Sweetness - Chapter 5 – Part 2

Sweetness

By Mike

Chapter 5 – Part 2

Peyton followed Carla and at I followed Peyton, my hands overflowing with panties. Carla led us to the back of the store, past more bras and panties, past corsets and teddies, past garter belts and stockings. I saw shorts emblazoned with words like Juicy and Pink. At the back of the store, standing next to four large changing rooms, Peyton, somehow smiling even bigger, asked, “Can my boyfriend join us?”

                “Um,” Carla hesitated. “I don’t think…”

                “You can measure him, too.”

                Please say no, I thought, over and over. Please say no. Please say no.

                Peyton squealed when Carla relented. “Okay.”

                The three of us stepped into one of the changing rooms. There were mirrors on three sides and a padded bench on the back wall. With the three of us in there it felt a little cramped. “Okay,” Carla said, “I’ll need you to take your tops off.”

                Peyton pulled off her t-shirt and quickly undid her bra. Her lovely breasts popped free. If Carla wasn’t in the room with us, I’d reach out to give a touch, a squeeze, a kiss, but with Carla present I could only admire, and I did that with a lecherous grin of my own. Peyton shook her head, “you can play with them later.”

                Carla looked surprised but maintained a professional demeanor. She pulled a pink ribbon measuring tape and wrapped it around Peyton’s chest, just below her breasts. She took a second measurement, this time across her boobs, and came up with Peyton’s bra size. A 34C. Then, suddenly, it was my turn. At Peyton’s direction I put the panties on the bench and took off my shirt. My hands were suddenly clammy, and my throat seemed to tighten. Was I really in a lingerie store being measured for a bra? It didn’t seem possible, but I could see myself in three separate mirrors and in all of them I was standing topless while a rail-thin woman was wrapping a pink measuring tape around my chest. It didn’t take long until I knew my bra size. I was a 38A. A small A according to Carla but an A cup all the same.

                “Thank you,” Peyton said, dressing again.

                “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I could help you with?” Was she being helpful or tying to flee? I couldn’t tell.

                “Yes,” Peyton said, pulling her hair from her T-shirt. “Can you show me where you keep your bras.” Smiling deviously, she added, “Your 38A’s.”

                I felt myself tremble in anxious anticipation. The dressing room felt cloying and hot. My throat seemed to tighten even more. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.

                “Of course,” Carla said. She turned to face me, “this way.”

                I finished pulling on my shirt and after gathering up the handful of panties, I followed Peyton and Carla out of the dressing room. The store, already bright, seemed even brighter. The few shoppers I saw, each lost in the own little world, seemed to be staring at me. One woman, looking at a pair of sweatpants and oblivious to what I was feeling was looking at me even though she wasn’t. To me, she was staring as were the three remaining employees even if I couldn’t see them. I was convinced that the security cameras mounted in the ceiling were somehow broadcasting the crimson hue on my face to the whole damned world.

                Peyton took my arm. “Trust me.”

                I think I nodded. I followed Peyton and Carla to a circular rack filled with bras. Little black placards indicate the size ranging from twenty-four to forty. Carla moved to the black tab etched with golden ink with the number thirty-eight. She flipped through and pulled out a simple white bra with a tiny pink bow between the cups. A bra in my size. The thought was freaking me out; how did I have a bra size?

                Carla pulled out three more bras of different colors, each in my size. One was black with a black bow nestled in the middle. One was pink with little white polka dots that was practically see-through. The final one was yellow, the same color as the panties that started it all. “We have a few more,” Carla said, indicating a pair of vertical racks sporting bras hung on thick wooden hangers.

                “We’ll take all of these,” Peyton said, putting all four bras in my arms.

                Carla smiled and gave a little nod.

                “Do you have any camis?”

                They did, and Carla happily led us towards the back wall of the store. Camisoles both simple and sexy were hung on more of those heavy wooden hangers. Some were V-neck others were rounded. Some were lacy while others were plain. Carla helped Peyton pick out about a dozen camisoles, most of them white though there was one light blue one, the color of a summer sky, one black one adorned with tatted lace and one red one with vertical black stipes. All of them had thin, spaghetti straps. They were light and soft and obviously feminine. I couldn’t imagine wearing them and I wanted to wear them at the same time. I’d looked at them online but never placed an order. My panties had mostly been enough. Still, I had looked and now it seemed like I’d not only own some, but I’d have to wear them as well. Why else would Peyton pick them out? Maybe I’d never wear one. Maybe Gayle or someone at the office would say something first and which idea was better? Wearing the camis and the bras to work along with my heels and whatever else Peyton decided or getting caught and suffering through that unimaginable shame? My dry mouth and racing thoughts didn’t have an answer for that.

                Peyton gathered the camisoles and thanked Carla for her time.  

                “You’re welcome. Would you like me to carry those to the register for you?”

                “Oh, you’re a dear. Thank you.” She gave Carla the camis and turned to me, “Come on, we’re almost done.”

                I knew what she was doing and meekly followed, my hands still full, while Carla carried part of my new wardrobe to the register in the back center of the store. We passed two young girls, probably still in high school. One of the two nodded at me and the other, a tall girl with thick glasses, laughed. They were laughing at me. I felt my stomach do a weird flip and my dry mouth because dryer still.

                Peyton led me past the two teenagers, to the row of garter belts and stocking we had passed on our way to my bra fitting. Had that really happened? The idea of it took my breath away. It seemed it had. Peyton fished through the garter belts, holding them to my waist, the delicate straps hanging down my thighs like tentacles from some octopus.  She picked up two of them, one black and one white, and smiling, she opened a drawer next to the garter belts and pulled out six pairs of black stockings. Jet was the color written on the thin package emblazoned with a sexy leg adorned with the silky stocking. Who knew jet was a color?

                “Okay,” Peyton said, “this is enough. I’m dying to get you home.”

                That piqued my interest. I had sort of detached, hiding away, blending into the background, trying to diminish myself from the shame and excitement I was feeling but hearing Peyton telling me that she wanted to take me home with more than a hint or arousal in her voice brought me fully into focus. “Sounds good,” I said, my voice a little whimper.

                Peyton giggled, “let’s get out of here.”

                Ten minutes later I was walking through the mall, Peyton by my side. We were both carrying a big pink striped bag in each hand. Somehow walking through the mall carrying the Victoria’s Secret bags was much easier than being in the store. With Peyton by my side I looked like a pack mule; in the store I was a customer. The difference left me feeling somewhat more relaxed as we raced past shoppers going about their day.

                Outside, the full moon was shining overhead. A few stars peered down and as my eyes adjusted to the dark those few stars became dozens. We loaded our packages in the back seat. “Take me home,” Peyton said. “And hurry.”

                I happily obliged.

                Peyton pulled me from the car. “The packages can wait,” she growled a throaty, hungry sound.

                We raced to the front door. Peyton opened the door and pulled me in after her. She was on me in a flash. She kicked the door shut as she reached for my shirt. She undressed me, not pausing as I reached for the hem of her white t-shirt adorned with the fiery phoenix. Her hands raced to my belt, fumbled briefly, before yanking my pants down, belt and all. My panties came next. She was kissing me as she fell to the floor in the entryway, guiding me down with her. Her fingers reached and found the part of me she was seeking. She gripped me and guided me into a velvety softness that took my breath away. She was wet; the shopping trip had affected her as well as me.

                Sated, and breathing heavily, Peyton snuggled into me. We were lying half undressed on the hard tile floor, taking the warmth the other offered. She pressed against me, her head lying in the crook of my shoulder. I kissed the top of her head.

                Peyton got up and kicked off her jeans. She stepped out of her panties, dropping both on the floor. “Come on,” she said. “I need a shower.”

                We showered. I washed her, and she bathed me. She purred contentedly as I scrubbed her hair. I watched, fascinated, as she took a razor to the stubble at the apex of her thighs. She surprised me after that, bringing the razor down to my own neatly tripped thatch of pubic hair. “That’s got to go,” she said. “I don’t like hair in my teeth.”

                That was all the motivation I needed and a few minutes later my crotch was as bare as Peyton’s.

                “Much better,” she exclaimed.

                We got dressed. Peyton in a clean pair of shorts and a new t-shirt. I put on the same thing I’d worn to dinner and shopping.

                “Where are my keys?” Peyton asked as we made our way to the kitchen. We searched for a few minutes and found them sitting in the front door deadbolt. Peyton’s need had been so great that she’d simply unlocked the door and left the keys in the lock. With her keys in hand she followed me to my SUV where we carried in my newest lingerie. She separated her new panties from mine and put hers in the wash, telling me that I’d have to wash them tonight after she sent me home. I gave her an exaggerated pout at that which made her laugh. She offered me a drink and set about getting each of us a glass of water.

                “Now,” she said, turning serious, “I’m curious.”

                “About.”

                She led me to her couch and sat next to me. The television stared back at me and I could see our reflection in its dark face. She tilted her head and regarded me for a moment. From the kitchen I could hear the soft clicking of a clock. I heard the refrigerator kick on and outside I heard some kids screaming though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I could see Peyton considering something as if she was struggling with a decision. “Toys,” she finally said.

                I nodded. “Okay.”

                “I told you I have some, right?”

                I nodded again and then smiled remembering her story of wearing a vibrator to work, stuck into the warm recess I’d been in not thirty minutes before. “I remember.”

                “Wait here,” she said. She got up and came back a few moments later. She held in her hand something I’d recognized. I had the internet and I was an adult and I was kinky. When you have a panty fetish and you like how you look wearing women’s heels, wouldn’t it stand to reason that you knew about other, kinkier things? Well I did, and I knew exactly what Peyton was holding out to me. It was hard and plastic and pink and the shape of a flaccid cock. A small golden key jutted out of a round cylindrical lock built into the device. I wasn’t sure of the brand, but I was certain I’d seen a picture of it before. “I want you to wear this for me.”

                I looked at the chastity cage. I’d seen them and thought about them, but I’d never considered owning one. I’d read stories and found them fascinating. Hell, I’ve masturbated to stories of men and women and even couples in chastity, but did I want to wear one? The look Peyton was given me told me that not only did she want me to wear it, but the idea excited her almost as much as our shopping trip had. There was this needy anticipating in her almond eyes. I could see her trembling slightly.

                “You’re shaking? Are you okay?”

                “I’m scared.”

                The tone in her voice at those two words stung, “About what?”

                “That I’ll scare you away.” Her voice cracked, and I melted. How could I not? I was already smitten and if she could accept my fetishes how could I not accept hers? I told her as much and she leapt at me, pushing me backwards. The chastity cage tumbled to the carpet. “Oh, you wonderful man,” she said, kissing me passionately. Her hands slid along my stomach, traced along my stomach and came up to wrap around my neck. She kissed me, and I kissed back. It didn’t lead anywhere, I was spent already, but it was fun and passionate, and I loved every second of it.

                “This is going to be fun,” she said.

                I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to wear it, but I kept quiet. This was now Peyton’s show. I’d been leading the parade during my panty fashion show. It was Peyton’s turn to lead now. She climbed off me and pulled me to my feet. She picked up the chastity cage and unlocked the lock. The cage separated from an oddly formed ring, almost like a Mobius strip I made when I was in fifth grade so long ago. Peyton instructed me how to put on the ring. I fished one testicle through the loop, winced when I worked the second one through and felt my pulse in my cock when I worked it into the same tiny circle.

                Peyton seemed to be trembling again but this time it was for an obviously different reason. “Why do you have this?”   

                She paused and gave me a serious look. “My last boyfriend cheated on me,” she said, and I could hear the hurt in her voice. “I promised to give him a second chance if he wore this. He agreed but when it arrived, he broke up with me instead. I’d already bought it. I don’t know why I didn’t throw it away.” She shrugged. “The idea of it though was something I couldn’t shake. I’m glad…” she stopped speaking and stood to kiss me instead. “Thank you.”

                I gave her a smile and watched as she continued applying the rigid pink cage to my suddenly attentive dick.  She sat on the couch, with me standing in front of her and waited until my interest waned enough for her to continue. She placed the cage onto me, working the tapered end into a matching grove. I could feel how tight the cage was, how the hard plastic was holding me in a snug embrace. With the cage fully seated in place, she stuck the cylindrical post into the ring that encircled my captured balls and turned the key. The key pulled free, but the cylinder stayed in place as did the cage. It was locked on. Peyton, her eyes wide, was absorbed in the look of my locked-up cock. “This is fucking awesome!” She had the wide-eyed look of a child entering Disney World for the first time and the exuberance of a boy about to lose his virginity. She was enraptured, enthralled and entertained.

                I dropped one hand to tug on the cage. My balls pulled away from my body, but the cage stayed in place with my spent penis fully trapped inside its pink plastic prison. “How long will I wear this?”

                She smiled at me, rose to her feet, and kissed me full on the lips. Hard.

I felt my cock twitch, but it couldn’t do anything else. I moaned a bit causing Peyton to laugh. “That’s up to you?”

“Oh?”

“We’ll make a game out of it.” She giggled. “Every day you’ll wear one of your new panties to work. Tomorrow,” she added, “I want you to wear a bra and a cami, too.”

I had expected that, so I gave her a nod.

“And your heels. Of course.”

Another nod.

“After work we’ll have dinner. I’ll be wearing a new pair of panties, too. If we’re wearing the same ones, we’ll fuck like rabbits.”

“And if we’re not.”

“Then you’ll make me cum with that talented mouth of yours.”

I thought of all the panties we’d bought a few hours earlier. What was it? A dozen pairs each? That gave me a one in twelve chance of picking right. My odds would get easier each day as I would know which pair, she was wearing but then it dawned on me that she would know which pair I’d worn as well.

Peyton laughed, “It’s not as easy as you thought is it? I wonder,” she was teasing me now, “how often should I wash my panties? Maybe every day?” She laughed at that. “I promise I won’t wear the same pair two days in a row.”

“Doesn’t seem fair,” I said but my voice was playful and light. I wasn’t being harsh or pouting, I was simply absorbing the fix I found myself in and finding that the game, while lopsided, was exciting and I was looking forward to playing. I didn’t know why or maybe I did, and I just didn’t want to admit it.

“And guess what else?”

“What?”              

Peyton left my side and came back with a new pair of panties. They were light green, the color of antifreeze. Their size told me that they were one of hers. She pulled them up my legs and settled them against my trapped cock. “See how my panties fit now. You won’t fall out of them. Just like I said.” She laughed at that, a victorious sound, like she’d solved a particularly fiendish brain teaser.  The panties seemed to hold the cage snugly against my body. I thought that the panties helped the cage feel more comfortable. 

“Much better,” I agreed.

She kissed me again. “Thank you, Mason. I had the best time.”

I admitted I had as well. We said our goodnights and I went home, the key to my cock staying with Peyton. It was her game and I was enjoying the rules. I knew why. I was submissive. It was one of the reasons I wore panties and heels, and it was the main reason why I let Peyton lock me up and lead our relationships. I didn’t need to apologize for it; it’s who I was, and Peyton accepted me. How could I not go along when her leading me was exactly what I needed most?

At home I put my panties in the washing machine and got ready for bed. As I was brushing my teeth my phone chirped. It was a picture of Peyton’s panty covered crotch. Should I wear these tomorrow? Another picture came in. This one of her ass adorned with a thin red swath of color from her newest thong. Or these?

Let me know and I’ll wear the same ones, I texted back.

She sent an emoji of a pair of red lips. Not gonna happen, mister. Then, good night.

Night.

With the day behind me, I put my panties into the dryer and went to bed, worried about what the next day would bring.