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The Little Lady

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I stopped growing when I was eight years old. I was a midget, but my intellect developed normally.

On my twenty-first birthday, I married Sir Peter Hargreaves. We must have looked comical when we stood at the altar. I was four-feet, seven-inches (but taller in high heels) and he was just over six feet. I was attending a seminar with my normal-sized brother Andrew about financial planning when we sort of met. I was sitting in the middle of the front row almost directly in front of Sir Peter, who was making a speech. He couldn't keep his eyes off me.

We had a very affluent lifestyle and he was well known in the village where we lived. My husband had a business that was just about getting by but he wanted more, quite a lot more. Peter had the ambition, but not the means to succeed. Being so small I had to have my clothes specially made because I was not going to buy off the peg from children's shops.

Luckily for me, my Aunty May was a dressmaker of some repute and she lived just twelve miles away. During a visit for fittings of four summer dresses, I noticed that there were several uniforms hanging up waiting to be collected. I rather liked that idea. Imagine it, little me wearing the uniform of an Admiral, or maybe a Police Commissioner!

One afternoon a buyer came to see Peter to place an order for our company's product. I never even knew he was there so I was a bit surprised to see him sitting in the lounge, but he was clearly very surprised to see me. I was wearing a  flowery dress, little white socks, and black high heels. The buyer's interest did not go unnoticed. I wanted our business to succeed, and if I could be part of that success then I would be.

I discussed with May a few ideas for various outfits without discussing my ideas with my husband. About a week later another buyer came to place an order. This time I knew he was coming. With Peters's permission, I was allowed to appear in the lounge wearing a traditional Victorian style maid's uniform and to serve the drinks and be very respectful and humble. I even bowed when I left the lounge.

The buyer was most impressed. Thanks to May, I was building quite a collection of outfits. The orders were coming in quite well but they were for small batches only. There were four big buyers and we needed their orders. Peter decided to have a social evening at our house and invites were sent out to just about anyone who might place orders.

Twelve people turned up that evening including Jock Brown (a big buyer) and also Mrs, Jennings, another good buyer. I had decided to wear my uniform of a Chief Inspector in the London Met. My instructions from my husband were to circulate and talk to everyone using my best little girly voice. You could say that I was a person of interest. 

Mrs. Jennings seemed to want rather a lot of my time, so an arrangement was made for us to meet up the following week at the Red Bull public house. My attire for that day was a school uniform, something which she clearly approved of. We sat at a corner table; I was sipping my fizzy drink through a straw while she twittered on about this and that,

It was pretty obvious to me that her interest went a lot further than just my company in a public place. She was eating me with her eyes. It was something that I turned to my advantage. I may have been very small, but I was also very streetwise. There was a contract that needed to be signed, and I knew that it would only take a little nudge from me for her to sign it.

The orders came flooding in and we could just about cope. We were working eighteen hours a day seven days a week to keep up with the demand. We still needed the contract with Jock Brown, who was a very shrewd and canny businessman. But how were we going to get it?

I had an ace card up my sleeve which even Peter was not aware of. I made a phone call to Jock's office; he was not there but his secretary would get him to phone me back on his return. Sure enough, a short while later he phoned. The snare was firmly in place.

How could he resist my little girly voice? Jock agreed to call around to our house for drinks and a light bite on Friday evening when he finished work. I had decided to wear my Nurses' uniform, always a good choice. Jock arrived a few minutes early. They sat together in the lounge. I made my appearance, exchanged pleasantries with Jock and I poured us all a large Whisky on the rocks. I sat opposite our guest and I allowed him a take a discreet peep up my dress.

After a little while, I made an excuse and left the room. I never said where I was going.  I made my way to the shower room at the back of the house. The roof was made of clear perspex, my husband's idea. I waited maybe five minutes pretending to brush my teeth then it was time for me to perform. I knew that Peter and Jock were watching me through the perspex roof.

Slowly I began to undress, then I turned on the shower. The feeling of being watched combined with the sensation of warm water cascading over my nakedness always made me feel very horny. I did wonder what Jock thought about my appearance, because my slit was clean-shaven. Did his imagination go to a dark place? The combination was just too much. My clitty was in dire need. I lay down on the wet tiled floor and masturbated severely. I liked being watched!

A little later I went back into the lounge wearing just my dressing gown. The two of them sat there looking so innocent. We had another drink then it was time for Jock to go. As he left I gave him a big hug and was pleased to feel his stiffness pressed firmly against me. What he didn't know was that I was full size where it really mattered, and thanks to my brothers' close and frequent attention over a period of several years I was well parted and quite capable of taking big, stiff cocks with some ease.

I was pleased to note that Jock had signed the contract; if he hadn't then I would have got him to fuck me, then he would have signed. Imagine it, a man of good build shagging a little naked lady who's slit was bald, soft, and succulent. Perhaps he would have lived out one of his fantasies? As for Mrs, Jennings, well she phones a couple of times a week just to hear my voice. Now if she were to sign a contract, then maybe just maybe I would allow her to bed me, because that is what she is desperate to do.

The End.

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