her panties still damp between her legs she realizes this is the allure. It is the fact that this behavior is disgusting that makes her want to do it. She realizes that she hungers for the humiliation of this private dirtiness. It is the knowledge of her own abandon that drives her to it day after day.

She asks herself how far will she go? Her mind wanders down dark streets. She sees herself in a new light. A secret slut with shame to share and suddenly she starts from her reverie.

He is standing in the doorway.

"will you do something for me?" he asks.

Her mind races. Yes. probably anything. She nods, not trusting her voice.

"Will you wear that dress again tomorrow?"

"Dress?" she blurts

"Yes, the red one one you wore earlier this week. It pleases me" (who uses a phrase like 'it pleases me' she thinks) " and I have an important meeting tomorrow. That dress. Well. It makes me focussed"

"Er... I don't know." She is frazzled and surprised and this makes her defensive. before she can check herself she is denying him "I don't think thats really appropriate do you?"

He shrugs and turns away.

"Well, think about it"

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She does. All night. By seven she has vowed she will not wear it. By eight the dress has mysteriously made it's way onto the back of a chair in her bed room. By nine she is sure she will not wear it. Will not be treated as an object for his entertainment. Will not be degraded and judged only on her looks. By ten she is staring at the dress over Jareds' shoulder as he fucks her and as she comes her mind is full of images of degradation and abandonment. She sees the dress through slitted eyes as she imagines being used by him instead of Jared and her mind is made up.

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The sense of ambiguity is multiplied by a hundred. She is simultaneously angry and joyous. She is not used to acting on instruction from a man and by the time she reaches the office that morning she is occilating between different states. She is wildly turned on. Her body was never as present as it seemed that day. She could feel every inch of herself and the touch of the dress on her skin like a bath of raw heat. She is also ashamed of herself and hence angry. She tells herself it's no big deal, that she is doing a co-worker a favor but her heart doesn't buy the rationalization. She knows that she has stepped onto a path that leads away from who she is and what made her feel strong and powerful. And yet there is another edge to the shame. It is the shame itself that makes her feel more alive in her own skin than she has ever felt. She wants to deny it but there is a strange and thrilling freedom of giving over a part of herself.

But anger rules the moment. She feels she should confront, show her strength, not her vulnerability and she stalks to his office door.

Before she can speak, begin her unplanned sarcastic tirade he looks up and the look on his face melts her resolve. Just seeing the desire in his eyes obliterates the anger.

"My goodness, you are very beautiful" he says and the words disarm her even more.

Her resolve has not caught up with her emotions but her emotions overwhelm her tone. She had meant to bitingly, sarcastically ask "So what would you like me to wear tomorrow?". Instead it comes out, soft, genuine. She finds herself calmly asking him what he wants her to wear the next day. This is not going as she planned.

He stares at her for a long time. Thinking hard. Silence. She holds her ground, not knowing what else to do. This is the long moment of transition. The point where their relationship will change forever. Everything hangs on the response. The room seems to shrink around them.

He smiles and looks her direct in the eye as he speaks. They both know something important is happening here and they both know each other know.

"The short black denim skirt with the stitching on the side, the purple satin shirt you got in the sample sale, The Choo heels you first wore to last years holiday party, no stockings and the simple silver necklace you wear with the earrings that you always wear on Thursdays."

Her mouth moves and nothing comes out.

She has often read the phrase 'lost for words' but for the first time in her life is experiencing it. She simply nods, turns and staggers back to her own office.

Her mind is reeling. Before the previous week she had hardly paid attention to this man and yet he seems to know her - or at least her wardrobe as well as herself. She realizes the full strength of the attention this man must have paid her over the time they have worked alongside one another. Most of her boyfriends - Jared included - wouldn't notice if she went to work in a Ninja outfit. Yet here is this man who seemingly clocks and remembers every move she makes and has listened oh so carefully whenever she speaks even when she hardly realized he was in the room.

She smiles and laughs to herself. At least now she won't have to worry about what to wear every day.

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She is distracted all day hardly able to concentrate and her cunt nags at her to be touched. She feels like a fourteen year old in the grip of a wild crush. Except she knows this is more sophisticated, more complex. This isn't about a cute boy. This is way deeper. She knows this man is attractive but that his hold over her is more meaningful. It's not about good looks and pure desire. It's about what he is unlocking within her. A dark side. A woman that wants to be told how to dress, how to act. To be submissive and dirty and have secrets. But this dark side has an honesty to it that makes her breathe deeper and more freely.

Giddily she calls Office Services and asks that the new temp assistant she requires be located at a desk at the end of the work area - directly outside his office.

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The ironic contrast between the her appearance and her behavior does not escape her. She dresses well, takes great pride in her appearance. Chooses her clothing to project power, control and, yes, wealth. She loves a designer shoe probably more than the next woman. And here she is, looking strong and confidant and in control in the black denim and the colorful shirt on her way to work. Nobody could guess how debased she is becoming behind locked doors, how filthy. Last night Jared was unable to make her come so after he fell asleep she made her way to the bathroom and dug several pairs of her own soiled underwear out the laundry basket as well as pair of sweaty shorts that Jared had played basketball in. She worked her way through her own underwear, sniffing and licking at the panties as she sunk her fingers into her pussy. She finds the vaguest shadow of a skid mark in the back of Jareds' shorts and thrills to find herself sniffing at it while she masturbates.

Who would know that this powerhouse executive was, just a few hours earlier in the dead of night climbing into her empty tub to shimmy awkwardly and uncomfortably until her pelvis was raised above her head on the side of the bath to let out a stream of hot piss across her own belly, breasts and onto her face? Who would guess that she came last night with the taste of her own urine in her mouth and beading on her lips as she sniffed underwear almost upside down in a cold tub?

And yet, this duality was from from dividing her. She felt freer, more light hearted than she had felt in a long time.

The little black box was sitting on her chair. Most would leave a gift or note on the desk, by her keyboard but he has chosen this placement carefully she thinks. Right where her ass spends most of its day.

She open it carefully. A black leather cuff. Both delicate and crude in it's design. She recognizes the designer label, not cheap she smiles to herself. The post-it below bears one simple word, hand written: 'tomorrow'.

Somehow this does not surprise her. Of course this would happen. Of course he would provide her with a symbolic yoke. A mark of his ownership and her allegiance to him. This is how these things should be done.

But she will not give him everything. She wants to be devilish, playful. She wants to set her own pace, buck his control a little and she straps the cuff to her left wrist even though it seems out of place with the shirt he has chosen for her today. She smiles to herself at the cleverness of her move and countermove. She will take his instruction but always show him that she is independent, capable of resisting. She will not wear the cuff tomorrow. She will wear it today.

A tiny voice inside of her knows this victory is ridiculous. That she is only accelerating the final obliteration of her sense of control but she brushes it aside uncaring.

"Thank you, it's lovely" she says, feeling stronger and more in control in his presence than she has in a week as she stands in his doorway. She has teased him all day - using her body as a tool to regain the upper hand (or so she tells herself). Several times she has found reasons to work long minutes with the temp outside his office. Hotly aware of his eyes on her as she leans over the desk presenting her rump wrapped in denim to him and kicking up her heels to show him the scarlet sole. Ostentatiously waving files in the air to draw attention to the cuff.

"You are very welcome." he says "a woman of your looks only deserves the finest accessories". Is he laughing at her or are they amused together?

Uninvited she takes a seat in a low arm chair opposite across from his desk, perching on the edge and playing with the cuff so she does not need to meet his eye.

"So what shall it be tomorrow?" she asks ever gaining in confidence.

His reply is instantaneous, "The tight black knit sweater and the tan skirt. And the knee-high boots you wore to the board meeting two weeks ago."

She nods. It's a good combination that had not ever occurred to her. She has rehearsed the next line in her mind all day but her voice quakes a little as she asks. This is truly the point of no return.

"What about underwear?" as coyly as she can manage.

His office is spacious and open as befits an executive in such a large organization but to both of them it seems to shrink to a tiny box, the air hot and cloying despite the extreme air conditioning. A space big enough only for their bodies.

"Well...." he pauses, raising an eyebrow in recognition of the challenge "... what are you wearing now?"

Her heart races, she feels a lump in her throat and her head is swimming. She knows what she wants to do. What she must do if she is to retain any sense of control over this situation but the bald brazenness of it is intimidating. Her mind is racing. Does she have guts for this? Is this the kind of woman she is? What if she has misread this entire situation?

And then she realizes she has already done it. While her mind was whirring her body took control, uncrossed her legs, leaned back in the chair and parted her knees just enough to give him a direct view of her pussy wrapped on black satin.

She glares at him, knees spread, challenging and long moments pass as he stares between her knees. She sees him flush just a little and she is filled with a glowing sense of triumph. She has power over this man! It is her very submission that gives her the upper hand! Her mind races with the implication: to feel the full force of owning and controlling another human being by being owned and controlled in turn. It is a powerful and deep contract and the realization of this hits her with enough force to knock her breath away. She is grateful that the shirt does not show her chest or he would surely see her heart beating through her rib cage. But she is unwavering, holds the pose, holds his rapt attention.

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair but his eyes never leave the dark space between her knees. She realizes that he is hard and his suit pants bend irregularly. Power rushes to her as control slinks away.

Finally, after what seems an hour, he raises his eyes to lock with hers, even though she holds the pose.

"Nothing" he says and his voice is hoarse. "You will wear no underwear. First thing in the morning you will go the the bathroom down the hall here" he nods towards her favorite private place, she flushes, does he know of her secret activity there? " take off your panties and deliver them to me. I will return them to you at the end of the day."

And so it is done. She has crossed the line. She feels exhausted and thrilled. Her limbs are weak and she is barely able to nod assent, climb out of the chair and stumble back to her office his gaze following her all the way.

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Her hand shakes as she hands him the manilla folder containing her panties the next morning. She feels wildly exposed and giddily free, the cool air ever present on her naked ass and pussy beneath her skirt. She feels constantly in danger and is thrilled with it. Why did she never think of going 'al-fresco' before she wonders?

He cracks the folder and peeks inside, nodding approval at the red satin.

"I trust you wore them all night?" How well he knows her. She masturbated herself to climax three times last night night in the dark by Jareds' sleeping form while wearing them. Just thinking about this moment and the previous days events. Her mind filled with images of submission she had stared at all night online while pretending to work late in her home office. It was all she could do to not soak them with pee. But she was definitely not ready to reveal this deeply dirty activity to him. And probably never would she tells herself.

"So you are not wearing anything under there?" he enquires and she nods sheepishly.

"May I see?" Her heart jumps. She wants nothing more than to expose herself to this man at this moment but what if anyone where to see? She looks back through the office glass. It's deserted, too early for most. She looks back at him, locks his gaze and takes the hem of her skirt in both fists and quickly raises it to reveal her nakedness below. It is the quickest of flashes but he is forced to sit in order to disguise his arousal.