The Wrong Panties

Post your fictional selfbondage/bondage/chastity/CD stories here.
Post Reply
Paulette the Tart
*
Posts: 15
Joined: 03 Apr 2007, 09:28

The Wrong Panties

Post by Paulette the Tart »

Image


The Wrong Panties

A novel by

Sandy Heath


© Sandy Heath 2014-2015


The Wrong Panties is an erotic novel by Sandy Heath featuring themes of chastity and cross-dressing and descriptions of sexual acts which those of a sensitive nature may find not to their tastes. It is, therefore, not suitable for such readers nor for anyone considered a minor by the authorities in their country of residence.


Introduction


The following is a work of fiction but almost all of the scenarios have been tested for practicality, just for the sake of realism and authenticity of course. Most have been tested more than once, many have been tested several times and some have been exhaustively tested over and over again – only for the sake of research you understand. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!) However, if you choose to indulge in any of the concepts, events or scenarios depicted herein, you do so entirely at your own risk and that of your reputation as a sane human being.

As I said, the following is a work of fiction but many of you will wish it wasn’t and I’ll wager some of you wish it had happened, could happen or would happen to you. Maybe, by the time you reach the end of the first chapter, you will even live in hope that it will happen to you. Well you could always risk leaving it around for your wife or girlfriend to read . . . . . . . . . . if you dare!

Should you choose to share it with the significant female in your life, I feel it only right to warn you that there may be consequences. Two immediately spring to mind:-

One:- she may decide that you’re an incorrigible pervert and leave you for someone far more grey and boring.

Two:- she may decide that you’re an incorrigible pervert and take advantage of your fetishes and weaknesses to ensure that she gets all the sex she wants exactly the way she wants it.

So:-

Be careful what you wish for. -

You just might get it!


Chapter 1

Discovery - Confession – Chastity


My wife and I had been married for 5 years and it was a great marriage but not as satisfying in the bedroom as she would have liked nor as adventurous as I would have liked. We played with bondage a little but our toy cupboard or, should I say, toy drawer, contained little more than a vibrator, some lengths of white and pink rope and a nice set of high quality, fur-lined, pink leather cuffs which I occasionally used to secure my lovely wife to the corners of our four-poster bed while I used the vibrator, my fingers or my tongue to bring her to orgasm and then rather selfishly proceed to use her still helpless form to satisfy myself. However, she wanted longer and more sensitive foreplay, a better performance from my tongue and craved multiple orgasms and I wanted more adventure, much more . . . . . .

What I really wanted was for our rôles to be reversed and for her to take control of me for a change but I was far too shy to ask her to try being more assertive and much too afraid that she’d lose respect for me as ‘a man’ if I admitted to my submissive tendencies. I was definitely too shy to admit that I dressed in her sexier undies whenever I could guarantee that she would be out of the house long enough for me to be certain of an unhurried session of cross-dressing in her sexiest lingerie. Yes, I was no different to vast numbers of other men: we loved women, we loved their clothes, we particularly loved their sexy underwear, we loved the look of it, we loved the feel of it and we sometimes put it on because we especially loved the feel of it on our own bodies. However, also like those vast numbers of other men, I was afraid to tell my lovely wife for fear of the adverse effect my little ‘hobby’ might have on our relationship.

At this point, my story doesn’t follow the usual contrived scenario you’ve all read umpteen times before where the hero of the tale fails to hear his wife or girlfriend unexpectedly return, come in through the front door, march straight up the stairs, burst into the bedroom, there to discover the totally oblivious plonker furiously playing with himself in her best pair of Agent Provocateur panties. No, no-one is that deaf, not even when lying on their back on the bed in the throes of solo passion about to reach the point of no return! In reality it was far more simple than that. Some of her delicates are, well, delicate and I had been somewhat less delicate with them than I should have been when, errr . . . . . . . ‘carried away’. In a moment of manually-induced bliss I’d been rather too careless and had unfortunately damaged a seam on a pair of her most sheer panties and, not being the world’s best seamstress, I’d chosen not to attempt a repair but to put them away, hoping she wouldn’t notice or, if she did, that she would not come to the conclusion that it was anything to do with me. Does that ring a bell with any of you?

Well . . . . . . I was wrong.

A week had gone by since I’d returned her unmentionables to the back of her panty drawer so I thought I’d got away with it and I had almost forgotten the incident myself; hence I was taken utterly by surprise when, after a particularly excellent meal one Friday evening and while we were relaxing on the sofa with a glass of our usual favourite Armagnac each, totally out of the blue she hit me with it:-

“You’re a sissy, aren’t you!?”

I froze. Well, wouldn’t you?

“Pardon?” I blurted out.

“You’re a sissy. . . . Go on, admit it: you dress up in my panties and Heaven knows what else when I’m out and you play with yourself while wearing them, don’t you?”

I had the opportunity of a lifetime to own up to how I was and admit to my secret little ‘hobby’ but I was too afraid of the possible consequences and, stupidly, didn’t take it.

“Of course I don’t. What kind of a man do you think I am?” What a silly question that was! I had been gifted the perfect opportunity to feign innocence and say something along the lines of how interesting it would be to try on a pair of her panties but, instead, I was too busy unwittingly backing myself into a corner.

“I think I know exactly what kind of ‘man’ you are.” She was far too astute to miss a chance like this. “And what’s more, I know how to prove it one way or another.”

“Rubbish!” I blurted out, just making it worse. Foolishly, I’d as good as challenged her to try.

Her lovely hazel eyes widened beneath her long eyelashes which she fluttered enchantingly at me. “Come on then if you’re so sure: up to the bedroom with you and you can prove to me what kind of man you are.” She got up, smiled beguilingly and I meekly followed; both of us taking our glasses with us. When we reached the bedroom, she put her glass down and I took a fair sized swig from mine hoping it would calm my nerves. . . . Needless to say, it failed.

She read me like an open book. “Don’t be nervous, darling. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy this. In fact, I’m pretty certain we both are!” She came over and hugged me and I returned her hug with my one free arm while trying to put my glass of Armagnac down on the chest of drawers with the other. She saw my plight and took the glass from my trembling fingers, placed it alongside hers and then started to undo my shirt. She was obviously about to undress me. Was I going to protest? No way! I made a move to start undressing her in return but she stopped me immediately. “Oh no. This is about you, not about me.” My nerves returned! However, I would have been crazy to make any effort to stop what was happening to me and it took no time at all until I was down to just my underpants: a pair of black satin boxer shorts with pink lips embroidered just above the right leg which she’d bought me for Christmas and which did little to mask my growing excitement, an excitement which was already becoming physically all too evident despite my continued nervousness.

At this point my wife stopped, turned to the chest of drawers, opened our somewhat understocked toy drawer and took out the infamous pink cuffs. Without a single word she picked out the smaller pair, placed them one by one around my wrists and I just stood there like a silly lamb while she buckled them up, looking me straight in the eyes and smiling sweetly. This was getting interesting. Next she took from the drawer two lengths of the white and pink rope I used to tie her to the bed and, instead, added them to the D-rings of the cuffs and tied them to the tops of the tall foot-posts of our sturdy four-poster bed. I was still unbelievably nervous but one of my wishes had unexpectedly come true: my beautiful wife had actually taken charge of me for once . . . . and I was loving it. Oh boy was I loving it! In fact, it was only too obvious that I was loving it as, despite my nervousness, my boxers had assumed a profile which was impossible without internal help! With my arms tied high and wide on either side of me there was, of course, absolutely nothing either I or the satin boxers could do to hide my reaction nor was there anything I could do, even if I had wanted to, to stop my wife as she took hold of the waist band of those boxers with both hands and pulled them down, thus removing my last vestige of modesty. The indication of my enjoyment of the situation sprang free and I was revealed in all my glory, totally naked, totally helpless and with it totally obvious that I was totally turned on.

“So: not only are you a sissy but you appear to enjoy being tied up too!” It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to deduce from the available evidence that at least the latter part of that statement was rather obviously true!

“Well I can’t deny that I am quite enjoying this,” I offered. Having looked down at the state of my manhood, I had just made the understatement of the year. “But that doesn’t make me a sissy.”

“I don’t think ‘quite enjoying this’ goes far enough. Do you, Dear? . . . Something,” She paused and looked me straight in the gentleman’s area, “is telling me you’re loving it!”

As she removed the boxers from my feet my wife came face-to-face with my all-too-obvious arousal and greeted it with, “I must say I hadn’t accounted for you enjoying being tied up like this quite so much. I need your little lie detector a bit less excited, so I think I’ll just leave you for a few minutes to calm down.” then gave my arousal a gentle flick with her finger and, picking up her glass, left the room leaving me to my own thoughts: thoughts which were racing madly around in my over-active imagination. This was all new and I was rather nervous but, oh boy was I loving it!

As the minutes passed my arousal naturally diminished as I pondered the phrase ‘little lie detector’ which she had used and, as my wife had predicted, by the time she returned that arousal was just a shadow of its former self. She looked directly at it and declared, “Good. Nice to see my little lie detector is ready to do its job.” There was that phrase again. What did she mean? She went straight to her panty drawer, delved inside and rummaged around amongst its glorious treasures, removing the most wonderfully frilly, lacy, silky pair of pink, sheer, full panties you could possibly imagine. I, on the other hand, didn’t have to imagine them; I’d worn them countless times. They were, of course, the pair with the split seam, the pair I’d damaged, the pair I’d foolishly put back in the vain hope that she would never think to connect the damage to me.

“Recognise these?” she asked, dangling them just inches in front of my face. I remained mute. “I asked if you recognise these!?” There was a tone in her voice I had rarely heard before: an insistent tone, a tone which implied an instant answer was required.

“No, Dear,” I lied but with an all too obvious tremor in my voice.

“Step into them,” she ordered, crouching down to hold them open ready at my feet and I meekly did as instructed. “So, if I pull them up, your little lie detector won’t react to them at all and will stay resolutely pointing at zero, won’t it!?”

“Yes, Dear,” I said, praying that I had enough self-control to overcome my usual reaction to their silken caress.

Slowly, my wife inched the condemning garment up my legs, stared knowingly at the relevant part of my anatomy which was, no doubt, soon to feel its gentle and oh so sensual caress and said, “Well, you’ve calmed down from your obvious enjoyment at being strung up like this and I’m not doing anything else to turn you on, so any reaction from your little lie detector here will be purely down to these panties, won’t it!?” Oh why did she have to keep calling it my ‘little lie detector’?

“Yes, Dear,” I gulped. I was sure I had just failed to control an involuntary twitch and I’d now started to take short shallow breaths and concentrate hard on the task in hand; a task which I knew full well was actually well out of my hands and about to become a whole order of magnitude more difficult, if not totally impossible, as the ‘task in panties’.

“So: are you a sissy, or are you going to behave yourself in these panties?” With a final flourish she pulled them up over my downstairs brain which was now starting to argue with my upstairs brain and then she said . . . . absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. Not a single word. She just smiled sweetly yet knowingly at me. This was definitely not helping and I was left with the silent internal struggle between upstairs brain and downstairs brain, a struggle which my downstairs brain was slowly but inexorably winning, as my sweet wife could clearly see. I was now fully aware of what she meant by ‘little lie detector’ even though the word ‘little’ no longer applied and, in desperation more than hope, I struggled with the cuffs. Unfortunately, the motion of my struggles only caused my burgeoning erection to move across the silky material of the panties and that just made matters even worse. Yes, Dear Reader, I was done for.

My lovely wife went over to her section of the wardrobe and, after a short rearrangement of the contents, pulled out a dreamy, multi-layer, pink chiffon petticoat with masses of white ruffle trim. I recognised it instantly, having pranced around the bedroom in it like an overgrown fairy many, many times. “So, sissy, tell me all about it,” she said as she crouched down again and held the petticoat open for me to step into, which I did without a murmur of resistance. She lifted the pink and white cloud of sensual material up my legs then settled the petticoat around my waist and I could help myself no longer but tried to thrust forward into its soft folds. She gathered a mass of the chiffon together and clamped it round the tent my rock-hard erection had made in the panties then simply smiled. “Awwwww. Does my sissy husband like being dressed in my frillies? Come on, sissy. There’s no denying it now, is there!? Tell me how wearing my silky panties turns you on. Tell me how this lovely petticoat feels swishing between your legs. You love it, don’t you, sissy? You absolutely love it!”

“Yes, I admit it. I’m sorry.” I almost sobbed as I confessed all.

“Okay. I want to know if you’ve told me everything so give me the password to your lap-top”

“What!?” I was shocked. No way did I want her having access to my surfing history. “But why?”

“The password, sissy boy. Tell me now or, believe me, you’ll stay strung up like that until you do!”

I struggled against the cuffs, my erection constantly tormented by the silkiness encasing it but I had to give in and, reluctantly, very reluctantly, gave her my password whereupon I was left, yet again, still secured by my wrists held high and wide to the tops of the bed-posts but also with the additional torment of the silken panties and frothy petticoat: a torment which was highly arousing but wasn’t quite sufficient stimulation to take me all the way to the ecstasy I sought and was then struggling so hard to achieve.

It seemed as though I’d been lost in the emotions of my predicament for hours before my darling wife returned and I knew from hearing her car depart and return that she’d even been out in it for what felt like half-an-hour. All that time I’d been turning over in my mind all the doubtlessly incriminating evidence of my web surfing habits which I’d convinced myself she was bound to have discovered in the browser bookmarks and history on my lap-top but, finally, she was back in the bedroom where I was still pantied, petticoated, cuffed, strung up to the bed posts, completely helpless and, undeniably, totally at her mercy.

“Well, my helpless sissy. What interesting reading your internet history makes: and wow, those bookmarks of yours!” Oh dear. The worst of my fears were being realised. “No wonder you got so turned on when I strung you up like that! I really think you ought to be punished for keeping all your fetishes a secret from me but you’d only enjoy it, wouldn’t you!?” I had to admit that she was completely and utterly right. I’d have loved her to play the mistress of my dreams right there and then.

“Now, my sissy husband; first of all I don’t think you ought to be getting your fun in my frillies any more.” My heart sank. “No. I think you need some panties of your own.” Wow! I didn’t expect that. I had gone from Hell to seventh heaven in one leap! It looked like I was going to get my very own lingerie? My beloved darling wife had actually just said I needed panties of my own! I almost couldn’t believe it but she then went to her sewing box and took out a tape measure which, after slipping the petticoat and panties down around my ankles, she proceeded to use around my torso, jotting down all sorts of measurements, some rather more intimate than I could see a reason for but I wasn’t about to complain because the attention was exquisite. You see, Dear Reader, none of those silly fantasy tales of being dragged to the lingerie department of the local department store and forced to ask if they had some frippery or other in my size. No. It looked like she was either going to custom make me some of my own or buy them for me in my size. “But that’s going to take time so I’m going to have to stop you enjoying yourself in my panties in the meantime, aren’t I!?” she said.

“No, Dear, I promise I’ll behave. Really,” I pleaded, although I really wasn’t sure I could actually keep such a promise.

“No. Sissies like you can’t be trusted so I’ve done a little shopping at a certain late-night establishment; you know, the adult shop where we got those cuffs that look so cute right now gracing your sissy wrists and I’ve bought a present for you or, should I say, ‘for us’? Yes, I reckon I should say ‘for us’ because I’m sure I’m going to get more pleasure out of it than you are. In fact, I’m sure you’re not going to get any pleasure at all unless you are out of it!” and, so-saying, she produced a small box and, from that, a collection of plastic components including a cage shaped not unlike a certain part of my anatomy, although clearly somewhat smaller than my anatomy had been just an hour or two earlier.

My nerves returned. Why? Because I’d spent enough time on the internet to know exactly what it was and knew that she’d almost certainly read about such devices in my surfing history. The phrase ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it’ whistled quickly through my brain and I started to panic as she read the fitting instructions then left the room with me still helpless and staring at the components of what I recognised all too well to be a chastity cage.

It took only minutes for her to return carrying what I feared most right then, a polythene bag full of ice cubes. Well, I struggled manfully, or ‘sissyfully’ if you wish but, with the chilling help of the ice, the result was a foregone conclusion and, after a lot of amusement on her part and a lot of very plaintive yet totally ineffectual pleading on my part; the only possible culmination of her efforts was the click of the lock echoing loudly through my brain as my fate was sealed, just as the cause of my situation was itself sealed in its new plastic prison. My wife then left the bedroom yet again, carrying the bag of ice but my eyes weren’t on the ice, they were transfixed as this time she was also carrying the keys to my lower brain, the brain which had got me into all this trouble.

She soon returned, obviously without the keys but with a smile on her face that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame. She walked over to me, pulled the panties and petticoat back up from around my ankles and then started to strip. Well, my reaction was obviously very predictable but my best friend was immediately thwarted by my new worst enemy. My struggles renewed as my wife pressed her gorgeous lingerie-clad form against me and used her hands to smother my new plastic prison in the silky panties and chiffon petticoat, teasing and tormenting my inner thighs but leaving me incredibly frustrated as I could feel almost nothing where I wanted to feel it most.

“Would you like some fun, sissy?” she purred.

“Oh yes, yes, yes please!” Boy was I ready and indeed desperate for some ‘fun’!

“Well the only way you’re going to get any from now on is if your skill with that tongue of yours improves dramatically. No more trying to get me off as quickly as possible so you can concentrate on having your jollies. No. I’m going to be rating your performance and, believe me, if it isn’t up to scratch, then you’ll be staying locked until it is!”

With my straining member safely locked away in its new plastic cage, she finally took pity on the rest of me and released my cuffed wrists from the bed-posts. My hands immediately dived beneath the frothy layers of petticoat and into the panties. This was the first time I’d actually seen one of these chastity cages and there I was, locked into it! My natural instinct was to get the damned thing off as soon as possible but I couldn’t see how. My crafty new key-holder had read the fitting instructions avidly and appeared to have got the combination of the various sized components just about right. I pulled, twisted, prodded and shook it but all to no avail.

I was stuck.

“Got you by the balls, has it?” said my captor, handing me one of her most glamorous nighties. “There you are, sissy, you love my lingerie so much, you can enjoy sleeping in that!”

Enjoy? With my form encased in black lace and satin and the folds slithering sensually between my legs, I’d never spent such an incredibly frustrating night in all my life!

However: little did I realise that worse was to come.
Post Reply