Appropriate Work Attire for Women

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“Daddy, I was bad today,” she said.

It was 10:00 pm and I was just getting home from work. I walked into the bedroom in my suit, already tugging at my tie to release its strangle hold on my neck. My entire day, from nine in the morning till nine at night was spent running around from meeting to meeting. There’s a big happening next week that requires all my focus this week. When I walked in the bedroom door, I found Lo, spread eagle naked on the bed, her array of self-pleasure sex toys sprawled out next to her like a tray of surgical tools in the operating room.

“I can see,” I replied.

“Here,” she said, springing to her knees on the bed, “let me help you with that.” She took the tie in her hands and gently loosened the knot, slipped it over my head and then put it around her neck so that it draped down between her breasts. “What do you think?”

“It looks better on you than on me, that’s for sure.”

“Daddy, why are you so grouchy?”

“I’m tired, Lo.”

“Don’t you want to hear about how bad I was today?” she asked, pouting.

“Sure,” I said, “tell me all about it.”

Her eyes lit up and she dropped to all fours, her tail wagging like a happy puppy.

“Well,” she said, “it started this morning. I woke up incredibly horny.”

“That’s because you were jillin’ it all night. Don’t you remember?”

It was true. She couldn’t sleep. She woke up at 4:00 am and pulled on my cock with one hand and masturbated her clit with the other. I heard her climax as quietly as she could — which isn’t quiet at all. Again at 5:00. And once more at 6:00. She finally got out of bed at 8:00 and when I was drinking my coffee and getting dressed, she said, “Damn, it’s too late to go to the gym. I really wanted to work out today.”

“Darling,” I said, “the only workout you got this morning was doing curls with your index finger.”

When I reminded her of her bad habits in bed, she simply dismissed it with a wave of her hand and said, “I was so wet when I woke up that after you left I had to shower. Well, you know that the hot water from the hand-held showerhead on pulsate is irresistible to me.”

“Yes, how could I forget?”

“So I jilled it once more there.”

I was glad to hear that she acknowledged her morning masturbation, if only indirectly, with the “once more” thrown in.

“I think that makes a total of four orgasms before you left the house in the morning.”

“Oh no, I came about three times in the shower.”

“Sorry, my mistake.”

I was now removing my shirt and pants and carefully hanging my suit on its hanger. I turned to look for my pajamas and I pulled out two sets of flannel and asked, “Which should I wear — the grey or the black?”

“Neither,” she said, positioning herself to take my cock in her mouth. I obliged. She swallowed the whole thing, deep in the back of her throat and then out again a few times.

“You were in the middle of a story,” I reminded her.

“Right,” she said with a grin. “Come here, next to me, and I’ll tell you how I was bad.”

I lay down at her side and, as her right hand reached for my cock, unconsciously jacking it off, she continued with her story.

“So,” she said, “I got dressed for work and I wore my black yoga pants and black boots and a blouse.”

“OK,” I said, waiting for more.

“I didn’t wear any panties or bra.”


“Sexy panties are better than anything — except no panties,” she said.

“And how’d that go?”

“When I got dressed, I completely forgot that I had a presentation to do in front of about fifty people.”

“Uh oh!”

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her pussy with her left hand.

“What happened?”

“Well, I was wearing the yoga pants and while giving my presentation I could see that I was getting a lot of intense looks — and they weren’t focusing on what I had to say.”

“What were they looking at?”

“I swear,” she said, “I had no idea until I was done and I went into the bathroom to look myself over.”


“It’s embarrassing,” she said, burying her head into the pillow.

“Lo, you’re the one who wanted to tell me this story.”

“I know,” I heard her say, her voice muffled from under the pillow.

“Come on, tell me.”

“Daddy, it’s so bad!”

“Come on out and fess up.”

She peered out of from the pillow and said, “Camel toe.”


She nodded her head in affirmation. “You heard me. Camel toe!”

“Oh my. . . !”

“I know!!!”

“And so you came home and you jilled it?”

“I’m sorry Daddy. I couldn’t help it — thinking about how all those guys and women were staring at me, seeing my pussy right through my yoga pants, getting horny.”

“You or them?”


“Lo, it wasn’t long ago that you were yelling at women on the street that tights are not pants! You were indignant about it.”

“Yeah, well, fashions change. It wasn’t long ago that ultra-low-rise jeans and whale-tails were in fashion too.”

“Well maybe this is why yoga pants shouldn’t be work appropriate.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Bad Day at Work,” from the blog:]

Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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