Panties for Him (Punish and Pleasure - Volume 1)

© 2015

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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 raced
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.