A Very Private Fashion Show Pt 01

(I'm dividing this story into at least two parts to see if there is any interest. I'm new to the world of Mind Control and I've done my best to continue in this very interesting category.)

I started out doing the books for The Restaurant, but my skill with The Voice soon got me promoted to manager.

New members inducted into The Club were amazed, then amused, that men would be practically begging to bring their wives and their girlfriends to this invitation-only restaurant.

Little did they know that the secret behind The Restaurant was that we deliberately invited only the most beautiful women. We would test them for compliance-- right in front of their men-- and then invite the most promising female guests back to The Club under some pretense. We would tell them to strip and they did. We would tell them to act out our wildest sexual desires and they would do so. Such was the power of The Voice.

The Voice could not be taught to outsiders. It consisted of a lower octave, breathing out, speaking more softly-- all of that at once.

It was, as far as we knew, only passed from father to son. There were less than thirty families, and just over 110 men left in the world who were confirmed to have The Voice.

We speculated that it was once a necessary component of leadership. In times of crisis, orders must be followed without negotiation. Eventually it changed to only be the power of men over women. There were times that humans almost died out, and unfortunately females had to be ordered to mate without consideration of their feelings.

We didn't dare do any public DNA research. There were intelligence agencies around the world searching for "wild talents" like ours. They would happily put us in a cage for their experiments.

Back at The Restaurant I was eagerly going through the pictures we'd found online of tonight's female guests. My favorite by far was a Debra Drake. She was even sexier than her name. I put her at 5' 8", 36C or D, about mid to late thirties.

She was a model-quality stunning brunette with legs that someone needed to sculpt and preserve for the ages. Every publicity shot of her-- a typical trophy wife with her own charity-- included exceptionally nice shots of those luscious limbs. Even when she was presenting an oversized check to a happy charity recipient, she was always wearing something short or slit-- or both. All eyes should have been on the check, but you could see the eyes of all of the men in the picture taking in Ms. Drake's own considerable assets instead.

I decided I would choose her for my own personal entertainment and hoped that she would be most compliant.

(Some common terms: a 'compliant' female obeys commands using The Voice without much complaint and not requiring repeated requests.

A female 'in thrall' has entered her own special place: a fantasy or a creative 'reality' that she uses to explain how she could be stripping naked and sexually entertaining strangers. Once in thrall, repeated use of The Voice becomes less necessary.

An 'event' occurs when a compliant female 'guest' is invited back to The Club to strip and to provide sexual entertainment for several other members.)

When Ms. Drake finally entered The Restaurant I was momentarily rendered speechless. She was even more stunning in person, a beautiful mature woman, warm and smiling, her sweet face and her astounding curves and her high-heeled legs filling my vision.

I barely noticed the husband. As expected, he was probably fifteen years older. He was positively beaming all night as he saw all the attention being paid to his lovely wife by our all-male staff.

It was time to turn up the heat-- literally. It was a cool night in early spring and we began making it slightly over warm. Time for the waiters-- all Voice adept-- to apologize profusely and advise the beautiful ladies that they may need to "make yourself more comfortable."

Now we watched to see who responded. Invariably, four out of five ladies would start unbuttoning blouses... some to dangerously low levels. Others would actually hike up their skirts and use them to fan their suddenly hot thighs.

We would keep it up, planting suggestions that our booths were semi-private, and that clothing could practically be coming off if done discretely.

My Debra was wearing a silky silver blouse that clung to her body. By the time I went over to apologize for the terrible heat, said blouse was open to the belly button and I could see her substantial cleavage and the center portion of a lilac brassiere. Her black mini skirt was pulled up to record heights; I had been advised to approach from a certain angle and as I did so I caught a tantalizing glimpse of her matching lilac panties teasingly clinging to the folds of her lower vulva.

As I walked up she stated: "If you don't stop this heat wave, my blouse is coming off!"

Her husband was glaring at her and at me for looking. I liked jealous husbands: it was something else to hold over the women as they sweetly stripped for us.

I quickly informed her that the heat problem was fixed and she should soon be feeling cooler air. Almost immediately she looked down at herself and started covering up. "What am I doing?!" she muttered.

"Turning into a stripper!" her husband muttered back.

Just then their main course was served. With the husband distracted I took a small ornately addressed envelope and placed it in front of Debra. I leaned in and whispered "This is only for you!"

She looked up, startled, but she took the proffered envelope and slipped it into her purse.

Excellent. She had proven herself remarkably compliant and she had just accepted my invitation to a very private fashion show -- in which she would be the only model and would be wearing decidedly little in the way of fashion.

* * *

Debra very helpfully included her measurements with her acceptance email: 38C - 26 - 36. Even more impressive than I thought! We certainly had some very minimal clothing that would fit her very well-- we did allow them to wear something-- but only for a while.

The night of the big event, there must have been thirty eager men present. We had a midsize room that we used for larger meetings and presentations... especially presentations of a new female guest, who would be gradually undressing and teasing the eager crowd.

There was a small stage with stairs on both sides; the audience floor had lines of padded metal chairs, set up for optimal viewing.

Herbert and I were setting up backstage. There really wasn't much of a changing area, just some old office cubicles that were wide open.

It was a cool early evening in late April. The beautiful Debra was escorted in by Reginald and she looked around, confused.

"Where are the other ladies?" she asked.

"What other ladies?" responded Herbert, innocently.

"Well, the other models!" exclaimed Debra.

"Oh, there must be something going around," I stepped in. "There were only two other ladies and they both called in sick. But there are so many potential donors here, we decided not to call things off," I added, trying to get in front of her objections.

She shook her head and looked for somewhere to hang up her coat. Herbert gallantly took it and hung it on the clothes rack we had set up in one of the open cubicles. She had a pretty knee-length button-down dress on, with a repeating pattern of springtime flowers; obviously she came prepared to have something on she could easily take off.

"And," she added, "I hope your wives are stepping in to help me out back here?" She was looking at the very open setup with dismay.

"Oh sorry," said Herbert. "But Robert and I are both professionals with plenty of experience around women-- dressed and undressed."

It should go without saying that we were both using the Voice from here on. All these men were here for this very special event, and we weren't about to waste any time in getting this pretty lady's clothes off.

She was looking at us quite skeptically when Reg walked in carrying her first item to model. As he hung it up on the clothes rack where she would soon be hanging up all of her own clothes, we all got a good look at what she would be 'almost wearing.'

The outfit consisted of a diaphanous pink nightie. The nightie had irregular, jagged hems, the lowest it would reach would be mid-thigh, the highest hem would show off the panties.

Those matching pink panties were equally see-through. The only saving grace to our dear lady's modesty would be that two layers of see-through material would at least hide a detailed look at what she had between her legs. Her breasts would however be prominently displayed: her nipples would be quite visible under the tiniest bit of pink lace.

To say sweet Debra was shocked would be putting it mildly. "This is what I'm modeling: lingerie?!"

Herbert stepped up. "You'll have absolutely no problem with this... minimal clothing! You are a strong, confident woman, very comfortable with her body."

She sighed. "You're right, of course." She looked around. "Where do I change?"

Now it was my turn. "Right here-- in this cubicle-- if you don't mind. We have to be here to help."

"So you're gonna watch. Great! I know, I know: you both have so much experience watching women undress." She rolled her eyes.

And then she stepped into the cubicle and started unbuttoning. She kept herself turned away, but was constantly glancing over her shoulder to see if we were still watching. Silly girl!

She hung up her dress and was down to a pretty, silky, white bra and panty set-- still turned away from us. With a theatrical sigh, she reached behind to undo her bra.

"We have specialized hangers for your lingerie," Herbert informed her, always the gentleman when it came to ladies undressing for him.

"I can see that," she replied. She was standing right next to the clothes rack as she hung up her brassiere. She gave us a look over her bare shoulder and I wanted to take her right then. There is something beyond sexy in that special look a girl gives you who knows that you're watching her strip.

She kept up the sighs for our benefit as she pulled down her panties. She was still turned away from us and I was deliberately not making her turn. We had a wonderful view of the twin mounds of her curvy buttocks until she swiftly grabbed the nightie and seated herself in the chair we provided.

"You've done this before," I observed. "Modeled, at the very least, and probably modeled lingerie."

She stopped moving.

"You have to tell us. It will be our secret," I promised.

She sighed again. She had no choice under The Voice.

"It was for a catalog. I was blonde then; I used my maiden name... straight out of college. It was... a very sexy company. Sexier things than this. And we all heard rumors that they made their female employees come in naked on certain days: just to entertain the salesmen!" She shook her head. "I didn't last long-- it was way too adult for me!"

Herbert and I looked at each other. This was most intriguing. We would have to research this company and see if any other models-- or nude employees-- could be found. Women who had already posed nude or almost nude were especially vulnerable-- particularly if their husbands didn't know about their past.

While she was speaking, the panties went on. Now, still seated, she dropped the sexy nightie down around her. It had to go over her head, then she had to squeeze her ample bosom into the bra part. She reluctantly had to stand up to tie the front around her waist. Then she at last turned to face us.

Now we could see her long auburn hair flowing almost down to her bottom. The pink nightie had spaghetti straps that led to what amounted to a daringly low cut built in bra. Her nipples were clearly visible, surrounded by lace and behind the pink fabric they turned the color of her hair.

The rest of the tiny garment was just a flow of silky material that exposed almost all of her incredible legs, barely extending beyond panty-level. The nightie gave a girl the choice of leaving it open in front, exposing both nipples and her sex through the see-through material. Even though Debra had it closed, she was so stunningly and unabashedly sexy: a beautiful woman in her prime, that we were both temporarily speechless.

"I'll leave you to it young man," Herbert patted me on the back. "I will leave her in your more than capable hands."

Herbert was grinning as he left. I know he viewed me as a younger version of himself. I believe he also knew that we were both much more adept with The Voice than we allowed the others to know-- and that we both took dangerous chances outside The Club with certain exceptional women.

I took Debra by the hand and led her to where she could peek out through the curtain at her eagerly waiting audience.

"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, predictably. "It's all men!" And then: "shouldn't I be wearing heels?!"

I smiled and soothed her with The Voice. "You are a beautiful, sexy, confident woman. The sexier you are out there, the more money you'll raise for your charity. And as for shoes..." I looked her over. "Just leave them off. I like you barefoot-- it makes you look even more undressed."

She blushed and kept peeking through the curtain. I then took a major chance with her. I told her I was going down to the podium, set up on the floor below center stage. She would hear me announcing her, she would come out and do a model's walk twice, back and forth, and then stand center stage and follow my instructions.

I looked at her. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and I left her there-- definitely not recommended, even for a woman who was fully in thrall!

I received some light applause as I emerged. The men were getting anxious to get to a good look at our guest. They were going to get more than a look-- I was going to arrange for a bit of light groping.

I went down the few stairs off the stage to the podium. I announced that we only had one model today but she was very special. I then had everyone welcome Debra with a round of applause.

I looked at the curtain nervously but there she was. There was not only applause but a sharp intake of breath. There were shout-outs to me: "Good job Robert!" and "Excellent!" and "One of the best beauties ever!"

Debra stopped stock still at the sudden adulation until I motioned for her to do her walk. She looked fantastic barefoot on stage in that outfit. We were all imagining her walking into our bedrooms dressed like that.

She stopped at last, just above me, waiting for instructions. Now I released my breath. I had taken a chance leaving her alone and not using The Voice for so long. Now it was back to business.

"Very nice Debra," I said. "Now turn for the gentlemen very slowly. Let's see every side of you."

She was blushing and breathless. She was still working off my sexy and confident instructions, but the lustful gaze of all these men was getting to her.

When she was facing away from us I stopped her. I decided to try her with more

intimate commands that would test her level of compliance.

"Gentlemen," I began. "I'm sure you've all noticed how delightfully transparent Debra's pretty negligee is. But many of you haven't as yet seen more than a glimpse of her little panties. Debra: please lift up your negligee from behind-- all the way up to your waist-- and let us see."

She turned her head and looked at me with her mouth open, then she turned away. I guess my hard stare back was enough: she hiked up her negligee, all the way to the waist.

There were "wows" and low whistles from her male admirers. I knew she was hating her exposure; her very stance was stiff and embarrassed. I could have put her fully under and made her strip like a robot, but this shy reluctance was much more enticing.

What we all could see now through her tight diaphanous panties was the sweet curve of her ass as it drew our eyes delightfully down; all the way between her legs. That little space, that light between her thighs was most visible. It hinted at those twin openings just above.

I decided it was time to bring dear Debra down from the stage to spend some more personal time with her fans. I went up and gave her a hug around the waist, thanking her. She probably thought this part of the show was over until I took her hand and started down the steps.

"Where are we-- what are you doing?!" she whispered.

"It's quite alright," I assured her, squeezing her hand. "The gentlemen are fascinated with your little outfit and they want to see it-- and you-- up close."

She took a deep breath. She had no choice. She followed me down the steps so carefully in her sweetly bare feet. I so wanted to rip everything off and just totally eat her up right there.

The men were seated at first as I led that barefoot and blushing brunette around. Then they got bolder and started to get hands on, under the guise of feeling the material.

Once their hands were on her bare legs she gasped and stiffened up. I explained to her that we were all professional men who were not only studying a woman's intimate fashions but also, just out of necessity, a woman's firm body.

She had to buy all of this bullshit as I was reluctantly putting her deeper into thrall. I could see she was in a daze and blinking a lot, as every other man was stepping up and feeling her up. She was showing all the signs that her conscious mind was no longer accepting what was happening to her, and she was shutting it all out.

Finally, just as things were getting a little too much for her, I led Debra away from the groping over to a corner. There was a recliner there that I'm sure she hadn't noticed. On a nearby table, exactly eight gentlemen were picking up sketchbooks, pencils and metal rulers.

"What are-- what do you want me to do?! she asked, nervously taking this all in.

I squeezed her hand, which was becoming our special comfort signal. "It's going to be okay. The gentlemen are making a special study of the... intimacies of the female form. All in conjunction with their interest in intimate fashion. Seeing the way you're dressed-- or rather, undressed-- you'll make the perfect subject!"

Then I led her directly to the chair, had her sit and then lie back. Her negligee was still closed in front and she was clutching it tightly.

"This won't do," I announced. I gently pushed her hands away, untied the thin pink strips of fabric, and then let the filmy material fall about her hips, totally exposing her.

She stared straight up at the ceiling, refusing to acknowledge how much we all could see. The panties were so tight, and so transparent, that we now could appreciate the excellent job she had done with her pubic hair. It was a nice wide triangle: thick hair on top designed for a man's fingers, down to a very fine layer on her labia.

There was not enough hair on her outer lips to tickle her clit, nor was there enough to interfere with someone intent on tickling her little nub himself. Her lips appeared closed all the way down, but I thought I detected a glistening trickle of moisture.

"Gentlemen," I announced. "If you're all ready, I will now briefly display Ms. Debra fully for your special measurements". And with that announcement I simply tugged those panties down.

"Wh-- what--" she started, moving her hands in that direction.

"Shh... it's alright. They've already seen everything anyway; this is only so that their measurements are more exact." I squeezed her hand tightly and she looked into my eyes and started to calm down. Then the gentlemen came up and started putting those cold metal rulers right against her bare vulva.

She tensed up as expected. Every time it happened, her little toes would curl. She had her eyes closed now-- this couldn't really be happening-- and she kept squeezing my hand.