has four little green leaves next to that sweet little flower. Four. Not two, not three, not five—four. Now, Al, I want you to take these and tell me how many little green leaves there are next to that so-sweet little flower.”
Al took the panties in suddenly moist hands, turned them carefully until the little flower was turned toward him. Just as Jeannine had never heard Al use the word pretty before—not at the museum, not in a gallery—she’d never really seen him hold something reverently before.
“Three,” Al said, glancing up from the panties to look her in the face. His eyes were wide and gently moist.
“That’s right, Al. Three. Not four—three. One of my leaves is missing. That’s not a good thing. Not a good thing at all. I asked you to do something and you didn’t do it. I’m afraid, Al, that you’ll have to be punished.”
Al’s face lit with a soft smile. “I understand.” He seemed to want to add something else (Ma’am, Sir, Mistress, something like that) but didn’t know what to say—yet.
“Good. Now strip.”
Al’s smile grew, took on a sweetness and a subtle thank you, and he did as he was told.
Next to one of the baskets went his hurriedly shed shirt, shoes, pants, socks, and underwear, until he stood in front of her, tall and lean, all long bones and tight muscles, and very, very hard.
Jeannine looked at his gently bobbing cock. It took a lot of control not to reach out and stroke it, suck it. “Very good,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She doubted she’d ever seen him as hard. “Very, very good. Now, Al—” she tossed him the sheer panties “—put these on.”
At first Al didn’t do anything. He just stood in front of her, very hard, with a strange expression on his face. Later, when she had time to really think about it, Jeannine would realize that among the emotions that were zapping around inside her boyfriend’s mind—desire, suspicion, shame, fear, to name a few—the one that finally won out, that made him reach down and put one foot, then the other, into the satin undies and slowly, sensually draw them up his body, was relief.
“Very nice,” Jeannine said, surprising herself at her own sincerity. He really did look…not pretty, but definitely very sexy: his very hard cock tented the white material like he was trying to shoplift a javelin, and the sheer material was already growing damp at the end with pearly pre-come. Again, it took all of Jeannine’s control not to just lick the end, taste the salty bitterness. “Very sexy, Al—no, that’s not right. You’re not really Al, are you? Not right now.”
Al hung his head slightly, pulled his elbows and knees in, shrinking, getting younger, the rough and tumble Al fading away as Jeannine watched.
“Alice?” Jeannine said, the inspiration like a small shock. “Your name is Alice. Isn’t that right…Alice?”
Al—no, because her boyfriend was gone; Alice, her girlfriend with the white satin panties, very big clit, and very small boobs, nodded slowly, happily.
“You’re very pretty, Alice, in nothing but your white panties. Very sexy. Do you feel sexy, Alice?”
Alice smiled, radiantly, saying, but not with words: Yes, very much so.
“Turn around, Alice. Show me your sexy little body. Show me what you’ve got, slut.”
Alice chewed a thumbnail, eyes wide and moist.
“Do it, Alice—or do you want me to be upset?” Jeannine wanted to laugh, to cry at how excited they both seemed to feel. It wasn’t a game she’d played before—or would ever have thought about playing with Al—but with Alice it seemed right, natural, and most of all, way too much fun.
Alice’s eyes grew even wider. Then, slowly, shyly, she turned around, giving Jeannine a hesitant view of her boyish body.
“Very sexy,” Jeannine said, suddenly aware of her own wetness. “I really like you in my panties. In fact, I think you look even better in my panties than I do. They’re yours