Oh, him? No, don't mind him, he's just my husband...

Update: Gordon asked who I think is the husband? He guessed the gentleman in the picture. What's your guess?

An Overdue Encounter

An interesting little aspect of Emily's job led to a somewhat erotic encounter on Friday afternoon last month, something I should have written about then.

Emily's boss, Adam, is based in another city and visits here a couple of times a month, usually spending the day with her.

A couple of months ago when he was up here, Emily was all, "Adam this", "Adam that," "Adam said this," and "Adam said that." It got to the point where she said, half joking, half serious, "I'm sorry, I have not seen you for two days and all I can do is go on and on about Adam." That apology ended with a kiss, some time on the couch talking over some wine, and a wonderful foot massage (I gave the massage. Funny how that works.)

Oh, the interesting aspect? When Adam is here they usually meet at a hotel downtown, whether he is staying the night or not.

Yes, before you ask, it's innocent (well, I assume or assumed, anyway.) The hotel has meeting rooms and training rooms, and more often than not, Emily is not the only one going to the meeting.

But that doesn't mean my mind doesn't fantasize.

I mean, fuck, SHE MEETS HER BOSS AT A HOTEL a couple of times a month.

How am I supposed to keep an innocent mind with that nugget of information floating around my brain.

So, Friday afternoon. It started with Friday morning when I was in bed reading my email on my iPad and Emily walked into the bedroom from the closet (big walk-in, where all clothes are so she gets dressed in there) to pick her watch up off a side table.

"Fuck, Em," I blurted out almost dropping my iPad onto the floor.

"What? Oh, this? You like," she asked, striking a pose in the light pink lingerie--bra, garter belt, panties--and nude stockings she was wearing.

"Of course I like," I said, reaching for her with one hand which she quickly and deftly slapped away

"Stop," she laughed, "I don't have time, silly, besides I didn't wear this for you."

"Who for," I asked, half accusing, half wondering what devilish game she was playing.

"For me, silly," she said, deflating the fantasies already spinning in my pretty head. "I have an important meeting this morning, you know nice it is to feel pretty and confident, I wanted to look really sexy today." Well, I actually did, being a sissy myself.

"Oh," I said reaching for my iPad again, "I don't remember seeing anything on your calendar." We share google calendars, so I know what's on hers and vice versa.

"Last minute," she turned and walked back towards the closet, "Adam emailed me last night after you went to sleep. He came down here last night and I'm meeting him in his room at the Hyatt at 8."

Well, my mind that had shut down just a second ago was not spinning furiously.

"What," she asked when she walked back into the room putting a pearl earring into her ear.

I just looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Wait, silly, you aren't...I'm sorry, sweetie, I totally wasn't thinking. That sounded strange, didn't it. I'm wearing pretty lingerie and meeting my boss at his hotel room and you immediately start thinking it's something dirty, of course. I should have known," she shook her head and walked back to the closet. "I mean, you're not thinking I wore this for him, are you?"

Well what the fuck else would I be thinking? Seriously? As if she didn't know, as if she wasn't doing this on purpose.

"Wearing pretty lingerie because I want to look sexy for him," she called from the closet.

When she walked back into the room, she was wearing a blouse that was slightly, though not inappropriately, low cut. And a skirt that was short, above the knee. "I'm bad, aren't I?"

"Yes, Emily, how the fuck am I supposed to concentrate today?"

"Well, not by imagining me fucking Adam's brains out," she leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, "when I meet him at a hotel wearing such pretty lingerie."

"Em, you're a bitch," I said, meaning it, totally meaning it.

And her bitchiness got worse starting at about 7:50 when she texted me.

"I feel so fucking sexy!"

Then at 7:55.

"I think the valet thought I was a hooker!"

And then at 7:58:

"About to knock on his hotel room door. Mentally picturing myself as a $1,000/hour call girl. I'm so hot."

Then one more.

"Fuck, I am sooo dressed the part! I'm also soss wet, if he comes on to me, I'll never be able to say no to him, love. Never thought to bring condoms to a work meeting! Oh, well, here goes..."

I didn't hear from her the rest of the morning or over lunch or in the early afternoon. She did not answer my texts or my phone call. That's not all that unusual when she is working, but fuck, all that did was make me think of her all fucking day. Pun. Fucking day. Made me think of her fucking, all day.

At 3:00 I got a text from her. Finally.

"Are you busy this afternoon?"

"No, why," I responded, fingers trembling.

"I want you in my bed looking pretty in lingerie in 45 minutes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

It took twenty minutes to drive home; my secretary probably never saw me leave the office so quickly. Another twenty minutes to put on something pretty, put on some makeup, and get into bed and wait for Emily.

She walked into her bedroom and immediately got a grin on her face. "Wonder what I've been doing all day, sissy?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"I mean, besides spending the day with my boss in a hotel room?" She was starting to undress, the reverse of what I saw this morning, first taking off her blouse, slowly, as if stripping, then her skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor.

I noticed right away, I suppose being a sissy, I have an eye for that sort of thing. This morning, her panties were under her garter belt; now they were on top. She saw my eyes, saw what I saw, saw what I recognized.

"Hmmm," she giggle. "It never fails to amaze me...or turn me on...the stark contrast between a feminine sissy laying on the bed, her small, little clitty hidden away, and naked, masculine, man."

"You're mean!"

"Am I? Isn't that what you want, my pretty?"

"Yes," I admitted as I had so many times before.

"You want to hear a story?" She looked down at her waist. "About how a woman's panties get over her garter belt?"

I bite me lip. "You're not just going to get in bed, are you?"

"Oh, Sara, you know me better than that...and I know you better too." She went to her closet and came back with a pair of panties in her hand, from her hamper, I assume. "Here," she said, tossing them to me, a perfect shot, landing them on my face. "Use these on your arms." She motioned with her arms over her head, indicating I was to bind my wrists above my head to the headboard, something she had me do now and then, something I eagerly did, submissive at heart as I was.

"So the woman decides she wants to look extra pretty, nothing special, she just wants to feel pretty so she wears a garter belt and stockings and matching bra and panties...kind of like this," she models at the end of the bed. "And this woman, well, say she's got a meeting with her boss, at a hotel, completely innocent, of course, but she wears kind of a short skirt (she looks down at her skirt on the floor) and kind of a low cut blouse (she looks down at her blouse on the floor) and when she knocks on his hotel room door she has this strange feeling, suddenly imagining herself as a call girl...

"And impulsively, just before the door opens, she undoes one more button on her blouse, she knows she's being naughty, she's in a relationship, but her boss, he's so handsome, so masculine, and she just can't help it."

Emily walked over to the bed, sat down next to me, rested a hand on the smooth, shaved skin of my thigh. "Do you like my story, sweetie?"

"It...its interesting."

"Hmmm," she drew little circles on my leg. "Just wait, it gets better. See, when her boss opened the door, he hardly looked at her, he was reading some papers for their meeting, invited her in without so much as a second glance, which kind of upset her since she feels so sexy and what call girl isn't even noticed?

"So she comes in and, almost pouting, instead of sitting at the table, or even the couch, she sits down on the bed and isn't careful to tug at her skirt, doesn't care, and lets it ride up her legs knowing it will expose the tops of her stockings and knowing that her boss, when he turns around to look at her, won't be able to help but notice her legs and her breasts, from the way he's standing and the way he looks at her and flirts with her. With me so far?"

"Yea," I clear my throat, "yes."

"Finally, he looks up from his papers and I...she...can tell from the look on his face that he's surprised. He looks at my...I'm sorry...her legs and then her breasts and just stands there, mouth open. I...he mumbles...we...he says...we can't...what, she asks uncrossing and recrossing her legs seductively."

Emily climbed up onto the bed and straddled my legs and it was a good thing I was bound, loose as it was, as I would have attacked her for sure.

"Should I continue, sissy?"

"Yes, yes," I beg, humping, wanting her to continue moving on my body, continue with her story."

"Well, she sees the look on his face and knows exactly what he wants no matter what he says and she wants it to, so in a moment of boldness, says to her boss, yes, yes you can...just this once."

She moved up; her panties grazed mine, teasing me, barely touching me.

"Should I stop?"

"No, no," I practically yell.

"She excused herself and went to the bathroom and undressed; she carefully undid her garter straps so she could take off her panties, and walked back into the bedroom now feeling completely like a whore and not caring, just wanting it, cock, cock."

She leaned down towards me, her breasts touching my chest through the soft cups of my chemise. "Do you know why she wanted cock," she whispered in my ear.

"Why," I groaned.

"Do you know why she needed cock?"

"No, no, why, please Emily!"

"You know why, sissy, but you like to hear it, don't you?"

"Why, why!"

"Because she doesn't get it at home, sissy, that's why she's there pretending she's a call girl begging her boss to fuck her."

"Ohhhh," I moaned as she teased me with her "story".

"Fuck me, she begged him, fuck me, fuck me," she said, rubbing her panties on me, ensuring I was close to bursting.

"Please, Emily, please."

"Please what, sissy?"

"Please fuck me," I whimpered, wanting her, needing her.

"Oh sissy, my silly sissy. She didn't spend all morning fucking her boss, enjoying real cock, to come home to something like this."

"Em, dammit, please!"

"Oh sweetie, sweetie, when a woman's been fucked all day, she's swollen and sore and doesn't even want something small and soft inside her. What she wants is her tender, sweet, submissive sissy to lick her and pamper her and clean up after her."

As she said this she was working her way upwards so that her panty covered crotch was coming closer and closer to my face.

"Isn't that what YOU'D rather do if I spent the day getting fucked by a man?"

She lowered herself to my open mouth, what else would I want to do but lick her and taste her and submit to her?

NOTHING!

Erin Wasson - Vogue Spain, June 2011

From: OH FASHION MODEL

My Naughty Thoughts

Seeing this picture somewhere on the web today, all sorts of inappropriate thoughts and fantasies flew around in my mind.

Why?

She looks sooooo much like Emily. The hair, the breasts, the obviously long legs-I almost had to look again to make sure it wasn't her!

So it seemed natural to think of the model as my Emily, naked, harnessed, bound tightly, gagged, helpless, nipples clamped, and fucking drooling and drooling and drooling. She wants to cum soooo badly, she needs it soooo much, but he won't let her, no, he's teasing her and denying her and driving her wild!

What is it, picturing her submitting to an alpha male, that drives me so wild, too?

Half the reason...

Half the reason I want to wear a skirt to the office is because I want that guy I see on the elevator every day, the one that looks a lot like Adam Arkin, to invite me up to his office for coffee and sit me down on his lap and tell me, in a serious, stern voice, that he just absolutely loves pretty sissy girls and wants to hire me as his executive assistant. Yea, half the reason.

Image from: Creative Photography by Geof Kern | Photography Blog

UPDATE:

To answer Gordon's question, no I'm not really considering wearing a skirt to work. I'm not coming out of the closet just yet. I do wear lingerie to work every day, though. That said, EVERY morning when I wake up, and I mean every morning, I regret just a little that I can't wear a skirt to work. Sigh. Just the girl part of me wanting her time, too.

Bon Prix 2011 Valentines Day Lingerie Collection

Not the whole collection, just the pictures that made me think of my love that I was not with on Valentine's Day, and perhaps, who she was with.

From: UHQ Models

Dallas-Fantasies

Busy day yesterday.

For me and for Emily.

Did not hear from her until late, 10:30 her time.

Todd came over to her place and she and her roommate and Todd studied.

Yea, I have a dirty mind, made so much more dirtier by being in chastity.

This is what I picture them studying.

Who's He?

Yea, who is she in the back of a car with? Let your minds wander.

From: Art or Porn - You decide

Hidden Treasure

And the funny thing in my fantasy? The girl in the closet is really a boy. 

Another Present-Updated

The Bet

When I got to her house, I found a bustier and panties on a hanger in the hallway, draped over a lap. Next to it were stockings and mule slippers.

"Be at my house at 7, I'm paying off the bet tonight," Emily's text that afternoon had said.

"Seriously?????!!!!!!"

"Yea, seriously, 7 sharp."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought, holy fuck, yes!

The bet was something stupid, almost comical, but I'd won. The stakes? If she won, I had to buy her a case of this wine she really liked.

If I won, I, and I can't believe she agreed, I got a blow job!

Yes, sissy that I am, stood to win a blow job from Emily.

To completion.

Giggle.

I won. I won, I won, I won, I won, yeah me, I WON!

But I still bought her the wine, anyway.

That was a month ago, by the way, my victory.

Do you think the rest of the afternoon was one of my most productive?

Er, no.

"Look in the hallway when you get here, then come find me," Emily's text at 6:45 said.

I was shaking, fucking shaking, the rest of the drive to her house.

There in the hallway was the lingerie. Fuck was it pretty and soft and delicate and tender and I wanted to wear it the instant I saw it.

Her guest room was just off the main hall; that's where I kept my boy things, my suits and other things that I'd leave at her house. The male things. She didn't allow my male things in her room, the things there were my feminine things, Sara's things.

I undressed quickly, the boxes with my self-adhesive breast forms were on the top shelf of the closet in the guest room. Emily had thought of that. She was so sweet like that, so demanding like that.

I dressed, hurried, but careful, shedding my male self adopting my female self, with practiced ease, applied light makeup, tussled my long hair, easily making it look feminine, becoming Sara, living Sara, breathing Sara.

She was waiting for me in her bedroom, the vixen, the temptress, the seductress, the bitch.

She was waiting for me, sitting on the edge of her bed, in black lingerie, looking sinister and expecting and dominant and I suddenly understood that she was going to pay, but pay her way.

"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," she chuckled, crossing her nylon covered legs. "A pretty little sissy for me to play with."

I laughed, an excited, hungry, needy laugh, the laugh of a male, sissy or not, about to get a blow job.

"Do you find this amusing, dear?"

"A little," I admitted, taking a step towards her, my panties at face level.

"Oh, no, no, no, my pet, I'll pay up, but don't you even think that I'm going to get on my knees like a common whore," she scolded me, at the same time carefully humiliating me, reminding me that I spent hours of my life on my knees, serving, licking, worshipping her.

She scooted back on the bed, knelt, patted the spot in front of her. "Here, pet, here, lie here, submit to me."

I did as she asked, no, did as she ordered, the shift was not subtle, it was telling, obvious. I was beneath her, literally, figuratively, I was her pet, I was her sub, I was her prize. She was the top, not me, in many ways, in all ways.

"You know, my pet, it's kind of ironic, that even now, even like this, you're still such a sissy, you're still such a girl, you're still so soft and so sweet and so pretty, even with this," she reached out and touched me through the soft panties, "even with this, even like this," she lowered her voice, almost whispering, barely audible, leaned forward till her mouth was just hovering over me, "you're not a man."

"Oh, fuck, Emily," I shook as she opened her mouth and ran her tongue over the outline in the panties, "oh, fuck, oh fuck."

"That makes it all the better, all the more exciting, all the more pleasurable, doesn't it? It's hardly a blow job because even like this, you're not a man, you're a sissy."She licked again, ran her tongue over the bulge, over the feminized sex, like a clit, not a cock.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh," I bit my lip trying to quite the scream her light movement, her words, her scent caused to form in my throat.

"What's underneath these panties, sissy," she toyed, running her fingernails over me. "Do you have a cock for me to play with? Because all I've been thinking about all day is giving a blow job and feeling a big, thick cock in my mouth."

My mind was struggling, male versus female, masculine or feminine, boy or girl. Emily took the waistband of the panties in her fingers, licked her lips, looked me in the eye.

"I want to taste cock, Sara, I want to taste cock," she hummed as she slowly peeled the panties downward.  "Just like that picture I sent you yesterday, I want to suck cock, I want to suck cock." She finally pulled them down over me and my erection jumped at the freedom and she licked me and ran her tongue from the tip to the base.

"You know, don't you, how badly I want it?"

"Yes," I struggled to stay still, struggled to keep from grabbing her head and forcing it on me, to devour me.

"How badly I want to suck cock?"

"Oh god, fuck, Emily."

"I want to suck cock," she said again as I shook with desire.

"You want it too, don't you sissy?"

"Yes, Em, yes, god, yes."

She licked me again, from the base to the tip, slowly and seductively and cruelly.  Her mouth was poised over the tip, so close, tongue out, so close to taking me.

"Do you know," she licked the tip.

"How much it turns me on," she swirled her tongue around it.

"To hear that you want," she opened her mouth while she looked me in the eyes with my head off the bed, begging her silently to do what she wants to do.

"To suck cock, too," she growled and lowered her head and took me into her mouth which was so wet and so warm and so rare.

"Emily," I huffed and puffed as the current shot through my pelvis outward to my chest and my arms and my legs and I tried to form the words to deny what she said but could not, would not, so distracted and excited and hurt as I was by the very sensation of her mouth on me, taking me, touching me.

"It's so exciting," she swallowed, "to know my sissy," she lapped, "want's to suck, too."

"Emmmmmmmmmm," I shook as waves of pleasure raced through my body.

"To know you want to taste a man."

"Ohhhhhhh," I groaned, trying to, not wanting to, unable to say no.

"To lick a man."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

"To taste a man."

I breathed over and over, hyperventilating, struggling, physically, mentally.

"I get so wet, sissy, when I imagine a MAN in my mouth and I get so wet when I know you dream of the same thing, too."

"Uhgh, ugh, ugh," I panted.

"Not yet, Sara," she said and I looked down and realized I was no longer in her mouth, "not yet."

"Please, Emily, fuck, please," I shook, the urge to cum so strong, so strong."

"Hmmm, say it, just once, I want to hear it, just once, please, say it just once."

"Emily, please..."

"Say it, Sara, just once..." Her mouth was poised over the tip again, ready, open, close.

"Em..."

"It makes me so wet..."

"Ohhhh..."

"I want to suck cock, Sara," she swirled her mouth on me.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck."

"Say it, Sara, say it just once."

The thing is that I don't want to suck cock, I never want to suck cock, I DO NOT WANT TO SUCK COCK...

but if there was a man there, just then, just at that moment, i'd open my mouth and stick out my tongue and beg and beg and beg to taste him and lick him and feel him inside me.

"I want to suck cock," I said as softly as I could and she lowered her mouth and took me inside her and let me go again.

"That's a good girl, now say it again."

"I want to suck cock," I said louder and with less conviction but more need and more urgency and more desire.

"That's is sissy," she said and took me into her mouth.

"I want to suck cock."

And she sucked and sucked and....

A great spasm swept over me and I exploded as she had me, the tip of me, held in her mouth, I exploded, cock on her lips and on my lips and in my brain and in her mouth, cock, wrong and forbidden and nothing I EVER wanted to do but admitted I wanted to do and dreamed about and fantasized about pined for and needed and wanted...

And then she was on top of me kissing me, touching me, possessing me and making me taste and eat and swallow everything that came out of me and into her and back into me.

Cock, cock, cock.

Oh, fuck, Emily, fuck.

The Games She Can Play

From:     Emily
To:         Sara
CC:      
Subject:  I can't decide...
Sent:      Mon 12/13/2010

Sara

I found this picture this morning and couldn't decide what made my panties wetter:

1. Thinking about licking a man's cock while you sat next to me watching me give the best blow job ever.

2. Thinking about you getting on your hands and knees while I sat there and watched my pretty Sara pleasing a man.

Love,

Emily

Lili Marleen

From: Behance Network

Merry Christmas, my new story at Fictionmania is up!!!

Here is the link to my new story, titled The Photo Shoot

Enjoy my pretties.

Saw this hanging up at the mall

Click the picture to get the full size.

Stunning

From: EmpireArt Blog

This One Is Reality

iChat

I'd logged into my iChat when I got up to check my email and had forgotten about it as I got dressed for work, so I was startled when I heard the distinct incoming IM sound.  I was almost ready to leave for work.  Damn, I should remember that.

I walked to the Mac laptop sitting with a dark screen on the desk of my bedroom, touched the track pad, bringing it to life.

"What color panties this morning," the IM from him read.  I felt the overwhelming rush of submission overcome me just seeing his IM, let alone reading his question.  Damn him.  What the fuck kind of question was that to ask me this morning?  I was feeling masculine, today.  Dark grey suit, French blue shirt, power tie.  Total businessman. MAN.  Powerful.  Important.  ESPN was on the television.

Man.

I should lie. It would be easier. Pink. That's all I had to type. Pink.

Fuck him, pink. Type pink. 

Pink. Then, have to run, important meeting.

Just lie. A real man would just lie, no?

Well, no, not really.  A real man would type, "fuck you," and block that person from iChat

That was the point, I knew, of his question.  Letting me know what a real man would do. Seeing what I would do. I could lie, still. Forget pink. White, even, plain, white.

So simple.  "What color panties this morning?"  

"Fuck you." So simple an answer. For a man. 

Fuck...you.

But my masculine morning was rapidly crumbling. Just lie, then.  

He'd never know.  Just lie.

I actually typed the first two letters.  "P…I…"  Then stopped.  Damn him!

I had to go.

 "Boxer shorts," I typed, mostly avoiding the question. Fuck, why did he do this to me? Why did I let him do this to me?

For a minute no response.  I was actually uncomfortable, sitting there, watching the screen. He was logged on. He was typing.

"My question was really, 'what color PANTIES are you wearing this morning?’'"

Damn him, damn him, damn him.  Why was my face reddening?  A sense of shame filled me.  Shame, of all things.

"I'm not wearing panties, this morning," I typed. "I'm wearing white boxer briefs."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Not wearing panties?  Pantyhose under your boxers then?"

I should have lied.  I SHOULD HAVE LIED. I looked at my watch, I had to go, I wanted to go. "No."

"Trouser socks?"

"No, no, nothing…just…just…"  I paused, not sure if I should type it.  "Just men's clothes." 

"Men's clothes," he typed immediately.  "Just men’s clothes? Including men's boxers?"

"Yes, yes," I typed, the sense of exasperation felt in my pounding of the keys.

"Men's boxers?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Men's boxers?" 

"Yes."

"You’re wearing men’s boxer short, that’s what you’re telling me?"

"Yes," I actually gulped as I typed.

"I find that somewhat amusing."

"Why," I asked, without thinking, half looking up to see a play on ESPN.

"Why?  Well, I suppose I always thought men's boxers were for…"

I looked down at the IM alert. Waiting. Waiting. Finally, his last word came across. 

"MEN!"

"Yes," I answered, gulping as I typed.  I wanted to leave.  I still felt it.  Masculine.  I had my dignity.  I wanted to leave, to get to the office, to forget about iChat, about him.

"That implies that you think you're a man?" 

"I…"

He typed again.  "A man?  A man?  You think of yourself as a man?  Is that right?  Does SISSY actually think he's a man today?"

"I…"

But he would not let me answer.  "What's a sissy?  Tell me?" 

"An effeminate man?"

"An effeminate man?  Yes.  I agree.  Effeminate?  Having characteristics of a woman?"

"Er, yes."

"Wearing panties, for instance?  Wouldn't you agree a sissy, an effeminate man, would wear panties?" 

"Yes."

"Would a man wear panties?  You know, a man, like me? A man, a...I have to ask, a real man???”

"No, never!"

"Only an effeminate man?  A sissy?"

"Yes."

"And you're wearing boxer shorts today?  Men's boxer shorts." 

"Yes."

"Men wear boxer shorts, correct?"

"Yes, yes."

"Strong men.  Masculine men.  Real men?"

"Yes."  I gulped.  It was one thing to play this game late at night, in a sexual mood.  It was another to do it in the morning like this.  For real.   

"Are you a real man, is that what you’re implying? That you look, um, 'normal' in boxer shorts? Like a man? Look at yourself. Is that what you're telling me?"

I looked down, could not resist. I did not answer.  I was afraid to answer.  I was afraid of the question, my reply.  I was afraid of what I thought of myself, no matter what I was wearing.

"I asked you if you are a real man?"

"I…I don't know."  I could not get out a yes or a no.  I equivocated. 

"Oh, you don't know?  You mean you might be a real man?  You might be 'qualified' to wear boxer shorts?"

"Maybe."  Sometimes I said things like that to be a brat.  Sometimes I was just scared.  Scared of what I really was.  This was one of those times. 

"What were you wearing yesterday under you suit? Hmmm?"

DAMN HIM!  I wanted to be a man, today!

"Please…I…I should go to work."

"What were you wearing yesterday under your suit?  Answer me!"

"P…panties."

"Panties! You got dressed for work yesterday just like a sissy should, didn't you? Thinking how soft and feminine and pretty you are."

"Yes, yes I did."

"How many men work at your office??"

"I don’t know. Twenty, maybe."

"And how many do you think wore panties yesterday?  Ten, fifteen?'

"I…I don't know."

"NONE!  None wore panties, little boy.  MEN DON"T WEAR PANTIES.  Do you think I wear panties?" 

"No..no."

"Who wears panties to work?"

"Women."  I quickly typed the answer, again looking at the clock.  Fuck I wanted to go!

This was like chess.  The king (the queen) chased around the board, slowly cornered, slowly trapped. 

"Are you a woman?  Do you have a vagina?  Do you have breasts?"

"No, of course not!"

"Does a man wear panties to work? Answer me!"

"No!"

"What did you wear to work, yesterday?"

"Lilac...lilac satin panties, please, I have to go.”

"Do men wear panties to work?"

"NO!"

"Are you a woman?"

"NO!"

"What did you wear to work?"

"Panties!"

He was closing in on me, forcing me, torturing me.   

"You wore panties to work.  Are you a man?"

"No."

"What are you, then?  Tell me?  You're not a woman.  You wore panties to work!  What are you?"

Trap sprung.  

“Please...” I did not want to say it. I did not want to type it. I was in a hurry, I wanted to be...to be a man today, I did not want to play his game.

“What. Are. You?”

"A sissy."

"You're a panty wearing sissy.  So tell me…" 

I waited for it.

"WHY THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING BOXER SHORTS?"    

"I…I don't know," I lied.  I knew perfectly well.  Some days I wanted to be a man.  I wanted to fit in with the manly men at work.  I wanted to forget the longing I had.  I wanted to deny what I felt as a sissy, the looks I gave men, the hunger, the desire. 

He would not let me.

"Are you trying to pretend you're a man?  Is that it?  You want, even for a day, to feel what a man feels, don't you?  To know how a man thinks?"

"Yes, oh yes!"

"Listen, and I say this in all seriousness…a sissy can NEVER know what it's like to be a man…that's why a SISSY IS A SISSY.   

"I…I know."

"Do you have a dildo in your room, sissy?

He knew perfectly well I did.  "Yes."

"Yes, you told me many times you do.  Flesh colored, I believe.  Eight inches.  Thick.  Veins.  Balls.  Very life like?  A man's cock, if you will?" 

"Yes."

"Looks just like you, doesn't it," he mocked me.

"No!"

"When is the last time that dildo…that, er…COCK was in your mouth?  Hmmm, sissy?"

"A…a few days ago."

"Practicing cock sucking, were you?" 

No answer from me.

"In panties, no?"

"yes…blushing…"  And I was.

"You wonder what it's like to be a man, I know?  The problem is, you're not a man.  I don’t say that critically, I don’t say that to be mean, but you’re not a man. You're a sissy."

"I…I know."

"Well, let me be clear, then.  A cock sucking, panty wearing sissy is NEVER to wear boxer shorts.  Ever. EVER! You should wear a dress to work, it's bad enough you wear trousers."

"I…I understand."

"You do?  Do you really?"

"I think so."

"You do?  What are you wearing right now?" 

Now I did blush.  "Boxer shorts."

"Now…not in ten minutes…not later today, sissy, now, this instant, you are to get out of those.  Now."

"Yes…yes, Sir."  Submission.  He'd won.  He'd broken me down.  Sissy.  I wanted to be a man.  But I was a sissy. 

"What do sissies wear?"

"Panties."

"Panties.  Stockings.  A garter belt.  That's what you ARE TO WEAR EVERY DAY, SISSY! Every day. Every day.”

"Yes...yes, Sir.”

"Sissies make themselves LOOK PRETTY FOR MEN.  Sissies never, ever pretend they are men!" 

“Yes, yes,” I typed, head down, ashamed, truly ashamed.

"Now, sissy.  Get dressed properly.  Now.  Not just panties. Lingerie. A garter belt. Stockings. And I don’t care how much you hate it or how you have to hide it, but a bra, too. A matching set. And sissy, today, during the day, when you walk, when you feel the tug of your garter strap, when you cross your legs and see your nylon covered ankles , when you sit to pee, every second, sissy, remember, remember…YOU ARE A SISSY!" 

And he signed off.  Just like that.  I was a sissy.  A panty wearing sissy.

And I dressed. Well, I undressed, first. I took off my clothes, every piece, took off the boxer shorts.

And then I dressed, as I should have before. Satin, feminine, nylon, woman.

I dressed.

I shed my masculinity. I was a sissy.