Monday, September 14th, seven a.m. sharp, BlackBox buzzed. Zhou Yi was heating milk in the kitchen; the microwave beeped three times.
“Today’s task: no panties, wear the skirt by the door. Before nine, women’s bathroom on your office’s 17th floor, skirt pulled up to your waist, sticky note with K 0914 on your thigh, photo. On the subway, stand, and don’t close your legs.”
I stood in front of the closet for two minutes. The underwear in the drawer was folded neatly, Uniqlo seamless, which Zhou Yi washes, dries, folds and puts back every Sunday night. I didn’t take a single pair. I pulled on the khaki skirt and zipped it up at the waist. It hugged my ass, the fabric thin; with no panties I could feel the inside seam pressed right into the crack of my ass.
“Babe, your milk.” Zhou Yi came in with the glass and looked at my legs. “Isn’t that skirt kind of short?” “Meeting.” “Oh.” He handed me the milk. “Be careful on the way.”
Metro Line 1, got on at Binhe Road, 7:40, packed body to body. I stood by the doors holding the pole, legs apart just a little; I didn’t dare open them wider. The train lurched, my skirt rode up a bit, and I didn’t pull it down. A guy behind me brushed my ass with his backpack, just one layer of fabric in between, and my whole body went rigid. He said, “Sorry.”
Got to the office at 8:35. Haichuang Park, Building B, 17th floor, Orangebox Tech; membership growth sits in the row by the windows. The intern, Xiao Tang, was already there, twenty-three. First thing he said when he saw me: “Sis Wei, you look great today.” “Cut the flattery. Send me yesterday’s funnel data.”
I sat down at my desk; the mesh chair was cold. I tugged the skirt down twice and it wouldn’t budge; bodycon skirts are like that. Opened my laptop, eleven DingTalk notifications. Director Qiu was asking in the group about the Member Day proposal; I replied, “Presenting it at the ten o’clock review.” My phone was on the desk. I checked the time three times.
At 8:52 I took my phone into the last stall of the women’s bathroom. The sticky note was torn off at my desk, the orange company-issue kind. I wrote K 0914.
Locked the door. Pulled the skirt up past my waist, up to my navel, stuck on the note. I looked down: pubic hair shaved, done in the shower last night, the two lips of my pussy pressed together, already glistening in between. Held the phone at knee height, took it. Sent it.
Forty seconds. “Stand at the sinks, facing the mirror, skirt up to your waist, full-body shot.”
The sinks were outside the stalls, three basins, one whole wall of mirror. Nobody out there. I opened the stall door, walked to the mirror, hiked the skirt up; both legs from the very tops of my thighs down to my ankles, fully exposed in the mirror, seven-centimeter heels, legs tensed.
The door banged. Lisa from Finance walked in, and my skirt came down faster than anything has in my entire life. She checked herself in the mirror, touched up her lipstick, left. She looked at me once. Just once.
I waited thirty seconds, pulled it up again, took it. Sent it. My hand was shaking; the photo came out a little blurry.
“Blurry. Again.”
I took it again.
This time he didn’t reply “blurry.” I stood in front of the mirror with my skirt up, waited twenty seconds, then pulled it down. On the way back to my desk I passed Lao Zhao’s row; one of the devs looked up at me, then looked down and typed like crazy.
“Good girl. Go to your meeting.”
Ten o’clock, requirements review, Qiantang conference room. Me, Xiao Tang, Lao Zhao from R&D with three of his people, Director Qiu at the head. Leather chairs, cold; when I sat down my bare ass hit the leather and it was so cold my whole waist flinched.
Director Qiu is forty-two and raps the table when he talks. Lao Zhao is thirty-seven, with wandering eyes, and the whole company knows it. He sat diagonally across from me; every time I pressed my legs together, his eyes dropped.
Phone on my lap, screen down. It buzzed. I flipped it over: “Hike your skirt up five centimeters.”
I put my hand on my leg like I was smoothing the hem and tugged it up. The hem was at mid-thigh now. Lao Zhao’s eyes dropped and didn’t come back up.
“Cross your legs. Let the guy across from you see all the way up your thigh.”
I crossed them. Right leg over left, the skirt rode up on its own, a strip of white at the top of my thigh on display. Lao Zhao was saying “the API refactor needs two weeks” and stalled for a second, took a sip of water.
“Manager Feng, what do you think?” Director Qiu rapped the table. “Two weeks is too long. A week and a half,” I said, legs still crossed. “Member Day is the 25th. If we miss it, it’s all for nothing.”
“Fine, a week and a half,” Lao Zhao said, fast.
The meeting broke up at 11:20. When I stood, there was a small wet mark on the leather seat. I covered it with my notebook as I gathered my things and walked out.
“Bathroom. Be there in three minutes. Two fingers, not a sound, photo of your fingers.”
The other stalls were taken. I went into the last one; next door someone was watching Douyin with the sound on, some livestream selling vegetables. I pulled my skirt up to my waist, leaned against the partition, and slid two fingers in.
It was way wetter than in the morning. The second they went in there was a squelch, and I froze; next door the livestream was still yelling, “Three jin for nine ninety!” I kept going, crooking my fingers up, my other hand over my mouth.
One heel braced against the stall door, leg locked straight, thigh muscles twitching. I replayed Lao Zhao sipping his water, then Zhou Yi saying “Be careful on the way.” My fingers sped up, and a stream ran down to my wrist.
Two minutes. My back arched, teeth sunk into the back of my hand. Next door flushed and left. I held my fingers up to the phone and took the photo: fingertips shiny, strings stretching between them.
I stood in the stall for a full minute before I came down. My blouse was stuck to my back with sweat; my nipples were pushing against my bra, so hard they hurt. Before letting the skirt down I wiped the insides of both thighs with tissue; it was soaked through, so I pulled two more.
“Now that’s obedient. Say it.” “Master.” “From now on, when I speak, what do you answer?” “Yes, Master.”
“Skirt down, don’t wash your hands. Go eat.”
The cafeteria is on the third floor. I sat with Xiao Tang and got a spicy dry pot. The smell on my fingers blended into the chili; I held my chopsticks in my right hand and kept my left hand under the table the whole time. Xiao Tang said, “Sis Wei, your face is so red today.” I said, “It’s the spice.”
At two, getting water in the pantry, Lao Zhao was there too with his thermos of goji tea. “Manager Feng, that skirt today. Killer.” “Zhao, worry about your APIs.” “APIs are no problem. A week and a half it is.” His eyes stayed on my legs for two seconds before he left.
At 3:30 p.m., K: “Subway home, stand, don’t close your legs, hands on the pole, stand at the most crowded door.”
The 6:20 train was even more packed than the morning one. I stood at the door, both hands on the pole, legs spread shoulder-width. Some guy’s briefcase was pressed against me from behind, hard, grinding right into the crack of my ass the whole way from Binhe Road to Jiangling Road. I didn’t move. It was wet under my skirt; I didn’t know if it was dripping down my legs.
Got home at 7:10. Zhou Yi was already there, no overtime today, in an apron stewing tomato beef brisket; the whole kitchen smelled like tomatoes. “Babe, you’re home. How was the meeting?” “Got the timeline cut by half a week.” “Amazing.”
I sat at the dining table without changing out of the skirt. The brisket was fall-apart tender; he’d stewed it for an hour and a half. He said, “My mom’s coming for dinner tomorrow.” I said, “Okay.” He said, “Why do you keep looking at your phone today?” I said, “Xiao Tang’s numbers don’t match.”
After dinner he had me sit on the sofa, lifted my legs onto his lap, and massaged my calves. He does it every day, says standing in heels all day wears me out. His hands kneaded from my ankles up to my knees. Only to the knees. Never higher. Under my skirt I was wet, twenty centimeters from his hands.
“How many times today?” BlackBox buzzed before my shower. “Once.” “And your husband?” “Doing the dishes.”
“Tell him you’re tired and going to bed early. Then go to the bathroom, aim the showerhead at your clit, full blast. When you come, photograph the tiles.”
I told Zhou Yi, “I’m tired, I’m going to shower and go to bed.” He said, “Okay, I’ll do the dishes, and I’ll make breakfast tomorrow.” He’s so good to me.
Locked the bathroom door. Took off the skirt; the inside seam had been wet all day, a darker stripe running along it. I sat on the floor of the shower, legs braced against the glass, cranked the showerhead to max, hot water pounding my clit.
One minute and my legs started shaking. Three minutes, one hand over my mouth and the other pushing the showerhead in closer. Zhou Yi was washing dishes outside; the sound of his water blended with mine.
In the fifth minute I slid right down the glass, and it squirted out of my pussy onto the tiles, impossible to tell apart from the shower water. I photographed the tiles: all wet, a few thick drops in the middle.
“Good girl. Your husband’s so good to you, doing the dishes.”
I stared at that line, sitting on the floor, the hot water still running.
“Tomorrow at seven, order this on JD.” A link: Lovense Lush 3, 499 yuan. “Ship it to your office. It arrives tomorrow.”
“When it arrives, I turn it on.”