Page 130

Chapter 3: Purple Satin

I tugged between my cheeks, the purple satin of my uniform slipping between them. If the panties had more coverage, it wouldn't have been a problem. The tiny thong practically invited everything in between them. First my pantyhose, and now my uniform.

Can't let her see me with a wedgie.

Putting it on had felt strange. My dick was so hard it didn't fit in the lacy scrap masquerading as panties, but they were tight enough to press it up against my belly. The sheer pantyhose did the rest of the job. The waistband was high enough to completely cover my quivering member. The nylon stroked and brushed it as I finished getting dressed, the silky sensation leading to some awkward, aroused sounds slipping from my mouth.

The bra compressed and squeezed me. I had no idea how girls managed to clasp the damn things behind their backs; after struggling at it for a few minutes, I finally just closed it and then pulled it over my head like a shirt. The lace tickled my skin as I slipped my arms through the straps.

My cock stayed frustratingly hard.

I cast a sidelong glance at the satin bodysuit draped lasciviously on the table next to me. I was still just wearing underwear. Really, it wasn't that different from briefs and an undershirt — it was just shaped a little differently. I mean, what guy hadn't been curious about what a bra and panties felt like to wear. It was a totally normal thing to think about.

But the uniform? That was a step into the unknown.

It glistened in the light as I held it up in front of me. High leg holes with lacing over the hips. A floppy ribbon like an award next to one. All smooth, glowing satin. There was a corset sort of thing built into the chest, and just looking at it made my breath feel short. It was way too small for me to fit into it.

There's no way this is going to work, I told myself as I stepped into it and pulled it up my silk-glazed legs. This is ridiculous in both concept and execution. I don't have a waist like that. I don't have hips like that. I don't even want this thing to fit me.

It was snug but not uncomfortable. Exposing in a way that made my stomach flip over and my dick to stay resolutely hard behind the layers of satin and silk. It curved and flowed around me, the shiny fabric catching the light. I ran my hands down my flat belly and over my hips.

Alright, maybe it does feel kind of nice, I dared myself to admit. But there's no way I look good in this thing. I'll just check the mirror, and when I look ridiculous, I'll tell her I'm sorry, but it's just not going to work out.

Confident that I had a way out of the mess I had found myself in, I pulled on the cuffs and collar. The bunny ears were connected to a headband that disappeared in my hair. One of the purple satin ears was bent over, the other as straight and erect as I was. Before I allowed myself to look in the mirror, I slipped on the stilettos and took an experimental lap around the room. I was wobbly, but with a little practice, I was sure I could make it work.

Not that I wanted to, of course.

The mirror lurked in the corner of the room. It was tall and had three panels set at angles so whoever was in front of it could see their sides and rears. There was a small pedestal in front of it, lit dramatically from overhead. Just looking at it made me start to shake. Was I really willing to see what I looked like in it?

What if I look stupid? I wondered, then immediately wondered why I was so concerned about that. It would probably be worse if I looked good.

There was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. I squeezed my eyes shut and climbed onto the platform. For a long moment I kept them shut, unwilling — or maybe unable — to open them. I peeked out from under one, afraid that a full view might be too much for me to take.

Then I finally opened them.