Alan's Pink Ribbon Day

By Ron

Licking her lips, she said, “It won't be long, doll face, and that will be a special day!” as she helped me into the bathtub full of lavender-scented bubbles. Dressed in her pale pink nightgown trimmed with scarlet ribbons, she shoved my own pink panties into my mouth and told me to lie back in the tub and think about defiling my sweet panties with my naughtiness. After about twenty minutes, she came back in, removed the panties from my mouth and used them like a washcloth to soap and cleanse my body, especially my nasty weewee that drips juice into my nice panties and gets me into trouble.

Mommy got up from beside the tub, dried her hands, smiled and said, “I'll be back in a few minutes. I have to make a phone call.” But before she left, she took from her apron pocket a frilly pair of lemon yellow panties with pink flowers on the sides and white lace around the legs and more lace in tiers across the back. “Aren't they dainty?” she remarked as she flagged them in my face. “I want you to wear these nice new panties today for your lessons.”

Blushing, I said, “Yes, Mommy Dear,” as I looked up from the suds and blushed as she draped my new silky yellow panties over the edge of the vanity so I could look at them as I bathed. Mommy went to make her phone call, leaving me to fool around childishly in the soapy water.

After more than six years of being pantied, my cheeks still went red whenever she openly pushed me to acknowledge my love of sissy panties. I was a boy and supposed to act like a boy, not like a girl, so I never really got used to fully accepting dressing and acting like a girl, and it embarrassed me when Mommy would push me do girlie things. Whenever Mommy made me profess my love of silky panties, I'd blush. It shamed me even to stand in front of her in nothing but ticklishly soft nylon panties. Yes, I did love them, even though I knew as a boy I should hate them, and Mommy always reminded me that I was a boy and not a girl, and that's why panties and girlie things made me feel so strange inside.

Mommy alone had raised me since I was five when my illegal alien father was sent to jail for two years and then permanently deported. If he dared to return, he'd be put into prison for a long, long time. Since he had been abusive to Mommy and had repeatedly molested me, we didn't miss him. Besides, Mommy never did need the money he made cheating and stealing and doing the things that had gotten him into trouble because in the storefront of our house, Mommy has a popular palm reading business with a loyal following of good-paying clients. Mommy is no saint. She has ripped off many of her customers, but she's so good that most of them just they keep coming back anyway! Mommy is the most wonderful thing on earth to me, and around town, she easily passes for a typical suburban mom dedicated to her only child — me, but to me and her sexually demented friends, she is also deliciously naughty. She gets me to love panties and girlie clothes by making me feel so good while wearing them, even as she teases me and calls me embarrassing sissy names.

Auntie's Unusual Punishment Ritual

“Oh, no! Please Auntie! I'm fourteen years old!”

“Have you been acting like a responsible fourteen year old? Well, Donald have you?”

“No, ma'am.”

“No, you haven't. My daughter is much younger than you, but obviously much more mature, and I think she should be part of your punishment. She needs to help me shame you for acting like a very bad, bad boy! Go to my bathroom right now! Cindy, bring me a pair of your prettiest pink panties and meet us in there.”

“Oh, Auntie, NO!” I protested but shut my mouth and hung my head when Auntie shot me a stern look.

A short time later I stood in the bathroom of my aunt's master bedroom with my aunt seated on the closed toilet, tears of shame and mortification flooding my eyes as my aunt began removing my clothes. When Cindy entered, prissily humming, I complained because I didn't want to be naked in front of her.

Auntie stopped taking my shirt off, and said, “Well, you should have thought about that before you were a naughty boy! Cindy, you can remove the rest of Donald's clothing. Throw them in the laundry basket. He has no further need for them tonight. Let me see those panties you brought along.”

Cindy held them up by the thin waistband for me as well as my auntie to see, stretching it in and out. They were girlie pink with white lace panels down each side and little pastel-colored pansies embroidered into the lace. More white lace was ruffled around the leg openings.

“Cindy, those are very pretty panties. I'm sure Donald will be thrilled to wear them.”

“Oh, no-o-o-o-o-o-o!” I shouted. I knew I had been destined to wear Cindy's fussy lace panties, but I just didn't want to admit it in my mind until Auntie actually said that is what was going to happen.

“Silence, young man! Any more protests out of you and we can easily transform you fully into ‘Missy.' Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am!”

“That's better, Donald. Now, step into the panties while Cindy holds them and then go down to the kitchen pink panty naked the way you are. Set my spanking chair in the middle of the room and then get my paddle and put it on the seat of the chair!”

“Oh, may I please put some of my clothes on – I don't want anybody to see me like this!”

“NO! But you can put on one of Cindy's training bras and one of her dresses if you want.”

I moaned out a ‘no' and ran panty naked to the kitchen, the panties tickling my butt and jiggling boy parts as I hustled down the stairs. No sooner had I positioned the chair in the middle of the kitchen and put Auntie's red paddle on it when I heard Cindy's laughter approaching. She had been smirking at me the whole time, and now, between spurts of giggling, she was talking to Auntie a mile a minute about my bad boy behavior and begging her to turn me into Missy once again. Auntie wasn't saying anything, but I heard her steps getting closer as one after the other, her high heels struck the hardwood floor. Moments later, they arrived in the kitchen. I was hoping I'd get a quick paddling before my sister and my uncle arrived back home and then be able to hurry to my room to lick my wounds and hide my embarrassingly girlie pantied condition, but then Auntie told me I wasn't going to be so lucky.

Even though I graduated as an electrical engineer and held a string of good paying jobs, I finally admitted to myself I'm an uppity black asshole and can't tolerate working for someone else, so I dumped that career and opened a home cleaning business – a maid service – something that gives me many opportunities to get my nuts off as I exploit my workers and even my customers because as you'll find out as you read this, I'm a pervert on many levels.

I hire illegal immigrants, mostly Mexicans and Polish kids and pay them as little as I can get away with -- and that isn't much. They are hard workers, don't complain and look the other way and keep their mouths shut to my shenanigans. I speak Spanish (my second major in college) and Polish (my dad was from Harlem but met and married my mom who was fresh from Poland just after WWII), and when I hire these kids I prefer ones who speak very little or no English. I advertise for workers in their ethnic newspapers and have a never ending supply to choose from. When I interview them I pretend I don't know how to speak their language very well as I talk to them about cleaning houses. I hand them a stack of clothes and tell them to put on the panties and suck my cock. Those who are offended I settle down by pretending it was a mix-up in the language. But those who do (both males and females) strip down, put on the panties and suck my cock, I hire. Of course I secretly videotape the whole thing and use that video to get them to do anything and everything I want ever after. So I can understand why many people would call me a perverted asshole, maybe even a slave master – I can live with that!

But even more than having a steady supply of cheap, reliable good workers, I love to dominate entire white families and my house cleaning business opens up such opportunities. I size up prospects whenever I go to someone's home to make a proposal after they call and inquire about our maid service, and if I think there's a chance I could have my way with a particular family, I offer them our services at an unbelievably low price, explaining to them I'm training workers, but assure them I will be on the job to make sure they do everything right. In actuality, I'm on the job to get a peek into this family's personal life and size them up for my perverse needs.

And I thoroughly train my workers (after I show them the videotape of them wearing just panties and sucking my cock) to look for things as they clean – revealing photos, a wife's sexy lingerie, family financial problems, a husband's smut collection, and clues that a wife or husband may be unfaithful, kids that are sexually curious (what kid isn't!), etc.

Now that you know my MO, let me tell you about the slutty Alton family, one of the best setups I ever had. From the moment I gave them my pitch, I knew they would be ideal. Sally, the wife looked like she needed a good fuck and couldn't keep her eyes off my bulging crotch. Dan was a tax accountant, a meek, prissy nerd who jumped whenever I addressed him with my booming voice or ruckus laughter. I paid them regular visits with my weekly cleaning crew and got to know them pretty well, just as I was doing on the evening that was the turning point in our relationship. After they had dinner and my crew finished up and left, I asked if I could have a talk with them, to which they agreed. The Alton family kids were a dream come true for a single forty-six year old pervert like me. Brent, a fair haired boy of ten, with the cutest ass and biggest blue eyes I had ever seen, and Cindy, a doll of a girl at eight. She was a preteen replica of her mother, with long pale blonde hair and flashing blue eyes. Her ass was just as cute as her older brother's, if not more so. I didn't know how the boy got the freckled face, bright red hair and dark brown eyes that he had, but I guessed Sally had been knocked up by someone other than her husband with Brent because Dan had black hair and dark brown eyes — the boy didn't look like his dad at all.