Panties for Him (Punish and Pleasure - Volume 1) by Owen Wilde Page A

slut
inside him clamored and shouted in his ear. He rubbed and grunted
and watched himself in the mirror, mesmerized by the sight of his
pink manhood wrapped in the panties and let out a gurgling moan as
he came in them.
    “Hello?” A female voice was calling from
outside the room.
    He trembled, biting his hand and shaking. If
she came in the room and tore back the curtain, all was lost.
    “Hello? Do you need help in there?” she
called again.
    He cleared his throat and forced himself to
speak a bit higher, hoping he sounded like a breathless lady trying
to squeeze herself into a dress that was too small. “No, I'm
fine.”
    “OK, ma'am, just checking,” the woman said
and then left with no further inquiries.
    He peeled the soaked panties down and set
about getting dressed as quickly as his trembling hands would
allow. He dashed from the dressing room and his heart beat in his
ears until he threw the crumpled, cum-filled panties into a corner
in the back of the store. He strolled casually through the store to
the register at that point, crisis averted. He paid for the panties
and almost made it to the car when he realized that a voice was
calling to him.
    “Sir! I need to speak with you!” The man had
caught up to him. A security guard, judging by his uniform. He was
at least a foot taller and maybe two feet broader across the chest.
The look on his face was one of disdain. “What's your name, sir?”
he barked.
    “What's the problem?” he asked. His voice
shook a little, betraying his nervousness.
    “Sir, I asked you what is your name,” the
security guard would not be distracted by pleasantries.
    “It's Charles. Charles Moore. Is there a
problem?” The bag of panties was slipping out of his sweaty
grasp.
    “You're going to need to come with me, Mr.
Moore,” the beefy security guard said, taking him by the elbow,
grabbing his package of panties and starting to walk him back to
the door. Charles tried to pull his arm from the vice like grip,
but it was pointless. The tall man was silent as they walked back
inside, through the store. He felt all the eyes upon him; his face
was hot with shame, until finally they reached a door. The security
guard unlocked it and drug him inside.
    There was nothing there but an old metal
table and two dilapidated chairs. The man pointed toward the table
and commanded, “Sit down, Mr. Moore.”
    His heart raced as he sat, wondering what
exactly the security guard already knew. Was it the used panties he
had relieved himself in? Did they know about the dressing room? Was
he going to call the police? All the dreaded scenarios raced
through his mind and he found himself struggling to breathe.
    The large man sat in the chair across from
him.
    “Mr. Moore, my name is Officer Rodriguez. I
am in charge of store security,” he looked Charles in the eye and
Charles could not return his gaze, “and we have a problem. Let me
see your bag.”
    Charles dropped the plastic bag on the
table.
    “Who are the panties for, Mr. Moore?”
    He gulped; he hadn't had a lie ready. He
never expected to have to explain himself.
    “I, well the panties, they're for someone.”
He couldn't form the words that would save him.
    “They're for someone? And who would that
someone be?” Officer Rodriguez snapped at him.
    “They're for my wife. For my wife,” Charles
nodded, suddenly relieved that this was all explainable.
    “That's an interesting story,” the officer
nodded, “however, I think you're lying. Let me show you why.”
    Officer Rodriguez pulled out a cell phone
and scrolled and clicked until a video was on the screen. He
pressed play and Charles saw himself tip-toeing into the women’s
dressing room, his state of undress, the phone call he took and he
swallowed hard as he watched while he pleasured himself in the
panties. Charles grabbed the table with both hands as waves of
nausea gripped him and he struggled to catch a breath. The man knew
everything.
    “So as you can see, Mr. Moore, we