[FEEDBACK WANTED] Panties & Other Stories About Panties Ch. 3 (w/t) [ORGY][FFFF][FFFFFFT][FETISH]

**LONG POST ALERT**

I’m working on my first erotica novel (really my first long-form writing project since term papers) and I’m looking for feedback—constructive or otherwise!

I’m nearing the 100 page mark and for some reason I thought that would be a good milestone to go back and edit the totality of the rough work I have so far. As you might imagine, there’s A LOT of cringe in there, A LOT of purple prose, A LOT of thesaurus writing, but there’s also A LOT I’m extremely proud of and I think my concept is still strong even if some of my execution can’t stand on its own.

That’s where you guys come in! I need a competent editor(ial staff) to give me their unvarnished thoughts and most merciless criticisms to break me of my terrible habits. I am 100% in favor of compensating you (I can’t do it monetarily at the moment, but even though I’m not a Lannister I always pay my debts).

The major questions I have with the work are as follows:

Does it turn you on? Is it too much? Do the descriptions bore? Are you not (otherwise) entertained?

Does the narrator’s voice work/ do you feel like it swings too dramatically (without giving too much away, my idea is she warms up and gets more comfortable with the reader as the story progresses)?

Does the person/ tense work (1st person present)?

Is the grammar too overwrought?

Is the writing too overwrought (This work has a lot of voices informing it and very few of them are minimalist)?

I’m going to try to post a chapter every few days to give ya’ll some time to digest, but today I’m posting the intro/ first chapter as I’ll be without internet until the weekend’s over.

I greatly appreciate all who take the time to undertake this massive ask, I will make it worth your while somehow (hopefully getting you wet and or hard is a start). ALL FEEDBACK IS MUCH APPRECIATED and will be responded to either via DM or in the comments. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you so much!

**TL:DR – PLEASE CRIT MY SHIT PLEASE**

Without (many) further theatrics, **Panties and Other Stories About Panties** (W/T), Chapter 3:

You rise from the tub. It’s as pleasant as a jacuzzi and attended as solemnly as a Baptismal font. Our designer, Velvet, stands sentry over the scene holding a great, Paschal candle. The air is fatted with incense. Three companions in masks, hooded robes, and great, multi-tiered mantillas like this was *Semana Santa* (all of black lace and emblazoned with tortuous, deranged arabesques) scrub you with pairs of satin panties. You crane around toward me, observing silently behind you, and grin with the valiance of a hero queen surveying her subjects. A faint, glimmer of a smile halogens my mouth for a split-second then I motion for you to turn, take this seriously. Goshenite beads of water abscond in rivulets and rills to reservoir in concave hideaways like the cup of your clavicles, your navel, and the bushy shrubbery of your cunt hair.

The ritual bath is necessary for all neophytes who’ve never attended an apotheosis before. Purification before degradation is a tool, not only to aggravate our cocks and cunts into a state of dizzy cupidity, but also to give our first-timers an idea of how earnestly we treat our fetish. Anyone can jack off into a pair of panties and rollover to sleep the rest of their lives away; what we’re doing gets to feel important, exclusive, consecrated by the avatars of our own erotic innovation. The morphology and liturgy of our slutty work in turn engorges our capacity for grander and more elaborate pornographic spectacles. Our collective dogma frees our collective fantasy—spinning it out to obscure, adumbral depths as yet unplumbed by our desires.

The laundresses purifying your skin are neophytes who have played at an apotheosis orgy before, but have not yet completed their training. Lita is a tall Nigerian whose skin is cicatrized with indelible constellations of tribal devices. Even her face bears a network of tiny hashes carved into her as a rite of passage. In complete darkness her scars appear ghostly blue; in the tenebrous gloam near the foot of the tub they rouge like embers. Clothilde and Ginevra round out the rest of the small order. The four of you will model the lingerie Sibeal has chosen for Aphra.

Thirty more are expected in attendance, not including Aphra’s considerable entourage. Tonight is strictly a girls only affair. That is to say anyone playing tonight must play as a woman. Unfortunately my husband can’t be in attendance, but were he here he would flux into his feminine character, Sheena. Sheena is quite striking, indeed. At 6’2” she is quite an imposing woman. She has blunt, rough hewn features, but an easy and genteel manner. Especially with her holes, which she loves to generously put to use. There will, however, be other men cloaking themselves in the mantle of femininity. Some will be in full drag and professional make-up, others just in panties, stockings and heels. There isn’t a clearly defined rule for what playing as a woman means; there’s simply the recognition when one is not. Much of what we do is done in good faith. Each of us has vouchsafed in one another the custodianship of our most secret desires. There are exceptions, clearly Ms. Aphrodite is in a different boat than say, a municipal court judge or a baker; for the most part however, we have exposed our most defenseless positions to ourselves. We have projected ourselves, twenty stories tall in the fathomage of our most abandoned impairment; our most human and therefore most bestial moments. This sanctuary is the rock on which we’ve built our church. The more covenants, the more sacraments, the more doctrines we add to our kinks the safer we feel inside their unchaste arms.

In the center of the showroom Velvet has erected the altar. Stupendously tall Paschal candles tower over the room drowning it in rusty, caramel radiance. Mistress See will make an appearance tonight. It is her ceremonial panties with which Aphra will mark her confirmation into our order. The mistress’ retinue is deep with footmen and sex-slaves. Likely half or more of those in attendance tonight will be part of her cortege. Her royal consort is Anouk, the mistress’ chief disciplinarian and game-warden. Mistress See, never travels without her.

The three attendants are toweling you off now. The water drains from the tub. A fine china pitcher is brought in. You’re commanded to sit in the empty tub and Lita tips the pitcher over your head. Pure heavy cream. It holds fast to your body, cherishes your skin. It eddys on your tongue in sweet, fatty pools of taffeta. You lean back and let it coat you utterly. Now swallowed by whiteness you materialize before us a cartoon phantom, a sperm that’s lost its flock.

Ginevra, Clothilde, and Lita now come at you like vampires. Their tongues meet your skin and gobble the cream from its surface. You buck in ticklish discomfort, but they hold you tightly to the bottom of the tub. You’re chortling your feelings of futility from your nose. Their tongues move economically over you. Large swathes of your color show through the pearlescent glaze. The women work inwardly toward your primary erogenous ganglions, but after a few minutes of discomfort everything begins to feel like a tiny kernel of splendor. The fabric of your skin feels like it’s stippled with thousands of clits. Fingers sucked, forehead lapped, armpits nuzzled, your neck—God your neck—tongued devotedly. It all makes you lament for surrender, gnash your teeth and shake uncontrollably. The three hold you down tighter. Givera’s mouth works your left tit while Lita slurps up your right and Clothilde drags her tongue over your ribs and onto the purse of your belly. This sends you over the edge and you begin to verge into your climax. As you convulse Clothilde stops up the tub and is passed a florid goblet.

Now the three women are converging on your pussy hair, they seem to separate each individual strand with their tongues and sip the drops there in. They take advantage of their closeness to lap each other’s mouths. In the throes of a nonstop, pyroclastic eruption of your pussy you’re nose-diving through layers of raw passion you’ve never reached before as Ginevra’s hot tongue makes contact with your inner thighs. Your labia now are intercepted.

“I’m gonna explode!” You cry, but the three companions have orders not to relent.

A geyser of pussy juice jets out of you. Clothilde dutifully collects it with the goblet. The feathery lashings continue. “I can’t take it!” and again you quail about with crazed volatility. Your humid aqua vitae keeps torpedoing from your cunt like a sprung fire hydrant. They roll you onto your hands and knees and begin the process all over again. You blubber lugubriously. Time loses its hold on you. Space unsticks you from your location. Light bends around you as if you’ve developed your own event horizon. The soles of your feet burn like you’re walking across feverish sand. You want to heave out the contents of your stomach, but you stop yourself as you feel a triskelion of wriggling, wormlike tongues part open your asshole. Your spinal column helixes.

The three women ferally stick fingers in each other’s pussies and assholes, nadiring their own pleasure by breaking you down with their tongue-based philanthropy. Your eyes uncross, your vision is pixelated with psychic scum. Standing proud between Ginevra’s legs is a python-thick hard-on shredding the ethereal tatting of her panties. You pounce on it without a second thought and suckle it’s swollen head. Your tongue strokes at the meaty baton and against the embossed lace of Ginevra’s panties, swirling out double-exposed patterns above them.

“Oh yeah, suck on my big clit, baby!” Ginevra pants. I have to pull her back from your mouth at this.

“You know the rules, Ginevra. This ritual is for the neophyte, not you!” I chastise her and give her a series of commanding thrashes across her asscheeks with a tight palm.

“Yes ma’am.” Ginevra skulks back to her duty of tongue-cleaning the cream from your body.

“Alright she’s had plenty. Stand the little bitch up!” I shout and the three women comply.

Standing now, Clothilde takes the goblet of your still-warm cunt juice and pours it over your head, clearing the leftover cream from your hair and whatever film still straggles on your skin. Clothilde scoops up the runoff again and stands, handing you the holy grail. You take it with a baffled puss on your face.

“Drink up, Sabina.” I tell you as you flare your nostrils disgustedly.

“Drink your pussy juice, cunt!” Shrieks Lita, hectically jilling herself through the white net of lace shrouding her snatch. You don’t want to consider the consequences of not drinking the cocktail so you take a timorous taste. The cream adds a sugary piquancy to the lustrous potion. It’s good, and drinking it turns you on to near maenad lunacy. You gulp it miserly down your maw, dribbling strands of nacreous droplets down your chin.

“Good job!”

“Thank you ma’am.” your hips gyrate in search of lascivious attention.

“You’re ready for your cloak now. Girls?”

The three women wreath you in a hooded wrapper identical to their own. They crown your head with the same stratified mantilla they wear. The women embrace you and the four of you stand in sisterhood.

Velvet is dressed like she was going to Studio 54 if it were somehow timewarped back to ancient Egypt. She steps forward still holding the massive Paschal candle and addresses us with voice stentorian.

“Tonight you will serve as models for my designs. I love my designs. Treat them with respect or I will be forced to discipline you. Lady Sibeal has chosen sixteen sets for Aphrodite.”

She paces before the four of you. She sporadically thrusts the glowing wick at your faces for impact.

“When I shout change you girls will have two pumps or licks or what have yous to break your action, strip and dress onstage. Failure to obey my commands will result in disciplining. Before beginning your next act you will present your used lingerie on a platter we will provide to Aphrodite. You will then return to the altar and resume fucking each other.”

Velvet stops in front of Ginevra, wrapping her hand around the hooded girl’s squirming nightstick. She tugs it harshly a few times. Ginevra nearly passes out.

“Remember girls, we want a show. You should feel honored that you have been chosen to perform on our altar, but don’t rest on your laurels. A dead-fish production is worse than not being there at all. Show us your fire. Be as unyielding together as you would expect us to be with you.”

My ironhanded designer now pauses before Lita and runs her fingers over the woman’s embossed skin. She dips her hand into the net of Lita’s white, bridal panties and roughly crushes together the parapets of her vulva. Lita purrs, her once pensive face tenderizes. Lillith possess her eyes.

“Tonight our congregation doesn’t just want to be entertained. They can do that for themselves, they have big, throbbing clits and sultry pussies of their own. They’re bringing toys and sacred instruments to stimulate their own holes. They’re dressing in their most sumptuous, powerful lingerie to thrill every sense.”

She shovels up an overflowing hand of Clothilde’s voluminous ass. She squashes the firm meat in her palm. The tattooed woman’s lips crook up, but she remains otherwise stoic.

“Our congregation wants to be transported to Elysium. They want to be worked into a priapic lather. They want stylized kink and like plenty of it. This is where we all find our deliverance. So transmit; lead us into temptation and then give us our salvation.”

You’re still buzzing with an urge to be touched and now Velvet stands before you. She surveys your impatient, prickling starvation. She reaches out toward your cunt, but stops herself microns before making contact. You shove your inflamed pussy toward her palm. She withdraws it slightly. You can feel particles disturbed by the motion of her hand swirling around your clit. Your little, pink dome throbs—inside your ear canals it sounds like anvils dropping into empty oil drums. She walks on.

“Tonight is an opportunity for you ladies to shine.” I say, walking toward the four of you.

“Hold nothing back. Feel no fear. Embarrassment is the enemy. Repeat this as your mantra and you will do great.”

I dismiss your group to the changing room, but take you aside with me. As I put my arm about your shoulders your body agitates.

“Good. This is the edge you should keep yourself on until the show.”

“I need to cum so bad.”

“And you will, Sabina. You will cum so hard you’ll be the star of the night, bigger that Aphra, even. Just hold back for a while longer.”

“How long?”

“It shouldn’t be more than a few hours, now.”

“Hours? Plural? I don’t think I can make it another minute without grinding my vagina against…” you madly scan the room for something and see the Paschal candle which Velvet as slotted back into its stand, “…that!” You shout pointing at the monumental candle.

“You can. You’re stronger than you know. It’s tests like these that will prove that to you.”

“I don’t know”

I help you out of your robe and mantilla. Steadying yourself on my arm you step back into the tub.

“I do know. I don’t want to just break down your inhibitions and transform you into a sexually realized woman. Believe me, I wish someone would have done that for me…”

I turn on the tap. Glacial water pools around your feet. You yelp, vigorously contracting your body into a ball.

“…It would have saved myself and too many others a lot of heartbreak.”

“Ms. Esme, the water’s too cold!”

“Feel it, Sabina! Let it energize you.”

You clench yourself and the iciness clambers up around you. You whimper.

“Don’t let go of your hunger. Feel the water, but don’t let it freeze you.”

“How?”

The water purls against the cleave of your ass; up the sensitive strip of your frenulum; it announces itself at the gateway of your cunt. Your nervous system thunders.

“Go limp, feel both. Let your muscles wring themselves out.”

“I’ll try.”

You attempt to slacken. Your eyes shutter. Your breathing balances. Slowly the water seems to warm around you. It almost feels like steam is rising off your skin. A smile shades your lips.

“I think it’s working!”

“Shhh, get back to your desire.” I coo.

A mesh of goosebumps sparks across your body.

“As I was saying, I want you to be a luminary. A success. Not just within the faith, but in life.”

You grin, your desire once again blossoming somewhere deep in your veins.

“I want you to be as big as Ms. Aphrodite. Bigger, even. I’m sick of Sibeal’s backhanded, buttery smarm. I’ve been enlightening neophytes for longer than she has and nothing would make me happier than shutting her skunk’s asshole of a mouth. How would you like to be someone special—someone that the public could recognize as special.”

“I mean, sure, but I don’t know how to sing like Ms. Aphrodite. Or dance like her.”

The water massages you back to fermentation. You swing your haunches lasciviously. Your smile plumes.

“I’d want you to get ahead on your own talents not follow in someone else’s. Aphra could sing before she met Sibeal, afterall. What are you good at?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. Right now I just want to get fucked.”

“You don’t have to decide now, dear. All I demand from you is your passion. I’ll do everything else I can to put you on the path to greatness.”

“Sounds divine.”You submerge yourself and thresh about like a catfish with a Show-Me-Stater’s arm down it’s atrium.

I duck my hand into the tub and pull the stopper and the water begins to maelstrom down its pipe. You stand up, jaws gnashing, vertebrae fluttering. Inside your body microscopic, fevered ingots gyroscopically catapult themselves and swiss-cheese your guts. I bundle you in a towel and pass you your ritual lace.

“Join the others. Resist them until it’s time for the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I stroke your cheek and send you away. Imagining Lita, Ginevra and Clothilde mercilessly tormenting your already excruciating cunt dispatches a baritone pulse throughout the whole of me, dewing my pussy invitingly.

Velvet joins me from the showroom and tells me everything is prepared for the ceremony. Our mouths and hands explore our exposed skin. The ions are fraught; the air crackles. It’s as if we’re standing in the eye of a vast and terrible storm. She jilts the lapel of my jacket over my shoulder and grinds her face between the halter of my dress and my collar bone.

The winching, electrical flange of the freight elevator resonates up its shaft. The pulley begins to creakily turn.

“Our guests have arrived.” Velvet smirks.

We break apart, but she keeps her hand firmly hugged around the arc of my ass. Her ring finger pixies apart the hemispheres of my asscheeks and courses toward my hidden passage. I lightly swat her hand away with a wink.

“Soon enough, pet.”

The cumbrous, steel hatchway separates. At the strap is Anouk. She looks like a loping panther; wild-eyed and full of voltage. The grate-work comes apart with a light touch and the elevator voids itself of the swarming congregation. There are squat, Earth-Mothers with regal, Hindu fat rolls trammeled between stomach and tit; rawbone models, with prison-bar ribs and iliac crests like knife blades; Surgically enhanced bodies with proportions so discordantly exaggerated one goes all to sea just trying to peg them to reality. Looming over the whole, ladylike company by a good foot and a half (the headdress alone is a Roman triumph) is Mistress See. Her overcoat might’ve come off one of Barker’s cenobites. Freshly oiled leather that looks like a city being fusilladed in the firelight. I can smell it from here. It makes me feel drunk.

Even after all these years Mistress See can strike an anticipant, Pavlovian apprehension in me. She assumes a well-nigh alien inscrutability. Even as semen lavishes out of her clit-mouth her expression barely betrays the secrets of her pleasure. The woman’s face is akin to a porcelain mask. Her eyes are elongated and slow like Nin’s Brazilain dancer, Anita. Her sadism is performed with such éclat that the afflicted are often too spellbound to immediately react to their persecution. I once believed my husband to be in control of his erections (he can keep hard, untouched by anything except air, for an hour and forty-five minutes); Mistress See can keep her clit hard, using no more than the power of thought, for three and a half hours.

“Treasures!” The Mistress calls as she approaches us. Four slaves mummified in black lace precede her. Chains lead out from beneath their wraps up to a heavy, iron ring, which itself is welded to an attenuated, metal rod she holds in her left hand. Anouk, ever by her side, is dressed in a translucent, red latex body-girdle that cowels her head and pushes her hair into a barbarous, equine mane. A window is cut for her tits and garter straps hold up her matching latex stockings. She wears red, lace panties on top of the pellucid rubber. She piously carries a polished silver case with both hands.

“Mistress See.” I curtsy demurely.

“Mistress.” Velvet bows low.

“It has been far too long, dears. Tell us, have you missed your Mistress?”

“Oh yes, Mistress. We hope you’ll be able to tell how lonely we’ve been without you—to honor you we’ve chosen our most worthy neophytes to enact the pageant.”

“Well, we certainly can’t wait to see how well they’ve been taught. When should we expect Aphra? It’s so good to see the young ones make something of themselves.”

I bristle, not that I believe Mistress See is implying any aspersion to my tutelage, but I nevertheless curse my envy of Sibeal’s success.

“I have word from Lady Sibeal that they are en route from The Garden.” reports Velvet, matter of factly.

“Good, we must prepare ourselves. Would you two be lambs and attend to us?”

“Of Course, Mistress.”

“We’d be Honored.”

“Lovely. Anouk dear, please take these from us.”

Annouk takes the slaves’ reins from Mistress See and brings them and the lustrous, silver box over to the altar while the three of us cut through the mingling crowd. Some are already petting themselves and one another.

“We would like to inspect your girls, if we may.”

“Yes, naturally, right this way.”

Velvet and I lead the Mistress to the models’ room, which for events like this is just the workshop. Inside the studio the four of you are galavanting about. It seems the other women had tired of trying to get you to masturbate and are now chasing you about in circles, climbing over tables and laughing maniacally. “Stop!” you’re shouting. “I need to save it!” But the obdurate vixens want only to make you cum.

“Ladies!” Shouts Velvet and drives her boot into the floor—freezing the four of you in fright.

“Sabina, this is Mistress See, our gracious and cultivated benefactor.”

The others quietly slip into their robes and mantillas and kneel before the Mistress. Their hands on their laps. You watch them and then follow suit in awe.

“Ladies, it’s a pleasure for us to be in your presence again.”

The Mistress outstretches her gloved hand and the other apprentices take turns kissing it. When she gets to you, she beckons for you to stand.

“Sabina, is it?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“How long have you been in Ms. Esme’s service?”

“Just a few weeks, Mistress.”

“We enjoy your obedience, Sabina. It makes us very keen on getting to know you better. Would you like to get to know us better?”

“Very much so, Mistress.” You’re wholly enthralled with the sway of her headdress.

“Good, show us, now!”

Mistress See pulls a zipper up from the bottom of her leather overcoat. Behind a black lattice of Perfecta Amaranthus flowers and other gilded botanicals bulges a thick-bodied clitty festooned in thick curlicues of veins. Without hesitation or direction you bring your face against Mistress See’s Panties and rub it against the bulbous prow.

“Velvet, restrain her hands.” I yell urgently.

“She’s not to cum before the pageant.”

Velvet rushes around and pinions your wrists. You don’t protest.

“We have these.” Mistress See fishes a pair of daunting manacles out of her overcoat pocket.

“Very good.” I say as she passes the restraints to Velvet.

“Play with yourselves, whores!” Commands Mistress See and the three others begin to tease themselves.

“Stick your fingers up our pussy!” The Mistress compels me and I toss up the back of her coat exposing the fresh-baked softness of her ass. I nimbly make my way into her pussy hole and plumb it longingly. I lift up the hem of my own dress and expose the lacy paradise of my panties to her. The Mistress’ eyes hardly twinkle, but I know her desire is absolute as you’ve handlessly freed her pulsating clit from the cage of her panties and are sucking it like your mouth was a pit of quicksand.

“Lick our pussy lips too.” She dictates and lifts her clit out of your mouth. You venerate each orb of her lips with your tongue. Gasping air down your trachea with each pass.

“I love it!” You growl. “I love your pussy lips, Mistress See!”

“Now, worship our pussy!”

She turns and lowers her ass down to your face.

“Esme, you come and suck our clit!”

“Yes Mistress!” I cry with devotion and squat before her, taking the brunt of her pylon into my mouth. I start kneading my cunt furiously as I suck. I catch glimpses of you penetrating the Mistress’s conflagrant pussy with your tongue. Other glimpses of Velvet lining the three ladies up, bending them over and pressing her face into their gardens.

“Panties!” I cheer vivaciously between mouthfuls of the Mistress’s lollipop clit.

“Oh yeah! Panties!” Answers the Mistress.

“Panties!” Velvet joining in.

The four of you start parroting us and soon we become a hivemind echoing our trigger word like a choral round.

“We want to fuck.” roars the mistress.

I put my hands against the wall as she casts up my dress and tugs my panties down to my knees.

“We love the way your panties look around your knees. They make you look like a dirty whore.”

“Thank you mistress.” I say angling my ass toward her so that she can mount me with ease. My body flushes raspberry as she lubes me with a fistfull of spit. Her dire, ramrod clit parts my cunt lips and easily maneuvers into my sugary hole. I cry out in passion. She sucks on two of her fingers and plunges them into my white-hot asshole. As she hammers into me I watch Velvet, who has managed to cork one stub of a strapless rubber cock up her pussy and is fucking Ginevra with the business end of it. Lita and Clothilde eat each other, moaning in sublime abandon. You’ve succeeded at getting to your feet and are desperately flitting about the room trying to get someone to fuck your flustered cunt. Everyone ignores your consultations. You try to rub yourself against them, but they merely push you over and you’re forced to struggle your way back upright again.

“Sabina!” I finally call to you. “Come over here and eat my pussy while Mistress See fucks me good.”

You canter over and angle yourself beneath us. Try as you might, you can’t get a bead on my hole. We’re moving too much and you can’t steady yourself without your hands.

“Pull my panties up a bit with your teeth and then rest your head on them, but be careful not to break them.” I lurchingly direct you. You do as you’re told and can now get to work tongueing both my cunt and the Mistress’s tumescent clit. Her oviform pussylips slap you about the face with every mounting thrust. You hump the air greedily; despondently wishing for satiation that you know we won’t let you have until the show.

My pussy is raw and hypersensitive after an epoch of the Mistress’s clit pumping me. Ginevra, now is using her oversized clit to fuck Velvet’s ass while Velvet, in turn eat’s Lita’s cunt. Clothilde sits on the scarified girl’s face and closes the circuit by making out with Ginevera as she penetrates my designer in fine, bucking-bronco form.

“We’re going to spend!” Cries the Mistress tremulously.

“Sabina, move your face under my panties, so our Mistress can shoot her hot cum on them. Then you can drink it up!”

With the slightest, alkali wince Mistress See fires a cord of alabaster joy from her flagstaff. With a sniper’s aim she hits the bullseye of my panties. The sultry ooze drips through a sieve of black lace into your waiting mouth. I slide my panties up, pressing the hot mess against my snatch and letting all of it filter through an intimate sort of juice press. You don’t let a single glob of the Mistress’s seed touch the ground. A cumslut like you would’ve saved Onan from damnation. The mistress slaps you across the face with her deflating clit three times and pushes it’s semi-soft head into your mouth.

“Get it all!” She bays. And you do.

Inside your mouth the mixture of heat and sticky jizz enrages the Mistress’s clit once more. She pulls out of your face and tucks the insistent honeydripper back in her panties and wordlessly prepares to exit out to the showroom.

“Thank you mistress.” I murmur, my belly full of bliss. Then the rest of you also give her prayers of gratitude which she receives with breviloquence. Upon her departure I take a few beats to myself to rediscover my grace. Velvet comforts me by placing her forehead against mine. I compose and help you to your feet. We unshackle you and lead you and the girls out to the altar.

Sibeal and Aphra and their people have already arrived. The singer, her manager and the Mistress all frivolously flip over one another’s company. They convivially gamol amongst themselves, fully aware of the scopophiliacs mutely seeking their favor. The fact that this makes me jealous at all is what truly gets me in high dudgeon. Sibeal is a twit, a hog-pussied anal chancre, and a glorified flunky whom I want to obliterate, but why don’t I just scorn her? Why do I care how well she gets on with the Mistress?

Much like a long-time smoker finds that they miss tamping their newly bought pack, peeling off the plastic and the foil, before finally lighting up it’s the rituals that make things addictive. Tonight marks my fifty-second apotheosis. Mistress See has ordained the flock each time. Just like before she will stand at the center of the altar with her arms crossed like Osiris, holding the lash and the paddle. She will lead us in an invocation of our desires and Aphra will come before her, face wrapped in Mistress See’s most sacrosanct panties. They will kiss each other hard, taking in the years of spit and cum that has soaked those consecrated panties just as we all have. They will fuck infront of throngs of smoldering couples, and triples, and groups. And then after the two of them have climaxed gloriously we will have a voluntary intermission followed finally by the pageant.

*It’s a beautiful tradition*, I think to myself as I approach the Mistress, Sibeal and the guest of honor.

“Congratulations, lady!” I near squeeze the life out of Aphra as I pick her up in my arms.

“I’m so excited to be here.” Whispers Aphra, hoarse from performing.

“I’m going to take a month in The Seychelles after tonight!” she sputters out.
“Talk about aftercare!”

Aphra is tall and her body is meaty and ripe. She’s the kind of pretty that sells records to tweens, but she sings and plays piano with a gravitas that attracts an older audience. Her hair is dyed a peacock turquoise; it’s enchanting in the candle glow.

“We’ve just met Esme’s new protegé.” Chimes the Mistress

“Oh, I met the flirty, wee tart this morning.”

“She eats cunt like an alley cat, but she’s green enough to learn better, eh Esme, dear?”

I mentally recoil when I hear the mistress say this. Instead of reacting I simply smile and nod.

“Very green.” I manage to retort.

“That’s too sad,” starts Sibeal, “my soon-to-be-lady here tongued my gash good and proper in the limousine over here. She’s a real eager beaver eater!”

“Oh yes, she’s a natural. We remember.”

“A woman of many talents.” I sneer at Sibeal.

“Don’t be childish, Esme. Just do better.” Chides the Mistress

“No, of course not. Apologies. And, yes, I will. She’ll be able to lick the silver off your samovar when I’m done with her, Mistress.”

“That’s what we like to hear.”

“Not everyone’s got that magic touch though.” Sibeal winks at me.

“Ma’am, now you’re the one being childish.” Aphra whines.

“Are you ladies ready to get started?”

“I can see you are.” Said Aphra, giving the Mistress’s Clit a series of adoring pumps.

“Not yet you, mush-headed, rose-budding asshole!” Sibeal hisses, slapping her novitiate’s hand away.

The Mistress registers nothing but her usual haughty curtness on her tombstone-indifferent face.

“Let’s begin.” She intones after several tense breaths.

“Yes Mistress.” They answer in unison.

“Good, let’s take our places then. Anouk?”

The Mistress nods over to her second who stands at a raised speaker to which she’s plugged in her phone. Solemn, droning organ music metastasizes through the air, binding to the walls and worming into the congregants’ ears. Philip Glass. It’s commanding enough to straighten the spines, but unobtrusive enough to not draw attention from the real action.

I am beside myself as Velvet leads the procession of ladies in their ceremonial robes up to the altar. I almost miss you ascending onto your platform, but I successfully squeeze your hand as you pass. I will let you know how proud I am of you later.

Attended by her four, lace-strangled slaves Mistress See strides to the top of the altar. She scans the room. Hushed sighs and mellifluous, sapphic ululations can be heard over Glass’s rhythmic organ work.

“Dearly belusted. We are gathered here today in our finest panties, in sight of goddesses and women to join together Aphra forever to our flock. This bond of holy helotry yokes you to us throughout infinitude; and therefore—is not by any—to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly—but reverently, discreetly,salaciously, and unchastely. Into this holy estate Aphra comes to us to be joined.”

Mistress See spoke evenly and clearly and the congregation filled their pussies and stroked their clits with red-blooded zeal. The peaked cries of orgasm mixed with The Mistress’s words. Through it all her bolded clit skirmishes against the barricade of her black panties.

“Apotheosis is the union of worshiper and flock in heart, loins, and mind. It is intended for our mutual joy. We pledge our help and comfort to one another given in prosperity and adversity. But more importantly we offer a stable and loving environment for your perversions and an outlet for your dirty fantasies.”

The congregation laughed out loud, cheered, screamed in ecstasy.

“Through apotheosis Aphra and ourselves make a commitment together, to minimize disappointments, to embrace our vulgarities, and to realize our fantasies.”

Another whooping cheer sent up from the horny worshipers.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/csi0ra/feedback_wanted_panties_other_stories_about