My beautiful but devious nineteen-year-old neighbor had cornered me. She had decided I needed to be punished for the absurd crime of calling her “Em”, rather than “Emma”. The punishment she'd imposed was for me to paint her father's wooden shed, convincing her dad it had been my idea—a friendly, neighborly gesture, so to speak.

Her dad, Grant, had even phoned to thank me, and he was so overjoyed that I was in no position to decline the job. Only when the phone had been put down did Emma land the killer blow—she emailed me to say I was to do the work wearing just the pink cotton panties that she had given me.

As was her way, she had engineered things so that I had neither the time nor the means to negotiate with her. And I had no idea what her next move would be should I refuse to paint the shed dressed in nothing but panties. I felt I had no choice but to comply with her instructions and, bizarrely, the thought of doing so was arousing me.

oooOOooo

After a restless night's sleep, I was up early. I showered and then had breakfast, dressed only in a dressing gown. As I chewed my toast, so my free hand was fondling my penis. Nervous though I was, it was still easy to arouse myself, thinking about the day that lay ahead.

In no time at all, I was fully erect. Just a few more strokes and I could have cum. Despite the madness of my situation, I held back, because I knew that if I ejaculated then I might start to have second thoughts about the wisdom of complying with Emma's orders. Being highly excited was the key to having the courage to fulfil the quest.

I got dressed, slipping on the soft cotton panties, adorned on the front with a colorful image of Minnie Mouse. My erection obscenely poked out of the top of the skimpy garment, but I guessed it couldn't remain stiff forever. However, they were tight on me, the elastic digging into my flesh, and it would be impossible to forget I was wearing them.

I put on a pair of pants and a T-shirt, and then a pair of sneakers. The time was approaching... and I knew I couldn't afford to be late, but neither could I be early, which might involve me bumping into Grant and Martha before they left for work.

At 9:29, carrying my cell phone, I left my house, walked along the street to Emma's and went round the back into her garden. There was no sign of her—nor any sign of her parents, either.

As she had told me, the tools and the paint I needed were by the shed. I was relieved to see it was a type of wood stain, so one coat might be all it needed—after I'd prepared the surface, of course!

I glanced around, wondering if I was visible from the street—I wasn't—or whether her neighbors the other side might see me—possibly they could. I had to pray they were also out at work, like Emma's mom and dad.

I took a deep breath and undressed, so that all I was left wearing were the pink panties. My penis, which had gone flaccid, began to grow again.

Close up, I could see that I had committed myself to a mammoth task. The woodwork was covered with peeling paint, which I knew I had to remove before applying new paint. If I didn't get a move on, I could be here the next day and possibly the day after that!

I set to work, scraping off the old paintwork whilst keeping an eye on my phone, in case Emma contacted me. Occasionally, I glanced towards her bedroom window. The drapes were open, but she was not there.

Suddenly, there was a ping. I picked my phone up to see there was an email from “Anon”.

“Cute bum...”

Somehow, she was watching—probably a hidden camera. I looked around again, trying to figure things out.

“Anon”: “Get back to work... SISSY...”

Sissy?! Is that how she saw me? I felt further twitches from my penis at how she was humiliating me. And I became aware of dampness as precum leak into the cotton.

I continued scraping away at the old paint. Soon I was sweating and almost thankful that I was dressed in nothing more than a pair of panties, despite them being too tight. Stupidly, I had not brought anything to drink, yet I needed water.

Spying an external faucet, I put my tools down and walked over. I turned it on and was soon lapping up refreshing cold water, quenching my thirst. I went back to the shed to see there was another message.

“Anon”: “I never said you could stop work... sissy...”

Surely, she couldn't deny me a drink of water? I turned to face the house, put my hands together in prayer and bowed my head, hoping she would see that as a sign seeking forgiveness.

I resumed the scraping, methodically working my way around the shed.

At 1 PM my phone pinged.

“Anon”: “Lunchbreak... half-hour... cool box by back door...”

I went to see what she was talking about. Sure enough, by the rear door, sitting in the shade, was a cool box. I opened it up to find a round of sandwiches and a bottle of water.

Actually, I was very touched by this gesture. I had not expected her to provide me with any sustenance, but it was welcome. Not for the first time, I wished I had a way of replying to her to express my thanks. But, of course, the communication was always one way—her to me.

I sat on the ground, and consumed what she had left me. Then, after a brief rest, I checked my watch, and I could see it was time to resume work. After her kind act I felt renewed energy.

A further hour of scraping saw the shed ready to be painted, so I proceeded with that.

Then, at 4 PM, a further message arrived.

“Anon”: “Get dressed... but carry on painting...”

Not needing to be told twice, I did what she said. Barely ten minutes later, Grant strode into the back garden. Emma must have known he was on his way home from work.

“Hey, neighbor!” yelled Grant, as he caught sight of me. “That looks darn good! You're doing a fine job.”

“Er... my pleasure,” I reassured him. “I should be finished in an hour.”

“I'd give you a hand, but...” he smiled, pointing at the smart business suit he was wearing. “Besides, painting has never been my strong point.”

“No problem, Grant.”

“Has Emma been looking after you?”

“Er... I've not seen her, but she left me lunch.”

“She'll be in the house, somewhere,” he remarked, and then looked at me, beads of sweat running down my forehead. “You look hot,” he laughed.

“You could say that, Grant,” I responded.

“Put your brush down and have a quick dip in my pool. It'll cool you off.”

“Er... no, I'd better not,” I replied, alarm bells ringing. “I'd have to go back home for my swim shorts, Grant. Another day, eh?”

“Nooh! Just take your pants and shirt off, Mark. Have a swim in your underwear.”

“No! I couldn't do that. What... what if Emma saw me?”

He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I'm sure she's seen a man in his boxers before, Mark. Come on! I'll join you. I'm not taking no for an answer.”

At that moment, my phone pinged. I quickly glanced and saw there was a message from “Anon”: “Have you gone batshit crazy? Tell him NO... YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!!!”

How the hell did Emma know what we were talking about. I glanced around, but, as I expected, she was nowhere to be seen. I turned to Grant, who was staring at me. “Something important?” he asked. “You seem stunned.”

Thinking quickly on my feet, I replied, “Er... yes... an old friend's asked me to go out for a drink tonight. He's got personal problems and sounds upset. I'd better get finished with the painting, so I have to turn down the offer of a dip. Sorry, Grant.”

“Never mind! Another time, Mark. You're always welcome to use the pool.”

oooOOooo

That evening, I took myself out to a neighboring town for a beer—on my own, obviously, because I couldn't risk staying in the house in case Grant noticed I was there. As I sipped my drink, an email came through on my phone. It was Emma and it came from her personal email account, not the anonymous one.

“Dad's given me $25 to buy you a present... here's a gift voucher... thanks so much, Mark... you're a super star! XXX”

Could I reply to this email? I typed “Thanks, Emma, that's very nice of you”, pressed send and waited. It was several minutes before I received an automated response saying not delivered. She had blocked me, so another line of communication had been cut off.

I found I was breathing heavily as I clicked on the link and loaded my Amazon account with the $25. I had no idea what she was intending I should spend the money on, but I was certain the decision would be hers, not mine.

Seconds later, another email arrived from her, this time from her usual “Anon” account.

“Anon”: “Buy this... next day delivery to your house...”

Beneath, was an Amazon link. With a sense of foreboding, I clicked on it. I was shocked to see it was a pack of cotton panties, in pastel colors, each adorned with a cartoon image.

I could see what her game was. She could tell her father that she'd given me the money, but she was in the clear when it came to how I spent it. My choice of purchase could not be traced back to her. She was crafty!

oooOOooo

The next day I waited for the Amazon truck to appear with my package. I felt a strange mixture of excitement and nervousness.

It was around midday that the delivery was made. Trembling a little, I tore open the box, ripped open the pack of panties and immediately tried a pair on. They were pale green with a picture of Donald Duck on the front and were a size larger than the pink ones that Emma had given me previously.

As I pulled them on, my penis reacted instantly to the thin, soft cotton brushing against my skin. By the time they were in place, I was fully erect, and my organ was sticking out of the top of the panties.

Emma must have seen the Amazon truck because soon a message arrived.

“Anon”: “Wear every single day... no exceptions... I will be checking! Tell Dad you bought bourbon with the gift voucher!”

A tingle went down my spine, and I elected to obey her commands. But at least she and I were agreed on what I should tell Grant, if he were to ask what my present from her had been.

oooOOooo

From there on, our relationship—if you can call it that—settled into a routine. She was expecting me to wear the panties on a daily basis and a number of times she had me standing, looking out of my back bedroom window, dressed just in those undies, while she sunbathed in a bikini beside her pool, staring up at me. On two occasions, she had me standing there for fifteen long minutes, while stroking myself to maintain a strong erection.

Sometimes, she would point her phone at me. Was she taking photos? If she was, she had made no suggestion of blackmail, at least not yet. Other times, she was using hidden cameras to track my movements. Was she saving the recordings? I was living dangerously, and it was humiliating, yet oddly thrilling, to have my life controlled in this way by my pretty young neighbor.

Her desire to add to her collection of expensive lingerie knew no limits, and once or twice a week a message would arrive from her “Anon” account with the statement “I would look nice in these”, and with a link to some item she desired, always to be delivered to my house and then dropped over the fence.

Once a week, she deposited a large bag of laundry outside my front door which I was to handwash. This was a highlight for me, providing me with the opportunity to smell her scent, and I found myself craving for laundry day. Masturbating into a pair of her panties was always a crowning moment of the week.

And, perhaps as a reward for my slavish obedience, at least one evening a week, when her parents were out, she would “invite” me (or rather instruct me) to stand outside her bedroom window after dark and she would masturbate in front of me, whilst pretending to be unaware of my presence. Always, though, she bore the enigmatic smile that I found so enchanting.

She was consistently careful to cover her tracks to ensure that little could be traced back to her, unless one was to engage the services of a team of forensic cyber experts. Giving me her weekly laundry was the biggest risk she took, and, even then, I'm sure she had something in mind that portrayed her as the innocent victim and me as a lecherous old man preying on her. I was playing with fire, but loving every minute of it. The excitement was keeping me almost permanently aroused.

oooOOooo

Then, after about three weeks of this routine, events took an unexpected turn. I received an email from another woman—someone I'd once had a brief affair with. Her name was Nicole, but I had usually called her Nicky.

The message was short and to the point: “I heard you were single again, honey. Why not give me a call? Nicky XXX”.

Nicky was ten years younger than me, and we'd worked together for a few years, sharing an office, with my desk facing hers. She was a terrible flirt, and despite knowing I was married at the time, she'd made several plays for my affections.

However, she also correctly suspected that my marriage was growing stale. I had married young, and we had stayed together over the years. But, as with many married couples, the early magic had slowly evaporated. Sure, we continued to love each other, but conjugal relations became rarer as her sexual appetite diminished over time while mine didn't.

I'd never been unfaithful, but Nicky was proving to be a strong-willed temptress. And, I'm ashamed to say, there had been an occasion when I had succumbed to her seductive powers. My wife had been out of town visiting her sister for a few days, and Nicky, having discovered this, invited me over to her house for dinner. “I'm sure my cooking is better than yours, honey,” she'd said, in her sultry voice, while fiddling with the top button of her shirt. “Your wife wouldn't want you to starve to death, would she?” she continued.

I could have told Nicky that I was perfectly capable of cooking but, as I stared at her over my desk, she was already undoing the second button of her blouse. “Hmm? What you say? Do you want to eat something very tasty?” she asked, moving her fingers down to the third fastening.

“Well...” I'd replied, a trifle flustered. By now, the frilly edge of her black bra was visible.

“I'm sure you have an insatiable appetite, Mark,” she added, “and I'm certain I can more than satisfy you.” The fourth button then popped open, revealing her ample breasts, tightly constrained by her bra. She had her back to the door, so she was quite safe. I, on the other hand, was facing the door and had someone looked through the little window in the door they would have seen my wide-eyed expression and flushed face, as I was drawn like a moth into the trap Nicky was setting.

“Right!” I suddenly said. “Yes! I'm sure my wife would understand that I need to eat!” Obviously, I had absolutely no intention of telling her what I would be doing—I was not totally stupid!

And, so it was, we had spent the night together, in her king-sized bed. She was no better a cook than I was, but she was at the top of her game when it came to performing between the sheets. We spent a glorious night together, involving sex that was far more adventurous than I'd ever experienced with my wife. I learnt a few tricks that night.

oooOOooo

But back to the present...

I stared at the screen displaying Nicky's email, almost trembling with excitement, recollecting our night of passion several years previously.

I couldn't believe my luck! I now had two women showing interest in me, admittedly in very different ways, but equally exciting. Emma, just nineteen, was a tease, who was happy to show me her beautiful body and even masturbate in front of me. I knew that it was very unlikely—“never going to happen” was a better phrase—that I would ever get into bed with her, yet the attention she showered on me was out of this world and was meeting a need.

On the other hand, I was sure that Nicky, who was far more mature, had every intention of getting me into bed. Like Emma, Nicky would also tease me, but with a hugely different outcome. I could see no reason why I shouldn't play ball with them both and have twice the fun. Besides, Nicky could provide an outlet for the sexual frustration that continually built up from Emma's persistent teasing. It would make a change from me having to masturbate every day to release the tension that Emma created!

At that moment, as I gazed at the screen, I felt I was the luckiest man alive, being chased by two beautiful women.

oooOOooo

That evening, I phoned Nicky and she was quick to pick up.

She still had my number in her phone, so she knew who was calling. “Hello, Mark,” she said, “I knew you'd call!”

“How could I resist, Nicky? I replied.

We spent a few minutes chatting, with Nicky commiserating with the death of my wife two years earlier. Then the conversation moved to what we'd both been doing since we had worked together and had spent that wild night having sex.

It transpired that Nicky had been married, but for only a few years and was now recently divorced. I read into that, that she was now on the prowl, looking for entertainment and perhaps comfort.

We agreed to meet for dinner, in the town where she lived. Needless to say, this was not a time for me to wear the panties Emma had made me buy. I had every intention of bedding Nicky after we'd dined, and wearing cartoon panties was not the macho image I wished to portray.

oooOOooo

I was enjoying dinner at a restaurant with Nicky when my phone pinged. “Excuse me,” I remarked, looking at my phone.

It was a message from “Anon”: “9 PM outside my window...”

I was sure I blushed, causing Nicky to ask, “Everything okay, Mark?”

“Er... yeah... no problem. Just my boss messaging me.” I was lying, yet, in a strange way, Emma was my boss, and she was increasingly ordering me around.

“I thought you said you were retired, Mark,” Nicky responded, looking puzzled.

“Er... I am, but I still do a spot of consultancy work to keep my mind active,” I replied.

“Oh, I see! Still, it's not right for your boss to contact you in your free time. Tell the bastard to wait until tomorrow. I guess your boss is a 'he'?”

I laughed. “A woman, actually, and a slavedriver.” Glancing down at my watch, I saw it was 8:55 PM.

“Are you going to reply?”

“No... I'll leave it. I'll pretend I didn't see it,” I replied, forcing a smile.

oooOOooo

Nicky and I continued eating, revisiting former times when we had shared an office and especially remembering our one night of lovemaking. I'm sure we were both expecting that that night would be repeated, at the end of dinner.

Suddenly, there was another ping on my phone. I chose to ignore it, yet it was playing on my mind.

Nicky could sense I was distracted. “You'd better check to see what it is, Mark,” she informed me.

Of course, it was “Anon”: “Where the fuck were you? It's now 9.15... you will pay for your disobedience...”

If her first message had caused me to blush, this second one drained all the color from my face. “You look agitated, Mark,” Nicky remarked, extending an arm over the table and laying a hand on top of mine. “It's your boss again, isn't it?”

I gulped. “Yep! She's not happy with me. But I won't reply.”

Nicky gave me a contented smile, pleased I was ignoring my boss's demands, but unaware that I had no way of replying, even if I'd wished to. I was uncomfortable with Emma's tone, but at the same time felt a frisson of excitement at her domineering attitude. How would she make me pay?

I pushed it to the back of my mind. We finished our meal and, just as I had anticipated, Nicky invited my back to her apartment for “coffee”.

Yes, I did get coffee, but it was brewed the following morning. As soon as we arrived back at her place, we resumed the passionate lovemaking we'd enjoyed a few years earlier. If anything, she had learnt even more tricks and was keen to show me new techniques. I found myself wishing I were a younger man, with more zap, but I did the very best I could to satisfy her, and she seemed well pleased, even suggesting we had another round at daybreak.

oooOOooo

After breakfast, and a few more cuddles and kisses, I made my way back to my house. In the cold light of day, I was starting to worry about how Emma would react to my missing her invitation. She could be very sweet, but she sure had a fiery temperament. I just hoped that she'd had time to calm down.

I heard nothing from her for a couple of days. There had been no emails from her, and I wasn't sure what to make of that. Was she plotting revenge for ignoring her order? Or had she given up on me?

Then, mid-morning, a couple of days later, I heard her front door slam with a heavy bang, which, I had learnt, like one of Pavlov's dogs, was a signal that she wished to see me. I rushed out of the house, part of me excited that she'd resumed contact, but another part nervous about what she might be planning.

She was walking down her driveway, skateboard under her arm, and she was dressed in her signature scruffy jeans, un-ironed T-shirt and a baseball cap through which her ponytail stuck out. But I also knew that beneath that informal outfit she was undoubtedly wearing the most delectable underwear, quite possibly something I'd paid for.

“Hello, Emma,” I called out, cheerfully.

As I expected, she turned to face me upon hearing her name.

“What? she replied, antagonistically. Her usual enigmatic smile was absent, a clear sign she was still displeased with me.

“Er... how are you?” I asked, hoping in vain to start a conversation.

“All right... but people sometimes piss me off. That makes me very angry,” she spat out.

“Oh, right! I'm really sorry... er... that people annoy you. What's happened? Can you tell me?”

“No!”

“Did I do something to annoy you?” I asked, knowing full well I had.

“Wouldn't you know if you did?”

“Er... yeah, I suppose I would. I'm very sorry?”

“What for?”

“Hmm... missing your message?”

“I don't know what you're talking about. I don't send you messages—grandad!”

“No, sorry! Er... I—”

“People who piss me off live to regret it.”

“Sometimes, life's complicated, Emma, and things crop up which might lead to you getting annoyed. You're young, but you'll learn that it's best to take the ups and downs in life in your stride. Try not to get too upset, eh?”

She shook her head, commenting, “Nah! Too late! I'm very upset!”

Then she turned around and walked off. As I had become used to, she had been reticent to say anything that might rebound on her, yet her message was clear. I was in trouble.

oooOOooo

That evening, at 10 PM, an email arrived from “Anon”: “Go up to your back bedroom... NOW!!”

The game, whatever it was, was back on. Once again, Emma was directing operations. Feeling anxious, I did what she said and waited.

“Anon”: “Open the drapes... turn light off...”

It was dark, and I couldn't see her, if she was out there. Possibly, she was monitoring proceedings via a camera, perhaps a night vision camera. I knew she was adept at technology.

“Anon”: “Look out of window... Pull your pants down... Show me you are wearing your panties...”

Fortunately, I was wearing them. So, I stood, looking out, and I dropped my pants. Feeling embarrassed, yet aroused, I remained staring out into the darkness for several minutes, phone in hand, waiting for her to respond. It took ages, and I was sure she was deliberately taking her time.

“Anon”: “Are you seeing another woman? Turn light on once for yes... two for no... I want the truth... If you lie, we are finished!”

Did she know I was seeing someone? Had she been following me?

I walked over to the light switch and hesitated for a moment, which was a mistake.

“Anon”: “Bastard! You are seeing someone...”

I flicked the light on and then off to confirm her suspicions. Then I waited for the next message, but nothing came. Not for the first time, she was going to make me wait before I discovered her next move.

oooOOooo

Nothing came from her the next day, but the following morning there was an email with link to a specialist company I'd not heard of. I opened it and discovered it was for a chastity device. I'd never worn one, nor even thought about wearing one. Was she really expecting me to order it? Yes, she was!

What's more, it wasn't a cheap model. In fact, it was extremely expensive, partly because it claimed to be extra secure, but partly because it was Bluetooth and Wi-Fi controlled.

I waited to see if there was a follow-up message but nothing.

For a few minutes, I weighed up the pros and cons of placing the order and decided I had nothing to lose. After all, owning a device was a far cry from wearing one and an even further cry from giving her the key. I would be in control unless I decided otherwise!

I completed the purchase, and it arrived the next day. As I expected, it was a heavy piece of kit, solidly constructed and secure looking. Seeing and holding it got me aroused, and I couldn't wait to set it up.

After skimming through the instructions, I installed an app, called “Keyholder”, onto my phone, then set up an account and charged up the cage's internal battery. Then I linked the device to my phone and played around with it. Pushing it together caused it to automatically lock and pressing “unlock” in the app resulted in it springing apart. It was so cool!

The excitement I was feeling was overwhelming, and I knew I had to try this toy on, but could only manage that with the help of a bag of frozen veg. It fitted like a glove—a very tight glove—and I could sense that there was very little room for expansion, which was soon confirmed as my penis warmed up. I wore the device for a few hours, wondering what Emma had in mind. Those thoughts painfully aroused me and so it was with some relief that I unlocked the device and put it to one side.

oooOOooo

The next morning a message came from “Anon”: “Put your unlocked phone, app password and chastity cage in bag... hang on fence...”

Immediately, I felt a burst of exhilaration. It was obvious that she intended to unlink the device from my phone and link it to hers. Should I go along with this? Was that wise?

“Anon”: “What are you waiting for?”

Once again, she was becoming impatient with my procrastination. Certainly, I was handing over control of the device to her, but she had yet to persuade me to wear it. I complied with her request and waited to see what would happen.

An hour later, another message arrived:

“Anon”: “Collect bag...”

I went out, and hanging over the fence was the bag containing my phone and the chastity device. I immediately opened my phone, and I was amazed to see that she had not uninstalled the app. I checked, and, yes, I could still unlock the device from my phone. I tested it several times to make sure it wasn't a fluke—it wasn't. I still had control! Phew—I was ecstatic!

Soon, there was a further missive:

“Anon”: “Lock it on...”

Just reading that caused me to become erect. A beautiful, nineteen-year-old girl was ordering me to lock my penis up. Out came the frozen veg and a few minutes later I was securely encased inside the cage.

Then a wave of panic tore through me as I suddenly had a worrying thought. Had she tricked me? Anxiously, I tapped “unlock” on my phone and said a silent prayer of thanks when the lock sprang apart. Feeling emboldened that I still had control, I pushed it shut again, locking my penis up, and then I waited for Emma to contact me.

I expected her to order me to show her I was wearing the device; otherwise, how could she be sure I'd put it on?

But I heard nothing. I couldn't get Emma out of my mind, and my penis would not give up its attempts to tumesce. After a couple of hours, I'd had enough and decided to remove it. I opened the app and pressed “unlock”. But nothing happened. I pressed it again... and again... still nothing. Now in a frenzy, I pressed harder on the screen... still nothing... I even restarted my phone, but still the damn device remained stubbornly locked.

I was now frightened, and I was sweating. What had gone wrong? I retrieved the manual, which I had speed-read the previous day, and went through it more slowly. Then, halfway through, on page twelve, the revelation hit me. The device could be programmed so that two or more keyholders could jointly control the device and the consent of all parties was needed for it to be unlocked.

Shit! Why hadn't I taken the time to read the instructions more thoroughly? Obviously, I was a keyholder but, more importantly, so was Emma. And until she decided I should be unlocked, nothing I did was going to release me.

I read through the remainder of the instructions and learnt of other disturbing features of the device, which sent a shiver down my spine. Already, I wanted it off. Knowing the control she had over me was strangely arousing, but now I was suffering a lot of discomfort. Did Emma, at her tender age, understand that a device like this was only wearable for a brief time and needed to be used responsibly? Who knows?! It was not her problem!

As I fretted over where this was going, the inevitable happened. An email arrived from Nicole: “I'm free tomorrow night, Mark. Why don't you come around to my house for dinner, and you know what? N XXX”

What the hell was I to do? I had barely twenty-four hours to get free of this damn device...