Story: Nightwatch Part Three

Nightwatch (Part Three)

I turned around in shock. There was a woman standing there.

I could feel the lightness of my little cocktaildress. It was lighter than ever before. I felt incredibly naked.

She had here eyebrows raised, arms crossed. She wore one of the business outfits, I had tried on a couple of nights ago. Wide pants, beige, Max Mara. I didn't like the pantsuit then, personally, it felt akward, wearing womens clothes made to look masculine. But they definetly had a feminine touch, especially on her.

She put one hand on her hips and came toward me. She walked slowly and let her hips move from side to side. Her short steps were arousing me, I realised, they halted the shock induced softening of my raging hard-on from dressing up and it became rock solid again.

I tried to cover it up, pulling the hem of the dress down and forward. The dress was embarassingly short. I hoped that at least, she couldn't see the bugle in my underpants and held onto the hem of the dress. But when she came up to me, her face went from 'eyebrows raised' to 'lips pressed together in stern displeasure'. She looked up and straight at me. Her eyes were spears, slashing through my mind and holding me in place and pose. I couldn't move, speak or think. I just stood there, in shock, and waited.

She began to speak, but I couldn't listen. I heard her talk, but I couldn't understand. It was like I forgot English. The language part of my brain was crushed underneath a puling horniness, the all-commanding urge to cover my erection up, and an array of colours of no use at all other than to strangle any coherent thought that tried to stick it's head out to hear what other ideas thought of it's newest plan for action.

I saw her perfectly manicured fingers in front of my eyes. A shimmering red thumbnail dug itself into the tip of her middlefinger. A loud snap. The noise pierced the bubble of colours in my mind, blowing it up and freed the language part.

„You are not very responsive to unforseen events, are you Mr. Nightwatch, huh?“

I couldn't guess wether she was angry at me or mocking me. I definetly invited abuse. What did she want? What should I do?

„Say something, Mr Watchman.“, she waved her arms around. „Anything!“

„You're from … the Friedmans. Management?“ I managed to say something. Finally, some action on my part.

„Oh, you have such a deep voice, Mr Watchman.“ She put her hands on her chest, acting surprised. She used her arms and hands a lot when she talked. Her face moved very little. Her nails were beautifully done indeed, I noticed again. She took her hands away again. And pointed to the lift.

„Better keep your mouth shut and follow me, your future is on the line here, and you aren't dressed for it.“