Supervisor
I have this supervisor, late forties, pushing fifty, with a slightly plump figure, probably around 140 pounds. She usually rocks pantsuits at work, but with the heat the past couple of days, she switched to a navy-blue suit with a tight skirt that barely covered her knees, showing off a bit of thigh. The way her hips swayed in those high heels as she walked was quite the sight.
In the afternoon, I needed her to sign some documents, so I knocked on her office door. She’d taken off her blazer and was squatting on the floor, working on a large poster. She glanced up, saw it was me, casually asked what I needed, and went back to focusing on the stuff on the ground. I crouched down beside her to hand over the papers.
That’s when I noticed her squatting position left her thighs parted right in front of me. She wasn’t clamping them tightly, so I could see straight up her skirt along the soft inner curves of her thighs. There, nestled snugly, was a pair of pale green panties, hugging her most intimate area. The fabric clung just right, revealing the faint outline of her plump labia, with a subtle seam running down the center, teasingly visible in the dim light filtering through her skirt. It was an enticing, private glimpse of her tender flesh, perfectly framed by the delicate underwear.
She’s not exactly a knockout, but as someone I see up close every day, it was a special moment. Sadly, she hasn’t worn a skirt again in the days since, which is a shame because I’m kind of obsessed with the style of those panties.
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