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."

Paige unzipped the side of her gray skirt. When the waistband was loose around her middle, she pushed the dress down over her hip. Maytag saw more of her, as white and voluptuous as the tops of her breasts, and a blue strip of cloth that reached around the hip and down to her crotch. Paige worked the other side of the skirt to the same point on her hips. Maytag could see the blue triangle of her panties. There on the material was a white crescent and the silhouette of a palmetto tree, the symbols present on the blue field of the South Carolina state flag.

Once again, Paige stopped undressing. Maytag reacted quicker this time. "Very good," he commented. "Everything seems in order." However, Paige looked more concerned than she had when she was nearly topless. "Paige?" Maytag asked.

"Could you just turn around for this part?" she asked.

"Of course," Maytag assured her, although he had no idea what that part was. Feeling a head rush, Maytag leaned on the table for support. He even went so far as to sit down and unbutton his collar. He thought of Paige, stripping out of her clothes, the curves of her hips and breasts. He wondered how her ass might look, and his prick stiffened in his pants.

"There!" Paige the page announced. She stood in front of him, her clothes closed up once more. Only she was holding what looked to be her panties. "Here you are," she said, offering the small blue bundle to him. She saw his confusion. "You know," she whispered, "for the substance abuse testing."

"Right!" Maytag said. "I almost forgot. That is, of course, the substance abuse testing run by..."

"Congressman Campbell," Paige finished the sentence.

"Yes, yes," Maytag said. "Thank you, Paige." The blonde stood in front of him, still with the shoulders rolled back, only now he could fill in the color and texture of those lovely large tits as well as making out the shape. His swollen cock strained against his trousers. Paige wasn't going anywhere, and neither was his erection. This was no time at all to stand.

"Is everything OK?" Paige asked.

"Oh, yes," Maytag said.

"Then I need to run off and find a new pair of, well, you know."

"I understand," Maytag said. "Thank you for your help."

Just like that, she was gone. Maytag found himself sitting alone in the room, holding the blonde's panties while a full erection punched out at his pants. He sighed. With one hand, he reached down and gave his aching member a squeeze, as if he could squash the hard-on out of existence. He held the panties in the palm of his other hand, gazing on the crescent and palmetto tree that had so recently nestled against Paige's bush. It was not helping to lessen his erection.

The door opened. A girl with jet black hair and lips painted dark red, about the same age as Paige and in the same page uniform, walked in the room. Maytag leaped to attention, and stuffed Paige's underwear in his suit jacket. He felt his stiffy pitching a tent out of his slacks and he slammed himself back in the seat again.

"I heard it was inspection time," the girl said. She looked down at the pyramid bulge in Maytag's lap. "Looks like I heard right."

*

Stanton worked a good deal of spit into her mouth. She was sucking Lee Jackson's large johnson and she didn't have a free hand to help her work. Once in a while his tool popped free of her mouth, and her cheeks and chin were slick with her own slobber. Heather Stanton could not spare a hand because she was using both of them to hold onto the ladder. She was upside down.

With the office buildings of South Carolina looking on the platform atop the dome, and tourists milling below inside the dome, the ladder remained as a readily available option. So they stepped down the ladder from the platform, side by side squeezing onto the rungs. They kissed, they fondled. Then Stanton had a moment of erotic inspiration. She went up the ladder, then wiggled around its opposite side, close to the wall, and came down head first. Lee spotted her, held her weight, guided her.

The position had the benefit of letting her long dark hair fall out of the way of her cock sucking, and letting her dress fall down around waist, leaving her pudenda, already liberated of panties, open to Lee's attention. But it did mean she had to work with no hands, and Lee was quite a mouthful.

There, atop the South Carolina State House, the two engaged in a vertical 69, separated and supported by a ladder. Lee poked two heads between gaps in the rungs, and there was much sucking and licking. It was good. Good enough that Lee felt an approaching climax.

"I think I'm going to come," Lee whispered.

Stanton pulled off his dick. "Not now!" she called. "You'll drown me!" Not to mention her own lack of satisfaction. "I need to turn back around," she said.

"Can you make it?" Lee asked.

"I think so," she answered. "Hold my legs." With Lee holding on to her legs, she snaked her arms around the other side and took hold of a rung. "Now let go!" she called.

Lee released her. Stanton's legs slid down the side wall and when she had room, she swung them around and climbed back up. If anyone in the dome's observation deck saw a pair of feet in attractive black sling backs dangle in the air before shimmying back up the ladder, they made no fuss about it.

Stanton kissed Lee when she reached him. "Mmm," she said. "You taste like pussy."

"And it tastes good," Lee replied.

"Well, why don't you tell me how it feels." She turned away from him and pushed her ass back at him. Stanton hooked an arm over a rung and locked herself there as best she could.

Lubricated as they were, Lee slipped in with ease. He bucked slowly at first, to make sure their place on the ladder was secure. Then he began to test the limits. He banged hard.

"Oh, fuck yes," Stanton moaned. It felt good.

The heat of their bodies was trapped in the narrow passage. Sweat formed all over their bodies. They were so close, squeezed together so tight. Lee's breathing felt like sunrays on her neck. His hips slapped against her buttocks and his cock cleaved her cunt over and over.

Stanton moaned again. Lee covered her mouth in fear of the sounds of their fucking reaching the people below. Stanton came, and she bit down onto his palm, gently, just as the muscles of her twat clenched onto his cock. Lee exploded into her. He shot deep and long, and he wanted to scream himself.

"Oh, shit," he said.

"Not bad," Stanton agreed. She grabbed tissues from a pocket to wipe herself.

"You know," Lee said, "If that's what inspections are like, now I know why Campbell only bothers to inspect the girls."

Stanton looked over her shoulder and smiled at him. "Oh, Lee, you are turning out to be a reliable source of so many good things."

*

The girl appraised Maytag with dark eyes emphasized by pencil thin liner. She actually licked her lips. Maytag swallowed. This was a different breed entirely from Paige Halliday, less southern belle and more jezebel.

"That's correct. As I said to Paige--"

"Paige the page is smarter than she looks," the girl said. "And I'm smarter still. You told her you're an FBI agent. Prove it."

Maytag produced his identification. "Special Agent Gerald Maytag," he said. "And may I ask your name?"

"Dahlia. Dahlia Lewelynn." Dahlia untied the scarf around her neck. "So is the FBI here to shut down the old perv," she said while sliding the blue silk off the back of her neck, "or to join him?"

"You mean Campbell," Maytag said.

"Of course I do," Dahlia countered. "And you haven't answered my question." She dropped the silk scarf in Maytag's lap, where it draped over his hard-on and highlighted its existence. "Though it seems part of you has."

"Maybe we're divided on the issue," Maytag said.

"What a shame," Dahlia purred. She unbuttoned her blouse. "I prefer united fronts. You know, as in full frontal?" Her fingers worked to her waist, and the blouse opened to reveal she wore no bra.

"You're missing part of your uniform," Maytag told her.

"So I am," Dahlia said. "Do you want to check the rest?"

"Yes."

"That makes two of us, darlin'. You show me yours..."

Maytag looked at the door. "Don't worry about that," Dahlia said. "This is just a routine inspection at the State House."

Bewitched, Maytag peeled off his clothes. Dahlia did the same. Maytag was down to white boxers and dark socks. Dahlia stripped to the same blue panties that Paige had worn, and she crossed her arms in front of her to cup her breasts. "Now," Dahlia said with a wild eyed look. "Let's switch."

"What?" Maytag asked.

Dahlia dropped her hands away from her breasts, and stepped to Maytag. Her hips swayed hypnotically. She pushed her palms onto his smooth chest. The hands moved up to his throat, then draped behind his neck. She leaned in, and her soft warm breasts collapsed against his hard muscles. Her face was next to his, so close he felt her breath. A hint of perfume reached his nose. Her lips grazed his cheek, and she whispered in his ear. "Let's switch underwear. Just close your eyes and hand them over."

Her face moved away, and the air stirred the fresh smell of her perfume. Dahlia had already closed her eyes, and her hands moved down her side to her panties. "Just close your eyes and switch," she repeated it like an incantation. "Close and switch."

Maytag closed his eyes, and he lost orientation. His head drifted in a cloud of perfume. He pushed his boxers off his waist and let them fall to his feet. With one leg he lifted them to his waiting hands. Sightless, Maytag offered them out in front of him. At the same moment, he felt the cool satiny panties pushed against his chest.

Dahlia jerked back at the new found resistance. Maytag took hold of the panties, and she found his arm in front of her. Dahlia turned the shorts around in her arms until she found the fly then slipped the boxers over her legs. Maytag found a tag in the waistband and stepped into the underwear. After he went past his knee, it was a struggle to push the garment past his thighs. With a grunt, he managed to wedge them into his crotch. It was an equal struggle to stretch the tight triangle over his throbbing erection.

Maytag opened his eyes. Dahlia stood in front of him in his white boxers. They hung low on her hips, and he could see wisps of black pubic hair above the level of the waistband. She looked at him, open mouthed. Maytag glanced down at himself, and saw that his stiff prick obscenely distorted the image of the palmetto tree. It seemed the plant might leap from the blue fabric at any moment.

"That looks good," Dahlia said. She cupped his cock in her palm, and fingered his balls through the tight material. Leaning in, she planted a wet kiss on his lips.

Their lips opened and their tongues intertwined. Maytag ran his hands over her breasts, and inside the shorts to her ass. Dahlia ran a finger along the crack of his ass and kneaded his stiff rod with the heel of her palm. Maytag slipped his hand around to the front of the shorts.

"God damn!" Maytag exclaimed, breaking their kiss. Her pussy was wet and hot. It felt as if his finger were sliding along the porcelain edge of a hot bowl of soup.

"Use your finger inside of me," Dahlia said, giving his cock a squeeze.

Maytag slid his index finger along her unbelievably warm slit, and effortlessly it sunk in to his last knuckle. Dahlia moaned and gave his cock another squeeze.

"Fuck me with your finger," she ordered him.

Maytag slid the finger back and forth. Her tight hot hole pulled back at him like a suckling mouth. His thumb nestled in her pubes, and the meat of his hand between thumb and forefinger lodged against her clit. All the while, Dahlia yanked on his cock through the panties.

Maytag sawed his finger back and forth, and rubbed her nub with his thumb. He fondled a breast with his free hand and fingered her protruding nipple. Dahlia jerked him off with abandon. The shorts rode up his crotch and produced a subtle pressure against his ass.

"No, no," Dahlia said. Maytag altered his movements. "Like that. Yes! Oh, yeah."

The motions of her hand grew erratic. Dahlia was starting to crest. It was more than Maytag could take to have the lithe, raven-haired Dahlia jilling off, literally in the palm of his hand. He spurted off a hot stream of gooey semen that pooled up against his hip bone and pooled up inside the tight garment.

Dahlia popped off with a moan that she only just stifled by biting into Maytag's shoulder. They leaned against each other for support in the wake of their orgasms. They caught their breath, and wiped sweat from their brows.

"That was great, inspector," Dahlia said. She slipped off the boxers and handed them to Maytag. For the first time, he saw her standing completely naked. His cock gave a little twitch at the site of her bare body, and the head wormed into the pocket of warm jizz. Maytag started to undress. Dahlia saw him hook his thumbs into the panties, one nest to the dark, spreading wet spot.

"Never mind about those," Dahlia said. "I think you'd better just keep them on now."

Quickly, the two dressed. Dahlia adjusted her hair. Maytag tugged at the underwear wedging into his crotch. They left the room together.

Paige the page was there. "That inspection took a long time," she said.

Maytag did not respond. Dahlia turned to him and said, "I told you she was smarter than she looked."

"Maytag!" It was Stanton's voice. She walked along with a young man in a gray suit. Maytag guessed he was a page as well. "This young man has some interesting things to tell us. Agent Maytag, meet Lee Jackson."

"Lee Jackson?" Maytag said with a chuckle. "Your middle name doesn't happen to be Stuart does it?"

"What?" Stanton asked.

"Nothing," Maytag said. "Just a little American history humor. I should introduce Dahlia Lewelynn and Paige Halliday."

Stanton said hello, then added, "Paige the page?"

"Yes, ma'am! I get that all the time!"

"Could you three wait here just a second?" Stanton asked. She pulled Maytag aside and moved close to him. "We may have Campbell nailed."

"We definitely have him nailed," Maytag said.

"Could you handle cuffing him?" Stanton asked. "I don't want to touch the man."

"Maybe we should let Dahila do it," Maytag said. "I'm guessing she's an expert."

"Thanks for the help, Maytag," Stanton said. "Now could I have my underwear back, please?"

"Oh, sure," he said. He fished into his pocket and handed her a bundle of satin.

Stanton turned it over and saw the white palmetto tree and crescent. "These aren't mine, Maytag."

"Oh!" he said. He reached back in his pocket and pulled out the white boxers.

"Those definitely aren't mine!"

"Wait," Maytag said, taking a pause to tug the tight underwear riding up his ass while diving another hand in his pocket. "I have them!"

"You know what, Maytag? Just keep them."

END