High Heels Day

Many years ago I had the pleasure of acting as the president of a startup. very sexy, women's fashion company. Yes, like Victoria's Secret. But we were different. Not just lingerie, although our "Night Whispers" collection rivalled theirs, No, Goddess Fashions branched out early into other lines: teeny bikinis that were just triangles of fabric and a little string; party dresses whose skirts were made to constantly fly up, displaying stockings and naughty panties.

Our office environment was unique. The twenty or so ladies who worked for me were secretaries and clerks -- as well as models. About three times a month, Fridays were "dress-up" days, when my girls were required to model our latest fashions all day long. Considering how little they were wearing, it might have been called "Barely Dressed" day.

So I was surrounded by beautiful women all day at work. They often posed for me in the sexiest things imaginable. And sometimes they sweetly stripped naked for me.

My Friday that fateful week was crazy. There was a lot of planning for the salesmen who were coming next Friday for their quarterly awards. One of their rewards was "High Heels Day," during which the ten or so girls who agreed to do it wore nothing but -- of all things -- high heels!

We actually paid the brave ladies who agreed to such exposure an hourly rate for nude modelling -- in addition to their usual wages. That got some reluctant models to shyly expose their bare selves to all. Today was the special day I was to 'break in' our newest member, whom I'll call "Tara".

She was an absolutely gorgeous, leggy blue-eyed brunette. 5' 8" and 38C - 26 - 36 & 1/2. I lusted after her the first time I saw her -- even though she was fully dressed! I didn't think she'd make it through lingerie dress-up: our outfits really are whispers of silky fabric, barely covering a modest lady's hidden treasures. She had only been here two weeks. We compensated a bit on that day and let the girls have the choice of wearing a lacy see-through coverup over their whispers of bras, panties, stockings and garters. But Tara made it. I did my best to keep away from her that day, lest my naughty thoughts be known, but damn -- she had absolutely the best legs I've ever seen! And I've seen more than my share.

Now I was actually nervous and already getting excited, setting up my office for my very private meeting with Tara. Chairs had to be set up just so, so I could see her. A privacy screen stood in the corner, in case this sweet lady required privacy as she undressed. I sincerely hoped not. One of the many pleasures of my job was talking beautiful young women like Tara with becoming more and more comfortable with displaying more and more of their delightful young bodies -- until there was absolutely nothing left to hide.

It was time. She knocked and I called her in. Oh my God: I hadn't realized what she would be wearing this Friday. It was a very sexy, ridiculously sexy tennis outfit. As she stood so nervously in front of me I took it in: two crisscrossing bands of elasticized fabric that just covered her breasts. Below was... I can't really call it a skirt! It was two panels of fabric: one in front, one in back. Not only were the panels dangerously short, when she turned to the side one could see nothing but bare skin, from her little white shoes all the way up to the thin white belt around her waist. It gave the impression that she was pantiless underneath. Well, those panels were designed to fly up at every serve and volley to expose the thinnest thongs ever known to man.

How can I describe her except as a centerfold who had just stepped out of a 1970s back issue into our world. A leggy, voluptous brunette 'girl next door' look.

I directed her to have a seat which immediately presented a problem. I had of course positioned her chair in front of my desk so that I would have the best view under her skirt and between those long gorgeous legs.

She sat down slowly, tugging on that little piece of fabric to no avail: her teeny thong was enticingly peeking out.

She compromised by reluctantly crossing those incredible legs, tugging that "skirt" down as she did so.

Everything she did in this situation was a sexual treat, but the tugging and the leg crossing would have to stop. I considered the fact that she would be unable to tug on her skirt if she was no longer wearing a skirt. I would hopefully rectify that issue very soon.

Finally the time to ask her if she had heard about High Heels Day. Now the blushing started in earnest. I did ask my girls to keep things private, but I couldn't expect them not to talk amongst themselves.

"Um," she started, looking around the room but not at me, "I did hear that, well... there was nudity!"

Getting that admission out was such a struggle. I hoped that getting her clothes off would be a bit easier.

"Have you decided if you're going to join us? There's nine other girls signed up. You won't be alone. There's no pressure."

She looked around, biting her lower lip. "I... I just... I dont know about being totally naked!!"

She hadn't said no. Time for reassurance. "You're going to do great. Look at the little outfit you're wearing right now! We're going to take you step by step. Nice and slow. One thing at a time. You want to stop? We stop. You want to leave? I'll be disappointed but in the end it's your choice."

I sat back and looked at her, deliberately focusing at where her delicious thighs were hidden under her skirt.

"I want you to remember you're being paid as a model today. So why don't we take off that silly excuse for a skirt, and let me see how you look in our panties."

Her eyes widened. She licked her lips and bit the lower one. She slowly reached down to her belt.

"Why don't you stand for me? It will make things easier."

She slowly complied and reached for her belt and unclasped it. There wasn't much else holding the skirt up. She tugged it down over her legs and I loved to watch each pretty knee bend. It fell to the floor and she quickly scooped it up, holding it in front of her.

"You can just drape it over the chair. Now, stand up straight and let me see you."

She meekly set the skirt down and faced me. What a sight! Beautiful legs will look grreat no matter how they're covered -- or uncovered. Even jeans will show off their length and shapeliness. As skirts grow shorter, lesser legs will fail the knee test -- too bony; then finally the thigh test -- too thin or too plump. Tara's were perfect. How do you know I'm a leg man? Show me a picture of a beautiful naked girl and I'll say "Wow! Great legs!"

But now I focused on her panties. I made sure she knew I was staring, taking her all in. First, I noticed a few stray curly brown hairs had escaped cover. She obviously wasn't expecting to strip for me, so her panties were a bit tight, stretched out over her mound. So tight that I could discern the size and shape of her feminine folds by careful study of the cottony folds they so closely mirrored.

I made the standard "turn around" motion. She knew enough to comply.

What an ass! Was any part of this beauty less than a perfect ten on any scale?

She had sweet rounded cheeks, and the line of her back just flowed down to in between those cheeks. Breathtaking from every angle.

She waited until I told her to turn back, facing me. Good girl! She was a model and was now following instructions. On to the next step before she had too much time to think and we lost our momentum.

"I understand you've already posed topless."

She seemed taken aback again. Was it because she suddenly realized her top was coming off next or because I knew about her past? Everything was in her resume. Complete modeling experience.

"That was back in college" she explained. "I was a senior, and it was a very special study for very talented art students. I put my hair up. My shoulders had to be bare too. Their assignment was a sculpture of the female form -- really from my waist to my shoulders. I think my face was left blank, generic."

She gave a wry smile. "I sometimes wonder if I'll walk into a gallery one day and see my tits on display."

She blushed even harder. "I meant my breasts. That wasn't very nice!"

This was her longest speech to date. Problem was, she still had her top on.

"Then I'm sure you won't mind just slipping off that top. That can go on the chair too."

She stared at me for a while. There went the nervous lips again. Finally she reached behind her and started undoing the straps. This tiny top was just like wearing a sports bra in public.

She pushed the straps off her shoulders, staring at me the whole time. Did she really expect me to say her intentions were good, and she really didn't have to go through with it?

No way in hell. Now I needed to see those legendary tits that were deemed worthy of advanced study.

She gave a heavy sigh for my benefit and pulled her top completely off. She dropped it on the chair, stood up and made eye contact. This became a recurring theme. I guess she was daring me to look elsewhere. Very well.

Her bra fitting report had her breasts as just slightly over 38C. I had to agree.

Despite their generous size, they seemed to be somehow defying gravity. Perfectly round, with button-sized nips exactly centered. Her auraole were in perfect proportion to the size and shape of her twin globes. They did not distract from her upright nipples, but rather framed and enhanced them in shades of pink rose.

I tore my eyes away from this vision and was surprised to see her glare at me. There must be stages of stripping reluctantly: shyness, initial compliance, anger and then acceptance.

I decided it was time to emerge from behind my desk. I had to carefully adjust a certain something first. I walked around to the front of my desk and leaned against it. She had her arms crossed over her breasts -- not a good sign.

"When does all this... evaluating stop?!"

I gave her a puzzled look.

"I mean" she continued "are you finally gonna see something you don't like, and just kick me out?!"

I shook my head. "You've already been 'evaluated'. When we went over your portfolio, when you had your first interview, and finally when we called you back and made you pose in lingerie. You're only here because you're one of the most beautiful women we've ever seen. All of you are."

"Then... " she exclaimed "why are you stripping me naked, and looking at me that way?!"

"On Friday" I explained "there are going to be about eleven salesmen looking at you the way a thirsty man looks at a long, cool drink of water. You've got to get used to that. And you've got to get used to walking around with no clothes on. Everything I'm doing right now is to prepare you for that."

I deliberately stopped and looked her over, up and down: long legs up to the curves she was hiding under her panties and her arms.

"We can keep going or you can put your clothes back on. Up to you."

She nodded and gulped.

"Put your arms down so I can see your breasts."

She seemed startled by my new bold attitude. She slowly obeyed, exposing those natural wonders again.

My eyes, though, went down to her panties. "Now I'd like our company property back. If you don't mind."

She was genuinely confused. "I don't have any company property. Oh! My panties!"

"I could say 'my' panties..." I observed.

She gave me a look. "I don't think these would fit you..."

Now we were at the 'cute and funny' stage and I was going to run with it. "Step over here young lady and hand them to me."

Another look. A heavy sigh for my benefit.

She slowly walked toward me -- only four feet -- but I devoured her with each step. Those magnificent breasts swaying slightly, her gorgeous legs getting close enough to touch.

She stopped at about arm's length. She maintained eye contact as she slowly reached down.

I followed her hands, inside her panties as they were tugged down. Suddenly she whisked them off with a quick move and a bend of each pretty knee. She handed the panties out to me, inches away.

I don't even remember taking them or what I did with them. This is the moment of final surrender that every man waits for -- and all I could do was look.

So I did. Creamy shoulders, breasts that thrust themselves out at me, a soft yet firmly rounded belly -- and finally the star of the show.

A liittle disappointing. Don't get me wrong -- finally seeing her pouty mound was wonderfully erotic. It's just that her style of grooming was -- interesting.

She obviously went to great care to create the effect of her pubic hair gradually thinning out until she was bare where her mound met her thighs -- and almost up to her belly. Unfotunately, she also allowed her central area to grow until it was quite thick, over and around her labia. The result was that all I could see from this angle was a thin dark line -- not the rose petal delicacy that I was expecting. I actually prefer a bit of fur down there. The more hair a woman has, the more she retains the intoxicating scent of her arousal. But I did have my limits.

This would have to be corrected.

One if the many tough aspects of my job is that I required the ladies to line up naked for me Friday for a final inspection. I would take one look at Tara and announce a slight delay. My special model, Marguerite, a bronze Latina beauty, had all the right equipment. Well, both kinds of equipment! She would expertly prep poor Tara and then thin things out down there, of course under my direction.

Watching two naked girls blushing and giggling as they engaged in such an intimate act? Nothing could keep me away.

I finally forced myself to look away. "Very nice, Tara. You look fantastic, and you've made it this far."

Her eyes widened at my words: did "this far" mean there was more?

I walked over as casually as I could, right next to her nakedness. "There's just a little demonstration of sorts that all the girls have to go through. It'll be over soon!"

I directed her over to the corner of my office and gently put my hand on the small of her back.

God! That touch was both electric and hot. She was blushing so furiously and so continuously that I wondered if her body was actually overheating.

We walked to a section of my office that was turned into an informal meeting area: a plush sofa facing several office chairs.

I asked her to have a seat on the sofa, which she did very gingerly. I should have remembered to have provided a towel: the uphostery was a very expensive type of vinyl, but I'm sure it felt funny in direct contact with her bare ass.

I pulled up one of the office chairs until I was practically on top of her. Which was on my mind. "Well Tara. What we start to do in here is sort of training session. It's to help you to start getting used to working nude, and to try to help you over your natural fear that you'll show too much."

She was just staring at me. She obviously couldn't wait to put her clothes back on, but she was probably resigned to the fact that I was going to keep her naked as long as possible.

"Now," continued, "imagine it's Friday and I'm a salesman who's positively cornered you this way. Show me the best way to sit so that you're not showing him everything."

She seemed surprised that I asked her to do this. It was all a part of getting her to keep posing nude for my benefit, but I had cleverly presented it as a helpful exercise. She very slowly and cautiously lifted her left leg, and ever so prettily crossed it over the right. She looked to me expectantly.

"That was good" I nodded. "That's actually what most ladies do in a situation like this. But we've decided that's not a professional look for an office setting." Total nakedness was okay, but crossed legs were out?! I kept talking quickly lest any logical thoughts creep in.

"Now, if you'll just uncross your pretty legs, we can try something." Oops. Did I just tell her she had pretty legs? I had to try to keep my head, despite having everything that made her a woman was bared and practically glowing, inches from my face.

"Try stretching out one leg -- how about the right one? Then bend your left leg at the knee. That's it. You look great!"

And she did. The joys of watching a naked girl move her legs around are many: not only are you praying for just a glimpse between, but you can always look up and take in the glory of her bare tits.

I found I still had a voice. "That was great -- you're just lovely. Now, the second part, you're not going to like as much."

My eyes finally made it down to her feet. She was still wearing little white tennis shoes.

"Those shoes are gonna have to come off. If you could give me your left foot first..."

I spread my legs on the chair and patted the space between my thighs.

I think she was beyond objecting at this point. Her nonstop nudity and my open staring had just worn the poor girl down. She meekly lifted up her foot and offered it to me.

The act of taking off the last of a woman's clothes is a very intimate one -- even for shoes. It means that she is no longer in charge of getting dressed whenever she wants to. A decision she's made for years had now been taken away -- along with the last shoe.

I told her to scoot back a bit and place her heels on the sofa in front of her. She did it, although she could see where this going. Her little feet were crunched together in front of her crotch. She gave me one last desperate pleading look that said 'please don't make me do this!'

I leaned forward and made eye contact.

"Remember: this pose is only for me; to make you more comfortable with your nakedness on Friday. You will never show yourself this way. You'll learn to sit and stand and walk like a lady -- a beautiful naked lady!"

I continued. "There's an informal 'undress rehearsal' for all participating ladies after work on Wednesday. The place will be shut down and empty except for you ten. I understand my girls have a lot of fun. Most start out nude; some start off dressed but gradually strip off. And I hear there's some kind of erotic posing contest on top of the conference table."

She stared in amazement, forgetting her naked prediciment for a moment.

"It's all in fun and it's all to get everyone over their fears of 'what if I show too much!!' After today, and after Wednesday, you'll be wearing your nudity like it's just another outfit."

I looked her straight in the eyes again. "So if you can slowly spread your legs apart, as far as you can, we can get this over with."

She was breathing heavily, and I tried to maintain eye contact, and not watch the rising and falling of her breasts.

Then she seemed to hold her breath. Her pretty knees started moving apart. This was no staring competition now; I understood that she trusted me not to look until she was ready.

Finally she stopped. I realized I was holding my breath now. She looked down at herself, so reluctantly -- I did the same: but eagerly.

Did I say something about her grooming before? The pussy is so small an area, we men tend to magnify it in our imaginations. I actually appreciated her look now: that sweet area seemed to extend upward, almost to her belly. And left and right, that soft fur accentuated her bare thighs, seeming to kiss them with a few brown and curlies.

But enough about her hair!

Her outer lips had long since given up their job of protecting her hidden treasures. Her inner lips were surprisingly reddish, puffy and even glistening. Her hood was a lighter pink, and showed some signs of swelling -- although her little love button had yet to make an appearance.

I just love the way that a woman's soft folds of flesh lead the eye downward to her cuntal opening. Tara's was obscenely gaping open, and obviously leaking copious amounts of her love juice.

I had underestimated this seemingly shy girl's level of arousal. Now I understood her reluctance to strip off her clothing in front of me. That very act had turned her on immensely. She was worried she would be oozing horniness from every pore... as well as oozing other things.