Chapter 10:  A Little Help


Throughout that day, Lisa felt the eyes of the office
on her nipples, and did not find that she needed to,
as Cheryl put it, "give them a little pinch to wake
them up."  No, they were quite awake on their own, as
well as the rest of her body.  

At about 3:15pm, she found herself in the bathroom. 
Sitting in the stall, her panties and skirt at her
knees, she noticed that her finger was teasing her
clit.  She pulled it away, but the pleasure she so
desperately needed drew it back.  The conversation she
had with Joan about getting permission seemed to make
sense at the time - and isn't that why Friday had gone
so awry?  But she had barely managed to get any work
done at all that day, thinking only about her naked
legs, about her pointy nipples under her blue sweater,
about Steve tickling her thighs, and about the smile
Cheryl gave when she left the conference room.  And
about her pussy, which selfishly demanded attention. 
Getting permission seemed like a good idea, but maybe
not this time of the month when her hormones were
telling her to find a man, now!

Then it occurs to her: Cheryl hadn't /denied/ her
permission.  Maybe she could get permission from
someone else!  Then she could give her needy pussy the
attention it craved and not feel guilty about it!

She pulls up her panties and skirt and rushes to her
cubicle, and picks up her phone.  Who should she call?
 Her first thought is Steve, but then she thinks
better of it and realizes that Joan will surely give
her permission.  Quickly she dials her therapist's
number.

The phone rings three times.  A recording comes on:
"Hello, you have reached the office of Joan Goldman. 
I am with a patient right now and have de-activated my
phone.  However, I will be happy to return your call
as soon as I have a free moment.  If this is an
emergency, press pound at any time.  Otherwise, please
leave a message, including your telephone number. 
Thank You."  As the beep sounded, Lisa started to
panic.  Is this an emergency?  What will Joan thinks
when her session is interrupted by a request to
masturbate?  Should she leave a message?  What should
she say?  And will someone in the next cubicle
overhear her?  This is hopeless, she thinks.  She
hangs up.

The moment the phone hits the hook, it rings again. 
Hopeful, Lisa picks it up.  "Hello?"

"Lisa!  It's Jim.  I got a busy signal the first time
I called.  Who were you calling?"

What should she say?   She can't tell her boss she was
calling her therapist!  Not if she wanted that
promotion. "A client.  Roberts."

"Oh? I thought we were close to closing that account. 
What was the call about?"

Lisa feels like a schoolgirl in trouble.  She looks
down at her lap and thinks: you!  You got me into
this!  It's time to be an adult, she thinks.

"I'm sorry Jim, it wasn't Roberts.  It was a personal
call I'd rather not discuss."  

There's a pause.

"Hey, no problem.  As long as it wasn't long
distance."

"No sir, of course not."

"Listen, Lisa, I'm trying to set something up.  It
could be a good opportunity for you.  But I need to
ask you a personal question.  Do you mind?"

Does Jim know something?  She responds, "Go ahead."

"Feel free not to answer.  I mean really.  There's no
obligation here."

"Go ahead and ask."  Lisa worries, but reminds
herself: it's a skirt day.  Jim is clearly uncertain,
or covering himself against sexual harassment, she
thinks.  But he needn't worry.  She feels the same
suspense she remembered having on her first date.  

"Okay: it's just this.  What, um, what dress size are
you?"

Well, she knew it wouldn't be something she wrote on
her resume.  Jim has something in mind . . . and
although she's worried, she is anxious to know what.

"What's this about, sir?" she asks.

"I'll tell you tomorrow, if I can get this set up. 
But if I can't, then it's better that you not know. "

She realizes she is playing with her hair.  "Well, I'm
usually a size 5, sometimes a 6, depending on the
clothes."  

"Okay, Lisa.  Thank you.  I'll call you in for a
meeting tomorrow afternoon if this works out, okay?"

"Okay, sir."  Jim hangs up, and then Lisa does too.




At 4:30 Cheryl came to her cubicle.  Her face was
bright with a smile.

"Lisa, listen, I'm sorry I was so cross with you
earlier."

Lisa looked down at her sweater and made sure her
nipples were still perky.  Seeing that they were, she
smiled back at Cheryl.  

Cheryl continued, "You know, I've been thinking about
what you said, and I think I believe you.  Actually, I
kind of want to give you a little help."

"Help?  How?"

"Well . . .  hey, can you take off a little early
today?  Maybe we can get some drinks and perhaps
dinner together."

Lisa realized that she was dying to leave work, and
Cheryl's friendly tone was alluring.  "Okay."

Soon Cheryl and Lisa were walking through the downtown
streets together.  Cheryl led Lisa into a parking
garage, where her car, a six-year-old luxury sedan,
waited on the third floor.

"How can you afford to drive to work?" asked Lisa,
"Parking is so expensive around here."

"My husband gets two parking spots in this garage with
his job."

"You're married?"  

Cheryl smiled and showed off her engagement and
wedding rings.  The diamond was so large and shiny,
Lisa could hardly believe she had never noticed it
before.  "It has its advantages," she said.


The drive out of the city was not quick, as they
caught the beginnings of the rush hour traffic.  But
they had plenty of time to talk.

"I think I believe you that you're not dressing sexy
to get the promotion," said Cheryl, "although it was
hard for me to believe at first.  After all, I'm
hoping to get the same position, as I'm sure you
know."

"I'm sure you'll get it, Cheryl.  You've been at the
company longer than me."

"I'm not so sure.  Since you've been here you've
really shaken things up.  We're all very impressed at
the efficiency of your department."  

"Well, thank you," said Lisa.  "It's just a matter of
hiring the right people . . . and putting in the extra
hours when they're needed."

Cheryl smiled.  "We all know how often you're the last
one out of the office, Lisa.  How late do you work
most of the time?"

"Well, usually until 7pm, depending on how hungry I
am.  There's always so much to do."

Cheryl laughed.  "See, this is why I don't think
you're dressing sexy to get the promotion.  You don't
need to dress sexy.  Everyone knows you'll get it,
despite my seniority."

Lisa tried to gauge Cheryl's emotions.  Was she
bitter?  She seemed perfectly friendly.

"But," continued Cheryl, "I'll bet you haven't got
many friends."

Lisa thought for a moment.  "Well," she said, "My best
friend is Christie; she was my roommate in college. 
Of course, she lives in Denver now, but we see each
other every now and then, when she flies into town."

Cheryl glanced at Lisa, and then back at the road.

"And, well, there's . . . Joan."

"Who's Joan?"  

"Joan's my therapist."

Cheryl laughed and put her right hand on Lisa's bare
knee.  "Lisa, since you've come here you've been like
a drill sergeant.  You bark orders at your employees
and even your coworkers.  You never come to any of the
office's social functions, except to the very first
Christmas party when you were first hired.  As I
recall, that was the only time - until recently - that
I ever saw you in clothing that isn't described as
`stern corporate bland.'  But still it was prudish as
hell.  It's no wonder you haven't many friends.  But
that's nothing that can't be changed."

Lisa felt the warmth of Joan's hand on her knee, and
it felt good.

"I'm sorry, Cheryl; it just didn't seem important."

"Don't be sorry, Lisa.  The point is, it wouldn't make
sense for you to be dressing like you are to get a
job.  It's just not you.  Of course, it's not you to
dress like this anyway.  Do you often go without a
bra?"

Lisa looked down at her breasts and blushed, and then
realized that Cheryl was laughing.

"I doubt you have too much experience with men,
either," said Cheryl, gently squeezing Lisa's knee. 
"I don't mean that in a bad way.  I mean, clearly you
aren't entirely inexperienced, but you probably don't
have as much time to date as you'd like."  

Lisa listened carefully; as she knew Cheryl was right.
"I may have not fully understood what was going on
between you and Steve," Cheryl continued, "but
nonetheless, you probably did hurt him pretty badly. 
I'll be surprised if he comes to work all week."

"But he was so assertive.  I doubt he feels rejected. 
He's bigger than that."

"See," said Cheryl, "you /don't/ have too much
experience with men.  Steve's still wet behind the
ears.  He's what, 22?  23?  But don't worry.  I'll
help you get him back."

Lisa wasn't sure how to react.  She read the license
plate cover of the car ahead of her.  "Jesus loves
you," it said, "no matter what."

Cheryl continued, "I think it's good what you're
doing.  Good for you.  And for the rest of us."

Lisa looked out the passenger window at billboards
crawling by.  "Hey," she asked, "where are we going,
anyway?"

Cheryl flipped on her right turn signal.  "To the
mall," she said.  "I want to help you pick out the
skirt you'll wear tomorrow."

 
	Chapter 11:   Cheryl's First Cliche


The mall was not very crowded on an early Monday
evening, but a few after-work shoppers and
after-school hangers-out gave it a healthy buzz.  Lisa
followed Cheryl past the stores where she might
usually find her pant-suits, her simple blouses, her
conservative sweaters, and her simple cotton slacks,
to a smaller store featuring lots of black, pink, and
denim.  The pop music blaring in the background was
neither Lisa' first nor her last clue that this was
not a store for the corporate woman.

"Uh, Cheryl," said Lisa, as Cheryl began flipping
through a rack of black skirts, "I think this store is
more for the high school crowd."

"Nonsense," said Cheryl. "I saw how good your legs
looked under that pleated black skirt.  But I thought
you might look better in something tighter."

Cheryl pulled out a black cotton skirt that looked
like far too little material for Lisa.  "This looks
like it will fit you," she said.  "Go try it on."

Lisa took the skirt into the dressing room.  She
looked at the label: "Hottie," it said, in pink bubble
letters.  "Cotton/Polyester Blend."  "Small."   She
pulled off her brown skirt - her new brown skirt that
came almost to her knees, she recalled - and pulled
the new skirt up her legs.  When it reached her hips,
she had to pull hard.  The material was stretchy, and
eventually she got the skirt to her waist.

Now she is looking at herself in the mirror, wondering
what to do.  The skirt fits her body, she realizes,
but does it fit Lisa?  Does it fit the woman she
thinks she is?  The hem hugs her thighs only inches
below her ass.  The material is so tight the outline
of her panties is visible.  She would never buy this
skirt, not even for a date.  But she knows that
Cheryl, Cheryl who was so nice to her in the car, is
waiting for her.  She can't back out now, she thinks. 
 But she can't leave the dressing room either.  Her
skirt leaves her legs entirely exposed, and lewdly
shows off her small but still very visible ass!   She
sits down on the tiny bench in the dressing room.  As
she does so, her white panties come clearly into view.
 
"How is it?" Cheryl calls from the store.

"Um, I think it's too small."

"Let me see.  Let me in."  Lisa stands up and opens
the door.  

"See," says Lisa, showing her ass to Cheryl, "It's so
tight it shows the outline of my underwear."

"Oh," says Cheryl, "you're just wearing the wrong kind
of underwear.  Here, take off those panties."

Lisa looked at Cheryl and almost cried.  She felt her
pussy twitch. "You can't be serious."

"Take them off!  I want to see how the skirt looks on
you without that panty-line."

Lisa looked at herself in the mirror again, standing
nearly a foot taller than Cheryl beside her.  It will
be okay, she thinks, and turns away from the mirror,
pulls up the skirt to her waist, and pulls her white
panties down to her ankles.  She pulls the skirt back
down as far as she can, but it won't go more than a
few inches past her nude pussy.  

"There," says Cheryl, as Lisa looks over her shoulder
at her rear in the mirror, now free of a panty-line,
"that looks much better.  This will be your skirt
tomorrow."

"Cheryl, I can NOT wear this to work.  It is way too
short.  And tight.  Do you really think this is
appropriate for the workplace?  Besides, I have a
meeting with Jim tomorrow, and Steve is coming back,
and . . . "

Cheryl puts her finger on Lisa's lips.  "It's okay,
Lisa.  It's okay.  You felt this way when you first
put on the skirt Steve gave you, didn't you?  It
wasn't that much longer than this one."  

"Well, yes, but . . ." 

"And how did that go?  Did the world end?  Were you
kicked out of work?  Did anyone laugh at you?"

"Well, no, but . . . "

"But what?"

"But this is different.  This is . . . scandalous." 
Lisa can feel the cool air of the store's air
conditioning on her naked pussy.  She is getting wet
again, very wet.  "Cheryl, I simply can't go to work
without . . . without . . . without panties."

Cheryl smiles.  "Is that what you're worried about? 
Oh, don't you worry; you can wear panties.  It's just
these white ones won't work."  Cheryl picks up Lisa's
panties off the floor and puts them in her purse.  "In
fact, let's go find you a pair that /will/ work, right
now."  

Cheryl opens the door of the dressing room.  "Wait!"
said Lisa, "Can't I put on my other skirt first?"

"No," says Cheryl, "I rather like the one you're
wearing.  Come on, let's go pay for it and get you
some panties, hm?"

Cheryl leads Lisa to the register, where she asks the
salesgirl to remove the tags from the skirt.  The
salesgirl looks like she is 16 years old, wearing
tight jeans and a pink tank top.  She looks at Lisa
and smiles.  She comes around the counter with a pair
of scissors and crouches in front of Lisa, putting a
slightly sweaty left hand on Lisa's left leg to steady
herself.  She brings her right hand to the bottom of
the skirt, holding it against Lisa's thigh as she cuts
off the tag.  As she brings the tag back to the
counter and scans it, Lisa can still feel the warm
spot on her thigh where the girl's hand had been.  It
is high - very close to her crotch.  

"Go ahead, Lisa," says Cheryl, "Pay her."  


As they leave the store, Lisa becomes more and more
aware of her lack of undergarments.  Her black skirt
rides up a little as she walks, and she knows that
nothing is protecting her modesty underneath.  She can
see that Cheryl is looking at her legs from time to
time, as are the men they pass who turn their heads in
clear indication that they are checking her out.  Some
of them, she thinks, might be looking at her breasts,
which bounce around unfettered beneath her tight blue
sweater, her ever-present nipples making it clear that
there is nothing constraining them.  

"There's a lingerie store just down this way," says
Cheryl, "but first . . . "

They stop in front of a ladies' shoe store.

"First, you need some better shoes to go with that
skirt."

Lisa did think her work shoes looked a little off with
this sexy skirt.  But Cheryl's grin indicated
something amiss . . . 

"Surely, you know how this works," says Cheryl.  "I'll
wait here.  You go in, and see if you can catch the
eye of that salesman over there.  That one.  The one
with the green tie.  Yes.  Tell him you're looking for
a red shoe with a four inch heel.  If he asks your
size, tell him you aren't sure and ask him to measure
your foot.  Then let him put the shoe on for you."

Lisa could see where this was going.  Of course, this
would have to happen after buying the short, tight
skirt, but before buying the underwear.  

"Cheryl," she says, "I don't think I can do this."

Cheryl puts her hand on her back.  "This is an old
cliché, Lisa.  It's more than that.  It's a rite of
passage.  All women do this, at some point.  The
salesman has gone through this a hundred times.  It's
your turn now.  Go." 

Lisa closes her eyes for a moment, pulls down the hem
of her skirt again, and steps into the shoe store. 
The salesman in a green tie notices her immediately,
approaches her, and asks, "Can I help you Miss? 
Something particular you're looking for?"

"Yes," she says, not making eye contact, "something
red.  With a four inch heel."   This store is even
cooler than the last, and Lisa feels it between her
legs.  This man is going to see it, she thinks.

"Ah, we have a couple choices in red.  What size?"

"Um, I'm not sure.  Can you measure for me?"

The salesman smiles and nods.  "Please, have a seat."

Lisa remembers how easily she could see her white
panties when she sat down in the dressing room.  Her
white panties were now tucked in Cheryl's purse. 
Cheryl is standing at the window, as if window
shopping for shoes.  Cheryl holds the plastic bag with
Lisa's modest brown skirt inside.    Lisa thinks of
walking out of the store, but she is afraid to tell
Cheryl that she can't do it.  All women do this,
Cheryl had said, right?  

Lisa sits down on a leather seat.  She feels the cool,
smooth leather against her bare skin; there is nothing
between her nakedness and the chair.  She crosses her
legs immediately as the salesman goes into the back
room.  Another salesman, by the register, is clearly
gazing at her legs.  The male half of a shopping
couple is looking over his shoulder every thirty
seconds.  "All women do this," Lisa muttered to
herself, not believing it but wanting to very badly. 
Her embarrassment heightens when she realizes how wet
she is, and feels her moisture starting to puddle on
the leather chair.

The salesman returns with a foot measuring device. 
"Slip out of your shoes and put your heel here."  Lisa
finds it comforting that he is giving orders, and
finds it easy to follow them.  She does not think much
as she uncrosses her legs to bend over and take off
her shoes.  With her legs uncrossed, she suspects the
salesman, who is on one knee, can see her bare pussy. 
As she puts her right heel in the device, there is no
doubt.  

It takes a few seconds for the salesman to tear his
gaze away from under her skirt and look at the device.
 He pushes some metal pieces around and completes the
measurement.  "You're an 8 1/2 , Miss.  Let me see
what I have in your size."  He gets up and rushes to
the backroom.

The male shopper looks over desperately as the
salesman gets up; clearly he wants a glimpse himself. 
Lisa quickly crosses her legs again, causing her skirt
to ride up to the very top of her thigh.

I have never felt so naked in my life, she thinks, as
the salesman returns, with a single box.  He kneels in
front of her again.  "Let's try these."

Lisa uncrosses her legs, and her skirt has ridden up
so high that she can see some of her pubic hair past
the hem.  She lifts herself from the seat for a moment
to tug down the skirt, but when she gives her left leg
to the salesman to slip on the shoe she knows it was
of little use.  His gaze remains fixed on her crotch,
and she knows she is completely exposed to him.  All
women do this, she thinks to herself.  This is an old
cliché.  She looks at Cheryl, who is watching her from
the window.  Cheryl gives her a thumbs up, which fills
her with sudden happiness.  Why is Cheryl's approval
so important, Lisa wonders?  The salesman puts the
right shoe on as well, gently stroking her bare calf
as he does so.  "Give them a try," she says.

She stands up, and gives her skirt yet another tug. 
The salesman is watching her.  The other salesman is
watching her.  The couple that had been shopping are
now both sitting down, watching her.  And - she looks
again to make sure - Cheryl is watching her.  

She walks around the store.  She has never worn heels
before, and her walking is unsteady.  These heels seem
so tall that she feels unsafe about putting weight on
them, but walking on her toes doesn't seem right
either.  She blushes.  She is doing this for the very
first time, and probably doing it wrong.  She is
wearing the shortest skirt she has ever seen, and her
nipples are still evident in her tight sweater, and it
seems everyone is watching her, wondering what she
will do next.  She feels out of place, but she knows
she is putting on a show.  She looks back at the
salesman and smiles; he is kneeling by the chair,
where she notices she left behind a small puddle of
moisture.  She turns away, hoping no one else notices,
but feels that her pussy is still leaking its fluids. 
She can feel them on her upper thighs, and now she
feels a drop starting to drip down.  Oh god, how I
wish I still had my panties.   She hopes that her
audience will not notice her juices dripping down her
leg, past the hem of her skirt; in order to not call
attention to it, she does nothing about it.

She looks in a mirror by the register.  Her legs look
especially long and sleek in the heels; the position
forced on her calf muscles gives them a shape that
looks especially inviting.  Her gaze moves up to her
thigh, exposed by the short skirt.  She can see the
light reflecting off her inner thigh where it is
moist.  She blushes and rushes back to her seat,
almost tripping in the heels.

She sits on the seat, and feels that it is still wet. 
"Okay, they're okay, I'll take them," she stammers as
she pulls them off.  "Ring them up.  I'll take them." 


"Well, hold on, Miss," says the salesman, "I have
another pair that you should try as well.  Hold on
just a minute."  Lisa watchas as the man adjusts his
pants, stands up, and runs to the back room.

Cheryl comes into the shoe store and sits next to
Lisa.  Lisa is almost in tears, and Cheryl hugs her. 
"Okay, Lisa, Okay." says Cheryl, "I believe you now. 
I still had my doubts, but now I really believe you." 


Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes.  "All women do this?"

"Well, most women wear panties when they do this."

"You did this?"

Cheryl smiles.  "Maybe I got married too soon.  I
never did.  But I wish I had.   How do you feel?"

Lisa looks down at her legs.  "Exposed."

"Yeah, but you're not the only one," says Cheryl. 
"Did you see the salesguy?"

"Huh?"

"He had a tent in his pants big enough for a three
ring circus.  He's probably jacking off in the back
room right now."

Lisa blushes.  "No, he's getting me more shoes."

"Sure he is," says Cheryl.  "Sure he is.  I think this
first pair looks great on you.  Why don't you put them
back on and we'll pay for them.  They don't match your
shirt, but they look better than your old ones.  Then
we'll get you some panties, and then a couple drinks,
hmm?"

"Okay."  Lisa slips the red shoes back on as Cheryl
puts her old ones in the box.   They walk to the
register, Lisa still unsteady, just as the salesman
rushes out of the backroom, out of breath.  

"I have the other pair, Miss."

Cheryl interjects:  "That's okay, she'll take the
first pair, thank you."  Lisa is glad Cheryl is taking
over.  "This one's on me," says Cheryl, as she takes a
credit card out of her purse, "a present."

"Thank you," says Lisa.  As the salesman scans the
card, Cheryl asks, "So, how often does this happen?"

"What?" asks the salesman.

"You know, how often do women come in here and let you
look up their skirts?"  

The salesman blushes, and Lisa looks desperately at
Cheryl.  "Oh come on," says Cheryl, "to whom was this
a secret?"  

Lisa looks at the salesman, making eye contact for the
first time.  He looks at Lisa and then at Cheryl and
then down at the counter and says, "Oh, it happens
about once a week, but none are as pretty as yours."