Time flies when you’re having fun. The second semester at college flew by quickly, and before I knew it spring had passed and summer had arrived. Already two years down and two left to go; halfway to go to the real world. Between school, holding down a part-time job, and building a relationship with my girlfriend there didn’t seem to be enough hours in the day.
I had been gaining experience in construction while working for a contractor. We did general work, everything from finished carpentry to pouring concrete. Weekends in the spring were hellacious since many of his suburbanite clients had wanted to do things like add patios, build extensions to their kitchens, and otherwise sink untold thousands of dollars into improving the value of their homes. Thank goodness for a booming economy.
The boss was a good enough man, and he paid me well. I had to be in the union. That was fine even though I was only temporary help. The wages were good enough to help me squeeze through school. If only the union boys knew how I had arranged payment for work in the past. They would probably pour concrete around me and bury me next to Jimmy Hoffa.
I am a panty fetishist. Once upon a time – it seems so long ago now – I was caught red-handed raiding my aunt’s hamper looking for panties. It was stupid. I didn’t even lock the door to the bathroom where the hamper was located. That was careless. Ironically that embarrassing moment would lead to one of the oddest relationships that I could ever imagine. One that allowed me to put my knack for backbreaking labor to constructive use yet still feed my fetish.
I began working for panties. I didn’t hold a sign by the side of the road, and I certainly did not advertise in the local paper. My client list was exclusive and payment is set at three pairs of women’s panties for every job that I did. My client list consisted of my aforementioned aunt and her two sisters. They had all been understanding of my rather odd quirk and respectful of my privacy. I in turn probably performed somewhere in the neighborhood of $50,000 in labor around their homes combined.
Well, maybe not that much.
In addition to feeding my fetish, my aunt also got me together with her brother’s sister-in-law, Gail. We both attended the same college, but in different programs. We had been dating for about six months. By the way, I fell for her like a ton of cinder blocks.
That said, I’ll continue.
* * *
The spring passed and the summer arrived. My Aunt Sherrie’s sister, Patti, and her husband decided during the winter that they wanted to finish the basement to add two rooms to the house. Both Patti and David, her husband, knew that they could rely on yours truly to provide much of the labor for that job. David took for granted that I worked cheap, though he didn’t know how cheap. Patti on the other hand knew my price exactly.
It took two entire weekends of starting early in the morning and finishing late in the evening to get the whole job completed. Framing the walls and the floor, laying the proper insulation on the ground, and putting up the wallboard went fast enough on the first week. We painted the walls and ceiling and laid the carpeting the following weekend.
By the last day of the job I was alone in the basement admiring the completed job, wondering what goodies Patti would have in store for me. She had the most elegant taste in panties. Her favorite place to shop was a little lingerie store called The French Boutique, which was run by a woman who seemed to elevate the art of being sensuous to a science.
“Vincent, are you finished with the painting?” Patti called out to me from the to of the stairs.
“Yeah, I’m done. I was just cleaning up. It’ll take a while for the paint to dry, but the job is done at last,” I answered.
“Great. You must be hungry. Do you want a sandwich or something?” she asked.
“Sure, that’ll be great.”
I walked up the stairs to the kitchen and took the remaining paint and brushes to the garage. By the time that I returned she had a chicken salad sandwich sitting on the table for me.
“You’d better wash your hands. Here use the sink,” she said.
“Is David still around?” I asked
“No. He’s talking to our neighbors telling them what a great job he did finishing the basement.”
“Wow. What a prince,” I said sarcastically. The fact was that her husband David was all thumbs and got in the way more than he helped. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his “help” I would have finished the job in one weekend. What the hell, it was his house.
I rinsed my hands off in the sink with a quick splash of water. It was more ceremonial than anything. I sat down at the table and reached for my sandwich.
We talked for a while about the work I had just completed in her basement and about how I was looking forward to my junior year in college. The topic predictably got around to my relationship with Gail and how things were going between us.
“Pretty heavy,” was my initial reply.
“Oh, really? How heavy?” Patti asked.
“We spend as much time together as possible with both of us holding down jobs in addition to schoolwork. We often get together in the library to study. It’s just too bad that she’s going away for the summer. I miss her already. I won’t get to see her for two months.”
“Will you talk to her?”
“Sure, I’ll call her all the time.”
“Well, that sounds pretty bland.” Patti offered.
“Well, when we have free time that isn’t dedicated to studying we take advantage and get intimate, but we haven’t, you know, crossed that final threshold. Know what I mean?”
“Oh well,’ she said, “there’ll be time enough for that.”
“I hope so.” I took another bite out of my sandwich before continuing. “The only thing that seems to stand in the way of my relationship with her is the fact that I’ve never told her about my fetish. You, Sherrie, and Bambi are the only ones who know.”
“You haven’t mentioned your fetish to her?”
“No, how in the heck am I going to do that? ‘Gail darling, I have a little confession. I’d like to get into your panties. Well actually, besides sex, I’d like to get into your panties literally.’ That would be a scene.”
“You never know, she might be as kinky as you.”
“I don’t think so. It’s like we start getting close one minute and then she backs off the next. It isn’t like she doesn’t want to fool around or anything, it’s more like there’s something on her mind that interrupts her train of thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes I feel like she’s hiding something, as if there’s something she wants to tell me but maybe she doesn’t trust me. We’ve been together for months now, and I just don’t understand why she acts like that. She knows how I feel about her; I tell her all the time.”
“If there is something that she’s keeping from you, it could be that she’s trying to figure out a way to tell you. It might be that you’re misreading her feelings, Vincent.”
I sat in Patti’s kitchen for the last half-hour and just poured my guts out to her. Patti was one of my closest confidants and the keeper of my own deeply held secret.
“You know, this only becomes an issue when it looks like we might actually get around to some sex,” I confessed. “I can start to cuddle up with her and try to make out, and she goes along and seems to enjoy it for a while, but if I try to get sexual she gets distant. It’s almost like she’s afraid of getting turned on if I try to fondle her breast or something. She shies away when I put my hands on her. She keeps telling me that she’s into me and everything, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something going on way in the back of her head.”
“How long have you two been going out now?” Patti asked.
“Well, since January. Six months,” I answered.
It had been six wonderful months since my Aunt Sherrie had asked her brother Brian to give me his sister-in-law’s phone number. We hit it off from our first date, and soon we were a pretty hot item.
“It might still be too soon for her,” she advised.
“I’ve thought about that, and I’ve even asked her. She just won’t open up to me. I’m crazy for this girl. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe I could talk to her, just to try and get things from a woman’s point of view,” she offered.
“I can’t ask you to do that. This is my problem to solve, if it is a problem. It might just be my hyperactive imagination.”
“Yeah, well we all know what that means,” she said.
I nearly spit up the soda that I was drinking. In fact I got a little backup of carbonation up my nostril when she made reference to a rather intense nocturnal event I suffered – okay, enjoyed – just around the time I met Gail.
“Oops, sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t want that to happen.”
“I just can’t believe that it’s anything more embarrassing than what I could tell her about myself,” I said.
“Well, maybe you have to tell her your secret before she tells you hers, if she has one,” she advised.
“Right, then after I tell her I have a hard-on for women’s underwear she tells me that she’s been thinking about becoming a nun,” I replied sarcastically.
“Well life is all about risks. If you want to share in other people’s lives sometimes you have to open up first. You admit that you’re sexually attracted to her and that you want to have sex with her, yet at the same time you’re concealing an important part of your own sexual identity from her,” she said.
I thought about the wisdom of those words. Then I decided to tease Patti.
“That’s kind of funny coming from you. You know my secret, but you’ve never been willing to tell me yours.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean that a long time ago you told me about how you can mix your fetishes with someone you care about, someone you love, and enjoy them more.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you now.”
“I know. But you also told me that you have your own fetish, and you won’t tell me what it is.”
Silence hung in the air for a few seconds. I didn’t want to be too aggressive with her after all she had done for me. I didn’t just mean the panties either; Patti was truly someone I cared for very deeply. I would do anything for her.
“I mean even Aunt Sherrie opened up to me that way,” I continued. “For crying out loud, she groped me in her living room just to get a rise out of my … pants.”
“Tent. She calls it a tent. And I know; she told me. I couldn’t believe that she carried things that far. Sometimes that girl has big discipline problems.”
“Girl?” I wouldn’t call my aunt that.
“Well, she’ll always be my kid sister.”
“I would have thought that Bambi would be the wild one.”
”She is,” answered Patti. “You really have no idea how wild.”
Okay.
“So come on, tell me,” I pressed and took the last bit of my sandwich.
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me what your fetish is,” I answered with a mouthful of chicken salad. I tried to seem a bit mischievous by almost daring her to tell me.
I knew that she wouldn’t. Patti was too reserved, too disciplined. That reserve added greatly to my attraction to her. She was so unattainable. She always played things close to the vest, and the possibility of her revealing her fetish to me was just too remote. I sat there, still holding her hand, and she squeezed. We just sat there for a few minutes looking at each other. Actually I looked at her and she stared into space.
“Do you really want to know?” She surprised me by asking.
“Yes. I do.”
No way is she going to tell me.
Patti squeezed my hand again.
“Okay I will.”
She squeezed again.
Oh boy.
“This is my fetish,” and with that she held up my hand.
“What is?” I was perplexed.
“Your hand. Your hands. Men’s hands. Vincent, I have a hand fetish,” she confessed, but it made no sense to me.
A fucking what fetish?
“A what fetish?” I asked.
“A hand fetish. I have a fetish for men’s hands.”
She really squeezed hard now and looked me straight in the eyes. She had a curious little smile on her face, half Mona Lisa and half bank robber passing a note to the teller.
“Vincent, I get aroused – turned on – by men’s hands. Some men, many men actually, have a foot fetish. Mine is just a little different. A man’s strong hands, like my husband’s or yours, well … they arouse me. It’s been a big turn-on for me for as long as I can remember.
“I dated different boys in high school, and I always wound up judging them by their hands. I sort of compared the hands of the different boys I dated. I dated a football player who had fantastic hands. They were big and strong, and I just melted whenever he touched me. To this day I can’t resist them.”
“You’d better not let your husband find out,” I quipped.
“That’s who I’m talking about, silly,” she replied with a smirk.
Maybe David wasn’t all thumbs after all.
She put it all out there in the open. All I could do was sit there with my jaw hanging somewhere down around my belly button and feel her warm hands as she held mine. Now that she had told me her turn-on she was rubbing my fingers and staring at them.
“So do you mean to tell me that after all this time, after almost two years of confiding in you and talking to you about my innermost thoughts and problems while you held my hand to comfort me, you weren’t really comforting me?” I was incredulous.
“Sure I was,” she said. “But I was also getting turned on at the time.” She smiled something wicked.
“I feel so used.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Well … no. Not really.”
I just shook my head back and forth.
The things you find out about people.
“So, you’re turned on by hands? Men’s hands? I just don’t get it.” I didn’t. She needed to explain this to me.
“There are things that turn on some people that others don’t understand. It is all about accepting the things that arouse you and that arouse the ones you love. Some men are turned-on by women’s feet or legs; foot fetishists are out there everywhere. Others are turned on by panties, like you. I for one don’t understand why you get so horny over a simple piece of fabric, but I can accept that you do and help you.” She offered up the explanation, but it just didn’t seem to sink into my head.
“Yeah, but panties are sexy,” I attempted my own feeble justification.
“Only because you think they are; only because your mind has made a link between women’s panties and sex. I on the other hand have made a link between a man’s hands and sex,” she replied.
“Yeah, but hands? That’s just nuts.” It was the best retort I could summon.
“What is so nuts about hands?” she asked. She could have been a little defensive. I came close to ridiculing her, and she did nothing to deserve that. It was my own failure to understand the scope of human sexuality at that time that got in the way. Fortunately for me, Patti was a very patient woman.
“Well, because they’re just hands. Look at mine; they still have plaster and paint on them. They’re filthy, yet you’ve been holding them this whole time. Do you mean to tell me that these filthy hands get you going?” I though that was a brilliant point. Little did I realize that I had just kicked the door open to the explanation that I needed.
“Well, let’s get them cleaned up and take a closer look at them. Shall we?” she said.
It wasn’t a question that needed an answer. I would have followed Patti anywhere. She stood up and led me to the kitchen sink. Patti turned on the water and we waited a few seconds for it to get hot. She squirted some dishwashing soap into the sink and it created a rising mound of bubbles.
“Come here, let’s get you cleaned up,” she said.
She took my right hand and immersed it in the hot soapy water. She also took a bar of soap by the sink and started rubbing it around my hand. She lathered up my hand and cleaned my palms and between my fingers. She rubbed the soap around the back of my hand and around my knuckles. She lathered it up aggressively and held it under the water. I could feel my hand getting softer and warmer in the hot water.
“Okay, hold on to your hat Vincent, but this is the big part of my fetish. This is what I like to do. I do it with my husband all the time.”
“What, you wash his hands,” I asked.
“That’s right, sweetie. I wash his hands. I love to wash a man’s hands. I love to feel the soapy warmth of a pair of strong hands.” She was staring at my palm as she rubbed my fingers.
“I love to rub the soap around and feel each finger,” she continued looking down into the sink. “I love to feel how strong each finger is and how large the palm is.
“I love to feel the little callous right here where the finger joins the palm.” She turned over my hand and rubbed the dead piece of skin under my middle finger and then looked up at me. “I love to feel them get warm and wet, and I love to fantasize about them holding me. I love to think about a pair of warm wet hands running themselves all over my body, gently caressing my skin, fondling my breasts and arousing me.
“Panties? Panties are just fabric. What good are they when they’re empty? But a warm pair of living hands, now that’s something to fantasize about. That’s what I think is sexy.”
You could have knocked me over with a flimsy nylon g-string. If Patti had not been holding my hand I might have just fallen over backwards. All this time I had no idea. All this time I was living in he dark.
“So, do you want to wash the other one?” I asked sarcastically.
Patti didn’t answer me. She simply took my left hand into the water and washed it as thoroughly as she did the right hand. The whole time she just stood next to me at the sink, silently washing my left hand and then my right hand again. She stared down into the dirty water of the sink and admired my hands as she lathered them up repeatedly and washed them off once, then twice, then three times. If I had any sense I would have worried about her husband walking into the room. I didn’t.
My heart thumped harder, and my penis grew rigid as she caressed my wet, soapy hand.
I now had a pair of warm, wet, pruned hands. Patti just kept running her fingers over my palms and then down the back of my fingers. I lost track of time, but I felt the need to break away. All this hand play was causing havoc in my pants. Patti was getting that same look in her eyes that Aunt Sherrie had the day she groped my groin. I was as hard as a rock and I wanted to go home and jerk off. All this because of holding a woman’s hand.
“Ahh, Patti,” I said.
“Yes.”
“I think they’re clean now.”
Patti turned and took a dishtowel from a drawer near the sink.
“I’ll just dry you off,” she said with a glazed look in her eyes.
“Part of the big finish I hope,” I said to her.
“Mmm.”
She had a big grin across her face, like the cat that swallowed the canary. Maybe she grinned because I was so stunned. Maybe she grinned because my horizons were just a little more open. Or maybe she grinned because she had just shared a unique moment of intimacy with me. I hoped it was the later.
“Don’t worry, Vincent. I’m not going to grope you.”
Shit. I would have enjoyed that.
My hands were dry now, and I started to back away from her. However, she did not let go of my hand just yet.
“I hope you aren’t in a hurry to leave,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t paid you for the job yet.”
“Oh yeah. You owe me three pairs of cold, lifeless panties for two weekends worth of construction work with my warm, sexy hands.”
“Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” she said. “The bad news is that I don’t have any panties here for you.”
“And the good news?” I asked.
“The good news is that you and I are going to the boutique together.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are.”
Oh boy. That is good news.
* * *
It had been a long time since I had stepped foot in The French Boutique, the favorite lingerie shop of my Aunt Sherrie and her two sisters. Here is where they had bought so many of the sexy undergarments that they had given me as payment for jobs done around their homes, and here I stood now hand-in-hand with Patti as we looked around the store for three pairs of panties suitable for the construction job I had just completed at her house.
Of course holding hands with Patti had taken on an entirely new dimension in the past half hour. I was tempted to ask her if she had an orgasm while washing my hands, but I thought that it would be more tactful not to ask that particular question and just let myself believe that she did. Ignorance is bliss.
“Bon soir, mon ami,” Madeline, the owner of the boutique addressed Patti. “I see that after all this time you have returned with your young man. Bon, très bon.”
“Now Madeline, how many times do I have to tell you that you have the wrong idea?” Patti said to her.
“So you say, Pat-teesh. But if I do have the wrong idea then I know for sure that you have the wrong idea as well. Il est très beau. No?”
Patti actually giggled when Madeline said that, whatever it was.
This was all going over my head. I studied Spanish in high school, and I was not too good at that. What I did understand was that Madeline was giving me that hungry sort of look again. In our previous sojourn to the boutique Patti had told me that Madeline was sizing me up like a piece of meat. That explained why the hairs on the back of my neck stood up every so often. Now I felt her glare again.
“We’re just going to look around for a few minutes. Okay?” Patti said.
“Very well, Pat-teesh. You have the run of the store,” Madeline replied.
“I’ve know her for years and she always mispronounces my name,” she whispered to me. “I don’t think she can say the word ‘Patricia.’”
“Why doesn’t she just call you Patti like everyone else?”
“I think she’s trying to?” We giggled.
Patti took me over to a large display table next to a line of negligees. The table had several pairs of elaborate panties spread out on it.
“These are her top-of-the-line merchandise. See anything you like?” Patti asked me.
“Well, yeah. The problem is in trying to narrow it down,” I whispered nervously.
There were so many from which to choose. The colors were rich and vibrant shades of blue, pink, green, and red. There were panties with tassels and those without. I found myself focusing on a brand of silk panties that had different designs on them. One pair had a gold base with a combination of intricate dark blue and black designs. The color scheme turned me on; in fact my groin was stirring now and pressing out against my jeans.
“I like these, here.” I pointed them out to Patti and she picked them up.
“Yes, these are nice,” she replied.
Next my eyes caught a burgundy panty with silver and black designs. The burgundy was rich and dark, and the silver offset against the background fabric perfectly.
“I like these too,” I said as I pointed them out.
“Very nice.” She picked up those as well.
I could not decide between the last two pairs that I saw. One pair was a dark green French cut panty that had what looked like a black letter ‘V’ embossed in lace. The other was pink and had the same ‘V’ embossed in white. I liked them both, but could not decide between the two of them.
“Which ones do you prefer, Patti?”
“Well let me see. I’m a girl so I guess I like the pink ones better.” She picked them up and handed them to me.
“Yeah, I guess those are prettier,” I said. “Here, you’d better hold them,” and I pushed them back to her as if I would get the cooties or something.
“Take it easy,” she said. “It isn’t like holding them is going to give you the cooties or anything.”
Patti always seemed to have a way of reading my mind.
We shopped for about fifteen minutes before we had settled on three pairs of absolutely beautiful panties. The gold, blue, and black pair, the pink French cut panties with the embossed ‘V’ pattern, and the burgundy, silver, and black pair. All three were pairs that caught my eye, and my imagination, early.
“Are you settled there, mon ami?” Madeline asked Patti.
“Yes, we are.”
“Bon, très bon.” Madeline had an evil little smirk on her face. I spent a quick moment looking at her as she rang up the merchandise.
Madeline looked like she was in her early fifties, somewhat matronly, but quite attractive. I had once before found myself admiring how meticulously groomed she kept herself. She had perfectly styled hair and make-up; she was quite a striking woman. She was also a curvaceous woman with a full bosom and full hips; I found myself looking along the curves of her body as she talked with Patti. I may have been staring. She was everything a lingerie saleswoman should be.
“Madeleine, have you had any more luck in fixing that second fitting room in the back?” Patti asked.
“Mai non, Pat-teesh. The problem is that the workman I hire, oooh, il est un grand cochon. Comprenez?” She waved her hand in the air angrily.
“Madeline is having some labor problems,” Patti said to me.
“I see.”
“It is a simple job,” she complained. “The problem is I hire a simple man to do it,” she was animated now. “I ire a man to do some simple work and what do I get? ‘edache after ‘eadache. Eediot. I fire ‘im, but now I do not know what I am to do.” Her accent got more exaggerated as she became more upset. Her cheeks started to flush themselves red a little.
“I know where you can hire someone who is competent and trustworthy,” Patti said.
“Oh, where Pat-teesh? I am desperate to fineesh the job. I have customers come into my store, and they have to see an embarrazzing mezz like that.”
“Well, he’s right here.” Patti squeezed my arm.
“What’d you say?” I asked amazed.
“You could help out Madeline, Vincent.”
“I could?”
“Yes,” Patti turned to Madeline. “You should see the job he just finished at my house. He built two brand new rooms in the basement. I’ll bet fixing a fitting room would be no trouble for him.”
“It wouldn’t?” I asked still amazed and wondering what the hell she was doing to me.
“Are you really that good? Do you think you could ‘elp me, cherie?” Madeleine asked me. She pleaded, actually.
“Well, ah, well,” I stammered and looked back and forth between the two women.
“Of course he could. Let’s go back there and show him the job,” Patti answered for me.
Madeline guided us to the rear of the store and showed us the problem. She had all the supplies she needed, but the place was a mess.
“I come in ‘ere the other day and what do I find? That fat peeg is drinking. Le cochon. J’espère qu’ils l’accrochent.” This woman was mad.
“Everytheeng is ‘ere to do the work. I just need someone in whom I can trust; someone who will work ‘ard,” she said.
“Well, what do you say, Vincent? Are you going to help out my good friend or not?” Patti was putting me to the challenge and clasping my hand tightly. My hard-on throbbed.
What the hell did I have to lose?
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t be to much work,” I answered. “If I come over after my regular job I could probably get it done in about four days. Five tops.”
“Oh cherie, I will be indebted to you. Can you start this week?”
“Sure, yeah I’ll come over tomorrow after work.”
Later that night I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, clutching the pair of burgundy and silver panties in my hand while I wore Patti’s favorite pink tap pants. I realized that I would be working for almost a week in the fitting room of a lingerie store. My erection throbbed against the silk of the tap pants.
Someone up there really likes me.
I was restless and couldn’t sleep, so to occupy my time and burn off some energy I got out of bed and walked over to the bureau that housed my prized collection. I opened the bureau and removed the newest additions, the panties that Patti had bought for me that night. I took out other pairs of panties as well and laid them out on the bed. I removed the black lace bikinis and a gold thong that Bambi had recently bought me. I took out the fancy tasseled green panties my Aunt Sherrie had recently purchased for me. I took out a pair of the older cotton panties, the ones with the little rainbows on them that had been among the very first panties my Aunt Sherrie had ever given to me.
I spread them out on the bed with the new additions and picked them up one by one to fondle and admired. I wrapped the brand new pink French cut panties with the embossed ‘V’ around my penis and stroked myself to erection. I took the gold thong and placed it over the top of my erection and began stroking. One by one I picked up a pair and used them to stimulate myself. I wanted to come, and I wanted to come quickly.
I imagined Patti naked except for a pair of virgin white tap pants, her back pressed to my chest so that I could fondle her breasts. I imagined her caressing my hands with hers and I pressed the length of my manhood into her tap pants along the crack of her ass. I imagined humping her through the soft, silky material. It wasn’t enough to make me come.
I imagined both Bambi and my Aunt Sherrie caressing my body with their panties, Bambi using a gold thong like the one I had just dropped that lay on the floor, my aunt using a silver and black panty. I imagined each of the women pulling the panties from their bodies and down their legs and rubbing the slightly damp material around my chest and back. I imagined my aunt stroking and groping at my cock, but still I did not come.
Desperate for a quick sexual release I piled the panties on the bed and prepared for a panty fuck. I wrapped my cock with a condom quickly, haphazardly, and mounted the pile. I grabbed a fistful of silk and lace and violently humped the fabric desperately trying to achieve a quick release.
I fantasized bout Madeline’s store. I closed my eyes, clinched my teeth and remembered all the varieties of feminine apparel lying about in her wonderful store. The memory of all those panties, as well as all the other feminine finery, brought forth a quick series of twitches to my cock. I knew I was close.
I tossed the blue tap pants that reminded me of Gail’s eyes on the pillow and humped the pile of panties without mercy. Trying desperately to see her face in the panties I thrust and thrust until I finally felt a warm surge of semen rise up and escape into the rubber.
Mission accomplished. I had no idea how narrow minded I was.
* * *
Mahogany. The woman liked mahogany. The whole changing room was to be fitted out with mahogany wood cabinets, mahogany paneling, even the table and chair were stained mahogany. It took me about four days after my regular job to complete the room.
The fringe benefit of course was that I got to spend so much time in a store dedicated to the sale and distribution of my favorite fetish item. It is amazing that I got any work done at all. At my regular day job I didn’t have the distraction of being surrounded by women’s underwear. However at Madeline’s store I was in a constant state of arousal. Even when I was in the back fitting room with the door closed my erection was relentless.
Each day I got home from work – the first four days in a row – I would dive into my bureau drawer and set myself up for a glorious panty fuck. I was showered and naked in about ten minutes. My family thought that I was tired from working overtime at my job, and they just let me get cleaned up for bed.
“Do you want any dinner, Vincent? I left something in the refrigerator for you.”
“No thanks, Mom. I ate a little while ago.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Yeah, goodnight mom.”
But once I was ensconced in my room, the bathrobe came off and the panty drawer came out, and was it ever stuffed. The exquisite stuff was my favorite, the panties with intricate floral designs and tassels; the panties with rich, bold colors; the panties made of smooth silk and satin with lace borders and trim.
My arousal would have lasted all night long if I didn’t do something to tame the beast. I would caress my body with a pair of deep blue panties while stroking my member with a gold thong or a black lace-trimmed panty. I would give myself slow strokes at first, but soon either I would be pumping myself furiously with my fist or humping a pile of panties on my bed while I thought about all the gloriously sensual underwear throughout the store.
I never lasted long, usually only long enough to get on a condom so as not to ruin my collection. I didn’t want to foul my most prized possessions with any semen stains. In fact my orgasms had been coming sooner and sooner. The sexual scenarios that I would fabricate in my head were getting briefer in order to accommodate my shorter staying time. Soon it was all that I could do to hold onto a fantasy of penetrating Patti in the doggie position while Bambi and my aunt caressed my body with their panties. I even entertained a fantasy about Madeline; after all it was her store. Then, bang, I was done.
It was becoming all about getting off as fast as possible. I just wanted to shoot my load.
Besides the arousal the store provided me, I also got quite an education in the retail aspect of lingerie. The clientele was diverse. A little less than half of the customers were men, most of whom would come in and skulk around before either making a purchase or leaving empty handed. A few men were on a first name basis with Madeline, and appeared to be making purchases for their wives or girlfriends; maybe both.
Several of the women who came in to shop did so with other women. In fact most of the time there would be two women shopping together, comparing items, and just generally having a good time. Again most were familiar with Madeline. She seemed to have a very loyal customer base.
On the last day of work on Madeline’s fitting room, Friday, I thought I had seen a familiar man exit the store after making a purchase. I got a brief look at him, but at the time I just couldn’t place him. It kind off bugged me for a moment because I thought I recognized him.
“Madeline, who was that guy?” I asked.
“Oh, just one of my loyal customers. So tell me, cherie, ‘ave you fineeshed the feeting room?”
“Yeah, it’s all done. I just need to clean up the mess and you’ll be in business,” I replied.
“Oh, I am so excited I cannot wait. Let’s see it now.”
Madeline had been to the new fitting room about a million times since I started working on it. She would sometimes make small talk when there were no customers to attend to, but that wasn’t often. Mostly I just got the feeling that she was leering at me, sucking on her fingernail in that sexy way she had about her. She was also always trying to make some sort of physical contact with me such as a hug or a kiss before I left for the night or by finding some excuse to brush against me. I’ll tell you the truth, I enjoyed having a sexy older woman paying so much attention to me. It was just another cause for my state of perpetual arousal.
“Oh, it is just perfect,” she complemented my work.
“Well, it’s not much different from yesterday,” I replied.
“I know, I know. But I have been wanting to get thees room fineeshed for months now. You see how much bees-ness I have in ‘ere during the week. I always need a second room. Oh, merci cherie. Merci beaucoup.” And with that she gave me a hug.
It was a big hug. A very big hug. She wrapped her arms around my body and pulled me close to her. I could feel her breasts press against my chest. The soft crush of her bosom against my body was an enjoyable feeling to say the least. Then she loosed her grip on my body and let her hands run down my back before lightly running her fingers across my butt.
“Well, gee, thanks. Glad you like it,” What the hell was I supposed to say at this point?
“Oh cherie, you have done a very good job. Please come upstairs weeth me. We must celebrate, no?” she offered.
“Well you’re busy right now. You could have customers coming in any moment, and I don’t want to get in the way.”
“Nonsense cherie, it is past eight o’clock. I seldom get anyone past this time on a Friday night. Everyone is busy right now. I would not have a customer if I stayed open for another hour. Come, come upstairs and we will ‘ave a leetle celebration.”
I took a few minutes to vacuum the floor of the new fitting room and clear out my tools. I got everything from my circular saw and cordless drill to my hammer locked up in the trunk of my car and went back inside through the rear door. Madeline was just locking up the front and turning out the light. She flipped the “Closed” sign in the window and led me to a staircase in the back.
Madeline lived in the apartment above the store. Once upstairs I noticed that it had a bigger floor layout than the store downstairs; it spread out over the entire space of the building below. There were quite a few rooms and each was exquisitely furnished. I guessed that the lingerie business was good.
“Quite a place you have here,” I complimented her on her apartment.
“Oh, thank-you cherie. Actually I own the ‘ole building,” she explained.
“Really?”
“Oh yes. This one and a few others. My ‘usband was in real estate for many years. I am quite comfortable.”
“I didn’t know you were married,” I said.
“Oh, I married several years ago. He was an older man, and he ‘as been gone for some years now.”
I didn’t know whether she was telling me that her husband died or walked out, and I thought the tactful thing to do was not ask and just leave that part of the conversation where it was.
“Please, come and clean up,” she said. “Clean up and we shall ‘ave our celebration. I ‘ave a bottle chilled just right. Clean up and ‘ave yourself a glass,” she offered.
“I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t be drinking anything.”
“Nonsense, a man can ‘ave a glass of champagne. I will ‘ave none of it. You will clean up,” she said, “and we will ‘ave a leetle something.”
I complied. Even if I wasn’t technically old enough to drink yet – just a few weeks shy of my twenty-first birthday actually, it had been a long week and I guessed I deserved it. I worked hard after all.
I washed up in her bathroom then returned to her living room. Madeline called to me.
“Vincent, just ‘ave a seat and I will be back.”
“Sure, anything you say,” I said as I emerged from the bathroom and entered her living room.
The room was furnished with elegant French period furniture. I sat on a sofa with a high back and intricate wooden designs. The carpenter in me admired the fine workmanship. In fact there was nothing cheap or flimsy about this place. The wallpaper was expensive, the mantle and hearth of the fireplace were hand-carved, the furniture was all either imported or antique.
Madeline had several paintings hanging on the walls of the room. One was a portrait of a woman reclining on a chaise lounge. Her hair was black and her skin was fair. She was nude from the waist up, but she wore a white robe or gown that covered her waist to her knees.
Another painting showed several sailboats out on a lake at the foot of a mountain. It was a fuzzy painting without the detail of the portrait, and the pant used was comprised mostly of pastels. It hung above the mantle of the fireplace.
“’ere we are cherie,” she said as she came back into the room holding a magnum of champagne and two flutes. “I ‘ave been saving this bottle for a special occasion.” With that she popped the cork from the bottle.
There was a little hiss from the bottle, not some big flowing gush of champagne bursting forth. She sat close to me on the sofa.
“Gee, Madeline, I don’t know what the big deal is. All I did was finish off some work in one room. It really isn’t that big a deal,” I said attempting humbly to put what I had done in perspective.
“Nonsense. I ‘ave waited far too long for that job too be done,” she said as she poured the wine into the two glasses and placed the bottle in a bucket on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I ‘ave customers coming in all day, and it is more often than not that two or three ladies are lined up waiting for the fitting room. Your work is going to make my business more profitable, and for that I am very appreciative.” She said this and handed me a glass.
“Besides, you fixed the drawers in that old bureau and gave it a brand new finish, and you repaired the chairs and the table. You ‘ave done a wonderful job. That room is so beautiful I could rent it out, oui?”
“You flatter me,” I said with a little smile trying to sound a little sophisticated but probably failing.
“Oui, cherie. And it is deserved. A toast,” she held up her glass. I held up mine. “To a job well done.”
Clink.
So I wasn’t old enough to drink yet. That didn’t mean that I never did. The carbonation of sparkling wine is different than that of beer. The champagne was dry and it tickled my nostrils as I drank it down. Madeline drank hers down too, but she kept an eye on me as she did.
“So, do you do such good work for Pat-teesh also, cherie?”
“Well, I take pride in my work.”
“Well, that is as it should be. ‘ere,” she said, “let me refresh your glass.”
A magnum is a big bottle that holds a lot of wine. I had the feeling that Madeline wanted to share to whole thing with me. After she touched up her glass she excused herself.
“Give me a moment, cherie.”
She rose from the sofa and walked over to a cabinet with her glass in hand. She opened up the dark walnut top and revealed a phonograph system. She placed her glass down on the table next to it and knelt down. She opened the front doors to the cabinet and took out several records. After placing several of them on a spindle in the turntable she turned it on. A record dropped and started playing some music. Madeline picked up her glass and started swaying to the sound of romantic piano.
After a minute or two, she dimmed the light to the room a notch and returned to her spot on the sofa next to me. I had sipped about half of the champagne in my glass while she was preparing the records, so she reached for the bottle and topped off both of us.
She turned to face me from my left and placed her right arm just behind my left shoulder. She crossed her legs painfully slow. It was the deliberate type of movement a woman makes when she is in the process of wrapping a man around her finger. Madeline’s legs were well shaped. Her body had soft, full curves to it and her somewhat matronly appearance was betrayed by an experienced sensuality. That, plus her meticulous grooming, made her quite an extraordinary woman to behold. I had a sense of what she was trying to do, even with my relative inexperience. The only question was whether or not I had the good sense to allow myself to be seduced.
“So cherie, how do you like the wine?” she asked.
“I thought it was champagne,” I said ignorantly.
“Champagne is wine; it is sparkling wine. That is the carbonation, cherie. It comes from a village in France called Champagne,” she explained.
“Yeah, but don’t they make champagne in California too?” I asked.
“Mais non, they make sparkling wine. ‘owever, many people meestakenly call that champagne as well,” she said.
“I’ll remember the difference,” I said as I took another sip of sparkling wine from a village in France called Champagne. I giggled a little as I sipped it.
“You like?”
“Yeah, it’s different. It tickles.”
Madeline smiled and sipped some more from her glass.
“How come you have a picture of a half-naked lady in your living room?” I asked. In retrospect it seems like a stupid and awkward question to ask a woman from out of the blue, but I think the combination of my own nervousness and the intoxicating effect of the wine conspired to weaken my judgment.
“You do not recognize ‘er, cherie?”
“No.”
“Take a good look at ‘er.”
“I don’t know,” I said as I considered the picture from across the room. “Is she someone famous? Is she an actress or something?”
“Mais non, look closer.”
I did, but the face just didn’t seem to click with anyone I should know.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Who is it?”
“Silly,” she replied, “elle es moi.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“She is me.”
“What?”
I looked closer at the portrait. The girl in the picture had long black hair and a generous bosom. She appeared to be in her late teens, but her face – the shape of it and the little smirk on her mouth – quickly revealed itself to be the very woman I sat next to on the sofa.
“Hey, I see it now. That is you. When did you pose for it?” I asked her.
“Oh cherie, that was a very long time ago. I was but a girl, not long in Paris. I ‘ad high ‘opes of becoming a model back then. I modeled for that portrait, and others as well,” she explained.
“Who painted it?”
“The same artist who painted that one above the mantle,” she pointed to the painting of the sailboats. “That was one of ‘is impressionist paintings.”
“Who was the artist?”
“Oh, no one famous. Claude was very talented and expressive. He dabbled in one genre after another, but never really found the one that was right for ‘im.”
“Was he your husband?” I asked carefully. I didn’t want to probe too far about her marriage since I didn’t know how it had ended.”
“Mais non. Claude was not my ‘usband.”
“So you only modeled for him?” I asked. I took another long sip of champagne. I would need to refresh my glass in a moment.
“I modeled for ‘im, oui. But he was also my lover.”
That caught me a bit off guard.
“Oh?”
“Don’t be so surprised, cherie. I was young and in love with ‘im. I learned so much about life by seeing it through ‘is eyes. I learned so much by seeing the world through ‘is art.”
“Really?” I was lost for conversation at this point. I picked up the magnum myself and refilled both of our glasses.
“Is it not the same way between you and Pat-teesh?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Does she not teach you much about love ‘erself?”
I blushed. The conversation was becoming very personal now and I didn’t know how to respond. I had tremendous feelings of affection for Patti, and I had learned a few things from her, but I never quite understood some of the lessons that she was trying to teach me.
“Well, no.”
“Non?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. She hinted that she knew better.
I thought that I had better clear things up for her.
“Well Patti is a good friend, but we’re not lovers or anything like that.” I took an aggressive drink of champagne.
“Never? Not even once?” She stroked her fingers along the back of my neck and combed them through my hair. My erection pressed hard against my jeans.
“No, never.” Another sip of wine.
“That is a pity, mon cherie. Tell me, ‘ave you ever been with a woman?”
Now the conversation was very personal. My heart was nervously beating faster, and I was worried that my voice might break when I spoke.
“Well, yeah. I did it once.”
“You deed it?” She put emphasis on her accented ‘did,’ but I didn’t understand what she was hinting at yet.
“Sure, I was in high school,” I replied.
I was seventeen at the time. I had a date with a girl I met at a dance early in my senior year. Until that time I had only masturbated with magazine pictures of women in panties for sexual release. Lisa Lewis was pretty and she seemed to like me. After we had gone out four or five times we both decided that we wanted to lose our virginity. It was certainly a departure for a boy who had up until then been obsessed with panties and not their contents.
I had the use of my father’s car, and we were going to go to a movie and then home. We missed the movie and drove out to an isolated spot just outside of the city where teenagers had been going all the way back to the end of World War II. We spent a lot of time nervously kissing each other, and it was doubtful if we were even going to take off our clothes or not. At some point I screwed up the courage to attempt a first awkward move. I wasn’t smooth, and I wasn’t graceful, but mercifully Lisa was expecting neither from me.
“Are you sure you want to go through with it?” I asked.
“Yeah, … I guess so,” she said.
“Do you want me to wear this thing?” I pulled a condom out of my wallet.
“Where did you get that?”
“Billy lent it to me.”
“Lent it to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have to give it back to him afterwards?” she started laughing. It really broke the ice.
“No,” I said laughing myself. “Just let me put it on.”
“Do you know how?”
“Of course I do,” I lied.
A few minutes later we were finished. I just stuck my penis in her vagina, humped a few times, shot my load and figured that I was a man at last. I had finally screwed a girl. I thought that it felt good, but I wasn’t sure. I guess the idea of having had sex was more important than the sex itself. I didn’t spend any time trying to arouse her. Just to show what kind of asshole I was I didn’t even ask if it was good for her. I think that’s why she never saw me again after that night.
I hit the highlights of the story for Madeline.
“That is such a sad story, cherie,” she said.
“Sad? Why?”
“Because you went in so blind and eegnorant.”
“What else should I have done?”
“Cherie, all you were looking for was an opportunity to ‘do’ it.” She continued to stroke the back of my head and neck with her right hand. “You never considered that loving a woman is much more than just jumping into the back seat and getting sex over weeth.
“It is so much more.” She placed her glass down on the coffee table then turned to me. Her left hand was now free, and she placed it on my chest right over my heart. I had no doubt that she could feel my heart pounding out a beat totally out of rhythm with the romantic music playing in the background. My penis twitched in rhythm with my heart.
“Well, yeah. I mean I know that now.” I took another aggressive sip of champagne.
“Oh? And what exactly do you know?” she challenged my knowledge. It was a clever ploy if she was trying to embarrass me, but I do not think that was her intention.
“Well, like with my girlfriend?”
“So, you ‘ave a lady friend now?”
“Yeah, sure I do. Her name is Gail.”
“And you and Gail ‘ave been intimate?” She stroked my chest up and down with her left hand. My erection was begging for release.
“No.”
“Does she never touch you like this?” Madeline’s hand roamed from my chest, past my belt, and down to the crease in my pants where she gave me a fondling I have never been able to describe in words. (Sorry dear reader.) Not even my aunt’s now infamous groping could compare.
“Ah, n… no,” I stammered.
“Does she keess you, like this?” She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against mine. The suction was moist and gentle at first. She added a little suction and parted my lips with her tongue. She gently licked at my tongue and our teeth scraped. Then she pulled back, but continued to fondle me.
“N, … n, ah, no.”
“Do you keess ‘er like this?” Madeline repeated her incredible kiss and she outlind the length of my ever hardening cock with her fingernail.
I was speechless. I forgot all about the glass of champagne that I was holding while Madeline fondled and kissed me. When I momentarily regained my senses I took a long sip of the wine and emptied my glass. I leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table, then relaxed back in my seat just staring into Madeline’s eyes.
“Cherie, there is so much more to loving a woman properly than simply ‘doing it.’ It takes patience and tenderness. You must take time, cherie, to explore each other and let all your senses enjoy the experience. Remember, it is all about the journey, not the destination. Comprenez?”
“Uh, yeah … yeah.” I looked for a refill of my glass.
“Oh? I theenk not.” She kissed me again then rose to her feet. “Cherie, I will be back in un moment. Please refill our glasses.”
She gracefully left the room, strolling out elegantly on her high heels. I briefly entertained the thought of bailing out while she was in the other room. This was a complete assault. But how stupid would I feel in the morning if I walked out on this? At least some part of me had the sense to stay put, my fucking erection. Even if I had made the decision to get up and bolt, that little (well, I wouldn’t say little really, but you know what I mean) bastard had me immobile.
The record stopped, I could hear the needle scrape against the label, then a couple of clicks. A second record dropped in place and the stylus swung back and down. Soft Spanish guitar emanated from the phono player. Madeline walked back into the room still wearing her high heels, but a different outfit.
She wore a sheer black robe that did little to conceal her body. She was obviously not wearing a bra; the robe parted revealing her ample cleavage. Yet her breasts were obscured by the material of the robe just enough to leave something to my imagination. What caught my eye of course were the champagne colored panties that she wore. They were made from a shimmering silk stitched with black lace trimmed all around the edges. Her sheer robe opened just below her waist as she walked back to the sofa. It afforded me a wonderful view of her legs, but more so of her panties which the opening of her robe highlighted. My heart pounded like a bass drum.
She sashayed towards me. The lace trim of her robe brushed against the outside of her legs as she walked. “I thought you would refresh our drinks, cherie.”
“Oh, sorry.” I took the magnum and poured the remaining contents into our glasses. The alcohol was taking full effect; or was it her perfume?
We drank down the remaining champagne silently. Madeline sat next to me, almost on top of me, smiling the whole time, devising some evil plot behind those sensuous eyes. Or was her plot already devised? She crossed her legs painfully slow once again. She continued to comb her fingers through my hair. When she was done with her glass she placed it on the table one last time. She took my glass from my hand and put it down also. She was in total control.
“Put your ‘and on my thigh,” she whispered into my ear. I obeyed.
Madeline unbuttoned my shirt with her left hand. She reached inside and stroked the warm flesh of my chest with long crimson polished nails. She guided her hand up to my face and tilted it towards hers. Again she placed a sensuous, moist kiss on my lips.
“So, Pat-teesh ‘as never given you a lesson in love?” she asked again in a throaty growl.
“N … no,” I fought to get the word out. It was stuck in my throat.
“Then why do you come into my store weeth ‘er to by such beautiful lingerie?” She kissed my neck and ear.
“They’re not … they’re not … for her,” I stuttered.
“Oh, then for whom? Your young lady?” Her fingers wandered to the crease in my pants and I could feel her unbuckle my jeans. Once unfastened, she reached inside.
“No … they’re, they’re…”
“They’re what, mon amour?” I felt her fingers gently travel the length of my increasingly hard erection.
“Mine,” I confessed meekly. “They’re mine.”
“Yours?” she asked unflinchingly. Madeline stroked my naked body between my chest and manhood. She continued kissing me.
“Yes,” I gasped for air as the confession came out. My sweaty palm clutched her thigh while my other hand clutched the arm of the sofa. “Yea … yea …yes. They … they’re mi … mine. They’re m … mine,” I spoke in a whimper.
“What do you need them for, cherie?” She reached down between my legs to stroke the length of my engorged cock.
“They’re m … my fe … fe … fetish. I ha … have a p … panty fetish.”
“And Pat-teesh, she ‘elps you?” She was nibbling on my ear and rolling the head of my member between her thumb and forefinger.
“Yes,” my chest heaved excitedly as I answered. I fought to control my breathing and to pace my sentence. “Yes, she helps me,” I could have started crying but for her next sentence.
“I will ‘elp you more.”