Colin Johnson - The panty lovers

"You better take your dress off now, dearie," said Mrs. Porter in the sweet-little-old-lady voice which had been irritating Ann Larkin for at least six months. "We don't want to get make-up on its do we?" Having just finished braiding Ann's long brown hair, the make-up lady was now impatient to get the rest of the job done so she could go back to reading her movie magazine.

The full-figured young model disliked getting undressed until it was absolutely necessary because there was nothing private about her dressing room. At the moment, she and Mrs. Porter were alone, but any instant now a cameraman or set designer or one of the company's executives would take it into his head to come barging in, and none of these people had ever heard of knocking. Ann knew perfectly well that they did it on purpose, knowing that she was shy and hoping to catch her off-guard, but there was little she could do about it and complaining only made her feel ridiculous.

But she turned her back on Mrs. Porter to allow her to unzip the back of her dress and slide it down off her shoulders, revealing a lush full body with smoothly rounded curves and soft, well-tanned skin.

"What are we supposed to be doing today?" Ann asked, without much curiosity. The Wonder-Wear Corporation produced ladies lingerie, panties, brassieres, slips and corsets and Ann had modeled almost everything in the six months she had worked in the advertising department.

"You and Jenifer are modeling the new Pink Cloud bra-and-panty combination," Mrs. Porter announced proudly. "Haven't you seen the studio?"

"No," replied the curvaceous young model as the make-up lady ran a powder puff across her face and then stepped back to survey the effect. "What's there to see?"

"They've got a great big pink cloud made out of Styrofoam and you and Jenifer sit on top of it wearing Wonder-Wear Pink Cloud underwear!" Mrs. Porter informed her with some enthusiasm, taking a box off a nearby chair. "Here it is! Do you like it?"

Ann studied the bra and panty combination unhappily. The two garments together did not contain enough cloth for one decent-sized handkerchief and she hated to let the camera crew see her in this skimpy outfit. Plus she never knew when her church-going husband was going to thumb through a magazine and see her half-naked and staring up at him from the page. Frank hated the idea of her modeling as it was and if he knew that she was going to be photographed with so much of her voluptuous body exposed, he would have a fit!

"Heavens!" she stammered uneasily, holding the panties up to the light. "It's like being naked. These panties are worse than nothing!"

"That's the whole idea, dearie," Mrs. Porter lectured her pompously. "You young girls are supposed to like running around with everything hanging out these days. When I was young, things were a little different, but times have changed. Better get into them, dearie. They could be calling for you any minute now."

Despite Mrs. Porter's instant analysis of modern womanhood, Ann Larkin did not enjoy "running around with everything hanging out". She had received a very stern religious upbringing from her parents (who would roll over in their respective graves if they knew she was working as an underwear model). And Frank Larkin, whom she had married during his last year of medical school, was a very serious and moral young man who believed that a doctor and his wife ought to set an example of proper behavior for the community. But Frank's earnings as an intern were not nearly enough to pay for their tiny apartment and put food on the table, so when Wonder-Wear had advertised for models, Ann had been forced to put her moral standards temporarily on the shelf.

Frank had not been at all happy about her decision, but they were deeply in debt and modeling paid much better than any other job she could possibly have found.

But if he ever saw her in an outfit like this, there would be hell to pay! And if she was not dressed and ready to go when the graphics director called for her, there would also be hell to pay, so she slipped out of her ordinary panties and brassiere and slipping the others on, her softly curling pubic hair and the nipples of her breasts plainly visible, started to climb onto the styro-foam Pink Cloud.

"You know – pardon me for saying this, dearie – but you're in the wrong kind of modeling," commented Mrs. Porter suddenly.

"What do you mean?" inquired the girl, pulling the flimsy see-through panties as far as they would go up over her smoothly rounded buttocks.

"You're never going to make it to the top as a fashion model, because you got too much bosom. Now Jenifer's got a chance. Although she's really a little big herself, but with you, it's impossible. Oh, you can make brassiere ads until you're thirty or so, but the day your breasts start to sag, you're finished. And you'll never make much more money than you're making right now, 'cause that's all they pay lingerie models. You ought to get into glamour modeling, dearie. With your face and that body, you'd be rich in a couple of years."

"Glamour modeling?" responded the well-formed young woman uncertainly.

"Oh, come on, you're not that innocent, dearie," retorted Mrs. Porter. "I mean posing for one of those men's magazines. A lot of the girls here do it just for extra money, but you could make a career of it! In fact, your friend Jenifer – I shouldn't tell you this – but, she posed last week for a photographer who works for a nudie magazine and you'd never believe how much money he gave her! I know because I went along to handle the make-up and the costumes, although I certainly didn't have too much to do as far as costumes were concerned." The old woman paused, apparently remembering that Jenifer occupied an adjoining dressing room, and whispered. "She was naked, dearie! Naked as the day she was born!"

Ann Larkin eased the brassiere over her large, widely-spaced breasts and faced herself in the mirror. She could never force herself to pose in the nude for one of those filthy magazines, no matter how poor she and Frank became, but Mrs. Porter was right about her being too big-breasted to do fashion work. She had applied for jobs with several fashion houses before coming to Wonder-Wear and had been told precisely the same thing any number of times. When a designer hired a girl to model his latest creation, he wanted all eyes on the dress and not on what was underneath it.

It was true that she could probably go on making underwear ads as long as she needed the money although the company always had to supply her with the largest bra size they had. Her voluptuously formed breasts were high-set and firm and when she was photographed wearing a bra, it inevitably looked as if her tantalizingly full cleavage was somehow the result of superb brassiere engineering and not the work of Mother Nature. This made the advertising department very happy and thousands of hopeful, small-breasted girls rush out eagerly to buy Wonder-Wear brassieres, under the mistaken impression that they would somehow end up looking like Ann.

"Why doesn't your husband ever stop around to see us?" wondered Mrs. Porter aloud, trying to get the conversation going again.

"Oh, he's terribly busy at the hospital," lied Ann casually. "You know how hard they make interns work."

Frank was busy, it was true, but he refrained from visiting his wife at work because he was embarrassed and ashamed by the whole idea of what she was forced to do to keep them from starvation. And if he ever saw me in this outfit, Ann told herself unhappily, examining her reflection in the mirror, he would divorce me on the spot.

The soft flimsy material covered very little of her exciting body and concealed even less from the viewer's eye, and Ann dreaded the thought of being seen by anyone in this semi-naked condition with her pubic hair and nipples showing. Really, she might just as well pose in the nude for all the good this outfit did!