Colin Johnson - The panty lovers

"It becomes you, my dear," he announced, his long angular body swaying slightly from the alcohol he had unknowingly been drinking. "As King Solomon says in the Song of Songs, 'Your beauty is like the shining sea and your breasts are like pomegranates'. Although worn by some less pure young woman, I can see that it might be quite vulgar."

Pauling intercepted her on the way back to the changing room and filled up her glass with champagne again.

"I don't think I should drink any more, Mr. Pauling," she told him. "We've still got three or four more things to model and I'm really getting pretty tight."

"That's okay," responded Pauling seriously. Even in her drunken state, Ann could see that the graphics director was still dead sober. "Benson's good and sloshed and he's ready to go back to his hotel. Birindelli wants you to get dressed and escort him. So this is one for the road."

"Oh really… do you think that's quite proper?" Ann protested as she drank the champagne. "I mean… suppose he gets the idea…"

"That guy?" exclaimed Pauling with an amused smile. "He hasn't had that particular idea in twenty years. He'll just quote the Bible all the way up to his room. You just tuck him into bed and then go on home. We'll see you back here in the morning. But remember, this is one hell of a big client. If he decides he wants to go out for a pizza or something, for Christ's sake go with him."

Mr. Judson Ty Benson seemed to be sitting unnecessarily close to her in the back of the cab and his hand had fallen, apparently by accident, onto Ann's bare thigh, but she found it impossible to believe that a man who quoted scripture as much as this one did could possibly mean any harm. Besides Ann's senses were dulled by the enormous quantity of champagne she had imbibed over the course of the evening. It had seemed that every time she turned around, Pauling or Jenifer thrust a fresh glass into her hands. But somehow she felt good, despite the slight spinning sensation in her head.

"Did we remember the samples, Miss Larkin?" the businessman wanted to know. "I'll want to study them again before retiring for the night."

"Yes, Mr. Benson," Ann assured him smoothly. "Right here in this suitcase." Their cab pulled up in front of Benson's hotel and the lanky, angular gentleman handed the driver a crisp ten dollar bill.

"Come up for two minutes, won't you?" asked the executive in a business-like tone of voice. "I have some more questions about some of these garments and perhaps you could use a cup of coffee before starting out for your home."

It was more of an order than a question and Ann was not overly enthusiastic about going up to Mr. Benson's hotel room in the middle of the night, but she remembered Pauling's instructions about humoring important clients. Not that she was worried about Mr. Benson misbehaving, of course, because he was obviously too religious-minded for any hanky-panky. But still, if someone who knew her husband should see her entering a hotel with a suitcase in the middle of the night, the wrong conclusions could be jumped to without too much of a strain on the imagination.

Obediently, the inexperienced young model followed the Salt Lake City businessman through the sumptuous lobby of the hotel, attracting lewd and suspicious stares from bellhops and busboys.

"Pay them no mind, daughter," said Mr. Benson, observing her embarrassment. "Evil is in the eye of the beholder and the pure in heart rush in where angels fear to bed."

Ann was not quite sure that this particular quotation sounded exactly right, but her mind was too addled by the quantity of alcohol she had consumed to try to decide how it should go. The door of Room Number 971 yielded to Benson's key and the two of them walked into the most luxurious penthouse suite Ann had ever seen.

"Very well, let's get right down to work because I'm sure you're anxious to get home to bed," Mr. Benson commented, setting the suitcase full of Wonder-Wear samples on the dresser and opening it up. The first thing he drew out was the sheer white nightie and a thin pair of soft, powder blue panties with white frilly lace around the legbands Ann had modeled earlier in the evening.

"Now, I am interested in this particular nightgown worn over these panties," he stated, holding them up to the light and examining it with the greatest attention. "They have good lines and the material seems to be high-quality. I think we could sell a great many of them in my territory, however…"

"What don't you like about them?" asked Ann solicitously, relieved that he was really interested in talking business but wishing desperately that she were a tiny bit soberer.

"Tell me honestly, Miss Larkin," he asked her seriously. "You're quite obviously a young woman of the highest moral standards. Do you think a nightgown and panties like this are… well… decent?"

"Decent?" she echoed, a little stupefied. Damn. Why didn't I stay away from that champagne? she asked herself. I can't think straight and if I lose this client, Birindelli will fire me!

"I mean, I wouldn't want to bring into my territory anything which could be an occasion for sin," Benson continued earnestly. "I simply cannot decide if this nightgown and those panties aren't really calculated to stimulate a man's baser sexual instincts."

Ann was dumbfounded. The nightie was thin enough to be transparent and so short that it would barely cover a woman's buttocks, and the panties were so thin and sheer you could see her pubic curls and vaginal slit right through them. What kind of instincts did he think it was calculated to stimulate?

"Those of us in the clothing trade have grave moral responsibilities, Miss Larkin," he continued, staring at her with his beady unblinking eyes. "And too many of my colleagues knowingly sell garments which are open invitations to immoral behavior."

"Well," Ann mumbled, trying to think of something intelligent to say. "I think that…"

"No, I've got to see them modeled again," he interrupted. "If they cause the slightest sexual arousal in me, I simply will not be able to place an order with your company. Without boasting, I think it is fair to say that I am morally stronger than most men and if something is capable of threatening my ethical standards, then we can safely conclude that it would be disastrous for my weaker brethren. You may change in the bathroom, Miss Larkin." Dropping the nightie over her shoulder and pushing the panties in her hand, Benson shoved the startled, astonished girl into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

The man's out of his mind, thought Ann, staring at herself in the mirror and trying to get her eyes to focus properly. Here I am, drunk as a whore, supposed to model a sexy nightgown for a religious nut and somehow not arouse any of his lower instincts, if he has any. I'm going to get fired for sure, and we won't be able to make the payments on that new car. What a situation!

But there was no question of disobeying Mr. Benson now. Refusing to model for him would be clearly insulting and Wonder-Wear would automatically lose the sale. With a sigh of resignation, she slipped out of her green low-cut party dress and her Pink Cloud underwear and pulled the nightie over her head, inspecting herself in the mirror.

There were no two ways about it. This was a sensuous, lust-arousing nightgown and a pair of panties definitely designed to bring out the lower instincts in almost anyone!

Ann's head was spinning wildly now and she wished Mr. Benson would remember that promised cup of coffee. Somehow she had to sober up enough to deal with this insane situation. Splashing water on her face, she gathered up her courage and walked back into the bedroom. Mr. Benson had removed his coat and tie and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Good, now walk over to the center of the room, under the light!" he ordered, and Ann did as she was told, her bare feet tingling as she moved across the plush thick carpet. She pirouetted automatically, allowing him to see all sides of her and then came to rest and waited for further instructions.