Helping the Colonel

Colonel Hancock appreciates your attention to detail and praises you for being so observant with her pantyhose. As the days turn into weeks, you find yourself becoming more aroused by these fleeting moments and struggle to concentrate on your work.

The following Monday, you head out of your dorm to work and step out into 3 inches of snow. Knowing that Colonel Hancock will be in the office no matter what, you trudge through the snow to work.

The headquarters building is empty and dark with the exception of the light from Colonel Hancock’s office. You take a breath and make your way to your desk.

“Airman Doe!” you hear Colonel Hanock yell sharply as you enter the office, “what have I told you about dress and appearance!”

You look down and see the snow has left the bottom of your pants wet and ruined the crease in them.

“I apologize colonel,” you reply quickly, “it’s really coming down outside, and there were no taxis available.”

Colonel Hancock sighs deeply, “Very well, go change into your spare uniform, I have call with Washington I need you on in 5 minutes.” she adds sternly.

“Umm…” you mumble, knowing this is your only uniform.

Colonel Hancock takes off her reading glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose, “don’t tell me you don’t keep a spare uniform in your desk,” her frustration growing more visible.

“I’m sorry colonel, they only have me one in basic,” you plead.

Rolling her eyes, she motions for you to sit next to her, as she picks up her phone. You grab your notepad and quickly sit down next to her. Before she dials, she looks over at you, her face turning red.

“Airman!” she yells, pointing at your pants dripping water on her pristine carpet, “take those fucking pants off!”

Your heart races as you obediently stand up and slowly unbutton your pants. You pull them down to reveal your boxer-briefs clinging tightly to your semi-hard cock, in full of Colonel Hancock. You run your wet pants over to your desk careful to catch any drops that might fall and sit back down next to Colonel Hancock as she dials Washington.

“Now,” she says in a more controlled voice, “let’s get this call over with and then we’ll deal with you.”

You nod vigorously, focused on not making any more mistakes during the call. Colonel Hancock speaks eloquently to her counterpart in Washington, occasionally glancing at you out of the corner of her eye. You try your best to stay focused on taking notes but can’t help but feel increasingly aroused by the situation—the intimacy of being so close to a high-ranking officer, the scent of her perfume mixing with your own sweat, and the constant reminder that you’re sitting there completely naked from the waist down except for your tight underwear.

The call eventually ends and Colonel Hancock hangs up the phone. She turns to face you, her expression a mix of anger and something else entirely. “Airman Doe,” she says slowly, “don’t you ever do something like that again.”

You blush crimson in shame, your cock twitching against the fabric of your underwear. “I-I-I’m sorry colonel,” You stammer out, your voice cracking slightly from arousal and fear, “it won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right, it won’t happen again.” she says while searching through her top desk drawer and pulling out card. “Call this number and tell them to be here tomorrow for a fitting. We’ll get you taken care of.”

You take the card with trembling hands, not daring to look up at Colonel Hancock’s stern expression. “Yes ma’am,” you manage to squeak out before scurrying out of her office, your head hung low in shame and arousal.

You sit at your desk the rest of the morning with your pants hanging on the hat rack behind you. Thankful, it is only you and Colonel Hancock in the office today.

Around lunch time Colonel Hancock comes out of her office and walks over to your desk.

“Airman Doe, since you’ve already decided to ruin your uniform, why don’t you go get us some lunch,” she asks before adding, “oh, and can you pick up my dry cleaning for me,” handing you a ticket.