[samos]

Meet Jennifer Hochschild
By Peter P.

“Jennifer Hochschild.” The brass nameplate on the door used to give me a little jolt of excitement when I walked into the office. Of course I never let on. Powerful businesswomen, especially those who become the chief operating officer of a Fortune 500 company at the age of 28, know better than to show any weakness. I certainly never showed any when I graduated first in my class at Harvard business school. My five years at Lathrop Incorporated only made me stronger, harder, more polished.

Part of what makes me so powerful is the way I dress. You know the look of corporate women in any big city’s business district: tailored skirt suits cut above the knee, push up bra, silk blouse, ultra-sheer nylons, three-inch heels (I especially like sling backs). Not to be immodest, but I know I look good. I’m 5’ 7” in my stocking feet, 5’ 10” in my heels, shoulder-length auburn hair, slender body honed in the gym with ample breasts. The looks I get from the men in my office--all subordinates of course--confirm what I already know. And I love lording it over them. They can look (sometimes when I’m feeling especially cheeky I even let the welt of my stocking show through the slit in my skirt) but they know I’ll never let them touch. That kind of control is... delicious. And powerful, very powerful.

I especially love sitting in a board meeting with my crossed legs on display, dangling one of my high heels from my toes. It never ceases to amaze me how easily that attracts the male gaze. I’m all business in those meetings; it’s all about sales, income, inventory. Then when I know one of my subordinates is staring at my legs, I call him out. “Peter,” I snapped on one such occasion, “Is there a problem? Are you distracted? What are you looking at?” “Umm... Nothing,” Peter, who finished second in the running for my COO job, said as his face turned beet red. Then I rocked my foot more vigorously really calling attention to my stocking legs and making it clear to everyone in the room just what was going on. There was no way Peter could stand up without it being obvious he was little more than a horny school boy. Humiliation, especially of people who think they’re powerful, who think they can compete with me, is such fun.

So far I probably sound like one of those rich, entitled, corporate women you’ve seen a thousand times. But if that’s all there was, my story wouldn’t be so interesting to you. Like any woman worth remembering late at night, worth lusting over, I’m a lot more complicated than I first seem. Through my years at Lathrop I have harbored a dirty little secret behind my powerful façade. You see, there are two sides to the coin of humiliation, and I’ve always known it can be just as arousing to be on the receiving end. It started with the humiliation being brought about by my own actions, and any real feelings were conjured in my head, by my fantasies. But now things have spiraled out of control and, as much as I hate to admit it, I like it. I like it a lot.

So sit back and let me tell you my tale. It will take some time, but it will be worth your while. Trust me.

I like to pull my power play on a number of men in the office. The kids in the mailroom don’t interest me, but the division heads and other “masters of the universe types” are always fun. Whether it’s in the board room, the executive lounge, or the hallway, I love dominating the men around here who think they should be in charge. I make them get me coffee, pick up my dry cleaning, embarrass them if the get distracted by my looks or one of the air-headed secretaries in the office. None of them, however, are as fun to ball bust as Peter Papandropous. You can tell from the name that he’s Greek, and he looks like what you’d expect: tall, dark, handsome, and athletic, with a shock of curly hair. He graduated first in his class from Penn, a pedigree that frankly should disqualify him for a real leadership job in corporate America. He thinks he should be the COO, not me, and humiliating him is absolutely the best. I have done it many times, catching him staring at my breasts or legs, and then pointing it out to others around us. He always glows a gratifying shade of red. That day that that I described in Pt. 1 when I called him out in the board room for staring at my legs, for a number of reasons, is the best place to begin my story.

I spent the rest of the day on a high from humiliating Peter. I had a smile on my face, a spring in my step, and, as is usually the case after such an escapade, a slight dampness in my expensive satin panties whenever I thought about the power I had over him. I sat in my office behind my big oak desk, slipped my Prada heels off, and rubbed my stocking feet on the carpet. I almost always wear garters and stockings rather than pantyhose because I’ve found the nylons are finer and silkier. There’s something very sensuous about garters and hose too, feeling the straps tug as I walk or sit, the naughtiness of knowing I’m wearing something that most men can’t resist under my proper business suit.

Despite my love of power over men like Peter, as my mind drifted I started to fantasize about the tables being turned. In my daydream, one I have fairly often, Peter was the one in control and I was the one dominated. I imagined Peter taking me to a an expensive department store and out of the blue saying, You think you’re so smart, embarrassing me for looking at your legs. Well, you’re about to get what you deserve. Everyone’s going to get to see you now. And without another word, he reaches over and yanks my skirt to my ankles. Peter!, I stammer, so shocked that I can’t move, What are you doing? Shut up, he says. And before I know what’s happening, he rips off my jacket and blouse, leaving me in my bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. Oh God!, I shriek as I cross my hands over my panties, press my knees together, and glow bright red in the ultimate pose of female embarrassment. My shout attracts dozens of onlookers who start pointing and laughing at the rich woman stripped to her lingerie. I try to run, but my feet get tangled up in my skirt and I fall to the floor, my elbows and knees supporting my weight with my rear high in the air. Peter then walks over and without saying a word begins to spank my ass. Everyone, the rich men especially, stares slack-jawed at the spectacle, and my humiliation is complete.

That fantasy always gets my blood boiling and without realizing it I was sitting there with my eyes closed, my stocking feet sliding back and forth on the carpet and my hand nestled in my crotch very gently rubbing at my pussy through my skirt. Mrs. Hochschild?, my secretary Pauline called. Mrs. Hochschild?, she said again from my open office door. Yes, I said, snapping to attention. Thank God my desk has a panel in front that keeps anyone from seeing me from the waist down. Are you OK?, Pauline asked. I’m fine, I responded. Well, it’s six o’clock and I have to leave, she said. My son’s day care said I can’t be late again. That’s fine, just go. I don’t need you here anyway. Yes ma’am, Pauline said quietly, closing the door. Young mothers! Women like Pauline have no fire for their work and they’ll never get ahead. I try not to let my contempt for women like that show too much, but sometimes I can’t help it. They have no thirst for power like me.

I waited a few minutes to be sure Pauline was gone and then, leaving my shoes on the floor, I padded in my stocking feet over to the door. I love the feel of running around in my nylons, but in my corporate position it’s certainly improper to go without shoes. So this was just a little naughty. I leaned my head out into the cubicle jungle and called, Pauline! Pauline are you still here? No reply. Is anyone else here, I shouted. Nothing but an echo came back to me. Hellooooo, I called. Nothing. I was all alone. The cleaning crew wouldn’t make it up here to the 23rd floor until at least 10 PM. Ooohh, I half whispered, half moaned to myself, Looks like it’s time to have some fun. I took a step out into the suite of offices, and as I did so I reached behind my back to undo the button at the top of my gray tailored skirt.

As usual, I started slow with my fantasy of getting stripped. My skirts are cut smartly enough that undoing a button just loosens them up. So as I walked down the carpeted corridor looking at the reinforced toes of my smoke gray nylons, the zipper very slowly descended a few teeth at a time. My silky white blouse was slick enough that as the zipper opened, my skirt slowly slipped to my hips and threatened to go farther. That feeling of my skirt just managing to cling to my hips really excites me. I knew I was on the verge of losing my proper corporate wear. Oooohh, I moaned. My panties were definitely getting moist now.

I shrugged off my suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. The air conditioning immediately chilled my skin and my nipples got hard in my lacy bra. I rubbed my breast with my left hand and moaned again, a little louder this time. Oh Peter, I groaned, Please don’t do this to me. Don’t strip me right here in the office. Not in front of all my subordinates. You already took away my heels and my jacket. Please stop, please don’t let everyone see me like this. Please. . .

I kicked my jacket over by the file cabinets and gasped as I did so. Swinging my leg made my skirt slip even more. It was just barely hanging onto my hips. Anyone looking behind me would have seen the top of my white satin panties come into view. Luckily I was alone.

I walked another twenty feet over to the elevator. Standing there in front of the doors, I grabbed the bottom of my blouse, yanked it over my head, and threw it back toward my office. Oh God, no!!, I shouted. Oh Peter, what have you done to me?! You ripped my blouse off! Everyone can see my breasts. Ohhhhh. . . .

As I moaned about my plight, I bent over at the waist to try to cover myself a little. That was it. My skirt could take no more. The zipper pulled completely open and my skirt fell to my ankles. I was stripped to my bra, panties, garters and stockings right there in the office. OH NOOOO!!!! I shouted. I’m so humiliated! My clothes . . . My clothes are gone! Oh Peter, nooooo!!!

I kicked my skirt over by jacket so I could stand there in front of the elevators in just my lingerie. Oh God look at me, I whimpered as I pulled off my bra and tossed it onto my jacket. All I have on is my panties and stockings. Ohhhhh . . . I was really getting turned on now. Yes Peter, I’ll get on my knees for you. I’ll be submissive for you. As I sank to the floor, I could feel my stockings and garters stretch on my thighs. Ohhhh . . ., I moaned. As usual, I started slow with my fantasy of getting stripped. My skirts are cut smartly enough that undoing a button just loosens them up. So as I walked down the carpeted corridor looking at the reinforced toes of my smoke gray nylons, the zipper very slowly descended a few teeth at a time. My silky white blouse was slick enough that as the zipper opened, my skirt slowly slipped to my hips and threatened to go farther. That feeling of my skirt just managing to cling to my hips really excites me. I knew I was on the verge of losing my proper corporate wear. Oooohh, I moaned. My panties were definitely getting moist now.

I shrugged off my suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. The air conditioning immediately chilled my skin and my nipples got hard in my lacy bra. I rubbed my breast with my left hand and moaned again, a little louder this time. Oh Peter, I groaned, Please don’t do this to me. Don’t strip me right here in the office. Not in front of all my subordinates. You already took away my heels and my jacket. Please stop, please don’t let everyone see me like this. Please. . .

I kicked my jacket over by the file cabinets and gasped as I did so. Swinging my leg made my skirt slip even more. It was just barely hanging onto my hips. Anyone looking behind me would have seen the top of my white satin panties come into view. Luckily I was alone.

I walked another twenty feet over to the elevator. Standing there in front of the doors, I grabbed the bottom of my blouse, yanked it over my head, and threw it back toward my office. Oh God, no!!, I shouted. Oh Peter, what have you done to me?! You ripped my blouse off! Everyone can see my breasts. Ohhhhh. . . .

As I moaned about my plight, I bent over at the waist to try to cover myself a little. That was it. My skirt could take no more. The zipper pulled completely open and my skirt fell to my ankles. I was stripped to my bra, panties, garters and stockings right there in the office. OH NOOOO!!!! I shouted. I’m so humiliated! My clothes . . . My clothes are gone! Oh Peter, nooooo!!!

I kicked my skirt over by jacket so I could stand there in front of the elevators in just my lingerie. Oh God look at me, I whimpered as I pulled off my bra and tossed it onto my jacket. All I have on is my panties and stockings. Ohhhhh . . . I was really getting turned on now. Yes Peter, I’ll get on my knees for you. I’ll be submissive for you. As I sank to the floor, I could feel my stockings and garters stretch on my thighs. Ohhhh . . ., I moaned.

I couldn’t take it any longer. I massaged my nipples with one hand while I slipped my other hand into my panties. I was so wet, so excited. Oh Peter, I moaned as I sat there on my knees pleasuring myself. Oh Peter, take me. Do whatever you want to me. I closed my eyes to imagine his tall, muscular body standing over me. The heat was building deep inside me, my chest growing flush. I was so close to cumming. Oh Peter . . ., I moaned one more time as I tugged harder at my nipples and rubbed myself vigorously. OHHHHHH!!!!, I shouted as my orgasm shook me. Ohhhh God YESSSS!!!!!

Ding!

My orgasm was so shattering that I lost my senses for a minute. I hadn’t noticed the lights changing above the elevator, showing a car coming up to the office. But now, through my hazy mind I came to. Holy shit! Somebody’s getting off the elevator in just a few seconds. I couldn’t get caught like this, a powerful corporate woman on my knees in my stockings with my panties pulled to the side and my sex on display. I jumped up to run and get my skirt and jacket. My silky stocking feet slipped on the floor for a second, but I quickly got traction, sprinted to my clothes, and covered the thirty feet or so as fast as I could back to my office.

Thank God the elevator doors are slow; I thought I made it back to my office and slammed the door shut just in time so nobody saw me. I stood there panting in just my garters and stockings, trying to catch my breath and regain my composure. Clutching my clothes to my chest, I listened carefully to see if anyone was in the office. I couldn’t hear a sound. Thank God.

I was just beginning to convince myself that the elevator must have been sent up on accident when all of a sudden I heard a knock on the door. I’d have jumped right out of my clothes if I had been wearing any! Who is it?, I called with as steady a voice as I could muster. It’s me Ms. Hochschild, are you alright? It was Peter! I’m fine, I said back through the door. Shit! I had to get dressed fast. I yanked on my skirt and bra in a hurry. Are you sure?, he said after a few seconds. I’m fine Peter, I responded in a huff as I put my jacket on.

Then I yanked the door open. Do you need something, I said trying to assert my dominance over him. No ma’am, Peter replied quietly. You’re just acting a little differently. I mean, your hair’s a little mussed. And you’re not . . . wearing any shoes. I looked down at my stocking feet, realizing for the first time that I had forgotten to put my heels back on. It’s been a long day, I said but without much conviction. And you’re not . . ., Peter trailed off. I’m not what?, I responded. Why are you grilling me Peter? You‘re out of line! There, I thought to myself, that should put him back in his place. Yes Ms. Hochschild, he responded. Well, good night, and with that Peter turned and walked back to the elevators.

I closed my office door and walked over to my desk. Phew, I said out loud as I put my heels on. That was a close one. Luckily, he’s not smart enough to figure out what was going on. I gathered my bags and strode like a powerful corporate woman over to the elevator to head home. It wasn’t until I got in my car that I realized I wasn’t wearing my blouse! My jacket was modest enough, but what had Peter seen...