My friend Angela St. Lawrence is a talented woman with a cheerfully filthy mind. Here’s an excertp from one of her stories:
You were so devastated when she’d walked in finding you masturbating into the crotch of those panties, a pair of her soiled ones across your face. Now she knew. Knew your naughty, dirty secret. But the shock, the revulsion was quickly replaced with a smile. She giggled; told you how ridiculous you looked. And there was a look in her eye that you didn’t understand. Though, now you do.
Because she took over from that point on. Making you wear panties sometimes when you fucked her. Then making you lick her cunt while wearing panties and humping the mattress. Sometimes right before you were going out with the guys she would insist you wear panties. She even bought you a few pair of your own, very feminine, satin and lace. You were at her mercy because the panties felt so good and dirty at the same time.
And you couldn’t say no. There was a power exchange the night she caught you. You realize it now. And, as you follow her to the bedroom, you realize that things are never going to be the same, never go back to the way they were. Maybe you like this. Maybe you’re glad to finally be the panty slut you’ve always secretly wanted to be.
The top dresser drawer is open. You see satin, nylon, ribbons, bows. It’s not a man’s drawer anymore. You look at her.
“What about when I go to the gym?â€
She ignores your question, reaching for a pair of the panties–white with little pink and yellow hearts. She holds them up in front of you.
“Put these on, Panty Andy. Be the little Panty Slut you know want to be for me.â€
She’s never called you anything like that before. You blush. But you also feel your prick responding to the calm authority of her words, the intuitive power in her demeanor. You slowly begin removing your jeans. Her words have hypnotized you. You only need to do what your Goddess Wife says. That is all that matters.