The Pantyhose Paradox

The secretary opens the door and escorts Leighton Greene into my office. It's my first time laying eyes on her. The girl is young, cute, and well-kept. She's sharply dressed in a white blouse and gray office skirt, and I look down to make sure that her pantyhose game is on point. It is. Her posture and confidence could use some work. Her body language suggests she's ready to run away from my nudity. Has anyone told her, warned her?

I stand and walk barefoot to her, offering a firm handshake. She offers a tepid handshake in response. Her eyes peer at my pink nipples and figure.

"Everyone, this is Leighton Greene, the girl genius who uncovered the corporate espionage that took place. Sit with us. Get comfortable."

I gesture for Leighton to sit, then I gesture for the secretary to bring her coffee, which she does in a prompt manner. Leighton is sheepish as she takes a seat, being new to sitting around power. I sit with my legs closed to avoid distracting her.

When our coffee cups are refreshed and the secretary leaves, I get straight to business.

"It's a cutthroat world," I say. "We have competitors who will do anything."

Leighton takes a deep gulp, sitting there with a posture like a ballerina, still intimidated by my breasts and nipples. At least my legs are crossed tight enough to conceal the clitoris or else she'd be unable to sip coffee.

We talk and I inquire about her methods uncovering the espionage. She's happy to provide insight, but there are moments where she skips details. I know which details she glosses over. Being known as the new pussy-licker in the office must make her uneasy. I've heard first-hand reports about how she slobbered over a juicy cunt, drooled in fact, with her lips and mouth left shining when it was over, before coming to her senses and realizing what she'd done. She'll get used to the shame and pleasure. They always do.

I take things a step further.

"Do you want your pussy eaten?" I ask.

She gulps. "I don't know what you mean."

"Leighton, I want you to remain in the trenches for a while to safeguard our interests. The truth is, we have some of the most dedicated women on the planet, but some may have ulterior motives. Do you get what I'm asking?"

"You want me to keep spying."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not anymore."

"Please, undress. Show us something."

Leighton pauses for a second, then unbuttons her blouse with a stone face. There's a slight glint in her eyes that most people would miss, except for me, because during my tenure in this job I've seen countless professional women undress.

She secretly enjoys this, of course, otherwise she wouldn't be doing this. Every woman has a choice. This is hers. Not just for a promotion or job opportunity. But the chance to enjoy a unique form of sexual expression in the workplace that few know exists.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I say.

She meticulously folds her blouse, standing there in her pristine white bra. Her vanilla figure exudes an air of innocence. She unclasps her bra, revealing puffy pink nipples that are just delicious. They're upward turned, these medium sized boobs. She captivates the room by reaching down to unzip her office skirt.

"I have a confession to make."

"Of course."

She pulls her skirt down. "My great grandfather co-founded this bank. That's why I'm doing this. A misplaced sense of pride. After I graduated from Wharton there were other places I considered working, but something kept drawing me back here. Please don't think of me as a slut."

The word 'slut' left her mouth as she removed her office skirt, revealing that she was pantyless the whole time, as she had been taught, and her cunt is waxed. I can see her clitoris and labia as she stands upright with a ballerina posture.

She's nude except for the pantyhose which clings to her legs and feet. I appreciate her choice to keep the pantyhose on because it shows respect to corporate culture. She knows what we like and how we dress.

"Your great grandfather is J. Morrison?"

She nods. "There are pictures of him in my family photo albums. He's mentioned often in my household or family events. No one at this bank knows, except for you all. I wanted to mention it because, well, it seemed appropriate."

Aside from the fact that she's white, she bears little resemblance to the large photo of J. Morrison that's displayed in the lobby and hallways of this building. Her last name, however, is a different story. I've been in the banking industry for almost two decades and I've encountered that name before.

It's the most erotic scenario I've ever seen since working here. Leighton, the great granddaughter. I understand her motivation and wanting to protect the family legacy. My only concern is that she's taking on too much, too soon, but there are ways of finding out how much she can handle.

"My coffee table is sturdy. Lay on it."

Leighton follows instructions and lays across the table. It's a tricky task. She's forced to move like a cat on all fours, making her way around the cups of coffee and random electronic items and papers, her body trembling with nerves. I know what she's going through. I know she can feel her heart pounding as she avoids eye contact with the women in the room whom she's never met before. Our eyes amplify her anxiety.

Her long hair is splayed across the table, much like her naked body. Her pink nipples are erect and her toes are pointed upward.

My phone buzzes and I look at the screen to see Richard calling, a respected financial reporter whom I had agreed to a brief interview with. It's a recorded interview for an upcoming article. I never miss a call, I'm never late for an appointment.

When I take the call, I give the man flattering pleasantries -- "Well look who's calling... you were outstanding on the tv the other night" -- while gesturing my two assistants to get on their knees and start playing with Leighton with massages or their mouths. My assistants are diligent, while the snobbish executive sits back with coffee and watches this unfold like a private show for her entertainment.

"Yes... that's right, we're closely monitoring liquidity and how it could affect our bank. We have a strong risk management framework in place to identify and mitigate any future risks."

I'm watching my employees like a hawk. In fact, I'm watching them closer than I'm watching Leighton because they're under my direct tutelage. In the tranquil atmosphere of the office, the two assistants knead and press their hands against Leighton's tense muscles.

Leighton surrenders to the soothing touch that eases the knots of stress that have built up since seeing me naked, pushing her into a deeper relaxation. With synchronized movements, the assistants focus on each area of tension, working Leighton's shoulders down to the arms, then the breasts and tender nipples. Especially the nipples.

"That's right.... We're also strengthening our risk management processes. This helps us identify and address emerging vulnerabilities more quickly."

I enjoy giving interviews because it puts my name out there, but Leighton is more interesting at the moment. Her nipples could cut diamonds with how erect they are. She struggles to keep quiet, body quivering, as my assistants fondle her breasts and pubic mounds. A finger slips inside her, making her legs squirm.

While the conversation is going, I walk over to Leighton's legs and kneel to touch the pantyhose on her feet, my fingers stroking between her toes. That smooth texture of the fabric. Her feet are stiff from the fondling, and when my assistant bends down to kiss her pubic mound, her toes curl. She's a true virgin when it comes to a woman making contact with her pussy.

"Yes, that's right. Exactly. We're being proactive and keeping shareholders informed of our actions. Transparency is key."

When she accidentally makes a muffled sound between her gritted teeth, I stand and walk across the office toward the window which has a gorgeous view of the bustling city. Some risks aren't worth it. The last thing I need is someone having an audio recording of me speaking while a young woman is having a fucking orgasm in the background.

I'm thinking of Leighton being eaten out in tandem by the assistants while I'm still speaking with the quick witted man on the phone. He's trying his best to make me say something controversial. Something news grabbing. Doom and gloom is what grabs headlines. I'm cautious and well-rehearsed, ironically, thanks to the help of my assistants who now have a mouthful of pink pussy and pink nipples.

Knowing the types of women who work in finances, Leighton will be exposed to a lot. I can only imagine how often her skirt will be lifted and a mouth will be buried between her sex. A tongue going inside. Tasting her and eating her cum. I'm sure she'll have her fair share of favors to return. I'm sure she's a natural pussy eater. I can hear her mumbling in the background, careful not to disturb my call.

"Yes, thank you so much. It was my pleasure. I hope we can speak again soon, under happier circumstances. Until then, take care and have a great day."

The call ends and I take a good look at the city view. The sight never gets old. Leighton is screaming and wailing in the background, which is music to my ears, a sound that pairs beautifully with the city skyline. A cry of a young woman properly introduced to lesbianism.

Leighton's pantyhose covered feet dangle off the edge of the coffee table, a visual testament to the profound and otherworldly experience she just had in my office.

My assistants are topless with hard nipples and their mouths are wet with fresh juices. It's amazing how they still look so innocent, so corporate at the same time. They'd just finished tongue-fucking and sucking, but they also look like they're ready to assist with the next step of my day.

The executive remains seated on the couch, holding an empty cup of coffee because the table has a naked body on top. She sits with her legs crossed. A true snob. I kind of like her, but I'm always amused by her detached approach to office sex. She looks at everything as if she's in an art museum.

Leighton's eyes are closed, a gentle rise and fall of her chest reveal the rhythmic breaths escaping her lips, as she enjoys the solace of pussy-licking. The tension that once gripped her muscles has melted away, replaced by a profound sense of relief thanks to the almighty lesbian orgasm. Her limbs are resting in a state of blissful repose. The skilled hands, lips, and tongues of my assistants have worked their magic.

I put my phone on my desk and walk over to them. Having a closer look and seeing the details really turns me on. Leighton's face radiates tranquility, her brows unfurrowed and her jaw relaxed. The weight of the world seems to have momentarily lifted, leaving behind a profound calmness. Her skin, glistening with a thin layer of sweat, reflects the sunlight through the windows, hinting at the exhilaration she just experienced.

I walk around her body, inspecting her, my fingers exploring the contours of her skin, tracing along her nipples, then down to her thighs. With a playful curiosity, I reach her pantyhose-clad legs and run my fingers along the smooth fabric, playing with her feet, pinching her toes to rouse her from a slumber.

"This is the secret to women in the corporate world. Not all. It's rare. But those in certain circles. Take this to heart and know you'll be protecting your family legacy. The path to success isn't always a straightforward one, especially for women navigating the intricacies of corporate environments."

Leighton remains staring at the ceiling, content to ignore me, still with her orgasm, but she's soaking in my words. I can see her thinking. She reaches down to touch her pussy with one hand, making sure this is real, and with her other hand she touches her breast and holds a nipple.

"Growing up," she says. "I was taught that women have to work twice as hard as men to succeed. This isn't what I had in mind. Not at all."

"Does that bother you?"

"Honestly, my biggest concern is that my legs are numb."

"We can take care of that."

Leighton is able to stand with the help of my trusted assistants, her body still trembling with the echoes of her climactic euphoria. I observe my assistants retrieve Leighton's bra and clothes. One assistant holds out the bra, fastening it around Leighton's chest and tucking those pink nipples away, accentuating her small curves. The other assistant slides the gray office skirt up her legs, the soft fabric nestling against her skin.

With utmost care, they complete the transformation by adjusting the waistband of her skirt and smoothing the collar of her white blouse. Leighton, now fully clothed, radiates a newfound confidence, the pantyhose serving as the finishing touch to her polished ensemble. Her eyes meet mine, a sense of empowerment dancing within them.

I kiss her on the cheek and watch as she leaves. When the door opens, the secretary looks at my naked body, then looks at Leighton walking briskly down the hall.

The End

always remember ~~ you are important

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