Cassie’s College Journey — Part 3
Regroup
Please note, this is Part 3 of a series. I hope you enjoyed reading Parts 1 & 2.
I arrived downstairs to the living/dining floor. Having been numb and in a state of shock on the way up to Tiffany’s room, was struck how tastefully decorated this room felt. It had this 60’s vibe going on and there was even a small wood burning stove making the room pleasantly warm and cozy. Harry was relaxing on a very masculine dark leather chair that looked like it belonged in a British Gentlemen’s Club from a previous century. He saw me and did a double-take. Quickly recovering, he relaxed and motioned me to the couch, leaned forward and handed me a mug of tea.
Leaning back, he smiled at me and said: “Wow! You cleaned up much better than I expected, Tiffany would be pleased if she were here. You pulled together a really cute outfit. I hope you’re OK with chamomile tea. I would offer something stronger, but I have to be at work early in the morning so no alcohol or caffeine for me tonight.”
I accepted the tea and thanked him, nervously perched on the edge of the sofa, embarrassingly aware that Tiffany’s fluffy yellow sweater’s open neckline was constantly showing one shoulder of the comfy girly yellow crop top, at all times.
Harry noticed that I was uncomfortable, smiled a friendly smile with beautiful white and perfect teeth, and continued: “Apologies for teasing you about Tiffany’s clothes. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I know today has been traumatic and I truly want you to relax. Please put your feet up on the couch and get comfortable.”
I nestled back into the couch, pulled my knees up and tucked my legs and feet to my right side, knees facing Harry, sitting side-saddle. Leaning on the armrest to my left, I cupped the chamomile tea, feeling its warmth and waiting for it to cool. Thankfully, in Harry’s ultra-masculine presence, my misbehaving penis went soft and limp and submitted to the compressed embrace of the silky yellow panties.
I guess Harry sensed my need for stillness, leaned back in his very expensive looking leather armchair and silently sipped his tea, patiently waiting for me to open up.
The silence dragged on for a bit and finally I asked him: “Why did you take those art classes?”
The girls at lunch debated this topic endlessly and I felt compelled to ask on their behalf.
In his velvety, masculine voice and with a wry smile, Harry said: “I always knew I wanted to go into marketing. I was fortunate to gain an internship the summer between graduation and starting my master’s degree. During that internship, I noted that the graphic artists were difficult to manage and were constantly blowing deadlines. When ask why, they always had excuses that no one really understood. I decided to take a digital artwork class as an elective, so I at least had a base knowledge. I explained this to the art professors, and they weren’t too happy about it. They made me take a sketching class first, and I had to at least pass that before they let me take the digital artwork class.”
“Did you enjoy the classes,” I asked.
Harry grinned: “I did, much more than I expected. Of course, I am pretty terrible at art, unlike you. Wow, some of your pieces were amazing!”
I couldn’t help but warmly blush with secret delight. With the ice broken, we talked and drank tea. I felt a warm soothing feeling wash over me, Harry’s strong, masculine presence reassuring, and the little pleasure neurons in my brain happily bouncing around.
As the evening turned to night, Harry glanced at his watch and said: “Apologies, I need to go to bed. I have an early day at the office tomorrow. You can stay here for a while and enjoy the fire. Please sleep in Tiffany’s room when you are ready. Tomorrow just hang-out here. There is some food in the fridge and pantry, feel free to eat/drink anything you like. When I get back from work tomorrow, we can talk about next steps.”
“I can’t impose on you. You’ve helped me out so much already,” I responded, embarrassed and feeling guilty.
With a gentle, affectionate smile Harry replied: “Casey, I’m glad I was there when you needed someone, please let me help you.”
With that he got up, adjusted the fire, and bid me a good night. As soon as Harry left, my previously inactive penis started swelling, thankfully the tight satiny yellow panties prevented progress, so it frustratingly failed to achieve stiffness. I sat on the couch for quite a while, savouring the feeling of being clean and warm and safe. As the last bit of my tea grew cold, I took my mug to the kitchen and went upstairs to Tiffany’s room and closed the door.
I started getting undressed for bed and suddenly remembered all my clothes were threadbare. Sleeping “commando” in Tiffany’s beautiful and ultra-feminine pink bed with grey smooth designer sheets seemed disrespectful for some reason. I stood there in the girly grey running shorts and snug yellow crop top tee wondering what to do. My unruly penis continued to fight against the firm, yet comfortable embrace of the delicate yellow panties. I was afraid what would happen if I took the grey running shorts off, so I ended up just crawling into Tiffany’s bed.
Laying there, feeling clean, and smelling the aroma of the delicate girly skin products, the sensations of the luxurious smooth designer sheets gently caressing my soft skin and the soothing weight of the thick comforter pressing down, acutely aware of the girly clothes silky and erotic embrace, a pleasurable flood of dopamine filled my brain, and while the happy neurons frolicked, I quickly fell asleep.
I woke up the next morning feeling rested. Stretching, I pulled myself out of bed and put the dark-grey sweatpants and yellow fluffy sweater back on. Once again, my insubordinate penis was engaged in a losing battle to achieve stiffness with the snug silky yellow panties. I went down the stairs to the kitchen, but the apartment was empty. In the kitchen there was a note from Harry.
“Good Morning Casey. I hope you slept well. Feel free to rummage around and eat anything you like. The apartment is all yours today. If you want to do some exercise, Tiffany has some yoga videos and her yoga mat is in the closet on the living/dining floor. If you want to do some artwork, the dining area has the best light, there should be some leftover art supplies in the same closet as the yoga mat. I’ll be home after work and will bring something for dinner. Take today and relax and regroup — Harry”
I found some fibre cereal and Greek yogurt and fresh fruits for breakfast. It was nice to eat something healthy for a change. Harry was correct, the morning light in the dining area was perfect. After yesterday’s dark and gloomy skies followed by rain all afternoon and evening, there were no clouds today and the sun was glorious.
I was inspired and ran upstairs to grab my backpack. Returning to the dining area, I dumped my precious art supplies out on the table to organise them. Taking stock, I noticed with dismay, I was out of paper. Remembering Harry’s note, I went to the living/dining floor closet and rummaged for the art supplies he mentioned. Locating an art store tote bag, the very one I had worked at over the summer, containing art supplies, I took them to the dining table to inventory and smiled when I saw the art supplies were Harry’s from the sketching class we took together. He did have a sketch pad, with lots of paper available, which made me so happy. My pleasure neurons bounced around and dopamine flooded my senses, while my errant penis failed to escape the silky confines of the delicate yellow panties.
The loose sleeves of the fuzzy yellow sweater would only get in the way while I sketched, plus it was so pretty I did not want to risk getting it dirty, so I took the fluffy yellow sweater off and started drawing wearing the snug yellow crop top tee. As always when I’m really into my art, I went into a zone where time didn’t exist. Suddenly my tummy was complaining, and I looked up at the clock, it was past lunch.
I looked at my sketches and was pleased. I had completed an abstract scene of the Sheriff’s deputies when I opened the doors yesterday morning, it was jagged and rough and scary. I did a sombre grey and sad, “me from behind” as I dragged my broken suitcase towards the diner. The sketch of the bustling activity behind the counter at the diner felt positive and comfortable and full of life. My final sketch was of Harry’s expensive leather chair with the wood burning stove in the background, ultra-masculine and warm and cosy and safe, my pleasure neurons bouncing and a slight dopamine rush at the memory of last evening, and for some unknown reason, little butterflies fluttered in my tummy.
I stuffed all my art supplies in my backpack, carefully returned Harry’s art supplies to the tote bag and returned it to the closet. I found some hummus in the fridge along with some veggies, which I washed and cut and used to scoop and eat with the hummus, eating while studying and evaluating my sketches. After washing the dishes, I explored a little of the apartment and located the laundry machines in a closet off the hallway outside Tiffany’s bedroom. I felt uncomfortable going to Harry’s bedroom or downstairs to the garage, so stayed away.
Delighted with the laundry machines, I decided to wash all my clothes. I was getting a little warm running around the apartment in the dark-grey sweatpants. Without Harry around, I didn’t feel so self-conscious about wearing Tiffany’s girly clothes, so I took off the sweatpants, and did chores in the grey running shorts with yellow and pink accents and the cozy snug yellow crop top tee. Now that I had gotten used to how they fit, the girly clothes were surprisingly comfortable, the fabrics were silky smooth and lightweight, the running shorts playfully fluttering against my upper thighs with every movement, the satiny yellow panties imprisoning my penis, struggling to become stiff. The pleasure neurons happily bouncing along in a current of dopamine.
Once I got the laundry going, I thought about what I could do to thank Harry for all his kindness. I located the cleaning supplies and proceeded to vacuum, dust, and clean the townhouse, except for Harry’s room and the garage and whatever else was on that level.
While cleaning the townhouse, I thought about Harry’s note and the fact that I was wearing sport clothing and decided to try yoga. I found the pink yoga mat and the videos and figured out how to get the TV going.
The yoga instructor in the video was a slim and pretty Asian girl, with lustrous long black hair pulled back into a ponytail with a lavender scrunchy. She was wearing black skin-tight yoga pants and a lavender sport bra supporting her pert bosom. She had a soothing, warm voice, like honey. At first, I was super conscious of my girly clothes and how they felt against my soft skin as I moved through the poses, and my phallus was even more interested as it tried to swell and sought escape from my snug silky yellow panties.
Two positions in particular, Open Butterfly (laying on back with knees bent and legs spread wide) and Cow (hands and knees with legs spread wide while pressing tummy tummy down and derriere up) caused considerable agitation from my penis reacting to my delicate yellow panties crawling even tighter into my derrière. An hour later (one lesson), I was panting for breath and my muscles felt like water. This was way more difficult than I could have ever imagined.
Putting the yoga mat and DVDs back, I drank a lot of water and checked on the laundry. My clothes were clean, so I put them in the dryer and decided to take a shower. I realised my old clothes were drying and would not be ready for a while. Even though Harry wasn’t in the apartment, I felt uncomfortable going “commando” in my dark-grey sweatpants.
Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, I decided to choose something from Tiffany’s clothes before I took a shower.
I opened the closet and was assaulted with choices. Girls have so many options and I was a bit envious. There were dresses and skirts and blouses and jackets and slacks of every type of material and so many colours. I did see a pair of jeans that looked like they might fit. I happened to see a ivory-white turtleneck sweater as well. That could work. At least I would not have to worry about my shoulders being exposed. Now, what to do about underwear?
I found myself in front of Tiffany’s panty/bra drawer wondering if I dared. I had an epiphany that there wasn’t much difference between the built-in panties of the running shorts and girls’ panties, and I needed to accept, not only had I been wearing panties all day, but also Harry probably knew I was wearing panties last night when we sat and talked. I blushed at these thoughts and felt emasculated, strangely my pleasure neurons reacted strongly to these thoughts, bouncing excitedly while dopamine rushed in, and my subjugated penis strained against my silky yellow panties.
I opened the drawer to find panties for me to wear tonight. Knowing what to expect this time, I was still surprised how overwhelming the sight of all those feminine articles of clothing were. My detained phallus again fought to stiffen in my delicate yellow panties. I gingerly felt around the panty drawer looking for something simple and not dripping with lace. I was drawn to a pair of pearl-white satin string bikini panties with just a little frothy lace around the edges and a small white bow in the front. I was mesmerised and found myself picking them up, a silky material softer than any piece of clothing imaginable, and l closed the panty drawer, pleasure neurons bouncing on high alert while dopamine washed over me.
Trembling, I laid the feminine clothes out on the bed and went into the bathroom. As soon as my penis was released from my silky yellow panties of the grey running shorts, it immediately stiffened and started begging for attention. I jumped into the shower and used the girly products on my hair and body. I gave my phallus the relief it desperately wanted in the shower to avoid a mess. Cleaning myself thoroughly afterward, then turning off the water, I dried myself off and once again used Tiffany’s body lotion on my clean and fresh body.
I gingerly picked up the pearl-white satin string bikini panties with the frothy lace and cute little white bow, and slide them up my soft, freshly lotioned, legs. Pleasure neurons skittering about, dopamine crashing and my appendage swelling. I quickly restrained everything inside my silky pearl-white panties. The sensation was indescribably sensual, the wispy fabric gently, but firmly imprisoning my privates, while erotically caressing my perineum, and the dainty lace gently and lovingly tickling my soft skin. I felt tingly sensations all over my body and pleasure neurons were careening with happiness, in a dopamine tidal wave. I put on my coral-peach silky bath robe, dried and brushed my hair, then pulling it back into a ponytail using a white scrunchie. I decided to trim my fingernails and found a manicure kit, even experimenting with the nail file and finishing off with hand lotion.
Back to the bedroom, I tried on the stylish jeans and soft ivory-white turtleneck sweater. The jeans were skin-tight and took it some effort sliding them on and fastening them. Once on, they clung to my legs and derrière like a second skin, the cut of the jeans seemingly spreading my derrière cheeks apart a bit. My pearl-white satin string bikini panties aided by the skin-tight jeans were constraining my member so tightly, it was practically unnoticeable. The fuzzy ivory-white turtleneck was soft and warm and felt heavenly.
I heard someone downstairs, and Harry’s husky familiar voice called out: “Casey, I’m home.”
