The Job Interview by Jane New |
She loved wearing stockings. She loved the feel of fresh air
on the skin of her thighs as she walked down the city street in the
middle of the day. She loved their silky texture
against her freshly waxed legs. She loved the knowledge that she
had a secret. Dressed in a conservative, charcoal grey suit with a pale
pink blouse and black patent leather heels, she looked like any other
woman in the City of London. She knew she was a little shorter than the
average woman, but that didn’t worry her. Men liked her shapely legs and
neatly rounded rear, her small waist and generous boobs. She enjoyed
their glances and comments as she walked past. She
could have been a bookkeeper or a PA on her lunch break. She had even more fun when she
was on the Tube. She always sat facing inwards. Then, if there was an
interesting man sitting opposite her, she'd part her legs a little and
let her skirt ride up so a bit of stocking top showed. A lot of the time she wasn't
wearing any knickers. Today, on the opposite side of
the carriage, a man had started looking, wondering, when he'd seen that
telltale band of darker color. The crowd between them parted and shifted
as other passengers got on and off the train, and he tried to catch a
glimpse farther up. She was in a good mood, so she
crossed an ankle over her knee to give him a clear view, just for a
couple of minutes. She watched as the bulge in his trousers grew. Then she got off at the next
station. No pun intended. The house she arrived at could
have been in any of the many inner suburbs of London. It had a basement,
three floors, and an attic. It was well maintained, prosperous,
substantial, and set back a little from the tree-lined road. Bay windows
overlooked the street and narrow stairs ran down to a lower entrance.
She walked slowly up a grand flight of tiled steps, taking in the
neighborhood. The place was worth a couple of million pounds, at least. She rang the old, brass doorbell
in the center of the large oak door. A chime reverberated deep within
the house. She waited, picturing an ancient butler laboriously ascending
from the depths of the house. The door opened. Today was
indeed a good day. He was in his early thirties, or
possibly even younger. He clearly worked out often. Slim grey trousers
fitted snugly around lean hips. A soft, white cotton shirt emphasized
those broad shoulders and the well-defined muscles in his upper arms.
His brown hair was neatly cut in a short style. His eyes were grey or
blue and had a speculative look in them. If not for her reason for being
there, she’d have thought he was checking her out. Naughty boy. |
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