While Paige would have been fun to be with in terms of continuing our foraying into sexual deviance, my wife is my wife. There’s no comparison.
All this being said, there have been a couple of instances where I tested the waters. These were, of course, early-on in the relationship. With the right finessing it might have led into something…interesting, but so far it hasn’t. Again, not for lack of delving certain waters.
My first experiment happened about six months in. We lived a couple of towns away from each other at the time and it was a bit of a commute to see each other, but we made it work. Our sex-life was pretty damned amazing, and she had made a few comments that she might be a bit liberal minded when it came to branching out. I decided I was going to see if I could push her in the right direction with a bit of a white lie.
So, my brilliant master-plan was brilliant in its mastery: I knew she had to work the morning after I arrived, so, while packing for the weekend, I “forgot” to pack any boxers. After discovering my error (while she was at work, naturally) I would, in my “off-beat but still somehow loveably brain-addled way that makes everybody who comes into contact with me think I’m the goddamn bee’s knees (right?!),” come to the conclusion that, since I’m not will to wear the same pair of boxers two days in a row (what am I, a heathen?), and since I’m not going to go commando (heathen!), I was going to borrow a pair of her panties to wear for the day.
Goddamn genius.
The morning came and I waited for her to go to work, took a shower, and made my way to her panty-drawer.
Another thing that’s great about my wife: We have similar tastes in panties. I don’t know if you’ve noticed throughout all of these little write-ups, but I tend to favor bikini-cut panties, specifically string-bikini, if I can get them. I know some sissies prefer thongs, but I guess I’m just not as slutty as they are; I have always preferred the bikini, the silkier the better, the sissier color the better. Of course, if they can give me solid panty-line all the better; there’s something about that possible casual exposure that just gets me off!
…
Maybe I’m a little sluttier than I thought.
Anyways, I started delving wrist-deep into her drawers, finding a few different hip-huggers, and a few different bikinis that would fit the bill. Of course, the next question was what color to choose. I mean, choosing a hard-core pink or purple might tip my hand too much, but picking a tan or a white would be too plain for the task at hand.
I tried on a few pairs (all right, maybe more than a few), making sure to model them appropriately in the mirror (tucked, of course, as girls seem to be disappointed when I don’t tuck), so I could
I decided on a pair of light blue bikini panties, with lace leg bands. I figured the blue was colorful enough without being completely effeminate.
I was, of course, rock hard, my erection working itself underneath me in its tucked prison.
Around noon or so, I got a call from my, then, girlfriend, telling me that she was through with her shift and was ready for me to pick her up for lunch.
The reality of the situation hit me, as the blood drained from my head. Was I really going to meet her for lunch and tell her that I was wearing her panties? The whole concept seemed overwhelming. Reading about this stuff was one thing, but actually going through with it was quite another. Would I actually be able to go through with the sordid affair?
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the reality was too big to wrap my head around. I came to the conclusion that, if I really wanted to go through with the plan, I needed to focus on a small part I could achieve that would make sure I was stuck in a position where I couldn’t chicken out.
I stepped outside of her apartment, and locked myself out. I didn’t have a key, so there was no going back short of breaking in. As nervous as I may have been about my girlfriend, I sure as hell didn’t want to explain myself to the cops while wearing panties. The only way to go was forward...forward to my girlfriend.
I pulled into the parking lot, and walked to her office, my entire body feeling flush, as I could tell that everyone was watching—everybody knew. When I finally made it to her office, she was finishing up some paperwork and counting down the seconds until we could be free for the rest of the weekend. I shifted my weight, and felt myself shift in her panties, beginning to engorge. We chatted for a bit with me standing in her doorway as she sat at her desk. I tried to keep from being distracted by my panties, but could feel myself failing, every movement rubbing my pantied cock in electric ecstasy. Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and I realized that it was time for me to make a decision: to either act the coward and figure a way out of my predicament, or to man-up and tell my girlfriend I was wearing her panties.
I started off strong.
“So, uh…[throat clearing], yeah…”
She looked confused, oddly enough.
“So, I may have forgotten to pack any boxers.”
“Oh, no. That’s hilarious. So, are you just going to wear the same pair all weekend?”
“Well, it’s been so humid, that that seems gross to me. So-“
“Why honey, are you going commando?”
“Well…no,” I broke eye-contact and cleared my throat again, “I figured that that would be worse on my pants than wearing the same pair of boxers.”
She looked confused.
“So, I might have borrowed a pair from you.”
She flinched with a confused look of amusement.
“So, wait,” she said, shaking her head, “are you saying you’re wearing my panties?”
I lifted the waistband over my belt.
“That is so, cute!” She said.
I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.
“So, why the blue?” She asked.
I explained in a joking tone that I wanted a color that wasn’t overtly feminine, but that beige was too bland. I mean, after all, what was the point of wearing panties if I was just going to wear a neutral color.
“Well, next time,” she said, “check with me first. That way we can make sure they fit you all right. I don’t want you stretching out my panties.”
I explained to her that I tried on a few pairs, just to make sure I wouldn’t stretch them out.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you did,” she taunted.
The rest of our day together went as normal. We had lunch, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Of course, for me the day had taken on an entirely new erotic tone, as I spent the entire time in my girlfriend’s panties. She didn’t seem to mind at all. I knew that, with the proper prodding, this relationship could lead to proper sissy-lifestyle.
I had to tell myself several times, not to get too excited, and that such good things take time, but that didn’t keep me from fantasizing about a future of forced femme and chastity and sissy-servitude and everything else I’ve ever wanted. I managed to keep a lid on myself, though.
Throughout the entire day there was only one moment where she acted like she even thought about me wearing her panties. We had met up with some friends and were playing a board game. I lost a particularly easy point and cursed aloud. She turned to me, a knowing, impish smirk on her faced, and said, “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
I felt myself fully engorge in record time.
That night, we made love so furiously that we slept half of the next day away.
To be continued…
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