He stared at her with a kinky smirk on his face and with no idea how dumb he looked. It was his idea of flirting on the job. She didn’t like him, but she could dismiss him. Whatever, let him stare, she thought as she continued her work. I do have great legs, after all.
And a great everything else, he thought, as she walked away and he stole another glance at her butt, firm and rounded and moving up-down, up-down, left-right-left to its own womanly rhythm in a clinging skirt.
She wasn’t threatened until late that day when he blocked her way out of her office with arms outstretched in the doorway like a balding scarecrow.
“You know,” he said, his stupid smile now up close to her, “that little skirt has been the best thing about coming to work today. It’s hard for a man to even think about anything else.”
A brief flash of annoyance showed in her eyes, but her face was pure professional.
“Oh,” she said, “I can make you think about something else.”
The scarecrow leaned forward. “Like what?”
She kicked him in the nuts so fast, he almost didn’t process that it came from her. One second he was doing fine, the next second a hammer flew into his crotch. He dropped his scarecrow arms and covered his testicles. His smile turned into a wince and his eyes snapped away from her and stared straight into a world of hurt.
She stood calm and straightened her skirt as he leaned against the door frame and then slid down it to the floor. He curled up. He moaned.
“Think about how much your balls hurt,” she said as she stepped over him and went on her way.
In real life, someone would get fired here. In my fantasy, she gets away with it and the scarecrow minds his manners around her from then on.
Even though all that’s standing between her crotch and the outside world is a pair of panties, her crotch is still less vulnerable than a man’s.
A man could be wearing boxers and jeans, but a single hit to the crotch and he’s down. If she took a hit to the crotch, it’d be no different than if it hit her anywhere else.