Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 08

"Thank you ma'am. What? No, I'm all right; it's just a little hot in here, that's all. Good night." Then to Jane, "One moment please, ma'am." His voice at a distance, saying, "I'll lock up. Good night, Mr. Nevin."

Silence for a moment, then his voice again: "I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't seem to have that book."

"Well, that's all right," Jane purred, her voice breathy. "Actually, I'm wearing some very nice panties right now that I'd love to show you. If you're done with work why don't you drop by? I'll lift up my dress for you, and if you like my panties maybe I'll take them off..." she pulled the mouthpiece of the phone very close and whispered, "and rub your cock with them. Your girlfriend won't mind, will she?"

"Um...I don't think so. She often brings other girls to her house for me to play with."

"Meet me at the end of the driveway."

After hanging up the phone Jane thought quickly. Peter would be there soon but it was already getting late. They really shouldn't be doing this at all but Jane really wanted to see him again before she left...and wanted to do something special for him to think about while she was gone.

Despite what she'd said to Peter, the panties she was wearing under her summer dress were an old pair and not very attractive. She went over and opened her underwear drawer to see if she could find something nice that he hadn't seen before. As she rustled through the various bright-colored fabrics she spotted a pair in a back corner, and paused to look at them.

She had bought them on impulse because she'd liked the design--a shiny red fabric swirled with black and trimmed with a little black lace--and had thought that Peter would like them too, of course. But she had misread the label, apparently, because when she'd gotten around to trying them on they were too large for her, and being in a hurry that day she had simply stuffed them into the back of the drawer and grabbed a different pair. But now she held them out in front of her and stared at them thoughtfully...

Then she snapped her fingers and began pulling off her clothes. It was time for a little table-turning--if she could find everything needed.

She had told her parents she was all packed and was just going for a short walk before bed--all of which was true. Her mother had suggested that she put on some insect repellent and Jane was very glad she had done so. She'd slathered herself with it from head to toe and even though it smelled terrible she was glad to be wearing it. Especially since she wasn't wearing that much else, and she could hear the buzz of winged insects all around her. She had been wearing the same summer dress as before when she left the house, carrying a few things in a grocery bag, and walked down to the end of the driveway, but that dress was now folded and lying, along with her sandals, at the base of the tree she was hiding behind as she waited for Peter to arrive.

Now that she was actually about to do what she'd planned she couldn't decide whether she looked sexy or really stupid. But she knew that whatever happened next would be memorable.

It was already dark when Peter's car pulled into the driveway, drove past where Jane was hiding and stopped just around the curve where it wouldn't be seen from the road. Jane immediately stepped into the driveway from behind her tree and crept up to the car, stopping just behind the driver's side door. And before Peter had a chance to turn off the ignition she stuck her gun in the open window so that it touched his temple, making him jump.

Using the same low, seductive voice she'd used on the phone, she said, "Alright, Panty Boy, hold it right there. Keep your hands on the wheel."

Peter recovered quickly from his initial surprise and played along, as Jane had expected, saying nothing and keeping his hands on the wheel as instructed.

Keeping her gun in place she said, "Turn off the engine. But leave the lights on." When he had done so, she removed the gun, saying, "Get out. Raise your hands. And go stand where I can see you."

She faded back into the darkness as he opened the car door and stepped out, raising his hands. She watched him walk to the point where the beams from the headlights converged, watched him turn slowly around. She was too near-sighted to see his facial expression from where she stood, and wondered if he was smiling. He was still dressed for work in a short-sleeved white shirt and tie and dark pants.

But not for long.

"All right, Panty Boy, take off your clothes." When he hesitated she added, "Now. Put them on the hood."

Peter did as he was told, playing it completely seriously, slowly lowering his hands and removing his tie, shirt and undershirt and stepping forward to lay them on the car hood, then stepping back into the light to repeat the process with his shoes and socks, and finally his pants and underwear. When he was completely naked he stood in the light and placed his hands--and Jane was sure he must be smiling at least to himself as he did so--behind his head.

Jane allowed herself a few moments to enjoy the sight. She didn't want to take too long, not least because she knew Peter wasn't wearing any insect repellent--although considering some of the things he'd put her through a few bug bites was a small price to pay, she thought. She loved looking at him, his well-shaped body, the dark hair on his chest and in his armpits and groin. His cock nestled in its bed of wiry hairs, unaroused--as yet.

"Put these on, Panty Boy," she said, tossing him the red panties she'd been carrying wadded up in her other hand. They fell a few feet in front of him, and she watched as retrieved and unrolled them, holding them out in the light with both hands. Oh, how she wished she could make out his facial expression right now!

"I didn't say look at them, I said put them on, Panty Boy. Go on. And then put your hands back where they were."

She watched as he slowly lowered, then stepped into them and pulled them up to his waist, then returned his hands to behind his head. As she'd hoped, the panties fit him well. They were somewhat on the snug side, but Jane had no problem at all with that.

Again she allowed herself a few moments to enjoy the sight of him dressed only in her shiny red and black panties.

Then she walked forward, past the car and stepped between the headlights where there was just enough light so he could see her. She hoped he wouldn't laugh and spoil the mood.

On her feet were red leather cowgirl boots with white tooling and tassels. She'd had them since she was eight years old and she'd had to dig way to the back in her closet to find them. She'd been amazed she'd still been able to get her feet into them--though she doubted she'd be able to walk far, they were so tight on her feet. Around her waist was the matching red leather holstered gun-belt, complete with silvery pearl-handled cap pistols, a little rusty from having once been left out in the rain, one of which she held pointed at him. For lack of a better disguise she was wearing a red and white bandana--with ragged eyeholes she'd hurriedly cut out--tied over the upper half of her face.

And, completing the ensemble, a lacey set of bra and panties in black.

She watched his face anxiously for any hint of amusement, but his expression remained impassive as he looked at her. As she allowed her gaze to move downward, however, she saw the definite beginnings of a reaction taking shape in the front of the panties he was wearing.

Good.

She sauntered forward, keeping the pistol pointed at him while with her left hand she drew the other from its holster. When she reached him she put the tip of the left-hand pistol against his chest and looked into his eyes in what she hoped was a believably menacing manner. Then she deliberately shifted her gaze downward to where the bulge in the front of his panties was taking a much more definite and recognizable shape.

"You really are a Panty Boy, aren't you?" she purred. She reached down and with the tip of the pistol in her right hand stroked his erection lightly, once, from bottom to top. It stiffened noticeably. She glanced up and saw him staring, fascinated, at what she was doing, his breathing becoming a little faster. She teased him some more, using the tip of the pistol to trace the outline of his erection through the fabric, then lowered it and used the gun-sight to tickle his balls. Soon the head of his cock was straining, in what looked to Jane like a somewhat painful manner, to escape the lacey elastic waistband of the panties.

She smiled up at him. "Looks like somebody wants to come out and play." She worked the tip of her gun under the waistband and pulled the elastic out just far enough for the head of his cock to pop free--then she pulled it out even farther, as far as she could, and let it snap back against his cock. Peter let out a short huff of breath.

"Well, that's just too bad, Panty Boy. Now turn around--let's see how cute your behind looks." As soon he had turned his back to her Jane moved silently back to the car, replacing the guns in their holsters as she did so.

She picked up his pants from the hood and started going through his pockets. Working as quietly as possible she put his belt, wallet, comb, change and assorted bits of paper on the hood then, still holding his pants, turned back towards him.

"I have a message from your girlfriend," she said. "She wants to be sure you don't forget her while she's away. So you're going to keep those panties on, night and day, until she gets back--got it, Panty Boy?"

She smiled as she saw him nod, the back of his head with his hands still linked behind it bobbing once. He hadn't spoken once since he'd arrived.

"And another thing--you're not allowed to touch yourself while she's gone." She could imagine his eyebrows rising in that comical way he had. "That's right, Panty Boy--you save it all for her. Got it?"

Again, the single bob of the head.

Jane picked up the rest of his clothes and, leaving his shoes, belt and the items from his pockets on the hood, stepped quietly back towards the car door. "Good. Have a nice drive home, Panty Boy." And with that she reached into the car, shut off the headlights, and vanished into the darkness--leaving Peter to fumble his way back to the car and drive home wearing nothing but his shoes and her panties.

Chapter Forty-Four

She couldn't get herself to write his name. Chrissy knew what it was, but writing it down, or even just thinking it consciously, was to acknowledge who he wasn't. If he was just Jane's friend, then he could also somehow be someone else: a different, separate person who was Father Brian.

It was after midnight. She sat at her desk in near-darkness, the only illumination a small candle so that anyone passing her room on the way to the bathroom would see no telltale glow under her door.

Her head ached. She knew that Jane's friend was now her only chance of seeing Father Brian, and she had thought of a plan, but it wouldn't work if she couldn't write his name. She looked down at the note she had so painfully composed. She compared the handwriting to Jane's on the original note she'd given to Chrissy. Close enough, she was sure...but would he believe what she had written? She didn't know how they spoke to each other; did Jane call him 'Honey' or 'Sweetie' or some other nickname Chrissy didn't know? She didn't dare take a chance of getting it wrong so she had to write his name--at the very least she'd have to put it on the envelope. But she couldn't...

She lay her head down on her arms. She knew she was taking a terrible risk: even if she convinced Jane's friend to let her meet with Father Brian while Jane was away, how could she keep Jane from finding out about it when she got back? Sweet Mother of God, those pictures!

She didn't care. God wanted her to be purified. He would protect her from the consequences. If she could just write his name... It was so maddening to be blocked by such a simple task. She wished she could get someone else to write it for her, but of course then she'd have to say what she wanted them to write...no.

Suddenly she raised her head. Someone else...

She jumped up, went to her bookshelves, grabbed her new high-school yearbook and brought it back to her desk. Not even taking time to sit down she opened the book at random, glancing at the names of students and faculty as she flipped through the pages. About two-thirds of the way through she found it: Fenton, Peter--Shop Teacher. There! She wouldn't write his name, she'd write Mr. Fenton's first name! She put her hand over her mouth as she began to giggle uncontrollably.

It was a long time before she could get herself to stop, and when she did she listened anxiously for a long time to be sure no one had heard her. But the house was silent. And now it was time to go.

She sat down long enough to write...the name...onto the envelope in what she hoped looked like Jane's handwriting, her left hand covering her mouth the whole time as a precaution, then took a last look at the note before sealing it in the envelope. She had kept it as simple as she could, but there were so many little things that could be wrong! No. It would be all right. God wanted this for her, and her plan would work.

She tiptoed downstairs and out the back door to where she had hidden her bicycle in some bushes. Driving would have been a lot easier--she had a long way to go--but she couldn't risk the noise of starting the car. She walked her bike around the house and down to the end of the driveway before hopping on and pedaling down the street, the small light between the handlebars creating a dim, wavering path through the darkness.

When Peter got into his car the next morning he found an envelope with his name on it on the seat. He opened it and read, "Chrissy needs to see Father Brian right away. I left an extra key to the house for her and said he would meet her there at the same time as before. Love, Jane".

He read it over several times, frowning. How had Jane been able to drop off the note between the time they left each other last night and the time she and her family had left early this morning?

His mouth quirked as he recalled having to wait in his car until he saw all the lights go out in the house so he wouldn't be seen sneaking in dressed only in a pair of panties (which, as ordered, he was still wearing under his clothes that morning) and carrying his shoes and possessions in his hands.

The message itself was strange too. Referring to Father Brian as "he". No little jokes about behaving himself with Chrissy while Jane wasn't there to keep an eye on him. And if this meeting had been in the works why hadn't Jane mentioned it? They had talked about it some time ago, but nothing recently. Hmm... The only thing he could think of was that maybe Chrissy had called Jane after she'd got back to the house last night and Jane had written the note in a hurry and (illegally) driven over to drop it off.

He shrugged and placed the note on the seat beside him. There was only one way to find out, and not until tomorrow. He started the car and drove off to work, wondering what Jane had gotten him into now.

When Jane and her parents arrived at the cabin they were wilted from the heat and the long drive. Despite their early start there had still been a great deal of traffic and the directions to the cabin had been less than precise so it had been nearly noon when they finally got there.

The cabin had been closed up since the previous winter and was dark and musty inside but once they got the shutters off and opened the windows the sea breeze freshened the air quickly. They ate a picnic lunch in the tiny kitchen then drove into town to buy food and supplies. After getting the cabin cleaned up and organized they spent a few hours on the beach, occasionally wading into the cool blue water but mostly just lying on their blanket soaking up sun.

After supper Jane asked if it would be all right if she called Peter to let him know they'd arrived safely. But when she picked up the phone there was no dial tone.

"That's odd," her mother said when Jane told her. "Mr. Jameson told me he'd have the phone turned on for us. Well, I guess we'll have to drive into town tomorrow and call him from a pay phone. I have some questions about what he wants me to write. Sorry dear, maybe you can call him tomorrow."

The next morning, after spending a few hours on the beach Jane and her mother drove into town to find a payphone while Jane's father prepared lunch. They found a phone booth but it did neither of them much good. There was no answer at either the Jameson's or at Peter's house. "Guess they're all at church," Jane's mother decided. "Well, we can survive until tomorrow, I guess. You can call Peter at work and I'll call Mr. Jameson at the paper."

Jane agreed, mostly because there didn't seem to be anything else to be done. But she couldn't help wondering where Peter had gone on a Sunday morning.

It wasn't to church--of that she was certain.

Chapter Forty-Five

Chrissy sat in her car outside Jane's house, watching and listening. Jane had said they would all be gone but Chrissy had to be absolutely sure. She drew a quavering breath and held it as long as she could. Nothing but birdsong and an airplane flying high overhead.

She opened the car door and stepped out, staggering slightly as she stood up. She hadn't slept at all the night before and not much the night before that, even though she'd been exhausted from her long bicycle ride to his house and back. She had just come from church, where she had been so tired and tense and preoccupied that one of her friends in the choir had had to nudge her two different times when they were supposed to stand and sing.

And now she was about to do an awful thing, something that would get her in terrible trouble if she were found out. But she had to do it. She made her way to the front door and, as a final test, rang the doorbell several times. Nothing. She looked around furtively, as if expecting someone to be spying on her from the nearby trees, then opened her purse and took out a big set of keys on a ring.

They were her Uncle Finn's collection of skeleton keys--and she had taken them from his locker at the police station without telling him. She, the daughter and niece of police officers, was about to break into a house. Her hands were shaking. She wanted to stuff the keys back into her purse, run to her car and get away from there as fast as she could.

But she stood there, taking deep breaths to calm herself. It was all right, she wasn't going to steal anything. It was a small sin in service of a much higher purpose. God knew that.

She isolated a number of keys that looked as though they might fit into the old-fashioned lock. She found several of them that did fit, but wouldn't turn. Her anxiety began growing again. Father Brian would be there soon--she had to get in!

The fifth key opened the lock as if it had been made specifically for it. Chrissy looked all around one more time before hurrying inside and closing the door behind her, making sure it didn't lock again. Taking only a moment to orient herself she hurried upstairs.

The first room she came to was Jane's, judging by the single bed and the records, stuffed animals and other teenager's items scattered around. Chrissy looked at the table beside the bed then opened a couple of bureau drawers and looked inside. No. She hurried out and down the hall to Jane's parents' room.

Ah! There it was on the bedside table! She picked up the sleep-mask and made her way downstairs again, practically running now. She clattered down the basement stairs. When she reached the bottom she stopped to catch her breath. Almost ready. She put her purse down on the couch and looked around. Everything there seemed to be as it was before.