Panties for Him (Punish and Pleasure - Volume 1)

by Owen Wilde

  Panties for Him

  Punish and Pleasure – Volume 1

  By Owen Wilde

  © 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  And above all – Enjoy

  Volume 1 of the Punish and Pleasure series!

  Charles is powerless against his Mistress. He'll do anything she ask, anything she desires. And what she desires now is to humiliate him even further. When he indulges in his fetish as commanded, he realizes how much he really loves it and the consequences leave him exposed.

  What will he be forced to do to keep his secret? How far will he let things go?

  Panties for Him

  The dressing room curtain didn't reach the floor and he was painfully aware that his shoes and dress socks were visible for anyone to notice as they passed by. It was chilly, or perhaps it was just that goose bumps had broken out from his neck to the bottom of his spine. How had he let it go this far? His pants were off and hanging on the hook on the wall. His fingers twitched as he pulled down the boxers, wanting desperately to push them back into place and get dressed before he was caught.

  His hands trembled as he touched the first pair of panties he was to try on, pink satin with ruffles across the back. The touch of them against his palm was intoxicating; he couldn't imagine feeling them against his small hard-on that leaked right now against his belly. His cell phone interrupted his dirty thoughts and it was her. Answering quickly was mandatory.

  “Hello,” he talked quietly, not wanting to risk her displeasure but equally afraid to be found here, half naked and wet with the women’s underwear in his hand.

  “Is my sissy slut in panties yet?” Her voice was chilly and only served to torment him further, making him wonder if he were to receive a punishment, yet aching to receive her touch, even a glance.

  “Not yet, Mistress,” he whispered.

  “Put the phone down and do as you were instructed.”

  It was ice in his veins and he immediately complied. He wiggled his hips and pulled the fabric up, tucking his dripping dick inside. He looked in the mirror and almost forgot where he was and a long sigh escaped.

  He picked the phone up again.

  “I have the panties on now, Mistress.” He could barely speak, so drawn was he to the girl in the mirror.

  “Good, sissy girl,” his Mistress purred and his heart hammered, hoping that his compliance would in some way win her delicious affections. He hated the word though and it dashed his hopes every time she said it.

  “I'm not a sissy, Mistress,” he swallowed and felt the nausea rise up, knowing that he risked everything by contradicting her.

  “Are you in panties, slut?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he admitted.

  “Is your little, pathetic dick leaking in those panties?” She was relentless and he sometimes wondered if she knew what he was doing, even what he was thinking, at all times.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he was equally ashamed and excited to tell her.

  “Well then, slut, you're a sissy. You'll learn to appreciate that as we go along,” she continued. “One step at a time.”

  He quivered in the panties. He had imagined this to be as far as she would take this humiliation and had expected her tenderness after he obeyed. How much further would he have to go?

  “What do you mean?” he hissed into the phone.

  “Finish trying on all the panties. You need enough for every day, because your boy underwear is gone,” she snapped.

  “Gone?” he stared at himself in the mirror. The touch of the satin on his most sensitive parts would drive him insane. He couldn't be forced to wear these under his suit everyday. “No, I can't...” he started, but the phone said call ended and he knew that she wouldn't have listened even if she hadn't hung up.

  Alone with his thoughts, he touched his wet nub of a cock through the now sticky fabric and groaned. He couldn't bear it, the softness on him, the shameful secret so close to exposure. He wanted to tear out of the dressing room and crawl under a rock so no one would ever find him. He wanted to touch himself and release his shuddering orgasm all over inside the panties just as much.

  The voice of reason prompted him to make quick work of the remainder of the panties before anyone noticed his manly dress shoes under the curtain, to wait to rub himself in the panties until he was far away from prying eyes and to work the courage up to tell Mistress that he was not wearing the silky underthings every day. His weakness was always that the voice of reason called to him from far away while the hungry little slut inside him clamored and shouted in his ear. He rubbed and grunted and watched himself in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of his pink manhood wrapped in the panties and let out a gurgling moan as he came in them.

  “Hello?” A female voice was calling from outside the room.

  He trembled, biting his hand and shaking. If she came in the room and tore back the curtain, all was lost.

  “Hello? Do you need help in there?” she called again.

  He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak a bit higher, hoping he sounded like a breathless lady trying to squeeze herself into a dress that was too small. “No, I'm fine.”

  “OK, ma'am, just checking,” the woman said and then left with no further inquiries.

  He peeled the soaked panties down and set about getting dressed as quickly as his trembling hands would allow. He dashed from the dressing room and his heart beat in his ears until he threw the crumpled, cum-filled panties into a corner in the back of the store. He strolled casually through the store to the register at that point, crisis averted. He paid for the panties and almost made it to the car when he realized that a voice was calling to him.

  “Sir! I need to speak with you!” The man had caught up to him. A security guard, judging by his uniform. He was at least a foot taller and maybe two feet broader across the chest. The look on his face was one of disdain. “What's your name, sir?” he barked.

  “What's the problem?” he asked. His voice shook a little, betraying his nervousness.

  “Sir, I asked you what is your name,” the security guard would not be distracted by pleasantries.

  “It's Charles. Charles Moore. Is there a problem?” The bag of panties was slipping out of his sweaty grasp.

  “You're going to need to come with me, Mr. Moore,” the beefy security guard said, taking him by the elbow, grabbing his package of panties and starting to walk him back to the door. Charles tried to pull his arm from the vice like grip, but it was pointless. The tall man was silent as they walked back inside, through the store. He felt all the eyes upon him; his face was hot with shame, until finally they reached a door. The security guard unlocked it and drug him inside.

  There was nothing there but an old metal table and two dilapidated chairs. The man pointed toward the table and commanded, “Sit down, Mr. Moore.”

  His heart raced as he sat, wondering what exactly the security guard already knew. Was it the used panties he had relieved himself in? Did they know about the dressing room? Was he going to call the police? All the dreaded scenarios race
d through his mind and he found himself struggling to breathe.

  The large man sat in the chair across from him.

  “Mr. Moore, my name is Officer Rodriguez. I am in charge of store security,” he looked Charles in the eye and Charles could not return his gaze, “and we have a problem. Let me see your bag.”

  Charles dropped the plastic bag on the table.

  “Who are the panties for, Mr. Moore?”

  He gulped; he hadn't had a lie ready. He never expected to have to explain himself.

  “I, well the panties, they're for someone.” He couldn't form the words that would save him.

  “They're for someone? And who would that someone be?” Officer Rodriguez snapped at him.

  “They're for my wife. For my wife,” Charles nodded, suddenly relieved that this was all explainable.

  “That's an interesting story,” the officer nodded, “however, I think you're lying. Let me show you why.”

  Officer Rodriguez pulled out a cell phone and scrolled and clicked until a video was on the screen. He pressed play and Charles saw himself tip-toeing into the women’s dressing room, his state of undress, the phone call he took and he swallowed hard as he watched while he pleasured himself in the panties. Charles grabbed the table with both hands as waves of nausea gripped him and he struggled to catch a breath. The man knew everything.

  “So as you can see, Mr. Moore, we have a problem. Did you know that I could call the police and have you arrested?” The officer paused, letting the weight of that sink in.

  He looked up, lip trembling. He could actually feel a tear well up and threaten to slide down his face.

  “Please, don't do that. I'll do anything you want,” his mind raced at what he could offer, “Money? I can give you money if you erase that video.”

  The large man slammed his hand on the table in front of him, making Charles jump and almost slide off the worn upholstery.

  “Bribing an officer? Do you want to make things that much worse for yourself?”

  Charles felt the tear slide down now and shook his head no. He would start blubbering soon.

  “As I see it, there's only one way to help yourself.”

  He looked up; a tinge of hope was there, a way to help himself. His words jumbled, one on top of the other, “Yes, anything, like I said, that I can do to help.”

  There was a knock at the door and the security guard said, politely, “Excuse me,” and rose to open it. Upon his return, Charles could hear the big man's feet cross the room, accompanied by the click of heels. He turned around fast; how many more people must know about his desperate secret?

  The woman looked as somber as the officer. However, even as petrified as he was at this moment, Charles couldn't deny the twinge he felt in his pants as he studied her details. Tall and slender, she was pale, with dark hair pinned in a knot on top of her head. With her black glasses and long suit jacket that skimmed over her curves, Charles assumed she was a manager, someone in a position of authority, but at this moment, she was just beautiful.

  The click of her long, red nails on the table was unnerving. She sat on the tabletop, inches away from him and suddenly he could smell her scent and see her shapely calves. It was too much. Charles wanted nothing more than to rise out of the chair, pull her close and kiss her pouting, red lips. The sight of Officer Rodriguez skulking behind her was the only thing that kept him glued to his seat.

  “Mr. Moore, I'm Victoria Hodge, the manager of this location,” her voice was deep and stirred him almost as much as the sight of her in the heels. “Apparently, we have a problem. Has Officer Rodriguez discussed the options with you?”

  He tried to answer, but all he could do was shake his head no.

  “If you're a man, then Mr. Moore, you were in the ladies' dressing room for some deviant purpose and relieved yourself there, which is a crime that will involve law enforcement. However, there is another option, of course. If you're actually a sissy cum slut, then you're perfectly within your rights to try on panties in the ladies' room,” she stopped and stared into his eyes, “the only question is, which one are you?”

  The phrase “sissy cum slut” made him tremble. How could she know? Being forced to admit it to this gorgeous woman was far too much at this moment.

  “I'm not a sissy,” he whispered, swallowing hard. He had practiced the speech before, preparing to tell his Mistress. “I just like panties.”

  Miss Hodge hopped off the table and announced, “Well, if you're not a sissy, then it's time we called the police. I'm sure they'll know what to do.”

  “No!” he pleaded. “OK, you're right, I'm a sissy cum slut,” he repeated her words exactly and saying them out loud made his little penis thump in his boy underwear.

  “Now you're just saying it to get out of the consequences, Mr. Moore,” her voice was sharp and made every nerve tingle.

  “No, I'm not,” he stuttered, “what do I have to do to prove it to you?” he asked, accepting his fate. There was no other way to avoid something that would bring his whole world down around him.

  She clicked in the heels as she walked behind him.

  “Get undressed, Mr. Moore.”

  His hands shook, but he complied, unbuttoning and unzipping everything until he stood, naked and trembling before this she-devil that made his erection bob with every tap of her shoes. Charles felt his precum leak and ooze down his balls to his thigh as she continued to inspect him.

  “Sissies wear panties, Mr. Moore. Where are yours?” she snapped.

  He pointed to the bag on the table that the officer had confiscated. “Over there.”

  “Put on a pair immediately then, slut,” she commanded.

  He selected a black pair, the filmy fabric was sheer and it pressed against his throbbing, little dick so that all he could think of was rubbing himself again in this pair.

  “Very nice. However, you're only partly dressed, sissy girl,” she informed him. She circled and stood in front of him, handing him a matching bra. “Put this on.”

  Charles slid his arms through the straps and struggled to hook the fabric in back. After a moment or two, Miss Hodge walked behind him and pulled the bra tight, hooking him inside. The touch of her fingers on his bare skin sent an electric current down his spine. He could feel her breath on his neck when she spoke.

  “There, that's better,” she purred and her hands roamed to the front of the cups, brushing his nipples that pulsed under her soft hand in the silky material. He groaned and imagined her mouth on him there until the soft caress turned into a pinch. He cried out as she twisted both of his nipples with her fingernails; the ache was hot and fiery now.

  “Officer Rodriguez, tell me what else this sissy slut needs,” she asked as she released Charles to shiver in his girly garments.

  “She definitely needs stockings and heels,” the security guard prompted and Charles suddenly remembered he was there. He had been so enchanted with the beautiful temptress who was torturing him, he had forgotten that they weren’t alone. Now he realized that the officer was watching his slow degradation as well.

  “That's right, she does,” Miss Hodge replied and pointed to the chair, “Sit!” she barked and Charles complied.

  She tossed him a garter belt and watched him as he fumbled with the lace. Miss Hodge slowly pulled her arms out of the long jacket and reached around to unzip the tight dress she wore underneath. Charles held his breath as she pulled it down and stood before him in black, sheer panties and bra, similar to his own, with a garter belt attached to flesh colored stockings that made him long to throw himself on her mercy and start a slow worship with his tongue along the edge of the sliver of fabric between her legs and work his way underneath to taste her delicacies.

  “Put it on like this,” she turned to show him how the garter belt connected in back and all he could focus on were the straps across her bouncing ass. “Do it now, sissy girl,” she snapped at him.

  Once the garter belt was secured, she handed him some stockings that
he slowly rolled up both shaking legs.

  “Much better, slut,” she murmured before handing him a pair of red high heels. “These are perfect for a whore to wear,” she added, then turned her head to the officer. “Don't you agree, Officer Rodriguez,” she asked.

  “Yeah, that's going to be perfect for a slut who needs to take cock,” he answered and stepped closer.

  Charles, sitting in the chair, was crotch height to the man who towered above him and saw the clear outline of the man's hard-on in his uniform. He felt so naked and vulnerable in the sissy clothes, his tiny penis dribbling and the lump in his throat made it impossible to think of anything but what the man could do to him now with the monstrosity in his pants. He slid into the heels.

  “Stand up, slut,” she commanded, and he did, his ankles shaking and knees knocking as he tried to balance in the shoes. “Don't worry, sissy, you won't need to walk far in those,” she continued in a mocking tone, “whores spend most of their time on their back.”

  “Please,” Charles begged, real electricity churned inside him now, “I've shown you that I'm a sissy, can I please go?”

  “Ha!” she scoffed and walked around him, clicking ever closer to his trembling body. “You haven't even begun, sissy girl. I don't believe that you're a sissy yet and I won't until I see you doing the only thing that sissies are good for.”

  “What's that?” he whimpered.

  “Why, little whore, don't you know?” she paused, and his mind raced, wondering what else would be expected. When he didn't respond, she answered for him, “Take cock in both of their sissy holes, of course.”

  He moaned and begged her, “No, please, please, I can't.”

  Her long red nail ran down his chest, traced the flesh on his stomach and reached his hard nub that simmered in the panties and he cried out and thrust against her soft touch.

  “You'll do what I say, sissy, or I'll call the cops and they can figure out what to do with you, dressed like this,” she whispered in his ear.