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The Wrong Panties
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[Image: 16650435261_6540c8f30d_o.jpg]


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.
Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.
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#2
Wow, great story so far, I love this and wish it would occur to me at times. Keep it up
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#3
Brilliant - do please keep going!
Reply
#4
Thank-you so much for the kind comments.

"The Wrong Panties" wasn't my first attempt to write a novel but it was the first one I actually managed to complete. In a way, I somewhat surprised myself because I was happy enough with it to take the big, for me, leap into self-publication and released it on Amazon just over three years ago.

Because it is available to buy, Amazon would throw a wobbly if I made it all available on a public platform for free and this forum isn't closed to the outside world - but I see no reason why I can't post another chapter here.


Chapter 2

Stainless steel lingerie




     Morning eventually arrived and, with it, pain.

     I’d read about the agony often referred to as ‘the burn’ and now I was experiencing it as my natural male ‘wakefulness’ was trying to push its plastic prison away from my body and the hated contraption was, in its turn, trying to take what I considered to be very important parts of me with it. Well that’s how it felt anyway. I tossed and turned for a while until I remembered having read on the internet that emptying ones bladder was supposed to help, so I slipped out of bed and toddled off to the loo. Having read so much about such matters on various web sites, I knew that I now had to sit to relieve myself but it was still a strange sensation. Anyway, it helped a bit but I was still in moderate agony and was glad to see that my wife was also now awake.

     “Please, Darling, can you get the keys?” I asked. “This damned thing is bloody painful.”

     “Of course,” she replied. What a relief! “It’s not meant to be punishment,” she giggled. “Well it is – but it’s not meant to be agony. It’s just meant to make sure you can’t misbehave when I’m not around to supervise you.”

     My lovely, kind wife got up, left and returned with the keys but also fetched the rest of the components of the cage. Was I let out? No! Just as I’d read on the web and without removing the main body of the cage, she changed to a larger ring and shorter spacer and clicked the padlock back shut! She then found me a tight pair of panties and instructed me to put them on. I was actually wearing her panties; not only with her knowledge but under her instructions but that created another problem: every time I thought about what I was wearing I became somewhat aroused and couldn’t do a damned thing about it! My frustration level was constantly being raised.

     With the new adjustments and the tight panties holding the infernal device close to my torso it was certainly far more comfortable and was now physically bearable if, mentally, it was considerably more frustrating.

     Incredibly, and with the help of a well-known pink antibacterial and anaesthetic cream, over the next few days I managed to come to terms with wearing the damned cage all day and all night. I had been offered the alternative of sleeping with my wrists cuffed and locked to the matching collar around my neck but for the sake of sheer convenience I persevered with the cage instead and gradually fell into a workable routine.

     Two weeks slowly passed and, despite my best efforts to become the consummate oral lover, the only time I was released from my plastic cage was on Saturday morning to shower while my wife looked on, making certain I wasn’t ‘misbehaving’ as she put it. I then had to re-fit the cage myself, with the help of the shower being turned on cold and aimed at the relevant area if I didn’t manage to do it in double-quick time. However, after dinner the following Friday, two long and incredibly frustrating weeks to the day from that fateful evening when I was first locked into the cruel chastity cage, I could tell something was up. My gorgeous wife had a rather familiar glint in her eye which I knew meant it was time to get worried.

     “Do you remember, two weeks ago, I said you needed to have some panties of your own?” she asked.

     My heart skipped a beat. “Oh! Err, yes!” I responded with rather obvious enthusiasm.

     “Well they’re all ready for you to try on.”

     Well that wasn’t what I had anticipated. “Really? Where? Let me see!” I couldn’t wait.

     “Not so fast, panty boy! You really don’t deserve it but I’m going to remove your cage so you can feel them around you where I’m sure you want to feel them most but” she paused “we both know I can’t trust you to behave so get up to the bedroom, strip off and put those cute pink cuffs on your wrists like a good sissy.”

     I couldn’t see why I needed to be cuffed but, what the Hell: I loved being controlled so I didn’t hesitate more than a couple of seconds to comply with my wife’s instructions and rushed up the stairs two at a time! Off came my clothes, scattered all over the bedroom floor in my haste, on went the cuffs and I got out the ropes so my darling wife could tie me to the bed posts just as I had been two weeks earlier.

     “I see we need a properly trained maid,” said my wife, looking disgustedly at the way I’d scattered my clothes in my unseemly haste. She tied the last knot securing me in place then, satisfied that I was helplessly secured, my captor fetched the key from Heaven knows where she kept it hidden, placed it on top of the chest of drawers, and sensually stripped to erotic lingerie I’d never seen before.

     There she stood before me in a tight black satin corset with matching lace trim at top and bottom and a short frilly petticoat which barely concealed wispy sheer panties but revealed seamed stockings held taught by the corset’s six suspenders. She took hold of the key once more and walked slowly towards me, toying with the key between her fingers and waving it in front of my eyes, relishing her new-found power over me and taunting me with the key until I broke down and begged her to use it and release my throbbing, straining member from the torture of its prison. Finally she relented and unlocked the cage and slowly, far too slowly for me, released ‘him’ from his confinement. Needless to say, ‘he’ sprung to attention almost instantly.

     “Wow! Aren’t we keen to try on our new panties!? Go on then, sissy, beg me to fetch them and put them on you.”

     Well I didn’t need asking twice and naturally did just that. In fact I made a proper fool of myself begging with my teasing wife to fetch my new panties and dress me up in them and all the time she couldn’t help laughing at my desperate pleas for my new panties while I struggled in my bonds with my rampant erection bobbing up and down in front of me. I just didn’t care how absurd I looked and sounded: two weeks in that damned cage had reduced me to a trembling wreck, prepared to do absolutely anything to be free and, now that I was, I was prepared to do whatever it took to get some long-overdue pleasure, especially to feel the silken caress of sensual fabrics: a sensual caress which I’d been deprived of for what seemed like far more than just two weeks.

     “Priceless! Priceless!! It’s no good, we have to have a recording of this for posterity,” and, so saying she went and fetched our camcorder. “Come on now, sissy, you can do better than that. Beg. Really beg. Tell me what you want. Plead with me in your best sissy voice to fetch your new panties and dress you in them.”

     Well I did: I gave it my all. I begged, pleaded, used every little girlie ‘Please, pretty please’ style of expression I could think of and it was all being captured by my enthusiastic wife on our camcorder in full HD.

     “It’s all right, sissy. You can stop now. I’ve got enough proof of how much of a sissy you really are and I can use it to keep you in your new panties for years and years. Would you like that Dear? Just say so and I’ll go and get them right now. Just let me start recording again and then you can ask me to dress you in your new panties and make sure you never wear anything else.”

     “Oh yes. Please fetch my new panties and dress me in them. Please, pretty please keep me in them for years and years and years. I want you to dress me in my new panties now and I want to wear them for ever and ever!”

     “Don’t you think that’s a bit rash? You haven’t even seen them yet. What if they aren’t quite what you expect? Do you still want me to dress you in them and keep you in them regardless?”

     “Oh yes, yes, yes, I don’t care, just get them and dress me in them and I’ll wear them for as long as you want!”

     “But what if they’re vinyl? Or latex?” she asked. Oh my, she really had been deep into my web surfing history. Oh please let them be kinky!

     “Yes, yes, I don’t care what they’re made of. Please just get them and dress me in them and I’ll wear them for the rest of my days!”

     My lovely wife smiled sweetly and said, “Very well, my sissy, pantie-loving girlie. That’s exactly what I’ll do,” while putting down the camcorder; then went to her wardrobe, removing an unexpectedly large cardboard box. Wow! How many pairs had she got in there? Please let some of them be exotic, ‘adventurous’, kinky even! Was I getting more than just panties? There must be a petticoat in there too. I couldn’t wait. With that glint in her eye again, my wife opened the box and my jaw dropped. Now I finally understood why all the measurements were necessary.

     “There you are, my dear sissy: the new panties you’ve been eagerly waiting for and so desperate to wear that you’ve been begging me for them and pleading with me to dress you in them and you can never deny it as I have all the evidence on video. Well your wait is over! I’m going to do exactly what you’ve been begging for: dress you in your new panties and, what was the exact phrase you used? Oh yes: you’ll ‘wear them for as long as I want’!”

     She slowly took my new panties out of the box and held them before my wide-eyed, shocked gaze so I could fully take in what she’d got me. They were panties all right . . . . . . There was no denying it. . . . . . They were my size. . . . . . Made to measure. . . . . . My panties. . . . . . My stainless steel panties! . . . . . My locking stainless steel panties. . . . . .

     Yes, Dear Reader: I was strung up completely at my wife’s mercy and had just begged her to lock me in a totally inescapable, stainless steel, made to measure chastity belt and to keep me in it ‘for ever and ever’ and from the gleam in her eyes I could tell that there was no way she had any intention of denying my request!

     I’d awoken a tigress and my life had fundamentally changed.

     As my darling wife had discovered now that she had access to my web surfing history and bookmarks, I’d often fantasised about being in chastity. I was never quite sure why I was fascinated by the idea of being denied the ability to pleasure myself whenever the mood took me and that was despite the considerable amount of research I’d done into the subject. However, there was no denying that the idea turned me on. All I could put it down to was a combination of how one always wanted something even more when one couldn’t have it and the fact that being locked in a chastity device was a secret and very personal form of portable bondage. The icing on the cake was that many of the images and stories involving chastity centred around the male owner of the restrained organ in question being dominated by a gorgeous woman who kept the keys to his pleasure. Now who of the submissive persuasion wouldn’t want that!?

     Well, for the last two weeks I’d found out what the reality was like and I’d tried many times to defeat the plastic prison locked rather too securely about my nether regions. Yes, It was wonderful being dominated like this by my gorgeous wife, who seemed to have been given a whole new invigorating lease of life in the bedroom department and, yes, it was certainly a constant form of very intimate portable bondage but what I hadn’t anticipated was quite how intense that feeling would be of always wanting something more when you can’t have it. You see: I had begun to crave sex like never before! I was unbelievably frustrated and incredibly desperate for an orgasm, any orgasm: so much so that I’d spent a lot of time on the internet researching how to defeat the infernal device and get to reach a climax without my wife knowing.

     It appeared that removing the cage was quite easy for many blokes, although putting it back on without being caught was apparently somewhat more difficult but, unfortunately for me and my efforts, after that first morning of sheer agony, my wife had got the combination of the variously sized components of my plastic prison just right or, as far as I was concerned, just wrong! I just couldn’t get it off and, without getting it off, I couldn’t get off; if you see what I mean. This meant that the only way to remove it and put it back on without my wife knowing, was to pick the lock and, so far, I had patently failed. I’d also tried shaking it like there was no tomorrow and putting various items such as cotton buds in through the slots in the device to try to tease myself to a climax but I’d only found that even more frustrating. As a last resort I’d hunted for my wife’s ‘lady’s comforter’ but could I find it? No! I’m convinced she’d read on one of those web sites that using a vibrator was a way to achieve a climax while still wearing a chastity cage and had hence gone and hidden it! The whole damned thing was infuriating!

     Now, just as I thought I was getting the hang of lock picking and contemplating a new career as a safe breaker, my far too clever wife was about to swap the cursed plastic cage with its little padlock for a full stainless steel chastity belt with a built-in lock which appeared to be one of those with a circular key which someone of my abilities stood absolutely no chance of picking.

     Needless to say, I started to struggle yet again to break free but this time I was struggling like never before.

     “You don’t appear to be too pleased with your present, my dear but it’s no use struggling, we both know from experience how effective those cuffs are. Don’t we?” She was right. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get you the lovely new panties I promised you and I’m not about to waste my investment so you’re staying right there until you’re wearing them one way or another. I’ll leave you to think about it and come back to see if you’re in a more cooperative mood in half-an-hour or whether I should call my sister to come and help dress my sissy husband in his lovely new undies.”

     I was gob-smacked! “You wouldn’t!!”

     “Try me!” An evil grin spread across her beautiful face. “Half-an-hour, my poor helpless one. Half-an-hour to think about it and either come to your senses and do as you’re told or I call my sister.”

     So saying, she left me with my thoughts which mainly centred around whether her sister already knew about the new dynamic in our relationship or not and, if she did know, would she really do that: call her? I looked towards the cuffs. They were, indeed, good quality: welded D-rings on thick, genuine leather and with a furry lining to make them comfortable to wear for long periods. A good investment unless you were strung up by them while at the mercy of your wife who was determined to lock you into a chastity belt. No – struggling was useless as my darling wife had been very careful when tying the knots in the ropes attaching them to the tops of the four-poster bed-posts and had avoided tying them actually at the posts where I could have reached them but had, instead, tied them back at the D-rings by my wrists where my fingers stood no chance of getting to them. How she knew to be so careful I just didn’t know but I marvelled at what you got taught by the Girl Guides! I could see no way out of my predicament and the half-hour passed terribly slowly while I cursed the entire scouting movement.

     Eventually my entrancing captor returned and I couldn’t help but notice, with some dread, that she was carrying one of our cordless ’phone handsets. Was she bluffing and, if she was, dare I call her bluff?

     “Well, sissy, are you feeling more cooperative or shall I use this?”

     Fantasies of being forcibly dressed in stainless steel panties by my gorgeous wife and her almost equally beautiful sister did, I have to admit, cross my mind. The web was full of such stories and, yes, I found them very erotic and must have read dozens so no doubt they littered my surfing history and that was probably where my wife had come across the idea of, at the very least, seeing how I reacted to the possibility. I was well aware that she and her sister shared an awful lot: sisters do but had my wife shared this new aspect of our lives with her sister? The thought of the pair of them standing before me while I was totally helpless and completely naked was unbelievably embarrassing. However, it was also highly erotic and I was convinced that a certain amount of involuntary reaction was evident from my over active ‘little lie detector’ and that my wife had noticed. It was probably the right thing to do to dismiss the stories I’d read on the web as just fantasies but it was very difficult for me to totally dismiss the possibility from my mind. What was happening here, to me, in real life, was something I definitely wanted to keep as private as possible.

     “No, please, put the ’phone away, I’ll cooperate.”

     “Good sissy!” She put the ’phone down on the chest of drawers. “I’ll just leave that there in case you’re tempted to change your mind.” She gave me another of her very knowing smiles and then bent down to the cardboard box, its contents still taunting me from its position on the floor right in front of me and retrieved the various components of the belt from its confines, placing them alongside the ’phone on the chest of drawers. “Let’s see if we can’t make this really enjoyable. How long is it since you last came?”

     Oh wow! Was I going to be allowed an orgasm? My gorgeous wife was still dressed in the black satin corset which clung to her fabulous figure like a second skin. She looked every inch as good as, if not better than, some of the dominatrix images saved on my hard drive and you could cut the erotic tension in the air with a knife. Despite my incredible trepidation at what was happening to me there was no way I could control the reaction of my lower brain to the highly charged situation I now found myself in where I was actually living through some of the scenarios I’d surfed to, read so avidly and repeatedly fantasised over while illicitly pleasuring myself. Yes, Dear Reader, despite my fears over the fate which awaited me, I was rising to the occasion yet again and what I wanted most in the world at that moment was the feel of my wife’s hand clasping sensual lingerie around my throbbing erection. It had been two weeks, two long and frustrating weeks of total denial and I was desperate. If you’ve never experienced what it’s like to wear a chastity device for two whole agonisingly long weeks, you cannot possibly understand how desperate I was. I wanted to come like I’d never wanted to come before.

     “Well, well, my dear sissy, it looks like you’re enjoying it already.” My erotically dressed wife knelt before me and I thrust forward towards her hoping she was about to take a rather eager part of me in her scarlet red glossy lips but it wasn’t to be. She backed away and just blew gently on my rampant member. “Oh no, sissy. I think if I so much as touched you right now you’d just about explode and all our fun would be over in an instant. No. This is such a once-in-a-lifetime event that I want to make it last for as long as possible and savour every single moment. You do want to savour every single moment, don’t you? Every single sensual, sexy, submissive sissy moment? Every erotic second? Every embarrassing minute? Every humiliating hour?”

     Oh my God: what on Earth was she going to do to me!!!?
Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.
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#5
Just finished reading the book; I enjoyed it very much! I often wonder if I could really enjoy such an existence....
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#6
Have you read the whole book . . . . . or just the couple of chapters here?
Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.
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#7
Haven't done a great deal of research - any other stories by the author Sandy Heath - before I tear down the walls of the PDQ internet website ?
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#8
I am working on a second but I've been very busy with other matters lately. When it's ready I may well put some of it up here - maybe a chapter or more before it's published.
Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.
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#9

LOVE the last line teasers at the end of each chapter keeping us in suspense on what proper feminine training is in store for the dainty male girl's future!!

Wink
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#10
Is no-one interested in another chapter? Sad
Don't knock it if you haven't tried it.
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