LOSING CONTROL OF MY LIFE by missyoujayne

Hi …. I’m Patrick and 50 years old. Throughout virtually all my adult life I’ve worked as an admin pen-pusher of one sort or another, with the last few years being at Sloth County Hall. Although I’m a “Mr. Average” with an average income, my wife (Debbie) and I live with our three teenage children in a beautiful, large home, almost a mansion, in a prestigious suburb along the bay. My children are being privately tutored, and we own two new BMWs.Although my wife rarely works nowadays, it was her endeavours which helped us achieve this lofty status. Most of her time during her 30’s years, plus a year or two either side, and apart from the obvious three pregnancies, she worked as a private consultant, which was an occupation she seemed to have greatly enjoyed. In truth, I was never quite comfortable with her often being away from home, sometimes for several days at a time, especially with having to leave our infant and growing children in the juggling hands of my sister and I.

Still, the on-site consultancy and the seminars she conducted all paid exceedingly well, and filled our coffers to near overflowing. But despite it turbocharging our financial situation, I was relieved when she finally called it quits.

My work has almost always been based around boring admin, where office politics and gossip often run rife. Although I don’t really care what other people say behind my back, I seem to have always been plagued with furtive accusations of being gay, or a masochist, and at one particular stint in an office down town, I received feedback that the rumour-mill had labelled me as a sissy, wimp cuckold. Of course, there was never any substance to this malicious gossip, but sometimes mud sticks and can wear you down.

The only concession I’ll make in self-analysing my personality is …. I’m probably not very assertive. It’s not that I don’t have strong principles. It’s more like an aversion to conflict.

Anyways, I apologise if my rambling, context landscape was too mundane, but I felt it necessary, so you can fully appreciate the gravity of the series of events which occurred around 20 years ago, when I’d just turned 30 ……

Back then, after 5 years of marriage, my wife Debbie, who was then 28, was getting crazy to start having babies, and why she insisted we buy our first home. She wanted a secure and permanent base for our inevitable offspring.

So, after lots of debate and searching, our savings and budget found us with a mortgage on a cheap, 2 bedroom place in the run-down side of town. But it was a committed step onto the property ladder, and with its decent back garden and large, detached garage, at least I’d have my own private man-cave. Many of the other homes in the area were renters, owned by penny-pinching landlords who only did basic maintenance. The homes either side were rentals, with a young couple with two kids on one side, and old Mrs. Hodgeson on the other. After 3 months, we were only on passing terms with the young couple who were wrapped up in their own lives. But we were devastated when Mrs. H. moved out to go into a nursing home. We’d grown very fond of the old girl next door.

It meant we’d be getting a new neighbour.

……………………

I was shocked and dismayed when I saw Kevin pacing back and forth in the entrance to next door’s driveway. Years ago in college he’d been a manipulative and vindictive bully, and I hoped I would never see him again. He was big and imposing and had frequently terrorized the other students. I’d seen him dish out severe beatings to those who tried to buck against his outrageous and carnal harassment. He was half insane and overtly depraved …. An immoral and deranged psychopath. Male or female, pussy or ass, it didn’t seem to matter to him. So when it was my turn to sample his perverse brand of torment, I’d simply caved in from the start. He then took it for granted I was his to command, and for several weeks I was his very personal slave. I reasoned it was better than black and blue beatings, so I’d served him however he wanted. I thanked the Lord when he eventually got bored of our ‘alliance’, and found someone new to go torment. It was bliss to be finally left alone.

……………

As I watched Kevin’s constant pacing in next door’s driveway, a random glance caught me watching from my veranda and he waved his arm, beckoning me to come join him.

I daren’t simply ignore him ….. Who knows what kind of backlash that may have caused? So, after a deep breath to steel my nerves, I reluctantly sauntered across to stand near him. Surprisingly, he didn’t recognise me at first, as he told me his name and informed me he’d be my neighbour for the next 6 months.

Then, as we talking, his polite eye-to-eye suddenly became intense, and as he studied my features a broad grin broke out across his face.

“I know you… you’re Pinky from Drums Leigh College. Weren’t you the one I used to….”

I inwardly cringed at being reminded of the torment I’d endured during the time we were together in college.

“Those days are long gone, Kevin. My name is Patrick, and would appreciate being addressed as such,” hoping my blunt interruption and forthright statement would put our past interactions behind.

“Pinky Patrick with his silky pink panties. I remember now. I bet you’ve still got them, huh?”

I swung my head around to see if anyone was in earshot, my panic a dead giveaway.

“So, you do still have them, you pervert. And I bet you still wear them, huh?.”

“No, you don’t understand. I only had them because it was an adolescent thing. A souvenir from my first love.”

“So why did you used to wear them in college then?”

“I didn’t wear them. Someone found them in my sports-bag one time and I was .. persuaded .. to put them on in the showers after training. But it was only that one time.”

“Oh yeah. You put them on, then as I recall you…..”

“Look Kevin.” I jumped in to stop his flow. “That was a long time ago. Just let it drop, yeah?” as I attempted my most assertive tone.

I couldn’t allow him to perceive my unease at having, yet again, to contend with this towering hulk of a man who I knew was mentally unstable. He’d controlled my life and caused too much misery and humiliation in the past. I now had a wife and mortgage for goodness sake. I’d moved on. I was worried Kevin may consider other thoughts.

“My removal van is here, Pinky. But I’ll see more of you later, I’m sure.”

I retreated is despair. My only hope was to try and avoid this nasty piece of work for the next six months.

……………………………………..

When it had been my 18th birthday, my parents had insisted on throwing a lavish party, and most of my family were there, including my dear Aunt Molly. When the alcohol flowed and tongues became loose, it inadvertently and embarrassingly came to her knowledge that I was still a virgin. In her merry state due to too many vodkas, she privately told me she’d personally rectify the situation. And she did, exactly three days later. Despite being 42, which seemed quite old to me at the time, she was an absolute wildcat in the sack, and always the initiator and dominant partner during our 6 months passionate and animalistic affair. She always wore pink panties, and many times I watched her slide them down her long, slim legs to reveal her perfectly shaved pussy which would soon be riding my cock. I never masturbated during those glorious, summer months. I never had to, because hardly ever three days went by without me being used as a sex toy by my dear, sweet Aunt Molly. Sadly our debauched fling had to end when my end-of-senior break was over and it was time to go away to start college. Looking back, it is probably just as well, because she was steering me down a very perverted path. We had reached a point where she would routinely tie my outstretched arms to the sides of the bed so she was free to use me however she wanted. Then, during the last couple of weeks of our ‘sessions’, she’d started to insist I was installed with a butt plug, to get me broken-in, she explained, for what ‘other games’ she had planned. One time, with a butt plug inserted and my legs tied together while she was riding my cock, she pushed her pink panties into my mouth. Then, riding me harder to bring me near climax, she started hard-slapping my face. “Don’t you dare cum in me” she hissed, “Don’t you dare cum in there or I’ll fuck you like a bitch with my strap-on”. I convulsed and erupted just a few seconds later, fully conscious of her ominous threat. I was never to find out if she was serious, because college was looming and our debauched fling had to end. She did give me a pair of fine-silk, pink panties as a parting gift though. They had become a mind-set, a trigger, where if I saw a pair, I would become aroused, associating them with being dominated, tied and gloriously ravished to climax. Unfortunately, it then became a habit to wear them whilst masturbating, which I frequently did when on my own in my dorm at college. I’d fantasize about being tied and sexually used and abused, and what Aunt Molly may have had in her plans. This only reinforced the association between the sight and feel of pink panties and perverted arousal and the absolute best orgasms ever.

They were my Achilles Heel.

……………………………………….

MONDAY

A week after Kevin moved in, I came home from work on Monday evening to hear my wife announce we’d been invited to his house warming party.