With
the third wave of models, lights flashed on and off and dry ice swirled across
the stage, giving the stunned audience glimpses of the fashion future. Nipples
poked through holes in flimsy bras or were brazenly displayed on a balcony
quarter cups. Thongs framed perfect bottoms and only half concealed the models’
shaven crotches. Assorted chokers, bracelets, anklets and chains hinted at
dungeons and danger.
Caroline
was on the edge of her seat, staring open mouthed at the parade of near naked
women. She couldn’t relate to the women or the clothing. There was nothing real
about it. Cosimo leaned over and spoke into her ear above the loud music, pointing
at a pair of knickers constructed of loops of material which followed the
contours of the model’s arse.
“I
would like to see that piece on you. Your derriere would do it justice.”
“In
your dreams, Cosimo. They only make this stuff in tiny sizes.” Caroline
imagined the loops of silver material gracing her rear, but then saw herself
getting caught on a door handle and pulling the whole thing off.
Cosimo
poured more champagne into Caroline’s glass and harangued the ex-footballer
turned fashionista. “Such a waste, Giovanni. Why can’t you make clothes for a
normal, beautiful woman?”
Giovanni
laughed. “Patience, my friend. We have a short break now, then you will see the
exotic range. Those models have a real woman’s figure.”
...Before
Bertrand could drag Caroline off for a private meeting, lights started flashing
and a drum roll built to a crescendo. While the audience fixed their eyes
expectantly on the stage, ten models appeared on the floor of the hall, one for
each of the tables. Photographers crowded in to capture the moment the models
climbed on the tables, firing a frenzy of rapid flashes. The stunt allowed the
audience a close up view of Giovanni’s exotic range as the models turned, bent,
and gyrated to the beat of the drums.
As
Giovanni had promised, the models had breasts, thighs, and hips, of sufficient
curvature to display the sculpted underwear. A scientist would have marvelled
at the properties of modern fabrics, infused with exactly the correct percentage
of Lycra to stay intimate with the skin. An economist would have been impressed
at the use of such a small amount of material in an expensive item of clothing.
An artist would have been proud to have painted such designs straight on to the
models’ bodies.
Close
to their audience, the models engaged the eyes of the watchers. They put on a
burlesque show, hooking their fingers into the magic fabric and sliding the
bottoms down a little way, and pushing out their breasts. The ten models in
different outfits moved from table to table, giving each party an eyeful of the
latest exotic fashions. Cosimo insisted on helping the models down from their
table, chattering away to them in Italian; anxious, he explained to Giovanni,
that they should not sprain an ankle.
One
very attractive model had red hair like Caroline’s, only cut in a bob. She
smiled at Caroline and gave her a wink. Her outfit was black, with high waisted
bottoms and a full cupped bra, but with sheer triangular cut outs in random
places, figure shaping but hinting at availability. It was Caroline’s turn to
lean over to Cosimo.
“Now
that’s more my thing. I could even wear it under a business suit.”
Cosimo
pointed at Caroline and then at the model. “Giovanni, she likes this one. Can
she have it?”
“Of
course, but she must try it for size first.” Giovanni stood and spoke in the
model Letizia’s ear. “Please take my guest Caroline to the changing area when
you have circled every table.”
