“Objectification” was the hottest new line in lingerie fashion. Every bra or pair of panties cost literally hundreds – sometimes thousands – of dollars, and deliberately low production runs made them rare collectables as well. But it was common knowledge that they were sought after by *all* the hottest actresses, models, and rich women, which meant that every girl dreamed of owning her own Objectification underwear.
There was a gimmick, though – Objectification only sold to men. If a girl wanted Objectification underwear, she had to convince a man to buy it for her, from one of its classy exclusive boutique stores.
When Melanie got a job at her local Objectification boutique, it was all of her dreams come true. It paid ridiculously well – so well that she was able to immediately take out huge bank loans to buy a house and sportscar – and it barely involved any work. The boutique only dealt in small numbers of clients each day – all of them wealthy men – and it was ridiculously over-staffed, with three shopgirls in attendance at all times.
Sure, there were strict requirements. She had to dress attractively. That was no problem for Melanie. She was naturally gorgeous, with long red hair, a saucy smile, and a curvy but not overstated figure, and she looked good in almost anything. And she had been made aware that Objectification required the highest standards in customer service – if a customer was dissatisfied with a shopgirl, for any reason, no matter how trivial, the girl would be immediately dismissed.
Her first day on the job was easy. The men knew what they wanted, and Melanie had little to do other than ringing up their purchases and bagging the clothes. She smiled, and flirted a little, and the men flirted back, and one gave her a tip – a one-hundred dollar note!
But the next day things got more complicated.
“Hi,” said a customer, a handsome late-20-something man in an expensive suit. He put a white bra-and-panties set on the counter, and looked her up and down. “I’m thinking about getting these for my girlfriend,” he said, “but I’m not sure. You look like about her size – could you model them so I can see what they look like?”
Melanie blushed bright red. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to displease the customer – but surely she couldn’t be expected to model lingerie for him?
She looked to the other shopgirls for assistance. Breanna, the most experienced of them, sighed, and walked over. Melanie blushed and looked away – Breanna’s huge surgically-enhanced triple-D cup tits, emphasised by her low-cut top, always made Melanie feel a little inadequate.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Breanna to the customer. “One moment.” She turned to Melanie. “Go try them on, Mel,” she said. “This is the job. That’s why there’s always three girls – haven’t you noticed there’s always one that’s petite, one that’s your size, and one that’s a Barbie like me? It’s so there’s someone close to the right size to model the product.”
“But…” said Melanie, feeling fluttery, like she might cry. “I haven’t even let a boyfriend see me in underwear before…”
“Honey, your boyfriend can’t afford Objectification, and this man can,” sighed Breanna. “You can do the job, or you can leave the job.”
Melanie knew she couldn’t leave the job. She had loans now – loans she couldn’t afford to repay without this income. Her face bright red, wishing desperately that this wasn’t happening, she collected up the lingerie and went to the changerooms. (It occurred to her that she should have wondered why there were changerooms in a lingerie store that sold only to men.)
It felt weird getting naked at work, even if no one could see her with the door closed. But when she put on the lingerie, she had to admit she looked good. Objectification was top-tier fashion. She looked like a fucktoy – but a fucktoy of the most expensive and desirable sort.
Still blushing furiously, she emerged from the changerooms to let the customer see. She was glad the boutique store didn’t have windows onto the mall, affording her some degree of privacy.
The man smirked a little, and said, “I can’t see it if you hold your arms in front of your tits like that. Put them behind your head. And stop looking down – chin up, please.”
Melanie reluctantly took her hands away from her boobs, and moved them up behind her head. The pose thrust her chest out embarrassingly. She thought she couldn’t possibly be any more ashamed – until she realised that her nipples were hardening, and her pussy was wettening. Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe she was getting aroused! She tried to tell her body to stop, but it wouldn’t listen. She tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, and hoped the customer didn’t notice.
“Do you like it, sir?” asked Breanna.
“Oh yes, I like it a lot,” the customer replied, and somehow Melanie knew that the “it” was not the lingerie, but rather her.
“Would you like to see anything else?” asked Breanna.
“Actually, yes,” said the customer. “My girlfriend likes to pose for me in lingerie to turn me on. I’d like to see if it’s going to work if she’s wearing this outfit. Can your shopgirl cup her tits for me, like she’s offering them to me?”
“Of course,” said Breanna. “Melanie?”
Melanie paused. She thought about refusing. But she couldn’t. She put her hands under her tits and cupped them, lifting them up for the approval of the customer.
“Good,” said the customer. “And what about if she faces away from me, and bends forward at the waist, legs spread, and holds her ankles?”
“No!” blurted Melanie, without thinking. It was too much! And she was increasingly aware of the wetness in her fuckhole. She was worried she was leaving a wet patch on the panties. In the pose he was asking for, the customer would see!
Breanna arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Melanie, did you say something?”
Melanie dithered. She thought about the money. She thought about the loans.
“No,” she said, “I’m sorry, sir. Of course you can see that.” Slowly, she turned around, bent forward, and grabbed her ankles. Her ass was spread wide for the customer – were it not for the panties, he’d be staring right at her anus – and the place where the soft white fabric cupped her pubic mound was clearly visible. The fabric *was* wet, she knew, and she knew that it was now obvious to everyone in the store.
And the worst thing was, the more embarrassed she got, the wetter she got. She desperately wanted to touch her pussy, to stroke it, and that only made her more ashamed.
There was a long silence as the customer stared at Melanie’s ass and cunt. Then, slowly, he said, “That’s *almost* right. But you see, when my girlfriend does that pose, she actually pulls the crotch of the panties up between her pussy lips….”
There was silence again. Melanie held the pose, desperately hoping Breanna would finally say this was too much. But she didn’t, and after a moment Breanna walked over to Melanie and gently tugged upward on the rear of the underwear. Melanie felt the crotch pull up into her pussy, and felt her engorged, sticky pussy lips pop into public view on either side of the crotch. She moaned involuntarily with arousal as the fabric pulled against her sensitive cuntflesh. She felt a feeling deep inside her that wanted release, and if she gave in to it she didn’t know whether it would turn out to be deep uncontrollable sobbing or a powerful and humiliating public orgasm. She fought it, desperately.
“Please, sir,” she gasped, still bent at the waist. “Is this enough? Would you like to buy these?”
He thought about it. Then he said, “Do you know what my *favourite* thing about my girlfriend in lingerie is, though?”
“No, sir,” said Melanie.
“It’s looking down at her in the lingerie, kneeling, sucking my cock – and then the look of her in the lingerie after I ejaculate all over her face and tits,” he said. “I like this lingerie, but I’d be prepared to pay double if I knew that it would look good in *that* scenario.”
Melanie couldn’t help herself. She started to cry.
The customer laughed. “Oh, god, the lingerie looks *twice* as hot when she’s crying.”
“Absolutely, sir,” said Breanna. “Melanie, would you like to model what the client is asking for? Or… would you like him to leave *unsatisfied*?”
Melanie was a virgin. She had never done anything more explicit than suggestively stroking her boyfriend’s cock through his pants. She had certainly never sucked a cock or let a man cum on her face and breasts before. She didn’t want her first time to be like this, with a stranger.
But…. the loans…
“Yes, sir,” she said, still sobbing, rising out of her bent-over pose. “I’ll model that for you. I think I’ll look very pretty sucking your cock. Would you follow me to the changerooms, sir?”
And then, as she led him to the room where she would allow him to rape her face and decorate her with his cum, she remembered her throbbing, needy cunt, and added, hopefully, “Sir… when your girlfriend sucks your cock… is she ever allowed to finger her pussy while she sucks?”
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