Ad Men

"Mr. Dupont!" Babs squealed, feigning protest.

Penny kept her ground. She was not about to submit herself to being groped and mauled by these dirty, horny men. She would pull her skirt up, but she would not do that. She did have her limit.

Upon Miss Holloway's return, Mr. Grundleman signed the contract.

Normally, they would stand and toast, but the executives from Dupont preferred to remain seated, at least for awhile. Mr. Draper, and the secretaries, understood. Miss Holloway, however, did pour each man a stiff scotch on the rocks, helping them to reduce their owns stiffness. It helped even more that the secretaries departed once the contract was signed. They had done their job, and they had done it very well..

Mr. Draper was pleased. In fact, he was very, very pleased. His original proposal had been, 'Comfort, at no extra cost.' 'If only skirts were shorter,' proved to be tremendously better. Miss Holloway, Babs, and Penny all received extremely handsome bonuses upon the arrival of the first payment of the new contract.

The other secretaries crowded around the three girls as they showed off their lucrative rewards. Babs never felt more pleased and proud, and vowed to contribute even further if she was ever given another opportunity. Even Penny was actually quite happy about it. The other secretaries were jealous, very jealous indeed.

All of the secretaries immediately became more actively involved in the company's affairs, offering various suggestions for campaigns, for product slogans. If another chance like this arose, they would not be left out.

Mr. Draper was at first just amused by their excited engagement, but he also realized that their participation, their enthusiasm, could be quite useful in landing future accounts.. And, besides, many of their suggested slogans were actually quite good. Who would have thought that such brilliant ideas could come out of the minds of such pretty faces, shapely legs, and jutting pointy breasts.

Sterling Cooper was now onto something, onto something big, something very big. They could take advertising in a new and very exciting direction, and with the success of the Dupont "mini skirt" campaign, Sterling Cooper was not at a loss for new clients seeking their assistance.

THE MAIDENFORM ACCOUNT

The next significant opportunity came from Maidenform. Maidenform produced all forms of ladies' undergarments, but their best selling product line was the brassiere.

Maidenform was not a company that desperately needed any help. After all, Marilyn Monroe had been wearing one of the Maidenform pointy brassieres in the 1959 movie, "Some Like It Hot." That one memorable scene alone provided tremendous publicity, and sold many brassieres, at no advertising cost. Actually, that wasn't entirely true. Quite a bit of green crossed hands to get the producers to provide the product placement of Maidenform on Marilyn's breasts.

Nevertheless, Maidenform was not a company to rest on its laurels and they had lost quite a bit of business to Playtex with their "I can't believe it's a girdle, girdle"campaign. They needed to strike back.

Mr. Draper met the CEO of Maidenform in front of their building and rode with him up the elevator to the Sterling and Cooper office suite.

As they rode the elevator, Maidenform's Mr. Bradley expressed his interest in doing a deal with Sterling Cooper. "We were very excited to see what you did for Dupont, and we were naturally wondering what you might have in mind for us, at Maidenform."

"I believe we have something that you will find very exciting, Mr. Bradley," Mr. Draper replied. "We, sirs, we at Sterling Cooper, have a dream, a dream for the future, and we dream big. Once you step off the elevator, you will see our dream for Maidenform."

Mr. Bradley was intrigued.

When they reached their floor, Mr. Draper let Mr. Bradley step off first, to be greeted by the sight of the Sterling Cooper receptionist, sitting at her desk beneath the company logo. The strikingly pretty girl greeted him pleasantly and politely, as any receptionist would, and said with a broad, sincere smile, "Good morning, Mr. Bradley. I dreamed I came to work in my Maidenform bra," which she apparently had done, quite obviously so.

Mr. Bradley's jaw dropped. This very pretty lady, with her short wavy brunette hair, her dimpled cheeks, sparkling eyes, and bright red lips, was not wearing a blouse. She was, like, half naked, right out there in public, sitting there in her brassiere, at the receptionist's desk. This was indeed quite a reception. What kind of a place was this? He turned to Mr. Draper, feeling rather stunned.

"Do you like it, Mr. Bradley?" Mr. Draper asked, smiling proudly.

"Well, I, um." He didn't know what to say. Of course he liked it. What man wouldn't like having receptionists without blouses? She looked in fact rather stunning. There was really something provocatively pleasing, stimulating, even quite wonderful, about the incongruity of her sitting there, her brassiere fully exposed in public, her boobs tightly wrapped in lacy cups, yet she was pleasantly smiling, as if she found it perfectly reasonable and natural not to be wearing a blouse to hide her brassiere. He finally mustered, "Yes, yes, I do."

"This is our proposed campaign, sir," Mr. Draper explained, as he guided Mr. Bradley through the large wood doors into the offices of Sterling Cooper, where they were greeted by the sight of the expansive secretarial pool in their many cubicles, as well as going hither and yon, delivering memos, retrieving files, and all without their blouses, all of them wearing just a brassiere! Hanging from the ceiling was a banner, which read, "I dreamed I came to work in my Maidenform bra."

It was a staggeringly lovely sight: an astounding garden of breasts. They were still hidden, of course, by brassieres, but it was still so discordantly, absurdly, delightful, all these women, every one of them, exhibiting, displaying her unmentionables, all for the pleasure, all for the titillation, of the men around them, and, apparently, especially, for him, the CEO of Maidenform. It was like he was in the women's section of J.C. Penny, or perhaps even Bloomingdales, with all of the half-dressed (or half-undressed) mannequins coming alive. Mr. Bradley's dick quickly swelled in his pants.

Mr. Bradley, as CEO of Maidenform, had certainly seen some of their own models posing in Maidenform brassieres. It was one of the natural perks of being the CEO of a brassiere company. He should, naturally, look in on initial photo shoots.

However, those girls had all been professional models. There was something more wondrous, marvelous, and pleasing to have them be everyday secretaries, doing their everyday tasks, yet showing off their brassieres, and the breasts that were just beneath the soft, thin, and at times even lacy cotton. Yes, his dick was very pleased to be in this wonderful garden of round and pointy delights, the round, puffy, pointy flowers in all sorts of sizes and in many different colors. There were pink breasts, white breasts, green breasts, red breasts, and even some flesh toned breasts.

As Mr. Bradley proceeded across the open space of cubicles each secretary he passed would smile sweetly, even flirtatiously, repeating the mantra in various forms, like, "Hello Mr. Bradley, I dreamed I was typing in my Maidenform Bra," "Hello sir, I dreamed I delivered a memo in my Maidenform bra," or "Good morning, Mr. Bradley, I dreamed I typed his memo in my Maidenform bra."

His dick rapidly grew in his slacks. It was simply impossible for that not to happen, although he wasn't even entirely aware of it happening. His mind, his eyes, were so fully absorbed. Mr. Draper tried to get his attention, which wasn't easy, as there were so many lovely distractions. Some were large and haughty, others were petite and modest, perhaps even shy, but they were all terribly firm, prominent, and well shaped, which was a source of pride for Maidenform, for the secretaries, and for Mr. Bradley.

Mr. Draper took his arm to direct his attention. "Along the wall, sir, you will see our campaign. It's the common theme, but with many variations."

Mr. Bradley tore his eyes away from the ladies' lovely tits to the posters along the walls, where there were again women with no blouses. They were otherwise fully dressed. Their brassieres, their Maidenform brassieres, were fully exposed. And, they were apparently dreaming of doing all sorts of things: riding a roller coaster, going shopping, riding a streetcar, playing in a recital, dancing at a nightclub, all in their Maidenform bras.

He felt like he was himself in a dream, and almost collided with a couple of really large breasts: the boobs of Babs.

"I dreamed I served him coffee in my Maidenform bra," she gaily announced. "Would you like some coffee, sir?"

Babs' breasts were particularly spectacular. Mr. Bradley knew his product well, and he could tell that these were a 38C. "Uh, yeah, yeah, I guess I would."

She smiled in appreciation. "How wonderful." She took Mr. Bradley by the hand and led him away from Mr. Draper to the office kitchenette. "My dream fulfilled," she said to him, with a very flirtatious gleam in her eye.

Frankly, she hardly needed to act flirtatious. Missing her blouse was plenty flirtatious enough. Mr. Draper now became more aware, more self-conscious, about his erection. He surely hoped that this wonderfully endowed young lady, her breasts jiggling within her brassiere, would not notice. He was certainly glad to be momentarily separated from Mr. Draper, providing him with some time to regain his composure.

"Do you like Mr. Draper's idea, Mr. Bradley?" Babs asked as she led him along.

"Well yes, yes, I must say I do." Of course, though, he couldn't, nor wouldn't, really disagree with a pretty blouse-less, large breasted secretary, leading him along by the hand, or more accurately by his erection. How wonderful if saleswomen within a men's department would be dressed this way. His wallet would soon empty if all saleswomen came to work in their Maidenform bras. Yet, it did indeed sound like a good campaign slogan; sexy, but playful, innocently playful.

"Oh we're so glad, Mr. Bradley," she said. "We do so much enjoy wearing your brassieres and, of course," she added, a twinkle in her eye, "showing them off. All the girls do."

Babs' voice broke his reverie, his fantasy of being in such a world, returning him to the reality that there was indeed a half-dressed woman leading him by the hand. "Yes, yes, I can see that."

Babs was not being entirely honest. Some of the girls had been quite reluctant to remove their blouses, perhaps understandably so. Management felt that it was perhaps because their breasts were a bit on the small side. They went out of their way to be complimentary of even the small ones. Still, a couple of the larger breasted women were also reluctant as well. They were uncomfortable with the leering eyes, lascivious grins, and off-color humor. But, they soon appreciated that it was all for the good of the company and, if the presentation was to work, it had to be unanimous. So, one by one, each lovely secretary removed her blouse, many of them blushing as they did so. It was an unwrapping that rivaled any birthday present, at least for the men.

There was something undeniably sexy in having one's secretary type memos in her brassiere. It was really quite amazing how much breast wiggle was generated simply by typing. It was truly a shame to have that hidden behind some blouse. For some reason, executives more frequently monitored their assistants' work by looking over their shoulders. Perhaps more typos would occur when the ladies were distracted by not wearing their blouses.

The secretaries did acknowledge that their typing initially suffered when their blouses were removed, but they attributed this to the distraction of their bosses peering over their shoulders, and down into their brassieres. Still, they did all receive very nice bonuses.

Babs though was sincere when speaking for herself. And, as she led Mr. Bradley to the kitchenette she felt more comfortable, more at ease, more in her realm, doing what she did best, impressing a successful businessman one-on-one. "Your brassieres are so comfortable, and, well, flattering," she said, with a pleasant, engaging smile, arching her back to emphasize her point, or more accurately, her prominently pointing boobs.

She led him into the little kitchenette, let go of his hand, and turned to face him, her breasts just inches from his chest.

"This fits me so well, don't you think, Mr. Bradley?" She stepped back to provide him with a better view of her brassiere or, more accurately, her really large tits dressed only in a brassiere.

He did indeed feel that the fit was quite spectacular, although he was, of course, a bit biased, being the head of the company. He swallowed nervously. A cup of coffee would be good right now. Actually, even a drink of water would be good. He just nodded in response.

"And, it provides so much support." She stepped up closer to him and leaned forward, pressing her soft, full breasts into his chest and whispered, "I am a bit on the full figure size."

Mr. Bradley considered stepping back, giving her more room, but he was already leaning back against a counter and, besides, his discomfort at the awkwardness of her physical proximity, her contact, was more than offset by the pleasure provided by her prominent protuberances, "Oh, well, um, we can fit any size."

She pressed her breasts even harder into his chest and whispered directly into his ear, "So can I, Mr. Bradley," as she reached down and lightly danced her fingers along his bulge.

Mr. Bradley's dick swelled at that. No woman had ever spoke so boldly to him before.

Babs smiled flirtatiously, looking knowingly into his eyes. This was no bedroom. It wasn't even a hotel room. It was the office kitchenette. But, it was still private, or at least partially so. It had no door and it opened onto a section of the secretarial pool. Any of the girls within that section of the pool could see them, if they looked in their direction. For the moment, however, Babs was alone with the executive, and she could now perform for Mr. Bradley as she had performed so often for Mr. Draper and other powerful, successful businessmen. She softly squeezed his bulge.

Mr. Bradley shifted a bit to the side in confusion and embarrassment. "Yes, well, excuse me." He clasped his hands in front of himself, trying to nonchalantly hide his obvious state of excitement. He was rather nonplussed by the secretary's immodest audacity, and he did not feel as alone or private as Babs apparently felt. If any of the girls in that area happened to look over, they would easily see his hardness, and her rather bold behavior.

Babs became even more imprudent. Mr. Draper had lectured that a good advertising executive must know when it's right to strike, to go for the client's jugular or, in this case, his crotch. Babs reached behind her, jutting her breasts out even farther as she did so, if that was at all possible, and unsnapped her brassiere. "You see, Mr. Bradley," she explained as she slowly pulled the straps from her shoulders, and then the cups from her breasts. She warned him, "My bosoms do fall a bit."

They did indeed, but he could hardly consider it to be a real problem. Babs had natural, full breasts, and they lost a bit of shape without the brassiere. They were drooping down. In their natural state they were now more oblong than round, but they were nevertheless so very lusciously full and large. Any loss in shape was more than compensated for by the fact that they were now stark naked! Big, natural, wiggly, bubbly, bulbous boobs; really very wonderful.

These were the breasts one would want to just fall into: two huge soft pillows that would engulf his head, his face, his lips, eyes and mouth, and certainly his cock, in such salaciously squishy, squashy, spongy shlobes. Oh, to just imagine sliding his cock in and out of those sensational, stupendous, humongous slippery soft melons.

"Here, Mr. Bradley," she said, interrupting his private reverie. His eyes, his mind, were so fixed on those lovingly naked full tits. "Feel them. Feel how big they are."

She didn't have to ask him twice. He lost all realization of the fact that he was in the kitchenette of a New York downtown office suite, fully exposed to any secretary that happened to be standing in the right location. Mr. Draper, and his colleagues, were apparently waiting for him in a boardroom to present their campaign. But, the only thing on his mind was what was in his hands: the two large, squishy boobs of... He just realized. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Babs," Mr. Bradley. "My name is Babs," smiling sweetly as he grasped, fondled, and felt her boobs.

He felt his face grow warm as he replied, "Your breasts are really amazing, Babs." They felt so large, too large to fully grasp, too large to fully appreciate.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Bradley. You're so kind." She smiled, seeing that she was successfully hooking the client on her bait.

He couldn't bring himself to let go.

"Aren't they so squeezably soft?" That had been one of Babs' suggestions to Mr. Draper, for another account. He said he would think about it. Somehow, though, they would have to tie in Babs' breasts with toilet paper, and he wasn't so sure that they could pull that off.

"Yes, yes they are, Boobs. Babs! Yes, they are, Babs. Well, yes, they are boobs, Babs, yes, um, soft." Mr. Draper stumbled through his words, feeling quite embarrassed by his very indelicate errors, his face turning a deep red.

Babs though was not offended. On the contrary, she found it rather flattering, or at least it was pleasing to hear that he was indeed enjoying her product. She smiled playfully and said, "Babs' boobs: once you start, you just can't stop."

They did indeed feel terribly wonderful. He had never felt boobs this big before. There was so much to them, so many sweet curves to squeeze, fondle, and caress. And, her nipples were so large, so stiff, so pointy. He felt such an urge to suck them, to suckle them. His cock strained in his pants, yearning to break free, pining to be engulfed, to be nurtured, embraced, mothered, and engulfed by such bountiful breasts.

But, Babs stepped back, her breasts wiggling and bobbling as she did so. She bent forward and they seemed to get even bigger, as if they were filling up as they hung from her body like a mother's udders. She slid the cups of her, of his, brassiere over them, stood back up, and reached behind her to redo the brassiere strap. "See, now they're back standing up again, so round, even perky. Don't you think?"

It was a very nice transformation. He did make a very fine product.

"I just love what Maidenform has done for me."

But, he did notice one thing. Maidenform was known for their pointy brassieres, which was really very nice in accentuating the presence of the breasts, in calling attention to them. But, the points of the brassieres did have a tendency to hide the natural points, the real points, of Babs' nipples. He would have to get back to their design team about that.

"Now, let's get you that coffee," Babs said, reaching for the decanter of fresh Maxwell House. "How do you like it?"

"Excuse me? Oh, yes, yes, black, thank you." The reality of why he had come to Sterling Cooper swept back into his consciousness, as well as the fact that he had been handling the naked breasts of a secretary, in open sight of a few other secretaries, albeit ones in comparable undress. "Yes, of course, certainly. I shouldn't keep Mr. Draper and his colleagues waiting."

"Oh, but sir, we can't have you walking around the office with your manliness sticking out, though, could we?"