panties and bra

Sunday morning.

You’re having breakfast with Laura; she’s still carrying that mix of guilt and euphoria from yesterday. She’s in her robe, but you can see the sparkle in her eyes every time she remembers the photo.

Your phone buzzes. A new message from the unknown number:

«Good job, cuck.

I loved watching her suck you off after the photo. What an obedient little mouth your future wife has.

But you pissed me off: covering her face was a mistake. You’re going to pay for that this week.

New rules (and this time they’re MY rules, not yours):

1. Next Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday you’re going to “stay late at the office.” Make up whatever excuse you want—urgent project, asshole boss, anything. You won’t get home before 11:00 p.m. at the earliest.

2. Before Wednesday, you’ll convince Laura to invite Mr. Jackson over those three days “to keep her company while you’re working.” Tell her you feel bad that he’s been so lonely since his wife died and that he’s a good Christian man.

3. Each of those nights, once they’re alone watching a movie, Laura will say exactly this (word for word):

   «Mr. Jackson, since it’s hot and we’re at home, I’m going to get comfortable. Do you mind if I stay in just my bra and panties? I feel much better like that.»

   And she’ll stay like that for the rest of the night.

4. I’ll see EVERYTHING through the cameras. You will NOT have access to the recordings until I decide to give them to you (if I ever do).

5. If you try to spy, warn Laura, or break any of these rules, Monday morning everyone gets the video of her swallowing your load with that angelic little face.

Enjoy your week, cuck.

Start preparing your work excuse and convince your saintly fiancée.

Tick-tock.»

You close the phone. Your hand is shaking. Laura looks at you from across the table, smiling.

“Everything okay, honey?”

You swallow hard. You have to start now.

“Yeah… it’s work.” You sigh theatrically. “Some major issues came up with the new project. The boss says we’ll have to stay late several days this week… probably Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I’m gonna get home really late.”

Laura frowns, worried.

“Oh, my poor baby… that late? What time?”

“I don’t know… after eleven for sure. It kills me to leave you alone for so many hours.”

She strokes your hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll pray for you and wait up.”

There’s your opening. You take a deep breath and put on your “kind-hearted concern” face.

“Hey, Laura… I was thinking… Mr. Jackson could really use some company. He’s been so lonely since his wife passed, and he’s an older man, a good Christian… What if you invited him over those days? That way you’re not alone, you can have something to drink, watch a Christian movie or whatever… I’d feel so much better knowing you’re not by yourself until so late.”

Laura’s eyes go wide, surprised.

“Mr. Jackson? But… he’s old, and… I’m not sure that’s proper.”

“He’s a respectable widower, love. He goes to the same church as your family. Besides, you’re always saying we should help our neighbor. It would be a beautiful act of charity. And I’d be so much calmer at work knowing you’re with someone trustworthy.”

She thinks about it, biting her lip. You keep going:

“Plus… you’ll be home alone for hours, and it’s hot… you can get comfortable, you know? If you feel like watching TV in just your bra and panties, I’m totally fine with it. It’s our house, it’s normal. He’s old; he’ll understand. It’s like having a grandpa around.”

Laura turns tomato-red.

“What?! But that would be… practically naked in front of another man!”

“No, honey, it’s just underwear. It’s like a bikini. And you’re gorgeous—there’s nothing wrong with being comfortable in your own home. Besides, he already saw the photo… (shit, you bite your tongue but keep going fast) I mean, he’s an older guy, nothing’s going to happen. It’s just company.”

She goes quiet for a long time. You caress her cheek.

“Please, baby. Do it for me. I’d be able to focus at work knowing you’re not alone.”

Finally she sighs, looks down, and nods very slowly.

“Okay… if you say there’s nothing wrong with it… I’ll do it. I’ll invite him tomorrow. But only because you’re asking me to and because I want you to feel at ease.”

She hugs you tight. You hug her back, stomach in knots and cock rock-hard at the same time.

That same night, while she’s asleep, you get another message:

«Good boy.

You’re gonna love seeing how well your little saint behaves when she’s alone with grandpa Jackson for three straight nights, in bra and panties, on your own couch.

And you won’t get to watch a thing until I feel like letting you.

Get ready.

This is going to be long and very, very fun… for me.»

You stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep, imagining what’s going to happen on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday… and completely powerless to stop it.