by Arthur Saxon
Ingrid Jones was thirty, slim, reasonably attractive, and, as Area Sales Manager for a large hardware manufacturing company on a salary of thirty-six thousand pounds per year, quite successful. She was single but dating the owner of a High Street sports shop whom she had met at the gym a couple of months back. Proud of her body, Ingrid was wont to dress smartly but invariably ensured that she was showing plenty of leg. She never wore trousers and her skirts were all above-the-knee.
Today she was on her way to the newly-built Administration offices which were due to house the company’s senior executives and the Accounts division. Equipped with all the latest mod-cons, including a state-of-the-art video conference room, it was reputedly an architectural nightmare, with baffling security systems that had been upsetting the bigwigs all week. Ingrid had never been there before, but from all she’d heard about the new building, she was glad she was still being allowed to work at the plant.
The directions she had been given were more than adequate, and she was soon driving into the car park, where after a tedious excursion around the one-way system she parked outside the front of the building. She got out and adjusted her clothing. It was a hot July day, and she was wearing a short-ish navy blue skirt made of a light, gauzy material. With the light behind her she knew that the skirt could be seen through, so she was wearing a pair of black panties beneath it. On her top half she wore a white blouse that was also rather less than opaque – the outline of her white bra was faintly visible through the material.
Entering the building, she signed in at reception and said hello to a cluster of business men who had gathered in the foyer. Her boss, Ronald Allen (Sales & Marketing Director for Europe) and Godric Bluth, the Financial Director, were among those present, but most of the other men were strangers to her. Her business being upstairs with Janine Palmer, the Accounts Manager, she passed the throng by and began to climb the staircase. The stairs were hideous – thin metal planks with rubber edges and peppered with holes to form floral designs. Whoever designed this building, Ingrid thought to herself, should be shot.
And then something awful happened. As she climbed, she unwittingly passed over a fan located on the ground floor which was causing a draft to blow straight up through the hole-punched stairs. Without warning, Ingrid’s skirt billowed up around her waist, and she blushed crimson as she fought to push it down. Unfortunately her skirt was of such loose material that even with two hands she could not keep all of it down. She skipped on up the rest of the stairs and out of the updraft. When her skirt finally came to rest in a decent position, she paused to glance over her shoulder, and her heart sank as she noticed a couple of men climbing the stairs a few paces behind her. Their heads, she realised, would have been on a level with her bottom.
But they were not even looking at her. In fact, as she stopped to take a longer look at the crowd below, she realised that nobody at all was looking her way. Apparently she had got away with her indecent exposure. She sighed with relief and continued through the double doors at the top of the stairs, feeling quite pleased with herself.
Later on, as she was discussing credit issues with Janine, her mind wandered and she found herself wondering why nobody had noticed her. A spark of resentment flickered as her pride told her that she really ought to have attracted at least one or two stares. Perhaps in today’s politically correct climate, all the men were too scared to show that they had seen something they shouldn’t.
“Would you mind excusing me for a moment?” she said to Janine. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh, sure,” said Janine. “Do you know where it is?”
“Uh, no,” admitted Ingrid.
“Go downstairs and take a left at the bottom of the staircase. The toilets are on the right-hand side of the corridor.”
“Thanks,” said Ingrid, wondering how she was going to negotiate the stairs again without revealing her underwear again. She got up and left the room, then peered through the double doors at the top of the staircase. The crowd downstairs had dispersed, but there were a couple of men at the foot of the stairs, talking animatedly and not apparently in a hurry to go anywhere. Ingrid gritted her teeth and marched through the doors.
After only a few steps, her skirt began to fly up and she clutched desperately at the front of the hem with both hands. However, the men downstairs paid no attention, despite the fact that one of them was facing in her direction. She continued down the stairs as her skirt flew about behind her unrestrained, and she hoped nobody would come through the doors behind her.
Then, of course, somebody did. Ingrid heard the door open and immediately let go with her left hand so she could cover herself up at the back. Part of the front of her skirt now billowed up at the front, and both sides rose up to expose her hips. She adjusted her grip, but in doing so momentarily let go with her right hand. The skirt flew up, revealing her panties to the two gentlemen below.
But they did not notice. As Ingrid hurried to the foot of the stairs, they completely ignored her. Behind her, the woman who had just emerged through the doors at the top descended purposefully, but she did not look at Ingrid as she came to the bottom of the staircase and walked past.
‘What, am I invisible?’ Ingrid wondered, rather impatiently. She was somewhat glad that her embarrassing revelations had not prompted amused looks or derogatory comments, but it was rather insulting that nobody had paid any attention to the fact that her legs had been fully revealed along with her panties. ‘I have nice legs!’ Ingrid thought to herself. ‘You’d think somebody at least would be interested in looking at them.’
She went to the toilet, muttering to herself. When she came out, she noticed that the two men had gone, but there was a courier, clad in motorcycle leathers, talking to the receptionist. Upon being directed upstairs, the courier thanked the woman at the desk and walked towards the stairs. Ingrid met him at the bottom, and the courier gestured ahead.
“After you,” he said.
Ingrid opened her mouth to decline the invitation, but then she shut it again. Okay, so he would probably get a look at her panties, but at least he was more likely to have some kind of a reaction! Making up her mind, Ingrid smiled in thanks and determinedly marched up the stairs ahead of him.
Soon enough, her skirt was flying up around her waist. She hesitated for a moment, then she turned quickly back, blushing, as she prepared to apologise and fix her skirt.
But the courier was looking straight ahead and had apparently not noticed. Frustrated, Ingrid let go of her skirt and allowed it to billow up unhindered. Moving to one side so that she could watch his reaction out of the corner of her eye, she was aggrieved to see that he maintained his forward gaze and did not seem at all interested in the fact that her panties were on full display.
Ingrid stopped where she was, now more annoyed about being ignored than worried about her underwear being seen. “Excuse me,” she said to the courier.
The man stopped and turned to face her. Ingrid’s heart pounded as she fought to control the impulse to push her skirt down, but she bravely allowed it to continue floating about above her waist. Yet the courier did not even glance downward. He merely looked at her face with a questioning look.
“Um, who are you here to see?” asked Ingrid, thinking quickly.
The courier checked his parcel. “Terry Munley,” he said. “You know where his office is?”
Fortunately Ingrid did – she had seen the name on the door opposite Janine’s office. “Yes, I can show you,” she said. “Follow me.” She wanted to add, ‘Why the hell aren’t you looking at my knickers?’, but she refrained.
She was almost screaming internally as she walked ahead of the courier, almost hoping he would utter a gasp or wolf whistle or something … anything! … to indicate that he had seen her panties. But he remained silent. Ingrid reached the top of the stairs and her skirt fell back into place. She pushed through the double doors and pointed out Terry’s office.
“There it is,” she said.
“Thanks,” replied the courier, and he strode forward and knocked on the door without another glance at her.
Ingrid was perplexed. What was wrong with everyone today?
“Ingrid!” Ronald Allen was marching down the corridor towards her. “Could you spare me five minutes please?”
“Um, sure,” said Ingrid. “What’s up?”
“Sean’s chairing a meeting in the conference room,” he said. “We’ve got reps from three of our major suppliers here, and Sean’s asked me to present an update of the market position – the suppliers are concerned that our order volumes have been dropping off. Unfortunately as you know I’ve been on holiday and wasn’t at the last sales meeting – you couldn’t possibly give us a brief update could you?”
Ingrid nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I don’t have any figures with me, but I think I can remember enough.”
“Splendid,” said Ronald gratefully. “It’s just this way.”
He led her into the large conference room, where about fifteen smartly-dressed men and women were sitting around a table. Ingrid walked over to the flipchart, took a deep breath, and entered business mode.
“Good morning ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “As you know, the market has been depressed for a couple of months, during what is normally a peak period of the year. As we enter the summer season, when demand typically drops off, you might expect our off-take to decrease still further. I’d like to assure you that this is not going to happen. Our proposed price cuts have prompted a lot of new orders and we’re being aggressive in the market place at this time. In fact, we plan to increase production from the beginning of September and will be buying elevated levels of all raw materials throughout August as a result. I’ll show you roughly how our sales figures have looked over the year to date and how our forecasts are looking up until the year end.” She turned her back on them and began to draw a large graph on the flipchart. She plotted monthly points as well as she could remember from the sales meeting, and finally turned back to the assembled men and women. “That’s about the size of it,” she said. “Any questions?”
“Yes, I have one,” said one of the women, whom Ingrid knew vaguely. “Do you have any idea of how next year is likely to shape up? Perhaps you could overlay a projection line over the top of your existing graph?”
“Our long term forecasts are anything but fixed, Sue,” said Ingrid, “but through experience and my limited knowledge of the state of the market I can give you my best guess – will that do?”
“Okay then…” Ingrid turned back to the graph and plotted a few more points based on known annual peaks and troughs and the projected closing figure for the current year’s end. When she had drawn a line through her points, she turned back to the group. “Naturally,” she continued, “raw material usage will foreshadow that graph to the tune of a month or so as we anticipate demand. Anything else? Anyone?”
There were no further questions, so Ronald said, “Thanks Ingrid, that’s great. We’ll let you get back to work now.”
“Thank you,” said Ingrid, and she left the room. Returning to Janine’s office, she apologised for having been so long. “I got waylaid by Ron,” she said.
“No problem,” said Janine.
Ingrid sat down, and then stood up immediately in surprise as her bare buttocks met the seat. Putting her hands behind her, she felt for her skirt and could not find it. Raising her hands, she discovered it bunched up and tucked into the back of her panties.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?” asked Janine.
“I just discovered I must have tucked my skirt into the back of my knickers by accident in the toilet.”
Janine laughed. “Bummer!” she said. “I hope nobody saw you.”
“But you don’t understand!” said Ingrid. “I just stood up in front of about fifteen people in the conference room and drew graphs on the flipchart while I had my back to them! They’d have seen everything!”
“And did none of them say anything?” asked Janine in puzzlement.
“No!” exclaimed Ingrid. She untucked her skirt and sat down again, utterly mortified.
“Well, I’m sure they won’t hold it against you,” said Janine sympathetically.
Ingrid shrugged. “I’ll have a word with Ron later,” she said. “Anyway, let’s get back to this rogue cheque…”
Half an hour later, Ingrid had almost forgotten her embarrassment when Ronald poked his head into the office.
“Good work Ingrid,” he said. “You got me out of a bit of a hole there. I owe you.” He seemed about to withdraw when Ingrid stopped him.
“Ron,” she said. “Why didn’t you say anything? During the meeting, I mean, when I was doing those graphs.”
“Well, like I said, I wasn’t at the sales meeting…”
“No, I don’t mean about that…”
Ron looked puzzled. “What then?” he asked.
“About my skirt!” said Ingrid. “And the fact that it was hitched up at the back while I was doing my presentation!”
“Was it?” asked Ron in genuine surprise. “I never noticed. Can’t have been hitched up that much. Nobody else mentioned anything either. Oh well, see you later.” He withdrew and closed the door.
“Looks like you got away with it,” said Janine, smiling.
“Yeah,” said Ingrid. But she could not understand it and shook her head slowly in bewilderment.
An hour later, Ingrid’s business with Janine was concluded, and she decided to go back to her office at the plant. As she began to descend the staircase, her mobile phone rang and she answered it.
“Hello?” she said. “Oh hi Kim, yeah I’m just about to leave.” It was one of the girls in customer services. As Ingrid talked, she continued to descend until her skirt flew up around her waist again. Glancing around, she saw a few people moving hither and thither, but nobody spared her even a first glance, let alone a second one.
Annoyed, she stopped on the stairs where she was, ostensibly to talk on her phone but really to maintain her level of exposure in the hope that somehow, somebody would notice and make some kind of comment. So she stood, panties in full view, for five long minutes while men and women ascended and descended the stairs, walking right past her without seeming to notice her.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said to herself, and she turned and climbed the stairs again. If there was one person who was bound to stare at things he shouldn’t, it was Steven Frampton, the Invoice Co-ordinator. Steven was well known for talking to women’s chests, and if he had not been such a timid, harmless individual some of the female staff in his office might have complained about him. But as it was, they grudgingly tolerated it and even found it something of a source of amusement.
Ingrid knew that her see-through blouse would be like flypaper to Steven’s fly, and right now she felt she needed reassuring that she still looked sexy. She found his door and knocked.
“Come in!” called Steven from within, and Ingrid entered.
“Hi Ingrid,” said Steven, and turned back to his screen. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if you’d processed an invoice from Webster’s recently?” said Ingrid. “I just wanted to check the reference number and net weight of the material.”
“Haven’t seen one,” said Steven, glancing up at her face. “Unless it’s from last month.”
“No, it would be from this month,” said Ingrid, arching her back so her breasts jutted out and strained against her blouse.
“Nope, not this month,” replied Steven, shaking his head. “I’d remember.” He looked up at her face again and smiled apologetically. He then kept his gaze there as Ingrid retreated from the room.
The world, Ingrid had decided, had gone mad. Either that or she had. Back in the corridor outside Steven’s office, she wondered if perhaps there was something wrong with the inhabitants of this building. Well, there was a simple way to test that.
She trotted downstairs again, this time practically ignoring the breeze that lifted her skirt above her waist. Once again there were people around, and once again they paid her no attention. She walked through the main doors and out into the car park. She walked right past her car and took a short cut across a stretch of grass to the edge of the road that ran through the business park. Following that road to the busy dual carriageway outside the park, she positioned herself at the edge of the pavement, facing the oncoming traffic. Taking a deep breath, and wondering how on Earth she had managed to talk herself into doing something this bold, she bent her right knee seductively across her left leg and lifted the right-hand side of her skirt to reveal the full extent of her shapely right leg to the oncoming motorists.
The effect was underwhelming. No horns hooted, no drivers looked her way. Frowning, she lifted her skirt higher and used both hands to widen the uncovered area. The motorists could now, if they chanced to look at her, see her panties. But still she was unable to elicit any kind of reaction from them.
Emboldened by a growing sense of frustration, Ingrid planted her feet apart and lifted the front of her skirt high up to reveal the whole of her panties. She was ready to drop it in an instant and run for cover at the first hint of a horn, but still there was nothing. She might as well have been invisible.
An elderly male pedestrian walked by, ogling a young mother in a knee-length skirt who was pushing a pram several yards ahead of him. Ingrid watched him pass and felt enormously insulted that he did not spare her a single glance, despite the fact that he had had a perfect view of her panties.
“Jeez!” she exclaimed. “What do I have to do to get some attention around here?” Quickly making up her mind, she unbuttoned her blouse and prepared to expose her bra to the traffic.
Then her mobile phone rang again. She answered it. “Hello? Oh, hi Ron. No, I’ve not left yet… Sure, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
As she made her way back to the Admin building, she started to button up her blouse and then thought, ‘Why bother? Nobody’s going to notice.’ She re-entered the building and climbed the stairs once again. She found Ronald’s office and knocked. He answered, and she entered.
“Sorry for summoning you back like that,” said Ron, failing to notice her unbuttoned blouse. “Take a seat. I just want to have a quick chat about your customers.”
Ingrid sat down and waited for Ron to comment on her blouse. But as he launched into a lengthy debate about the merits of high-volume, low-margin customers, she began to think that he never would. So, as subtly as she could, she pulled her skirt up her thighs to reveal more of her legs. Ron failed to notice this, either, so Ingrid tried a new and even bolder tack. She slowly pulled the sides of her blouse open, until her bra-clad breasts were fully exposed. Even now, Ron neither commented nor even glanced at her chest.
Amazed and wondering just how long it would be before he noticed something, Ingrid went a step further. As she responded to one of his queries about price negotiations, she nonchalantly took off her blouse and laid it over the arm of her chair. Ron made absolutely no sign of having seen this, and so Ingrid sat there, puzzled beyond belief, while Ron rambled on about the possibility of subcontracting specialist work to supply high-margin customers in her area. Finally, caution and modesty now seeming totally unnecessary, she unclasped her bra and removed it, placing it on top of her blouse.
She was now topless, and still Ron appeared not to have noticed that she was not still fully-clothed. Ingrid was utterly confused, but she felt compelled to find some kind of breaking point. She stood up and took off her skirt, letting it fall to the ground around her ankles. Ron’s gaze followed her face upwards as she stood up, then downwards as she sat back down again, but he did not even bat an eyelid, despite the fact that a member of his sales team now sat before him wearing only black panties and a pair of shoes.
Ingrid stood up again, bolder than ever, and removed her panties. Her shaved pussy was now a mere two feet from Ron, and still the man droned on about seeking out new business target areas.
Then the door opened and Ingrid froze in panic as she saw Geoff Haines, the managing director, enter the room. He saw her and smiled. “Hi Ingrid,” he said. Then he turned to Ron. “Ron, may I have a quick word?”
“Sure,” said Ron. He looked at Ingrid. “Um, would you mind waiting in the conference room for me? We’ll be having a meeting there in fifteen minutes – you, me, Godric, Geoff, a couple of the people from the Dutch office, and James and Rick, who I think are visiting here today.”
“Uh, I don’t mind,” said Ingrid, turning pink. She picked up her clothes, got up, and walked out of the room. As the door closed behind her, she listened to hear if they mentioned her attire.
“Right Ron,” Geoff was saying, “let’s talk cost savings.”
“I saw the email,” replied Ron, “but I’ve not had a chance to review the spreadsheet. I gather you have some plans?”
And so it went on. Ingrid moved away and made for the conference room. It was empty. Ron had said the meeting was in fifteen minutes, so it looked like she had some time to kill… It occurred to her that she should either put her clothes back on or take them outside and leave them in the car. She decided to test her luck with the latter. It was a warm day – she would not get too cold without her clothes. And if nobody was going to notice anyway…
She passed several people on her way downstairs. The first couple of times she stiffened nervously, half expecting a cry of ‘Oh my God! What are you doing??’ But nobody said anything, nor even looked at her except to say hello. Outside, she unlocked the car and threw her clothes on to the passenger seat. Then, carrying only her handbag, she started to walk back inside. Then she had second thoughts, and returned to her car. Opening the door, she kicked off her shoes and threw them inside, then she tucked her handbag under the seat. Closing and locking the door, she hid the car keys out of sight on top of the front tyre.
Now totally naked and feeling very liberated, she walked boldly back inside the building. Still nervous but oddly excited, she climbed the stairs and took a seat in the conference room. Ten minutes later, the other attendees began to trickle in, and soon the table was full. Everyone greeted her in a friendly manner, but nobody remarked on her nakedness.
‘Where do I go from here?’ Ingrid wondered to herself. As the meeting began and quickly descended into buzzword hell, her mind wandered and she began to feel quite horny as the full realisation of what she was doing hit home. She was naked in a room full of her company’s top executives! And they had not noticed! What the fuck was going on??
She could not fathom the reason, but she was not complaining, not now. She started to masturbate surreptitiously under the table. Moments later, however, her erotic fantasy was interrupted by the sound of her name being spoken. She snapped her eyes to the source of the sound, and realised Ron was talking to her.
“Any thoughts?” Ron asked her.
Horribly embarrassed, she said, “In terms of…?”
“Dropping our lowest-margin customers,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes I’m fine,” said Ingrid hastily. “Um, well it seems to me that the market is turning, so I’d be reluctant to let any business go while we still have the option of increasing our production capacity. Low margin they may be, but they are loyal and least likely to desert us when the going gets tough. I’d say we ought to return that compliment.” She lightly brushed her left nipple with her fingers as she spoke, while her right hand rubbed at her clitoris.
“Do you know off-hand the breakdown of where the low-margin accounts are weighted?” asked Geoff.
“Sure.” Ingrid got to her feet and returned to the flipchart. Standing naked before them, she sought signs of arousal, surprise or disgust in their faces, but they merely looked interested and expectant. She drew a picture for them, then turned to face them. Placing her legs eighteen inches apart, she reached down to her pussy with her right hand and started rubbing it as she said, “Bernard has the lion’s share – the Midlands typically yields low margins as the competition is great in that area. Customers in Scotland are notorious penny-pinchers, but by and large the margins we get from them are pretty good.” She lifted one leg up and placed it on a chair, giving the men a better view of her pussy. Spreading her labia apart, she slipped one finger into her cunt and began thrusting it in and out as she continued, “At the moment we’re barely breaking even with some of my own customers, which of course include our two biggest customers, whom we can ill-afford to lose. We have to think about volumes, after all.”
Encouraged by the lack of a reaction to her explicit display, she put her leg down and walked up to the edge of the table, squeezing her breasts sensuously. She began to dance, sexily, gyrating her hips and caressing her flesh as she continued to relate dull sales data. They looked at her with (or feigning) interest, and a couple asked questions.
Finally Ingrid could take no more. “Have you all gone blind?” she exclaimed in frustration. “What’s the matter with you? Has it escaped your attention that I’m naked?”
There was a stunned silence. Then, “Excuse me?” said Ron politely.
“I’m … not … wearing … any … clothes!” Ingrid spelled it out for them. “Does that strike nobody as odd?”
“But, um, Ingrid,” said Ron, “you are wearing clothes.”
Ingrid frowned and looked down at her body. No, she was definitely still naked. Then Ron, who had turned into her older brother, said, “If you don’t stop telling lies, I’m going to tell Dad on you.” Then she found she wasn’t in the conference room any more, it was the main library at university, and that geek Paul was following her again. She could see him lurking around a corner, pretending to look for a book.
Then her alarm went off.
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