Chapter 12: Hangover
The alarm clock sounds like an air siren when Lisa wakes up. She
has a throbbing headache and her stomach is queasy. As she wipes
the sleep from her eyes and desperately fights the temptation to
stay in bed, she tries to remember what day it is. After a few
minutes of thinking, she realizes it is Tuesday. Oh goodness.
Tuesday morning, nowhere close to the weekend. She needs to get
to work!
As she pulls off her pajamas and prepares her shower, she tries to
remember what happened last night. Why is she so hungover? She
remembers having a couple of shots of Vodka - Cheryl's suggestion.
Oh yes, Cheryl. She did this. She took Lisa out on a Monday
night and got her drunk. As Lisa stands beneath the warm water,
eyes closed, head aching, she tries to piece together what
happened last night. She remembers the conversation in the car
(Cheryl really seemed like she was going to be a good friend); she
remembers buying a new skirt (I guess I have to wear that today);
and she remembers . . . the shoe store. Oh my god, the shoe
store! Lisa covers her bare pussy in the shower, as she remembers
being so naked.
She snaps out of her reverie. Must shampoo hair! Must wash body!
Must get dressed! Must get coffee! Must get to work!
She hasn't had a hangover like this since she played a drinking
game in college with a party of girls from her dorm. Even then
she only had vague memories of what happened during that drinking
game so long ago; she remembers a pair of dice, some complicated
rules, 4 or 5 giggling girls, and having to drink shots of Tequila
whenever she rolled a 6 or an 8. She remembers something about a
telephone; something else about an envelope. But the alcohol had
blocked her memory then, and she never spoke of the evening with
those girls afterwards. She has only kept in touch with one of
them. Christie. She should call Christie sometime. It's too bad
she lives so far away now.
Lisa puts on her bathrobe and goes immediately to the kitchen to
make some coffee. Her head is pounding and she is not sure
whether breakfast will make her feel better or worse.
Returning to her bedroom, she looks around for some clothes. On
her dresser, she sees her new black skirt next to multiple bags.
She takes off the robe and pulls on the black skirt first. After
pulling it past her hips, she is again surprised by how short it
is. So much of her thighs are visible! Wearing the skirt reminds
her again of the shoe store, and how much the salesman must have
seen when he held her calf and slipped on her shoes. What did he
think of her? Why did he think she was wearing so short a skirt?
And coverless otherwise? As she remembers it, she starts to feel
aroused. She feels her bare breasts as she looks at her legs and
skirt in her mirror. I'm going to wear this to work today, she
thinks. This tiny skirt will be all that covers me!
The thought of going to work without panties occurs to her and
sends a sudden jolt of pleasure to her crotch, but she quickly
reconsiders. A stranger in a shoe store is one thing, she thinks,
but how humiliating would it be if her colleagues saw her
unclothed pussy? No, no, no. I need panties.
Then she starts to remember. Last night, after buying her shoes,
Cheryl took her to a lingerie store. Lisa had never been in a
store specializing in underwear before. The mannequins wore sexy
transparent garments, some of which Lisa did not even know the
names for. Lisa blushed to be shopping in a place so devoted to
sex. But her own sex was uncovered and dripping wet, and the
thought of having panties to protect her made her find the courage
to follow Cheryl in.
Lisa remembers having trouble walking in her new red shoes. The
heels really seemed quite high, and Lisa noted how effortlessly
Cheryl walked in heels (although Cheryl's looked to be a good inch
shorter). Lisa was mostly concentrating on walking when Cheryl
held up a very tiny piece of red fabric.
"What do you think?" asked Cheryl. "Do they match the shoes?"
Cheryl squatted down and held the fabric against the shoes. Lisa
thought about how much of herself would have been exposed if she
had squatted down like that. It occurred to her that Cheryl could
have made her do so! "They look like a pretty good match to me.
I think we've found you some panties!" Cheryl stood back up and
handed the garment to Lisa. Lisa held it up. It was just a silk
triangle of red fabric and three strings connected in the back.
"These are barely panties!" said Lisa.
"These won't show under that tight skirt," said Cheryl. "Trust
me, they're what you need."
Lisa had never worn a thong. She imagined how uncomfortable a
string between her butt cheeks would feel if worn all day long.
She remembers that she thought then that she should forget the
whole deal and tell Cheryl she couldn't wear this. But she knew
Cheryl would ask "Why not?" Not knowing the answer, she stayed
quiet.
"And to match," said Cheryl, holding up a simple red silk cami
hemmed with lace. "You'll wear this instead of a bra, with a
white blouse."
Lisa was reminded of her lack of bra. She looked down at her blue
sweater and saw that her nipples were still visible.
"Okay," said Lisa, suddenly noting that the salesgirl was watching
her underwear being picked out by another woman, "can we just get
out of here?"
Now Lisa reaches into the bag from that store and pulls out the
red silk thong. She had wanted to wear it after buying it in the
store, but Cheryl had told her not to get it dirty. Lisa slips it
up her legs; she pulls up her skirt and slips the silk up. The
panty fits snugly. She notes a few stray hairs that the small
silk front does not contain.
Lisa thinks: someone might see up my skirt today. This skirt is
so short, I probably can't avoid it! The thought terrifies her
but the arousal she feels tells her that she will - she must - go
through with it. But if someone does see her, she thinks, it
won't do to have these stray hairs! She finds a small pair of
scissors and, skirt pulled to her waist, panties pushed aside,
spends a few minutes trimming what she can. "I can't believe I'm
trimming my pubic hair to prepare for work," she says aloud.
After suitably containing herself, she pulls the skirt down. She
turns around. The skirt hugs her bare ass. She feels the silk
string between her butt cheeks; it feels very naughty. But she
can see no evidence of her underwear behind the tight skirt,
unlike at the store.
She goes back to the bag and finds the red silk cami that Cheryl
had instructed her to wear in place of her usual white bra. She
slips it on. The silk feels soft and light against her skin, and
this cami hangs fairly loosely on her. It is no substitute for a
bra, she thinks. Most notably, her nipples harden at the
luxurious feeling of the soft silk, like little
pebbles, blatantly visible through the red garment. She finds a
white blouse in her closet and puts it on, buttoning all buttons
but the collar. The red cami is only barely visible beneath the
shirt, but the shape of her nipples is still quite obvious.
Finally, Lisa puts on the red shoes that she found next to the
door. She had worn them all last night, and was never certain
whether her difficulty walking was due to the 4 inch heels or the
alcohol.
She remembers starting to get the hang of walking as she followed
Cheryl from the lingerie store to a restaurant in the same mall.
It must have been 8pm by then, and Lisa remembers being starving.
The popular and bustling restaurant had no tables immediately
available, though, so Cheryl and Lisa waited at the bar. That was
when Cheryl ordered 3 shots of Vodka. "One for me and two for
you," she said. "I will have to drive you home later."
Lisa was not usually one to drink hard alcohol, especially not
straight, but after feeling so humiliated at the shoe store she
thought the drinks might calm her, so she downed the shots, one
after the other. With her empty stomach and nervous mood, the
alcohol went straight to her head.
Lisa only vaguely remembers the ensuing events. She remembers
being at the bar for a bit longer. She remembers that the bar
stools were rather high, and the unpadded stools felt cool against
her nakedness. She was still wearing that tiny little skirt and
nothing else.
She vaguely remembers Cheryl's hand on her thigh, gently stroking,
as she whispered into her ear. "You are hot tonight," she thinks
she remembers hearing, although it seemed to make more sense then.
What else? "Men are checking you out. They know what you want."
Lisa isn't sure now whether Cheryl actually said these things, or
whether she had just been thinking them. "I know how aroused you
are. I can /smell/ it. It's your wetness. Your nectar and your
pheromones, leaking out of you. You smell like you need it.
Everyone in here can smell it."
Maybe I dreamed all that, thinks Lisa. Her memory of the bar has
become so clouded; she tries to imagine herself there in this
skirt and these shoes and it doesn't seem like something she would
do. The high heels seem to put her naked legs on a stage; they
seem to make an exhibit of her bare calves and thighs uncovered by
the tiny miniskirt. "I can't go to work like this," she says to
herself. She has worn short skirts to work before, but the high
heels add more to her appearance than she could have imagined.
She sits on her bed and considers her options. She could put on
her favorite pair of black slacks - how comfortably would they
clothe her legs and hide all that flesh from her coworkers. She
wouldn't have to worry about what people could see when she sat
down. She walks to her closet and finds the slacks hanging there.
She runs her hand across the material and then thinks: no. Cheryl
told me to wear this skirt. If I ignore /this/ instruction, then
I am not doing what she says. And if I am not obeying, then my
previous behavior must have been my own choice. Including
exposing herself to the shoe salesman. No, that was not me,
thinks Lisa. Cheryl wanted that. I am proving something here. I
will wear the outfit she asked.
Having made the decision, Lisa looks at herself in the mirror. So
much legflesh appears before her! Her head is still aching from
her hangover, and she is again running late for work. And most of
all, she realizes, she wants nothing more than to return to bed,
tear her skimpy red panties off, and give her the orgasm she has
been craving for days.
"All right," she says to the mirror. "I've done this before. I
can do it again. I'll wear the skirt. But I'll wear pantyhose,
in order to stay looking professional."
And that decision was enough to allow her to finish dressing and
to propel herself out the door, through the streets, and into the
subway.
Even that short walk in her new heels, coupled with her aching
muscles and throbbing head, makes her seek a seat in the still
crowded subway. Only one seat is available, next to a younger man
in a navy blue business suit.
She smiles at him as she sits down, and sees that he is looking at
where the short hem of her tight miniskirt meets her nylon-clad
legs. She suspects that he is tempted to rest his hand on her
thighs and feel the smooth nylon. Or maybe she just wants him to.
A skirt day, she thinks. This man can do what he likes. She
knows he is not going to touch her, but the knowledge that she is
not going to stop him gives her a familiar thrill that awakens her
desires and makes her forget her headache for the rest of the
subway ride. And indeed, the young man politely keeps to himself,
even as Lisa starts rubbing her own thighs while her thoughts
begin to distract her.
By the time Lisa reaches the elevator to her office, she realizes
that the thought of her coworkers seeing her in these high red
heels and a skirt that hugs her figure and then stops so abruptly
is making her anxious and very, very horny. She remembers that
she needs permission to masturbate, and she decides she has to ask
Cheryl again. It would feel so good right now, she thinks.
Walking down the halls from the elevator to the cubicle, she can
see the men of her office turn their heads. The heels have
changed her gait, making it into more of a hip-shaking strut.
They make it seem as if she is showing off her body in this
provocative outfit. What must they think of me?
Then she notices another effect she had not considered: this skirt
rides up, and much more so against the nylon of her pantyhose than
it ever had against bare legs. Knowing that her office is looking
at her, she finds she needs to tug down her skirt every few steps.
Finally in the safety of her cubicle, Lisa sits down and tugs at
the hem of her skirt a final time.
Her morning email check yielded another message from Steve:
Lisa -
Can't seem to shake this cold.
I'm sure I'll be good to work tomorrow.
Let me know by email if there's any way I can help from
home.
- S
Lisa realizes she was hoping Steve would see her new outfit.
Would Steve comment on the scandalously short skirt and the bright
red heels? She remembers what Cheryl said: Steve is not sick;
he's sulking. That's ridiculous, thinks Lisa, and she is about to
write an email apologizing to him when Cheryl sneaks her head into
Lisa's cubicle.
"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"
Cheryl is wearing black pants and a burgundy blouse. She looks
elegant and professional.
Lisa tugs at her skirt again before swivelling her chair to face
Cheryl. "I . . . think so."
"You think so?"
"Actually, Cheryl, I don't really remember what happened last
night."
Cheryl smiles and offers her hand to Lisa. "You look a little
hungover. No surprise, after how many drinks you had last night.
Come on, come with me to the bathroom, I'll help you hide the
evidence."
Lisa takes Cheryl's hand and follows her lead to the women's
bathroom, periodically tugging the hem of her skirt.
Both women are standing by the mirror. Cheryl takes some make-up
out of her purse.
"You need to learn some make-up tricks," says Cheryl, as she
starts her work, first on Lisa's eyes. "You'd do better with a
bit more, generally, but on morning's like this it's the only way
to hide the evidence of your partying last night!"
"What happened last night?" asks Lisa as Cheryl continued to
work, "I really don't remember anything after you ordered those
shots of vodka."
"You don't remember Joe and Joe?"
Lisa had forgotten, but the names Joe and Joe made her remember.
"Oh, right, they offered to buy us drinks. I remember that. Two
guys, both named Joe."
"They saw your cute little skirt and closed in like wolves, those
two," says Cheryl as she continues to work on Lisa's make-up. "I
think the first Joe, the big one, wanted to get better acquainted
with your bare legs, and the second couldn't take his eyes off
your nipples."
"It was so funny how they were both named Joe," says Lisa. "They
wouldn't listen when I told them I had had enough to drink."
"Hey, they were paying, so don't complain. They bought us dinner,
too."
Lisa tries to remember, but only vaguely remembered eating.
"There," says Cheryl, looking in the mirror. Lisa looks at her
own face. Her eyes are carefully outlined, her cheeks a little
redder. She did look less hungover, she thinks, but also more . .
. womanly.
"Um, thanks," says Lisa.
"Do you have any meetings today?" asks Cheryl as she starts to
unbutton the top buttons of Lisa's blouse.
"What are you doing?" asks Lisa.
"I didn't buy that you pretty red cami to be hidden. It matches
your shoes and your panties. It's bad enough you've hidden your
panties behind those dark pantyhose. You need something to go
with your shoes."
Lisa sees in the mirror that Cheryl unbuttoned enough buttons to
reveal the red lace of the cami beneath her blouse.
"Now," continues Cheryl, "do you have any meetings today?"
"Um, one, I think. With Jim."
"Ah, Jim. More ass-kissing for the promotion, I guess?"
"No! Not at all!" Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes. "He called
this meeting. I don't know why. I thought you said you believed
me - anyway you should believe me. I'm not doing anything but my
normal work to get that promotion."
Cheryl finishes straightening Lisa's blouse. "Oh, you're probably
right. You're just wearing this sexy outfit because I told you
to, right?"
"Of course! I wore exactly what you said!"
"Well, not exactly. These pantyhose were not part of the outfit."
"But, don't you think bare legs would have been too
unprofessional?"
Cheryl looks at Lisa's legs and sighs. "I'll tell you what," she
says, "Jim is the boss. It's his opinion that counts. Here's
what I want you to do. You can wear your hose while you work at
your cubicle, but right before your meeting with Jim I want you to
take them off and leave them with me. Then, in your meeting, you
can ask Jim whether you think your attire is suitable for the
office or not. If he says it isn't, I'll give you back the
pantyhose and you can wear them for the rest of the day. If he
approves of your bare legs, though, then I'll just keep them, and
you shouldn't ever have to wear them again."
"But . . . "
"But what?" Cheryl steps closer to Lisa and puts one finger on
Lisa's lips. Her other hand reaches down to Lisa's ass, tightly
encased in the black miniskirt. She lightly touches Lisa's right
butt cheek, sending shivers up Lisa's body. The feeling of
Cheryl's hand there, almost a tickle, is awakening her desire.
"Do as I say," whispers Cheryl, "and later on, I'll give you that
permission you wanted. I haven't forgotten your request."
Cheryl's hand and the promise of a masturbatory orgasm almost
makes Lisa moan. Certainly she could think of nothing to say, and
only nods her head.
