Caught with Consequences
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Caught With Consequences Pt I free porn video
Caught with Consequences Pt I
By teaser
So there I was, with my head stuck inside a copier, trying
to figure out how to dismantle it piece by piece, nut but
nut, screw by screw, so I can clear a tiny little paper
jam. Life would be so much simpler if management would
simply remove their collective heads from their collective
asses and buy some new equipment once in a while. I mean,
how are we supposed to be veritable fountains of
productivity with stone-age equipment?
Then I felt a hand slide up the back of my leg, grab my
pants, give a yank. I felt, rather than heard the snap on
my leg. Of course I jumped and banged my head.
"Ouch" I yelled, rubbing my head as I attempted to
extricate myself from this machine of death.
I crawled out, stood up, turned around and saw Debbie, a
fairly hot, young secretary, staring at me with wide eyes
and a strange smile.
"I knew it!" she exclaimed with a nasty smile. "I just knew
it!"
"Knew what you nut case? What the hell do you think you're
trying to do kill me?" I asked.
"You're wearing pantyhose! I felt them, I heard them snap!"
I stuttered in disbelief "What... what the... what are you
talking about?" I also felt my face turn several shades of
red. How on earth could she figure it out?
"Are you gay, or do you just like wearing women's clothes?"
she asked, as if she was questioning me about a pastrami on
rye for lunch. "Are you a pervert?"
I was stunned into silence, grasping for straws. "I am not
wearing pantyhose, or any other kind of hose, thank you
please, now if you don't mind I have work to do." I faked
indignation.
"Oh you're wearing pantyhose alright. I knew it and I just
proved it!" Her face showed the smile of child who's just a
bit too clever and knows it.
"What on earth makes you think I'm wearing pantyhose?" I
asked, desperately trying to regain my composure. I was
stalling, desperately thinking of a way out of this.
"Duh, I'm a girl." She said waving her hands over her
miniskirt and legs. "I've been wearing tights and hose, for
like, my whole life." I was losing this one, and losing it
big. "I've seen you more than a few times pulling them up
when you thought no one's looking. Ducking behind cabinets.
Women have been doing that ever since whatever asshole it
was who invented pantyhose."
'Shit,' I thought to myself.
"First couple times, I wasn't sure, so I kept my eye on
you. And sure enough, I caught you tugging them up on
several occasions. You must wear them every day. Do you
wear them every day?"
'Shit, shit, shit!' This was getting worse by the second.
"For the last time, I am not wearing pantyhose, I have
never worn pantyhose, and I have no plans to do so - ever!"
Yeah that's it. Just flat out 'NO!'.
"I want to see them!" She chimed in. She was ignoring my
protestations completely.
"Are you deaf?" I yelled as quietly as I could, looking
around to make sure I wasn't attracting any attention.
Thankfully, we were alone in the copier area.
"You can say what you want, but you're wearing them and if
you don't show me, then every one on first shift will know
about it by the end of the day."
I was stunned. I was completely stunned. I never expected
to get caught. I thought I was so careful that I never
would have to have this conversation, and yet, here I was.
Stuck between a rock and hard place. I was speechless. I
felt my face blush so hot my skin actually hurt from the
heat.
"Well, do you show me your pantyhose or do you spend the
rest of your career here known as 'Pantyhose boy'?"
I was trapped. I hemmed and hawed, shuffled my feet, I
stalled for time, trying to think of something, anything.
All I got was nothing.
"Do you promise not tell any one?" I meekly asked.
"The only promise I'll make is to tell everyone if you
don't show me right now."
Subject apparently closed for discussion.
"Not here" I said, "too many people around." I mumbled.
Her face lit up like a cat playing with a mouse. She had
me. She knew it. She loved it.
She thought for a brief moment and said, "Follow me, NOW!"
What could I do? I followed. We walked briskly to her desk.
She grabbed a ring of about a zillion keys and continued on
through the halls. We stopped in front of a door that read
'Office Supplies'.
"We started locking this up a few months ago to save on
supplies, you wouldn't believe what people will steal."
Note to self: clean out desk of stolen office supplies. She
unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was dark inside.
She flicked on a light, motioned me inside, closed and
locked the door.
"Take your pants off now."
Boom. Matter of fact. No debate. End of discussion. I
dropped the wad of crumpled papers I must have carried with
me all the way from the copier. With my face beet red, and
my eyes looking straight down, I slowly undid my belt and
pants. I pulled them down a little bit.
"All the way. As a matter of fact - take them off and give
them to me." She commanded.
"No way." I said.
She turned around, started to open the door.
"Okay, okay, okay" I surrendered.
I kicked off my loafers, pulled off my pants and handed
them to her. And there I stood, in all my glory. Work
shirt, under shirt, socks, and a pair of suntan, control
top, 'Silkies' pantyhose.
"My, my, my, look at what we have here. Is this a fashion
statement we're making?' She giggled.
"No" I responded. "It's just... I... you see... alright, so
sue me, I like wearing pantyhose, okay?" What else could I
say? "I'm not hurting anyone, I don't cause any problems. I
don't hit on the girls around here. I don't parade around
drag. I just like the feel of pantyhose."
"Are you wearing panties too?" She interrupted.
"No" I replied.
"You little slut!" she laughed. "How long have you been
wearing them?"
The tone of her voice changed a little. It was more
inquisitive, but still demanding. I was hoping that was a
good sign.
"Well?" She asked again.
"For years, since I was a kid." I replied.
"How often?" As she continued her interrogation she began
to circle me. I felt like prey.
"Most days during the winter, they help me stay warm. Not
so often in the summer."
Maybe I might be able to get out of this with out having to
leave the state.
"Any favorites? What Colors?"
"Why so many questions?" I shot back.
"Answer the questions or I'll leave you in here without
your pants, and I'll ask every secretary on site to get me
some office supplies."
So much for cutting this short.
"All kinds, colors." I mumbled.
"So you have quite a collection, I take it."
"Yes I have enough."
"What's your favorite?"
She just would not let it go. She was going to make me
stand here and be completely humiliated.
"I don't know, they're all pretty much the same."
"No they're not. I know that, and apparently so do you. Now
what's your favorite and why?"
Again I tried to bring about some closure. "We both really
have to get back to work, I know I do. Can I please have my
pants back before some one comes in here." I was almost
pleading now.
"Well you may not be enjoying yourself, but that thing
certainly is." She said pointing to my crotch. Sure enough
I was half-mast and rising.
How the hell could I be getting hard? I was standing here,
in pantyhose, at work, in front of an almost total stranger
who's mission in life was humiliating me - and some how I
was finding this arousing?!?
"Please, please, please may I have my pants back? I'll
answer any question you want. Just let me get dressed."
Yes. That's it. Pride completely swallowed. Head over heels
begging. Next step would probably be to drop to my knees.
"Hold on, hold on, you'll get them back. I just want to see
how big that thing is going to get." She was staring
intently on my legs and crotch.
And I was studying her face, searching for some kind of
clue. Damn! She was cute. And really nice legs. Nude
colored pantyhose. With just a touch of Lycra to give them
a subtle shine. Topped off by a nice short, black polyester
miniskirt. No wonder I was getting hard. I looked down, I
was at full staff.
She couldn't seem to take her eyes off my cock. She even
stopped asking me questions. Could she actually be turned
on by this? A guy in women's underwear? I must admit it, I
was a quite a bit larger than average. After staring at it
for a few more minutes, she handed me back my pants with
out taking her eyes off my legs. I slipped them on and
stepped into my shoes. As soon as I snapped my button and
pulled up my zipper, the spell was broken and she looked me
right in the eyes.
"So," I began timidly. "do I have to look for another job,
or are you gonna keep this quiet?"
"I'll keep your secret." She began.
Mental note to self: 'self: double prayers tonight and an
extra helping in the collection plate on Sunday.'
"As long as you do what I say, that is."
Again I was speaking to the precocious child. "What do you
mean?" Even I could her the fear in my voice.
"You're gonna wear them tomorrow. And you're gonna show me.
And the next day, and the next and the next."
"That's it?" I asked. "Just show you that I've got them on
and you'll keep this quiet?" This wasn't my idea of a
perfect ending, but at least it was a freakin' bone.
"Yep, that's it, till I think of something else."
Notice - insert sound of other shoe falling.
"Like what?" I asked.
"I'll have to think about it."
That damn smart ass smile she wore when she first
confronted me was plastered all over her face as she turned
around, opened the door and turned off the lights.
"Don't forget to lock up when you're done powdering your
nose."
And she strutted - yes, that most definitely was a strut -
down the hallway, back towards her office. And as she went
I watched her as sway on her high heeled pumps.
For the next week, every day, I had to stop by her desk and
ask her if she'd open the supply room door for me. And
every day I'd follow her down to the office, watching that
cute ass sway, and those gorgeous legs encased in nylons.
Funny thing, I'd noticed in the past was she only
occasionally wore miniskirts. But now she seemed to wear
them every day. Once the door was locked, I'd have to drop
my pants so she could inspect me. There was always a litany
of questions. What brand, what type, what color, why this
pair. What did I like best about them and why. And She'd
always keep it up till I was embarrassed half to death, and
sporting a major hard on. Then She'd grudgingly return my
pants.
On the second week she started giving me orders. Telling me
what to wear the next day. If I didn't have the requested
pair, she'd say 'tough - better do some shopping'. She had
me out shopping for obscure pantyhose every night of the
week. God this was embarrassing. She also warned me in no
uncertain terms I was to abstain from jerking off. I
doubted she'd be able to tell if I did, but I didn't want
to take any chances. After all, I didn't think she'd be
able to tell I wore pantyhose. But Debbie was apparently
much smarter than I'd given her credit for.
So there I was, after two weeks, standing like a moron,
wearing a pair of Silkies, black, body shaping pantyhose
(the kind that puts your butt in a sling) - with Lycra -
sporting a huge hard on. Did I mention my balls weighed
about 5 pounds each? Thanks to Debbie's little game I was
hard just about all the time. Wearing pantyhose naturally
made me horny. That's probably the major reason I wore
them. It's nice feeling your legs and crotch getting a
silky, massage all the live long day. And some how, some
way, no matter how embarrassed, humiliated and degraded I
felt, it was like an incredible rush of adrenalin and
hormones standing in front of her. Letting her 'inspect'
me.
Finally I had to ask, "Is this ever going to stop? Aren't
you getting bored yet?"
"A little." She replied. "That's why were gonna kick it up
a notch."
Uh oh! I should have just kept my big, fat, hairy mouth
shut.
"Tonight you're coming to my house. Bring a nice assortment
of pantyhose, and any other women's clothes you have."
My jaw hit the ground. I was stunned. She handed me back my
pants, letting them fall to the floor when I failed to
reach for them. She pulled a card from her blouse pocket
and stuck it in front of my face. It was her address. When
I didn't take it, she dropped it on my pants.
"But, but, but... I don't have any other women's clothes."
Real bright come back on my part.
She turned to leave, and said, "Then we'll just have to get
you some. I'm guessing a size 6 or 8. Bring your check
book, I'm not paying for your wardrobe."
And with that she was gone.
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