Now that we’ve established that cotton is banned, let’s talk about how you’re actually going to wear your lace. A proper sissy knows that panties aren’t for protection—they’re for provocation. I want you in something so tight it makes you gasp, something that cuts deep into your waist and keeps your cock pressed flat and useless against your belly.
I love watching you squirm when I walk past you. I can see the outline of your desperate little nub straining against the silk, trying to find a way out. But here is the rule: you do not touch. Not a finger, not a graze, not even a subconscious rub against the fabric. Every time you feel that itch, every time your cock throbs because I’m standing over you in my heels, you remember that your pleasure belongs to me.
I’ll spend an hour just teasing you, sliding my hand over the lace, squeezing your balls through the fabric just hard enough to make you whimper. I’ll whisper all the filthy things I’m going to do to you, describing exactly how I’ll make you beg, only to pull away the moment you start to leak. I want you dripping, I want you aching, and I want you absolutely miserable with need. Watching you vibrate with arousal while I forbid you from touching yourself is the highlight of my day. You’re just a leaking little faucet, and I’m the only one who decides when the valve opens
Lenora
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