Colin Johnson - The panty lovers

"Here we are, girls," the executive announced cheerfully. "This is going to be home base for you for a long time."

The uniformed doorman snapped to attention like a soldier on parade as Birindelli approached. The vice-president stopped and introduced Jenifer and Ann as Wonder-Wear executives, giving instructions that they were to be allowed access to Apartment Number Eleven any time of day or night and rendered any other service which they might require.

Ann noticed the doorman raise his eyebrows slightly when Birindelli described them as "executives" and she got the distinct impression that he had seen this sort of thing before and knew exactly what they were.

The door to Apartment Eleven swung open and Ann's eyes were struck by the most expensively decorated and furnished pad she had ever seen or imagined. This was clearly a millionaire's place of residence with a bar, expensive hi-fi equipment, a circular water bed in the living room, a modern kitchen with a well-stocked pantry and everything else an interior decorator could dream up and a fat bank account pay for.

"I'm planning on doing some of Wonder-Wear's promotional entertaining here," Birindelli explained nonchalantly. "Affairs like the one we had the other night really should be held in a more intimate atmosphere. And besides, a place like this has some very special facilities. Follow me."

Mr. Birindelli led the way through to a narrow hallway which ran between the two main bedrooms, stopping in front of a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf built right into the wall and stocked with best-selling novels and expensively illustrated volumes on oriental erotic art.

"If you press here," he instructed, pushing gently against one corner of the bookshelf, "something very surprising happens."

Before their astonished eyes, the bookshelf yielded to the pressure of Birindelli's hand, swinging open to reveal a small, dark room. The corporation executive stepped inside and the two models apprehensively followed him. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, Ann suddenly realized the function of this hidden room: through a series of one-way mirrors, it was possible to see directly and clearly into the livingroom and both of the bedrooms.

"The man who had this room constructed," commented Birindelli, "used it for simple voyeurism. He liked to watch other people fucking, a harmless enough pastime, but no way to get rich. I have a different use for this little facility. Let's get ourselves a drink in the livingroom and I'll tell you about it."

"Have you ever heard of Jacques LaFarge?" inquired the burly business executive when they were all comfortably seated in the magnificent livingroom.

"Who hasn't?" answered Jenifer promptly. "He's that eccentric French fashion designer who's so famous."

"Precisely," agreed the vice president. "Now LaFarge comes once a year to the USA to buy up huge lots of the best in American clothing. The merchandise is taken back to France and marketed under the LaFarge label, and half the women in Europe buy it thinking they're getting something designed by the great man himself."

"Is he the one who writes orders for million dollars?" asked Ann nervously, not sure just where all this was taking them.

"Right, baby, the very same. Last year, he spent one million, two hundred thousand dollars with a competitor of ours after we had spent a mint wining and dining him. It's been the same story for three or four years now. Each time he lands here, he drops hints all over the place that this year he's going to buy from Wonder-Wear. So we knock ourselves out keeping him supplied with broads, booze, cars and anything else he needs, and then he goes over and signs with the opposition. It's a big game with him and he's going to play it again this year. But I'm changing the rules and that's where you two come in."

"Look, she's in the bedroom and her face is as white as a sheet," Jenifer told the executive urgently. "When I try to talk to her, all I get are mumbles!"

"Naturally," commented Birindelli with elaborate disinterest. "Perfectly normal."

"Perfectly normal?" repeated the blonde model in amazement. "You told us that this LaFarge creep has funny tastes and you're counting on Ann and me to help sell him, which means she has to satisfy some of those funny tastes. With me, it's okay. I like almost anything as long as it doesn't hurt, but Ann…"

"… is different," Birindelli finished the statement for her.

"That's right. So different that what you told us about LaFarge's sex life has got her about ready to faint."

"Precisely. Now Jenifer, when I look into your beautiful blue eyes, do you know what I see?" the advertising man inquired smoothly.

"Mr. Birindelli, you know I'm available, but is this any time to get romantic?" replied the tall slender girl patiently.

"Jenifer, I have never been less romantic in my life. I am thinking about a million dollars and how to get my hands on it. Now, as I was saying, when I look into your eyes I see things which delight me personally: sensuality, worldliness, uninhibited lust and, as you said, availability. That turns me on, but then not all men are built the way I am. A great many, like our friend LaFarge for example, want a woman who resists, a woman who has to be forced into submission, beaten, whipped if necessary. In short, LaFarge wants an innocent young girl to corrupt and I'm betting a million dollars that he's going to go wild over Ann…"

"You think Ann will be willing to do what LaFarge wants?" questioned the model anxiously.

"Of course not," snapped the executive. "But he'll make her do what he wants, by force, probably, and she will resist, probably, and then give in, probably. And if all of these probablies come true, I will be in that little room to photograph the results and we will have our fine French bastard by the balls."

"Assuming that everything goes according to plan…"

"Let's not assume, Jenifer," shot Birindelli coldly. "That's why you're there, to make sure everything goes according to plan. You're my floor manager, and besides LaFarge likes to double his fun with a couple of girls at the same time."

"Okay, okay, but what's to prevent Ann from deciding she doesn't want to play ball with us at all and simply walking out?"

The burly corporation executive uttered a low sinister chuckle. "Her hubby has been cooperating with us beautifully by buying everything in sight on the expectation that her nice fat salary will continue. I checked their credit rating the other day and found that they've gotten themselves into debt up to their ears. No, our little Miss Ann Larkin is not going to take a walk on us. She's trapped and I think she knows it!"

Ann tossed back one last whiskey as she heard the doorbell ring and then went quickly to the bathroom to rinse out the glass as Birindelli called from the livingroom that he would answer the door.

She had been drinking a lot in the past few days, but it was the only way she could face the terrible situation in which she found herself. She had discovered that everything went more smoothly if she was a little bit drunk and no one seemed to notice, not even Frank, so she kept on drinking even though she knew full well that this was the coward's way out of her problems.

"Ah, Jacques," she heard Birindelli say warmly. "How good to see you again! So glad you could take an evening off to stop by. Come in and have a drink. The girls'll be out in a minute."

Ann Larkin took one last look in the mirror before going out to meet the Frenchman "with strange tastes". She had done a lot of crying in the course of the afternoon but Jenifer had started feeding her whiskey about two hours ago and had done such an expert job on her make-up that she now looked fresh and bright and there was no trace of tears on her cheeks.