Gordon Lister froze in fear as he heard the noise of a camera phone’s shutter. He stood perfectly still, frantically trying to think of something to say before he slowly turned slowly round and dropped his hands below his waist in a desperate attempt to cover his embarrassment.
“I can explain!” he said, staring wide-eyed at the two women grinning back at him. “I bet you can!” laughed the one on the right, lifting her phone to take a rapid succession of pictures, “You little pervert!” .
“I’ve been doing some gardening for Mrs Barbour and was looking for a towel!” he spluttered, “There aren’t any in the shower room!”
“Well, they’re not exactly intended for drying anything, now are they?” said the woman on the left gesturing towards the pair of red panties he was holding, “and this isn’t the garden.” “I wasn’t expecting anybody,” he replied shaking his head, more out of surprise than any attempt at an explanation. “We can see that!” laughed the tall blonde on the left taking pictures on her phone.
He didn’t know how to reply: he was naked, wet and holding some feminine underwear he’d just pulled out of a dresser in front of two women he’d never met before. He’d spent the day doing some gardening for his mother’s friend while she was visiting an elderly relative, and after leaving a short note about what he wanted in return, had discovered that the shower room linen closet was empty after ten minutes of washing the dirt from his hair and the sweat off his body.
That had led him to walk into the nearest room, open a couple of cupboards and a closet, before he’d found a dresser containing the sort of clothes he didn’t normally even get to touch. He tried to think of a plausible way to explain that that he’d held the panties only to see what they felt like, and had been just about to put them back and continue looking for a towel when he’d been discovered and photographed, but he couldn’t.
“Er, who are you?” he asked, “Mrs Barbour didn’t say anybody would be coming round.” “She’s her aunt,” replied the one on the right, “we knocked but didn’t get an answer, and then as the door wasn’t locked, we walked in thinking something might have happened to her. But all we’ve found is you perving away with her underwear.”
“I was in the shower,” said Gordon, “that’s probably why I didn’t hear the door, and I’m looking for a towel. I was just about to put these back when you walked in!” he added, nodding downwards.
Both women giggled uncontrollably, “Of course you were in the shower. And we know what you were doing in there! Pervert! That’s why you were putting those back after you’d finished showering!” said the blonde sarcastically.
He could feel his face beginning to redden as the other woman said, “And we’ve not only caught you, we’ve got the pictures to prove it!”
“It’s not what you think,” he said, looking down at the floor, “I really was trying to find a towel.” He nodded over their shoulders towards the shower room, “My clothes are behind you on the floor. Can I have something to put on?”
“Why not put them on instead?” said the blonde grinning and nodding at the underwear in his hands, “They look like they’d suit you.” Her friend started laughing. “Yes, don’t be shy. Put the panties on. Give us a laugh.”
Gordon Lister was puzzled. “So you want me to put Mrs Barbour’s underwear on? For a joke?” “Joke. Blackmail. Call it what you like,” replied the blonde sternly, “but if you don’t put them on, then the pictures we’ve taken get sent everywhere.”
He stared back at the women. They’d stopped laughing and now weren’t even smiling, so he didn’t even consider calling what he was quite certain wasn’t even close to a bluff. He turned round, bent over, lifted one foot into the panties, then the other, pulled them up his legs and slowly turned back round to face his tormentors.
The two phones clicked even more rapidly than they had before, only this time the noise was almost lost amongst flashes and loud laughter. “Even more evidence that you’re a pervert!” exclaimed the blonde as she turned to her friend, “now what else should we force him to do Jen?”
“How about some nylons?” replied the woman on the left, nodding towards the dresser. “Now we’ve got even more photos, you might as well carry on and do what we want.”
Gordon Lister felt that he had no option but to reluctantly agree, so opened up another dresser drawer and searched until he found a pair of white stay-up nylons. He pulled them from the drawer, and slowly pulled each one over his feet and up over his legs.
He stood with his head bowed as Mrs Barbour’s niece and her friend laughed and took even more pictures before they stepped forward and pushed him backwards onto the bed. “We want to play a bit,” said the blonde running her tongue around her lips, “and it looks like you do too.”
She pointed downwards at the erection protruding from the red, shiny, material restraining it, “so today might just be your lucky day.”
The two women sat down either side of Gordon, nodded at each other, and then in unison reached a hand forward to grab the waistband of the panties he was squeezed into, and pulled it down. His fully erect penis sprung free as Gordon arched his back and sighed with a mixture of relief and a hint of anticipation.
“Would you like me and Emma to do something about this?” said other woman rubbing a wet finger around the tip of his erection while her friend started to rub the inside of his thigh. Gordon nodded furiously, “Yes, yes, yes whatever you want!”
“Okay,” said the tall blonde he now knew was called Emma, “but you’ve got to just lie there. You can’t touch us. We don’t want to be groped by a pervert like you.” Gordon Lister nodded again, but as soon as one of them leant forward and started to gently tug away at him, he reached his hand out. “Stop that!” exclaimed Emma’s friend as she searched for something in her handbag, “No touching!”
He was about to say that he was sorry and that he wouldn’t do it again when Emma dangled some handcuffs in front of his face. “Looks like we need to use these,” she said smiling, “or do you want us to stop?”
As he stared up at the shiny, shaking metal hoops, he felt a tongue licking his erection, and as if instantly hypnotised, enthusiastically agreed, “Whatever. Anything. Just do it!”
He was unable to think of anything other than the tongue and lips tantalisingly playing away below his stomach, and didn’t even notice that immediately after two pairs of handcuffs were clicked onto his wrists and then onto Mrs Barbour’s headboard, two more were clicked onto his ankles and then onto the far corners of the bed.
“Jen and me were going to use my aunt’s house for a bit of fun while she’s away, but as you’re here….” Emma didn’t finish her sentence, just stood up next to her friend and started taking yet more photographs of their now-spread-eagled, helpless captive.
Gordon Lister pleaded, “Why have you stopped? What are you going to do with me?”
“Shut you up for a start,” said Jenny leering over him to stuff a ball gag in his mouth, “and now we’ve got extra insurance, there’s even more things later we can make you do later…”
Gordon desperately wanted to ask what they wanted insurance for, and what they intended to do, but could only lie there staring upwards as they took it in turns to torment him, tease him, stroke him, edge him, and take picture after picture until he exploded messily all over his stomach.
“Eewww!” said Mrs Barbour’s niece looking disgusted as she embraced her friend, “That’s disgusting!” The women started laughing again, and turned towards Gordon with their arms round each other. “Just a few more pictures now you’re in an even more embarrassing state. Then we’ll leave, but remember: you’re ours. Or the pictures go everywhere.” He nodded his understanding as Mrs Barbour’s niece spent another few minutes taking pictures before she pushed her phone under his nose and showed him dozens of pictures that he knew he’d never be able to explain to anyone.
“We’re going to leave you like this for auntie. You don’t mind do you?” said Emma, looking like she’d ignore any reply even if Gordon had been able to speak. “She can always let you go if she’s doesn’t fancy doing anything with a cross-dresser covered in spunk who can’t move much, but as it’s been a few years since my uncle left, she’ll probably welcome the opportunity. I’ve sent her a text saying that you find her really attractive and have persuaded us to tie you up for her because you’re so into that kind of thing but are too shy to make the first move. I’ve also told her to hurry as you were getting so excited that you might cream yourself before she got here. And as you have, she’ll probably think your mess is a compliment to the mere thought of her using you as a sex toy and take full advantage of the situation.”
He stared back at the two women grinning down at him as one stroked his forehead and the other took even more pictures on her phone. “And even if you were telling the truth about looking for a towel, while you’re lying here waiting for auntie to come back and do whatever a depraved sexually frustrated middle-aged woman does when presented with an opportunity like this, just think how easily one little thing has led to another, and then another so that you’re now gagged and tied to a bed, while wearing women’s underwear and covered in a disgusting sticky mess. It’s been like standing up a set of dominoes and pushing one over!” The two women laughed again, linked arms, and left, closing the bedroom door behind them.
He stared up at the ceiling and wondered what Mrs Barbour’s niece had meant when she’d called her aunt depraved, and whether it had anything to do with her uncle leaving. Not that he really cared: he’d only volunteered to lay Mrs Barbour’s lawn as part of some vague fantasy that she might reward him in a way that didn’t involve money, and had been intending to lie back on her bed and masturbate into her underwear when he’d been disturbed. And now, not only was a woman he’d dreamed about for weeks rushing home to use him for her own sexual gratification, two very attractive women had just given him a hand job and were insistent that they were going to blackmail him into doing whatever they wanted.
He grinned to himself at the anticipation of a woman taking “full advantage of the situation”, and the instant he heard the front door open, and that knew Mrs Barbour was reading the note he’d left on the kitchen table that he “was happy to accept whatever she wanted to give him for what he’d done in her garden, and didn’t care how long she took to give him it,” another erection sprung upwards and away from the soft and shiny material too small to restrain it.