Dry Cleaners

You put your still damp pants back on and head out to grab Colonel Hancock’s usual lunch salad and now apparently her dry cleaning.

“Oh, you must be new here,” the lady behind the counter says with a knowing smirk as she takes your ticket and looks for Colonel Hancock’s clothes on the carousel. “She really is something else, isn’t she? I mean, who gets their panties ironed?” She giggles softly to herself before pulling out a neatly pressed dress shirt, a pair of crisp trousers, and a delicate lace thong that catches your eye.

You blush deeply, trying not to let your embarrassment show as you take the bag from her, thanking her for her help.

Back at the office, you knock on Colonel Hancock’s door before entering. She is sitting at her desk, looking over some papers with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Ah, Doe,” she says without turning around, “I trust you didn’t forget my dry cleaning?”

You hold up the bag with her clothes and wait for further instruction.

“Thank you, Doe,” Colonel Hancock says curtly. “Please put these away for me.” She waves dismissively towards a closet hidden behind a bookshelf in the corner of the office.

You nod and obey, setting down her lunch salad on her desk and enter her immaculately organized closet. You gently hang up the dry cleaning bag next to her dress uniforms when something catches your eye. There are some built-in drawers in the closest, and Colonel Hancock has them labeled. You notice the bottom on says, “Panties”.