"God, I wish I was beautiful," Sandy thought to herself, stepping out of the shower and reaching for a towel.
Sandy was not beautiful, and she knew it. But neither was she unpleasant to look at. More or less average, by most standards, 5'-5" tall, with chestnut hair that fell in gentle waves over her shoulders, and a soft round face. Her lips were full and pouting, and her azure eyes sparkled nearly all of the time. From behind, her hourglass figure, and long legs, betrayed the fact that she was about twenty pounds overweight. But most of that was her huge bust.
Sandy would never stand out in a crowd, because she never wanted to. At thirty-two years of age, single, terribly shy, and desperately lonely, she craved what some of the other girls at the office had; a loving husband. Or at least she thought she did.
Sandy stepped in front of the long mirror her daddy had fastened on the bathroom door when she had moved into her little house, just down the street from where she grew up. He had helped her to buy the house and was her salvation whenever something needed repairing. She loved him and wished she could meet a guy just like him.
The reflection in the mirror smiled back at her when she thought about her daddy. She toweled her long hair, then wrapped the towel around her head and tucked her hair up in it, out of the way. She reached for another towel and continued to dry her body, remaining in front of the mirror as she caressed herself with the fluffy terry cloth towel. The reflection stared back at her as she lifted her foot and rested it on the bench in front of her dressing table and dried her leg.
She started at her toes and gently swept the soft towel up her leg. Pulling it high up between her legs, she ran it over the dark pelt at the origin of her legs. She repeated the process on her other leg, lingering slightly longer, this time, with her hand pulled up between her legs. The familiar stirrings were starting inside her again and she knew she would soon be sitting on the bench with her fingers teasing her clit. It seemed like she needed to masturbate much more frequently, these days.
Sandy sat on the bench and faced the mirror. Dropping the towel on the floor between her feet, she watched the reflection in the mirror spread her long legs wide apart. Soft pink petals appeared through the thick dark patch of hair that covered her pussy. The girl in the mirror moved her hand over her leg and slowly extended a finger down to gracefully slide across the feathery lips that adorned the entrance to her womanhood. Her other hand followed her first and the fingers converged at the center, parting the pink flesh as they slowly drew away from each other.
The fingers revealed her glistening inner folds and the hard pale protrusion, extending from its protective sheath, at the very top of her petals. She eased two fingers between the parted lips and pushed them deeper inside of her very stimulated love hole. The soft flesh of her hand rubbed across her distended clit, sending a shock wave of sensation to her brain.
Sandy jammed her fingers deep inside and grabbed at her burning clit with her other hand. Her thumb raked across the super-sensitized button again and again until she crashed, head long, into a thunderous orgasm.
When she opened her eyes, the girl in the mirror stared back through glazed eyes, her hands were drenched with her own juices and she was breathing like a marathon runner. The towel had fallen off her head, leaving her damp tresses hanging loosely around her shoulders.
"Thanks, I needed that," Sandy told the girl in the mirror, bending to pick up the towels. "If you don't get your ass in gear, you'll be late for work."
Sandy quickly swept the blow drier over her soft hair until it behaved suitably. She pulled open the top drawer of her dressing table and pulled out a fresh pair of panty hose. As she did, she noticed a pair of black nylons, with wide lacy tops and a black seam up the back, lying in her drawer. She laid the package of panty hose aside, and carefully lifted the filmy black stockings in her hand. Feeling suddenly very wicked, she opened the next drawer and reached to the rear of the drawer and pulled a black lace garter belt from the pile. Standing, Sandy fastened the garter belt around her waist and adjusted it so the straps hung just in the proper positions. Carefully rolling the hose into her fingers, from top to bottom, she fitted her toe snugly into the foot of the stocking and rolled it smoothly up her long shapely leg. She fastened first one strap to the lacy top and then the other. She inspected the seam, by looking over her hip and down her leg. She repeated the ritual on her other leg and stood looking at her reflection in the mirror.
Pleased with herself, she opened another drawer and extracted a sheer black, demy-bra, and fastened it under her pendulous breasts. She slid her arms through first one strap, then the other, lifting her soft tits into the nearly transparent cups. Again she admired her reflection in the mirror. Her nipples had grown super hard as she was tucking herself into the bra.
She almost left the panties in her drawer, but at the last second before she pushed it shut, she reached for the frilly crotch-less black ones she had always wanted to wear but had never drummed up the courage to. She pulled them up, and positioned her dark pubic patch carefully in the center of the opening. She looked at herself in the mirror again and stuck her fingers in her mouth to suck her secretions.
"What are you doing?" Sandy asked the girl in the black lingerie, who stared back at her from the mirror.
"I'm getting ready for work," her reflection replied.
"Well, you had better finish what you're doing or you'll be late," Sandy said.
She turned to face her dressing table mirror and switched the light on. She carefully applied eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, just a hint of color on her cheeks and dark crimson lip-gloss to match the fingernail polish she had painstakingly applied the night before. Next she hung the long sparkling earrings her daddy had given her for Christmas along with the black velvet chocker with the sparkly jewel under her chin.
The short black skirt was really too tight, but it seemed to fit better today. Then the sheer blue blouse that plunged down to here in the front, and her black waistcoat over it would keep them guessing. The blue spiked pumps matched the blouse and purse. With a splash of her favorite perfume, Allure, she whirled again and fixed her gaze on the woman in the mirror.
"You can be beautiful, if you want to be, Bitch," she sneered at her reflection, and grabbing the keys to her seven-year-old Camaro, she stalked out the door.
The drive to the office took her twelve minutes. The walk from the parking lot took seven more. The ride up in the elevator took about three. She could feel the wetness on her inner thighs by the time she stepped through the door into her office and crossed over to her desk.
"God, I'm so fucking hot," she thought, as she was startled out of her thoughts by the intercom on her desk.
"Good morning, Sandra," came the soft smooth drawl of her boss over the speaker. "Bring your pad and join us."
Sandra hated being called by her given name but she shook it off and picked up her pad and entered Mr. Cleese's fabulous office.
"Good morning boss," she greeted him, as she crossed to the chair in front of his desk, where she normally would sit when taking dictation.