The Lad in the Lingerie Shop Ch. 09

*Warning: There is a scene of violence in this chapter.

I had a week back at work before Joyce returned from her holiday. Although she hadn't actually said that she'd keep my pantie-wearing secret, she sort-of implied that it would be so: she hadn't been shocked and seemed quite at ease accepting that men - (well, some men) had a predilection for that sort of thing.

Neither was I too concerned about the likelihood of her neighbour telling Joyce about finding me in my lingerie and my getting a blow-job from her. She had as much to be embarrassed about as I did.

Most of the girls in "The Lingerie Emporium" asked if I'd had a nice break and I told them I had, and only Edna enquired about the breakdown and repair of the firm's van, but she never enquired about the logistics of my whereabouts whilst the van was out of commission. She seemed more concerned about whether Joyce should get a new van.

The only regular staff member who never enquired about my holiday was Yvonne: still aloof, still drop-dead gorgeous, still only speaking to me about work matters and then in a bossy rather than friendly tone. I sneaked the odd look at her when she had her back turned imagining her undressed. She was so beautiful, almost painfully so, that garnishing my image of her naked body in sexy underwear was almost too much to contemplate.

Angie, who sometimes managed to talk about something other than her own partner, told me (in confidence), that Mitch - Yvonne's husband- was thinking about accepting an offer to go back to coaching rugby in his native Australia, and that Yvonne was all for it.

How Angie knew this I'll never know, there was never a whisper about this on the local radio or in the local papers. If true, I thought that, overall, it would be better for me but I would miss secretly ogling her wonderful, lissom body.

On the day that Mrs Ferguson - Joyce - returned to work I was, I'll admit, somewhat nervous. Would her attitude to me be slightly different now that she'd put me in her panties and knew how excited I got when wearing lingerie?

She looked her usual smart, business-like self as she let me in the shop. She was wearing a light-blue, sleeveless dress that hugged her petite frame, accentuating her rather large bust: a thin dark blue belt ensured all her curves were there for all to see. She'd also put on black stockings- was this for my benefit I wondered?

We exchanged pleasantries and made the usual start-of-the day talk; helping me relax a little into thinking my secret - our secret - would remain just that. I couldn't help wondering though what kind of bra and knickers she was wearing and if I'd worn the briefs she was now in when I stayed with her.

After I returned to the shop following my dinner break, I noticed Edna was in Joyce's office and they seemed deep in conversation. I tried to ignore this and go about my work as though everything was normal, but deep-down, I realised that I might be wrong about this.

Then I heard the office door open and Joyce calling me in. My heart was in my mouth as I went in to sit at her desk alongside Edna.

"Robert, I've had time to think about recent events and have concluded that, although you've every right to privacy about your - how can I put this? - Secret habits, in view of you working in a shop like this it can't be just a secret between the two of us. I think Edna needs to know too. She's assured me that she won't pass on to anyone what you have to tell her. So would you like to tell her now?"

This was not a request but more of an order. I didn't see how I could refuse but was secretly cursing Mrs Ferguson - Joyce - for getting me to tell Edna (a woman whose panties I'd worn at work), about my fetish. Edna was looking attentively at me, awaiting my explanation. Oh well, best not beat about the bush was my conclusion.

"It's like this Edna. Since starting here and, like, you know, handling all the ladies' underwear and stuff, I kind of got to like the feel of them. And I sort of wondered, how it would feel on me, you know, if I wore some of the er, stuff we sell here, if it would feel nicer than what men wear, you know - Y fronts and underpants like."

"Yes, go on," Edna said without a hint of what she might be thinking.

I gulped and blushed and then carried on: it was too late now anyway to even consider minimising my true excitement at wearing lingerie.

"So, I secretly bought a few pairs of panties and, well, found I really liked their feel on me. Anita found out about it but said it was okay for men to show their feminine side and not to pretend to be all macho..."

"Yes, she would say that," Edna noted.

"So, since then I've wore panties and briefs to work. I know it sounds - well, perverted, but honestly Edna, I've behaved with total propriety, just as if I was still wearing underpants. It's just a foible of mine, that's all and I'm no threat to you or any of the girls. I mean, I've been wearing them for some months now and if Mrs Ferguson hadn't got to find out then no-one would be any the wiser."

I waited for Edna's response. She seemed to be mulling over the news I'd just imparted.

"Well Edna, what do you think?" prompted Joyce.

Edna (who was wearing a bright yellow and black dress that flared out below the waist, giving me the distinct impression that she may have had a petticoat underneath, nestling on her long legs about her stocking tops) took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Well Robert, I can't say I'm surprised - but what you say is true, you always kept your fetish to yourself and I don't think you pose a threat to anyone. But you've put Joyce - and me - in an awkward position. Just say one of the staff was sexually assaulted - by an unknown assailant - then knowing what we do, we'd have to tell the police about you - just in case you were the guilty party. You do see that don't you?"

"Yes, but you don't think I should be sacked merely for wearing panties to work do you? I mean I've not done anything wrong have I?" I pleaded.

"Hold on Robert," Mrs Ferguson cut in. "No one's talking about sacking here. I've got a solution which I hope Edna will find acceptable, after all, you work with her mostly don't you, and so it'll need her approval."

Edna and I looked at her to hear her solution.

"Edna," Joyce began, "when Robert was forced to stay with me in the Lake District, he agreed to wear a chastity device handed down to me. I used it on my late husband and it was very effective. How would you feel if, on arriving at work on a Monday, we put Robert back in to the chastity cage and then unlocked it at the end of his working week on Friday evenings or Saturday?"

"Yes," muttered Edna, "that might work."

I was thinking about raising an objection but Joyce seemed to have been reading my mind.

"I'd insist you wore it at home as well during the week, Edna and I don't want to have to keep checking up on you every morning you came in to work."

"And besides," Edna added, rather bossily I thought, "it would stop you... (She had to think of a suitable synonym for wanking here) playing with yourself like men tend to do. It would teach you some self-control."

Mrs Ferguson (Joyce) stared at me to see if I'd agree. I nodded in acceptance, not entirely happy about it, but - well, kind of secretly excited too.

Joyce smiled and brought out the cage from a drawer in her desk.

"Good boy. Now go and put this on - you know how it fits - and come back and show us."

Shortly after I returned, Edna lowered the blinds on the office window so that no one else would witness my dropping my trousers and moving my pink-cotton briefs with frilly lace waist and bow to one side for the women to inspect.

"No," Edna insisted, "pull your panties down to your knees so that Joyce can show me how it's secured."

I did as told and stood there statue-like as Joyce and Edna inspected and discussed the chastity cage, seemingly oblivious to my embarrassment.

"The key will always be in the safe in this office," Joyce informed me. "Only Edna, Yvonne and I know the combination and Yvonne won't know what the key is for. Just remember to ask me or Edna to be unlocked when the working week is over okay?"

With that, she snapped the little lock in place and told me to pull my panties and trousers back up and return to work.

From then on I realised, my days of unfettered wanking at home were over. Joyce and Edna were my gaolers so to speak. I have to admit to a frisson of excitement when either of them inspected me after putting the cage back on each Monday morning and also asking for release on whichever day was the final day of my working week. My ejaculations, once freed and clad in my sexiest lingerie, would fill buckets, whilst quite often imagining myself lifting Edna's skirt and petticoat up above her stocking tops as I did so.

It was late autumn by then and, as I didn't need to spend my time in the evening cross-dressing and then jerking off, I started running even further of an evening and spending longer boxing with the punch-bag in my garage. It helped take my mind off lingerie and my pre-occupation with fantasising about my colleague's underwear. On those lonely, dark evenings when pounding the hills around where I lived, at some stage or other that deep-seated feeling that, maybe, my submissive nature might actually want total humiliation by having forced-bi sex with me dressed in knickers and stockings would surface. Each time it took a little longer to banish such thoughts back to my unconscious mind.

Maybe I should have spent a little longer considering my male clothing rather than my cross-dressing wear. My extra-fit, lithe self had now dropped an inch or two about the waistline, and that was to cause me quite a bit of trouble.

One evening, after the shop had closed to the public and I was checking the floors for items customers may have left behind, I bent down to put back on the rack a suspender-belt that had accidentally been knocked to the floor.

"Tuck your shirt in this minute Robert!"

It was Yvonne, I had no idea she was so close behind me.

"I can see your panties. It's disgusting."

I felt sick to the stomach as I rose, tucking my shirt tail back into my trousers to hide the lilac lacy briefs I was wearing.

I blushed and barely looked at Yvonne as I said sorry.

"Does Mrs Ferguson know you dress in women's underwear?"

"Yes, yes, she does and..."

She didn't let me finish.

"Well, I'll speak to her tomorrow just to check that she does and that you're telling the truth, you little pansy."

Joyce assured me the next day that she'd calmed Yvonne down and got an assurance from her not to mention it to any of the other girls.

I was relieved to hear that but I had to find out if she told Yvonne that I was under chastity control.

"Yes Robert, I did, sorry. It may embarrass you but I had to reassure her that the situation was totally under my control and that you were incapable of doing anything untoward."

Deep down, even though Yvonne kept to her word and never mentioned it to the other girls in "The Lingerie Emporium", I knew there would be consequences.

After work one Friday evening, I went with Angie and some of the other girls for a meal at a Chinese restaurant to celebrate a birthday. I noticed a group of three muscular men, all slightly drunk, looking over at us and presumed they were eyeing up the women, perhaps with a view to chatting them up later. The girls were all in "The "Lingerie Emporium" tunics, so it was obvious where they worked.

When we'd finished our meals, the girls handed over their share of the bill to me and left to go on to a disco or whatever; as I'd not had any alcohol, they thought it best that I handled that side of things.

After settling up, I decided to go for a quick pee before setting off back home, unaware that the three men who'd been ogling the girls had also got up to leave.

As I was washing my hands after finishing my pee, one of the men came in and blocked my exit; I could see the badge of the local Rugby team on his blazer.

"Shouldn't you be in the ladies' toilet you little faggot?"

I was well acquainted with dealing with bullies from my schooldays - how I appreciated by grandfather's foresight in teaching me to box. I knew I was in for a fight but no way would I let this moron intimidate me.

"Fuck off out of the way you oaf," I said or something like that.

He went to grab hold of my jacket and punch me, but he was a little the worse for drink and, to his surprise, I pulled him to me before his punch could travel any distance and gave him a "Liverpool kiss", smack on the end of his nose, followed by a rapid punch to his stomach. He reeled back, as much in shock as in pain, his nose bloodied and face spattered red. Before he could gather his thoughts, I unleashed a powerful right-cross to his jaw and grabbed one of his hands and pulled the fingers back - hard. He let out an excruciating howl.

One of his friends then came in and, quickly assessing the situation, kicked me hard on the thigh and sent me reeling back a foot or two. But I regained my composure and managed to bundle the now prone first assailant into his accomplice's legs, causing him to lose his footing on the wet floor. I stamped down hard on one of his feet with all my might and, although he managed to land a blow on my face as I clambered over them to escape, it didn't break anything. I smacked him hard too on the jaw and knew they were both now incapable of moving easily or giving me any further trouble.

As I left the toilet, the last of the three men approached me. He could see I was limping and had taken a punch to the face but hesitated, perhaps wondering why it was me walking out of the toilet and not his two beefy friends.

"Better go and call an ambulance for your mates or do you want to try your luck too?" I growled.

He backed-off and let me pass.

There was no point my going to the hospital to get checked over, I was not that badly injured - unlike the two bullies I'd dealt with. I had a large bruise coming up on my right thigh and cuts about my knuckles and, come Monday morning a black-eye that no amount of make-up could hide.

All three of the men had been wearing blazers with the local Rugby teams' badge on - the team that Yvonne's husband - Mitch - coached. My guess was that she'd told him about the bloke who wore ladies panties and had a chastity cage fitted and that Mitch had shared this story with some of his players. They'd seen me in the restaurant with the girls from "The Lingerie Emporium" and so decided to do a bit of "queer-bashing".

I allowed myself a large grin when I heard on the local radio that two of the Rugby team's star players were injured and would miss the next few games, following a "training ground accident".

I rang in sick on the Monday morning, I was still limping quite noticeably and my shiner was a real humdinger. When I told Joyce the reason for my absence was because I'd been "set-upon" by some thugs at the weekend, she guessed straight away what had happened; why I'd been picked-on.

I returned to work on the Tuesday and Edna supervised the re-fitting of my chastity cage. Nearly everyone who saw me asked sympathetically about my well-being and if I'd called the police and suchlike, all that is bar Yvonne, who stayed silent when my cuts and bruises were being discussed.

That event was followed by something that had an even more painful effect on me. Over a cup of coffee, Angie told me that Anita was now going out with some chap called Oliver. I don't know just why this should have surprised me - she was, after all, a very attractive young lady, but somehow, I felt a special bond with her. A secret - very secret bond, and I guess I was jealous that some other man would be having sex with her whereas I'd not. Sure, I worried that she'd tell him all about me and what we'd done together, and even wondered if perhaps she was dominating him in the way she had me. She was due back from University at the beginning of December and doubtless I'd find out then, but even so, knowing she was now with another bloke, made me extra miserable.

Shortly before Anita returned though, something happened that I could never have foreseen. Yvonne, although still quite abrupt in the few instances when she spoke to me, made a point of seeking me out when I was on my own, re-stocking the corsets on the first floor just before leaving for home.

"Look, Robert, can I have a quiet word?"

Her tone was much friendlier than she'd ever used with me before.

"Go on," I encouraged her.

"Well look, it's like this. First of all I wanted to say sorry, to apologise for you getting assaulted a few weeks ago. I guess I might have been partly responsible..."

I let her carry on, hardly daring to look her straight in her beautiful green eyes for fear my knees would buckle.

"You see, I told my husband Mitch about you. I told him not to tell anyone but I guess he found the whole story so outrageous that he thought it'd be funny to tell some of the lads at the Rugby Club. He never for a moment thought they'd try and beat you up, probably never thought they'd ever run into you or recognise you as the person he'd told them about."

"Well, I bet they wished they hadn't recognised me now don't they," I took pleasure in saying. "How many games will they miss after being beaten up by just one man, a man half their size and who wears panties? Did they brag about that with the lads eh?"

"I know, I know. They'll never live it down if it ever got out how they'd got those injuries. Look, I want to say sorry - and so does Mitch, honestly."

I looked at her and smiled, how could I ever be angry with such an achingly beautiful woman.

"Okay Yvonne, apology accepted. We'll say no more about it," and I turned and went to walk away, but Yvonne caught my arm to make me linger.

"Look, Robert, when I say we're sorry, I mean we want to make it up to you somehow."

"Oh yeah, and how will you do that?"

She took, and a deep breath and shook her hair back over her shoulders and then dived in.

"Look, don't tell anyone, but Mitch and I will be moving to Australia sometime next year; it's still all hush-hush. And well, Mitch and I both find life here a bit - how can I say this? - Straight-laced. We both like a bit of excitement in our sex lives. Take Mitch, now he's all man - let's get that straight, but he likes to, you know, dominate weaker men as well as me. He'd like to know if you'd like a 3-some with us."

I nearly choked, barely able to believe what I was hearing. Yvonne carried on.

"Think it over. Come over to our place, you'll be the sissy and Mitch can take us both however he likes. What d'you say?"

"Look Yvonne, how can I be sure you're not just luring me to your place on a promise and then, when I get there, Mitch and some of his team would be waiting there to beat me up for revenge?"

She thought about it for a minute and accepted that I had every right to be suspicious.

"Look, I tell you what. How about we book a room at a top hotel nearby and we have our fun there? We wouldn't dare cause any trouble then as we couldn't risk the scandal."

She seemed serious. My head could hardly take in what she was suggesting.

"Look Robert, give it some thought and let me know what you decide, just don't take too long that's all. Mitch and I can always get our pleasures somewhere else if you don't want to join in."

Okay, I still wasn't certain that forced-bi sex was my thing, but I guess there was only one way to find out and if, in doing so, I got to get intimate with Yvonne, then what better incentive could there be?

"Okay Yvonne, yes, I'll do it. Just let me know when's convenient."

"Good. It might have to be after Christmas though, the team has a busy fixture list right now. Oh, and it goes without saying that this is just between us, don't say a word to anyone. Got it?"