Tag: Satin Blouse

Power Nap PA

“This is great” he thought. “CEO goddammit! A CEO!!!” Now he could really shake his corporate tail feather, get a notch on his greasy pole bed-post. He’d lick this lame ass company into shape, then move on to bigger and better. He had plans, great! plans.

But although he talked all the old Gordon Gecko-style “Greed is good” cliches, he was a little nervous. He just had to impress. And he hoped that the “Value for money” measures he was drawing up–which included the laying off of 400 blue collar and 100 white collar staff–got passed. He would make out that he felt for these folks working in this company’s factories turning an honest dollar. But in reality he wanted to be a jet setter, a shooting star. But he did not want to burn up. At least he told himself that this is what he wanted. His dedication to his life plan didn’t stop him from curling up in his lonely bed some mornings–hugging the pillow and longing for someone to love him. Much more frequently than he would even admit to himself in parallel to his desire for true intimacy he was dreading what rows and challenges would perhaps jump up and bite for him during the day. Read more…

Mesmer Muse

He was so nervous, like many men who felt they could buy things for their partners in a lady’s store that blasted sophisticated couture from every corner he had entered in all good faith. He was now surrounded by every overt expression of femininity that anyone could imagine, from soft sensuous basques to long flowing gowns that displayed a more subtle yet equally sensuous aura. An aura that most men found subtly mocking and a little intimidating, like a little boy caught by elder sisters in his mothers wardrobe. Read more…

Mesmer Matron

He was 18 and doing well at his finishing school–or so he thought. He was boarded with some fine guys. But no matter what he did or how hard he tried, he could not stop himself from falling asleep in class. Now he had been referred to the matron of his house in the school. He was a little frightened as he approached the ornate hardwood door with “MATRON MESMER” embossed upon it’s oak panels.

The door was opened by a very dour looking lady with a stern face. She led him to a warm room lit by the glow of a log fire.  After he nervously sat down, she brought him a drink. “This is herbal tea, young man. Drink it whilst you wait for matron.” It was a strange yet quite pleasant tasting drink. He sat on the leather sofa and sipped it bit by bit. He felt the warmth of the fire. As he waited and pondered his fate, he saw nothing but the smoky flames dance and move and reflect on the high ceiling. Read more…

“Mesmer-man management”

It was the 1980’s, the days of green text on computer screens and laborious printouts. He was a trainee at the Anglo Evangelist Housing Company put there to see that all the company’s clients had their needs met when they moved in. The team he worked with were all women. They rather clucked over him and tried to fuss him like a dozen mothers requiring a subservient teenage child rather than the obvious intractable rebels they had at home. He was alone living in a bed-sitting room. Although he never admitted it , he rather liked the fuss, especially from the boss of the section Ms Morphia-Sophor. He never could understand the name, only that when he heard it he felt very dreamy and secure and wanting. So wanting to please this lady who would waft sensually through the office always in liquid like white satin blouses and long , so long satin pencil skirts split so silkily alluringly just below the thigh swishing hypnotically as they trailed back and forth before his mesmerized eyes. Back and forth, they caught the office lights so strikingly, enticingly, and sweetly swaying like a gossamer image of a sweet caressing ocean of black, soothing silken ripples. Read more…

MESMASSURANCE

He loved her and her outfits–her striking, dyed blonde, short hair and her Gingham jacket. But what especially caught his eyes, captured his attention span, and captivated all of him was her beautifully soft satin blouses and tight , split black satin pencil skirts stretching beyond her kneees.

She has an amazing name, Ms Juliette Jupe-Soyeux. Though she never claimed to be French, she had a wonderfully sexy and continental walk that mesmerized him. There was just something about her heels rhythmically click-clicking on the pavement when they were on their way home, a sharp “Swish” sound from her skirts as she passed him by. All too often with a rather disdainful look on her {sadly for him} almost as condescending as it was oh so lovely face. She acted like she knew she was destined for better things than him. Read more…

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