The Panty Perils of Me 23

Well, I did receive the expected call from Dr. Thrasher inviting me to the annual fundraiser and gala for the University. I guess that I should have felt honored, as this particular find raiser was very exclusive inviting only the very upper echelon of our city's society.

It raised a great deal of money for the University while at the same time having a whispered reputation for decadence and impropriety.

I was extremely nervous talking to Dr. Thrasher over the phone as I expected that he was fully aware of my recent undertaking with Dr. Spoocher.

Just as an update, Dr. Spoocher resigned his position with the University shortly after receiving a copy of our digital photo and recording of him and myself. I was quite thankful, as I didn't want to have to testify in front of any sort of committee while they looked at a photo of myself sitting spread-eagled on Dr. Spoocher's desktop while he poked at my crotch with his erection.

Due to Dr. Thrasher's working and professional relationship with Dr. Spoocher, I had every reason to be apprehensive about my accompanying him to the fundraiser. And besides all of that, Arnold's father was somehow involved in this whole sordid affair.

I very reluctantly accepted Dr. Thrasher's invitation spending the next week on pins and needles trying to imagine what this gala event had in store for me.

As the event drew closer I tried to decide what to wear, but really had no idea. This wasn't something that I was looking forward to, so purposely trying to look sexy seemed the wrong thing to do.

On Friday before the event, FedEx appeared at my door with a package that required my signature. Since I wasn't expecting anything, my curiosity was piqued.

I went into my living room, sat on the couch, and opened the package.

It was some type of clothing wrapped in tissue paper with a note attached. The note was from Mr. Lawrence, Arnold's father. It read, "Be sure to wear this to the Gala on Saturday with my compliments. We are having a 90's theme," and it was signed, Richard Lawrence.

I unwrapped the tissue from around the garment taking it out of the box and holding up in front of me. It was a black jersey knit dress with a large opening that would reach right down to my posterior smile. It had distinct shoulder pads and looked to be significantly longer than anything that I normally wear.

I looked again inside the box and saw a piece of black leather. When I took it out of the box it was a cap much like those worn in the military.

This was definitely a 90's look.

I took everything into my bedroom where I had a full-length mirror on the back of the door. I stripped down to my undies and pulled the stretchy dark gray material over my head. The open back wasn't quite as low as I originally thought as it only went down to the lower part of my back. However, the front fit funny with a neckline that looked almost like a cowl neck.

I was confused as I looked at myself in the mirror. It also had a decorative fold down the back, which normally would be found on the front of the dress.

Besides all of that, the shoulder pads fit funny as if they were put in backwards.

Then the lights went on in my brain and the realization that I was wearing the dress backwards filled me with shock and apprehension.

I slipped it off and slowly turned it around; this time stepping into it and pulling it up my torso. The front opening reached almost to my navel. Without the use of any double sided tape or chain with clasps it gaped open putting both of my tiny breasts and nipples on display, which were now very erect.

I can't understand how the thought of wearing such a revealing gown can fill me with dread and anxiety while at the same time make me feel so aroused.

Every time I pulled the fabric over my breasts, it would temporarily cling to my throbbing little nubs and with just the slightest movement on my part, would slide open uncovering everything.

How was I possibly going to wear this dress in front of our cities' elite members of society?

I needed to figure something out and had less than a day to do it.

I went through my entire closet paying specific attention to the ornamental decorations on my dresses and dress pants. After almost exhausting my wardrobe, I found it. I had a pair of navy blue pinstripe pants with an ornamental chain that draped across the front attaching to the fabric with two clasps on either end of the chain.

It was meant to draw attention to a woman's lower abdomen and crotch, as if I needed any help with that.

I undid the clasps and then attached them to the opening on the front of my dress. I wished that the chain was a bit shorter, but at least my nipples would stay covered. Now only bout a third of my breasts were still uncovered. I found the very deep décolletage of the dress suited my tiny orbs almost perfectly.

I began to feel that I might fit right in with the elite who were accustomed to flashing body parts in the name of fashion.

Searching through my lingerie drawer I found a very teeny black string bikini panty and knew that my outfit was complete.

Now all I had to do was endure the next 20 hours of anxiety and apprehension.

Friday arrived and I got myself ready for the gala. It felt funny to be dressing for a formal event and not putting on a bra. I took a long hot shower and shaved virtually everything that grew hair other than my head. Once dried and out of the shower I slipped on my black nylon string bikini panties and got to the serious part of transforming myself. I plucked my eyebrows and applied a makeup base to cover any red spots or wrinkles. I then went to work on my eyes using a barely there mascara and eyeliner. After just a touch of rouge to my cheeks I was ready.

I pulled on a pair of black thigh high stockings thinking that any form of garter belt might either be revealed by the low dip in the front of my gown or too obvious underneath the body hugging jersey material.

Now thigh highs often require a continual adjustment, as they seem to work their way down my thighs as I walk, but I was hoping to find a discreet way to pull them up in lieu of the garter belt.

I then pulled the gown on adjusting the shoulder pads to form perfectly to my shoulders.

For just a second I considered not putting on the chain clasp looking at how much of myself was revealed in the full-length mirror. My nipples were again set on high beam and I could feel a trickle of liquid forming between my legs.

I wanted to reach between my legs and work some magic while fantasizing about being on display at the gala.

It took all of will power to snap myself back to reality.

Reluctantly but knowing that it was the right thing to do, I attached the clasp to either side of my front slit bringing the fabric close enough together to cover my nipples. God, I was so horny.

Just as I completed my preparations, the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find Dr. Thrasher standing there in a beautifully tailored tuxedo.

It had been months since I had seen him last. Despite my overall randiness, I still harbored a bit of resentment towards him.

If you recall he had made me a subject of his study on exhibitionism, during the course of which I was told to strip and share how I felt as I removed each item of clothing. I found the experience to be very humiliating and depressing. It made me think that something was wrong with me; that I wasn't normal.

Thankfully Edward and Kathy find me to be perfectly abnormal allowing me to be who I was meant to be.

Despite all of my misgivings about spending an evening with Dr. Thrasher, I was excited to attend such an exclusive event. After all how bad can one evening end up?

Dr. Thrasher stared right at the opening slit in the front of my dress making me feel like I used to when I was in his office. I pushed the feelings away by saying, "Shall we get going?"

I climbed into his car spending most of the drive to the University Club fending off his hand as he was constantly trying to place it on the very top of my leg just inches from my crotch. I am not sure why I blurted this out, but I found myself saying, "I don't think that Mr. Lawrence would appreciate having his guest treated like a slut."

Wow, that really got Dr. Thrasher to behave, although it certainly didn't make him much of an escort.

The remainder of our drive was uneventful and finally we arrived at the University Club.

The University Club is located in a stone building probably built in the 1920's when stone ornamentation was common. It is a beautiful three-story building with large leaded glass windows and an imposing mahogany set of front doors bearing huge brass doorknockers. I only wish that my own set were so prominent. J I found myself smiling as I wonder whether the huge knockers were meant to symbolize anything else particularly as it pertains to the female anatomy.

Once inside all of the walls are sunken oak wood paneling with intricate designs carved inside each panel. The chandeliers are all cut glass and immaculate. The floors are also of an intricate wood pattern. The combination makes one realize that once a upon a time there was a lot of money to be found within the university and tonight's gala event may very well put it on display again.

Everyone in attendance is beautifully dressed in their version of a 90's theme. Shoulder pads are quite abundant squaring off the shoulders of all of the women and some of the men.

Every dress and gown is form fitting putting so many toned and lithe female bodies on display. I guess it is true that the very wealthy are now the thinnest.

The dining area is made up of numerous round tables all with shiny white linen tablecloths and beautiful silverware. There is a long table at one end of the room with a buffet of culinary delights. It is definitely not the normal all-you-can-eat style of buffet.

Fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, fresh shrimp, etc. are all piled in the form of a pyramid circling a huge ice carving of a topless women siren.

Everything looks delicious, so I help myself and take a seat at one of the tables.

It seems that my little warning to Dr. Thrasher has put him off enough to leave me on my own, which is perfect for me.

The whole idea of this gala is to bid on all of the various donations that are found on tables placed throughout the first floor of the club. After eating I spend most of my time meandering through the various rooms and looking at all of the items up for bid, but mostly the people.

It is amazing what a difference in appearance having money makes. Both the men and the women have beautiful clothes, perfect haircuts, and most of the women have fabulous figures.

I feel a little out of my element although I am receiving more than my share of stares that seem to focus right upon my upper torso. I guess they are all admiring my ornamental clasp. Yeh, right!

As I am making my rounds, Mr. Lawrence approaches me taking my hand and leading me to a quiet corner of the room.

"You look absolutely fabulous in my dress, Ms. Harley, although I wasn't expecting the front to be closed by a clasp," he begins. I simply smile and thank him for the compliment.

"I am hoping that you will do me as well as the University a favor," Mr. Lawrence continues.

"A number of the women have volunteered to be auctioned as personal assistants for the day chosen by the winning bidder. Most often it involves washing a car or minor housework, although most of the time it is an evening out with the winning bidder.

I am hoping that you would volunteer to be one of the personal assistants," he concluded.

Something told me that there was much more to this story than I could possibly know, but as I usually do, I ignored my little voice and agreed.

Once I signed what Mr. Lawrence explained to be a simple waiver, he left me alone.

I spent the rest of the evening with a woman that I knew through Reggie. It seems that I wasn't the only person that used him as a personal trainer. She also was one of the diners that Reggie showed me off to a few weeks ago.

She thought that it was a pretty good joke and added that she wished that she were in as good a shape as I was, although I must confess that she looked fantastic. I guess another thing about having money is that you are never quite satisfied.

I asked her about the auction for personal assistants and she told me that she had never volunteered, but heard that often there is some extra curricular activity involved between the assistants and the winning bidders. "In other words, pretty much anything goes," she added.

Now why didn't that surprise me and why the hell can't I learn to listen to my little voice?

At the end of evening the silent auction winners were all announced. It really was fun to see how happy the winners were and how dejected the losers were. It seems that most of us never outgrow our competitive urges. I wonder why my urges are more of a primal nature?

Then it was announced that the bidding for personal assistants was going to take place and would everyone interested please come upstairs to the main room at the top of the stairs.

Some of the older couples took the opportunity to go home, but most everyone else stayed as I followed the crowd up the stairs to the second floor.

We entered a large room with high ceilings and an incredibly large cut glass chandelier in the middle of the ceiling.

Directly underneath the chandelier was a series of connected tables with a set of chairs pushed together with their backs placed against the side of one of them.

The rest of the room was outfitted with row upon row of chairs all facing the tables placed in the center of the room.

As it turned out, this was the stage and the chairs were the steps for all of the women that had volunteered to be auctioned off as assistants for the day.

As soon as everyone was settled, a gentleman in a white tuxedo jacket and black pants asked all of the volunteers to approach the center of the room. Once we all gathered by him, we were put in a row alphabetically using our last names.

I was the 4th in line.

As part of the agreement requiring our signature, we also had to give a brief description of ourselves. It was somewhat of a brief resume.

The first volunteer was introduced and escorted up the chair steps and onto the makeshift stage.

As the gentlemen in the white tux read her resume, she slowly turned letting everyone get a view of her fore and aft. As many in the audience hooted and hollered, partly because they knew her and partly because she wore a very form fitting ivory gown, I had the impression that our resumes meant very little.

To my amazement the bidding started at $1,000. This definitely was the main money raiser for the University.

She topped out at $18,000 leaving me to believe that by the time it was my turn, the money would be all spent. Boy, was I wrong.

As each volunteer before me took their turn, I became more and more nervous. I wasn't a part of this crowd and my fragile ego was about to be put to the test.

Just as my name was announced, Mr. Lawrence came up to me and adeptly removed the chain and clasps holding the front of my dress together. I was in shock remembering what happened each time I simply moved without the chain in place.

I felt a swat on my bottom and heard him say, "Good luck."

And then I was on the stage standing maybe four feet under the immense chandelier while the front folds of fabric clung to my throbbing nipples.

I stood there like a deer in headlights and the bidding started.

At around $4,000 it became very quiet as the auctioneer started his "Going once, going twice" mantra.

Someone yelled, "Turn around, " making me realize that I hadn't moved since I had climbed the makeshift stairs to the makeshift stage.

I started a spin and immediately my right breast decided to introduce itself to everyone.

I heard, "$6,000" shouted out immediately followed by $7,000.

I reached up to the folds of my dress quickly covering my wandering flesh and heard Mr. Lawrence's voice shout out, $10,000.

My ego was certainly assuaged, but it didn't calm my nerves nor did it the feeling of being a piece of meat put on display for the upper class.

The bidding continued but soon was confined to two men, Mr. Lawrence and a large burly man that looked like he would be much more comfortable in jeans than a tuxedo.

I continued to turn with my hand holding the folds of my dress together, when the auctioneer hissed at me to put my hands down by my side and spin.

I did as I was told and both tiny breasts appeared from behind their curtains with my deep red and throbbing nipples glistening in the glow of the overhead chandelier.

As my tiny headlights surveyed the room the bidding continued until the burly man said $28,000. This was when Mr. Lawrence became very quiet. I glanced towards him and noticed a very angry and sullen look on his face as the auctioneer said, "Going one, going twice, sold."

I knew at this point that it was very unlikely I was going to see my chain and clasps again.

I draped the open fabric of my dress on my hard little nubs hoping that it might stay in place for at least a few minutes and climbed down from the stage.

Immediately the winning bidder, a Mr. Abromski, met me. I found out he owned a home construction and remodeling business. He actually was very nice and assured me that my day of personal assisting would be spent on a job site providing some innocent fun for his workers.

I felt somewhat relieved considering all of the situations that I have been in since the start of last spring. However it was difficult for me to ignore the nagging feeling I had regarding Mr. Abromski. He was extremely affable and a gentleman. Still there was a look in his eyes that unnerved me.

Oh well, at least I raised $28,000 for the University.

I wasn't the big winner of the evening, but certainly did well nonetheless.

I then turned my attention to Dr. Thrasher who was nowhere to be found. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to get home until Mr. Lawrence walked up to me. "I am your ride home tonight, Ms. Harley. I hope you don't mind the change of escorts?"

"Not at all," I replied and we left the University Club and walked to his car.

Mr. Lawrence had parked in the University parking ramp, so we had a little time to talk as we walked.

He told me about his relationship with the University as well as the members of the University Club. He basically grew into the position as his career in a prestigious law firm advanced his standing in the community.

He explained that he really wasn't fully accepted into their society, but had done quite a bit of legal work for many of them so they tolerated him.

I could tell that he was a bit bitter about it.

When we arrived at his car, things got a little testy. Our conversation had brought a very different side of Mr. Lawrence. He started to get very forward with me like I was his little plaything and that I owed him for the invitation tonight.

He continuously pulled my dress open taking a hold of my hard nipples pinching and pulling them.

While I tried to fend him off, he was successful in pulling the top of my open gown down to my waist. Then he turned me around and pushed me so my little nubs were flat against the cold surface of his car hood. The cold metal only made my nipples more sensitive as they throbbed in time to my heartbeat, which was on high alert due to Mr. Lawrence's aggression.

He yanked my gown up from behind tearing at my thigh highs until they were mere threads of thin nylon.

Once my gown was completely gathered at my upper thighs, he took a hold of the material and literally yanked it completely down my waist and legs.