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Message-ID: <31439asstr$995080202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} The Palmetto Underwear Incident 1/2 (MF oral mild femdom mild tv)  
Date: Fri, 13 Jul 2001 23:10:02 -0400
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This work contains graphic depictions of sex acts.
Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable,
or violates laws in your part of the world.

This story is Copyright 2001 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com)
----------------------------------------------------------------------

THE PALMETTO UNDERWEAR INCIDENT


Not yet fully recovered from the Confederate battle flag controversy,
the last thing South Carolina needed was a display of
insensitivity on the part of the government. Unfortunately, the
Men's Caucus incident went past insensitive and directly to
crass.

It started with a simple reminder to pages for the South Carolina
legislature that halter tops and mini skirts were not appropriate
for the capitol building. In response, persons unknown drafted a
letter in the name of a fictitious "Men's Caucus" advocating
just that sort of dress for pages, including recommendations that
skirts hang no lower than four inches above the knee, and that
bras should be treated as optional attire.

When discovered by the press, the immaterial Men's Caucus and the
very material letter became the source of comical headlines
across the country and a source of consternation for the
governor. Lacking the racial tension, and more importantly, the
official government sanction of the flag incident, the story was
soon dropped by the press. 

However, our intrepid FBI Special Agents, Gerald Maytag and
Heather Stanton, took a larger interest in the affair.
Apparently, so did someone in the South Carolina capitol. Shortly
after the original story broke, a real dress code was put through
the legislature. It specified a uniform for pages, both male and
female. The specification offered options for going with or
without a jacket (to address the Columbia heat that may have
provoked such skimpy clothing) and suggested optional accessories
like scarves and neckties, but was quite rigid in most aspects.
It even went so far as to define what constituted acceptable
underwear. After all, if modesty is desired, it would not do to
have pages running around in g-strings and T-backs. 

The national press took little notice of the new uniform. South
Carolina media treated it with the same seriousness accorded to
the opening of a shopping mall. Maytag and Stanton took note,
though. They noticed that the specification also enabled members
of the legislature to verify compliance with the dress code and
enforce the guidelines in an appropriate manner. Adding two and
two, the agents concluded that the enforcement role, coupled with
the detailed requirements, allowed legislators to inspect the
underwear of pages at will. The Men's Caucus seemed to have won
out in the end. 

Therefore, Maytag and Stanton took a trip to the Palmetto State
to check on the state of affairs. Their first stop in the
capitol, Columbia, was the office of Roderick Campbell,
representative from Charleston and co-author of the dress code.
They were in the waiting area, examining a gold-framed water
color of a white fortress when Campbell announced his presence. 

"That's the Citadel," he announced to the agents. They turned
round to find a short rotund man in a seersucker suit and a
bright red bowtie. Strands of white hair stretched across his
bald head like wet cloth stuck to a rock. He examined them with
beady black eyes on either side of a bulbous red nose. 

"Rod Campbell," he announced himself, taking their hands with the
skill of a practiced politician and learning their names just as
ably. "I'm proud to say that the Citadel military academy is a
part of my district." 

"Is that the reason you're fond of dress codes, Mr. Campbell?"
Maytag asked. 

"You must admit a uniform does display a professionalism and a
commitment to a concern. J. Edgar Hoover understood that, didn't
he? Required proper attire for his field agents." 

"Proper attire," Stanton said. "Not a uniform." 

"Well, Heather," Campbell replied, "It seems that you know what
proper attire is." He looked her up and down, lingering on her
skirt and low platform heels. "At least from what I can see right
now. But if that skirt were an inch shorter, a woman like
yourself might become an impediment to productivity. J. Edgar
never had to think about the impact of pretty little things
running around with real FBI Agents." 

Maytag spoke before Stanton could. "Agent Stanton is as capable,
if not more so, than any agent I know." 

"No doubt," Campbell said. "But it's a matter of image, isn't it?
The FBI cannot command respect running around in lacy pink
underwear." 

"It worked for Hoover," Stanton said. 

"Ah ha. So is it lacey pink, today, then, Heather?" Campbell
asked. 

"That's Agent Stanton, Congressman," she fired back. 

"Congressman," Maytag said, "perhaps we began the wrong way here.
We're just asking about the dress code and the extent to
which..." 

"I understand all that, Agent Maytag. The Yankee mind may move
deliberately toward one goal, but in the South we are disposed to
a more circuitous thought pattern. I believe we were discussing
Agent Stanton's undergarments." 

Stanton looked on Campbell with pursed lips and narrowed eyes.
She wanted to choke him with that little red bow tie. "Is that
what's holding us from our investigation?" she asked. 

"If that is how you wish to phrase the current status of our
dialogue," Campbell said. 

"Fine," Stanton responded through clenched teeth. She put her
hands on her waist and pinched her skirt. Working through the
dress, she took hold of the waist band of her panties and pulled
them away from her hips. 

"Stanton!" Maytag exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"I'm ending the current status of our dialogue." Stanton hooked a
thumb threw the gap and pushed down. When her thumb had doubled
over too much dress, she pulled away and repeated the pinching
movement. When the panties were over her hips, Stanton wiggled a
bit and let the garment fall around her ankles. 

Maytag rubbed his forehead where he felt a headache coming on
quickly. "Stanton, please," he muttered. Campbell observed her
with a widening grin. 

"Finish the conversation, Maytag," Stanton said as she stepped
out of the panties with one leg. She kicked them at Campbell's
chest. The landed on his shoulder above the lapel and his hand
reached out to stop them from sliding down. "And collect those
before you leave." She turned and stormed out of the room. 

After the door slammed, Campbell looked at Maytag with a toothy
smile. "That is one firecracker of a partner you have, Agent
Maytag," he said. 

"I'm terribly sorry about that," Maytag said, gesturing to take
the garment from Campbell. "Agent Stanton is normally..." 

"No need for duplicity," Campbell interrupted. "I imagine she is
always of that fiery temperament. One expects that more from
redheads than brunettes." He had taken hold of Stanton's dark
satin underwear and unfurled it in front of his face for closer
examination. "Maybe I should check these to see what her real
hair color is." 

At that moment, Maytag snatched the underwear from Campbell and
stashed it in his jacket pocket. He no longer felt terribly sorry
for anything. "Thank you for your time, Congressman." Maytag left
the room as abruptly as Stanton had, but with twice as much
underwear. 

* * * 

Adrenaline triggered the flight portion of Stanton's flight or
fight mechanism. Without direct awareness of her movement, she
was outside the Wade Hampton office building. Looking at the
squat young palmetto trees and their long green leaf blades and
feeling the Carolina hot air on her skin woke her from her angry
trance. She was on the way to the State House, and that was a
good a place as any to continue. After Campbell's behavior in his
office, Stanton was quite sure she could find a page with a story
to tell. 

Except for the dark dome on top and the fresh flowers surrounding
the building, the outside of the State House was largely
unremarkable. The colonnade and steps looked no different from
any number of government buildings that a federal officer sees in
a career mixed with bureaucracy. Inside, however, the marble
floors, stone columns, and illuminated vaulted ceiling made an
impression. Stanton approached a dark wooden staircase, and
was drawn to an intricate yellow flower border carved into the side panel
along the wall.

Her gaze moved to the top of the stairs, where she saw a
young man in a gray suit, white shirt, and deep blue necktie
reading from a manila folder. "That's one good thing about
uniforms," she thought to herself. "They make for easy spotting."

On reaching the landing, she badged the sandy haired, suntanned
kid. "Agent Stanton, FBI." 

"FBI?" he asked in surprise. 

"That's correct. I take it from your clothes that you're
a page here. Is that correct?"

"Uh, yeah." 

"Your name?" 

"Lee Jackson, ma'am." 

"Lee, I'm going to need to ask you a few questions about your
duties here, and some of the other pages." 

"I'm not in any kind of trouble, am I?" 

Stanton took the initiative. "We'll have to determine that." 

Lee raked his fingers through his hair. 

Stanton pressed. "Is there someplace private we can go?" 

"There's a lounge we can use," Lee answered. 

"I'm concerned about the presence of elected officers," Stanton
confided. "We wouldn't want to do anything to embarrass you
here." 

Lee gulped. "Follow me," he said. He led Stanton from the landing
to the next floor, and a handsomely appointed lobby. From there
they went up to the dome. It was small and a couple of tourists
milled around. 

"Not exactly what I had in mind," Stanton said. 

"I forgot there would be visitors this time of day. But I have an
idea." 

There was a ladder in the center of the room, enclosed by a
simple cage. Lee unlocked the gate and swung it open. "After you,
ma'am," he said. 

Stanton walked inside and hooked her hand around a rung. As Lee
locked the gate she started to climb. He followed her up the
ladder. Stanton pushed open a trap door and found herself staring
at blue sky. 

"Oh, wow," she said. 

"You can say that again," Lee replied. 

"What was that?" Stanton asked. 

"Nothing," he said. 

Stanton hauled herself to the roof. They were next to a flagpole,
on top of the dome. She looked down at the dull, dark copper
surface, stretching away from her in every direction. 

Lee pulled himself through the opening. 

"It's like a big penny," Stanton said. 

"More like eight million pennies," Lee said. "There's 44,000
pounds of copper here." Stanton looked amused. "Sorry, ma'am, I
used to be a tour guide here." 

"I see." She stood close to him. There really wasn't much room to
stand away from him. Lee licked his lips. Stanton tilted her head
to appraise him and asked, "Are you in full uniform?" 

"Ma'am?" 

"Your dress code as a page includes a full description of
acceptable clothing. I can see you have most of it, what about
the rest?" 

"Ma'am, if you're referring to the official underwear, I can
assure you, I am in full compliance." 

"How about visual confirmation?" 

"Please, ma'am, I'd rather not," Lee pleaded. 

"The girls do it," Stanton guessed. "You know that, right?" A
look of worry and guilt crossed Lee's face. Stanton did not wait
for an answer. "Drop 'em and we can get on with this." 

Hastily, Lee unbuckled his belt and dropped his gray trousers to
the ground. He was sporting official underwear, all right. They
were the same deep blue as his necktie, and embroidered on the
corner with the crescent moon and palmetto tree that appear on
the state flag. Not that Stanton noticed. Lee was also sporting a
tremendous erection that pushed his boxers straight out, and held
the cloth tight to his backside. 

"Oh, my! Is that for me?" 

"I'm sorry ma'am. I've been trying to make it go down, but you're
standing so close, and you were talking about girls' underwear,
and I couldn't get the ladder thing out of my head." 

"Ladder thing?" Stanton asked. 

"I tried not to look, but I couldn't help it. I mean you have
nice legs, and then I noticed you didn't have any...well, you
know..." 

That's when Stanton remembered that she was what the Brits might
call knickerless. Lee must have gotten quite an eyeful on the
ladder. "Don't worry, Lee," she cooed as she took hold of his
stiff staff through his shorts. "We'll just make things even."

* * * 

Looking for Stanton, Maytag found himself in the main lobby of
the State House, a handsomely appointed hall lined with wood
paneled walls, leather upholstered arm chairs, and a marble
floors. A balcony ran along the walls, and through the
surrounding banister, light colored by stained glass windows
poured into the room. In the center of the floor stood a life-sized statue of a man in a cloak, striking a proud pose in the
middle of a woven rug that spread out across on the marble floor. 

Maytag saw a young woman standing by the sculpture, wearing what
was unmistakably the uniform described by Campbell's resolution.
As he approached, Maytag noted that the scarf the statuesque
blonde wore was Union blue, but the predominant color was
Confederate gray. The thought brought a wry smile to his face
that was still there when he stood behind the woman. 

Maytag took stock of the bronze figure and its inscription, and
then the curvy figure standing next to it. "John C. Calhoun," he
said out loud. 

The blonde turned and grinned. "South Carolina's finest
statesman," she said in a mellifluous drawl. "There's also an
impressive bust of Senator Calhoun here in the State House." 

Maytag's eyes were drawn to the impressive bust in front of him.
The way the blonde thrust back her shoulders to maintain a
refined posture only made her chest more prominent. "I was hoping
you could help me," he said. "I'm looking for someone." 

"My name is Paige Halliday if that's any help." 

"Actually, I'm looking for--" Maytag stopped himself. "Wait, did
you say your name was Paige?" 

"That's right," the blonde bubbled. "Paige the page! I get
comments all the time." 

I'm sure you do, Maytag thought. "Paige, I'm looking for a woman,
a brunette, dressed in a dark skirt and a light colored blouse." 

"I haven't seen anyone like that in the last few minutes," Paige
said. "But that could be lots of women here." 

"I understand," Maytag said. "This woman is an FBI agent,
though." 

"Really?" Paige's brown eyes widened. "What's the FBI doing
here?" 

"We're just here to enquire about the new page dress policy,"
Maytag replied. 

Paige's eyes grew wider still, joined this time by a gaping
mouth. "You too? And y'all want to know about the dress policy?" 

"Yes," Maytag said. "It has to do with the inspections." 

"Are y'all conducting the inspections now?" 

"Not exactly. As I said, I was looking for my partner. However,
since you brought it up, would you mind if I address the
inspection matter now?" 

Paige the page looked around the room. "Usually we do the
inspections in the Hampton building. But I guess we could use one
of the adjacents." 

Maytag felt the hair on his arms rise. "A fine suggestion," he
said. "Please lead the way." 

The blonde took Maytag through a door that blended artfully into
the wall. He would never have guessed it was there. Inside the
low ceilinged room were furnishings fit for conducting meetings.
Paige turned to him and held her arms straight at her sides. She
was standing at attention. 

"Yes, that's good, Paige," Maytag said. 

Taking that as a prompt, Paige turned ninety degrees once, then
twice. 

"That's fine," Maytag said. 

Paige turned around to face him, and began to unbutton her
blouse. "I was disciplined for wearing a lacey, bulky brassiere,"
she said, as the blouse opened, and the blue scarf nestled into
the valley of her generous bosom. "So I've switched to something
less ostentatious." 

Less bulky, too, Maytag noticed. As Paige opened her shirt, he
saw that the bra was more of a shelf, and her white mounds
threatened to spill off the shelf at any moment. Parts other than
his arm hair were beginning to stand at attention. Paige stopped
unfastening buttons. She looked at Maytag expectantly. "Oh!"
Maytag said. "Yes, that seems to be more appropriate. Thanks,
Paige." 

"Shall I continue?" she asked. 

"By all means." 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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