The Shapely Panty Model
(M+/FF, size, sm, breast size)

by Kysa Braswell
www.kysaonline.org

"You better take your dress off now, dearie," said Mrs. Porter in the sweet-little-old-lady voice which had been irritating Trina Larkin for at least six months. "We don't want to get makeup on its do we?" Having just finished braiding Trina's long brown hair, the makeup 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 17-year old 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. Trina 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 shapely curves, soft, olive-toned skin, and large EE-cup breasts.

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

"You and Jennifer 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 makeup 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 Jennifer 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?"

Trina 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, Trina 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, Trina 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 bra 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 asscheeks.

"You're never going to make it to the top as a fashion model, because you got too much bosom. Now Jennifer's got a chance. although she's really a little big herself, but with you, it's impossible. Oh, you can make bra 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 Jennifer - 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 makeup 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 Jennifer occupied an adjoining dressing room, and whispered. "She was naked, dearie! Naked as the day she was born!"

Trina Larkin eased the bra 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 EE-cup 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 bra 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 Trina.

"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 Trina 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, Trina 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 Trina 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!

Unlike most big-breasted women, Trina was actually slender and lithe in the hips and asscheeks. The Pink Cloud panties were really nothing more than two tiny patches of filmy insubstantial material, one covering her delicate pubic mound and the other inadequately stretched across the deep crevice between the tantalizing half-moons of her ass-cheeks.

Above her flat firm stomach, the Pink Cloud bra was even less successful in protecting Trina's girlish modesty. The bra had been designed to provide only uplift for those who needed it, nothing more, and the frail flimsy cloth barely covered her large protuberant brown nipples which were clearly visible through the material for anyone who cared to look.

She was virtually naked and she shivered with embarrassment!

"Meant to be worn under a low-cut dress, naturally," commented Mrs. Porter, looking over her shoulder at the lush young model's sensually reflected image in the full-length mirror.

"Jennifer!" came a demanding voice from the hallway. "Are you ready?"

"You bet your sweet ass I'm ready!" responded Jennifer's saucy voice from the adjoining dressing room. Jennifer and Trina frequently worked together during modeling sessions, because the two women complemented each other nicely. Jennifer was tall and willowy with the traditional model's face and figure. Trina Larkin was shorter and blessed with a fuller, more sensual body. Jennifer was blonde with elegant aristocratic features; Trina had an open friendly smile and long brown hair. The Virgin Queen and the Earth-Mother, the technicians called them.

"Trina, how about you?" It was the graphics director, Mr. Pauling, the man in charge of executing the designs and ideas of the art department.

"I'm ready, Mr. Pauling," Trina responded nervously, slipping into a bathrobe for the trip down to the set and stepping out into the hall just as Jennifer emerged from her dressing room. The tall blonde girl, wearing only the Pink Cloud creation, shot a friendly glance at Trina and the two of them followed Mr. Pauling down to the studio where cameras and bright lights awaited them.

"How are you, baby?" asked Jennifer with genuine friendliness, squeezing Trina's arm. "You got your Pink Cloud undies on? Where'd they ever get a stupid name like that, Pauling?"

The graphics director merely growled at this bit of irreverence and the two friends giggled at each other. Despite the fact that Jennifer looked pure and refined, her personality was quite the opposite. Trina never dared set foot outside her dressing room unless she was shrouded from ankle to neck in a bathrobe, while Jennifer habitually walked down to the studio wearing whatever she was supposed to be modeling that day, ignoring lecherous glances from the people she encountered in the hall.

In a way, Trina envied the complete freedom which her friend possessed. Jennifer was ultra-sophisticated and always ready with a snappy remark and a quick laugh. The lewd teasing and dirty remarks from the technicians and cameramen did not disturb her in the slightest. She was proud and happy with her body and if other people wanted to look at it and enjoy her, that was fine too. Trina Larkin found this point of view both shocking and attractive at the same time, wishing that she could relax while she was posing and enjoy herself the way Jennifer did.

But somehow she always felt her husband's eyes upon her, criticizing and accusing her for allowing herself to be photographed while less than fully dressed.

"Oh, by the way, you two," remarked Pauling as they were about to enter the studio, "I got a call from Mr. Birindelli's office. I don't know what it's all about, but he wants to see the two of you today after we're finished with this commercial. So don't forget and rush out, because Mr. Birindelli does not like people who miss appointments."

"Who is Mr. Birindelli?" asked Trina innocently, wrapping her dressing gown around her more tightly.

"One of the big shots," offered Jennifer uncertainly, but Mr. Pauling glared at her with irritation.

"For your information," he informed them officiously, "Mr. Birindelli is the vice-president for sales and promotion and is responsible for everything that happens to our products after they leave the factory, including advertising, which makes him our boss. I would suggest being very, very nice to him."

"Oh, wait a minute," burst out Jennifer in her usual irrepressible manner. "Isn't he the guy everybody says belongs to the Mafia? One of the cameramen told me."

"If I were you, Jennifer," interrupted Mr. Pauling between clenched teeth. "I would keep speculations of that kind to myself. People who offend Mr. Birindelli have been known to suffer tragic accidents of one kind or another. If the vice-president is not smiling when he comes out of your dressing room, Jennifer, consider yourself fired. It'll be the kindest thing I could do for you."

"Oh, he'll smile all right," grinned the blonde-haired girl mischievously. "I shall meet him wearing my Pink Cloud undies, before which strong men tremble!"

"That's exactly how I think you ought to meet him," commented Mr. Pauling levelly. "I don't know what he wants with you two bird-brains, but Birindelli has a reputation for liking the ladies and if you can manage to make him like you, all the better. When he comes into your dressing room, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you were accidentally not quite finished dressing. Show him a little flesh."

Trina listened to this exchange in silence. She had no idea what this Mr. Birindelli wanted and she did not really want to find out. Plus, she did not like the idea of receiving vice-presidents in her underwear.

But at the moment, they had a shooting session to get through and she could worry about Mr. Birindelli when the time came. As they entered the Graphics Studio, the set men were putting the finishing touches to a big Styrofoam pink cloud on which she and Jennifer were supposed to sit, looking as happy as possible over the fact that they were wearing Wonder-Wear underwear.

"Hey, get out the X-ray machine, boys, we gotta photograph Mrs. Larkin with her bathrobe on," jeered one of the technicians crudely as she and Jennifer entered the room. Trina's modesty was legendary among the camera crews and they never failed to tease her unmercifully whenever they got the opportunity. Normally Trina waited until the last possible moment to remove her dressing gown, but today she felt strangely challenged by Jennifer's free-wheeling carelessness and she immediately turned and hung her robe on a peg by the door.

It was the most revealing outfit she had ever modeled and she decided that she had better get accustomed to being looked at for a few minutes before they started pointing a camera at her, for otherwise her embarrassment would show and the pictures would be no good.

Every eye in the room was on her as she walked up and down, chatting uneasily with Jennifer. The full-bodied voluptuous young model knew that her full, firm breasts were swaying temptingly back and forth, but there was nothing she could do about it. She could hate this business all she wanted, but it was keeping Frank and her fed and sheltered and until something better came along, she knew that she had better grin and bear it.

"All right girls, up on the cloud!" called Mr. Pauling briskly as the lights and cameras were finally in position.

The next two hours passed quickly because Trina was busy every minute, posing, changing positions, smiling, frowning and laughing, all under Pauling's expert direction. She was a good model, favored by the graphics director because she concentrated on her work and he never needed to repeat himself when giving her directions.

As they were on the verge of finishing the last take, the studio door opened and a man entered. Trina felt the room grow tense as the camera crew and technicians became aware of his presence and- she sensed immediately that this must be the fear-inspiring Mr. Birindelli she was supposed to meet.

The vice-president for sales and promotion was unusually tall for an Italo-American and very good looking in a menacing, cruel way. His long wavy hair was black and he had enormous bushy eyebrows, beneath which his dark Mediterranean eyes scowled out at the room. At a glance, one could tell that this was a hard successful man who let nothing stand between himself and what he wanted.

"How are we doing, J.P.?" he asked Pauling casually, walking into the center of the room and surveying the models and the props with an air of professional competence.

"Well, pretty good, Mr. Birindelli. We're just finishing the shots for the Pink Cloud Sales Program. What do you think of it?"

"Pretty good, pretty good," Birindelli muttered, walking back and forth in front of the set and studying the two models with interest. "I'll want to see the results of course. The only thing that counts in this business is results! You agree, Pauling?"

"Yes, sir!" Mr. Pauling agreed immediately, but Birindelli ignored him and went on with his pep talk, addressing the cameramen and the models as well.

"An ad has to reach out and grab a potential customer by the throat. You gotta knock their eyes out! These days, anything goes, anything is fair game! Sex, religion, violence, motherhood, you name it and you can use it to sell underwear. Use whatever you like, but sell that product! It doesn't make any difference whether the product is any good or whether the customer needs it or not. The name of the game is sales! Agree?"

There was a general chorus of murmurs indicating agreement and even Trina, who did not agree in the slightest, found herself nodding her head up and down as Birindelli talked. He was the most powerful, forceful man she had ever seen and the young brown-haired model was going out of her mind with curiosity, wondering what he could possibly want to see her about.

"Now take this ad, for example," Birindelli continued in the same overbearing tone of voice. "You're selling panties and brassieres and you want the customer to know that she's going to feel like she's floating on a cloud if she wears our product. So you've put the girls in the panties and bra and on a cloud. So far so good. But this is not just ordinary underwear, it's sexy, almost see-through underwear and these are two sexy girls. Have you exploited that fact, Pauling?"

"Well." stumbled the graphics director for a moment, "What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. B?"

"Sex, Pauling! Sex! Sex! These days sex will always sell a product. Learn that and you'll go a long way in this business. You can put all your eggs in one basket so long as it's one hell of a sexy basket!" Birindelli roared in a domineering tone of voice, walking up to the pink cloud and studying Trina and Jennifer carefully.

"Okay girls, let's shoot this scene by my rules and see how it turns out. We've got to have the girls and the underwear in the scene together, but the underwear doesn't have to be on the girls. You, what's your name?" he demanded, pointing to Trina's friend.

"Jennifer, Mr. Birindelli," responded the tall cool blonde without a trace of nervousness.

"Okay Jennifer, I want you to turn your back to the camera and take off the product. Cross your arms and your legs and hang the panties over one shoulder and your bra over the other. Somebody get me a step ladder so I can pose these two girls."

Trina Larkin felt the butterflies swarming in her tummy as a technician darted forward with a step ladder. Surely Jennifer would refuse! They couldn't make her strip naked in a room full of men!

But instead of refusing, Jennifer did precisely what she had been told to do. Inching carefully around on the precarious Styrofoam cloud, she presented her back to the camera just as Mr. Birindelli climbed agilely up. Winking at Trina, she slid the tiny silky panties down over her smooth thighs as Birindelli helpfully undid the bra. Then, crossing her legs as directed, she allowed the vice-president to arrange the two flimsy garments on her back, holding them in place with her fingers. Standing behind the Styrofoam cloud, there were two lighting technicians who were looking up at Jennifer's shapely exposed breasts and blonde, curl-covered loins, grinning evilly, and Trina would have died of embarrassment had this been happening to her. But, in fact, Jennifer seemed to be enjoying herself enormously and smiled mischievously down at the two technicians who were looking lasciviously at the most intimate parts of her body.

"And you're Trina Larkin," snapped the big corporation executive, now turning his attention to the other girl. Trina was far too upset to speak, so she merely nodded and tried to form her face into something like a friendly smile.

"Okay Trina, I want you to cross your legs just like Jennifer here, but facing the camera. Take off the bra and hang it so that one cup covers your tit and the other cup rests on your shoulder. Got it?"

The man's personality was far too strong to be resisted and even though Trina was saying no in her head, she found herself reaching behind her back to unfasten the Pink Cloud bra. Her heavy mountainous breasts fell forward naturally as they escaped their confinement, and she looked down at them startled to note that her brown tender nipples were swollen and turgid as if she were sexually aroused. Birindelli took the bra from her hands for a moment and surveyed her naked chest with an air of professional interest.

"Good tits," he muttered. "Goddamn good tits. Pity we can't show them, but this ad goes in store windows and family magazines."

Moving with deliberate slowness, the advertising executive arranged the bra over Trina's shoulder so that one cup seemed to be hanging naturally over her right breast. Then he guided her other hand into position to hold it in place and shield at least the bulging nipple of her left tit from the camera's eye. Trina Closed her own eyes and tried to pretend all this was not really happening, hoping desperately that she was not betraying herself by blushing.

"Great!" proclaimed Birindelli, jumping down from his ladder. "Shoot it, boys. Looks terrific!"

"How the hell should I know what he wants?" Pauling had exclaimed with a dramatic shrug of his shoulders. "I'm just suggesting that you freshen up a little and wait for him in your dressing room. Maybe he needs a baby sitter or something." With that unhelpful remark, the graphics director had disappeared from view, taking Mrs. Porter with him.

There was very little space in her dressing room for pacing, but Trina paced anyway, moving back and forth between the bathroom door and her dressing table. What a day this was turning out to be!

Actually the scenes directed by Mr. Birindelli had not been as difficult as she would have imagined, nor had she been as embarrassed as she had anticipated. The technicians had all seen her naked breasts, of course, but instead of making her ill at ease, she had experienced for the first time a strange sense of power over them. There had been an unusual feeling in her stomach while the cameras were clicking and it was only after she was on her way back to her dressing room, once again wrapped securely in her bathrobe, that she had admitted to herself that deep down inside she had rather enjoyed the experience.

After the shooting was over, Birindelli had gone into Jennifer's dressing room and the two of them had been talking now for about ten minutes. Trina's curiosity was beginning to get the better of her as she waited, still wearing her Pink Cloud underwear. More to kill time than anything else, she decided to wash her face and went into the bathroom which she shared with Jennifer. As she was about to turn on the hot water, she heard voices coming from the other girl's room and, giving in to the temptation to eavesdrop, she stood still for a minute and then put her ear to the door to Jennifer's room and listened.

"That's right, baby," Birindelli was saying. "Take it out."

"Oh, it's so big!" she heard her girl friend squeal in an excited voice.

What on earth could they be talking about. Was the vice president giving her some kind of present?

"Ummmmmh!" It was Jennifer's voice again, half-way between a groan and a sigh. Trina was going out of her mind with curiosity and it occurred to her that if she could find out ahead of time what Birindelli's business was, she might be able to prepare herself in some way.

It was a terrible thing to spy on people when they were conducting business negotiations, but the temptation was too strong. She dropped to her knees and put her eye to the key hole.

And a moment later, when her eye had focused on the scene before her, she sincerely wished that she had minded her own business.

The Pink Cloud bra-and-panty combination was lying forgotten on the chair and Jennifer was once again stark naked, just as she had been a few minutes before while they were shooting the advertisement. A pillow had been thrown on the floor and Jennifer was kneeling on it in slave-like submission at Birindelli's feet. The big executive was still fully dressed except for his pants which were open at the fly.

Trina's eyes widened with shock and surprise as she saw exactly what Jennifer was doing. The tall sophisticated blonde had Birindelli's fat 11-inch cock in her delicate hands and she was stroking it vigorously, gently pulling the thick pliable foreskin back and forth over the massive red blood-filled tip of the man's penis. jutting out strongly from the tufts of dark black pubic hair in his loins, Birindelli's enormous fleshy cock extended a good eight inches from his flat muscular stomach, dangling lewdly only a short distance from Jennifer's parted red lips.

Instinctively, Trina's hand shot to her own mouth to keep her involuntary gasp of stunned surprise from escaping her lips. The couple was only a foot or two away from the door and Trina realized that if she uttered a sound, they would surely hear her.

All the moral training she had ever received told her to quietly put her clothes on and run away. She need never come back to Wonder-Wear again and she could simply tell her husband that she had been fired. No decent woman would work among people who did what Jennifer and Birindelli were about to do.

But instead, Trina found herself incapable of moving a muscle! Her eye seemed to be glued to the keyhole and she watched this lascivious, depraved spectacle almost without blinking. Trina's entire sexual experience was limited to her marriage with Frank and she had never before seen another man's penis. Nor had she ever dreamed that they could grow so large. Birindelli was at least twice as big as Frank and she suddenly wondered if her husband were abnormally small or the vice- president was abnormally big. Either way, she could not understand how a penis with those dimensions could ever fit up inside a normal woman's body.

"Come on, baby," growled the corporation executive. "I ain't got all day. If you want this job, get on with it!"

Jennifer's only response was a lewd open-mouthed grin and Trina watched in horror as the tall supple woman moved her lips closer and closer to the man's menacing cock while he looked down on her with a cruel expression of sadistic satisfaction.

Pulling the foreskin back as far as it would go, Jennifer's wetly licking tongue flicked out teasingly at the tiny opening in the tip of the huge bulging organ and Trina could see a thin string of white fluid stretching obscenely from his nakedly exposed cock to Jennifer's sweetly smiling lips. She leaned forward again, running her tongue tantalizingly up and down the underside of the now rigid cock, bringing a slight sensual groan from Birindelli's lips.

Trina realized that she had almost stopped breathing and she took several deep breaths to keep herself from fainting.

When she put her eye again to the keyhole, Trina saw that the scene had become even more lewd. There was a savage gurgling sound from the other side of the door and the young model gasped with surprise as she saw her friend, Jennifer, drawing Birindelli's huge animal-like cock steadily into her widely ovaled mouth, taking as much of his long hard penis up inside her throat as was humanly possible.

Trina was virtually certain that the depraved young woman was going to choke from the sheer size of the executive's organ buried deeply in her clasping mouth, but instead she gave every indication of enjoying herself enormously. Her red, tightly puckered lips closed over his hard muscular cock just behind the thick swollen head, and Trina could see her friend's cheeks bellowing in and out rhythmically as she sucked lewdly and noisily. Jennifer's eyes seemed to glow with a strange masochistic lust as she slavered over the giant thrusting penis, licking and sucking as if she had waited all her life for this very moment.

The tall muscular corporation executive began moving his hips back and forth with obvious enjoyment, occasionally reaching down with one hand to play with Jennifer's swollen shaking breasts. In the meantime, the blonde model moved both of her hands around to his asscheeks and Trina observed her arm muscles strain as she endeavored to pull him farther and farther inside her obscenely sucking mouth. The advertising executive was looking down at her passion-contorted features with lewd and sadistic pleasure as he fucked brutally up into her cruelly- stretched mouth with greater and greater force.

He's going to strangle her, thought Trina in real terror. If he cums inside of her mouth, she'll choke on his semen and he'll kill her! He'll drown her!

But it didn't happen that way.

In spite of her genuine innocence in sexual matters, Trina realized immediately what was going on when Birindelli began to cum. A long lustful growl emerged from his throat and he clasped the blonde models need brutally with his hands, his heavy swinging balls slapping rhythmically down against Jennifer's upturned chin.

The young girl sieved his pulsating, wildly-ejaculating penis with both of her hands and squeezed as hard as she could, at the same time opening her mouth wide as she attempted in vain to capture every drop of the viscous lust-inciting liquid spraying in quick thin spurts into the back of her tender young throat.

Jennifer's head began bobbing rapidly up and down as she hungrily swallowed the white-hot cum flooding into her mouth, her lips forming a tight elastic seal around the vice president's immense, thrusting prick. But the pressure was too much and Trina's face went white as she saw tiny little rivulets of semen and saliva running down over Jennifer's chin and dropping uselessly on her friend's softly quivering breasts.

At last the violent pounding of Birindelli's hotly pulsating cock came to a stop. Jennifer, her eyes covered with a filmy mist of still unsatisfied lust, withdrew his slowly-deflating cock from her cum-soaked mouth and gazed up at the handsome Italian as if waiting for further instructions.

"Lick me clean," he ordered brutally. "I've got to talk to that broad next door and then get to a conference."

And now he was coming to her room! Trina heard the door to Jennifer's dressing room close solidly behind the vice-president for sales and promotion, and the sound of his heavy deliberate footsteps in the hallway. Panic swept over the young model like a waterfall as she realized that in her nervous excitement she had forgotten to dress. She was still clad only in the skimpy Pink Cloud underwear she had worn for the advertisement and if Birindelli came in and found her half-dressed like this, it would seem like an open invitation for him to start all over again with her the lewd cocksucking he had just finished next door with Jennifer!

Presumably, his lust would be satisfied, but Trina had heard about men who could do it again and again, and she wanted to take no chances. Her first impulse was to grab her bathrobe and cover herself completely, but then she remembered what Mr. Pauling had said about "showing him some flesh."

For a split-second, she hung in agonized indecision. Then, realizing that she had to do something, Trina quickly unsnapped the bra and took it off. She put on her dressing gown, leaving it partially open in front so that the magnificent twin peaks of her breasts were exposed almost to the nipples. Trina remembered how the handsome vice president had coarsely praised her breasts on the set and hoped that this would satisfy him.

Just as she fastened the cord around her slender waist, the door opened and Birindelli entered briskly.

Until this moment, the young brunette model had not realized just how big a man he really was. Birindelli towered above her by at least a foot and she estimated that he weighed over two hundred pounds without a trace of excess fat anywhere.

"All right Trina," he rumbled, his deep powerful voice filling the room. "I've got a conference in a few minutes, so I'll come right to the point. I've been watching you, whether you knew it or not, for the past six months, and I've decided that you've got what it takes to go places in the world of sales and promotion." His dark cruel eyes wandered over her luringly half-exposed body as he spoke and Trina had to repress a naturally modest desire to close the front of her gown. This man was important to her and she had to charm him one way or another. If he fired her, she and Frank would really be in financial difficulties.

"I'm hiring you and Jennifer as special promotional assistants. If you take the job, you can forget about routine modeling duties as of right now. The salary's about three times what you're making at the present and you will be considered for pay raises every six months."

"Oh, Mr. Birindelli." Trina began to stammer, surprised and delighted at the unexpected development. It was obvious to her now that what happened between Birindelli and Jennifer had nothing to do with her. He was not just interested in her pretty face and stunning figure; he wanted her for what she could do as a businesswoman, an executive! But he cut off her expressions of gratitude with a quick businesslike wave of his hand.

"Don't thank me, because I don't do things like this out of the kindness of my heart. People who work for me make money because they produce. And if they fail to produce, I get rid of them in one hell of a hurry. Remember the name of this game is sales!" He paused to pick up the Pink Cloud bra hanging over the back of her chair and dangled it before her eyes. "There's a dozen other companies in New York manufacturing tit-holders just as good as this one! But the Pink Cloud is going to outsell a dozen identical products ten-to-one because we are going to sell it like it was God's gift to women. Wonder-Wear is the biggest in the business because we merchandise every one of our products with no holds barred. It's a war, Miss Larkin, a war, and we'll stop at nothing to make sure we win it. Keep that in mind and you'll go a long way. Report to my office tomorrow at three for a briefing on your new duties as a special promotional assistant. And I have a terrible habit of firing people who are more than two minutes late!" He turned, as if to go, and then paused, giving her one last lingering inspection, "Even if you do have the biggest and most voluptuous tits I've ever seen," he added, his voice softening just a little. As he spoke, the vice-president stretched out both arms and ran his hands down the front of her dressing gown, briefly exposing and caressing her two immense and swollen breasts, his fingers lightly brushing over her tight brown nipples. Trina was too startled and frightened to protest and by the time she got her wits together, he had whirled on his heel and marched out the door.

The young model suddenly felt a slight weakness about the knees and sat down heavily on the nearest chair.

It was an exceedingly long ride on the subway to the edge of the city where she and Frank lived in their tiny apartment, and as she rattled back and forth on the noisy dirty subway car, Trina daydreamed about getting a nice place closer to the center of town. With new salary, they could begin to afford some of the luxuries of life.

Mr. Birindelli had never given her a chance to say yes or no to his offer of a new job but the more she thought about it, the better it sounded, particularly the salary. Of course Trina had not the remotest idea of what a special promotional assistant was supposed to do, but she imagined herself seated behind a magnificent desk designing advertisements or charming important clients. It really didn't matter! For that kind of money, she would do almost anything.

Of course the events of the day had shaken her up a little and she felt nervous and vaguely sexy as the subway car swayed from side to side. The nudity had upset her more than a little and the sex scene she had witnessed between Birindelli and Jennifer had shocked her profoundly, but she decided to go on as if nothing had happened. What other people did should be of no concern to her.

Nevertheless, the statuesque young model had to admit that she was a tiny bit aroused by all that had happened. Mr. Birindelli had absolutely no business touching her breasts the way he did and she would never permit him to do it again, but the memory of his fingers on her nipples excited her anyway and she hoped that Frank was not too tired to make love tonight.

Their honeymoon had been short and for most of their marriage, Frank had been working so hard and such irregular hours that they had really had very little time to enjoy each other in bed. Sometimes Trina wanted sex so badly that it almost hurt, but she had been taught that proper young wives did not make demands of this kind. The man was supposed to take the initiative and decent women learned to control their emotions.

When she arrived at their small shabby apartment, Dr. Frank Larkin took her excited news as calmly as he did most things, but he was obviously overjoyed, particularly at the fact that his wife would no longer have to pose for photographers in her underwear. Larkin was a slender, scholarly-looking young man with thick glasses who habitually wore a rather severe professional expression. But the frown was replaced with a smile as Trina told him about her new salary.

"Hell, it'll be years before I'll be making that much money," he stated enthusiastically, swinging away from his desk end the scientific books he had been studying. "There's so much we need, it's hard to decide what we ought to buy first. A car, I think! Something dignified and solid that suits a doctor and his wife. And I need a lot of books and some clothes."

"It'll be awhile before we've saved enough for a car," cautioned Trina, but Frank brushed her objections aside.

"Listen, honey, nobody pays cash for anything any more. You buy on credit and doctor can always get credit," he insisted. "Since you don't have to report to work until three o'clock tomorrow, we can pick one out in the morning and make the first payment with your first paycheck."

It had been months since Trina had seen her husband so excited and she decided to take advantage of his enthusiasm by crawling into his arms.

"Since I've been such a clever girl, don't you think I deserve a little reward?" she whispered suggestively, biting his ear and kissing his neck tenderly.

"Of course," he responded affably. "What would you like? Some new dresses or something?"

"No, no, darling," she crooned. "All I want is you. Don't you think we should celebrate a little? I mean it's been such a long tinge since we made love together." She wiggled her bottom hungrily against his lap, trying to arouse him and pressed her full lush breasts against his chest. Her nipples were flow so swollen and hard from excitement that they hurt and Trina could feel the first warm orgiastic juices flowing inside her and wetting the thin nylon crotchband of her panties.

She had to have it!

"I suppose so," he replied uncertainly. "According to some medical authorities a certain amount of unpremeditated spontaneity between spouses is not counter-indicated in conjugal relations. Why don't you climb into bed while I finish up this chapter.

Her softly trembling nakedness covered only by the sheet, Trina lay restlessly in their marriage bed, unhappy and unsatisfied, while her husband rolled over on his side and dropped quickly off to sleep in his usual precise manner. She noticed that he had failed to remove his underwear, as usual.

It had been the same old story. Frank made love with all the wild passionate enthusiasm of a surgeon removing a badly infected appendix. Sometimes Trina had the impression that he had learned about sex only in medical school and only did it because the best medical authorities recommended it for a man's health.

There had been many nights like this in the course of their marriage when Trina had been unmoved and unsatisfied by Frank's lovemaking, but this was the first time that she had found the courage to admit to herself that she was not getting what she wanted.

But there was nothing she could do about it. Trina knew that she was not the kind of woman to get involved in some sordid extramarital love affair. She would just have to learn to control herself. This new job would help, she decided. Modeling had a natural tendency to arouse her emotions, but perhaps with a desk job she would be more tired physically at the end of the day and the demands of her body would be less.

It took a long time to fall asleep that night, however, and when she did, Trina dreamed of Birindelli's hands on her breasts.

Trina met Jennifer coming down the long carpeted hallway to Mr. Birindelli's office and breathed a sigh of relief, happy to know that she would not have to face the tough-talking, hard-driving corporation executive all by herself.

"How are you, baby," called the tall blonde cheerfully. "How does it feel to be a special promotional assistant?"

"Good, I guess," dubiously responded the lush young doctor's wife. "What do you suppose we have to do?"

"Let's go into the lion's den and find out," suggested Jennifer. "It's almost three o'clock and our fearless leader does not like to be kept waiting."

Jennifer was wearing a cheerful cocktail dress, cut low in front to expose the alluring swelling of her well-formed D-cup breasts. She seemed so fresh and lively that Trina found it difficult to believe this was the same immoral woman who had been so lewdly sucking Mr. Birindelli's lust-swollen penis the day before. It just goes to show you, thought Trina as the two of them presented themselves to Birindelli's secretary, you can never really know what another person is like.

The secretary waved them through and as they entered the inner office, the vice president for sales and promotion was behind his desk, surrounded by a team of assistants and secretaries, shouting into a telephone.

"Tell them to get off their fucking asses," Birindelli thundered at some unfortunate person on the other end of the line. "If the cocktail room isn't ready by eight o'clock, you're fired!" And he slammed down the receiver without waiting for a reply. Trina noticed that none of his female secretaries batted all eyelash at this vulgar language, since they were evidently accustomed to him. Looking up, he caught sight of the two models and permitted himself a quick tense smile.

"Oh, here are our two lovelies. Sit down girls and listen hard because I've only got a few seconds to spare."

Jennifer and Trina took seats hesitantly while Birindelli's staff clustered around him ready to execute any order he might give.

"I had hoped to be able to give you some on-the-job training and brief you thoroughly on your duties before an important job came up, but we're got a crisis on our hands and we're going to have to throw you two into the breach without much preparation. About all hour ago we got a call from Mr. Judson Ty Benson of Salt Lake City, a perfect asshole who also happens to be the biggest buyer of women's clothing in the Midwest. Benson and his team are going to be in town for one night and they want to see the Pink Cloud and our other recent designs. We're setting up a dinner and a party for this evening and the two of you will model our stuff and socialize with Benson and his crew. Jenkins, where's that biographic sketch the market research people worked up?"

An assistant promptly handed the executive a sheet of paper and Birindelli tossed it in Trina's direction.

"Study this and get to know your man, because Benson is your baby. I want you to stick to him like glue all evening and if he signs a contract with us tomorrow morning, I'll write you a check for one cool grand. Screw up and you can look for another job. Jennifer, you get Benson's right-hand man, a guy named Franklyn. We don't know much about him so you'll have to play it by ear. Now both of you get your asses downstairs and see Pauling about what he wants you to wear."

It was clearly not the moment to ask questions. Birindelli immediately turned his attention to the documents before him on his desk and the two young models found their own way out of his office.

"That guy has all the charm of a bull elephant in the rutting season," commented Jennifer acidly, right in front of Birindelli's secretary. "Come on, let's go see old Pauling and see what kind of rags he's got for us."

Trina followed the sexy blonde model down the hall, admiring the way her friend handled herself in every situation. Nothing ever seemed to upset Jennifer, even Mr. Birindelli. How she wished she could behave with the same cool sophistication!

"Look, Pauling, I'm worried," Jennifer told the graphics director as she unzipped the gown she was wearing and stepped casually out of it.

"Try this one on," suggested Pauling, handing her another party dress and stepping back to admire the girl's smooth sleek body, now covered only by a tiny pair of lacy panties. "I didn't know you ever worried about anything. Tonight got you upset?"

"Yes, but not for myself. I can handle almost anything that comes my way, but I don't think our little girlfriend quite realizes what she's gotten herself into. You know how innocent and naive she is! What happens when this Judson Ty Benson tries to get her into bed? She'll scream "RAPE." Wonder-Wear will lose the sale and Birindelli will probably fire everybody in the room, including you and me."

"Could be," admitted Pauling uneasily, frowning as Jennifer's words took effect. "And yet, somehow, Birindelli usually has all the angles figured. I explained all about Trina's morals when he picked her and he insisted on having her anyway. Can't you straighten her out between now and the party?"

"I'll do what I can," agreed the model dubiously, "but I don't want to scare her off, either. Can't you think of anything?"

"Keep your eye on her and make sure her glass is filled every minute," advised the graphics director seriously. "Her type can't normally handle much liquor. Everything goes a little bit better if it's oiled."

"Okay, but you stay on your toes too. I'll be busy with this guy Franklyn," Jennifer reminded him. "Hey, I like this outfit. Does it show enough tit?"

"Plenty," the advertising man assured her, allowing his lustful gaze to roam over her smooth, young breasts. "And you'll only be wearing it for the first few minutes. After that, you'll be sporting Wonder-Wear and that shows even more."

"You know," reflected Jennifer, pirouetting in front of the mirror. "I really do dig this dress. Could I keep it afterwards?"

"That's a three hundred dollar dress," said Pauling softly, coming up behind her and putting his hands confidently on her slender waist. "And it belongs to Wonder-Wear, Incorporated. Of course, I might be persuaded to drop it from the inventory."

"Really?" responded the voluptuous yielding young model, a trace of sensuality in her voice as she teasingly drew down the zipper. "Let me see if I can't find a way to-persuade you."

"Good Heavens, at this rate, I'm going to be drunk as an owl before the party even starts," protested Trina nervously as Pauling handed her another glass of champagne. The innocent but tempting young model was wearing a green frilly party dress, chosen for her by Mr. Pauling, which emphasized her full dramatic figure and revealed her heavy swollen breasts almost to their tender brown nipples.

Jennifer, Pauling and a scattering of other Wonder-Wear executives were waiting with Trina in the company's cocktail room for Birindelli and his team to return from a business dinner with the Salt Lake City buyer and his assistants. At one end of the hall was a dressing room where the two models would change into the various costumes and fashions Wonder- Wear was trying to sell. A bar had been set up to keep the liquor flowing and a white-suited bartender was busily uncorking champagne bottles.

"Don't worry, these deals are just excuses to net juiced," declared Pauling. "Here come the big boys now. They've probably all had six martinis apiece at dinner."

"Not Mr. Benson," asserted Trina worriedly. "Mr. Birindelli gave me a description of him that said he's active in church affairs and doesn't smoke or drink!"

"Watch out for him honey," joked Jennifer with a lewd grin. "A guy that doesn't smoke or drink must be saving his energy for something. Hey, are you nervous or something?"

"Just a little," admitted the brown-haired girl. "Posing for the camera in your underwear is one thing, but walking around in a room full of men... I didn't realize that's what special promotional assistants had to do."

"Nonsense," insisted Pauling, who had been listening carefully to what Trina said. "That's just an insignificant part of the job. Your business is to charm that client. Make him want to buy Wonder-Wear because you and he are friends. This is a very high-powered psychological sales technique you're participating in."

As Pauling spoke, the group of senior executives entered the room and Trina's eyes followed an extremely tall lanky man of about fifty whom she recognized from the description she had been given as Judson Ty Benson. The Midwestern business magnate was a thin as a scarecrow and wore typical Western-style clothing with a checkered shirt, a string tie and steel-rimmed glasses which made him look like a circuit preacher. Feeling a gentle shove from behind, Trina stepped forward to be introduced, now glad that she had had a couple of glasses of champagne to give her courage.

"And this is one of our smartest young promotional assistants," Birindelli informed the tall gangling man. "Trina, shake hands with the

"As the Bible says, 'Work and ye shall prosper,'" quoted Benson, shaking hands stiffly with Trina and examining her carefully through his old-fashioned spectacles. "I am what I am today because of a life-time of clean living and honest labor, Mr. Birindelli," he informed Trina's boss.

"Of course, Mr. Benson, and we all admire you for it," Birindelli smiled back at him insincerely with a wink to Trina out of the corner of his eye. "Miss Larkin, why don't you get Mr. Benson something to drink?"

"Surely," the young model began, but Benson cut her oft with another biblical quotation.

"'The fruit of the grape brings madness to fools,' as the Good Book says, young lady," he instructed her. "I never touch liquor."

"I believe we may have some orange juice," offered Trina smoothly, knowing that Birindelli was watching her sharply, waiting to see how she would handle the situation.

"Not Florida orange juice?" inquired the visiting businessman, wrinkling his brow.

"California, naturally," Birindelli assured him and Trina walked quickly to the bar, thinking that Benson was about the strangest individual she had ever met. The bartender poured a glass three-quarters full of fresh orange juice and promptly filled it up with vodka.

"What are you doing?" hissed Trina, angry at the man's stupidity. "This is for Mr. Benson and he doesn't drink liquor!"

"Then he shouldn't know what vodka tastes like," retorted the bartender calmly, handling her the glass. "Anyway, Mr. Birindelli's orders and I guess he knows what he's doing."

Apparently he did, since Benson accepted the glass with his peculiar preacher's smile and drank deeply.

"Avoid Florida orange juice, my dear," he informed her, smacking his lips. "Contains all sorts of impurities!"

"Oh, I will," Trina assured him, taking another sip of her champagne. "Thank you for the warning." Mr. Benson lectured on about the necessity of living cleanly and avoiding impurities of all kinds and Trina quickly glanced around the room to see how the party was progressing. Jennifer was busily chattering to a young man who was apparently Franklyn, Benson's right-hand man. Several other pretty girls from the Wonder- Wear staff were circulating through the party, making sure that everyone's cigarette was lit and everyone's glass was full. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder why Mr. Birindelli had chosen her, his least experienced assistant, to be Benson's companion at this party. Surely Jennifer or one of the others would be more relaxed and sophisticated. But, as the bartender had put it, Birindelli always did seem to know what he was doing.

"Trina," said the vice president with a soft pleasant voice. "I have an idea. Why don't you and Jennifer show Mr. Benson and his staff the Pink Cloud and some of our other outfits? I'm sure he could get a better idea of how they look if he could see them actually being worn by someone as pretty as you."

Birindelli was behaving as if it were an idea which had just struck him rather than a carefully-organized operation they had been planning all day, but Trina played along with him.

"Fine, Mr. Birindelli. In fact, we brought the whole Wonder-Wear line up with us just in case someone wanted to take another look at it." And then she turned to Mr. Judson Benson, who was knocking back his fourth specially-prepared California orange juice, and gave him an apologetic little-girl look.

"Of course, we're not professional models, Mr. Benson, but we'll do our best."

"The Lord asks of each of us our most earnest endeavor," agreed Benson, slurring his words a little.

Trina gave him her most winning smile, hoping that no one could see how nervous she was, and went off to collect Jennifer.

"Everything's going like clockwork," Pauling informed the two attractive models as they entered the dressing room. "And I think you're sweeping Mr. Benson off his feet, Trina. Now get into your outfits and go!"

It was not as bad as she had imagined it would be. Never in Trina's entire life had she drunk so much champagne in one evening and her entire body felt warm and rosy. The room was hot and she felt comfortable and natural in the brief undergarments which Pauling had left out for them to model. She made a point of not looking at herself in the mirror whenever she put on a new set of underwear or one of the frilly nighties which the company manufactured for fear that she would be covered with embarrassment if she saw how much of her was showing.

From time to time, she thought of how shocked and horrified her husband would be if he could see her now, but somehow the idea filled her with amusement. Frank was a dear man, but sometimes he behaved like such a stuffed shirt. These people, she decided, really knew how to have fun and even Mr. Benson was beginning to kick up his heels a little, under the influence of a number of California orange juices spiked with Vodka.

"Do you like this one, Mr. Benson?" she asked innocently as she showed him an almost-transparent white nightie which she would never have dared to wear sober.

"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, Trina 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?" Trina 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 Trina'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 Trina'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 Jennifer 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," Trina 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 Trina 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."

Trina 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 Trina 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 Trina 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 Trina 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."

Trina was dumbfounded. The nightie was thin enough to be transparent and so short that it would barely cover a woman's asscheeks, 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," Trina 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 Trina, 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!

Trina'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 Trina 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.

"Hmmmmm, I'm not sure whether I find that erotic or not," he muttered, rising from the bed. "Come over here and lean back on the bed against a pillow. I want to see you against a more natural setting."

Something deep inside the girl's alcohol hazed mind told her this meant trouble, but she was too drunk and too frightened to dream of disobeying. She sat down uneasily on the edge of the bed, wishing she could have kept her own panties on instead of these you could see her pubic hair and everything through, even though hers were the wrong color and clashed horribly with the nightie. Crossing her legs modestly, she pulled the flimsy garment down as far as it would go and relaxed back against the pillow, trying to smile naturally.

Benson circled the bed like an animal about to spring on its prey, his fiery maniac's eyes almost bulging from his head as he surveyed the young voluptuous woman's sleekly tapered legs and the tempting twin swells of her ripely swelling bosom. Trina was feeling incredibly tired and drunk and she only wished she could crawl under the cool refreshing sheets arid doze off to sleep. In her champagne-wracked mind, all she could think of was Pauling's urgent order that Judson Ty Benson was to be kept happy at all costs. If she failed, her job went out the window and she and Frank were on the high road to financial ruin.

"Ah-ha!" he cried unexpectedly, startling her out of her own private thoughts. "As I feared! Your nipples, Miss Larkin, are plainly visible! You call that decent?"

It was true, of course, she told herself with irritation, glancing down at her nearly naked breasts to verify what this peculiar religious fanatic was shouting at her. Not only were the tips of her nipples visible, they were also stiff and swollen, as if something about this insane situation was arousing what Benson would call her "baser sexual instincts."

Moving with surprising agility, the lean and lanky businessman circled quickly and sat down lightly by her side, forcing her to move her long, tantalizingly-exposed legs over toward the center of the mattress.

"And look here!" he roared at her like an old-time preacher promising hellfire and damnation. One long finger was pointed between her thighs, only inches away from the dark mysteriously curling triangle of pussy hair which showed plainly beneath the powder blue panties thin filmy material.

"Even your... your... genital region is exposed!! Miss Larkin, these panties were designed by a moral degenerate! They were clearly intended to promote sin and promiscuity!"

As far as Trina was concerned, the whole business was getting rapidly out of hand. Benson was obviously mad as the proverbial mad hatter and Wonder-Wear could hardly expect her to stay here another minute. A glance at her companion showed that he was getting more and more excited, since his chest was heaving with excitement and his long angular midwestern face was flushed and red.

The terrorized young girl began edging cautiously toward the other side of the bed.

"NO, you don't," he screamed insanely and despite her drunken state, it suddenly occurred to Trina that no one was likely to hear them in the penthouse suite. "You're not going anywhere just yet. This nightgown - those pussy-exposing panties - have aroused my lower instincts!" Trina gasped as his thin threatening hands reached out to claw at her sensitive vulnerable breasts. She tried desperately to push him away but his lean hungry body was too strong for her and in an instant he had crawled over her body, pushing the lust-provoking nightie high up over her waist and exposing to his lust-maddened blazing eyes a tormentingly tempting view of her almost nakedly defenseless loins and the soft sleek hair surrounding her delicate red-lipped vagina.

"Wonder-Wear is in league with the Devil!" he thundered crazily. "You have led an innocent righteous man into carnal sin and ye shall be punished for your lewd transgressions! We shall all be punished!"

"No, please, Mr. Benson," sobbed the fear-stricken girl, writhing and moaning piteously as his hard muscular hands roamed wildly over her twisting shaking body.

"First, let us rid ourselves of these lewd and wicked garments!" he proclaimed, seizing Wonder-Wear's best-selling nightie at the throat and ripping it savagely from her innocent white body. "If the eye offendeth thee, pluck it out, sayeth the Good Book!"

Rising up astride her, he looked down desirously at the ripe now almost naked young body completely at his mercy.

Trina froze in real terror, trying desperately to cover herself with her hands, the lust-maddened businessman ripping the clothing from his own gnarled tough body. After tearing the shirt from his chest, he wiggled clumsily out of his pants, his eyes never leaving her for a second. Trina had never seen anyone get undressed quite so quickly; in an instant he was naked, his lean tawny body towering over her like a skyscraper. His already hard fat 9-inch cock stood out from his flat muscular stomach like the heavy, thickened shaft of a spear.

Christ, it was long! Benson was uncircumcised and his penis was even greater in length than Birindelli's, although not quite so thick. Despite his age, the businessman's body was still hard and agile, the result of a half-century of clean living. Trina saw immediately that there was no hope whatsoever of overpowering him or escaping. She was trapped!

"Don't... don't do it to me!" she wailed as her fear increased.

"You must suffer for your sins," Benson roared insanely. "You have led a just man into evil and this shall be your punishment!"

Trina saw immediately that the strange angular businessman was quite out of his head and she remembered all the doctored glasses of orange juice he had consumed in the course of the evening. Why, he's twice as drunk as I am, she realized with a sudden shock. Only he doesn't know it!

But drunk or not, he was clearly going to rape her and there was nothing she could do about it now. Of course she could start screaming her head off and maybe someone would hear her and call the police, but where would that leave her? Her picture would be in all the morning papers and there would be plenty of bellhops to testify that she came willingly to Mr. Benson's room in the middle of the night carrying a suitcase full of clothing. The police would probably think she was a dishonest prostitute and her husband would call his lawyer for a divorce the moment he heard about it.

No, there was no way out! She was going to have to lie here and let herself be cruelly raped by this middle-aged madman!

But Benson was wasting no time in contemplation. Kneeling up between her lewdly outstretched legs, the crazed businessman passionately dropped his fanatical face to the soft twin peaks of her ripe young bosom, moving his slavering mouth rapidly from one tensed brown nipple to the other as if he could not make up his mind between the two. The wetness of his lips against her defenselessly yielding flesh sent a chill racing up and down her spine and a piteous groan escaped from her tortured tingling lips.

But Benson seemed incapable of holding still for more than a few seconds and as Trina tried in vain to wiggle away from his searing tongue, the religious fanatic found a new object for his attentions. Pinning her arms to the mattress with his tremendous lust-crazed strength, he forced her legs even farther apart with his knees and with a snarl thrust his face into her thin, panty covered pussy slit.

"No, please, not that," she cried uselessly, but Benson was beyond listening to her futile please. Pressing the flimsy, moisture-covered crotchband aside with his fingers and nuzzling his way through the soft brown pubic hair, he suddenly flicked his tongue up into the moistly quivering mound of her tender young cunt, hungrily licking the sensitive pink lips surrounding her tiny tension-filled clit.

Trina kicked her long tapered legs out wildly on either side of Benson's head, but every movement of her nakedly trembling body only seemed to open her up even wider to his depraved invasion of her loins. Releasing her arms, he plunged his middle finger into her sparsely growing pussy hair, using both his thumbs to draw apart the pink petal edges of her vagina, exposing to his bulging, frenzied eyes a lust-exciting view of her moistly quivering cuntal slit.

For a moment, he hovered over her like a vulture, saliva already dripping from his gaping mouth, surveying the prize he had fought for and won. Then, with a groan more animal than human, his head ducked abruptly and he buried his long slippery tongue way up inside the warmly clasping walls of her vagina.

"AAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!" she cried out in despair as he invaded her helplessly trapped cunt. She ground her hips frantically into the mattress as she attempted to escape this ghastly attack on the most intimate part of her body. Trina's fingers curled into the Salt Lake City executive's steel-gray hair and she tried with all her might to lift his lewdly burrowing face from her defenselessly tongue-spread young pussy. But if Benson even noticed the pain of having his hair pulled, he gave no sign of it, his tongue penetrating her more deeply by the minute.

Releasing his hair, Trina clutched the sheets in her fists and raised her head and shoulders up off the mattress, unable to believe that this incredible thing was really happening to her, little Mrs. Trina Larkin, the doctor's wife. It was too cruel, too bizarre to be true. Oh why had she ever gotten involved in this insane business to begin with?

Let him do what he wants, she told herself, dropping back down on the mattress and resigning herself to the inevitable. He's too strong to fight and too crazy and drunk to reason with. He said this was a punishment and in a way he's right. So take your medicine with dignity and stop flailing around like an idiot. You should have walked out the door when he first suggested a private modeling session and you didn't, so you have no one to blame but yourself!

So she lay back on the luxurious penthouse bed, stiff but submissive, remarking to herself that the experience was degrading and humiliating, but not painful, at least so far. In fact, as Benson's tongue lashed furiously in and out of her involuntarily dilating cunt, she observed that the sensation was anything but painful. Despite the waves of shame which swept insistently over her, tiny wisps of forbidden tingling pleasure were beginning to build up in her stomach and radiate out in all directions, causing her thighs to jerk spasmodically upwards. Her stomach was filling gradually with a warm pleasant feeling and it was another half-minute before she realized with horror exactly what was happening to her.

This maniac was turning her on! He was arousing her against her will!

Tightening every muscle in her body, Trina Larkin fought back with all her strength. If she allowed this to happen to her, she could never face her husband again. She must not surrender!

But her noble resolution faded rapidly as Benson's mouth slavered over her with increasing fury, his tongue snaking viciously up into the mysterious softness of her gradually widening vagina. The tingling electric current had now spread into her trembling white breasts' causing her nipples to stand up boldly.

Benson's mind was a raging mass of confusion as a lifetime of repressed sexuality finally burst its bounds. Ever since his youth he had been holding back this reservoir of stormy lust, making delicate passionless love once a week to an ugly old woman ten years older than he. It had never before occurred to Benson to have sexual relations with a woman other than his wife, but when he had seen this splendid young creature earlier in the evening, he had felt an indescribably powerful emotion welling up inside of him, totally unlike anything else he had ever experienced.

Of course he had known immediately when they handed him his drink that the orange juice was half alcohol. But instead of protesting or throwing it in Birindelli's face, he had drunk it down and called for another. For the first time in his long, bible-quoting life, he had wanted to get really drunk, blown out of his mind, just to see what would happen.

And this was what happened. Well, he told himself, if this was a sin, by God, it was going to be a good one, and he continued to flail with his tongue like a madman at Trina's hopelessly resisting pussy.

As the fury of his sexual madness increased, Benson wanted even more, desiring to do all of the lewd depraved things he had read about in books and had never before had the courage to try, particularly not with his aging frigid wife.

Might as well be damned for a goat as a sheep, he decided, pushing the trembling young model's knees up in the air in such fashion that her sleek smooth thighs covered his ears and the whole flat plane of her pussy with the crotchband of her panties pulled aside, was exposed to his maniacal eyes. His wetly swirling tongue worked madly, lapping everything in sight from the pulsating moist opening of her vaginal tunnel down to the tight little ass.

"Oooooohh," Trina groaned as she felt his hot searing tongue pass quickly over the sensitive rubbery opening, sending an unexpected rolling wave of sensation through her tormentedly writhing body.

"Not there, please, don't touch me there!"

But Benson was beyond mercy. Discovering that the inexperienced young girl liked the feeling he burrowed even farther up into the defensively contracting crevice between her asscheeks, thrusting his tongue again and again up into the vainly resisting rectal opening, trying to force himself up inside her while she struggled with all her might to hold him out.

But further resistance was useless and they both knew it. Her asscheeks were grinding inexorably down into the soft yielding mattress as the tiny sparks of lust in her belly burst into real passionate flame, spreading like a wild-fire into the rest of her body. Without realizing what she was doing, she wound her delicate hands into his gray hair and pressed his face down into her now excitedly seeping pussy as hard as she could.

"Oh, do it, yes, do it like that!" she babbled insanely. "Fuck me, you crazy old man! Do whatever you want with me!" The shame and humiliation were all gone now and in her champagne-fogged mind, Trina was only conscious of the magic electric current racing madly up and down her spine.

Now her company's chief client was moving, excited by her words, advancing his body up over the flat trembling plane of the young model's stomach to the temptingly spread range of her swollen and shaking breasts. As he crawled forward between her outstretched legs, Trina could feel his long 9-inch cock approaching and she found herself longing to be pierced and penetrated, hurt and impaled on its huge throbbing length. Half in fear and half in breathless anticipation, she reached down and held the lace-covered edge of her panty legband to one side and waited breathlessly as Benson reached down quickly between their two yearning bodies and took the hard broad cockhead between his fingers, searching through the full, fleshy lips of her softly quivering cunt for the entrance to her now willingly yielding vaginal passage.

Then he found it and shoved!

"Aaaagggghhhhh!" she screamed as the most incredible sensation she had ever experienced swept over her. It was neither pain nor pleasure but something beyond either one and she had never felt so filled in her entire life.

Benson fell forward, his hard lean chest crushing against the tender pliant flesh of her softly trembling breasts, and his hips responded instinctively at the same moment, thrusting powerfully with all the strength in his body and burying his long, thickly pulsating cock to the hilt, deep up into her forcibly yielding young flesh.

"Oh, oh, God!" she gasped below him, her cunt feeling as thought it had just been shredded into a thousand tiny pieces, never to he healed again. She could feel every inch of this man lodged securely deep up inside her, with all movement transmitted directly to her body when he moved.

But the lust that the lean executive had generated deep in Trina's cunt was still strong, much too strong to be conquered by the discomfort caused by his sudden entry. As he began to fuck into her with long smooth even strokes, her body immediately caught the rhythm and she started to thrust back up at him, undulating her hips in time to the powerful skewerings of his deeply fucking cock.

Benson's hands roamed wildly over Trina's lewdly twisting body, exploring the smooth silken surface of her skin as if he had never touched a woman's body before, his fingers moving under the soft nylon covering of her panties and caressing the softly tensing globes of her asscheeks which were flexing and unflexing in time with his murderously-powerful cock-thrusts. Trina's whole body was jerking and twitching uncontrollably now as groan after groan of intense pleasure came to her lips and she could no longer concentrate on anything but the depraved happiness of lying there with her legs spread wide apart being fucked half to death with her panties still on by this crazy old Midwesterner. The fact that all of this was happening against her will only increased the pleasure, since she did not have to waste any energy feeling guilty.

Benson was not an experienced lover, never before having been in bed with anyone but his wife, but what he lacked in experience and technique, he was making up in enthusiasm and raw naked desire. He stepped up the rhythm of this strokes as his hand slid down between their two bucking and swaying bodies and fondled the widely-stretched lips of her pussy where his massively throbbing cock was penetrating her. This vile caress only served to increase the young woman's pleasure, bringing additional moans of servile acceptance and submission to her mouth as his fingers brushed repeatedly over the surface of her tiny pink, sensation-filled clit. He could feel the narrow channel of her vagina begin to flower open as if it had taken on a life of its own, and were trying to suck his cock all the way up inside and hold it there interminably.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she chanted rhythmically beneath him, her face contorted almost beyond recognition, her lips bared back over her small white teeth and a light film of perspiration covering the surface of her skin.

Benson responded with a grunt, knowing instinctively that he himself was also nearing the end. But the gray-haired religious fanatic worked to make it particularly good, fucking his hotly pulsating cock up into her hungrily clasping cunt as far as it would go until his heavily swinging balls were slapping mercilessly against the panty covered softness of her ass.

"Oh, I'm cumming," she whispered suddenly with disbelief, her voice husky with passion. "Oooooooogghhh!"

Benson felt her open up to him like a flower touched by the morning sun and warns wet liquids from deep inside her hotly contracting cunt walls flooded around his viciously pistoning cock, lubricating his lust- hardened penis and enabling him to fuck into her even harder. Her body jerked continuously and convulsively, her arms and legs flailing out involuntarily, and Benson could sense the interior walls of her ecstatically pulsating cunt clasping insanely at his penis, trying desperately to milk him dry.

Trina was sure for a minute that she was going out of her mind. The feeling had never been so strong before for the sexually neglected young woman, and she felt her body flying out of control and floating toward the ceiling as Benson groaned and began violently shooting his scalding white cum deep up into her frantically climaxing cunt.

The hot wet stream of living cum went spraying into her nakedly trembling belly and Trina could feel every drop of the life-giving fluid as it spurted from the tip of his wildly-ejaculating penis and crashed against her hungrily absorbing cuntal walls. Her legs were wrapped tightly up around his back, her feet pressing down against his desperately straining asscheeks and urging him farther and farther up into her softly yielding pussy flesh while her tongue snaked lewdly up into the older man's mouth. They both came together in an instant of maddening fury, groaning into each other's throats while the Salt Lake City executive filled Trina's hotly squirming young body with his hot slippery cum.

When it was over, somehow neither of them could think of anything much to say. Benson, his face white and serious, retreated from the center of the bed to the far edge and turned his back on her while Trina consulted her watch, decided it was too late to try to go home and wondered what was going to become of her.

She felt strangely relaxed for some reason and her conscience did not hurt as much as she would have expected.

Perhaps it was the champagne, she speculated, and then dropped off to sleep, feeling the cum-soaked crotchband of the lacey, powder blue panties slip slowly back over her well-fucked young vaginal lips.

It took half a bottle of aspirins and nearly a quart of orange juice to do it, but by ten o'clock, Trina's hangover was down within reasonable limits and the pretty young model felt strong enough to call the hospital where Frank was working and invent a fairly plausible excuse for not having returned home on the previous night. She explained that a promotional sales conference had gone on until the early hours of the morning and that she had been afraid to ride the subway alone at that hour and had gone home instead with Jennifer who had a flat downtown.

She had expected her husband to be angry and mistrustful and she was a little upset when he took the news calmly.

"Oh, by the way," he added, when she had finished explaining her absence. "I hope your first check comes through soon. I ordered a whole set of new medical books I've been needing for a long time and there'll be a healthy bill to pay."

A cold anger settled over her as she listened to her husband announce a few more plans for spending her money. Was that all he could really think about? Hadn't it ever occurred to him that she might have spent the night with another man? Or was his conceit too strong for such an idea ever to enter his head?? How he'd change his tune if he knew that a crazy old religious fanatic had accomplished - even against her will - a couple of things Doctor Frank Larkin had not been able to accomplish for a long, long time!

No, it would never enter his precise scientific mind. He was too selfish and egocentric for that and for half a minute, Trina was almost glad it had happened. Old Judson had lectured her and battered her and humiliated her and raped her, but in the end he had also satisfied her and every woman needed that once in awhile, no matter how moral she thought she was.

Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, the free lunch was destined to be terminated before either one of them could get the first bite. When Benson left town today without placing an order with Wonder-Wear, she was going to get the sack, and not the kind you could wear either.

Well, she decided, there was no point in delaying any longer. It was time to go up to the vice president's office and face the music. Maybe if she explained what had happened, Mr. Birindelli would at least give her back her old job modeling. On the other hand, it would be embarrassing to confess how she had mismanaged things so badly and wound up in bed with Mr. Benson, leaving him unhappy and guilt-ridden for having seduced her. Either way, she was not looking forward to this meeting, but it had to be done so she straightened her shoulders, thinking how foolish her party dress looked at ten-thirty in the morning, and marched into Birindelli's office.

"The boss said you're to go right in," announced his secretary severely. "Mr. Benson's already come and gone."

Oh, that's the end, she thought grimly and considered the idea of simply going quietly away. But it was too late. Mr. Birindelli had opened the door to his office and was motioning her to enter.

"I told you that people who work for me make money if they produce," he announced in a serious tone of voice, "and that they get fired if they don't produce. Well, here it is!"

The piece of paper he was holding out to her seemed far too small to be a notice of dismissal and she took it, her hands trembling with apprehension.

It was Birindelli's personal check for a thousand dollars!

"Fantastic work!" he proclaimed, smiling at last, and shaking her hand energetically. "I've been trying to sell old Jud Benson for ten years now and he never so much as bought a sanitary napkin from us until you came along. Something gave him the idea I was evil a long time ago and he's opposed to evil, as you probably discovered. But you understood his psychology dead on!" The combined effects of the hangover and the surprise did their work on Trina's knees and she sank down weakly into the nearest chair.

"You mean... he placed an order with us?" she quavered, scarcely able to believe her ears.

"Of course he placed an order," responded Birindelli. "A massive order!" I had it all figured and the only thing which could have gone wrong was you. If I'd assigned one of my other girls to the old idiot, he'd have suspected me of trying to get him laid and gotten on the first plane for Salt Lake City. But you, with that sweet innocence you've got, he never figured you, not even for a minute, and apparently not even after you got him into bed. Or he got you into bed, which is the way it apparently went. Ha! You should have seen him when he staggered in here this morning, wondering how he could ever make it up to you and crying great big alligator tears all over my mahogany desk. What a screwball! Well, I told him how he could make it up to you. A one hundred thousand dollar purchase order, that's how!"

Jennifer said that yogurt was the only thing for a hangover and Trina had three helpings of it as the two young models sat in Wonder-Wear's cafeteria and talked about their experiences. Normally Trina would never have dreamed of relating such a personal, intimate incident to anyone else, but she knew from what she had seen through the keyhole that day that her tall blonde friend was not precisely a candidate for sainthood herself. Besides, she was so troubled in her mind that she simply had to unburden herself to someone.

"It sounds like you had all the fun," complained Jennifer jokingly when Trina had recounted her adventures with Judson Ty Benson. "And collected a cool grand for it too. My assignment was a regular stick-in-the-mud. He spotted me as a company girl right off the bat and hustled me back to his hotel two minutes after you split with the holy Mr. Judson Ty Benson. After that it was slam-bam-thank-you-Ma'am! He didn't even give me taxi fare home, the cheap bastard."

"You mean... you mean, you knew ahead of time?" stammered the young doctor's wife. "I thought the business with Mr. Benson just sort of happened, an accident."

"Honey, in this business, nothing just happens," confided Jennifer sympathetically. "These buyers come to town, leaving their wives, or whoever they happen to be screwing at home, and they see a bunch of girls like you and me running around half-naked modeling underwear or nighties and they get all hot and bothered. Wonder-Wear wants them to be completely happy for a couple of days so they can concentrate on buying our products and that's where we come in. After they've had some fun with us, they feel sort of guilty and old Birindelli gets their name on a contract."

"But... that's almost like prostitution," cried Trina in shock, realizing for the first time what it was she had gotten herself into.

"Honey, prostitution is when you stand on a street corner and sell your ass to drunken sailors on rainy nights. When you get a big fat paycheck every payday and an office with a rug on the floor, you're a lady executive, no matter what you do to earn it. Also, a prostitute has to hustle her customers. In this business you have to let them hustle you, because otherwise they don't get the illusion that they're making some big romantic conquest on a wild weekend in the big city. A prostitute is just what you ain't, honey, believe me!"

"I don't know, Jennifer, I just don't see it that way," wailed the anguished young woman, her illusions quickly being shattered one by one.

"Look at it this way," the sophisticated blonde woman persisted. "When a politician smiles at you through the television tube, do you think for a minute he's really sincere? Hell no! He's been rehearsing that smile for weeks in front of the mirror. He's using what he's got - in this case a big stupid smile - to sell his product, which is himself. Is he a prostitute? You're using what you've got, a beautiful body, to sell underwear. Are you a prostitute? About the same as the politician, I'd say. No more and no less!"

"Jennifer, I absolutely cannot do it," Trina said again, but the resolve in her voice had obviously been weakened by her friend's arguments.

"The way I see it, honey," replied Jennifer seriously, "you haven't really got much choice. Birindelli thinks you're number one and he isn't going to let you go that easily. It might be a little tough to get another job if you quit this one because he's got a lot of friends in this town, if you know what I mean. And secondly, you need the money, and thirdly, I get the idea you aren't getting all the loving from hubby you could use, and some of these businessmen can really handle themselves in the sack. All in all, I'd say you were hooked."

All in all, Trina thought bitterly, I'd say you were right. Hook, line and sinker.

"Oh, Jennifer, I don't know what to say. What happens now?"

"Now, we dawdle over our coffee until it's time to meet Mr. Birindelli down in the parking lot. He told me this morning that you and I are going to be working together as a team from now on and he wants to show us something. He didn't say what it was."

The vice-president for sales and promotion was waiting in the parking lot when the two models emerged from the Wonder-Wear building. He was leaning casually against the front fender of the longest, lowest, snazziest sports car Trina had ever laid eyes on.

"Like it girls?" Birindelli greeted them with a smile.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" breathed Trina sincerely. "How great it would be to come to work in something like this instead of wasting an hour on that smelly old subway. What is it?"

"This is a Ferrari, the four point even liter model," Birindelli responded proudly. "Goes a little over a hundred and fifty and costs about twenty thousand dollars. Most people think it's the finest sports car in the world."

"When I become vice-president of something," announced Jennifer wistfully, "I'm going to buy myself one just like it."

"Maybe you won't have to wait quite that long," Birindelli purred. "I have another Ferrari just like this one parked in the company garage. We have a customer coming in from Europe next week who can sign his name to a million dollar order if he wants to. Get me that signature and neither one of you will ever have to take the subway again."

He paused to let his words take their desired effect.

"You... you mean this isn't your car?" stammered Trina.

"Mine? Heavens, no, I'm a man of simple tastes and my little old Rolls suits me just fine. But we might as well take this one with us today. Hop in. I've got something to show you."

It was a short trip across town from the business area where the Wonder-Wear headquarters were located to a high-class residential district populated mostly by millionaires. Handling the sleek powerful Ferrari with typical aggressive skill, Birindelli sliced through the busy mid-afternoon traffic and pulled up in front of a massive luxury apartment complex.

"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 Jennifer and Trina 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.

Trina 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 Trina'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, Trina 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 Jennifer 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 Trina 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," Jennifer 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 Trina 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 Trina."

"...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 Jennifer, 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.

"Jennifer, 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 Trina."

"You think Trina 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, Jennifer," 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 Trina 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 Trina Larkin is not going to take a walk on us. She's trapped and I think she knows it!"

Trina 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."

Trina 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 Jennifer had started feeding her whiskey about two hours ago and had done such an expert job on her makeup that she now looked fresh and bright and there was no trace of tears on her cheeks.

Besides crying, she had done a lot of thinking that day and had examined all the possibilities, coming up against the same blank wall no matter which way she turned. Birindelli had her, financially and every other way and there was no escape. He had used her once with enormous success on poor old Mr. Benson. And he would use her again and again, altering the scene as necessary, but always keeping the last act the same.

And now she was expected to perform for this French monster who was supposed to like all sorts of weird tricks. Well, there were limits, she decided, a little drunkenly, to how far she could be pushed. She would get into bed with LaFarge and he could make love to her if he wanted, but the acrobatics were out.

"Are you ready, honey?" asked Jennifer, shooting her a worried look. "I think our boyfriend has arrived." Both women were wearing extremely low-cut, tight-fitting dresses which showed off their supple, young bodies to the best advantage. Underneath, naturally, they were both wearing Wonder-Wear underwear.

"Yeah, let's go," Trina replied, trying to smile. "We're going to sell some panties tonight!"

Trina had been expecting someone big and menacing, but in fact, Jacques LaFarge was a slight, slender man in his late thirties. He possessed a typical Frenchman's face: hawk nose and prominent chin, dominated by deep set melancholy eyes which flashed cynically around the room.

"Enchante," he declared, shaking hands with Trina and devouring her scantily-attired body with his gaze. Jennifer served drinks from the bar, chatting merrily and keeping the conversation rolling. Trina noticed that she had been given a double whiskey but decided that she might as well drink it. The more booze she had in her, the less she would feel later on.

"Well, business before pleasure, as you Americans say," suggested LaFarge, with only a trace of a French accent in his spoken English. "I keep hearing about Wonder-Wear's new Pink Cloud line. Are these delightful young ladies going to model it for me?"

"Of course," agreed Birindelli immediately, nodding to Trina and Jennifer.

"We're wearing the bra-and-panty combination right now," offered Jennifer helpfully. "Would you like to start with that?"

"Very much," LaFarge drawled with a touch of irritation in his voice. "But I find it difficult to see through your dresses."

Trina kept one eye on Jennifer, waiting to see what her girlfriend was going to do. Her own mind was already a little fogged with the whiskey and she was not sure whether it would be good manners to return to her bedroom to undress or not.

But Jennifer solved the problem by grinning directly at the French fashion expert and beginning to undo the buttons on her party dress. Suddenly an even better idea popped into Trina's head. She gathered her long brown hair in her hands and turned her back on LaFarge.

"Would you mind undoing me?" she asked with simulated innocence. The Frenchman laughed lasciviously and drew the zipper all the way down to the base of her spine, making sure that his fingers touched the tops of her asscheeks. Birindelli, standing off to one side, winked at her covertly and she knew she had scored a point or two already. The lithe young model stepped out of the dress gracefully and turned to face the fashion designer without any embarrassment or fear. If nothing else, the experiences of the past few days had taught her not to be shy about her body in front of strange men.

"Hmmmmm," he muttered, looking the two girls over carefully. "Interesting construction of this bra. I don't see exactly how it supports this young woman's breasts the way it does."

He ran his fingers over the surface of Trina's bra, checking the tension on the straps and Trina felt her nipples begin to tighten involuntarily.

"It doesn't," explained Birindelli easily. "It just holds her tits in place. The Pink Cloud is as close as you can get to going naked."

"Oh, come now, Birindelli," sneered the Frenchman, "if the bra weren't holding her huge tits up, they'd be sagging down around her belly-button!"

Jennifer settled the argument in her usual practical efficient manner by stepping quickly behind Trina and undoing the flimsy bra. She lifted it casually off her friend's body with a smile. Trina's giant EE-cup breasts stayed firmly where they were while LaFarge did an exaggerated double-take.

"My apologies," he said, making a low mocking bow, "I underestimated you." There was a general round of laughter and Birindelli proposed another set of drinks, asking Trina to get the bottle and give them each a refill. Without putting her bra back on, the brown-haired model did as she was told, pouring herself another double-whiskey and discovering that there was a tingling sexy sensation involved with walking around almost naked in a room with two fully-dressed men.

When she handed him his drink, LaFarge patted the seat next to him and ordered her to sit down while Jennifer modeled a few more Wonder-Wear products.

By ten o'clock, everybody was just a tiny bit smashed, particularly Trina, and Birindelli opened another bottle of his best Scotch and sent Jennifer for more ice. All four had long since given up the pretense that they were there to conduct a modeling session and the two girls had now both shed their Pink Cloud brassieres and were wearing only their nearly transparent panties when Birindelli glanced casually at his watch and "remembered" another appointment.

"Really am sorry, Jacques," he said jokingly, "to run off and leave you alone and helpless with these two broads, but duty calls."

"Quite," remarked the European blandly, who had been wondering if Birindelli would ever get lost and leave him to his own devices.

"Well, I'll be talking to you in the morning," said the advertising executive, slipping his jacket on.

"Possibly," replied LaFarge, not committing himself, and Birindelli left. There was a moment of mild tension when the three of them were finally left alone. Of course, both girls knew that their boss had simply ducked into the concealed room and would be watching - and photographing - everything which happened from that moment on. The thought made Trina nervous, despite the quantity of whiskey she had consumed, and she had to remind herself not to look at the mirror over the fireplace, behind which Birindelli lurked, camera in hand.

"Well, isn't this cozy? One Frenchman and two naked little girls. Or I should say almost naked girls," he added, pointing to Trina's panties. "But they're nice. I get hotter with a girl when she leaves her panties on."

"All right," Trina agreed, attempting to sound casual and glancing quickly at Jennifer for reassurance. It suddenly occurred to her that she had never felt so naked in the presence of another woman before and the idea gave her a moment's nervousness, but she was in this too deep to back out now. Jennifer had rolled her panties down a little on her hips to make them more sensuous and was pouring them all another drink. Trina inhaled sharply and then also rolled her last remaining garment a little lower too, down her tantalizingly smooth asscheeks, while LaFarge looked on appreciatively.

"Well now," he said, smiling lustfully as the buxom young woman stood almost naked before him. "I gather you've been told what I like. Why don't you get down to business?"

Trina made no move, suddenly paralyzed by uncertainty. How could she explain that there were some things she could not do, not even if she wanted to? He would have to understand, she was new at this business - it was not easy - and he was so abrupt and brutal about it, not even bothering with her feelings.

"Hey," he called, his voice soft and menacing. "You're off in your own little world! Come on over here, little American girl, and stand real close so I can touch you. You too, blondie."

The two women approached him, one on either side of the chair, glancing at each other nervously. Jacques LaFarge looked from one to the other, smiling with deep sinister satisfaction as he noted the apprehension displayed by the dark-haired girl. It too genuine and sincere to be false, he decided, reaching up to touch her. This Venus-shaped creature was really terrified out of her mind!

The other girl would have her uses as well, the depraved Frenchman realized as he studied Jennifer's long willowy body, because she obviously had plenty of experience and could be counted on to do what she was told. But it was the unwilling and reluctant innocent who really turned him on. He switched his attention back to the shorter of the two women, stretching out one arm languidly and playing with Trina's swollen and trembling breasts while he casually smoked a cigarette.

"Hey, little Miss Larkin," he said in the same insulting tone of voice. "Why don't you get right down here so we can be comfortable. That's right, honey, between my knees... Blondie, you just stand by, because I'll be getting to you in a minute."

Trina's body had already begun to tremble with fear, but she obeyed without question, her head spinning with the liquor she had consumed. She would do it if she could, she resolved drunkenly. Everything was riding on her now and she had to force herself to go through with it.

"Open up the barn door," LaFarge grinned broadly, "and we'll see if the horse has escaped."

"Trina's hands were shaking badly, so she took a quick sip of her drink before going ahead, managing to unfasten the Frenchman's fly and draw down the zipper while Jennifer perched on the arm of his chair and allowed him to play with her firmly rounding young breasts.

"Now take my cock out, baby. Let's have a look at the basic equipment for our