I have a kink in which I get turned on by wearing scratchy clothing—particularly underwear—and I recently learned that I especially enjoy doing so out in public. Last year, I ordered four hand-knitted thongs made of lopi wool ([this](https://imgur.com/a/4itfdbc) is what they look like). If you don’t know what lopi is, read all about it [here](https://witandfolly.co/amp/is-icelandic-wool-scratchy/). My original intention was to keep them for private use, only wearing them at home for my own pleasure; however, a few weeks ago I decided to wear one out for the first time under [this outfit](https://i.redd.it/jq2liuf97mj51.png), just to see how I felt about having it on in public. I told myself that I am allowed to take it off at any time if it becomes too unbearable, or if I find myself feeling self-conscious. What I found instead was that it felt *incredibly* sexy! As in, sexier than anything else I’ve experienced! I feel like it put me in a certain frame of mind—I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s strangely sensual. I feel more sexy and alluring with one on. About a week later, I wore one again under [a sweater dress](https://i.redd.it/kxei2dhqqbk51.png). Because of these experiences, I’ve decided that I’m going to start wearing lopi thongs any time I’m wearing a dress or a skirt.
The only drawback, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is that they are *very* scratchy. C’est la vie.
Anyways, yesterday I wore one out for the third time—[this](https://i.redd.it/jygb24sibln51.png) was my outfit of the day. But this time, I decided to do something a little bit different. I wanted to implement a sort of ritual in putting on my lopi thong. To date, I’ve only pulled them up like regular old underwear, and I didn’t engage in any “psychological foreplay”, so to speak. This was the first time I made an actual ritual out of it. My goal was to try and build up a sense of dread before putting it on. Here’s what I did.
I got up early in the morning to prepare myself for the coming day. I set out all the clothes that I was going to wear on my bed and went to take a shower. After I finished washing myself, I took a razor and shaved every single strand of hair from my intimate parts, right down to the last stubble. I had to make sure it was nice and soft—completely bare.
I went back to my room and got dressed, but I left my lopi thong on the bed for the time being. After all, it was still *two whole hours* before I had to leave for school—I didn’t need to put them on until then!
For breakfast, I fried a few eggs and made myself some toast with strawberry jam, and I also had a peach on the side. For the next hour or so, I did a couple of quick chores around my apartment as well as some studying. As the “time of reckoning” drew closer and closer, my heart began beating faster and faster. I turned to look at my bedroom door, slightly ajar, and a chill ran down my spine. I will soon have to bite the bullet and get it over with. “Oh, God…”
After some time, there came a point when I looked at the clock to see that I had only five minutes left. My whole body went icy cold. “Do I really *have* to wear it? Can’t I just forego putting it on?”
Nope. I had dragged this out long enough. It was time to put on my lopi thong.
Every step I took towards my bedroom felt like I was inching my way to the gallows. I gently nudged the door open and saw it lying on the bed, exactly as I had left it. I sat down and stared at it for 20-30 seconds or so, all the while asking myself, “Am I really going to wear this thing?” The voice inside my head responded: “Yes, you are.” I retort: “No other woman does this! Why do I have to?” The voice sternly rebuffed my pleas: “I don’t care if you are the only person in the entire world who wears lopi thongs. You are going to be putting it on, you are going to wear it for the entire day, and that’s the end of it. Yes, it’s going to itch, but you’re just going to have to live with it. The longer you drag this out, the harder it’s going to be.”
With my hands trembling and my heart racing, I slowly lifted up my skirt and rolled down my pantyhose. I then took the thong, laid it out on top of my bed, and stretched myself out over it. I prepared to fold it on in a manner not dissimilar from putting a diaper on an infant. By this point, I was hyperventilating. I knew that from the moment I folded this thing over my crotch—the very moment I first felt the bristly texture of the wool against my vulva—it was going to be itchy all the way through to the evening. I would have no respite; it is a perennial irritant. As I walk, it will chafe, and a persistent prickling sensation will take hold. Whether I stand or sit, no matter what I’m doing, the thong is forever in the back of my mind. But there was no use putting it off any longer.
I began to slowly fold the thong towards my groin. Just as it hovered a few inches over my bare, clean-shaven sensitive bits, I decided that the best approach would be to pull it on rapidly, with the swiftness of peeling off a band-aid. I jerked it right on and tied the strings as tightly as I possibly could, ensuring that the garment would remain fastened securely against my skin. The thong was now on—and on it was to remain, for a minimum of twelve hours.
As I motioned back towards my bedroom door, the wool of my thong immediately made its presence known—I suddenly felt a sharp itching sensation. Not even a minute, and it already felt thick and bushy. I heaved a heavy sigh, accepted it, and went about my day.
Now, all of this was not *actual* dread, but rather an attempt at simulating a feeling of dread—and I was successful! It felt incredibly sexy, sensual, and ultimately very satisfying. I spent the entire day feeling like a sultry seductress with a dirty secret. It greatly boosted my confidence.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/iusx9t/the_woman_in_the_knitted_wool_thong_nonfiction