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The Knicker Bag
Mistress knows all about my juvenile obsession with ladies' knickers. She loves to see how deeply I will debase myself just to earn the privilege of playing with the objects of my fetishistic devotion.

Mistress has devised the Knicker Bag. This is a specially adapted plain white cotton single duvet cover. It has a couple of airholes, neatly stitched to prevent fraying. It has 'Sissy's Knicker Bag' embroidered in big bright pink letters.

First, I must beg Mistress for my Knicker Bag time. On my knees, naked and with my hands clasped in front of me, I beg, wheedle, beseech and implore Mistress to permit me time in my Knicker Bag. Unyielding, Mistress watches on as my pleas become ever more pitiful. Soon I am grovelling to Mistress in a soft, girlish lisp - but still to no avail.

Finally I get on my belly and lick Mistress' black patent leather high heeled shoes. Mistress loves to see me crawl at her feet, slobbering over her shoes, sucking the 5 inch stiletto heels and slurping my tongue the full length of her soles. She finds this hilarious, but her laughter only spurs me on to even greater depths of servility. Mistress gets a kick out of berating me, sneeringly telling me what a pathetic little panty boy I am, reminding me of my sexual inadequacy - all while I enthusiastically and unhesitatingly agree with her. I'll do anything to get in the Knicker Bag.

Finally, Mistress relents. I am given permission to pull the Knicker Bag over my head and down the full length of my body. Carefully I lay on the bed. Mistress then proceeds to fill the bag with knickers and panties from my extensive collection.

Pair after pair goes in, with Mistress taunting me and commenting about all my 'pretty knickers'. Gradually the bag becomes stuffed full of knickers - all different styles, fabrics and colours. I am surrounded by my beloved knickers, which tickle and caress my hairless body. Mistress stuffs some more pairs of knickers in, then buttons up the bag at my feet.

The bedroom light goes out and Mistress sneers "Enjoy yourself, panty boy!" and I hear the bedroom door click shut behind her.

Now I am all alone with my beloved knickers. My hand is trembling with excitement as I take the first pair and lovingly caress the soft fabric against my cheek. Free from any expectation of having to perform sexually as a real man, I am liberated to express my worship for ladies' knickers and panties. I kiss the panties, finger the lacy legholes and waistband, caress the material. Softly murmuring "I love ladies' knickers" in a breathy girlish lisp, I find the gusset and bring it to my lips. I kiss the gusset reverently, again and again, repeatedly whispering "Ladies' knickers ... Ladies' knickers" and visualising knickers under ladies' skirts - what the gusset would look like from underneath, how the gentle swell of a lady's bottom and tummy would fill out the pretty, feminine garment.

I remind myself that this is something I will never know, or deserve to know. I must content myself with worshipping each pair of ladies' knickers in my Knicker Bag.

My tiny weenie throbbing with panty boy excitement, my hand desperately reaches for another pair of ladies' knickers ...

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