Friday, 14 December 2018

A Guy Wearing Panties - Next Step

Guest Post : A Guy Wearing Panties - Next Step

I got a lovely e-mail yesterday (13 December 2018), it started: 
"Hey Panty Pal!  As promised, here's my account of my 'panty morning' today."  

Mark - known on Twitter as @aguyinpanties - and I became friends because I admire men in women's underwear.  I noticed him modelling a pair of black lace panties which were almost exactly the same as some I have!  We compared pictures and became friends. 


Mark shared his panty-wearing experiences with me so that I could write a piece of fiction for #Kinkoftheweek and he's since shared his erotic fiction on my blog:

*   A voyeuristic story  
*   Christmas-themed fantasy  

I hope you'll enjoy this non-fiction piece which Mark is kindly allowing me to share:

My name is Mark, I'm in my mid-thirties and for the last couple of years I've occasionally worn knickers when I'm alone. At first I borrowed my wife's, then I began buying my own. It was something I'd been curious about for a while but had never wanted to cross the threshold and take it from fantasy to reality. When I finally did, it was a revelation and I've been indulging myself ever since.

Yesterday my manager said that I could work from home today, so my first thought was "free house, panty morning!" And that's exactly what I did. 

Mrs Guy in Panties would be out until 1 pm, so I planned, for the first time, to wear knickers for an entire morning. I live tweeted my experiences via @aguyinpanties but also kept a diarised record which you can read here. It's honest and raw and I hope you enjoy it.

- 0 -

7.15am - the front door clicks shut and I'm alone for the next 6 hours. I choose three pairs of knickers - one black, white and lacy, a purple-y pair with little flowers and lace detail at the front, or dainty green French knickers. I hand over the responsibility of choice to my Twitter followers and wait.

8.00 am - Their vote is unanimous - green. It's Christmas after all. 
I pull on the panties and feel that familiar cocktail of excitement, naughtiness, arousal and a touch of shame. The fabric nestles between my bum cheeks and the mild chafing feels great. With no elastic at the front, I have to arrange myself to stay in them. 

I look at myself in the mirror and consider the contrast - masculine vs feminine. A bulge in knickers that shouldn't be there. The hairy trail from my belly button, disappearing under the bow-fronted waistband. I pull some joggers over them and head downstairs to begin my day.

8.15 am - Before starting work I fold the washing and take it upstairs and as I climb each step the fabric caresses my bum, little movements that feel lovely, but just on the right side of arousal so I'm not tempted to touch myself. Perhaps I will later, but it's much too early for that.

8.30 am - I empty the dishwasher. Moving to and from the cupboards as I put things away causes more movement and I can't work out whether I've fallen out of these things. I peer down the waistband of my joggers. Negative. All still in place.

9.10 am - I'm Skyping my boss while wearing size 14 green French knickers under my clothes. This is bizarre in a wonderful way. I feel alive!

9.30 am - Toilet break. Even though it's a number one, I sit on the toilet, girly style. I gaze down at the lacy knickers inside my men's joggers and feel compelled to tweet a photo. Has this gone too far? 
When I pull the knickers up, I hoist them high onto my hips, accentuating the bulge at the front and drawing the fabric tight between my buttocks. It's the most aroused I've felt all morning as the lace tickles my anus when I bend down to pull up my joggers. I re-adjust the knickers lower down and get back to work.

10.10 am - What if Mrs Guy in Panties comes home early? OK, she won't KNOW I'm wearing knickers, but I know I'd panic and she'd see it in my face. I put a contingency plan in place for this eventuality before returning to work.

11.00 am - I pull my joggers down and snap myself leaning back against the wall. My bulge is perfect, pulling the knickers down at the front and creating a tantalising outline of my cock while exposing the top of my pubes over the waistband. I feel a heady mix of masculinity and femininity and begin to swell. Joggers up and back to work.

11.30 am - At my desk, I slip a hand into my joggers and cup myself over the knickers. This feels gorgeous through the silky panel at the front, and strangely not in an overtly sexual way. It's a nice sensation. Comfortable. I stand and feel the rough pattern of lace around my bum through the cotton of my joggers. I feel good.

12.00 pm - 'Lunchtime'. I head upstairs. 
At 7.00 am I wasn't sure how this experience would end but I am now. I strip down to the knickers and lay back on the bed. I caress myself through the material and feel tingles shoot down my legs and up into my stomach. Soon I'm hard and the knickers no longer contain me, my erection poking through a leg hole.

I pull the knickers off and drag them slowly over my balls and cock, their delicate lace grazing my most sensitive parts exquisitely. I continue teasing myself with the lightest strokes down my shaft until desire takes over and I take myself in my hand. Slow, rhythmic strokes bring me to the edge almost immediately before a huge climax bolts through my penis. I come hard and long, massaging my glans through the aftershocks to wring out every last drop of pleasure.

The knickers return to their hiding place ready to be washed (when I have more time) and I'm back in a pair of boxers and back to reality. 

What a ride, and one I want to repeat soon.

Monday, 10 December 2018

Killing Me Softly

Browsing through my Twitter feed last week I spotted this provocative image which spoke volumes shared by @xenon0codex - so I sent it to @AuthorRowan to inspire her too.  As a result we both wrote stories which start at this point but go in different directions.  You can read hers here.

[6 minute read]

I looked down on the perfection of her body, marvelling at the glow of her skin and her hourglass shape as she prostrated herself in front of me - the whip presented on her hands like the royal orb on a velvet cushion.

Towering above her in tightly-laced boots with vertiginous heels I was glad her eyes were lowered, that way she wouldn’t detect my knees knocking. Talk about in at the deep end! I didn’t usually do domination but a double booking mishap meant I was covering for Vindictive Violet, poured into a scandalously tight leather corset and panties.

Slowly I circled the prone sub, delighting in her smooth undulating back and curvy buttocks. The supplication in her attitude was clearly defined, as was her arousal, betrayed by dewy glistening on her labia. I lifted the flogger from her hands to swipe it, slicing the air and narrowly missing her.  Not a wince or a gasp, she was well trained.

“Name?” haughty and commanding, if I projected it, I would be it.

“Anita Mistress.”  That gave me a frisson of power, corrupting me from the off.

“Are you a good sub Anita?”  I trailed the tails of the whip in a silky, stealthy path from shoulder to buttock.

“Yes Mistress,” she answered, but I heard a questioning note.

“You don’t sound so sure Anita.”  The whip came down hard, its crack in the silent room almost broke the spell.

“Yes Mistress,” she corrected herself, to my satisfaction.

“Are you obedient?” I teased as I questioned, trailing and stroking.  I drew goosebumps with the path of the leather traces.

“Yes Mistress!” She’d found her voice now, clear and confident like a private to my drill sergeant.

“How many strikes should I give you?”

“Twenty Mistress.  Thank you.”   She dared not lie, I could check with Violet.

So I laid the blows on her, mostly striping her buttocks but sometimes allowing the leather strands to wrap round her ribs or mark her back.  I varied the direction the whip landed, but mostly focussed on the sweet spot on her buttocks.  My subject maintained her position well, only beginning to squirm on the last few.  By then I could see the swell and ooze of her pursed pussy lips, my reward for a job well done.

“Stand, eyes down and touch your toes.” Keeping her off balance sharpened the punishment, but I must let her circulation recover. Positioning myself behind the sub, I rested my leather-gloved hand on the small of her back.

“Well done Anita, you took your beating well.”

“Thank you Mistress.”  Her reply hid tears. I detected a wobble at my praise 

Through my glove the heat from her thrashing glowed.  Featherlight pressure smoothed the stinging heat around until it abated. An invasive leather finger parted her lips.  I pressed into hot depths and her gasp was rewarding, almost distressed as I removed it.

“What’s this Anita?”  My tone snippy, to shame her.  “Did you enjoy your punishment?”

“Yes Mistress.”  Her head was already hanging, but her face flamed.

“I don’t think that’s the intention of a punishment.  Clean my glove.”  Unceremoniously the digit got shoved between her lips to lick and suck it clean.

I strode towards the carefully racked toys and bondage gear, made my selection and returned.  Using a spreader bar I shackled Anita’s ankles, to hold her legs in a spread position.  I unscrewed the lids off two water bottles and set them aside.  Plugging in a powerful Doxy I switched it on, then held it against my pubis. Its distinctively rumbly buzz filled the room.  l sighed with building rapture, feeling my own pussy lips part and swell.

“I am allowed to have pleasure.”  I gripped Anita by the chin and pulled her head to look into my eyes. “You are not.  You are here to please me!”

“You need to learn discipline - luckily I am here to teach you. Stretch out your arms.”  

I pressed a water bottle into each hand then opened a third bottle to fill them up to the brim.

“You will not.  Spill.  A drop.”  I paced in front of Anita, staring her down with my strictest look.

I took a long drink of the water from that third bottle.

Picking up the Doxy I let it run and buzz in my hand, before teasing it over my breasts in the leather corset. I bit my lip exaggeratedly at the ache I felt in each nipple when it was focused on their tips.

“You” I said menacingly, taking a step towards my captive sub, “will not come.  You are my silent, submissive plaything.  You may not come without my permission.”

With that, I held the buzzing head of the Doxy against Anita’s right nipple and watched as the dark flesh peaked to a point almost instantly.  Anita bit her lip, a chunk of her rosebud bottom lip clamped by her teeth in an effort not to moan or cry out.  I moved the wand over to her other breast, the full flesh jiggled and her pierced nipple clattered against the head, while my pussy throbbed in sympathy.

Cat like I watched her, my canary in a cage, as she struggled to maintain her position, arms spread out horizontally while buffeted by this onslaught of sensations. She hadn’t slopped any water yet, but I soon changed that.  I pressed the bulbous head of the doxy against her pouting pussy lips, where I could see her clitoris already standing proud and distended.

Without the spreader bar I knew her knees would’ve buckled.  She mewled, distraught as the insistent rumble awoke and assaulted her most sensitive nerve endings.  Her breathing became ragged and her arms and legs began to shake.

“Fight it Anita.  Stand up straight.”  I commanded, cheerleading her now.  

She was enduring well, her babydoll face streaked with tears and her lip was dotted with blood where she’d bitten down too hard.  Her nipples were engorged dark with blood and pinched into hard points which made me clench to look at them.  I couldn’t drag my eyes from her anguished face, but I heard the splat of water hitting the floor.  I pressed the Doxy harder to its target, she couldn’t escape, and her hips began lewdly thrusting as much as the spreader bar would allow.

“P-p-p-p-” it was on her lips to beg me, but she tried to stay strong.

My pussy throbbed in admiration at her tenacity and in recognition of her raw animal lust.  I smelt her arousal while streaks of lubrication drooled down from swollen pussy lips.  Mine echoed hers, but I wore leather-trimmed panties which hid that her display was unravelling me.

“P-p-pleeease M-mistress.” She sobbed.  “Neeeed to come!”

“Count to three Anita” I commanded.  She wanted this control as much as she yearned for release.

“One,”  I admired her streaked make-up.
“Two,” Her outstretched arms strained.
“Three,” Her juices pooled on the floor between her feet.

“Come” I urged her.

And she came in a glorious burst  of emotion, with thrusting hips, clenching pussy and breasts that jiggled.  Ejaculate splashed down her legs and water sloshed from the bottles which wobbled precariously in her hands.  I set them aside then held Anita round the waist as she throbbed and bucked, the aftershocks of her climax whiplashing through her grateful body.

“Thank you Mistress,” she mumbled, her face buried in my hair as she leaned on me with legs weak like a foal.

“Well done Anita,” I crooned, smoothing her hair and stroking her back.  

I knew full well what it meant to be on the receiving end of so much sensation and deprivation, and the aftercare and space to come down were as important as the play.

This story is submitted for #WickedWednesday where the prompt is "Song Title"

Sunday, 9 December 2018

Santa Baby : Guest Post

Santa Baby by A Guy in Panties

It was that time of year again. Halloween was done and the fireworks had disappeared from the shelves, replaced by Christmas cards, gifts and decorations. The most wonderful time of the year was upon her. Caroline Stone’s husband was kissing her neck and she knew his hands would begin their work at any moment. 

Of all her fantasies, not many were seasonal, but like It’s a Wonderful Life and mince pies, it didn’t feel right to use this one outside of December.

As the movement of the duvet betrayed Mark’s shifting hands beneath and light tingles gave way to a growing ache between her legs, Caroline closed her eyes and let the images in her mind play.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Narrow heels carried her over the car park towards the shopping centre. She strode with purpose, a heady mixture of excitement, anticipation and nervousness swirling in her stomach.

She was going to see Father Christmas. She’d walked this walk several times in her youth, yet this was adult Caroline, wearing a short brown suede skirt and a thin cream sweater. No bra. No knickers.

The jiggling of her breasts had rubbed her nipples deliciously against the woollen sweater, causing them to noticeably tighten and protrude. Hordes of men streamed towards her, their day’s shopping mercifully over. She watched their eyes dart downwards, stealing a glance of the wobbling swellings beneath the material before making eye contact with her and shamefully looking away. Knowing the effect she was having on these helpless men made her rising arousal all the more delicious.

Meanwhile the cold air that gusted up her skirt contrasted with the warmth between her legs, the icy tingle tantalising a shaved, exposed pussy that ached for attention.

The heat of the air curtain enveloped Caroline as she entered the mall before heading for the escalator. Nearly there.

As if to confirm that this was mere fantasy, the queue for the grotto was non existent. Two grinning elves, one male and one female, welcomed her before drawing back a red velvety curtain. Caroline stepped inside and the curtain fell back into place.

And there he was. Saint Nick himself, sat in the corner, complete with white hair and beard, red furry costume, hat and boots. Caroline's knees loosened.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” he bellowed. “What’s your name, my dear?” His voice gave him away. This wasn’t an old man playing Santa; whoever was in that costume was 40 at best.

Rubbing her toes on the carpet with cod sheepishness, Caroline stated her name. “Why don’t you come and sit on my knee and we’ll see what I’ve got for you?” said Santa.

Caroline skipped over and, facing away from him, jumped on his lap, almost sending them both tumbling backwards. Instinctively, they grabbed one another - her hands on his thighs and his round her waist. His legs felt thick and muscly beneath the costume. Caroline shuffled round and swung her legs over Santa's thighs so she was sideways to him.

“So, have you been a good girl this year?” asked Santa, his eyes suggesting a devilish grin beneath the beard.

“Oh yes,” replied Caroline. “I’ve been ever so good.” As she spoke, her fingers walked along his thighs towards his crotch while his hands slid down and around her bum.

Caroline got a buzz from seeing his reaction at discovering she was without underwear. A combination of shock and delight filled Santa’s voice as he said: “My goodness, that is rather naughty, you’ve forgotten to put any knickers on!” 

Meanwhile, his hands were moving round, up and over her thighs and into her lap. So close to her throbbing, swollen sex, and she instinctively lifted her hips towards his strong hands. “And what would you like for Christmas, Caroline?” he asked, his voice becoming breathy and urgent. 

“Something I’ve never had before” whispered Caroline, turning to face away from Santa so she could feel his bulge against her. She wriggled back until she felt his shaft lie perfectly between her legs. It was thick and warm. He began moving his hips, sliding himself against warm, yearning lips. Caroline let out a deep sigh as her arousal multiplied.

A noise. Looking up, she was startled to see the two elves stood inside the grotto, flushed and open mouthed. Caroline’s shock quickly turned to excitement and she breathed: “Do you like what you see?”

Neither of the elves said a word, only nodding slowly in unison while each moved a hand southwards. The male slowly slid his hand into his ill-fitting green trousers, while the female put hers up her red and gold skirt.

With a single smooth movement, Santa released himself from his trousers, bent Caroline forward and placed the glowing tip of his penis at the entrance to her sex. Caroline gasped and pushed backwards, feeling him enter her as he reached up and fondled her breasts through her sweater.

Caroline felt Santa’s beard tickle her neck as her nuzzled her there. Just when she thought his whole length was inside her, he surprised her with a final thrust, filling her entirely. Lust flowed through every part of her and she reached between her legs to locate her clit.

All the while, Caroline’s gaze was focused on the elves, both now masturbating rhythmically. Their garments jiggled as the hands beneath did their work.

Santa rocked with metronomic grace, allowing his penis to almost leave her and letting her savour the stimulation at her opening before pushing back in. All the while she circled her clit and felt exquisite joy begin to build there.

Santa’s movements suddenly became more urgent, and his voice bore a shaky desperation as he said “I’m gonna come.” Caroline felt his warm release ooze inside her and pressed more firmly on her clit. A hard, fast climax gripped her and she rode it out on Santa’s still-solid cock, letting out a long, satisfied moan.

The elves were open-mouthed and frowning, leaning forwards as they surfed the wave of orgasm. They slowed to a stop before running out of the grotto in shame.

“Merry Christmas,” said Caroline with a smile, standing up and feeling Santa’s now-flaccid cock flop out of her with a wet slap, giving her a final jolt of pleasure.

At that moment, she snapped back to reality and found herself climbing off her panting husband as he said “We haven’t done reverse cowgirl for a while. That felt amazing.”

A sheen of sweat on her face, Caroline lay beside him and smiled. “Merry Christmas darling.”

This sexy tale was written by @Aguyinpanties and kindly shared for Kayla Lord's meme #MasturbationMonday, the theme for week #223 being inspired by Cara Theron's hot picture

Anyone not familiar with the phrase "cod sheepishness" it means faux or fake sheepishness.