[M]y business trip with a [F]lirty subordinate – PART 2

Day 1: [The Airport](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/k9cmpx/my_business_trip_with_a_flirty_subordinate/)

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Day 2: Leisure Time

We arrived at Quebec City, our final destination, and we would still have half a Sunday of free time before we’d kick-off our midweek. It was warm and sunny, not too hot, just right to walk outside in jeans and a t-shirt. At Least that is what Joice was wearing once she had quickly changed at the hotel after seven hours of flying, four hours of airports and thirty minute cab drive to the hotel. She appeared in the lobby with the same black slim fit jeans she wore before, but her shirt and sweater was exchanged for a white tight-fit tank top with deep cleavage. This is not the girl I knew from the office, instead I was presented a black and white stylised young woman with a peculiar fashion taste. What was peculiar was not so much the black and white stylisation, but more so the fact she chose to wear a black bra. A black bra underneath a white top.

A weird combination I thought at first, or atleast to maybe a non-fashion person as myself, but as I was regularly allowed my eyes explore the merit of said choice I began to notice certain details that hinted me this might be a very deliberate and kinky choice.

At first glance my eyes were drawn by how the black fabric of the bra shone through the white fabric of the shirt, as if those were gravitational wells that capture any onlooking gazes. Add the ample volume of her breasts in the mix and there’s creation of an immediate eyecatcher.
Secondly the top she had chosen was one with fine straps over the shoulders which when paired up with the black straps of the bra couldn’t create a harder contrast than this. As far from the women I know, they either pick a strapless bra, or one with a strap that matches the shirt colour or their skin colour. This girl chose to make the statement *“I’m wearing a bra.”*
When my eyes trailed down towards her cleavage it became apparent it was no ordinary bra. It was a strappy bra, a designer bra. Which of course explained again why she would want to put emphasis on it. The detail did not lay in the amount of lace or fine stitchwork, but it lay in the elaborate existence of secondary straps that engulfed the top face of her breasts. Yes, down in that deep cleavage, two magnificent bulges lay captured and restrained in cups held up with extra straps that outlined each entire breast. As a male, a design that hinted at bdsm to me.

The saying “Clothes make the man” would definitely be applicable in our modern world to this modern world young woman too. That one piece of clothing alone does a complete definition of what may be a secret identity.

*Did I end up in a Fifty Shades of Grey story? Where a thirty-old man is on a business trip with a younger team member who has a secret of dark and erotic dungeons?* This question popped in my mind one moment where we had stopped for a drink during our tour through the old city parts. We sat at the outside setup of a bar, at a quiet spot, a bit away from the crowds with little traffic passing by. The Fifty Shades movie had come out but I had not seen it, but I heard and read about how wildly enthusiastic it was received with women. The idea that–possibly–Joice had purposefully put this on to send this signal of sexappeal with a single clothing had sparked my imagination into a spinning orbit around the sun. An orbit that I knew could very well burn and utterly destroy me as well.

“So I heard you’re in a relationship,” I asked her somewhere midway our conversation and between two drinks. The topics had gradually shifted from work to education to a more personal level.

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” she replied, “met him at school, dated him, now we live together.” Her answer was short and to the point. Not at that level where suddenly someone starts opening pictures on their phone and elaborate on too many facts.

“How about you?” she bounced it back at me.

“I’m married,” I said, “for two years now.”

“Cool, and how’s that turning out for you?” she continued on.

“What do you mean?” I paused at that question.

“I mean,” she leaned back as if she felt she made a rude remark unintentionally. “I mean, with you being abroad quite often. Is she okay with that?”

“Sure,” I replied, “my wife supports me in what I do and she understands.”

“Does she know I’m traveling with you?” she queried on.

I smiled and looked at her wondering where she’s going at, “yes she does and she’s cool with that.”

“Sorry,” she said and seemed a bit fidgety all of a sudden, “I guess I was just wondering if I should worry about running into her at a company party.” She started awkwardly laughing.

“That’s okay,” I reassured her. “You don’t need to worry about that. In fact, she was a bit sad she couldn’t be here as well. She’d love to see this city too.”

The waiter brought in our next drinks, nothing alcoholic, thus everything in the conversations we were having was pretty sober and on a basic level of all types of subjects. However for an introvert type she was a rather talkative person and not afraid to share her opinions about things. At some given point the conversation led to one of her favorite things to do: playing video games.

“Have you played Bayonetta?” she asked me. I shook my head.

“It’s so good!” she continued, “I’m currently in my second playthrough and I just can’t get enough of this character.”

“That’s interesting,” I said and perked up an eyebrow, “I did read about this game especially about all the controversy it had brought about it featuring this over sexualised female lead character.”

“That’s a load of crap,” she immediately jumped into the defense. Joice was not only afraid to share her opinion, but it became apparent she does so pretty strongly and emotionally. “that character does not deserve the crap the media throws at it.” Joice stated and put herself on the launch pad of what was going to be a pretty long and fierce political rhetoric about a subject that is very dear to her heart: the subject of female leading characters and how they are portrayed.

“I like my female characters sexy,” she stated, “sex is a form of power too. Why can’t they see by shutting down sexy characters they also deprive women who genuinly enjoy sex as a power fantasy.”

I nodded slightly and was interested in hearing out her thoughts on the subject instead of interjecting it with my own take on things.

“They are hypocrites,” she went on, “how do you justify inclusion if you exclude other groups as well. I got big titties, I identify with big titties, so please let me have my big titty characters!” That last sentence was delivered in crescendo and at a humorous tone. She laughed in her typical awkward way. I felt a bit flustered, not only because she had mentioned titties trice in a row in that passionate rant, but she had made sure her body language drew all the attention to her own assets. I had shamelessly allowed myself to look at them as she delivered that last line. I had observed how they jiggled and bounced on the rhythm of her elaborate gesturing. They were getting squeezed up when she breathed in, and stretched down when breathing out. And they looked good.

She had noticed me looking at her chest, I could tell by the way she looked at me. There was no judgement, no scorn, no dismay. Her eyes were a little watery but there was a sense of flattery or acknowledgement in her eyes. I suddenly saw a fragile young woman, with possible trauma, but also with volatile sparks of confidence when she felt recognised for her own power center, the power center of her sexuality.

“I agree with that,” I said as I felt the silence demanded an answer, “inclusiveness is about including everyone, not exchanging the old order with a new order.”

I felt it was time to go get the check and wander a bit further, after all the city has plenty to offer that we hadn’t seen yet. By sunset we went back to the hotel and decided to pick up dinner together downstairs at the extravagant inhouse restaurant. Since she had mentioned earlier she had brought a wide variety of clothes not knowing what occasions would present themselves I had proposed we both wore our most fancy item we had brought and enjoy this evening in style as the rest of the week would probably be more modest.

The outfit I was wearing for dinner was very standard: black trousers with polished shoes underneath and an impeccable white shirt tucked in and sealed behind a belt. A traditional gentleman’s wear if I may say so. The elevator opened up again, and this time Joice immersed from it. She is proving to be a personality of many faces. In front of me now stood a raven haired femme fatalle with red lipstick and hair gelled into a piece of art. Her dress was anything but traditional and could be described at the best as a mix between gothic and maybe dystopian cocktail-party. She wore stockings and heels, two things I would never have imagined her to wear.

“You look beautiful in that dress, Joice” I complimented her. Her face lit up.

“It’s my favourite… and my only one.” she replied. Out of no where her eyes started to look emotional, just as it did earlier today, she seemed to fight to keep something in.

“Are you okay?” I expressed my concern.

“Yeah, it’ll pass,” Joice replied, swallowing back whatever was troubling her and shrugged. The shoulderless dress didn’t budge by it. It featured a V-shaped cut between both breasts, kept together with laces, that way everything was tightly packed around her ribcage. Joice took a deep breath as she looked to recompose herself. Her boobs squeezed together in the process and I could only phantom how hard it would be during dinner to not look at them again.
*Or all the time…*

“Lets go look for a table, shall we.” I said and took the lead towards the restaurant.

We received quite some gazes that night at the restaurant. Joice had shed off her troubled moment and her flirtatious self returned even to an extent she made the waiter blink twice with some unexpected innuendo. I laughed at it and had a good time, she laughed and had fun with it as well. Whether or not the other guests appreciated the sporadic boob bounce she did or that she rolled out the word *titties* from between her lips some more we’ll never know.
One thing was sure: There was more to Joice than meets the eye, facets I’d discover more about the coming days.

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To be continued…

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^(note: any political stance in this text is meant merely to sketch out and stay true to the real-life Joice and conversations I had with her. All this is written in the good intention of telling the story as true as possible. This is not to entice a political debate or make a political statement. If this threw you off, I do apologize and please remember I’m new and unfamiliar to writing pieces like this. Any constructive feedback is welcome of course.)

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/kbpar1/my_business_trip_with_a_flirty_subordinate_part_2