Red Panties and Purple Passions

Indulgent play with alternative lifestyles and an avatar present an opportunity for fantasy fulfillment. Will he succumb to it?

I entered the house and made my way upstairs to our bedroom. It was late, and I’d just finished a grueling seven day, three-city trip across time zones. All I wanted now was a shower and some sleep.

Shelly had let me know that she probably wouldn’t be home when I arrived, and that there was a steak salad in the fridge. She hadn’t said where she would be, though. There had been previous mentions of the girls taking advantage of ladies’ night at their favorite club, but she’d also been talking glowingly about the new guy she’d hooked up with a while back.

“He is so fucking hot!” she’d said before I left on this trip, “and dominant in just the right ways! I’ve masturbated about him since we connected.” The lust in her eyes affirmed her words as she walked to me, pressed her body against my naked form, and wrapped her hands around my ass to pull me in tight.

“He’s a perfect match for your fantasy, too,” she whispered in my ear while giving my cheeks a squeeze.

My fantasy that she referred to was an increasing desire to be in submissive service to her and a lover.

We’d been enjoying the indulgence of non-monogamous lifestyles for years. It was our jam! Our connection and openness enabled us to toy with play styles. Hotwifing had been the latest variation, but it quickly gained a female dominant, or FLR, kink. That was my desire. My career was skyrocketing, but the time and energy commitments were going to be overwhelming.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer from lack of attention,” I’d said. “This surge should only last a year or two. I trust you. Go explore more, so long as you share the details and energy when I’m around.”

“Is that all you want to share?” she asked. I knew she was referring to more than her explorations.

I didn’t mince words. “When I can break away from work, I’d love to just be your sex puppet,” I’d told her.

She knew that. She’d seen how amped up I got at sex parties where she only allowed me to watch or hear her, or in hearing about her hot wife dates after she came home. This led to asking her to have some of her hot wife encounters at home, so I could “provide for them”.

The home encounters started with food and drinks, then escalated to toweling them down, taking pictures and such. One time, she had me wipe her lover’s copious jizz with a bandana, then tied it over my face like a bandit. His smell, and the feeling of his jizz seeping into my skin, was intoxicating while I watched them fuck.

That experience led to her buying items to make me look and feel more submissive as well, starting with pouched red silk panties.

“They’re men’s briefs!” I’d countered while I looked them over, “and the pouch isn’t very big. And where’s the opening in front?”

“Would you rather I cage your cock?” she replied.

I gave her a look. She knew caging was something I wasn’t into.

“And as a subby, you’ll just have to sit to pee,” she continued. “Now try them on!”

I slipped my feet through the leg holes and hiked them up, cupping my genitals into their snug confinement.

“Don’t be so rough, honey,” she teased, then walked over to inspect my handiwork. Her firm grasp verified the tight fit I felt.

“We’ll see how well you tent these while I’m exciting you,” she taunted. “This will be fun!”

Over time, she escalated her FLR control, and I became more expressive concerning my craving to be fully submissive to her and a lover.

“Exactly how submissive?” she asked coyly. “Undressing me? Holding me open for him?”

She cradled my cock in her hand and began palming it.

“Or do you want to fluff him for me? Taste his pre-cum while your silky red panties squeeze your throbbing cock against you. Maybe with a butt plug snug in your ass, so that you’re ready if he wants to fuck you?”

The next day, we sat at our kitchen table and updated our boundaries to address these physical and emotional needs. We didn’t need to do this, but it was fun printing them in an old English writing style and framing them in our bedroom. A declaration of debauchery, so to speak.

Submission dominated our role play now. She added restraints, butt plugs and other paraphernalia to the sex toys. She also loved blindfolding me, then using toys and such while I described the characteristics and features of my perfect man to submit to.

As I packed for this recent trip, she placed two pairs of red panties in my suitcase.

“I want you wearing them while you’re gone,” she instructed. “We know how sweaty and stinky boys can get, so I got you a second pair. That way, you can wash one each night and remain fresh while you think of me and your fantasy man.”

Then she handed me a sheet of paper. On it was the avatar of a man from the hips up. Every detail matched all the descriptors I’d spoken during our dom/sub play.

“Who is this?” I questioned.

“I input your fantasy descriptions into an AI generator, and it came up with him. Is it accurate?”

I look again. My mouth warmed, and I felt heat build in my groin. It was perfect.

“Every night before bed, I want you in fresh red panties and soaking up this avatar. I want you to message me tales about what our sex would be like under his control. About what other features he’d have not shown here. What his cock would look and taste like, for instance. You can touch yourself, but under no circumstances can you orgasm.”

I followed her instructions. Each day, my descriptions became more detailed and elaborate. More raw. By the last night, I felt like I would come just from writing about it.

Now showered, I habitually reached for the panties and illustration to journal about before stopping myself.

Man, am I shot!

I put the picture and briefs on my bedside table, slid my naked body between satin sheets, and dropped off to sleep.

At some point after that, noises downstairs stirred me. I thought I heard voices downstairs, maybe even laughter, but exhaustion overtook me and I fell asleep again.

Then later, noises stirred me again. This time, they appeared to come from upstairs. I rolled over to look at my phone. Eleven thirty. I quieted to try making out the sounds. It seemed like Shelly’s voice, but there was another voice as well. I laid my head on his pillow, trying to listen, but sleepiness won out and I dozed off again.

The next noises that woke me appeared to be from the spare bedroom. I fought off the frustration of having been woken again, determined to locate their source. I quickly came to realize that these sounds were not conversation or movement anymore. They were the sounds of lust and desire. Of bodies enveloped in passion. There was sex going on.

I looked at my phone again. This time, there was a text message from Shelly.

“I hope I’ve woken you enough to read this, because this is all for you. I was thrilled to see your red panties and the avatar on your bedside table. I’ve hung the panties on the door hook. Put them on, and nothing else. Then come to the spare bedroom. Knock to let me know you’re there.”

I looked at my table, then at the door. The red panties were hanging on the hook.

My mind flooded with the possibilities of exactly what was in store. Part of me wanted to look into our sex toy chest to see if cuffs, gags, or any other submission role play items were missing, but I resisted. I wanted to be vulnerable to whatever she had in mind.

I slid from the bed to the amplified moans of wickedness and slid the panties on. My cock was so engorged after a week of contextual foreplay that it would not fit in the pouch, so I pushed it to one side and proceeded out the door.

The sounds of sex drew me towards the door with budding anticipation of what lay behind. My distended cock pushed against the waistband, yearning for my hand to free it from confinement and fist it to release.

I discovered a blackout mask draped over the spare room doorknob. A note attached read:

“Knock twice, then put the mask on and wait.”

I inhaled and exhaled deeply. Electricity shot through me as I put the blackout mask in place.

The sounds from the room stilled. After an eternal second, I could hear the door open. Soft hands, presumably Shelly, guided me to a chair and helped me sit.

Then, deafening silence. Without sight and sound, my remaining senses strained to make out something, anything that gave me a clue of what sound it had been certain of. Or had it?

Smell raced to sound’s aid with an unexpected reply. There was no scent of sex. My breathing shallowed to seek certainty of this.

“Take your mask off, dear,” Shelly said.

I lifted it off my head. My eyes blinked open to soft purple lighting. My goddess sat on the bed before me, wearing my favorite black teddy. Next to her stood a man with well-defined features, full lips, and the eyes of a conqueror. His only clothing item was a generously filled black thong.

Shifting hues to my right drew my gaze. The silenced flat screen was playing video content of this man and Shelly having sex. The content was edited into segments. Shelly straining to swallow his hearty cock. The man’s face buried in her pussy as she writhed. Shelly on the bed, face down and ass up as he pounded her. His cock saturating her face and chest with his cum.

Mesmerized, I looked back at the two of them, then specifically at him. The hair. The eyes. The full lips and perfect torso. It was him, the avatar Shelly had sent with him on his trip. The man I’d written about and edged himself to without release, as Shelly had instructed. He was very, very real.

“Jay, this is Salvadore,” Shelly said. “Salvadore is an amazing lover, and he is bisexual. As you can see on-screen, we’ve acquainted ourselves already. He’s the man I’ve spoken to you about before your trip.”

“Now, he is here for your fantasy. He and I are more than happy to fulfill it. All you have to do is kneel before us.”

Emotion flooded through me. Trepidation. Anxiousness. Uncertainty. Even giddiness! All bathed in unabashed desire. But more importantly, cloaked in the trust I had in her, and in us.

I rose from the chair, paused, and knelt.