Be a man and put on the lingerie.

You look nervously at the pile of women's underwear, wondering how putting them on and wearing them out under your boy clothes will help prove you are man enough to be Maddie's master. It's one of the girliest, gayest things you can imagine, but maybe that's why your dork diabolique dared you to do it. If you can try them on and not get aroused, it proves you are all man where it counts. You strip naked and feel more determined than ever to win the naughty nerd as your ****.

You search for the sluttiest lingerie in the pile, eager to prove to Maddie that you aren't scared of her little dares. You pull on a tiny pink mesh thong with sparkly rhinestones and a lace heart over the swell of your ass. You immediately lose your self imposed challenge, your shrimpy shaft straining at the material, but you tell yourself it's just the friction of the fabric against your sensitive skin, and that it will subside soon enough.

You slide on dayglo rainbow silk stockings, sure you won't get off wearing something so ridiculously gay, but then you see how sexy your legs look...and feel in them and you start to dribble in your panties. You can't resist the temptation to run your hands up and down your legs, sending scintillating shivers across your supple skin. You remind yourself that you aren't supposed to be enjoying this, and pull your hands away and take a deep breath. You manage to calm down a little, though your cock is still obscenely throbbing in your sheer panties.

The bra should at least be a cakewalk, after all, it's not like you have tits. You pick a pink silk bra and struggle to fasten it. You manage to get it on, and are immediately alarmed with how sensitive your nipples feel caressed by the fine fabric. They grow painfully hard and puffy, pushing against the satiny bra and making you look like some kind of slutty sissy, which of course you are not. If anything, finding yourself so hot you almost cream your panties is proof you are a man, because you still imagine that it's you doing the fucking.

You shake your head and slap your face to regain your bearings. You remind yourself that Maddie looked even hotter than you all slutted up and that if you want to get your hands on all of her pint sized perfection, you'd better get dressed and get to the register. You pull your boy clothes over your hidden treasures and squirm as rough denim and stiff cotton only emphasis the silken touch of your unmentionables. You rush outside, increasingly impatient to get out of this store and someplace you can change back into your boring boy underwear.

There's just one little problem. When you get outside, Maddie is nowhere to be seen! She must have paid for her outfit and ditched you. It's probably another one of her insane games, and the stakes seem to be getting exponentially higher. Maybe it's better to throw in the towel now. You can explain what happened to the salesgirl and as embarrassing as it is, they probably will let you off with a warning. Or, you could risk it all to follow your femme fatale.