N Van Heller - A panty compulsion

"Now you be good today and just relax. When I come back I'm going to have a nice surprise for you." She bent forward and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.

"That's my girl," he said, and as she left the kitchen in her light blue spring dress he felt terribly guilty. How could he have suspected her of having an affair. If only there were some way he could make it up to her…

A half hour later the long Jaguar lurched out of the Baxter driveway in the direction of downtown Philadelphia. As Sally guided it along the winding tree-shaded suburban street, she could feel pangs of guilt lancing her mind. Why, why had she ever let herself get so carried away with those young boys? There must be some other way of freeing herself from the horrible tension that constantly seized her… if only she knew what it was.

It was a sickness, she kept telling herself over and over again as the Jaguar picked up speed. Ever since her uncle had tried to rape her she had wanted to tease and torment every male she came across by suggestively exposing her panties. She could not help herself, and now the only thing she could do in repentance was to show her love for Rod. It would only be a small, insignificant gesture, an inadequate one, but she had heard him complaining the other day that he wanted to buy some new shirts. The least she could do was to buy them for him as a gift he would appreciate, and it was for this reason that she was heading in town.

As Sally glanced in the rear view mirror she noticed for the first time a battered old black Plymouth and the seedy-looking driver behind the wheel. An unconscious warning signal flashed through her mind. Had she seen that car somewhere before? Was someone following her? No, it couldn't be, she thought. After all, this was the main highway leading into Philadelphia. Any number of people would be taking it. She glanced at her watch. It was almost eleven.

By two in the afternoon, Nestor Burns' feet were killing him. He had yanked down his glossy striped tie, undone the first two buttons of his shirt and mopped the sweat from his brow. Perspiration was soaking his armpits, and his feet felt as though they were going to burst through his shoes. This was the kind of job he hated… following a dame while she went shopping. They could never make up their minds!

So far the Baxter woman had pranced in and out of at least six exclusive men's stores. She had walked all over downtown Philadelphia with him following her everywhere. The only thing that kept Burns going was the thought of the big payoff involved, and he was moving closer to it every second. The minute Sally Baxter returned to the parking garage he was going to make his move.

Sally's feet were killing her too as she hurried along Market Street toward the parking garage with her shopping cartons weighing down on her arms. Half the things she had bought for Rod could have been delivered, but she was anxious to surprise him tonight and couldn't bear the thought of waiting for days.

She did not notice the heavy-set man in the blue suit trailing behind her for the simple reason that the streets were crowded with afternoon shoppers, almost shoulder to shoulder. She did not notice him until the attendant in the parking lot held open the door to the Jaguar and she climbed inside.

Up front, a large black car – a Plymouth stood blocking the exit. She honked her horn irritably until she realized she had seen it somewhere before. Yes, she thought to herself, it was the car that followed her on the expressway into Philadelphia.

The driver, who had climbed out, was walking toward her and he was leaning forward into her open window, his sweating, puffy face only inches away from hers.

"Mrs. Baxter, is it?"

"Y-yes," Sally replied hesitantly. Who was he anyway and what did he want with her, she wondered.

"I have something that might interest you," he announced importantly, enjoying the look of sudden fear that had seized her face.

"What do you mean?" she protested. "I don't even know you."

"Yes, but I know you," he said without a trace of fear or embarrassment in his confident voice. His cold glassy eyes fixed on her.

"I wish you would move your car, it's blocking my exit," she snapped, desperately trying to keep her composure.

"I know some of your friends," he continued casually. "Some young boys. They like to play baseball. And it seems there's a certain woman who likes to watch them… I have some interesting baseball movies I'd like you to see…"

Sally's heart suddenly jumped into her throat, and a cold clammy sweat broke out on her palms. Her hands trembled with fear. Who was this strange overbearing man? And how did he know about the young boys?

"Don't worry, I'm not with the police, although I have a lot of friends who are cops. I'm only interested in one thing… money. I want you to follow me. You'll be perfectly safe."

For a long moment Sally sat immobilized with fear, her mind a whirl of confusion. Somehow this man had discovered her secret. It was impossible for him to be lying. He knew what she had done.

"Hey, let's go you two!" A garage attendant suddenly yelled.

"Follow me," Burns commanded sternly, and without a further moment of hesitation he retreated from her window and headed for the black Plymouth. Its engine gunned, and the car lurched forward out into the street.

Numbed and confused, Sally Baxter obeyed Burns' command automatically. She shifted the powerful Jaguar into gear and eased out behind his car.

Unconsciously, she had always known it would happen this way. She had been exposing her panties to young boys for years now, and she knew deep inside that she was bound to be caught one day. But the realization did little to calm her. Her entire body trembled with fear. It had finally happened. She was trapped.

Nestor Burns' two-room apartment was located in a rundown area of South Philadelphia on the third floor of a converted brick row house. The house faced out on a narrow street littered with jettisoned paper and garbage. It wasn't the type of place that Burns showed his clients, who were few and far between anyway, and it certainly wasn't the type of place often visited by a ravishing blonde driving a Jaguar.

Sally pulled up by the curb directly behind the black Plymouth and climbed hesitantly out of the sports car. By now, Burns was already at his doorstep jangling his keys in his hand, but for Sally it was a long slow death march to the door as horrible thoughts ran through her mind. What did this stranger want from her? And where was he taking her? She had never seen a slum like this in her life before.

The inside of the place was just as bad as she had imagined. Hesitantly, she followed the hulking figure in front of her as he mounted the dingy brown stairway.

"My place ain't too tidy," Burns said, throwing open the door to his apartment when they had reached the second floor. "But it'll do."

What an understatement, Sally thought. The place looked as though it had been bombed out. In the middle of the floor stood a rickety wooden table cluttered with whiskey bottles, paper coffee containers and clustered poker chips. A single naked electric light bulb hung down from the ceiling. In a far corner of the room a hulking brute of a German shepherd lay curled up asleep. Sally gasped in surprise, clutching her throat as she sighted the animal, but then realized that he was probably harmless.

"In here," the detective pointed at a curtained archway which led to another room.

"W-where are you taking me?" Sally stammered.

Burns simply chuckled and led the way into the bedroom. For a long moment Sally stood her ground. Should she run away now from this horrible place? What would happen if she stayed? She remained paralyzed with indecision until she finally realized the hopelessness of her situation. The detective wasn't just bluffing. He knew what she had done. There was no choice.