She had pretty ankles. Underneath the sheer tan hosiery, he could see the smoothly moisturised skin which led up to shapely calves, and, further up, to the backs of her knees, before her navy skirt, firmly pressed into the wooden chair, hid the remainder from view. Stockings? Probably not.
Still, there wouldn't be many men who got to admire her legs from this close. Or indeed, from this angle. He felt the blood running to his head as he perched unceremoniously across her lap, looking further back towards his own feet and the ruched grey trousers which were now concertina'ed just below his briefs. Momentarily, he wondered how on earth he'd ended up here, at her mercy, over her knee, with his bare bottom exposed. This wasn't how he'd anticipated that his relationship with the new girl would unravel. But then he felt two brisk taps on his already-throbbing backside, and as the hairbrush smacked forcefully down, he came back to reality with a sharp breath. Christ, that hurt. And then, down it came again.
***
Poppy had graduated from uni almost a year ago, and she was yet to find the promised route to graduate riches. After a series of jobs in hospitality, where her take home tips depended as much on the length of her skirt as her skills in the actual job, she had compromised on her dreams, and taken a role at an insurance agency. She had consoled herself with the thought that it was a large organisation, with scope to move away from the greying local office that initially employed her, towards something more corporate in the future. But for now, she'd be stuck with a largely administrative role, the junior member of the branch, at everyone's beck and call, and reporting to a 50 year old bore called Adam.
On her first day, Poppy made an effort. She'd bought a new suit: inexpensive, but fitted, and she paired it with a pressed white blouse, sheer black tights, and a businesslike 2.5" heel. Her brown hair was purposefully slicked back, and she'd gone big with the mascara. She wanted to give off big-city vibes from the start. But Poppy was immediately disappointed to find that her colleagues had embraced the post-covid dress-down era. They were a competent bunch, but if there was an opposite for "go-getter' then they epitomised it. Moreover, they didn't seem to have much interest in her, and as the days passed into weeks it became apparent that they regarded her primarily as a source of fresh coffee. She wasn't being given any real responsibility, and worse, when she approached Adam for a one-to-one, he'd made it obvious that he was more interested in what she was now spending of the stationery budget. He never seemed to give her a smile or a 'thank you', and indeed it was rare that he gave her the time of day. The only thing that seemed to pique his interest was her legs: she'd more than once seen the reflection of him staring at her, as she walked towards the plate glass window at the front of the office. But, as it transpired, she couldn't even leverage this small advantage. One day, she'd swallowed her principles and bought some moderately risqué seamed tights, to see whether it might encourage him to be more positive. But other than demanding more coffees than usual, there was no effect: it was as if he merely resented her for being out of his grasp.
Three months in, and Poppy was hitting a brick wall. But then, she saw something interesting.
Adam was perched on the desk of one of the guys, and they were bitching about a client. So far, so dull. But Poppy's eye had been caught by a small bump visible on the front of Adam's left thigh. And as he shifted position a few minutes later, she thought she could discern an identical one on the right. No, she thought to herself, surely it couldn't be..?
She kept her head down, but made a point of watching him closely as he went about the office. It was right at the end of the day, as he bent down to pick up his bag, that she got the proof she was looking for. There were two similar ridges on the back of his legs.
Well, well. The dirty old bugger was wearing a suspender belt.
Poppy wasn't immediately sure how to make use of this information. And it might have been a one-off. But a week or so later, as Adam sat down, Poppy got a clear view of dark nylon between the tops of his socks, and the bottom of his trousers. So she waited. And at 5pm, as the others began to switch off their computers, she made her move.
***
Adam was bored. Bored of his job, bored of his life. He'd never reckoned on being a first-level manager in insurance - what kid dreams of that? - but somehow he'd ended up beached on a rather unprepossessing corporate shore, down a backwater of nowhere very much. He filtered out the guff from above as best he could, kept his team as quiet as permissible, and lived for his time out of the office. Single, after a failed marriage, it had been a while since he'd been close to a woman, and his sex life was pretty much non-existent. Nowadays, even office romances were impossible, thanks to HR, and his main release was the occasional bout of energetic masturbation. He'd always liked women in stockings, and when Poppy arrived it had certainly given him some new material for his 'wank bank', but as he had no partner and was at liberty to please himself, he'd also taken to wearing hosiery under his office attire. It's not like anyone would ever find out.
As Poppy approached him, he groaned inwardly. He wanted to get home, kick back and relax. All this new girl ever seemed to do was want more of him. She was lucky to have a job at all in today's economy. Bloody graduates thought the world owed them something.
Watching the last team member leave, Adam looked up at Poppy.
"I was wanting to talk about my future here."
"Well, that might be true Poppy, but we're closing up now. It's not a great time for me. Honestly, I'm not sure what there is to talk about - you know what the job and is and you just need to get on with it. Once you've proved yourself you can think about next steps, but you're still new."
"Yes, but I'm capable. And I really don't feel like anyone is helping me develop, I want to get on. And as my manager I really think you should be supporting me."
Adam lost patience. "Well, you might think that, Poppy, but I'm really not sure why I should give a damn." He looked pointedly at his watch. "It's five o'clock."
Poppy looked directly at him. She took a deep breath - here came the point of no return. "You should give a damn for two reasons. Firstly, because it's your job. And secondly, because I'm the only one here - I assume - who knows that the boss is parading round in a pair of ladies' stockings. I'm sure HR would understand how that might make some of the female employees feel uncomfortable. At the very least, it would be an embarrassing part of my resignation letter."
Adam opened and closed his mouth. "Don't talk nonsense. I don't know where you get this stuff."
Taking him by surprise, Poppy stepped around the corner of his desk. She reached out and grabbed his trousers, and a handful of suspender strap underneath. *Twang*. "You're not fooling either of us, Adam."
***
Poppy hadn't really planned what would come next. She needed Adam to do more for her. But he didn't seem to have any idea about how to bring this to a positive conclusion: he was just being passively swept along by events. Having taken the advantage, she would have to press on. With a deep breath, she grabbed his arm, and pulled him towards the stationery cupboard a few feet away. Closing the door, she released him, and stood with her hands on her hips.
"Show me."
"Piss off."
"Ok, I'll get going on that letter, shall I? You really think leaving here would be a big deal for me? I think it'd be worse for you, knowing that everyone was sniggering at you and your dirty secret for the next fifteen years."
Adam looked at her, with a mixture of anger and shame in his eyes. And then, to both of their surprise, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly, and pushed his trousers down. He stood uncertainly in a pair of black stockings, complete with unshaven legs, and a bright red suspender belt.
Poppy couldn't help but chuckle. "Oh dear. You're not quite what I was expecting of a manager."
"Fuck you," said Adam, and reached down to his trousers, pulling them up. Unfortunately, Poppy was quicker. Whipping out her phone, she took a quick picture or two. But now she was also angry.
"You know what? You need to be taught a lesson. And frankly, now that I've got these pictures, you're in no position to argue. Fuck me? No, Adam, fuck YOU. You can leave those trousers down. But I tell you what, you can pass me your belt."
As if on autopilot, Adam did as asked. Poppy pushed him forcefully around the other way, almost causing him to fall, and he grabbed onto the struts of a metal shelving unit to steady himself.
"Yes, grab that unit. And hold it. And if you don't do exactly as you're told, those photos are going to be not just with HR, but all over the internet."
