My Landlady Had Different Plans - Part 1

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Note - This story is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and events are purely imaginary and bear no relation to real people, living or dead. Any resemblance is purely coincidental.

Why were we sitting side by side? The thought kept running through my head the entire meal. Mrs. Johnson, as we talked, would place a hand on my thigh or pat my arm. At first, all this physical touching put me on guard, but then after a while, I just gave up and began to enjoy it.

"This beef is awesome," I complimented her.

"Do you like it? It's Julia's recipe. I could teach you how to make it. Would you like that?"

"I don't know. I don't think I could ever be a cook."

"Pshaw! You are a young man on his own. You will need to learn how to cook. The best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach."

"I thought that was the best way to a man's heart."

"Trust me, it works both ways," Mrs. Johnson said, smiling. "That's how my husband snagged me. How about this weekend? I'll teach you how to make Coq au Vin. It's a wonderful chicken dish. I'll invite my daughter over."

"Your daughter?" I asked, my heart giving an unexpected thump. "You have a daughter?"

"Of course I do! Her name is Jessica. She's my everything. So what do you say?"

I thought about it. It was just a cooking lesson, right? Most chefs are male. I could be like Gordon Ramsay. And I'd get to meet her daughter ,that would be interesting. And besides, what else was I going to do this weekend?

"Sounds like fun!" I agreed.

"Excellent! It's a date," Mrs. Johnson rewarded me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, giving me goose bumps.

After all, it wasn't like she was turning me into her maid, or anything.

I froze. Now, where the fuck did that thought come from??

I lay in bed, staring up at the princess canopy. It was a complex and sumptuous construction, with tulle netting and silk swags.

"Ridiculous," I muttered. "What a weird day."

Fortunately, after dinner, things had been pretty ordinary. I had helped with the dishes ("Thank you so much! Most renters wouldn't even bother to lift a finger," Mrs. Johnson had enthused), and then we watched some TV (Downton Abbey), and then I claimed to be tired and went to bed early.

Big mistake. Here it was, just 10pm, hours earlier than I normally go to bed, with nothing to do. I played video games on my iPhone for a while, but then quickly tired of that.

Bored and horny.

Thoughts of the day kept running through my head. The tour of the bedroom and the closet. Sitting side by side next to Mrs. Johnson at the dinner table, le and again in the love seat in front of the TV. She kissed me on the cheek. Her arm was around my waist as we discussed her late husband's panty collection.

I turned on my side. Bad idea. The dresser drawers were right in my line of sight.

I thought about what was in them. Panties with rows and rows of frilly lace trim. Slippery, silky, satiny slips and baby doll nighties. Stretchy foundation wear. Rows and rows of bras with lace, straps, and underwire.

Fuck! Stop that!

I turned to my other side, only to stare directly at the walk-in closet.

How could just the simple placement of furniture in a room cause such torture?

Bored and horny. Bored and horny.

I tried browsing Reddit and Instagram. Boring.

I stared at the closet some more. It was full of skirts and blouses, and maids' uniforms.

I imagined myself flipping through the uniforms, trying to find the right one to wear.

Stop that!!!

I turned onto my back, staring up at the canopy again.

How had Mrs. Johnson been able to get so deep into my head? All I could think about was her husband dressing up in all these clothes. Dressing up and serving his wife in his wife-led marriage.

I punched up "wife-led marriage" on my phone and browsed through some blogs. Shit. Men kneeling and licking boots. Whips. Leather cuffs. Chastity. Was that what it meant to be in a wife-led marriage?

But I hadn't seen any of that in the dresser or the closet. No leather, no sex toys.

What the fuck was wrong with me?? Was I really thinking about how Mrs. Johnson and her late husband had sex? I mashed a pillow against my face and screamed.

For the 99th time, I wondered if it had been a good idea to take this room.

Finally, I began to drift off.

What had Mr. Johnson been like? I wondered, drowsily to myself. Probably some sort of pansy. Some sort of limp wristed, sissified shadow of a man.

"Business executive, through and through. Hard core. No nonsense. Ruthless, apparently. He used to own the mattress factory on the other side of town. Inherited it from his father and then ran it for some 20 years before selling it to a national brand."

"Seriously?"

It was my first day on the job, and Janice, my boss, the education program manager, was showing me the ropes.

"You're talking about Mr. Johnson, right?" Janice asked. "Married to Elizabeth Johnson? At the end of Maple Avenue?"

"I guess so. I'm renting a room from Mrs. Johnson."

"Oh, that's wonderful! What's she like?"

"Oh, ah," what was I going to say? “Friendly."

"That's good. There are all sorts of rumors aboutherding duringn the day."

"Rumors?"

"Oh, that she was a witch. That she had enslaved or hypnotized her husband. Probably just sour grapes from the local garden ladies. She was an outsider from a poor background when they married, taking the most eligible bachelor off the market. He was twenty years older than she was, so naturally, everyone assumed she was a gold digger."

"That's not true," I blurted out. "She was devoted to her husband. Still is."

"Oh!" Janice replied, surprised. "That's nice to hear, actually."

If only she knew the truth! I mused.

"How was our first day?"

It was the museum director!

"Paul here is renting a room from Mrs. Johnson," Janice piped up.

"Really?" the director said, clearly delighted. "Mrs. Johnson? Goodness! Well, she's a very important person around here!"

"I had no idea," I said.

"Absolutely. Our top individual donor and quite active in social activities. Promise me, Paul, that you will always be on your best behavior, can you do that?"

"Of course, sir."

"And do anything she wants or needs, help her out in any way possible. And if it means you need some time off, just let me know, okay?"

"Oh. Okay."

"Promise?"

"Yes, sir, I promise," I said, resigned.

I guess that eliminates any possibility of moving out, I thought to myself. I had the sense of a trap door closing behind me.

Friday night, lying in bed. Another sleepless night of horny boredom.

My god, there's nothing to do in this town. I biked around a bit using Jessica Johnson’s old 10-speed. A diner, a drug store, a hardware-slash-consignment store, and a liquor store, and that was it. The movie theater has long since been abandoned.

And no internet! Who in this day and age has no internet?

"Just never got into the habit," explained Mrs. Johnson. "I prefer reading. Or PBS."

And so I had resorted to browsing the web on my phone, which was OK until I exceeded my data plan. So now, no more internet for the rest of the month. It was positively Neanderthal.

And so here I was again, staring at the dresser, thinking about everything it contained.

I had been able to hold back all week, even though the drawers full of panties and bras and stretchy spandex and silky nylon seemed to be calling me. I would pull out the museum docent's manual, or read a history book, anything to get my mind off all of the feminine finery which surrounded me.

'She said you could wear them,' the thought popped into my head. She wants you to wear them. She wants them to be worn by you.'

"STOP THAT!" I hissed to myself, turning onto my back and staring up at the canopy.

Mrs. Johnson had been super nice all week. We had settled into a routine: Quick light breakfast (me dressed, her in a nightgown and robe), dinner at 7:30 pm, I did the dishes, we watched some TV together (usually a historical costume drama), and then off to bed by 10.

At which point, I would read or just lie in bed thinking about those stupid panties.

And the bras. And the slips. And the closet full of dresses and maids' uniforms.

Shit.

'Just do it,' I reasoned to myself. 'Put on a stupid pair of panties. Get it out of your system.'

Well, that was a new thought. Here I've been trying not to think of them all week, but obsessing about them more and more. Maybe I should just put them on, realize the whole thing is stupid, and then just move on? Put it behind me?

I got out of bed and opened up the top dresser drawer. Rows and rows of panties were revealed with lace, nylon, silk, and satin gently glowing in the soft light of the bedside lamp. I ran my hands across them, the soft touch of the delicate fabrics giving me goose bumps.

'You have to try on a pair,' said the little voice in my head. 'That's the only way you'll be able to put this behind you to get this out of your system.'

That makes sense, I thought to myself. I have to try on a pair. Try on a pair, and then I will have done it, and I'll stop thinking about them all the time.

But which pair? I started sifting through the possibilities and (after far too much internal debate) eventually settled on a delicate, soft cream colored pair of briefs, full cut with delicate lace details.

Now what? I looked at the pair of panties in my hand.

'Well, you have to put them on,' said the voice in my head.

I slipped off my boxers and threw them aside, and then, with a deep breath, stepped into the panties and slowly pulled them up my legs.

"Oh," I sighed.

I felt an involuntary shiver run through my body. Lost to the world, I closed my eyes and ran my hands over the new feminine garment. It was so soft and smooth!

"Shit! Oh! Shit!"

I saw the wet stain spread across the front of the panties as I gasped and held on to the dresser for support. I had never climaxed that fast in my life!

Shit, I was still spurring. I put a hand over it, trying to prevent anything from dripping on the floor. My god, it was a lot. I took a moment to catch my breath.

Now what??

I waddled to the door, hands holding my crotch, opened the door with my elbow, and peeked into the hallway.

The coast was clear. On tip-toes, I quickly stepped down the hallway and into the bathroom and closed the door.

I rinsed the panties in the sink and used a washcloth to clean myself up.

There. All better.

With the panties balled up in my hand, I stepped back into the hallway, and straight into Mrs. Johnson. I quickly hid the panties behind my back.

"Paul!" she said, with a hint of a smile. "I heard that you were up and I thought I'd check to see if you needed anything." She was in her peach colored nightgown and robe. Both are long and made of a soft, satiny material.

"Mrs. Johnson! Oh, ah, thanks, but I'm"

"I should have made this clear earlier, but you shouldn't be walking around the house exposed like this. Come with me and let's get you a robe."

Mrs. Johnson grabbed me by the hand and led me back to the bedroom. Oh god, I had never been so embarrassed in my life! With one hand behind my back and the other being held by Mrs. Johnson, I had nothing to cover myself. My privates were just swinging in the air.

Mrs. Johnson led me into the closet with all of the dresses and the aides' uniforms.

"Now, here are some robes for you. Naturally, we don't have any male robes in this house, so this will have to do." She picked out a sumptuous, long, light pink satin robe with lace trim and long sleeves. "Here, try this on."

She held out the robe for me to slip into. But how could I? With one hand behind my back?

"Uh,"

"Paul, what are you hiding?"

"Mrs. Johnson, I."

"Please, Paul, you can tell me. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's okay."

"I,"

Shit! What was I going to do?

"I," I hesitated.

"Paul? It will be okay, I promise."

I pulled out my hand and opened it, revealing the wet panties I was holding.

"I blushed deep red, "they," what was I going to say, think! “They, uh, got soiled, and I so went to the bathroom to clean them up."

"Soiled?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am." Where did that come from? Why was I calling her Ma'am?

"Paul, were you wearing these panties when they got soiled?" Mrs. Johnson said, with a knowing smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson." I hung my head. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry? A curious young man like you? I would be surprised if you hadn't tried them on at some point. Now, here, put on the robe and let's go wash those panties properly."

I slipped on the robe and belted it around my waist. Oh, that felt so wonderful. As I followed her to the bathroom, the soft fabric flowed over my naked body.

Following her instructions, I put the panties into the sink with some warm water and a few drops of Woolite. Donning a pair of rubber gloves, I gently worked the panties in the water. We then replaced the water with fresh water, including a few drops of hair conditioner.

"To make the silks all the more silky," Mrs. Johnson said, with a smile. "Now, when you're done rinsing, you can hang them up on this line," she pulled a line from a chrome device and hooked it to the opposite wall, and showed me the drawer with the clothespins.

"All lingerie must be air dried," she said. "So they'll last and be fresh. Now let's get you back to bed."

I followed Mrs. Johnson back to the bedroom.

"I'm sorry to keep you up late like this," I said.

"Hush, it's fine," she said, pulling me into a hug and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I could feel my member harden as it pressed between our two bodies separated by nothing but silk, nylon, and lace. "Now, since you've decided to wear panties, let's pick you out a nice pair to wear to bed, shall we?"

"But,"

These were one of my husband's favorites. Would these be good?"

"Mrs. Johnson, Ma'am, I'll just switch back to wearing my ordinary boxers, if that's okay."

"Oh, Paul," I could tell instantly that she was disappointed. "Of course I won't make you wear them, if that's how you feel. After all, you're much younger and stronger than I am. I had just hoped. You did enjoy wearing them, didn't you?"

"Well,"

"Please tell me the truth, Paul," she said ardently, holding my hand in hers and squeezing. "When you put them on, didn't they, I mean, they must have, because otherwise why would you?"

Mrs. Johnson paused, gathering her thoughts.

"Tell me honestly. When you put them on, didn't they feel nice? Nice and soft and wonderful?"

I looked into her eyes, and a shiver ran through me. I opened and closed my mouth several times before I could answer.

"Yes," I admitted.

It was the truth, after all.

"Oh, I'm so glad," she said with evident relief, pulling me into a warm hug and giving me yet another kiss on the cheek.

"Well," she continued, standing a bit straighter. "Now that we've established that you like to wear panties, I want no more fussing. Put on these panties and we'll put you to bed."

"But Mrs. Johnson."

"Paul," she said, looking me in the eye.

"Yes, Ma'am," I backed down. 'Do whatever she wants. ' The words from the museum director ran through my head. It was clear what Mrs. Johnson wanted. But where would it lead?

I accepted the panties from her and slipped them on under the robe.

Oh.

I almost sighed as the delicate fabric slipped up my legs and settled into place.

"See there?" Mrs. Johnson pulled me into a hug. "Isn't that just delicious?" she whispered into my ear. "You're doing so well, and you've made me so happy."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Johnson."

"Won't it be just wonderful to wear panties all the time? Of course it will. Here, let me just gather up all your old boxers."

Before I could object, Mrs. Johnson had fetched my boxers from the chair. Opening up the bottom dresser drawer, she quickly gathered up the rest of them.

"I'll just put these away for safekeeping," she said, her eyes dancing with delight. "That way, you won't have to worry or fret about what to wear. It will be so much easier for you! None of that stubborn male pride to get in the way. You'll just have to wear panties from now on. Now let's get you tucked into bed."

I looked at her, shocked. Hey! My mind was racing. That's my underwear!

"Mrs. Johnson,"

"Paul," she interrupted. "I know we're both so tired. Let's get a good night's rest, and then we'll discuss anything you want in the morning. Okay?"

"But"

"In the morning, Paul. We'll have all day together tomorrow, so let's discuss this in the morning."

"Okay," I sighed, resigned.

After hanging up my robe (Mrs. Johnson showed me the hook on the canopy post for this very purpose), I slipped under the covers.

"Hold on, one second," Mrs. Johnson said, leaving the room with all of my boxers.

She came back a few minutes later holding a soft, terry hand-towel.

My boxers were gone.

"Here," she said, placing the towel on my nightstand. "I know that young boys like you are, how shall I say,  prone to accidents? So here's a towel to clean yourself up when you need it."

Oh my god, my landlady had just given me a towel to masturbate into. I blushed all the way to my toes.

"Good night, Paul," she said, closing the door and turning out the light.

"I'm sorry about all this," Jessica said.

"Sorry about what?" I asked.

I was sitting next to Mrs. Johnson's daughter on the love seat in the living room.

The Coq Au Vin dinner had been a complete success! Mrs. Johnson and I had shopped for the food in the morning, and then she had taught me how to make it. Both Mrs. Johnson and Jessica heaped praise upon me, giving the entire meal a happy glow.

Mrs. Johnson was doing the dishes in the kitchen. ("You two kids go enjoy yourselves in the living room," she had said. "I'll clean up!").

"Mom is trying to push us together. You know I have a boyfriend, right?"

"I, no. I didn't," I said, my heart tearing a little.

Jessica was bright, sharp-witted, and beautiful, with long brunette hair, piercing eyes, and a ready smile. She was 28, which made her seven years older than me.

"Yeah, Mom's always been a manipulator. She sure had my Dad wrapped around her little finger. If you let her, she'll do the same to you."

"Oh, she's not that bad," I ventured. "Eccentric, sure, but not manipulative."

"Really?" Jessica looked at me, eyebrow arched. "Alright, let me prove it to you. Come with me."

I followed Jessica upstairs, where she walked down the hall and opened a door.

"Ever been in here before?" she asked.

"No,"

"This is our standard guest bedroom. Now look: The dresser drawers are completely empty. And look here, the closet: also empty. This could have been your room. This should have been your room. But no, she put you up in Dad's old room."

"I looked around the room. It looked completely ordinary. No canopy, standard furniture, nothing special. "Maybe she wanted to save this for other guests."

"You think so? Okay, let's check out this room."

Jessica went back out into the hall and opened up another door.

"Yet another, completely ordinary bedroom. This is the second guest bedroom. This house has six bedrooms and an office. The master bedroom, my old room, two guest bedrooms, a craft and sewing room, and Dad's old room. It's a big house. Mom could have put you in any other room. Hell, she could have put you in my old room. But she put you in Dad's room. Why?"

"I don't know."

Jessica grasped my hand and led me down the hallway and into my room.

"Mom put you in this room, Dad's old room, because it's stuffed full of women's clothing! She's trying to tempt you into wearing it. She thinks that because you're in a room full of women's clothing to wear, that at some point you might actually put something on. But don't do it! Because once you start, it will be next to impossible to stop. You'll be under her control forever!"

"Oh, okay," I said, feeling flushed.

Jessica looked at me intently, eyes raised.

"Have you?" Jessica looked over at the nightstand and saw the white hand towel lying there. "Oh my god," she said, "she's already gotten to you, hasn't she? But it's been less than a week! What has she done to you?"

"I, nothing. She's done nothing!"

"Bullshit. You're a terrible liar. It must be panties. It always starts with panties."

"No," I said, backing away.

"You're wearing panties, aren't you?" Jessica said, smirking. "Admit it."

"Please," I whined.

"Tell the truth," Jessica pushed against me until I was backed up against the corner of the canopy bed. She tilted my face so I was forced to look her in the eyes. "Tell me," she commanded.

"Please, Jessica," I said. "Please don't."

And just then, she kissed me.

"Oh," I sighed, closing my eyes. At first, it was just soft lips, but soon I felt her tongue in my mouth, and I just melted.

I should explain at this point that this was the first time I had ever been kissed by a girl, really kissed, that is. There had been occasional kisses as a dare, but nothing like this.

"Well, look at this," Jessica said, breaking the kiss and looking down.

"Look at what?" I sighed.

"Why, these cute little panties you have on!"

"What?"

Jessica had unbuckled and unzipped my pants!

"Hey! Stop that!" I struggled in vain. Jessica easily slipped the pants down to my knees, exposing the panties I was wearing.

"You lied to me,” she pointed out.

I desperately tried to pull my pants back up, but Jessica was able to grasp my wrists and hold them behind my back, against the canopy post. I looked away, breathing hard, as she pressed her body against me.

“You lied,” she repeated. “One: I want you to admit that you lied. Two: I want you to admit to me that you’re wearing panties, and three: I want you to apologize.”

“Let me go.” I struggled some more, but it was impossible; she just grabbed my wrists tighter and pulled them up higher against my back.

"Admit it," Jessica persisted. I could feel the warmth of her body and smell the floral scent of her hair.

"No," I moaned.

"You lied. Admit it!"

I had been in this position before, lots of times, growing up with 3 older siblings. Finally, I gave in.

"I lied," I said, finally. "I'm sorry."

"Why did you lie?" she asked, sincerely curious.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"And so what are you wearing?"

"Panties," I said, blushing. "I am wearing panties."

"My father's panties," Jessica observed. "You are wearing my father's panties. The panties he wore were at the insistence of my mother. At her direction."

"Didn't he want to wear them?" I asked.

"That's a complicated question," Jessica said, releasing me. "And I'm not sure I know the real answer."

When I moved to pull up my pants, she shook her finger.

"No, I don't think so," she said. "Not yet."

And so I sat, awkwardly, on the bed, with my pants down at my ankles, my panties exposed. I felt like a child being scolded.

"Interesting," she said, sitting next to me.

"Interesting, what?" I asked.

"Did Mom tell you to wear panties?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought the question was pretty clear. Did she say, 'Paul, put on these panties?' "

"No, not exactly."

"Well then, what did she do, exactly?"

"She, uh, told me that it was okay to wear them, if I wanted to."

"But she made it clear that she wanted you to wear them."

"Yeah, I guess."

"And so you did."

I looked away, embarrassed. Jessica just shook her head.

"It was only supposed to be that one time," I continued. "But then she took all of my boxers away, and now I can't seem to bring up the subject."

"And so now you're wearing panties, full time."

I felt my scalp turn hot with shame.

"This is ridiculous," Jessica continued. "Alright, it's time I taught you a lesson. It's for your own good. Unless you develop a backbone, you're going to end up under her thumb just like my Dad. Is that what you want?"

"No! Of course not."

"Okay, then. My methods may be unorthodox, but you'll thank me. Did you know those panties come with a matching bra?" she asked.

"A what? A what?" I asked, butterflies in my stomach suddenly springing to life.

"A matching bra. Here, let me find it for you."

Jessica hopped up and rooted through the dresser.

"Here it is," she said, showing it to me. "Why don't you put it on?"

I was confused. What was going on here? "Why?" I asked.

"Because I want you to." Jessica sat next to me and reached over to unbutton my shirt.

"Hey, stop!" I shied away.

"Paul!" Jessica said sharply, "Put your hands down! This is for your own good. Now be a good girl and let me unbutton your shirt."

Cowed by her tone, I did as I was told and let her undress me.

"But why?" I whined as she tugged the cuffs over my hands. "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I'm teaching you a lesson," she said, reaching for the bra. "But if you need a reason, then fine, this is your punishment for lying to me."

Jessica held up the bra. "Put this on," she commanded.

"My punishment?" I asked, threading my arms through the bra straps.

"Yes. You lied to me," Jessica explained, turning me to face away from her. "You said you were not wearing panties, and clearly you are." She pulled the straps in snug and fastened the hooks. The bra gently hugged my chest.

I felt a tingling run through me.

"And your punishment will be to wear this bra until tomorrow night," she finished.

"Tomorrow night!" I gasped.

"Yes, tomorrow night. I want you to come to my place, I have a row house on Sycamore Street, and then I'll verify that you're still wearing the bra, and then your punishment will be over."

"But," I sputtered, "What will I do until then?"

"Why? What's the problem?"

"Mrs. Johnson! Your mother! She'll see I'm wearing a bra for sure! There's no way I can hide it from her until tomorrow evening."

"There's an obvious solution," Jessica said, looking at me intently.

"I mean, I can always wear a shirt, of course. But surely she'll feel the bra when she hugs me."

"My mother hugs you?" Jessica asked, suddenly curious. "How often? And do you hug her back?"

"I don't know. A few times a day. And of course I hug her back."

"You're further gone than I thought," Jessica rolled her eyes.

"Why? Because of a few hugs?"

But Jessica didn't answer.

"Well, maybe I could wear a sweater?" I continued, "But that's ridiculous in the summer. Maybe a jacket?"

"I'm telling you, there's an obvious answer," Jessica said. "And wearing a jacket is not it."

"But what is it?"

"That's what you have to figure out for yourself. Now put your shirt back on and let's go back downstairs."

We spent the rest of the evening chatting and playing cards around the kitchen table.

Mrs. Johnson was clearly in seventh heaven, with her daughter and her boarder by her side. If she noticed that I was wearing a bra, she didn't show it or remark upon it.

The bra itself was a constant distraction. The underwire cups applied a constant pressure, and the straps never quite felt comfortable. It was everything I could do to not adjust them with my fingers. I had to settle for just slowly rolling my shoulders.

"Are you okay there, Paul?" Jessica said, a tease in her voice. "You seem uncomfortable."

"I'm fine, thank you, Jessica," I shot daggers at her with my eyes.

"It's so wonderful that the two of you are getting along so well," hummed Mrs. Johnson, refilling her glass of wine.

It was almost midnight before Jessica decided to head home.

"See you tomorrow, Paul," she said, her voice full of teasing, as she gathered her coat and keys.

"Tomorrow?" Mrs. Johnson said, eyes wide with delight. "What for?"

"I have some things for Goodwill," Jessica lied smoothly. "And Paul agreed to help me move them to my car."

"Well, isn't that just wonderful!" Said Mrs. Johnson with a wide smile.

"Paul?"

Shit. I was trying to sneak upstairs without a 'good night' hug from Mrs. Johnson.

"Yes, Mrs. Johnson?"

We were at the bottom of the stairs, in the main hallway.

"I just wanted to say 'thank you' for such a lovely evening," she said, a little tipsy from the wine.

"Oh, Mrs. Johnson, it was a pleasure. I love playing cards. Even when I lose."

"Jessica can come off as a little strong, sometimes. I saw you two disappear upstairs. I hope she didn't scare you off?"

"No!" I said, maybe a little too quickly. "Uh, not at all."

"Oh, good."

She moved to hug me goodnight. Thinking quick, I grabbed her hands in mine, squeezed them, and gave her a preemptive kiss on the cheek.

"Oh! How wonderful," she said, with a sigh. She stepped in close. By grasping my hands and pulling them behind her back, she pulled our two bodies together. I felt her ample bosom press against my chest. Could she feel the bra I was wearing? Worse, could she feel that I had an erection?

"It's so nice to have you here," she said, her voice soft and slightly slurred. She kissed my cheek, her breath warm and sensuous.

"It's so nice to be here," I responded.

"You're fitting in so well," she continued, kissing me again, still on the cheek, but closer to my lips.

I closed my eyes, starting to lose myself. She smelled of perfume and talc, and makeup. Womanly smells.

"Thank you for putting up with all of our eccentricities, mine and Jessica’s." Another kiss, even closer.

"It's my pleasure." I sighed.

Another kiss, right at the corner of my lips.

"I'm so glad," she said, disengaging herself. "Good night then. Sleep tight!"

Hey! I opened my eyes, but Mrs. Johnson was already on her way up the stairs.

I stood there a second, eyes glazed, staring up at her soft bottom as it disappeared around the corner.

What the fuck was it with the Johnson women? First Jessica, and now her mother!

I slowly walked upstairs to my bedroom, feeling like a fly caught in a web, with the spiders circling closer and closer. Stepping into the bedroom, I could feel, almost as a physical presence, all of the women’s clothes in the dresser drawers and all of the dresses and skirts, blouses, and the maid's uniforms in the closet. 'We're next,' I could hear them saying in my thoughts. 'It won't be long now!'

I stripped down to panties and a bra. Oh my god, I was so hard. I could still feel Mrs. Johnson's lips on my cheek and smell her perfume.

Was I allowed to sleep without the bra? Jessica hadn't said one way or another.

And what did she mean by teaching me a lesson?

I hesitated, imagining what I would say if she asked me if I wore it to bed. Finally, I decided to leave it on?

I looked at the hand towel on the nightstand. Oh god, it was fresh and clean. Last night, I had been so horny after Mrs. Johnson had made me admit to liking panties that I had masturbated a second time, this time into the towel. But the towel on the nightstand was clean. That meant that Mrs. Johnson had come into my bedroom sometime today and had checked the towel and had seen that I had used it.

Oh, jeez, my landlady knew I had masturbated last night.