Bernard stands behind the curtains of his bedroom and peeks into the yard next door. On sunny mornings like this, his dreams can feed on the lovely sights he was becoming used to. Oh yes. Yessssss! A beautiful display, like as if he is privileged to stand and stare in a women's lingerie store without anyone telling him to show more respect. And it's true. The gorgeous slips and panties dancing softly on Miss Faye's washing rotary deserve total respect from men. That is what he wishes he could do. Stand amongst them and show them his adoring respect.
Dammit, he has to leave his vantage point to collect the post delivered downstairs, then his heart gives a leap. There is Miss Faye closing her garden gate and setting off. The fright of an undreamt-of act of daring sweeps over him. If she is out, he can steal into her back yard to touch. Even to kiss and - and perhaps fondle and play!
He has no idea where she has gone. She may be back in two minutes. He allows himself only one minute to ensure his safety. Ohhhh, this waist slip in smooth, wet, avocado nylon! The sweet lace on this French panty! The gorgeous fragrance of this lace-covered, satin brassiere! He breathes the inside of its cup. Then its other cup, breathing deeply into Miss Faye's breasts. But maybe she is almost back again. He has to leave. He hops over the fence and is back into his kitchen with beautiful memories. He watches through the front window to check. Is she already in the house? Has she seen him? How can he check whether she is back yet or not? It is half an hour later that he sees her coming in, shopping bags in each hand. He is safe, but oh, what a long opportunity he missed to live amongst her lingerie.
He is behind the curtains an hour earlier the following day. Oh yesss, she has a basket full of treasures, pinning them to the rotary - including blouses today. This delicious woman with dark, permed hair wears blouses to die for, like the white blouse she has on this morning. And a corselet. She is pinning out a corselet - Ohhhhh, she must go out. She MUST leave him with half an hour to fondle that corselet with all the pleasure it can give him. Bernard Smith sits behind the front curtains, watching, hoping. And yesssssssss, at half past nine, she leaves with her shopping bags.
The blouses first. His hands shape the wet sleeves, investigate the inside of each unbuttoned cuff, the long ribbon ties, the long collar points, the blouse buttons. Then the corselet. His fingers enter each leg, feeling, adoring, finding where Miss F's legs and pussy go. Oh! His caresses are too bold,
it comes unclipped and he catches handfuls of elasteine at his waist, only to see -
"Well, Mister Smith! I wonder what you are doing?"
"Er, Miss Wilton, I - er, it's not what you think. I was just - " It was Miss Faye's neighbour on the other side, her mouth hanging open. Oh if only the ground would open.
"I see what you mean, Barbara."
Bernard's neck twists to the gate. Miss Faye! And he has her wet corselet in his hands! He has no words. No possible excuses. His eyes drop to the corselet, and he tries foolishly to pin it back in place. Miss Faye is at his shoulder, taking it and doing it herself.
"You couldn't have been more right, Barbara, about how some men like to meddle like this - like it's a need in their life."
"It always amazes me, Shirley, how men don't know that we women have a sixth sense about looking out of the window, catching them at their little tricks." Miss Wilton's lips pout, half in condemnation, half contempt. Then she holds the top of the fence and explains. "It's like that friend of mine I was telling you about. She used to allow her neighbour to feel her laundry and take it down and fold it for her. Occasionally gave him a pair of her panties." The two women look at each other for moments, then turn their eyes on Bernard, with damp panty silk fluttering round him.
"Well, Mister Smith?" says Miss Faye. "What do you say?"
Her neighbour's heart pounds in his breast. It compels his words. "Please may I feel your blouses, Miss Faye? And - And your girdles?"
He almost guesses she will allow it, but she turns to Miss Wilton for what seems an age. It's Miss Wilton who speaks to him. "Only if you then come round for the evening, for proper dressing."
At seven o'clock, a terrified Bernard arrives, in slacks and shirt,
to find Miss Faye and Miss Wilton ready for him, a row of blouses hanging, and pairs of corselets and girdles on an armchair, while dozens of pairs of panties cover the back of the other chair. They undress him, then put him into one of Miss Faye's corselets, followed by clipping him into her stockings and fastening him into her high heels. He can scarcely stay upright between them as they sit him with his legs across their skirts and dress him in a satin blouse. They allow him to hold pairs of panties, and girdles, but there is an indispensable premise to his pleasure.
"You have your happy time, Mister Smith. Now it's our time for holding and fondling."
Bernard's palpitations redouble as his cock is surrounded with their fingers, and he is squeezed and smoothed by both women at once as he wears their blouses, stockings and girdles. The grins on each of their faces show him how pleased the Ladies are with the new dressing arrangements.