Free Read: Panty Lines by Sommer Marsden

I have the full permission of the author to post this free erotic story.

[intlink id=”67″ type=”post”]Find out more about Sommer here[/intlink].

When I answered the phone, he said, “Put them on.”

That was all. Then he hung up. I put them on.

Four hours later I go to meet Steve for dinner. Our favorite place. A nice candle lit dinner to celebrate the end of the work week. I listen to my heels tapping on the parking lot to try to distract myself. Anything to distract me from the bizarre mix of arousal, excitement, and pain coursing through me. It hurt to walk. Every step torture. Ever flex of my muscles a searing pain.

Hour one it is annoying. Hour two I am tender. Hour three and it’s maddening. Hour four and I have hit the point where it just fucking hurts and I want it to end.

I take the seat he has pulled out for me and he pushes it in gently. Forever the gentleman. He is watching my face. After playing this game for awhile now, I know what he is looking for. The wince when I sit, the shifting in my seat, the way my hands move to offer myself some relief and then still in my lap because I know that’s forbidden.

“How do you feel?” he asks and pours me a glass of red wine from the table.

I take it and don’t sip like a lady, I take a big swig. I have also learned that getting that first glass of wine or that first shot of tequila in me will lessen the pain. Turn it from glass shards on my skin to a dull burning pain. A little more manageable.

“Like I might go insane,” I sigh and take a more demure sip of my drink.

“How wet are you?” he asks in his normal tone. He does not lower his voice or lean in so only I can hear. He simply asks me as if he is asking if I’ve had my oil changed lately.

I squirm a little, as I always do, at the question and how bold he is. The simple act of asking me makes me that much wetter. I can feel the moisture in my panties as I shift. My too tight panties. The ones me makes me wear for our special occasions. They leave deep red lines in my skin. Cut off my circulation. They are torturous but I am always rewarded. And the pain is a welcome thing for me. Dancing with the monster. The pain makes what comes later that much sweeter. We discovered this by accident and now it has become ritual.

“Very,” I sigh and sip again. The waiter will arrive soon. Steve has already ordered for us as he always does. Surf and Turf, a nice red wine, and cheesecake for dessert. Every item on our menu a hoop I must jump through to get my reward. To get home and get my too tight panties peeled off and get taken care of.

“Size?” he asks as the waiter puts our small salads on the table.

I pop a cherry tomato in my mouth and chew, though my increasing discomfort has stolen my appetite. I can’t get up and move around. I cannot find a new position and shift here, there and everywhere. I must sit and focus on him and eat my meal and act as if all is well. More moisture seeps into the crotch of my cotton bondage.

“Two,” I say, playing along.

“And you, Janelle, wear what size?”

I want to sigh because he knows damn well what size I wear. But the look in his eyes lets me know that his cock is hard. Very hard and waiting for me. I must jump through the hoop.

“An eight.”

Three sizes too small, shrunken in the dryer by my husband on purpose. My key to sexual bliss.

It started when Steve’s sister Marie came to stay for the weekend. Marie’s laundry had gotten mixed in with ours and somehow a pair of her panties had ended up in my drawer. I am tall and lean but have a healthy ass. Marie is small and light weight and has the flattest ass on planet earth. When I put her panties on, I had been rushing out the door. Through a meeting and lunch and the rest of my work day, I suffered. I had worn a short skirt that day and flashing my ass to the office would have gotten me fired, so I suffered. For nine hours. In Marie’s panties. Steve was there when I got home and took them off. Red indentations and chafing marks all over my skin. When he ran his fingers along my skin to trace them, I gasped. Jumped. Shuddered. When he fucked me right after that, I did all the same things. The pain and the pleasure were married that night.

Marie eventually called for her missing items. Stephen had gone right out and bought an identical pair. In Marie’s size. And then, to add insult to injury, or in this case, pleasure to pain–he washed them in hot water and then dried them. The pair I was currently wearing were even smaller than the pair that had started this whole thing.

“Eat your salad,” he says. I do it. Each bite tastes worse than the one before. Each chewing session does nothing to shift my focus from the burning bite of elastic into the tops of my thighs, the swell of my ass cheeks, the cleft between my thighs. My attention is focused solely on my discomfort no matter what I try. But my mind also supplies vivid images of my eventual release and my pussy floods the tiny torturous panties and there’s nothing I can do but squirm.

“And sit still,” Stephen adds sternly.

So I do.

We’re only there for another hour but that hour lasts a lifetime. Or it feels like it. I am now completely obsessed with the urge to shift and reminding myself that I cannot. As always, Steve has the rest of my dinner wrapped up for me to take. I never manage to eat much on these nights out. I have, however, downed three glasses of wine. I know he’s aware of what I’m doing but he lets me. I can only assume he doesn’t want me to suffer in an uncontrolled way. That wine gives me a little sense of relief and control, though it’s pretty much an illusion and we both know it.

“Janelle, take the back way home.” He kisses me and heads off to his car.

I walk the agonizing walk to my car and hiss as I sit in the low bucket seat. I start the engine and drive the back way to our house. The back way takes fifteen minutes longer than the straight shot down a main road. More time in the panties. More torture. More anticipation. Wetter panties. I can feel my own liquids seeping down my inner thighs as I pick my way painfully up the front walk.

The door is open and Stephen is inside. Waiting for me. I move a little faster now because I know soon, I will be able to breathe. I move a little faster because I know it will get a little worse before it gets a lot better. But that’s okay. I can handle it. Need it, if I’m honest.

“Upstairs, Janelle!” he calls when the door shuts behind me.

I climb the stairs slowly. Each step makes me wince.

He’s waiting in the bedroom. Naked cock standing straight out. He watches me enter. Pins me with that gaze. His fist jerks up and over the shaft a few times and I clench my thighs at the sight. His hand on his cock never fails to make me crazy. I’m feeling more than a little crazy as it is.

“Take off your dress,” he commands. I move automatically, without question or thought. I reach around, unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor.

Stephen nods and jerks his fist again. The smooth head of his cock is turning the most magical shade of violet. “Bra.”

I unhook and let it fall to the floor. Now it is just me and the too tight panties. He motions me forward with his hand and I go. My inner thighs nearly raw from the lack of circulation and chafing. I would give my right arm for an ice pack and a shot of whiskey.

“Lay down and let’s see how bad off you are.” I lie on the bed and let him do his examination. I shoot glances at his hard-on as he begins to look me over. He yanks and the elastic, pulling it harder into my indented flesh as I try not to cry. His cock jerks when he does this. As if an invisible string of arousal is tied to his rod. He works his way around the leg openings, tugging the elastic hard as I try not to beg him to stop. Every time he tugs, his cock jumps in response. Then he pulls hard on the low waistband and it bites into the raw line of skin along my lower belly. Then, finally, he yanks up and the too tight crotch pulls flush and splits wide my lower lips. I bite my tongue to keep from crying.

“Pretty sore, I imagine,” he says softly, the way a doctor will during an exam. Speaking more to himself than to me. I nod in answer to his question. “On your belly.”

I turn and close my eyes. Try to breathe. Wait. The first blow hits right where the leg hole has rubbed my ass cheek red. The pain is nearly overwhelming but the aftershock of pleasure that ripples through my flesh and deep inside my cunt makes it bearable. The other cheek takes its turn, as does the flesh of my lower back. My eyes are leaking salty tears but a steady beat has started between my thighs. When I don’t think I can stand anymore, he traces the afflicted areas with his gentle palms and tongue. Alternating between the two. Always keeping me off balance.

Finally, I can take a deep breath when he says, “Let’s get you out of these.” He begins to peel the wet, tiny panties from my body. I am not allowed to move or shift and help him. I must lie perfectly still and let him do the removal alone. Sometimes the biting pain on the deeply dented skin is enough to make me scream. I don’t scream.

The horrid panties are finally off. They are off and his hot tongue is back on me. Licking along the wounded skin, following the trail of pain. I sob just a little into the pillow from the pleasure of it all. He turns me again, licking along the red, red lines and shoves a finger deep into me. Finding the swollen bundle of my G-spot and pulsing his fingertip in a perfect rhythm.

I come. This time I sob deeply. I sound like a wounded animal.

He pushes another big finger into me as, face pressed to the V of my legs from behind, his mouth finds my clit. So sensitive and ready it almost hurts when he brushes his flattened tongue against me. He flexes both fingers, licks my sore inner thighs and returns his tongue.

I come for the second time. This time I am babbling. I think I’m saying, “Please, please, please…” I could be wrong.

The blood flow returning to the wicked marks left by nothing more than elastic and cotton is a tingling, electric bliss. He pushes two pillows under my belly, raising my ass high. I hear the dresser drawer, feel him kneeling behind me. He pushes into my cunt. His cock so hard I feel like I’m dying. He runs his fingertips along my marks and grunts approvingly. I’m so wet, I fear he might fall out when he pulls back before thrusting into me again. I don’t lose him but he’s hitting all the right places and his fingers on my wounds are heaven.

My cunt bunches around him. Another orgasm to come, we both know. I hear the wet sounds of a lube bottle, feel the cool liquid against my asshole. He’s pounding into me now, his fingers dancing over my lines every so often. When I feel the crown of the dildo nudge my ass, I push back. I’m ready. No preamble.

He slides it into me. He slides into me. Two cocks. Two entries. At some point he briefly takes both hands along the now fading dents in my skin. It feels like he’s painting me.

“Feel better?” he asks and I nod, waiting.

He resumes his rhythm and pushes me up over that edge one more time and this time, he comes with me.