Men Wearing Panties Club Submitted Stories

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Men Wearing Panties, Pantyhose, And Lingerie

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Title: Self Bondage

I've been a closeted lingerie CD for many years, and my excitement has always been heightened by adding two elements: risk of discovery and self-bondage. Combining the two makes my heart feel like it's coming out of my chest. So far I've survived in this life without permanent damage. Please join me, dear reader, in my current musings...
I wriggle into my tight pink mesh dress - the one with spaghetti straps, the one that clearly reveals my nipples, the one that barely reaches the bottom of... my bottom.

I pull on a white mesh garter skirt, the one with silky pink trim and a pink bow in the front, drawing it up high enough to allow room for something to rise, which "something" is already inclined to do.

I slowly pull on my sheerest charcoal gray pull-ups, stretching them to the tops of my thighs. I love the feeling of my sacks rubbing against nylon...the harder the rubbing, the better.

And then over my thigh-highs, come the sheer seamed beige hose, gartered by eight slender suspenders from the mesh skirt, leaving my engorged friend framed beautifully in nylon, more nylon, and pink suspenders.

Finally the thong, two sizes too small so that pulled up tightly, it cuts harshly into my rear. My sweet clit, moments ago so free, now jailed in screaming pink see-through mesh.

I slip into my three inch black pumps, and then pull gear out of a drawer. I take a small knife and three lengths of sisal rope, each with small noose tied at one end...and then a fourth, which I wrap tightly twice around the base of my clit, behind and in front of my sacks, causing them to swell quite instantly. The fullness of them feels wonderful. I tie a knot on the underside and trim the ends. I want to touch myself, but I don't.

I head for the garage, pausing to take another length of rope out of the freezer. Last night, I filled an empty ice tray with water and placed the knotted ends of two lengths of rope near each other in the middle of the tray. Tonight, despite of my best efforts, they cannot be pulled apart. And they cannot until a good deal of ice has melted. I tie a fourth noose at one end.

I enter the garage through my kitchen. I have no ID with me, only my keys. I climb into the back of my old pickup and attach the nooses to metal loops in the four corners of the bed. I've previously done a dry run - I know just how long each tether must be. The "ice lock" goes in a corner near the cab.

Now my hands are shaking a bit. I start the truck and back out of the garage. Fear begins to grow as the garage door closes. But I know that I'm going.

I live in a good sized city. I know just where I'm going. I'm used to driving in lingerie, nervously hoping that I'll be discovered. In about fifteen minutes, at 12:30 in the morning, I'm in a delapidated neighborhood, filled with drugs and poverty. And people of the night.

I pull over near a little park and turn off my lights. Shaking now, I work a large O-ring gag behind my teeth and cinch it tightly. If you don't know what an O-ring gag is, it's a metal "O", in this case wrapped in leather, that has two straps attached that buckle behind your head. It's sole purpose is to force open your mouth...and keep it open.

I wait, making sure no one is in sight. I get out of the truck, and having trouble balancing on my heels, I lock it and hide the keys on the top of a front tire. I move to the back of the truck and climb in. The cold metal on the top of the tailgate makes contact with the underside of my hard-as-rock testes.

I'm shocked into the realization that I look like a total slut, that I'm utterly vulnerable and about to be in extreme danger. I know that I still have a chance to get out of here.

I don't. I place the open knife in the middle of the bed. I sit down in front of it facing the tailgate, and work the "nooses" over my ankles. I tighten them. My legs now are ratcheted open to almost ninety degrees. My saucy little minidress exposes all - hosiery, garters, thigh tops, swollen testes escaping from the thong...

With body shaking and heart pounding, I lay back and work my wrists into the upper loops. I pull one tight. I know that tightening the last one, the one with the ice lock, will immobilize me for at least two hours.

I raise my head. I'm aware of a clingy, revealing chemise, a thong-invaded pale ass pressed against the cold metal of a truck bed, straining passionate legs encased by layers of nylon, the incessant pull of delicate garters, and rope grinding into wrists and ankles and clitoris as I gyrate and lurch against the three tight bonds.

I cannot see, but I hear, approaching drunken voices. Suddenly, fear mutates into volcanic sensuality, and I lust for attack by a raging being who will ravage my gaping mouth and more.

Illuminated by a nearby light, my clit pulses violently, clearly visible through its sheer cover. Relaxing into helplessness, I jerk the last noose tight.