The Purple Lady's Panties

Martin Sheen was halfway through briefing the West Wing when Ian came home from work. I heard him set down the groceries and his duffle bag. He rounded the corner of our condo living room and gave me a peck on the cheek.

"Babe, could you help me get the rest from the trunk?"

I was cozy under a quilt on the couch in sweatpants and fuzzy socks. The only thing missing was a cat on my lap. But I hadn't seen him all day or much yesterday. I smiled, stretched all the way over to the remote, and paused my show. I got up and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, getting on tiptoes to squeeze him tight.

There were a lot of things to carry, but between us both it only took one trip. A case of drinks had slid all the way to the back of the cab, and I had to climb in to get it. This will give him a show of his own... I remember thinking as my ass stuck up in the air. My eyes were my best feature, but my extra round back quarters were a close second -- and an investment courtesy of our monthly gym membership. I didn't draw out the tease though.

I wasn't sure what game he had been playing lately. We were going on about a week without sex, yet with no lack of affection or obvious fights. I thought he might be trying to get me pent up or catch me off guard, and it was working.

When I met Ian, he told me he wasn't new to kinky dynamics, but didn't want to rush into anything too fast after him and his last partner basically did. He was also her first real relationship, which complicated things more and added to his sense of responsibility. At the time, I was in the middle of socially transitioning, and grieving the death of my best friend Jenna from college. By the time me and Ian hooked up, we were in a similar place of recovery. That's something I've always been grateful for.

Ten minutes later his phone was down and his coat was hung up. I put some dresses in the wash and cuddled my head on his shoulder. Soapy television weren't really his thing but we agreed to trade off on each other's guilty pleasure shows in between nights for our main show.

We negotiated everything.

I looked up at his brown eyes and the stubble on his perfect jaw...I ran my hand across his shaved head. He put his hand around my waist. (Why was he being so tame lately? Not even going near my favorite spots.) I was getting sleepy, when out of the blue, he asked,

"What color underwear are you wearing?"

I thought back to the beginning of the day, and it took me a second to remember the purple cotton panties I had picked with red hearts on the waist. This morning I put them on without any motive, and hadn't given them a second thought since. I've had them since forever.

Then I realized all at once the implications of that choice. Many thoughts raced through my mind as seconds passed without an answer to my boyfriend. We had never played our kink with purple underwear before. I tried to remember the rules -- Did he have to see it? Yes -- It was in the contract we wrote. Ian knew he would have to see that purple color for the scene to go into effect. And I knew he sure as hell would be seeing my panties later tonight in bed. Unless he could get into my pants before then...and Ian is a gentleman which was why he was asking.

I smirked and crawled onto his lap. I didn't pause the TV, but I blocked his view. Facing him down and feeling his thick package harden through slacks under me, I felt powerful.

"Why would you ask a thing like that?" I asked him.

He slipped his hand under my top and reached for the lower part of my bra.

"You know."

He shifted his hips to better hold me, and I leaned close to kiss under his ear. God, I loved the way he smelled. I'll say it a thousand times.

"I don't remember," I lied. "It sounds like you're interested though."

Now here it is folks -- I knew exactly, but he couldn't know if I did it on purpose. And he wouldn't even know if I wore purple because I wanted to have sex. All we had agreed was that if I were wearing purple, I would always consent. It didn't matter how much: if he found the tiniest amount of purple on me, it was a signal that I was down to fuck.

There was a fair amount of purple in my closet. Scarves, blouses, pants, purple patches on sneakers, purple stripes on rainbow flags, and the list goes on. I made up the purple clothing rule for us while in the middle of a thrift shopping streak, so there's purple I probably still haven't even found yet. It's not on everything I own, but when you have a shape like mine, you have to experiment and bring back a lot of clothes in the recycled threads box.

Ian picked me up like a doll (EASILY) and carried me to the kitchen counter.

"I want to see them. Show me."

The sound of his voice drove me crazy, but when he put his hand on my drawstring, I slapped it away.

"Well I'm not in the mood to show off." Then I added: "Maybe later."

The first week we had this rule, I painted my nails bright purple, and was free use for eight glorious days before I wiped it clean. So far it was working great. Whenever he saw me in a bold purple, he got the hint quick.

If it was on the border between purple and pink, he had to argue and prove it was a proper purple before taking me. But no matter what, we did it the way he pleased. To keep the agreement, I had to consent.

A few months in, he got me bright amethyst earrings for Christmas, and I opened them right in front of my little sister and family. "Thaaanks," I had to say, trying to control my expression as I slipped them in. I gave him shit for that that night.

I wore them all weekend, but he waited 'til we got on the plane to cash in his reward though.

He joked that if we ever got engagement rings, he'd make the stone purple. That idea I shot down pretty quick. But Ian really was the type to play the long game, which is why I bring up that he had practically denied me for a whole week before this encounter.

So here I was, 8pm, feeling his heart thump against mine and having just told him "No" when I knew very soon he would see those purple cotton panties with the red hearts (that I'd had forever) and treat me like a 1950s housewife. And I thought How is this the first time we've done underwear?

I thought I'm a genius for making this dynamic. And then I wondered if he had seen them already and knew.

He clutched the sweatpants, and I wondered if he was just going to pull them down.

"Okay," he said.

For a second, I believed him. But he kept his eyes locked on me, and after a moment, he pulled out the hairband keeping my brown, curly locks in a bun.

I knew he liked to see my hair flopping around after railing me. He held the black band between his fingers and then flung it a few feet onto the dining room floor.

"Oops, you should get that."

I was getting turned on, because I knew he wanted me to bend over. But I stayed still.

"Did my pants slip down back at the car with the groceries?"

"No. I saw them when you stretched to pause your show, you little minx. Is that an admission?"

He saw me this whole time and still made me get the groceries? I thought. The jig is up.

"Maybe it was your imagination," I cooed. "I think it's a pink pair."

My man clicked his fingers like he were talking to a dog and pointed.

"Go fetch that hair band, slut."

I bit my lip and hopped down from the counter. Then looking back at him, I said, "It really wasn't on purpose." Then I quickly bent down, got my hairtie, and felt those pants ride down again.

That pushed him over the edge, and I knew it would, having completely verified my flag. He rushed to me, pressing against and scooping me in from behind. His arms wrapped around me with one hand around my belly, the other barely above my chest.

"It doesn't matter. We both know what you are and remember all the dirty things you've begged me to do to you. Tonight won't be any different. You don't have it in you."

I struggled against his weight to get away and squirmed free, backing against the kitchen counter.

"Yeah, but just not right now," I said. "I'm serious. Give me some time to freshen up." My cute erection started poking through my sweatpants.

"When you are in purple, you don't get a say," Ian said, which isn't technically true because of our safe words, but is also word for word the terms of our agreement otherwise.

For the third time that night, I said no. Putting up my hair and straightening my pants, I walked back to the living room couch and the quilt.

"Buzz off, creep," I said. But if I wanted him to stop, I would have said something else. He grabbed my arm hard, pulled me over, and slapped me.

It stung, but it wasn't nearly hard enough to leave a mark. And he hit square across the fleshy part of the cheek, because like a dance, we had practiced.

He gripped those baby cheeks of mine and took off my glasses. "I'm talking to you." Then he did pull my pants down, and underwear too all in one swing. "Get your purse, bitch."

I didn't provoke him any more. I scrambled to get the bottle of our favorite lube from my bag on the table. My hands shook in excitement. I heard the clinking of his belt drop behind me, and when I turned around, he was there. He gripped my hair again and kissed my neck like a vampire. I felt his hand stroking me below, but I dared not look because...I was too overwhelmed in my lust for him.

I felt him mark me, sucking a hickey into my neck and pulling off his shirt. I looked shyly on his hairy chest. I could barely look at him directly -- such was the way that he played at my freefalling mind. He took the bottle from my hands and slathered the light jelly over my pucker.

When he was done, he pressed against me, rolling me back onto the couch where I landed with pillows under my hips.

"Arms up," he commanded. I lifted them, and he yanked off my band shirt. He groped my small tits (finally), and I yipped.

"Good girl."

I knew what he expected me to do, and he didn't need to wait long. He had done everything I desperately craved. He towered over me, and I laced his seven inch cock with the lubricant.

"Now use your mouth," I gave him a funny look. "Go on, it's not toxic. Or are you going to try saying again you're not my bitch on demand?"

I planted my mouth over his penis. It made mine like a dwarf, and I loved it. I loved him. I played with his balls, and he guided my hand, and I sucked him.

When it was hard as could be, Ian pulled me off him and laid on top of me.

"Are you ready?" he grunted.

I looked at him like a doe in headlights. My legs were spread, and his cock was under mine, pressing at my hole. I didn't know what to say -- it had all happened so quick! Should I keep saying "No! No?" Should I think of something witty? This had all been my idea, and it didn't matter what I did, because I was wearing purple and he was going to fuck me.

"I want to hear you say it," he said. I felt his sweat against my breasts. I felt his kiss on my lips.

I pressed myself against him hard, testing his strength. I tried with all my might to push him off me, and I almost did -- at first. But he went to the gym even more than I did. All those core muscles kicked into action just like he trained...I kicked; he restrained...I knew him able to protect or destroy at will. My energy sapped. I fell back into the couch again as he held me down.

"Oh yes Ian," I moaned. "Oh yes, please."