I know I have issues and have started going to therapy for these. My therapist is an athletic woman in her mid-40s, and I’m about the same age. She always wears tight-fitting skirts and blouses to match. I always enjoyed this as she is quite attractive and a good conversationalist. After attending therapy and discussing many things, she recommended I join a gym and exercise more regularly.

I blushed and asked, “Do I have to?”

She looked at me over her glasses. “You don’t have to. But it would be a good idea. Is there any reason you are reluctant to go to a gym?”

Blushing and squirming in my seat. I remained quiet.

“I sense there is a story there, something you need to tell me, maybe?”

I looked at her. “Is it OK to go to a gym and not use their locker room or shower?” I asked, feeling my face burning.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Hygiene is important.”

I yelled, “I can shower at home and bring clean indoor shoes. I’m just not fond of locker rooms or public showers.”

She looked up from her notes, put her pencil down, and smiled reassuringly. “Tell me, what makes you uncomfortable with locker rooms?”

I was still blushing and squirming in my seat. “It is an embarrassing story, and I’m afraid to tell it.”

She nodded. “You know you can trust me, right? Everything you say here is confidential. You know that, right? And for me to help you, I need to know.”

Tears were threatening to come pouring out. “OK, you promise?” She nodded reassuringly, and I said, “When I went to school, I had PE in the last class of the day on Friday. It was my turn to help tidy up after class, so I was the last in the locker room. I didn’t think much of it, as this had happened several times before. I changed out of my gym clothes and went to the shower.

“As I was shampooing my hair, someone grabbed my arms and pulled me backward, pinning my arms against them. They dragged me out of the locker room, where everyone in my class and the lower grade pointed and laughed. One of my friends yelled, ‘See, I told you he had a tiny dick!’ I was crying and trying to cover myself or squirm away, But one more guy grabbed my arms, holding me prone.”

The therapist gasped. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry that happened to you!”

She held out a box of tissues and asked if I needed one. I was crying, grabbed one, wiped my eyes, and looked at her.

“What happened next?” she asked.

“As they all pointed and laughed and yelled that I had a tiny dick, I cried and tried to struggle against them. I was also getting hard. My little dick normally is just a nub that points straight out. But it grows to about twice that, and someone giggled, ‘Ewww, I think he likes it! That little thing is getting hard!’

“The two boys who held me let go in disgust, and I covered myself and ran to the shower for my towel. I cried in the shower as the teacher came in. ‘Time to go, kid. You can’t hang out in here all weekend,’ he said. So I went to my locker and started getting dressed. My underwear was missing. There was only a pair of girl’s panties—pink ones—someone had replaced them.

“Humiliated, I got dressed and left. The teacher locked the door behind me, oblivious to my crying. ‘Have a good weekend,’ he said as I walked by. I walked home, embarrassed and exhausted. Behind me, a voice shouted for me to wait. It was Ashley, the girl I had a Crush on. They ran to catch up. ‘I’m sorry, that was a little mean what we did,’ she said. ‘Are you OK?’

“Wiping my nose, I answered, ‘No! I’m not OK!’ I felt them digging into my backpack as I walked. I didn’t care. When I got home, I was so humiliated I did not dare tell my parents. I dropped my gym clothes in the laundry and started doing my homework. At the bottom of my backpack were my underwear and a note. It read: ‘I’m Sorry. I hope my panties were comfortable.’”

The tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at the therapist.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you! Did you give her back those panties?”

I shook my head. “I wore them that entire weekend,” I said. “My boy’s underwear, well, never really fit me. It was like I might as well not wear any. I liked the support the panties gave me. The material was in contact with my peen and supported.”

A giggle escaped my therapist. “You were that small? I’m sorry! This was before puberty, right?”

I looked at her. “I wish. I was 18 when it happened the first time. It was my last year before college, and it happened two more times, and every Friday, my underwear was replaced with pink panties. Most of the time, ones with a little bow at the front.”

She wrote in her notes and looked at me. “When you look back at that, how do you feel? Fear? Shame?”

I looked at her, tears coming all over again. “I feel fear and shame. I feel um—”

“Yes? Tell me.”

“I feel hard. and turned-on too. I’m sorry!”

She looked up at me. “You feel turned on at your class pointing and laughing at your little dick?”

I nodded and blushed.

“How do you feel about the panties?” she asked while writing notes.

“I wore them all the time. I loved them. They are comfortable, a little embarrassing to wear, but they fit. Men’s underwear don’t. I washed them by hand, so no one would see I had them and hid them. The only time I didn’t wear them was for gym days.”

“So you kept them? But you told me you threw them out!” she looked shocked.

“What?”

Embarrassed, she looks at me. “Never mind!”

Horrified, I stormed out of her office.

*****

A week had passed since I learned that my therapist had been part of the group that had humiliated me in the locker room at school, and I found myself in her waiting room once more nervously waiting. The door opened, and her face popped out like s Jack in the Box. But with a nervous expression.

“Oh, there you are. I was afraid you’d not show up today! Please come in!” Ashley said.

Hesitantly I got up and walked miles and miles across the carpet to her office door and into her office. She closed the door behind me and smiled in a manner (I can only assume) that was intended to be reassuring.

“So last week, you most likely realized I changed my name when I got married, that I am a licensed therapist now, and that I was not the nicest to you while in school. I can’t believe you wore those panties more than once, though. I deliberately chose the girliest ones I had.”

I buried my face in my hands. My ears were burning already. “This is even more embarrassing than I thought. I was hoping it was just a horrible dream,” I said.

Ashley looked at me. “Are you wearing panties now?”

My hands were still covering my face as I nodded.

“Aww good, I always imagined your cute innocent little peepee would look cute in my panties,” Ashley said with a far too perky voice.

I looked at her through my fingers. “You thought it cute?”

She looked at me. “I know guys hate that word, but it was cute. My husband hated it when I called his dick cute, but he was way bigger than I remember you.”

I covered my face again. “You are making it worse! And was?”

Ashley put on her glasses. She looked so hot in those glasses. “Was. He is now my ex-husband. I caught him cheating on me and took him to the cleaners.”

Looking up again, I asked, “Have you never thought that you deserved him cheating after how you treated me back then?”

Nodding, she wrote in her notes. “You do have a point. But to be fair, I had not given your little peepee much thought since then. Well, not until I saw your name on my patient list.”

Looking at her, I had to ask, “Do you think that’s fair? The horrible things you did to me have haunted my dreams, nightmares, and fantasies. But to you, it is not even worth remembering.”

She looked up from her notes. “Again, you have a point. So you have dreams about it, nightmares about it, and fantasies about it?”

I nodded and looked away.

“What kind of fantasies? Sexual?”

Blushing, I nodded. With two fingers, Ashley made a masturbating movement.

“Do you, err, jerk off to those fantasies?”

I hid my face again. “Yes! I see your face in the crowd pointing and laughing, and I can’t stop. I get so turned on, and then I feel ashamed again!”

She looked at me with an expression of curiosity. “Do you get turned on by people laughing at your teeny peeny?”

Blushing, I nodded.

“Not sure I should feel guilty anymore,” Ashley said.

I was shocked and wanted to storm out.

“I do feel a little guilty, But not very. It wasn’t just me. Come on. Your dick is teeny-itsy-bitsy!”

I got up and started for the door.

“Do you want to book another appointment? We should spend more time exploring how to help you.”

I stopped, turned around, and looked at her, wanting to scream. I collected my thoughts.

“Do you want to be my therapist and help me, or just want to humiliate me?”

Ashley looked a bit taken aback. “I am here to help you. But it’s hard not to want to humiliate you too.”

She wiggled her pinky at me. I blushed and stormed out.

“See you next week!” she giggled as I stormed down the hall.

*****

I must be a glutton for punishment. Next week I was back in that waiting room. After a week of nightmares of being in the therapy session wearing only hot pink panties with a bow, I was humiliated waking up in the mornings. I was blushing before the appointment started.

The door opened, and I heard the comment, “I can tell I want to hear this!”

I almost left. Reluctantly I walked the miles across the waiting room and into her office.

“So, how have you been this last week?” she asked with an attempt at a reassuring smile.

I blushed. “I have had nightmares all week.”

“Oh? Do you remember these dreams? What did you dream?” she asked, looking at her notes.

“I had nightmares about coming here. About these appointments,” I almost whispered.

“You had nightmares about coming here? What did you dream?”

I blushed. “Do I have to tell you?”

“You don’t have to. But you may feel better if you do tell me.”

I hid my face in my hands and mumbled, “I dreamt that I was here in therapy, and Everything was normal, but when I looked down, I realized that I was only wearing panties, hot pink ones, with a bow on the front.”

“I’m sorry, you dreamt that? And what do you think that means?”

I looked at her, completely baffled. “I genuinely have no idea.”

She looked at me over her glasses. “Might it have to do with insecurities regarding your little peepee? And maybe to do with me having had you wear my panties after school as a child? Might it have to do with you enjoying wearing panties?”

I blush. I can only imagine a dark red. “It might, and panties offer better support than boxers for me.”

She smiled. “Oh, I bet they do! And I bet you do not even have a bulge while wearing them.”

I just sat there in shock, a tear rolling down my cheek.

“Maybe your goal should be to show confidence despite all you have been through, maybe eventually sitting here like in your dream, talking calmly with me?”

My jaw fell. “Have you not done enough? Now you want me to sit in front of you in this nightmare scenario?”

She just looked at me. “Taking ownership of that little thing and what comes with it might do you good.”

I cried and felt myself getting hard, making me cry even more. Ashley let me cry for a bit, and as my sobs slowed, she looked at me.

“Feel better after a cry? I know I feel better after I cry. I also know I would cry my eyes out If I were in your situation, so I think you are brave no matter what.”

I wiped my tears and looked at her, confused.

“Now, do you own pink panties with bows?”

I shook my head and tried to register what was going on. She went to her computer, and after a bit, she asked me over. On the screen were the panties I had seen in my nightmares.

“Are those the ones?” Ashley asked.

I nodded. “There, I ordered a few pairs for you. They will arrive in the Mail. Let me know when they are here and if they are comfy. See you next week?”

I looked at her. “I won’t be wearing only panties!”

Ashley smiled. “Aww, we can work our way up to that, don’t worry, little boy.”

I blushed and stormed out. Afraid, humiliated, and aroused. So very turned on.

*****

I genuinely thought the claim that she had ordered panties to be a joke, But a couple of days later, a package arrived at my door with the logo of a well-known lingerie company on the label. I opened the package, and there was not just one pair of these, But seven pairs of panties! I was mortified. Two hot pink pairs, two purple pairs, two black pairs, and one pair of white panties. All with a cute bow on them. The white and black panties had a pink bow, and the purple and pink panties had black bows. I was frightened!

And I was completely erect and turned on by this. The fabric was soft, and there was cute lace trimming. The panties looked rather pretty. I blushed as I touched myself holding them all. I gently messaged the tip of my little dingus with two fingers. Before I knew it, I was cumming, and I had not even pulled down my pants. I never need more than two fingers. I got undressed and showered. After my shower, I dressed and looked at the pile of brand-new panties. I grabbed the white pair and put it on. It fit perfectly and was so comfortable.

Once fully dressed, I made myself something to eat. Could not believe how comfortable these panties were. The next few days, I wore those panties but saved a pink pair for going to the therapist. I was humiliated and turned on by the idea of wearing them, and they were so very comfortable, and well, every part of me they would hide.

The panties were nice to wear under sweats or jeans. Sitting in the waiting room, I was nervous and a little aroused. As Ashley called me into her office, I hoped she would have forgotten about the panties. The session was mostly standard, going through my fears and working on managing them, learning coping skills, etc.

As I got up to leave, she smiled. “Did you get that package I ordered for you?”

I blushed a deep red and could only make myself nod.

“Are you wearing, well, you know?”

I nodded again and hid my face.

“May I see?”

I stammered, “D-do you h-have to?”

She nodded. I pulled the panty out a little to show over the line of my jeans.

“NOT like that,” she snapped.

And I jumped and started crying as I pulled my jeans down a little.

She smiled and pointed, “You may be crying, but the little guy there likes the attention.”

There was an ever so slight bulge from me getting an erection.

“May I pull my jeans back up?” I asked in what I quickly realized was a pathetic voice.

She smiled. “You may, but I like seeing you in that.”

That was all I heard as I was storming out of her office. I was unable to see much as the tears streamed down my face.

*****

After a week at home hiding from the world, I called the therapist’s office to cancel my appointment. Once that was done, I crawled back into bed. I slept, at times, was awake. If I had the energy, I would eat and maybe even shower. Then crawl right back to bed. After two weeks of this, the doorbell rang. I put on a robe and answered the door.

It was the therapist.

I just looked at her, unamused. “Are you here to make my life even worse?”

She shook her head. “No, I am trying to help you embrace your—shall we say—shortcomings?” I

I just shook my head. “Please pardon the mess.”

I had no fight left in me and just let her in.

“You need a shower and a meal,” she said sternly.

“What do you care?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “If I have to mother you back to health, I will. Now little boy! Do as mommy tells you. Off to the shower, and no getting out till mommy tells you!”

I stared at her, oddly aroused and yet very confused and humiliated. After about a minute, I shook my head and went to the bathroom.

“No locking that door! Mommy does not want you harming yourself.”

Blushing, I yelled, “Should I just leave the door open?”

“Yes, please,” I heard her voice from somewhere.

I was completely hard by this exchange, and I could not help but diddle with myself in the shower. I noticed the smell of food.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was mild and curious.

I looked up to see her smirking while I rubbed my hard nub. I was shocked and came as she looked at me with a look of amusement and yet disapproval. She giggled, grabbed a towel, and wrapped me in it.

“Did seeing me drive you over the edge?” she asked as I toweled off.

There was no point hiding from her. She had already seen it all.

“What do I call you now?” I asked.

She giggled. “Well, I think I will have to refer you to another therapist because I’m having fun mothering you, little boy.”

I looked at her, confused.

“Baby boy, you call me mommy and don’t worry. Mommy has seen little boys diddle themselves before. However, Mommy can no longer be your therapist.”

I nodded. “Do you have to tell whoever you refer me to about—” I looked down at my dick.

She smiled, handed me a pair of pink panties, and said, “Oh God, no! Then mommy would lose her license, and we can’t have that. Now be a good little boy and put these on.”

We sat down to eat, and she smiled at me.

“You realize Mommy needs real men to make her cum, but she wants you to be her caring little boy. Can you do that? Would you like that?”

Blushing, I nodded, getting hard again.

It took a few weeks to get an appointment with the new therapist. I have gone there ever since. Six months after that, Mommy asked me to move in with her. She showed me the room she wanted me to have. Soft pink walls and matching decor. I asked If we could change that.

Her response was simple.

“If you had a cock, yes. But you have a tiny baby peepee, so NO.”

I blushed and squirmed.

“Did that make your little peepee hard? Show Mommy!”

 

The End.

 

*This story has been edited to fix spelling, punctuation, formatting errors, & basic grammar, but the narrative and plot have remained the same. Even with the limited editing done here, it doesn’t mean any possible major flaws in this story were fixed (That’s the author’s job). The opinions/views expressed in this story (and in any comments) are those of the author and do not represent this site. We support freedom of speech. This story has been previously published on other free sites and is now public domain, which is why we can publish it here.