The Forty-Day Doll - 2
Before falling asleep, I tried to think of myself from a man's point of view.
An ordinary man admires from a distance the kind of woman he can never reach. With any other woman he approaches with a racing heart and a flicker of interest. Then, once she steps into his territory, that fluttering excitement gradually turns into the urge to have sex.
Conquest, achievement—there are plenty of other hungers, but the basic one never changes.
Through sex he feels she has become completely his woman. And once he gains the security of being able to sleep with her whenever he wants, that hunger drops off sharply.
It is the same shift in perspective as cotton candy glimpsed on the street as a child and cotton candy seen again as an adult.
The craving for cotton candy.
The craving for sex.
Both of those feelings fade.
It was obvious the boss wanted my body. So I figured it would be better to give it to him once. Then the sticky gazes and signals he sent around the office would ease up.
Fewer of those meant the remaining days would be easier to endure. Even if we ended up having sex a few more times, it still seemed like a decent trade.
With that resolve I went to work the next day.
Nothing happened.
What is he thinking?
Given the looks and remarks he had been throwing my way, and the way the board was already set, it would not have been strange if he simply took me right then and there. So why was he stalling like this, sitting perfectly still?
As if he could read that exact thought, the boss did not call for me. Only the day after my stray thoughts had settled did he finally summon me.
"Got something to say?"
He was the one who had called me, yet somehow he seemed to sense the atmosphere I was carrying and opened with that.
"Boss."
"Speak."
Words matter. The outcome can flip entirely depending on how you phrase them.
"I would appreciate it if you would refrain from this sort of thing at the company."
"Why?"
Exactly the range I had expected.
"For the company's sake, your image needs to change, Boss. Also, if this keeps happening, various... co...mp..."
He waved his hand as if swatting something away.
"Spare me the tired lecture."
My attempt to lay the basic groundwork had failed. Once he cut me off like that, the fallback lines I had prepared became useless. I had to go straight to the point. Yet the words did not come out as smoothly as I had imagined.
"On Saturday... I'll... sleep with you once. So please restrain yourself at the office."
I cast the bait of "sex" he wanted and waited for him to bite.
He kept silent, showing no reaction at all. Then, in a heavy voice laced with a strange sort of amusement, he spoke.
"...Yeeun."
"Yes, Boss."
He sank into the backrest and spun the chair.
"You see, I prefer to save the delicious things for last."
"..."
"I like to keep the good stuff aside and eat it really later. Slowly. For a long time."
He only tilted his head and looked at me.
"Understand what I mean?"
"...Yes."
I knew exactly what those words meant.
"Then there's no need to say anything more."
He turned the chair again so he faced me squarely.
"What should we try today? Any good ideas?"
"...I would prefer if you did nothing at all."
"But that would be boring."
I was fine with boring. No—I preferred boring. Yet he tapped the desk with a fingernail as though deep in thought. Then, in a sudden flash of inspiration, he rapped the desktop right in front of me with his finger. Tap. Tap.
"Put your panties here. Right now."
"...Are you serious?"
Watching my face go rigid, he laughed.
"A resignation letter works too."
He laced his fingers behind his head, sank deep into the backrest, and radiated leisurely ease.
"You have three minutes. Go over and I'll do it for you."
"..."
He turned his head toward the digital clock hanging on one wall.
"It's 10:41. Until 44 should be fine."
He never took his eyes off me, as if watching something crucial unfold.
The sight of that made rage surge through me in an instant. My body trembled with anger.
"...Son of a bitch."
I said it quietly, but not quietly enough to miss. He only kept laughing, as though he found the words delightful.
"42."
I forced my frozen hands to move and slowly lifted the skirt of my suit.
Through the coffee-colored pantyhose the panties came into view.
"Pretty old-fashioned panties."
They looked more girlish than feminine.
Back when I had no money I had hunted for cheap ones and ended up with these. I knew they did not suit me, but what I felt and what he said were two different things.
Hearing that made even my slowly moving hands stop. But I still had to move.
I slipped off my flat shoes and peeled the pantyhose down carefully.
Only the panties remained.
"43."
Once I had stripped this far, shame overtook anger.
Even when I told myself that, with the memories of once being a man, taking off panties in front of another man was no big deal, the shame still flooded in.
This was not a bathhouse. I was not changing clothes. And I was not doing it because I wanted to.
"44. Time."
He rose from the chair.
Panic spiked.
"Wait! Just a second! It hasn't gone past 44 yet!"
"Well... fine."
He dropped back into the chair. I could not delay any longer.
I turned so only my profile faced him and lowered the skirt on the side he could see. At the same time I hooked the panties and dragged them down the other way.
When the rolled fabric reached mid-thigh, I used both hands to keep the skirt down while I finished pulling the panties free. Then I placed them on the desk.
The clock clicked over to 45. He spoke in a faintly disappointed tone.
"That was close."
I reached to take the panties back, but he snatched them up first. Then, as if putting on a show, he spread them wide with both hands.
Plain cotton panties printed with a candy pattern.
"Even my little sister wouldn't wear these."
Laughing with pure enjoyment, he tossed the panties somewhere beyond my reach.
"You can go now."
He clearly had no intention of giving them back.
If he had, he would have thrown them toward me.
Swallowing the anger, I put my shoes back on and gathered the stockings.
"I'll be going."
The next day he ordered me to strip my panties right in front of him again, as if he had discovered a brand-new hobby. And once more, when I tried to take them, he kept them.
After that routine continued for about a week, I adapted.
I started carrying spare panties in my subspace and, intending to take them off first thing after arriving, came to work without stockings. But he somehow knew I had extras. What used to be only at the start of the day became summons at lunch or near quitting time, forcing me to strip again.
And by now, simply to make removing the panties easier, I had switched from pantyhose to a garter belt.
The skirt still fell to the knee, so outwardly there was no difference from pantyhose. But this was not a real solution.
"Boss."
"Speak."
He was still perfectly at ease.
"How long do you intend to keep this up?"
"Keep what up?"
And shamelessly playful.
"Taking my panties."
"That? Until you walk around without any."
Being summoned every day to strip made me furious, but I had to endure it.
"...Understood."
The skirt was narrow enough that no one could see inside unless I deliberately showed them. I could live with that much.
Going without panties felt wrong, but when I weighed the steadily increasing summons and the strip-show performance that came with each one, putting up with the discomfort was better.
Of course he would demand worse later. First priority, though, was cutting down the constant calls.
No matter how often I left my seat, Secretary Choi sat right outside; if the summons grew excessive, suspicion was inevitable. For all I knew, he already suspected something.
So today, determined to settle the matter, I came wearing pantyhose instead of a garter belt.
A garter belt made stripping easier, but if I had to spend the entire day without panties, pantyhose were preferable.
"That's a resolute face."
He no longer even bothered to tell me to strip or give me a time limit. He simply looked at me and tapped the desk.
"I'm not wearing any, so there's nothing to hand over."
"Oh~. So that's why you asked yesterday."
He looked delighted.
"Show me."
I lifted the skirt the way I had grown used to doing.
"Not a garter belt?"
I did not answer. I simply hiked one side of the skirt to my hip so he could see there were no panties.
"Not like that. Properly."
My body locked up.
No matter how dark the coffee-colored stockings, they could never be darker than hair. And the place where pubic hair should have been, dense as it ought to be, should have looked even darker. But I had none.
The moment I realized I would have to expose my lower belly, shame crashed over me.
Right. I had adapted so thoroughly I had forgotten. That man was exactly that kind of man.
But thinking and moving were two different things.
While I hesitated with the hem still in my grip, he stepped up beside me. Then he casually laid a hand on my lower abdomen. Sensing something off, he yanked the skirt higher. I tried to stop him.
"Take your hand off."
The second I eased my grip the skirt was fully flipped up. He laughed as if he could not believe it.
"You walk around waxed?"
"...No."
"What do you mean, no."
Suddenly he slipped his hand inside the pantyhose and stroked my lower belly as though searching for the texture of hair.
"Nice and clean."
The hand that had only been caressing my abdomen slid lower.
I grabbed his forearm on pure reflex, but I could not stop him. All I could do was leave the moving fingers alone.
He nudged one of my feet aside to give himself room, then pushed his hand deeper.
As if savoring the soft skin, he traced along my lower belly and over the outer lips. All the while he pressed farther in.
The hand that had been moving left and right began to move up and down.
His middle finger rubbed between the inner lips. Then it slid deep, and
the tip of the finger entered me.
"Ngh...s..."
I swallowed the sound that had escaped on instinct and tightened my grip on his forearm. He met my eyes and smiled thickly.
"Why?"
I knew exactly why, and the fact that he asked made me furious. But other than glaring there was nothing I could do.
The middle finger withdrew from the entrance and followed the fold until it reached my clit. Then, using his ring and index fingers to spread the outer lips wide, he tapped the tip of his finger against it.
Every jolt of stimulation made my grip on his arm tighten. He seemed to find that entertaining; he rubbed up and down, teasing.
The more he did it, the more vicious the arousal became.
"Ngh...k..."
I tried to keep a blank expression, but it was impossible. Whenever he suddenly lifted the finger that had been rubbing, the change in pressure made my body flinch on its own.
Even when I tensed every muscle to stop the twitching and forced the sounds down, I could not completely smother what slipped out.
Above all, the stimulation was intense.
It was incomparably stronger than anything I had felt from my nipples.
"...n...gh..."
After only about a minute of that he pulled his hand free. Clear fluid glistened on his fingertip.
He pressed his fingers together and drew them apart right in front of my eyes, showing off the long, sticky strand.
"Already wet."
It was humiliating.
In moments like this I hated how easily this body produced water.
He wiped the fluid onto my pantyhose, then returned to his seat. From under the desk he lifted a shopping bag and set it on top.