Show and Tell - and Then Show Some More
by Mr. Flip
Author's note: This story was inspired by Lazerou's recent "My Very Own" story on this site. I intend this to have more of an ENF theme to it. There isn't much bondage in this part of the story, but there will be a significant amount in future segments.
Let me start with some background info that will set the stage for my continuing story.
My name is Patricia Schofield. I am a 27-year-old woman, and I'm deeply in love with another 27-year-old woman, Cassandra Campbell. We are very much alike physically, but polar opposites otherwise. We have a dominant/submissive relationship; she is the dominant, I am the submissive. Sex is a huge part of our relationship, and it goes well beyond the wonderful physical episodes in bed. For the last several months, she has required me to get completely undressed every time that I enter her townhouse and then remain naked there until I leave. And then, last Saturday, she displayed me naked and bound all day at a Show and Tell event followed by a naked trip to our favorite restaurant for Sunday brunch. I should point out that she remains clothed at home and on these trips out in public; I am the only naked one. I don't really mind being naked at her home, but I sure don't like being naked out in public. However, I go along with it because I love her so much and because our sexual lovemaking is so wonderful.
We both work for a large software company; I am a secretary, she is a top-notch programmer. She has submitted a request to the company for me to come to work completely naked. That request is still pending, but in the interim, she dresses me in provocative clothing without any underwear - no panties, no brassiere.
She has nicknamed me "Pet", because it sort of fits my place in the relationship, and it is similar to "Pat" which is what other people call me. I am required to call her "Ma'am" or "Madam"; other people address her as "Cassie", but I never do.
The previous segment of my story ended with my lover and me sleeping snuggled together after making passionate love. And now the story continues.
This has been possibly the most wonderful night of my entire life! After all of the difficult experiences in recent days, the last several hours have been marvelously blissful. First, my lover and I had an exciting time making sensual love to each other, and then we slept soundly cuddled together naked in her bed. I was in the big spoon position with my right hand reaching around cradling her left breast, and my boobs were pressed softly against her bare back. Our legs remained entwined, and my nose was nestled in her soft hair all night long. The only movement I felt was her soft breathing and beating heart.
But now I am gently awakened when she moves my arm, untwines our legs, and gets out of bed. I slowly open my eyes and see her beautiful face looking down at me. She smiles and says, "Time to get up, Pet."
I giggled, "Oh, do I really have to, Ma'am? I want to stay here forever and ever."
"Yes, sweetie, you do have to get up. I'm going to use the bathroom and get dressed. You'll make breakfast for us. Blueberry pancakes, bacon, OJ, and coffee. And get the newspaper."
She bends down and gives my shoulder a gentle shake. And I watch her bare boobs jiggle deliciously beneath her bent over body.
I reluctantly crawl out of bed, and she pulls me to my feet and into a lovely hug followed by a passionate kiss. Our bare breasts press tightly against the others. She breaks us apart, pats me on the ass, and simply says, "Breakfast." I watch her gorgeous naked body disappear into the bathroom, and I turn and reluctantly leave the bedroom.
As always at her townhouse, I am completely naked. And so I tentatively step out the front door to look for the newspaper; I'm glad to see it close to the front step rather than out on the driveway where I would be much more visible. And back in the kitchen, I am not permitted to even wear an apron while fixing the bacon and pancakes; I dodge most of the bacon splatters, but a few hit my bare skin. I set the table, but since my lover has not yet come out from the bedroom, I am just about ready to put the pancakes and bacon in the warming oven. But then she appears looking as sexy as ever in tight jeans, a sequined black T-shirt, and her stylish Nike walking shoes.
She looks over the table, and I hope that I have set it nicely even if it is just for a weekday breakfast. She says, "Looks nice, Pet, but get the larger glasses for our juice, and fill them up."
I give her a questioning look, because she's never done that before; we always use smallish juice glasses, probably six ounces or so. But before I can say anything, she asks, "What's wrong?"
"Umm, sorry, Ma'am. It's just something different, that's all."
"Well, Pet, we have been deficient in the amount of fruits and veggies that we've been eating, and an easy way - and a very delicious way - of getting more is by drinking fruit juice."
She may think OJ is delicious, but I don't really care for it, because I'm more of a junk food person. But I reply, "Yes, Ma'am." And I quickly fill two large glasses with juice from the smaller glasses and then from the pitcher, and I set the larger glasses on the table. She stands there watching me with a smirkish smile on her face.
Then, I go over and stand obediently behind her chair at the table and help her scoot up the chair, and then I wait for further instructions. I have set a place for myself in my assigned spot at the table, but I'm uncertain if she will permit me to sit down and eat normally. Sometimes, she likes me to kneel next to her and accept the food that she spoons into my open mouth; I don't like to be fed like that, and I hope that she will let me sit in my chair this morning. She says, "Please sit down, Pet." I breathe a sigh of relief and take my seat.
She hands me a couple of sections of the newspaper, and after we each browse a bit, we discuss the latest news while eating our pancake breakfast.
She finally says, "There's more coffee over there, Pet. I don't want any more. It's all for you. We don't want it to go to waste, do we?"
"No, Ma'am." And I get up and pour myself another cup, but there's still more in the pot. I return to my seat and continue browsing the newspaper and chatting with her about the news. A couple of minutes later after I've finished the cup of coffee, I get up and pour the remaining coffee into my cup. I don't really want any more coffee at this point, but she told me not to waste it, and so, I need to drink it. The extra OJ and coffee will probably mean an early trip to the restroom once I get to work.
After I finish that third cup of coffee and my lover finishes her pancakes, I clear the table and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher leaving my lover to drink her coffee while silently reading more of the paper. I return to the dining room and stand next to the table awaiting her next instruction.
She looks up from the paper, and her eyes look over my naked body from head to toe. For some reason, this makes me blush even though she has seen every square inch of my bare skin many, many times. She takes the final drink of her coffee, hands me the empty cup, and says, "Here, Pet. I'm done. Get the dishwasher started, and then go get yourself ready for work; use the guest bath. I'm going to get your clothes."
I do as I'm told and then head for the hallway bathroom. I'd prefer to use her really nice "mistress" bathroom, but I'm relieved that she told me to use the guest bath rather than the crude half bath in the garage, which is the bathroom that I often use here.
I quickly do my usual routine - hair, makeup, toilet, deodorant, etc. I skip a shower, because we did that together last night after our wonderful episode of sex. My underarms look okay. Then I carefully check my pubic hair, which my lover has shaped into three down-pointing triangles, because I'm afraid that they might be on display today, and I decide that they look okay, too. And just to be sure, I scrub my entire crease from front to back. I give myself one last lookover in the mirror and with a sigh, return to the living room.
I'm a little surprised to see my lover come out from the bedroom carrying a stack of neatly folded clothes. I was assuming that she would dress me in the same short skirt and tight, small sweater that I had worn the last two days, and those things are lying on the vestibule bench where I put them last night. She is carrying at least two items, because I see different colors - one part of the clothing stack is white, another has a floral design that is mostly blue and light purple, and the top part is a dark blue. My spirits are buoyed, because she is carrying a whole lot more material than yesterday's skimpy skirt and sweater; it seems that she is going to allow me to wear a complete outfit of some sort today.
She silently beckons me to follow her into the tiled entryway, which is the only part of this house where I am allowed to wear any clothes. She puts the stack of clothes on the bench.
My lover says, "Okay, Pet. Here's the deal. I'm going to dress you this morning, but I am also going to give you tomorrow's garment now. Keep it in your car today. You are going to go to work as usual today, and after work you are going home where you will spent the evening doing whatever you want. But remember that you must undress as soon as you get home and remain naked until you dress for work in the morning." She now unfolds the dark blue garment and holds it up for me to see; it is a T-shirt with the logo of our software company on it. She continues, "Tomorrow morning, you will put this on and wear it to work. It is the only thing you are permitted to wear tomorrow. Understand?"
I stare at the T-shirt and gulp. It will only come down about 4 inches below my crotch; it will be very difficult to keep my privates private tomorrow. But I meekly reply, "Yes, Ma'am. I understand." However, there is still at least two items of clothing remaining in the stack, and I hope that I will be allowed to wear those things today. What are those clothes?
She continues, "Good. Now, before I get you dressed this morning. I think I need to make some things crystal clear to you. You are sort of in a transition phase right now on the way to becoming a full-time, 24/7 nudist. Ideally, I would have you as a public nudist already, but I want to get approval from the company before you start coming to work naked. So, for now, the only time you will be wearing clothes is at work, and I guess by extension, you can wear the clothes on your way to and from work. But as you have experienced the last two days and can see from this T-shirt now, the clothes that you are wearing to work are pretty minimal. Specifically, there is no underwear. You not allowed to wear panties or a bra ever again. Understand?"
I bite my lip and mumble, "Yes, Ma'am." And that sort answers part of my question; there is no underwear included in the stack of clothes. Without panties and a brassiere, the stack just seemed to shrink size in my mind, even though it remained physically exactly the same size in the last few seconds.
She goes on, "At all other times during this transition phase, you will be naked. And as I say, this transition period lasts only until we get approval from the company, at which point, you will never be wearing any clothes at all. Hopefully, they will give their approval any day now. Maybe even today." She pauses a bit before adding, "So, is that clear to you, Pet? Any questions?"
I bite my lip even harder and say, "Yes, Ma'am, I understand. And no, I don't have any questions now." But I am still curious what the awaiting white and floral items are.
"All right. Let's get you dressed for work. But I can't quite make up my mind on how to dress you today, and so, I've brought out two items. We'll try both of them on you, and I'll then decide which one is today's clothing." My heart sinks even more as she says this, because I'll only be wearing one of the two things, not both.
Then she picks up the floral design item. I've never seen this before, and so I don't realize what it is as she unfolds it. At first, I think it's just a scarf, but as she unfolds it once more, I see that it is a sarong. I have not seen this one before, but I have worn similar things many times. But this one seems small, and I wait for her to shake it out to its full size. She gives it the shake, and I gasp as I realize that I'm already seeing the full size; it's the usual 5½ feet long, but it's only about 3 feet high.
She quickly wraps it around my body above my breasts and ties it off between my boobs forming a bow with the ends. She does some tucking of the material to mostly close the opening in front, but the fabric is pulled well up my inner thighs. My pussy isn't visible as I'm standing still, but it will be a struggle to keep it hidden while I'm walking, and there will be a lot of leg showing while I'm sitting. I bite my lip and blush, but I remain silent as I look at myself in the mirror. It's a very sexy look, but it's not something I should wear in public - especially without any panties underneath.
My lover makes some other minor adjustments and says, "Oh my, Pet. That looks wonderful on you. You'll collect a lot of stares today." It sounds like she's already made up her mind. She goes on, "But let's try the other one. Take this one off and fold it."
I do as I'm told and put the sarong down on the bench. Then she unfolds the other piece of clothing that she has brought from the bedroom. She holds up a white full body stocking.
I have worn this before, and I have mixed emotions about it. On the good side, when I wear this covered with a short green sleeveless dress, I get many compliments from other women and admiring looks from the men. On the bad side, this is a single piece without any openings except for my hands and head, and as such, it is a nuisance when I need to pee. Basically, I have to undress in the bathroom in order to slide it down to below my knees before I can sit on the toilet. My lover is well aware of this inconvenience, and so a few times she has used this body suit as punishment if I have done something wrong. But I have always worn underwear, i.e. panties and a bra, underneath this garment before. And I have always worn a dress on top of it. If she decides that this is today's garment, I assume today that this will be the only thing I will be wearing - no panties, no bra, no dress. It's not transparent and only a slightly bit translucent, but it is tight and form-fitting; it will leave nothing to the imagination. My nipples will be very prominent and even my pussy lips will be clearly outlined. I gulp again, but I just silently nod.
My lover kneels down in front of me and holds the suit open for me to step into it. It even covers my feet, kind of like a bunny suit for a baby. She pulls it up my legs, and when it gets to my crotch, I can see that she has added some additional white material where it covers my pussy. She fits it around my butt and continues going up my body with it and then spreads out the sleeves so I can stick my arms through. Finally she smoothes out the fabric, pulls up the zipper in back, and hooks the clasp at the back of my neck. She guides me over to the full length mirror. She makes some final adjustments around my boobs, and I see that there is some additional white material covering my nipples as well. Neither my nipples nor my pussy lips are clearly outlined, but that is only a minor relief, because the rest of my shapely body is clearly defined. The contours of my boobs and butt are very distinct.
We stand there next to each other in front of the mirror. She has a beautiful beaming smile on her face, but I have to force a hesitant smile in return. She says, "You look wonderful, sweetie. But you looked great in the sarong, too. It's a tough decision. Hmmm." She pauses for a moment and then says confidently, "I've decided - you will wear this today. You'll get lots of looks today." She makes some final adjustments around my cunt and butt, and she stands back and looks me over again. She gives me a smiling nod and simply says, "Yep, this is the perfect thing for you today."
She pulls me into a wonderful hug and gives me a heartfelt kiss. "Okay, Pet. Off you go. Be a good girl. And I will see you here tomorrow night. I love you."
I pick up my purse from the table, turn towards the front door, and say, "Oh, I love you, too, Ma'am. Bye-bye." She gives my ass a loving swat as I open the front door; I briefly look back at her with a weak smile. Another embarrassing day begins.
As I get in my car, I'm actually a tiny bit thankful about the outfit my lover picked for me, because the bright white body stocking is not quite as embarrassing as the sarong would have been.
But then I start to cry because I won't see my lover until tomorrow night. I know that today will be difficult, and I'd sure like to have her emotional support this evening, but I will be alone in my apartment tonight. She didn't say why I could not come back to her townhouse tonight, and I'd like to know why, but it's not my place to question her specific instructions. I wipe my eyes and drive to work.
I park my car in the usual spot close to the entry to my building, and as I get out of the VW, I notice that the body stocking has shifted a little bit while sitting in the deep car seat. The extra white fabric near my boobs has been pulled down a couple of inches and my nips are clearly outlined through the single layer of white material. I glance around quickly to make sure no one is watching me, and then I shift around and carefully pull the body stocking back up so that my nipples are covered with those two layers of material. I then smooth out the material as well as I can across my belly, butt, arms, and legs. And then I pause and take a deep breath before heading into the building.
As I enter the lobby, I flash my badge at the friendly, elderly security guard, Henry, sitting behind the counter. He says, "Good morning, Pat. You are looking as lovely as ever this morning."
I blush a little bit and reply, "Uh, thanks, Henry. Good morning."
He continues, "Umm, is it Halloween already? All you need are some bunny ears to complete your costume. Are you giving Suzanne some competition this year?"
I pause for a moment because he's caught me off guard, but then I realize he's being a bit sarcastic, because it is only May; Halloween is several months away. I smile at him and nervously answer, "Uh, ummm, no, Henry. It's not a costume. Umm, uh, I've got to get to my desk. Have a good day." And I go through the inner door into our research department area.
And then I figure out exactly what he is referring to when he mentioned Halloween and Suzanne. One of the previous times I wore this body stocking was on Halloween last fall, but at that time, I wore a sexy dress over it - a candy-striper outfit including a pink striped apron like a young nursing assistant might wear. I'm surprised he recognized this plain white body stocking as being part of that Halloween costume.
Anyway, since I am one of only three females in our department, I thought I would be getting most of the stares from the guys last Halloween. But I was surprisingly overshadowed by Suzanne Collins, who is one of the two female researchers. She is 41 years old, but in great shape for her age. But she always dresses very conservatively and professionally. Usually a skirt, but sometimes slacks. Always a blouse, never a T-shirt like most of the other people, even the women, working here, who usually dress casually in a T-shirt. Suzanne is married with four kids, three teenagers and a cute three-year-old daughter. And she amazed everybody that day by wearing a very tight catwoman costume to work for Halloween. Even though it was darker fabric with a mottled brown and gray design somewhat resembling a cat, it was even more revealing than my white body stocking today. Her breasts and butt were clearly accentuated by the outfit. Her nipples were distinctly outlined through the thin material, and if you looked carefully, you could see the outline of her vaginal lips. The costume included a mask-like hood with kitten ears on top; the hood completely covered her short blonde hair. At first glance, no one knew it was her until they looked closely. But with the skin-tight outfit, she got a lot more than just first glances. The guys in our department stared at her all day long.
Suzanne told me the next day that it was one of the most embarrassing days of her life. Not only all of the looks from guys at work, but when she got home, her two sons (ages 15 and 16) plus her older daughter (age 14) just gaped at her not believing that their straight-laced mother would dress so provocatively for work. Suzanne told me that she will never do that again.
And that reminds me of the reaction that I can expect from other people today. And so, on the way to my desk, I stop in the ladies' room to make sure that I'm covered as well as I can be in this outfit. I look at myself in the mirror and notice that the shadow of the top part of my pubic hair is showing through. I tug at the two-layered fabric to pull up that heavier material so that it covers my pubic triangles. But now my nipples are outlined just below the two layers of fabric on my boobs. So, I have to pull the fabric back down so that it is just right to hide both my pubic hair and my nipples. I can see that this is going to be a struggle all day to keep things hidden. I sigh and head off to my desk.
The clock just clicks over to 8:00 AM as I sit down in my chair. I check my nipples and pubic area again just to be sure I'm still covered, and then I start off doing my assigned work. Since I am the only one around this early, I'm able to get a lot done. About 8:30, my boss, Bill Johnson, arrives. He's one of the world's great persons; I love working for him. We chat about the cool weather and the overnight news for a minute or so. He doesn't mention my provocative outfit. Over the next 20 minutes, other researchers trickle into work. I'm still sitting in my chair, but I can see the eyes of some of the guys looking at my chest as they walk by.
And now all of a sudden, I need to pee. The extra orange juice and coffee at breakfast has worked its way through my system. I'd sure like to stay seated here in my chair, because it provides a tiny bit of covering, but nature is calling. And so, I get up and head for the restroom. As I step into the somewhat dimly lit hallway, I can make out the shapes of three young researchers walking towards me. Even though they are at the far end of this long hallway, they stop in their tracks, and I hear one of them say, "Whoa, look at that!" I can't see their faces, but I know who they are. And it appears that they sure know who I am, because my bright white outfit must almost light up the hallway. I pause momentarily, but I resume walking and I notice that the three guys also start up again. We meet just as I'm about to turn into the restroom.
One of the guys, Spencer Preston, says, "Good morning, Pat. Wow, you look stunning today."
I blush and answer, "Thanks, Spence. And good morning to you, too. And to Avery and Will as well. But excuse me, I really need to get in there."
Avery Maxwell says, "Hey, morning, Pat. Don't let us hold you up. See you around."
I can feel them looking at my ass as I push open the restroom door. Inside, I'm happy to see that no one else is here; I have the restroom to myself. I rush over to the far stall and close the door behind me. I now have to figure out how to get out of this outfit on my own. I did it before on the several times such as Halloween when I wore it to work, but I struggled with it each time I needed to use the toilet. The problems are the small clasp at the back of my neck and the long zipper down my back. The clasp is somewhat difficult to undo and even more difficult to rehook afterwards. And the zipper has a tiny pull tab on it that I have to grasp at an angle as I reach around behind me, and since the zipper goes all the way from my neck to my waist, I can't possibly pull it down all at once. I have to get it started by reaching over my shoulder and then pulling it down as far as I can from that position. Then, I must reach up from underneath between my shoulder blades and pull the zipper down all the way to my waist. It's this second operation that's tricky, because it's easy for my fingers to slip off the little pull tab. I've tried it with my usual right hand, and with my awkward left hand, and even with both hands at once. None of those techniques work every time, but I've always managed to struggle through. And today is no different.
I'm lucky to get the clasp undone the first try, but the initial pull on the zipper from the top does not go down far enough for me to reach the zipper handle from underneath. So, I struggle with it some more from over my shoulder and eventually get the pull tab down low enough that I can reach it with my right hand from beneath. And with all the twisting I'm doing, the fabric is folding back there and my first attempt to pull it down only goes a few inches before it feels like the zipper is caught on something. I can't get it past that spot, and if I force it, I'll probably tear the fabric or break the zipper, and then I'll be in real trouble with my lover. I try it a couple of more times without luck, and I decide that I need to try to see what's happening back there. So, I exit the stall and stand with my back to a mirror and look over my shoulder. The fabric is scrunched a little bit, but I don't see anything else obviously wrong. So, while still looking in the mirror over my shoulder, I smooth out the fabric, fumble around to grasp the tiny tab, and pull. This time, the zipper continues a few more inches before I lose my grasp of the pull tab. I fumble around some more to grab hold of it again and pull the zipper down. This time, I'm successful and the zipper goes all the way to my waist.
I'm glad that no one came into the restroom and saw me struggling with the damn zipper, because it would be super embarrassing to explain that I can't lower my pants to use the toilet. On the other hand, if another woman came in, I could ask her to pull the stupid zipper down for me.
Anyway, I got the damn thing unzipped and I duck back into the stall where I do the rest of the undressing operation. Pulling my hands out of the sleeves and peeling the suit down my body so that it is below my knees, almost to the floor. Now, I am virtually naked, but I am able to sit on the toilet seat and do my business. Afterwards I clean and dry myself down there thoroughly.
Now, I have to get myself dressed again. I pull the body stocking up my legs and over my butt. I pause there to make sure that the extra layer of material is correctly positioned over my pussy and pubic hair, and then I put my hands through the sleeves and pull the garment over my boobs and shoulders. I smooth out the fabric and get my nipples hidden behind the thicker fabric. The zipper is a struggle to get up, because I lose my grasp on the tiny pull tab twice along the way, but I get it done. Then, it takes me four attempts to rehook the little clasp at the neckline. I flush the toilet, exit the stall, and wash my hands at the sink.
One last look at myself in the mirror, and after I decide I look okay, I turn to leave the restroom. Just at that instant, Julie Barlow comes through the door. She's taken aback when she sees my outfit.
Julie gasps, "Oh, my goodness, Pat. Look at you."
I blush and say, "Good morning, Julie." And I step to the side so I can get to the door.
But she grabs my arm and says, "Pat, is that some sort of a costume? You know, it's not Halloween yet."
I smile and reply, "Yeah, I know. In fact, Henry the guard also mentioned Halloween. No, it's not a costume. It's just what I'm wearing today. That's all." I want to get to the door, but she continues to hold my arm.
"Um, Pat, that's rather a risqué outfit. Do you think it's really appropriate for the workplace?"
Julie is the other female researcher in our department. She and Suzanne are good friends and are about the same age (41 or 42). And like Suzanne, she is very conservative and straight-laced. But she is more on the serious side, even a bit arrogant, and would never be caught wearing a catwoman costume (but she doesn't have the same sleek body for it like Suzanne; Julie's a little on the heavy side, and she always wears a skirt of some sort).
I'm not sure how to respond to her "risqué" comment, and I stammer, "Uh, umm, sorry, Julie. C-C-Ca-ss-ie gave it to me to w-w-wear today." I realize that is not a reasonable explanation for the inappropriate clothing, but it happens to be the truth.
We continue to stare at each other for a few seconds, and then I say, "Sorry, Julie. I need to get back to work." And I pull loose from her grip and scoot out the door. Tears are welling up in my eyes as I walk back to my desk where I wipe my eyes with a tissue. It is going to be another difficult day.
Over the next couple of hours, I overhear some whispered comments from over the cubicle wall between Avery Maxwell and his office mate Will Summers. They are talking about my shapely body, specifically my full boobs. Avery thinks they are 34D's and Will thinks they are 36C's. They are actually 34C's, but I'm sure not going to tell them that. And after a moment's thought, I realize the irony here; they are talking about bra size, and I am not wearing a bra now, and according to my lover, I will never wear a bra again. I glance down at my boobs which are doing their best to poke my nips through the fabric; at least for today, my boobs are covered, but I'm not sure how much longer that will be the case. I give a slight tearful sigh.
A little before 11 o'clock, I need to pee again even though I haven't had any more coffee here at work. I just drank too much juice and coffee at breakfast. I make another trip to the restroom and struggle with the zipper on the tight fitting body stocking. I wish I had a stick with a tiny hook on it to help me grasp the tiny pull tab on the zipper. Even a wire coat hanger that I could bend into the correct shape would work, but I don't have any of those type of hangers here at work. I'm sure my lover would be able to suggest something to assist, but I don't dare call and ask her, because this outfit and its awkward zipper was her idea for me to wear today. But I am able to complete the ultimate task (i.e. peeing) and redress myself. I wonder how many more times I will have to do that today.
At noon, I get up from my desk and go out to the lobby area near the guard desk. This is where Michelle Donaldson and I usually meet each day and then we go over to the small cafeteria in a nearby building for lunch. But the last two days, Michelle has seemed rather distant when I have worn revealing clothes to work. She just didn't seem to understand why I was doing it and being so submissive. I don't want to lose her as a friend, but I'm concerned that might happen. I wait for several minutes standing by the door, but she doesn't show. But many other people do come out from our department and the customer service department on the other side of our building. I hear many gasps and feel the stares from the passers-by.
Finally, about 12:10, I decide Michelle is not coming, and I head off to the cafeteria on my own. It has warmed up a little bit since this morning, but not much. The thin material of the body suit doesn't provide much warmth, but its bright white color attracts a lot of attention. At the cafeteria, I get a salad, a can of V-8 juice, and a banana. Oh god, this is going to be an awful tasting lunch, but I know that my lover wants me to eat healthy, and so I will force myself to eat it.
After paying for the food, I look around for a place to sit. And I briefly make eye contact with Michelle who is sitting at a table with three other people that I don't know. She barely acknowledges me and then looks away; it's obvious that she doesn't want to talk to me, and there is no place to sit at her table anyway. I feel my eyes start to tear up, and I head to an empty table on the opposite side of the cafeteria. After wiping my eyes, I quickly eat my awful meal alone. As I carry my tray of dirty dishes to the rolling rack near the kitchen, I notice many heads turn to look at me as I pass by. But Michelle is not one of them; she is intently staring in the opposite direction.
After such an unpleasant experience, I decide to treat myself to a chocolate brownie from the dessert counter and quickly hand the cashier a dollar bill. I scurry back to our building and to my own desk where I savor the wonderful taste of the chocolate. I know my lover wouldn't want me to eat this, because it has so many calories, and she might even punish me when I tell her about it. But I will take the risk.
I dive back into the work that my boss has given me, and the next couple of hours pass by quickly. Several times I check my chest to make sure my nipples are still hidden, and a couple of times I have to make some discreet adjustments by wriggling around in my body stocking.
Then, my smart phone makes the soft chiming sound that indicates a text message has arrived. My heart leaps when I see my lover's name on the message and I quickly open it. It reads: "Remember when you get home tonight that you have only 30 seconds to get undressed. Love you always, CC." Naturally, the best part of the message is the last few words. The first part is just a reminder that she dominates me even when she isn't around. Obviously, I will do my best to obey her, and if I'm not able to get out of this suit tonight in time, I will certainly tell her and accept my punishment.
Later in the afternoon, I have to make another trip to the restroom. Getting this damn body stocking off is no easier this time. I'm not timing myself in the restroom, but I'm certain it was more than 30 seconds. And so I am worried that I won't be able to do it at home in the evening.
I'm relieved when 5 o'clock rolls around, and I get to leave. I check with my boss for any last minute tasks, and when he says there's nothing more for me to do, I say, "Good night, Bill. See you in the morning."
There are only a few researchers who leave with me at 5 PM; most of the people in our department work till 6 o'clock or even later. I chat idly with Reggie McKenzie as I walk down the hall; he's over 6 feet tall, and I see him look down at me (I'm only 5 '6"). He's one of the younger guys in the department, only 23, and when I look up at him, I see his eyes flicking back and forth from my face to my boobs. He seems to be really trying not to stare, but he just can't help himself. I blush, but say nothing.
And I get a whole bunch more stares and hear a lot of whispering from the horde of customer service workers as I walk through the lobby. Their daytime shift ends at 5 o'clock and they all leave at once every day. I almost run to my car to get away from their eyes and comments.
The drive back to my apartment is routine except that I look wistfully at the left turn lane for Markus Street which would lead me to my lover's house. I continue on my way and pull into my covered parking spot about 5:30 PM. Before getting out of my car, I glance in every direction to see if anyone is around. I determine that the coast is clear and dash for the stairs up to my apartment. But about halfway up the flight of stairs, I realize I haven't checked my mail in several days. I could do it later in the evening, but by then, I will be required to be nude, and I would have to come back down the well-lit stairs completely naked, and the chances of one of my three neighbors checking their mailbox or coming in from their vehicle would be pretty good. So, I must check the mailbox now, and I race back down the steps.
But as I'm fumbling through my keys for the one that fits the mailbox, my downstairs neighbor, Gil Williams, comes out his front door. Has he been looking through his peephole waiting for me? I'm probably just being paranoid, but it seems strange that he would show up right at this minute.
He says, "Hey, Pat. How are you?" And then his eyes light up when he realizes what I'm wearing. "Oh my, are you going to a costume party tonight?"
I ignore his question about the costume party, and I just answer his first question, "Hi, Gil. I'm doing fine. I've let the mail pile up in here for a few days, and I need to make sure the box isn't crammed full of junk mail." At that moment, I locate the correct key and open my mailbox.
As I feared the box is full, and a bunch of stuff tumbles out onto the concrete in front of the four mailboxes. I bend over in my tight body stocking to pick up the mail, and I know that I'm giving him a nice little show, but I can't help it. He stoops down to help me, and I see his eyes focused on my full boobs that are plainly outlined through the think fabric of the body stocking.
I take the few pieces of mail that he hands to me, and I mumble, "Oh, nice to see you, Gil. Oh dear, I think I hear my phone ringing upstairs. Gotta go, bye." And I scamper up the stairs before he can say anything else. There is no phone ringing in my apartment, because I don't have a landline phone, only the cell phone in my purse; it's only a tiny little lie. And I hurriedly open the door and let myself in.
But I have no time to waste. I just drop everything - purse, tomorrow's T-shirt, and the mail - onto the kitchen counter, and I look at the second hand on the clock and start to undress.
I am very lucky, because I'm able to undo the clasp in back on the first attempt and then I'm able to quickly get the zipper started. And most importantly, the little pull tab remains grasped in my fingers as I pull the zipper down to my waist. I guess all the practice in the restroom at work paid off. I strip off the body stocking, quickly fold it, put it on the counter, and look at the clock. Only 27 seconds! I am amazed! I will have to avoid being too boastful of my accomplishment when I tell my lover tomorrow. I would be bursting my buttons with pride - that is, if I actually had any buttons to burst!
I'm now completely naked and on my own for the rest of the evening. What am I going to do with all this free time?
It takes me about an hour to do the mundane stuff - fixing dinner (a frozen pizza and a Coke), sorting through the mail (it is indeed mostly junk plus the utility bill), checking my cell phone for messages (there are none), etc. And then I settle my bare ass down in my own easy chair - a grungy vinyl thing I've had for several years. What the hell am I going to do for the next several hours?
I sit there thinking for a few minutes, and I look down my bare front. Seeing my tits, pubic triangles, and pussy lips reminds me that I am naked because my lover has told me to be that way. Even though she is not here physically, I can feel her presence. That makes me feel so good, but the question remains: What do I do now? She told me that I can do anything I want, but I'm at a loss.
Finally, I just pick up the TV remote, flick on the television, and pick out a meaningless sitcom re-run to watch. When that is finished, I just leave it on that channel and another episode comes on. And then another and another and another.
At 10 o'clock, I'm bored out of my mind. I feel so useless; it seems like I could be doing something useful for my lover, but she didn't assign me any tasks, and since I'm not at her place, I can't do things like dusting or window washing or folding her clothes for her. I'd really like to call her, but it's not my place to do that. So, I just pick up a Danielle Steele paperback and start reading that.
At 11 o'clock, I flip on the TV again and watch the local news. And at 11:30, I just give up and walk into my bedroom. I can feel my lover's presence even stronger in here when I glance at the 3-foot long cat-o'-nine-tails whip that my lover hung over my bed; she has never whipped me with it, but she playfully threatened me with it before she hung it up there.
And then I glance down at the framed photograph of the two of us. I smile as I think back to last summer when she took this photo using the timer on her digital camera. We had only been together for a few months at that point, and we were each fully clothed when we got to the busy city park that day. She looked wonderful in her jogging outfit with the tight running shorts, and I had on a pink summer dress that permitted the outline of the black panties and bra underneath to be seen through the thin material. But we weren't clothed for long, because when we found an isolated section of the park, we both giggled as we undressed. I was really nervous that someone would spot us, and I tried to cover myself with my hands. She was naked as she calmly set up the camera on the tripod, and she scolded me, "Pet, stop that. Hands at your sides, and stand up straight." It took her another minute or so to finish the setup, and I continued to fidget. She came over to show me exactly where to stand in front of the ivy-covered fence, and she swatted my ass fairly hard saying, "Pet, I told you to hold still. Do you want to earn a discipline demerit?"
"No, Ma'am. Sorry, Ma'am, it's just . . . there's a guy . . .", I whispered, because I'm certain someone was looking at us through an opening in the cascade of ivy.
But she interrupted, "Hush. This will only take a few more minutes." And she sidled in next to me and showed me how she wanted us to stand, each with an arm around the other's waist and our bare hips touching. She made some final adjustments and said, "Okay. Remember that pose. I'm going to set the timer for 10 seconds." And before she scooted back over to the camera, she gave my nips a quick loving twist.
It took five tries before she was satisfied with the picture. I quickly slipped back into my clothes, but she remained nude as she packed up the camera and tripod. I sigh now as I think about my nervousness that day, because one person seeing me naked through the ivy is nothing compared to the hundreds who saw me nude last Saturday at the Show and Tell event or the fifty or so who saw me nude at Rick's restaurant for Sunday brunch. And it pales in comparison to my seemingly inevitable (but very reluctant) conversion into a 24/7 nudist in the near future; I shudder at just the thought of full-time nudity, but there's nothing I can do about it.
That day in the park, my lover seemed unconcerned with the possible voyeur behind the fence, and she slowly got dressed after putting away the camera equipment, and then we found a more out-in-the-open picnic table and ate the nice picnic lunch that I had prepared.
A few days later, she gave me this framed copy of that photograph, and I was stunned to see that it showed only our pussies and our matching pubic designs each with the three triangles. She told me, "Pet, you are to put this on the table next to your bed. It is the only picture of me that you are allowed to have." I have since asked her a couple of times for a nice head-shot photo for my wallet and for my desk at work, but she said "no" each time and told me to not ask again.
Even though this picture only shows our pubes, it reminds me how much alike we look. Our skin and pubic hair colors are virtually identical, and if I didn't remember that I'm on the left in the photo, I could not tell which pussy was mine. There are some differences that would have made identification easier such as my fuller pubic mound that is more noticeable from a side view, and her "outie" belly button and my "innie" that have been cropped from this picture. She has emphasized our intimate physical similarities in this graphic photo. I pick up the picture and give my lover's pussy a kiss leaving a bit of lipstick on the glass.
And then I crawl into bed. Oh, how I wish I were in my lover's bed and I could give her real pussy a kiss, but this is my own bed and I am all alone.
End of part 2
Copyright© 2014 by Mr. Flip. All rights reserved.