"Hello Jayne? - It's Vera."

"Vera! Good morning. I'm ready for your visit, whenever it suits."

"I've got the little girl ready to come and see you." I look at him in his girly frills and smirk. "If we set out now, we'll be at your front door in less than half a minute."

"Yes come straight away, but Vera, is that him making that noise. Is he alright coming out of the house in a dress?"

"Yes," I say, moving across to him where he is fastened into his kitchen play-pen, "that's him alright. He's crying."

"Oh dear. I don't want to embarrass him. Are you sure you want to bring him round?"

"Don't worry yourself Jayne. He needs to meet you and feel that you are in charge of him. He always gets upset on panty-play mornings. Let's see, today we're calling at your house first, then at Sheree Wight's, then we'll go on to Martha Fitzroyal's and we finish at Lee Son Kim's."

"Oh that's good. As long as I'm not the only woman to be making him ashamed of himself."

I laugh at the idea. "No worries, Jayne: he's going to be embarrassed by lots of women: he has to recognise how inferior he is and how all women are totally superior to him. That's why he'll want you to use your panties to humiliate him."

"Oh yes, Yes, I've got ten pairs of panties ready for him. He's going to be my panty slave alright. I'll see you in a minute or two."

As I unclip him from the sides of the play-pen and clip him into his reins instead, he starts on his silly wheedling. Silly because he knows it never works.

"Mummy - oh Mummy - please don't take me outside. Please don't take me to see Missus Crushing. I - I promise I'll try extra hard to please Samantha. I don't want her to go with that Brad Jerkin. I know I could get stiff for her if she would only let me be in bed with her again. Oh please, Jayne, don't take me out - "

I close the front door behind us and stop him on the step, making him look into my eyes from the white satin brim of his bonnet. "You are NOT to call your Mother-In-Law Jayne. That is NOT allowed for little girls. You will say MUMMY, as you know full well." I give him a stern look, use my hankie to wipe tears from his cheeks, and push him ahead of me again to the gate and then along the sidewalk. "You know you can't have Samantha now, don't you, Robin? She's fed up, of course she is, with waiting for something to happen in your cock while she shows you her body and opens her legs for you. You just can't do it, let's face it. So you will be Mummy's little panty slave and wear my panties over your sissy clittie. It is NOT a cock any more."

He bursts out crying again, which makes his dress and petticoat shake with sobs all round his hips. I've got him in one of his Sunday best church dresses for today's visits: all in salmon pink satin with sweet white polka dots all over and cute little ribbon bows to decorate it with femininity. No wonder he's upset. He watches the windows as always, and I catch sight of Jean Sharpe at Number 14 watching him go past, then Harriet Forbes at Number 16 and Mildred O'Brien at Number 18. By the time we reach Jayne's at Number 20 he's shaking with sobs and I have to dry his eyes again as we wait for the door to open.

"Darling, bring him straight through to the sitting room," says Jayne with a giggle in her voice. She's wearing a divine evening dress in jade green and her hair drawn back into a bun. "I must say, Robin is looking very fetching in his dress and bonnet. His wife must be delighted with how sweet he looks."

I chuckle as the fairy's bonnet sinks miserably onto the ruffled yoke of his dress. "Not exactly, Missus Crushing," I say. "She agrees with me that his impotent behaviour means dressing him like this is the most appropriate thing for him. Now, girl, we haven't got all day to stand round in Missus Crushing's sitting room. Make a start on your little pantomime for her."

He makes a super-human effort to hold back his sobs and opens his satin shoulder bag. From it he draws out his pink rubber mat, unrolls it on the floor and stands on it, facing his kind hostess.

He has been taught how to curtsey to each lady he meets, holding the edges of his dress and petticoat wide and descending until his knee is almost on the floor before rising again with head bowed until he is ready to draw his feet together again. Then he asks his question.

"Please Missus Crushing," and his face is beetroot red, "will you put me into your panties?"

Jayne feigns surprise. "For goodness sake! Why?"

"B-Because I want to feel like I'm your - your - your panty slave, to order about."

I must say she puts on a brilliant act, with eyes like saucers and hands on her hips. "Well!" she says, touching and re-touching her hair as if pondering whether she would or not. Then without a word, she stands closer to him, lifts his dress and takes a look at his panty, which is stretched as if to split apart by the strength of his humiliated erection. She "Hmphs" and unhooks the top of his panty before pulling them all the way down his legs. Then she stoops, works the hem of her skirt all the way up, clasps the waist of her panties and draws them down her stockings and off her feet.

As the panties descend her legs the fool loses control of his voice and warbles like a frightened toddler as a fit of anxiety takes over him. His cock, I swear it, grows more than an inch in length as he catches sight of Jayne's panties. They're in pale pink silk with lace trimming at the legs, and she holds them in front of her bust as if straightening them out, but really to show them to his hungry eyes.

"Your cock is very stiff, Robin," she observes with lifted eyebrows. "That must be nice for Samantha your wife."

I can't help letting out a laugh. "Not exactly no. He can't go stiff when he's with his wife - only when Mumsy does his hair and make-up - and puts him into her panties. Isn't that right, my little girl?"

He can't answer - but he manages to nod his bonnet.

Jayne slides her panties up his legs, his cock growing stiffer as he bleats with impotent arousal. He lets her arrange them all round his waist, adjusting the lacy legs round his thighs, and when she steps back, satisfied, he curtseys again, squirming and moaning.

"Let me see my slave in my panties," she says softly as she steps up to him again and lifts his dress. "Ohhh Vera, his cum is seeping through the gusset." She closes her fingers on his shaft, up near his helmet, and massages him.

My pathetic son-in-law stands with his hands turned out effeminately from his thighs as he lets himself be pushed and pulled in his new panties - the panties of his new Mistress. The cum comes pouring through in pulsing spasms, so that Jayne has to keep her fingers out of the way on either side as she continues to fuss his shaft with sweet little jiggles of her fingertips.

But the clown knows what he has to do. After all, there's no point saying you're a lady's panty slave unless you profess your devotion to her while you're wearing them. His lips tremble and he struggles to catch his breath, but somehow he manages to say his piece:

"Ohhh thank you so much, Missus Crushing, for dressing me in your wonderful panties." Sob - sob. "They're so pretty. I feel so sweet in them," and he sobs uncontrollably before managing to carry on. "I am under your control, Missus Crushing. I am worshipping your panties - with all my sissy girly cummies - ohhh! Boo - hoo - hoo!" and the ejaculate runs from his panty gusset in dangling streams to the pink mat under his feet as his love for her panties completely overwhelms his whole unsexed body.