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madetoobey 31 Stories 298 Followers
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THE LAD IN THE LINGERIE SHOP CH. 06
STORY INFO
Robert does as he's told.
2.6k words
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madetoobey
madetoobey
31 Stories298 Followers
By now, I'd been working at "The Lingerie Emporium" for almost six
months and was beginning to wonder if I'd still be kept on when that
time was up. I rather hoped I would be. I'd got used to being a part of
the team.

One morning, Mrs Ferguson called me in to her office and asked me to
drive her to Sheffield so that she and I could look over some samples of
lingerie a would-be supplier wanted to sell to her.

"Edna will need to be in the store, Anita can handle the post and I'd
welcome your opinion on the quality of the finish and the stitching.
Besides, I don't like driving in Sheffield; I'd rather someone else did.
You don't mind do you?"

The factory wasn't actually in Sheffield but on a small industrial
estate some 5 miles outside.

The manager, a rather officious, moustachioed chap, greeted Joyce warmly
but, when being introduced to me gave me a rather snivelling look.

"He's an expert in ladies underwear is he?" he asked Mrs Ferguson,
perhaps trying to be humorous but sounding dismissive: he looked at me
as like I was a piece of dirt. Joyce ignored him or perhaps pretended
not to hear.

As he showed us around the sewing-room floor, I noticed that, in the
main, the machinists were making shirts and blouses: I took a finished
shirt off a rack and had a good look at the stitching. The manager shot
me a look of disapproval and snatched the shirt out of my hand and
placed it back on the rack.

"It's this way to the ladies underwear if you'd like to follow me."

As I caught up with them I could see that the knickers were being made
on basic, pedal-operated sewing-machines whereas the shirts and blouses
were being made using the more advanced "serger" type, multi-spooled
machines. This didn't necessarily mean the knickers would be made to a
lower standard, but they would be more prone to human error, the process
being less automated than items made on a serger.

The manager handed Mrs Ferguson a pair of white briefs and she, after a
quick glimpse, handed them on to me to inspect.

"And the trade price for these?" Mrs Ferguson asked.

The manager started reeling off some figures and going on about
discounts and bulk orders. Mrs Ferguson simply nodded, taking in all he
was saying but showing no sign of approval or otherwise.

"What do you think Robert?" she asked. The manager looked at me
examining the gusset and feeling the edges and seemed disquieted by my
inspection.

"Well Mrs Ferguson, the fabric looks as though it's merely the off-cuts
from the stuff left over from the blouse making and, look here..." I
placed the briefs nearer to her and stretched the cloth hither-and-thither.

"See, the stitching is coming away. We'd have these returned as shoddy
by our customers."

The manager huffed and was about to try and mount a defence; make out a
man of my age couldn't (and shouldn't perhaps) know anything about
ladies' briefs but I spoke again before he could muster his argument.

"Look here," I now showed him the garment, "you're using thread that's
too thin. You could get away with using it on shirt-buttons, but not on
a gusset that gets continuous stretching, you need thicker cotton. Also,
you should be using a closer stitch. I couldn't possibly recommend we
bought these. It looks like you're manufacturing them on the cheap,
simply to use up the fabric from your shirts and blouses"

The smile on Mrs Ferguson's face as we drove back from the factory was
plain to see. I knew she was one smart cookie for all her gentle,
lady-like demeanour. I'd heard her dealing with people on the 'phone:
she always seemed to get her way. I doubt she'd have bought anything
from that manufacturer even if I'd not accompanied her.

"I guessed they'd try and pass on low-grade stuff Robert, but I was keen
to see just how well you were able to judge the quality; you didn't let
me down."

"My grandma - and Mr. Holroyd- taught me well," I allowed myself to brag.

"And do you know what particularly pleased me? You said "we" and "our"
when referring to 'The Lingerie Emporium'. You seem to have fitted in
nicely Robert; you've done well these 6 months."

The next day, she handed me a formal contract of employment which I
signed. As I leant over the desk to put pen to paper, I could feel the
delicious tug of the slim gusset of the pink panties I was wearing
rubbing into my bottom as though to emphasise how at home I felt working
there.

"I guess that properly makes you one of the girls now," Joyce - Mrs
Ferguson - joked.

How true that was!

It had been over 3 weeks since Anita had forced me into wearing panties
to work and, true to her word, she'd not mentioned it to anyone else. I
knew at some stage she would want to use her knowledge of my fetish to
further embarrass me but not knowing what or when kind of added to my
already heightened sense of both humiliation and excitement. I was on
tenterhooks whenever she approached me when we were alone together.

It was early one Wednesday morning when she made her move - giving me
the rest of the day to luxuriate over her half-revealed scheme.

"Here, Robert, take this. I bought it especially for you."

I took the little box off her and placed it in my jacket pocket. It was
"Immac" hair remover.

"I want you to use it to remove all the hair from your legs; you must
buy more if that's not enough. A week next Saturday, Mum's going away at
the weekend 'til the Monday. I want you to come to our house with your
legs totally hairless - and your forearms too - got that? Totally smooth."

"But why: what for?"

"You'll find out. Just do as I say my little Roberta okay?"

I had to agree and nodded to show I understood and would obey.

"Oh, make sure you remove your pubic-hairs too. I don't want to see the
Amazon forest down there. Got that? You'll love the treat I've got in
store for you."

I enjoyed the anticipation that's for sure. You didn't need to be
Einstein to realise that having smooth legs was a prelude to being made
to wear stockings. Shaving my pubic-hair clearly meant that she'd be
making me wear more lingerie. Perhaps she might want us to have sex too.
I'd not had sex since Angie finished with me and I was aching to show
Anita just what a good lover I was, whether in stockings and knickers or
in the nude.

Most evenings since starting at "The Lingerie Emporium", I would go out
for a 6 or 7 mile run trying to lose the extra weight I'd put on during
my lazy year on the dole. I also had a heavy punch-bag hanging in the
otherwise empty garage of my flat and I'd started training on this
again. I was glad I had as I knew that when Anita saw me in the nude (or
at least in my panties), she'd be impressed by my hard-trained, fit torso.

The great thing about jogging on one's own is that it gives you a chance
to mull over events; to analyse your life and where you're at. So it was
that, that evening after Anita gave me the "Immac", I pondered events
and just what was happening to me that I was now a pantie-wearing
ladies' underwear shop-worker who was taking orders from a younger woman.

By the time I'd covered about 4 miles of the endless uphill and downhill
roads of the West Riding Pennine slopes, I'd reached a sort-of
conclusion. I had no brothers or sisters, uncles or aunts and, since my
grandparents died, no family whatsoever. So there was no one close to me
who could reprove me or be ashamed by my cross-dressing, so why not
enjoy the thrill the inner-me got from it? Furthermore, the friends I'd
made at school and at Holroyd's I hardly ever saw nowadays: I guess my
new job caused me to isolate: to be a bit of a recluse, which in a way
made my preparedness to accept my feminine side easier to do. I didn't
have to play the macho-man: I wasn't hurting anyone.

If others wanted to only indulge in straight, text-book sex - then let
them, but I didn't have to follow suit. Besides, they probably all
got-off to the sexual exploits of others depicted in 'The News of the
World' and the like. Who were they to judge me for stepping out of the
'vanilla' spectrum?