The Lad in the Lingerie Shop Ch. 08

It was almost a fortnight since the weekend when I'd totally submitted to Anita. She had returned to University the following weekend and although that meant she could no longer check if I was keeping my word and still wearing ladies' briefs to work, I was true to my word and always did so. It was not as though there was a risk that anyone else would find out my secret and besides, they felt so much nicer to wear than the Y-fronts men wore.

As a permanent employee of "The Lingerie Emporium" I was now entitled to a number of paid holidays and had decided to take the coming week off that began with the Bank Holiday Monday at the end of August.

Now that I had been out in public dressed as a female, I no longer felt too nervous about actually going in to a store to buy ladies' underwear. I planned to go to a large town nearby - Leeds or Manchester - where no one would recognise me and buy some more exotic items of underwear than I currently owned. Corsets, Basques, more stockings and suspender belts perhaps, maybe even a dress and some high-heels too. The days of secretive purchases in the name of R. Yardley from "The Lingerie Emporium" were now a thing of the past. I'd got a large enough sum of cash from my bank account on the Thursday of my day off to pay for quite a bit of stuff and was rather looking forward to the thrill of queuing at the till to pay for them and meeting the check-out girl's gaze as she wrapped them for me.

On the Friday before my week off, I walked the short distance to work still dressed in light-weight summer clothes; it looked to be a mild, sunny day, so no need yet for heavier fabrics. I'd selected a pair of black silk panties to wear. They had a small bow at the front and an inch or two of decorative lace at the bottom. They felt very sexy and I was confident that the lacy parts would not bunch up underneath my trousers.

Mrs. Ferguson had started her two week holiday the day before. She had gone up to her holiday home in the Lake District in the North West of England, some 140 miles away, during which time she was going to visit a couple of suppliers in that region to discuss buying Christmas stock from them.

Edna was telling me how Joyce would buy-in slightly more risqué lingerie for the run-up to Christmas as quite a few men plucked up the courage to venture into a ladies' lingerie shop to buy such items for their wives or girlfriends. She joked that maybe some of them really wore their purchase themselves. I laughed and said "surely not", with a slight sense of unease that maybe Edna knew I was no stranger to that scene myself.

The phone rang in Mrs Ferguson's office and Edna went to answer it. I could hear some of the conversation and it was clear that it was Mrs. Ferguson who had called and that there was a problem. Edna was rooting around in Joyce's desk, obviously searching for something Joyce needed and, on finding it, called me in to the office to speak to Joyce.

It turned out that in her haste to set off for the Lake District the day before, she'd left behind two folders of documents that she really needed for her meetings with the suppliers up there. She asked me if I'd be prepared to bring them up to her in the Lake District in the work's van: if I left soon, I could be back by early evening she reckoned. Edna would give me money from petty-cash to pay for the petrol for the journey. I was happy to oblige and wrote down the directions to Joyce's holiday home and her telephone number there.

With the files in hand, I left at about 10 a.m. for the near 300 mile round trip, filling the van's petrol tank soon after setting off.

Much of the route involved travelling north on the M6 - the main motorway running north and south along the west of England. This motorway, very busy at the best of times, was especially busy on the run-up to a Bank-Holiday and the traffic was very slow-moving for much of the way with quite a few standstills. Once north of Preston, the congestion eased off a little but there were still plenty of HGVs and caravans to slow things down.

The sky was now turning an ominous grey and I was pushing the van at full-pelt to overtake the Lorries and caravans to make up for lost time. Before I reached my exit on the motorway to head west towards the Lake District, the heavens opened and, together with the strong winds, made driving particularly unpleasant and hazardous. I'd not driven much beyond my home district and never experienced driving in these conditions before and was anxious to drop off the files and get back home. Furthermore, I knew next to nothing about car engines and mechanics so, when a small red-light lit on the dashboard, I didn't really know what it was signifying.

I left the M6 and headed west along the smaller A and B roads hoping that, on arrival at Joyce's, maybe she could tell me if the warning light was of any concern. For the first few miles the van seemed to be performing normally and I allowed myself to relax a little, but then I noticed that the engine had stopped responding to my urgings and shortly after began to lose speed and smoke began to bellow out from underneath the bonnet.

It managed to carry on for a little further, fortunately far enough for me to find a lay-by to pull-up in.

I had no option but to leave the van and, unless some kind-hearted passing driver took pity on me and gave me a lift, walk to the nearest public phone box to ring the AA (Automobile Association) for assistance.

I took "The Lingerie Emporium's" AA membership card from the glove compartment and put it in my wallet together with the paper I'd written Mrs Ferguson's telephone number on and set off in the cold, driving rain underneath an ever darkening sky hoping that I'd come upon a phone box before too long.

Those few cars that passed me ignored my thumb-a-lift gestures and I plodded on - much of the way along a road that had no pavement. It seemed like an age before I eventually came upon a phone box. By now I was absolutely drenched through; my clothes and hair soaking wet and my fingers so cold that I could barely dial the AA and Joyce's numbers.

After giving the AA the necessary details and telling Joyce of events and that I'd be a while yet before I arrived at her place, I had to trudge all the way back to the van, by now, not just soaked and freezing but mud-spattered too. The rain never eased off one bit and my feet trudged wearily back along the road in socks that seemed to hold enough water to fill a bath.

"Looks like the head gasket's blown," the AA man informed me: he might as well have been talking quantum physics. He arranged for an AA pick-up truck to tow the van to Mrs Ferguson's. This took an age to arrive, by which time it was pitch black and, in the still incessant rain made finding Joyce's house - which was a little off the beaten track - even more difficult (this was 1973 remember - before satnav).

Joyce came out to meet us as we pulled in to her drive.

"Head gasket's blown," the driver told her. "Here, here's the number of the nearest garage that can fix it. It won't come cheap though, you could be looking at over £200."

Joyce took the card with the garage details on and thanked the driver for his efforts. He uncoupled the van from the truck and went on his way, leaving Joyce to turn her attention to me after she'd retrieved the files from the van.

"Oh dear Robert, you poor thing: you'd better come inside or you'll catch your death."

Shivering, drenched, frozen and mud-spattered, I followed her inside. The heat was a glorious blessing and I just stood there, teeth chattering, desperate to get warm as Joyce began to consider the situation.

"You better get yourself out of those clothes. I'll get you a towel to dry yourself off a bit and then I'll run you a hot bath."

I was in such a wretched state that I'd not given any thought to the fact that I was wearing panties.

Joyce reappeared with a couple of large bath towels.

"Here, dry your hair first and then stand on it and wrap the other towel around you and take your clothes off and I'll go and see to the bath."

Hair a little drier, I put the damp towel on the floor and began to take my jacket, shirt and tie and shoes and socks off. Only when I came to take my trousers off did it occur to me that my pantie- wearing might be exposed. I wrapped the towel around my waist and, after removing my trousers and making sure Joyce wasn't on her way back managed to wriggle out of my sodden black panties. I wrung as much water out of them as I could and then squeezed them in to as small a size as possible and hid them in the back pocket of my trousers.

"Off you go, go have your bath now Robert. I'll get you some dry clothes for when you get out and then I'll cook you something - you must be starving."

The hot bath was indeed welcome, glorious in fact, so much so that I forgot all about the panties I'd hidden in my trousers and just wallowed in the reviving warmth of the water and the fragrance of the bath-foam.

"I've made you something to eat; you haven't fallen asleep in there have you?"

Startled, I sat up in the bath and was about to say that - er, I needed something to wear but Joyce beat me to it.

"I've left something by the door for you to wear, I hope they fit. Hurry up now, I don't want your meal going cold."

I dried myself off and with some trepidation poked my head around the door to see what clothes I'd been left, assuming that they would probably be some of her late husband's clothes. But no, the first glance at the colours and fabrics made it obvious they were never owned by any man.

There was a yellow cotton nightie with flowers printed on and little frills around the cuffs and hem, which didn't quite come down to my knees. Once I'd wriggled in to this (and it was a little tight- but bearable,) I put on the panties that Joyce had left, they were a lime-green pair of cotton briefs with a simple lace-edging around the legs and a small ribbon-bow. I was now certain that she'd found the pair I'd tried to hide.

I was a little ashamed at this plus a little aroused and also a little relieved that my secret was out. I just hoped Joyce would be sympathetic - like Anita - and would also keep my secret and let me carry on working at her shop. I gingerly made my way down the stairs to the kitchen where I could hear Joyce dishing food up.

"Come in Robert. I hope you enjoyed your bath. Here, have some of this, you must be starving."

The bowl of piping-hot stew that was set before me was delicious and I was indeed very hungry. Apart from thanking her, I said nothing to Joyce as I ate my food but was aware that she was mulling over how she should approach me about something; I could guess what.

"I'm sorry I had no men's clothes for you to wear, I threw all my late husband's stuff out years ago."

"That's okay," I managed to say, not sure if this meant she hadn't found my panties yet.

"I'll put your clothes in the wash tomorrow and I've emptied your jacket pocket so your keys, wallet and loose change don't go in it," she smiled.

I acknowledged her thoughtfulness with a nod of the head and a smile; maybe I had got away with it.

"I found this though in one of your pockets..." she picked up the box of "Immac" hair remover I'd forgot I'd had on me.

She paused as though expecting me to offer some kind of explanation but I had nothing to say.

"And then I found these in your trouser pocket Robert," she held out my damp black-lacy panties.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

So I told her everything (well, not about my weekend with Anita obviously). I told her about how handling all the lingerie at work had tempted me to try some on myself and how much nicer it felt to wear than men's underpants. About how only Anita knew and that she'd been very understanding and that it was okay for a man to show his feminine side and that she'd encouraged me to wear ladies' briefs all the time.

I told her how I desperately didn't want Joyce to tell anyone else about this but that I was relieved in a way that she had found out too.

Joyce said nothing as I poured my heart out but just nodded along as I spoke.

When I finished, she stood up (she was wearing a black and white hooped woollen dress which was - as was her fashion - a little way above the knee, hugging her frame, emphasising her large bosom) and went over to a cabinet and poured us both a glass of whisky - a drink I wasn't really familiar with. She smiled as she sat down again and passed me the tumbler.

"Here, drink this, it'll warm you up - you can have a little water with it if you want."

I nodded to her to top up my drink with the water she was adding to hers.

"I'm glad you've been frank with me Robert. I can't say I'm that surprised."

She took a small sip from her glass and I did from mine, spluttering a little as I swallowed the earthy brew - making me think it harsher than Anita's golden liquid!

She continued. "You see Eric - my late husband - he liked to dress in lingerie too; lots of men do I believe. The thing is, he always got too excited when I put him in his lingerie, always pestering me. So I had to do something to calm him down. My mother had the same problem with my father and when I told her that Eric was always after sex, she gave me something, my gran - her mother - had handed down to her to keep men under control and it worked.

The thing is Robert, you're now dressing in panties and stockings I guess judging by the hair-remover I found, and you'll now have to stay alone with me in this house until I can get the van fixed. I'm sure you wouldn't force yourself upon me but, I must insist you put yourself under my control during your time here. You do understand don't you?"

I nodded in agreement. "I'd never do anything like that Mrs Ferguson - honest, but I can see it from your point of view. I'll do whatever puts you at ease."

"Good boy Robert. It's merely a precaution you do realise that, but one I'd be foolish not to take, especially as I know how, well, you men get carried away."

She walked over to a nearby chest-of-drawers and knelt down to pull open the bottom drawer. I noticed the tops of her shapely thighs as she bent over and imagined her briefs tightening over her taut little buttocks and pussy.

"Here, put this on Robert, down there, you know, over your penis, there's a good boy. And don't be shy; I've seen penises before so you won't be shocking me."

She handed me a little 2 inch long cage-like structure with a strap that was to be fed behind by balls and through loops at the neck of the cage.

"It's made out of whalebone. Gran was an expert corsetiere and made it for granddad. Put it on, lift up your nightie now and put it on and I'll lock it in place and then we can forget about it 'til it's time for you to head back home.

Once I'd managed to wriggle my thickening willy into the cage, Joyce came over to me and threaded the strap through the top and fastened a small lock to it.

"I see you shave down there too Robert," she remarked. "That's good; it'll make this more comfortable. Now, do you want to watch a bit of TV or maybe have an early night? I've made up the bed in the spare room."

I chose an early night, exhausted from my drive and soaking that day. I slept like a baby, waking at around 10 the next morning. Joyce was out but had left a note saying that she had to go into town to sort out one or two things and that I was to help myself to cereal and toast and make myself at home.

If I'm honest, I was quite excited in my state of enforced chastity and wearing what must have been Joyce's panties and nightie. I was already dying for release and yet enjoying the thought of my sexual desires being - if only temporarily - entirely dependent on a superior woman.

Joyce returned at about 1 p.m., quite chirpy and clutching a bagful of shopping that included the extra food necessary to feed me during my enforced stay plus a pack of disposable razors and shaving foam.

"The garage is coming for the van later today. They reckon - what with it being a Bank-Holiday on Monday - that they might not have it ready until Thursday. So make yourself at home 'til then. I hope you can endure your chastity 'til then."

"I guess I'll just have to, but, Mrs Ferguson, you will keep my 'dressing-up' secret won't you?"

"We'll see," Joyce assured me and then another issue came to my mind.

"When will you give me the key to the lock? Before I drive the van back I presume, yes?"

Joyce shifted a little uncomfortably before giving me the news.

"Look Robert, one of the things I did in town today was to post the key back to my house back home. It's just a precaution you see. If you know the key isn't here, then, even if you get too excited and demand release, you know you'll be wasting your time searching for it here."

"But you're on holiday up here for two weeks," I moaned, "I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"Don't worry Robert, I've thought about that. I had a spare key to my front-door cut in town this morning. You can take it with you and pick up the chastity cage key from my house. Uncage yourself and then leave the spare house key behind on the table in the hall."

I wasn't happy about this, but in some deep, peculiar way, I was.

Although Joyce had to drive out to a couple of meetings during the course of my stay, we had a few long conversations during our evenings together, and I got to wear a few different pairs of knickers and nighties. During these talks, Joyce asked if, on arriving at her house, I'd check that her beloved cat "Mr Tibbs" had been fed by her neighbour. There were sachets of cat food for him in the kitchen, each with a date marked on them so that the neighbour would know when to serve them. If for some reason, Mr Tibbs had missed a meal, would I dish it out and see that he ate it, and put fresh water in his bowl? I assured her I would.

Wednesday afternoon, the garage rang to inform Joyce that the van was repaired and could be picked up the following morning.

My own clothes were washed and dried now and Joyce handed these to me to put on the next morning but held up my lacy-black panties to show me how the elastic had lost its stretch and that maybe I'd better keep her panties on to drive home in. I could keep them if I wanted. I raised no objections.

By mid-morning I was back on my way down the M6 and desperate to get to Joyce's house to unlock my chastity device and then go home and have a good wank. As I neared Preston though, I had a brain-wave. Why not turn-off into the town and do some shopping for lingerie there, they'd at least have a Marks & Spencer, perhaps even a specialist lingerie shop like "The Lingerie Emporium." I had the time and the money and now had the bottle to buy ladies' underwear myself.

Nearly two hours later, I was heading home again with bags containing stockings, sexy panties with matching bras, suspender-belts, a pair of black, open-toed high-heel shoes and, my prize purchase, a black, silk basque.

My dick was in agony within the confines of the cage and knowing it was enclosed in a pair of my boss's panties didn't help.

I found Joyce's house (a bungalow) in a quiet, cul-de-sac in a nice part of town. I'd nip in and unlock myself and then see to Mr Tibbs and then I'd have all afternoon to...

But, as I parked in the driveway, the silence hit me, no one else seemed to be around, there were no signs of other people in the close and I assumed all her neighbours were either at work or school at this time of day. I decided to take my shopping bags in with me and see if maybe, I could take advantage of my being alone there to start my dressing-up fun.

I nervously called out to see if anyone else was in there, although I knew I was alone: it just seemed the right thing to do.