tagIllustratedThe Panty Perils of Me 02

The Panty Perils of Me 02


I received a text from The Professor yesterday inviting me to stop by his house for a "little conversation". How he had my number I can't quite imagine, although it certainly told me that there is more to him than I would suspect.

He is possibly in his late 60's, but you would never know it as he stays in shape and is not unpleasant to look at. I can easily see how he would allegedly seduce some of his female students to pose for him.

I decided to stop by after my morning run as I often have seen him on his porch with his paper and a cup of coffee as I have jogged by. Coincidently I had never noticed him outside any of the prior mornings to my mini mishap.

I tentatively approached his porch finding it unusual that he had never acknowledged me since my rescue other than his eyes peering over his paper to follow my jaunt past his house each morning. I guess he likes my orange jogging shorts.

He motioned for me to sit down, which I did, and slid what looked like a small stack of photos placed face down towards me. Without saying anything he motioned for me to turn them over. I truly believe that he relished the look of horror on my face as I saw myself in my black string bikini panties surrounded by my teen stalkers. The angle of the photos suggested much more to anyone looking at them than an accidental striptease, and it was obvious that my neighbor had intended this when he took them. Instead of me looking like a woman in distress, his editing made it look more like I was putting on a show for the neighborhood youth.

It was quite clear to me that he had been watching the entire morning along with taking photos.

I couldn't control the shaking in my hands as I looked in disbelief at each revealing photo. At this point my neighbor in a quiet but very commanding voice told me to meet him the next day at a nearby park and to "wear a dress".

So today I find myself walking to the park wearing my khaki shirtdress and heels feeling nauseous as my mind creates one scenario after another; each one too humiliating to imagine.

I see him sitting on a park bench away from the softball field, tennis courts, and play area. When I approach him, his eyes seem to look into my soul as if he knows all of my thoughts and desires. As I stand before him about to express my indignity at his hubris to try and blackmail me, he says in that commanding voice of his, "Why don't you unbutton your buttons and show me what you put on for me today."

"Put on for him!" "What kind of nerve does this man have?"

Why didn't I just refuse? After all nothing that couldn't be explained happened between myself and the neighborhood boys and yet, I find myself holding the top button of my dress in my fingers and pushing it though the buttonhole. I feel almost hypnotized with the thought of complying to this highly educated and very dominant man.

"One down, nine to go", I think to myself as my fingers move to the next button. The nauseous feeling has returned accompanied by a warm flush that seems to originate from between my legs, but I continue my slow unveiling anyway.

I can't explain the torment that I feel as I desperately don't want to obey him like a mindless plaything and yet at the same time I do. The way his dark gray eyes watch each button depart from its button hole allowing the fabric of my dress to part a little more revealing more and more of me is intoxicating to me.

Once I get below my waist the top folds of my dress suddenly part revealing my red silk triangle bra eliciting a response from my neighbor as he sighed, "Ah, Red, one of my favorite colors." The fabric of the bra does nothing other than to accent my very erect nipples bringing a Cheshire kind of grin to the professor's face.

He is well aware that deep down in the hidden recesses of my sexuality, I am enjoying undressing for him, making the experience all the more humiliating and exciting.

I flush with embarrassment as my fingers continue their mortifying trip down the front of my torso. Much sooner than I had hoped, I have unbuttoned the last button, and I hear that commanding voice, "Let's have you open the gift wrapping and show me how you look in your red."

The audacity of him to think that I purposely wore red and then my mind stops me in the midst of this thought, "Why did I choose to wear a very vibrant red bra and panties today knowing that this was a possibility?"

Do I have a deep desire or is it an overwhelming fantasy to be commanded to strip and then endure a strange man's stares as he leers with pleasure at my exposure? It can't be, although we both already know the truth as I am holding my dress open at his demand with my nipples fully erect pushing suggestively at the silk fabric of my triangle bra feeling his control over me as if I had no choice but to obey.

I take the folds of my dress and pull them open as he tells me to smile and uses his camera to capture the moment. Every nerve ending in my body is alive as the realization that I am obeying his every command without hesitation hits me full in the face or maybe it was a bit lower i.e. about the middle of my torso right where my legs come together.

The next poses are a bit of a blur as I am told to pull my dress away from my body and stick out my bottom mimicking a face of delight mixed with sexual pleasure. Then he has me sit on the park bench with my dress again pulled away from my body, each time recording every demeaning moment with his camera.

I hate the feelings of raw sexuality that course through my body along with the realization that the Professor knew all about me before I did.

I want to be considered a strong, independent woman, and yet here I am posing as a pin up in almost nothing, outdoors only a couple of blocks from my house. And I am enjoying it.

As I sit on the bench I hear a noise over my shoulder and quickly look to see someone observing our little photo session, but they immediately duck out of sight so I can't determine who they might be.

All I can think is that I have been caught again in a very compromising position and my heart quickens at the realization that my ordeals may be far from over. I want to deny these feelings but it is difficult to deny my own body's reaction.

When I think that things can't get much more degrading for me, that voice that I have been unable to deny once more issues a demand. "Straddle the park bench railing and show me how much fun you can have with a length of wood between your legs." His emphasis on the word "wood" does not go unnoticed by me as I approach the park bench one more time.

My brain wants me to run away, but my body won't comply. I climb up on the park bench as if in a dream wrapping one leg over the top tentatively lowering my weight onto the thin rail allowing it to make full contact with my most sensitive erogenous zone.

As my lower torso settles on the thin rail my embarrassment knows no boundaries as a gasp of surprise and unintended delight escapes my mouth. I look at him in absolute disgrace and I know that he knows what kind of woman that I really am.

I look away in shame only to hear him say, "I think that we are done for the day" and I hear him walk away as I continue to straddle the railing.

When I finally find my composure and lift my leg back over the bench a small telltale wet spot on the wood only adds to my total and abject degradation.

In what seems to be still a daze of raw uncontrolled passion, I sit down on the bench with my legs wide apart and slip my right hand down the front of my tiny red panties. My fingers easily find my very swollen female nub and within seconds I am writhing in the midst of a most intense and incredible orgasm.

It is only after the last convulsion shakes my body that I become fully aware of where I am and what I have just been doing. My heart leaps in fright and anxiety as I quickly button my dress back up only to hear a movement in the bushes further down the path.

I am afraid that the original voyeur that I noticed while posing has returned for my lewd performance and now I am really afraid of where this is all going.

I take the long way home so I don't have to pass by the professor's front porch in case he wants to gloat at my performance for him. If he only knew about the performance that followed, or was it him who returned to watch me?

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