The Tale of the Panty Thief ~Chapter 2 ~Phonesex

RHIANNA 1-844-332-2639 x 253

“There’s something inherently sensual about fruit,” Rhianna said plunging her fork into a cube of ripe watermelon. “What say you, Em?” I nodded my head in agreement watching intently as she selected another delicious goody from her morning fruit salad and popped it into her mouth. I was on day number eight of a thirty day water and air regimen Rhi had insisted I begin after the first of the year. “Having a fatty for a lackey is bad optics plain and simple,” she said, and maybe she was right, after all, it wasn’t just anyone who was worthy of being the close confidant and personal assistant to Rhianna Knight the Premiere Fetish Mistress on the West Coast.

It took someone special, someone like me, Emma Haven, sissy slut extraordinaire.

“So girl,” I said, “tonight’s the big night, isn’t it? Tonight is your session with the elusive Panty Thief.”

As I asked this question, my eyes wandered to a platter of citrus slices and thought why not spruce up my room temperature H2O with a lemon twist?

As my hand reached out for the lemon, Rhi’s eyes met mine.

“Em,” she said, “aren’t you supposed to be on a diet?”

“Oh you’re right. Silly me. A moment on the lips, forever on the hips.”

Rhianna finished her breakfast in relative silence, and after I paid the cheque, she and I took a taxi over to Heavenly Scents and picked up her monthly order of designer soaps and lotions.

While there she said, “By the way, I want you to cancel that thing tonight.”

“What, why?”

“This Panty Thief,” she said, “whoever this pay pig is I want him on the hook so I can squeeze him dry. He deserves it after desecrating the sanctity of my panties.”

She then let loose with one her trademark wicked giggles and added, “Plus if we work this angle right, we could tag a financial domination fetish onto his panty lust.”

After a few stops, we found ourselves back at Rhi’s apartment complex.

“What do you say Em,” she said opening the door to her condo, “wanna give ourselves matching mani-pedis and binge watch … what the fuck?”

I stepped in ahead of her and said, “Is that what I think it is?”

“Uh-huh,” she said in disbelief. “It’s a shrine, a shrine to me and my … panties.”

In the middle of the living room where several photographs of Rhianna surrounded by every pair of panties she owned. “Ugh,” I said “look,” pointing to the tributes of cum dispensed all over the garments.

“I see it,” she said. “Goddamn it, we really need to have a talk with that security company.”

My stomach started to turn and I felt the desperate need for fresh air, but hell even some L.A smog would do the trick.

“I mean seriously how much spunk does this boy have?”

“There’s a note,” she said. “Of course there would be.”

She read over the note in silence and I asked, “What’s it say? Spill.”

“Here, read it for yourself.”

I took the letter and read aloud:

“My dear Mistress Rhianna,

I’m above foolish games of hard to get and frankly so are you. Money isn’t an object, for I would give anything to worship at the panties of the true Mistress of Fetish. I beg you, prolong our session no longer. Tomorrow when the clock strikes midnight I will make myself known to you.
Yours in Perversion,

The Panty Thief.”

“Wow,” I said.

“Yeah, I know, over-dramatic much,” Rhi said walking over to her bar and pouring herself a J.D and Coke.

“Why can’t these guys just jerk-off like normal people?”

“Now what,”  I asked as Rhi was adding another shot.

“I think you already know the answer to that Em. Tomorrow night when the clock strikes midnight the Panty Thief and I are going to … session.”

To Be Continued.

Rhianna 1-844-332-2639 x 253

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