Panty Trap

"One of you has to work late tonight, so who's it going to be?" Denise asked.

Sherry and Rob looked at each other from their office chairs, and then each twisted their head toward Denise and said, "Not me."

"Shit," Rob said.

"There's no way I'm working late tonight," Sherry said.

"I'll leave you two to work it out amongst yourselves, but one of you is staying,"

Denise said, holding first Rob's gaze and then Sherry's. "Have fun," she added and walked out of the little office Rob and Sherry shared.

They started to speak at once and then stopped. "Okay," Sherry said, "you first."

Shit, Rob repeated internally. His buddy Steve had set him up on a blind date with a friend of Steve's girlfriend. Rob had been leery — in fact, his immediate instinct had been to tell Steve to go screw himself — but then Steve had shown him a picture of Beth, and she was a knockout: long blonde hair, skinny, a thousand-watt smile.

"I have a date," Rob said.

Sherry turned her head to the side and smiled skeptically. "Really?" she said, letting the word do more work than Rob would have wished.

"Really," Rob answered.

Sherry and Beth couldn't have been more different. Sherry had hair so dark it was almost black and a face that struck Rob as either cute or downright gorgeous, her moods always somehow shaping her appearance in ways that mystified him. She was big, really big, fat, Steve would have said, but Rob couldn't ever stop looking at her. He was in what most would call good shape from having played tennis since he was a child, and he'd never even given a second glance to someone near her size, but since the first day they'd started working together a few months before, confined in their little office for eight hours a day, he'd sneaked looks at her every chance he got.

"I'm meeting my sister for dinner," Sherry said, definitively, as though she'd just laid down the law.

Rob threw up his hands. "Dinner with your sister? I have a date!"

"Sure you do," Sherry said. "Who is it?"

Rob opened his mouth but didn't say anything. Sherry had turned her chair toward him, her hands on her armrests, looking serious. Her legs were parted and her loose black skirt fell about six inches short of her knees. Rob couldn't see her panties, just a hint of thick thighs leading into shadow. "Well?" she prompted.

He looked up, blushing, and she smiled wickedly. Did she know he'd been looking up her skirt? "It's a blind date," he conceded.

Sherry laughed, and Rob's chest warmed. She had an honest laugh that he always appreciated. Any time he made her laugh, he knew he'd earned it.

"It's still a date," he said.

"Barely," she said through her laugh.

"But a date nonetheless," he pressed, smiling back.

"Let me guess," Sherry said. "Blonde, skinny, big tits?"

Hearing her say the word tits in the office sent a shiver through him. "Her, uh . . ."

"Go on," she said.

"Her tits aren't that big," he said, and she laughed again, and he laughed with her.

"I knew it," she said.

"You didn't know anything," he countered.

"I did know. It couldn't have been somebody like me."

Rob shifted in his chair. "What do you mean?" he said, but he knew what she meant.

Sherry shook her head. "Someone like me. Someone big. A large girl. A BBW. A fat girl."

"That's . . . ," he started, but faltered.

"The truth," she finished.

He didn't say anything. She was probably right. He couldn't imagine what Steve or any of his other buddies would say if he went out with someone her size. He knew that made him weak and stupid, but it was probaby true.

"I know something you don't know, though," Sherry said.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice sounding small.

"You want to go out with someone like me. I've seen you looking."

Steve blushed again, and he wondered again if she'd noticed him trying to look up her skirt, if she'd known each and every time he'd sneaked a look at her when she was on the phone or eating at her desk or typing away at the computer. "You do," she said.

He opened his mouth, but anything he might have said eluded him.

"Tell you what," she said, standing. "I'll work late tonight and let you go on your date."

"You will?" he said, looking up at her, and somehow she seemed to have crossed the distance between them. "What about your sister?"

"I'll cancel," she said, "on one condition."

"Anything," he said before thinking, though with her now so close, standing over him, the thighs that he'd seen a glimpse of just inches from his knees, he found that Beth was so far from his thoughts as to have almost disappeared from them completely.

"I want you to beg," she said.

He didn't hesitate long. "I can do that," he said, his voice cracking, the thought of begging having an undeniable sexual charge. But she couldn't have meant anything along those lines.

"You didn't let me finish. I want you to get down on your knees and beg." Her smile couldn't have been more wicked.

"Uh . . ." He looked past her to the door.

"Worried that someone will see?"

He nodded.

She spun quickly, her skirt flying up enough to make his heart race, and she went to the door and closed it, then turned again to face him. "On your knees then," she said.

Rob wondered what exactly was happening, and without even being fully aware of his actions, he found himself on the floor, the industrial-grade carpet offering little cushion beneath his knees.

Sherry loomed larger and larger before him until, almost running into him, she stopped, her skirt actually carrying forward and lightly brushing his chest.

"There's an alternative, you know."

He nodded, though to what he wasn't sure. His head had gone cloudy, and he was having trouble processing the situation. All he could think about was running his fingertips up the back of her legs.

"You could work late for me, and in return I'd let you see my panties."

Rob thought he might have groaned, but he couldn't be sure.

"Is that a yes?" Sherry asked.

Rob still couldn't speak. He looked up at her pretty face, framed by her long, dark hair. Under her white blouse he could see hints of a lacy bra, and it wasn't the first time he'd wondered about her breasts. He couldn't begin to guess their size: DD? E? F? Was F a thing? Double F?

He nodded and kept nodding, thinking only later that he must have looked like an idiot.

"Good," she said. "My sister will be so happy."

He continued to nod.

"I like you, Rob," she said, and the sound of his name in her mouth made him shiver.

"I like you too," he said, finally finding his voice.

The skirt, which almost hid her knees once she had taken her feet, jumped upward a few inches, and he realized her hands were just below her waist, one below each hip, her red-tipped fingers drawing the skirt higher, higher.

Rob thought absently how it would look if their boss were to suddenly return — a real possibility, given that she'd have to come back to brief the lucky loser on whatever was so important that they had to work late — but neither did he care.

Praying he wouldn't put her off, he touched his hands to the backs of her calves.

"Oh," she said, and for once it wasn't teasing, seeming involuntary.

Her thighs were as round as he'd imagined, rounder, and nothing had ever seemed so perfect, so full, so right. He wanted to kiss them but didn't dare.

His heart nearly stopped, the hem now a fraction of an inch from revealing her panties, and then he saw the little swell of white silk, shimmering, the ultimate complement to her luscious thighs, and the skirt drew higher, higher, until he beheld the most perfect triangle in creation — pure, soft, a bit of lace on each hip.

His hand went up the backs of her legs, desperate, and passed over the silk of her bottom. She wore bikinis, and he didn't ever want to see her in anything else.

"Do you . . . ," she asked, and he knew what she meant: Do you like what you see?

"Yes," he said. "Yes. Yes." The word became a whisper that he repeated again and again, a word he might have repeated into infinity if his lips hadn't met the white silk, if he hadn't felt her warmth beneath it.

He moaned. Or she did. Or a single moan engulfed them both. He pressed his face into her panties and squeezed her bottom and pulled her against him — burrowing, kissing, inhaling. He seemed to fall backward but somehow she still engulfed him, her thighs pressing against his head, pinning him to her, and he pressed his tongue against the cloth, feeling sure he could taste her through it, and he would have sworn he could hear her moan, loudly, and he knew he was pleading through the silk, not sure for what, but pleading for her, at any rate, and he couldn't breathe, his last breath the scent of her and nothing else.

He drew in air, eyes opening, and realized he was coming to, that some moment had passed. Rob pushed himself up and looked around, dragged himself off the floor. He couldn't make sense of anything, and he fell back into his chair.

A full minute might have passed before he saw the note on his desk, and he stared at it for an even longer time.

"Thanks for staying late. I told Denise to give you 15 to finish up some other work." — Sherry

Realizing his right pants pocket bulged, Rob reached into it and pulled out the most beautiful white silk he'd ever seen.