Finish

"It's a pretty outfit," my boss said, poking his head in my office.

"T...thank you, Sir," I said.

"You remember our agreement, I assume?"

"Of...of course," I said.

"You're wearing stockings then? Not pantyhose?"

I nodded. "Y...yes," I said.

"Let me see," he said.

I looked down, carefully reached for the hem of my skirt, pulled it up my leg, showed him the welt from my stocking.

"I need to see the garter strap," he said.

I shifted in my chair, pulled the hem of my skirt up over my stocking so my garter strap was visible. He walked over to me, put his hand on my thigh, just below my bare skin. I was so surprised, I said and did nothing.

"I know you said you like women," he said, rubbing my thigh gently, "but I don't think you're being honest with yourself."

"I...I am," I said.

"You said you tuck it...your penis..."

"Yes, it...it keeps things...flat."

He kept rubbing my thigh, higher, his fingers half touching nylon, half skin. "Probably a good thing," he said, "it might give you...it's hard to lie and say you don't like men if your swollen."

"I...I've never," I said, trying not to let my eyes flutter, trying not to look flush.

"Never doing it and lying and saying you don't want to do it are two very different things," he said. 

I glanced at his mid-section, couldn't help it, saw the outline of his erection in his pants, tried to make my eyes move, but they wouldn't.

"You know," he said, "staring at a man's cock is a strange way to show him you don't want it."

"I..."

"Touch it," he said.

My mind said no even as my hand drifted upwards, touched him.

"Stop if really don't want to," he said, "otherwise, you're going to finish what you're starting."