The "Carole" Panty

Here's a little piece of flash fiction for this Friday....

It was just another Friday afternoon with an early exit from the office.  Nathan was looking forward to getting home, relaxing and watching his alma mater who'd made it to the "Sweet 16."  He'd skipped the trip to Washington DC to see them play because of an important work meeting.  Rising stars in the company didn't miss these types of meetings.  He was on the fast track and didn't want to do anything that would slow down that speed.  

As he pulled into the driveway he noticed a couple of Amazon packages at the front door.  After getting into the house, he got them and saw one of them addressed to Sarah and one to him.  He didn't remember ordering anything and Sarah's was probably just another pair of shoes.  

When Nathan opened the small package, a padded enveloped weighing next to nothing, and pulled out something pink and soft wrapped in translucent vellum, his heart stopped.

 

 

Nathan’s hands trembled as he stared at the pink soft full cut panties in his palms—a delicate, pastel masterpiece of a panty with a big bold flower embroidered on the front panel.  He'd heard of the "Carole" brand before, popular with some of the cd's and sissies he chatted with, but now he was seeing it in the flesh.  The panty felt like a second skin. 

 

It was terrifying enough to get a panty delivered to your home that you didn't order, but the note was worse:

 

"I know you are going to look so cute in these. I want you wear them to work on Monday. See you then Nancy...xox"

 

The mention of

Monday and Nancy turned his rising career in finance into a ticking time bomb.  Someone knew, or at best, assumed his work schedule.  His sissy chat friends were the only ones who knew about his desired "femme." name.  He didn't think it was a coincidence.   Could someone have figured this out?  

 

He mentally sprinted through his office. Had he left a browser tab open? No, he was meticulous. Had someone traced his IP from the forums? He’d used a VPN, or at least he thought he had. Besides, he had rarely used any office computers or laptops to do any of his personal browsing, must less chats.  All of that had been done on his phone or personal Macbook.  Or so he thought...had he messed up somehow?

 

He thought of the "admirers" he’d messaged; they were faceless icons, yet one of them now had his home address and his professional schedule.  

 

The sound of his wife’s car in the driveway snapped him back to reality. Heart hammering against his ribs, he shoved the lace and the note into the back of his desk drawer, buried under a stack of tax returns.

 

When Samantha walked in, she found him standing in the kitchen, pale and unmoving. "You okay?" she asked, dropping her keys. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

 

"Just a long week," he managed to say, his mind already spiraling. Monday was forty-eight hours away. Was the sender a malicious harasser, or a colleague playing a high-stakes game of cat and mouse? He realized with a jolt of terror that by Monday morning, he wouldn't just be choosing a suit; he’d be choosing whether to obey the note or wait for the floor to fall out from under him.

 

"C'mon, the games about to start" Samantha said heading into the den to turn on the television. 

To be continued.

 

Love,

 

sissy terrie 💗

 

I hope you enjoyed this little piece.  I hope to continue the story soon....xox 

Can I Blame Her???

Hope you enjoy this piece submitted by a loyal follower.

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I should have known she had a need for a real man.

For most men there is something utterly mortifying when their wife cuckolds them seemingly out of the blue. But in my case, that of a married submissive sissy, as difficult as it was when She told me She had taken on a lover, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

She knew what I did and she accepted it….at least she seemed to ….. she’d already told me having a cross dressing submissive husband would probably not have been her first choice…but she also told me she loved me….and knew this was who I really was.

I should have realized she needed a real man…. as does any normal woman …. if she was a lesbian or bi then she might have actually liked to sleep alongside a hubby in a pink nightie…but she wasn’t.

And she realized my dressing desires had intensified as did my submissiveness. She probably thought that having kids (two daughters a year apart) might change me. It didn’t. Though the girls didn’t know about my crossdressing I always wondered if they suspected anything.

Sex, the penetrative type, was never something I was great at. Probably not even “good” at. I was never able to give her an orgasm that way. I wasn’t very big, nor did I last very long. Not the greatest of combinations. Eventually, we stopped having sex that way. I would go down on her and satisfy her that way. In turn, she would tease while I masturbated and pleasured myself. She had a way of teasing me. I discovered the pleasure of verbal humiliation.

Other times, if she needed to get off, she'd simply sit on my face until she was satisfied - quite indifferent to my needs.  

There was also some teasing on weekends…. she’d lay out a cute bra and panty set for me to wear before going out shopping with the kids for a few hours, knowing I’d slip into it as soon as they were gone.…..giving me time to play “sissy.” It was so thoughtful of her.

And eventually when the kids had left home she started becoming more dominant with me. With the maids uniform she bought me came some domestic duties and a list of expectations with consequences for failing to meet them. I was enjoying the fantasy aspect and putting up with the less desirable aspects of this new arrangement.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” she would ask. It was. After I’d acknowledge it she would tease me even more.

“You’re such a pathetic pantywaist of a husband” she said one Saturday afternoon as I did housework in my maids uniform. Lifting up my dress she felt my crotch and giggled at the little erection her words had caused.

"Look at that.  How many wives have husbands who wear cute little pink panties like those.  They're your favorite aren't they?"  I didn't answer, instead I just breathed heavily as my cock grew stiffer.  

“I’ll bet you’d love all my friends to know I married a sissy wouldn’t you? I wonder if they’d feel bad for me or be jealous of me” she laughed. “Maybe they’d tell me I should find a real man” she continued. She knew this type of humiliation aroused me and continued rubbing my pantied penis.

“Look at you, aroused at the thought of your wife having a boyfriend. Is that also something you’d like?” she asked me. I nodded and pathetically said “yes.”

“Your such a good little sissy cuckold” she said. I couldn’t hold myself any longer and came in my panties as she continued to fondle me. I felt my knees go week and was barely able to stand as I came in my panties. 

“Good girl” she said as she always did after I would cum.

Then she kissed me.

“I want you to know I still love you and love having you as my sissy maid” she said.

Like a good submissive, I knelt down in front of her and thanked her profusely.

It was just at that moment that she broke the news to me.

“I also want to thank you for being who you are. I was pretty sure you would enjoy being a cuckold” she said. “You’d hinted at it a couple of times.”

I looked up at her and smiled and began to say something when she immediately put her fingers to my lips.

“I want you to know that I have a boyfriend, a lover. I needed a real man. Can you blame me?” she asked.

“No. I can’t” was all I could say.

A Sissy's Surprise

Just gazing at this picture made me swoon.  But the accompanying piece of flash fiction just adds to its allure.  Thanks to the tumblr blog  AI Satin Chic!!!

Luke nudged open the door to suite 507, shouldered his bag inside, and stopped dead.

Something white and voluminous caught the corner of his eye, draped across the armchair like an uninvited guest.

He let the door click shut behind him. He set his carry-on down with exaggerated care, as though any sudden movement might make it vanish – or worsen.

Only then did he look directly at it.

Layers of white organza spilled over the seat in careful folds, the full skirt claiming most of the chair's seat. A broad pink satin sash cinched the waist, its long tails trailing onto the carpet in two deliberate ribbons. Late sunlight slanted through the window and set the fabric alight, turning it almost incandescent.

This was his room – he’d double-checked the key card, confirmed the upgrade at the desk. Corner suite, fifth floor, city view he’d quietly expensed as “client entertainment.” He was alone. Three days of panels, handshakes, and overpriced hotel wine. No wife, no girlfriend, no one who would have any reason to leave something like this behind.

Luke crossed the room slowly. The air carried lemon polish and starched linen. Housekeeping had been through – chocolates on the pillows, towels sculpted into ornate fans. They wouldn’t have overlooked a dress.

Up close it was unmistakably expensive - tiny hand-stitched seams, mother-of-pearl buttons marching down the spine, the sort of quiet craftsmanship his sister had obsessed over at her wedding fittings. Not costume. Not disposable.

He reached out and brushed the sash. The satin slid under his fingertips like cool water. He lifted the bodice slightly, searching for a tag, an explanation.

There: Size 10. Dry clean only.

Size ten.

He was a men’s medium, five-nine in shoes, maybe five-ten if he stood straight. The waist looked narrow, but not cruelly so. He caught himself measuring it against his own hands before he realised what he was doing.

He dropped the fabric as if it burned him.

Previous guest, obviously. Someone forgot it. Housekeeping missed it in the rush. Simple. He’d call down, they’d send someone up, apologise profusely, and that would be that.

The phone sat on the desk beside the television, the reception number printed neatly on the tent card. One call. Two minutes tops.

He picked up the receiver. It felt heavier than it should.

He glanced back at the dress. The sash had shifted – or maybe he had – its pink tail now brushing the toe of his shoe, as though it had reached for him.

His finger hovered over the button.

The room was very quiet. Outside, traffic murmured five floors below. Inside, only his breathing and the faint rustle of organza whenever the air conditioning stirred.

He could picture it - the apologetic knock, the maid’s quick retrieval, the dress vanishing down the corridor in a garment bag. Gone. Story over.

Or he could put the phone down. Just for a minute.

Luke’s hand tightened around the receiver as he bit his lip.

(By the way, this image was *really* difficult to make!)

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Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. 

Wouldn't a sequel be awesome?  

Love,

sissy terrie 👄