Open the drawer

You hesitate for just a moment longer than you should before slowly and silently sliding it open. You are shocked to find so many different varieties of panties. Knowing how anal retentive Colonel Hancock is about everything, but especially dress and appearance, you expected a drawer full of plain white cotton fullback panties. Instead it looks like the full Victoria Secret catalog all neatly folded and placed in this drawer.

Your eyes widen as you take in the sight before you: rows upon rows of colorful, lacy, silky, and satin panties, each more tantalizing than the last. There are thongs so thin you could see through them, boyshorts with delicate lace trimming, and even a pair of sheer, see-through pantyhose that clutch at your crotch just looking at them.

Your heart races as you quickly slam the drawer shut and turn around to face Colonel Hancock, who had finally turned around in her chair to address you. Her piercing gaze makes your palms sweaty and your mouth suddenly dry.

“Is there something wrong, Doe?” she asks coolly, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve gone quite pale.”

“N-no ma’am,” you stutter out, trying desperately to regain your composure.

Colonel Hancock raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, clearly not fooled by your lame excuse but choosing to let it slide for now. “How long does it take to hang up dry cleaning, Doe,” she asks coolly. “Make sure everything is neat and tidy, then return here.”

With a quick nod, you **** yourself to turn back around and finish putting away the dry cleaning bag before taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart. Once everything is in its proper place, you slowly turn around and walk over to her desk, your pants tightening painfully around your throbbing erection.

Your mind is racing at the thought of what type of panties she is wearing now.

“Judging by your face and your well…” she looks down at your crotch, “did you see something you liked in there?”

“U-uh...” Your mind races as you try desperately not to imagine what each and every pair of panties would feel like against your skin—especially the sheer, see-through ones.

Colonel Hancock chuckles softly, a knowing smirk curving her lips. “It’s okay, Doe,” she says in a low, husky tone that sends shivers down your spine. “I can tell you’re not used to seeing a woman like me let loose.”

She stands up slowly, walking over to you with confident steps until she’s mere inches from your trembling form. Her breath brushes against your cheek before she speaks again in a sultry voice that sends goosebumps rising all over your body. “You see these uniforms? The stiff, restrictive fabric? They’re meant to make us look powerful, professional,” she continues softly, her gaze drifting downward and lingering on your crotch for just a moment too long.

“But underneath, where no one can see... that’s where I can really be myself.” She reaches out her hand hovering just a hair’s width away from your crotch. “And sometimes,” she whispers seductively as trails one perfectly manicured fingernail teasingly upwards along the front of your pants, “when I’m in a long boring meeting, all I can think about is what would everyone do if they knew what I was wearing under my skirt.”

You feel like you might faint right there on the spot. Her breath is like a ****, intoxicating and addictive all at once. She’s so close, her body practically pressed up against yours, and every time she brushes against you it sends shivers down your spine.

Your eyes are locked on hers as she speaks about the uniforms, feeling a strange mix of arousal and fear course through you. The way she teases you with that fingernail, barely touching but sending shockwaves of desire coursing through every fiber of your being.

“C-Colonel...” You manage to croak out, your voice cracking slightly in nervousness. “I... I didn’t mean anything, I swear.” Your mind is racing a million miles a minute as you try desperately not to think about what she just implied she was wearing underneath her skirt.