Five Times That Gene's Worn Women's Underwear for Sam, Brown Cortina, Sytaxia
“What the bloody hell are you wearing for pants?” Sam’s eyes boggled as he took in the sight of Gene, whose tackle was neatly stuffed into a pair of what appeared to be women’s knickers.
“You made me swear that I’d wear clean underthings for you, didn’t you, you soft prick,” Gene said as he glowered at Sam. “Only clean pair in the house. Missus must’ve left ‘em.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sam was trying, very hard, and with little success, to keep from laughing, “You would rather wear women’s knickers than do the wash?”
“’Course I would. What man wouldn’t? Man doesn’t do the wash, does he?” Gene’s face was growing slightly red as he stared at Sam, who had sat down on the edge of his creaky cot and started to hold his sides, a broad grin splitting his face.
“I do my wash,” Sam gasped out the words through silent peals of laughter.
“My point made, then,” Gene continued to strip off his trousers, and then made to remove the knickers, but thought better of it, moving to stand next to Sam and thrusting his groin near Sam’s face.
“You’re taking the piss,” Sam said, softly, reaching out and stroking Gene’s cock through the thin, silken fabric of the underpants, marveling at the way that the fabric made every twitch and motion of Gene’s member come alive under the smooth, thin surface. “Then again… They are rather nice knickers…” He felt his own cock straining against the zip of his trousers, and leaned forward, gently dipping his fingertips into the tight waist of the silken things, feeling Gene respond all the more heartily due to the tightness and straight that the knickers where putting on his trapped organ.
“Just bloody take ‘em off and go to it, boy wonder,” Gene gritted his teeth against the feeling of Sam’s fingers on his cock, and then felt his own eyes boggle as Sam started to slide his tongue over the surface of the knickers, the moisture seeping through the fabric far better than it would if he’d been wearing cotton briefs. “The bloody hell are you doing, Sam? Just rip the damned things off!”
“No, no, I do believe I fancy doing it this way…” Sam pressed his entire open mouth against the straining silk drawers and started to suck at the straining bulge of Gene’s cock, and Gene gasped and moaned at the feeling…
“Blood hell…” Sam smiled as Gene gasped the words out, and continued to lick and suck through the silk fabric, feeling the knickers grow even more constricting, if that were even possible. “Take ‘em off me, Tyler…”
“Not a chance, Guv,” Sam rested his hands against Gene’s hips and continued his motions, licking, sucking, occasionally pulling the waist of the drawers away from Gene’s crotch and sliding a fingertip or the barest hint of his tongue onto bare skin and thick hair, drawing more and more moans from Gene as he did so.
“Sam… Sam…” Gene’s voice held a strange, subtle warning to it as Sam continued to playfully torture Gene’s cock with his lips, tongue, and fingers.
“Just a few more minutes, Gene,” Sam whispered, his breath hot through the moist silk and driving Gene mad as he spoke the words directly into Gene’s cock. “Just a bit…”
“Daft… Little… Bugger….” Eventually, Gene couldn’t take it any longer, and he shoved Sam back, hooking his thumbs into the edges of the panties and shoving them, hard, down to his ankles. He pushed Sam back, watching him start to rise, flipping him over more forcefully than he had in months, reaching for the lube and knocking Sam’s phone off of the top of the cot’s inlay as he scrambled to cram his cock into Sam’s rear as quickly as possible, not daring to spill himself before he’d been inside of the proverbial promised land.
“God, yes, Gene, yes… Fuck! Yes!” Sam shouted as Gene pressed down, harder and harder, driving himself like a mad gale into Sam, pumping back and forth with fury before finally coming, loudly and with further bucking of his hips.
Gene bent low over Sam, not ready to pull his spent cock out of his lover for at least another minute, reveling at the force and freedom and pleasure that the previous constriction had resulted in…
“You know, Sammy boy, I do believe we’ve discovered a shiny new toy…”
2.
“Guv, what the bloody hell is wrong with your trousers?”
Sam stood on Gene’s doorstep, trying not to wince at the torn apart and dirtied house that lay before him, knowing full well that Gene hadn’t lifted a finger to do a single household chore in the eight months since Vera had confessed that one Brian P. Jamison, manager of the local Mark’s and Spencer’s, was more than a man with a nice income and a nice arse: he made her feel the way that Gene had made her feel from 1954 to 1964, and had not made her feel since, two minutes prior to waltzing out the door, head held high and smiling.
“What are you on about, Tyler? This is my best tuxedo.” Gene looked down at the strange bulge between his legs, all too apparent in the tight trousers of his tux.
“You own more than one?” Sam quirked an eyebrow towards his hairline.
“It’s a figure of speech, smartarse,” Gene shot back, pulling the edges of the jacket forward and over his cummerbund, which was also straining slightly.
“Everyone will be able to see your, your… Your penis! And the every bloody move thereof!” Sam pushed past Gene and shut the door behind him, an exasperated look on his face as he took in the train wreck that was the sitting room.
“So don’t make it move!”
“With your bloody libido, an Alsatian would make it move!”
Gene gave Sam a smirk, “I can’t help it if I am a man of skills and means, Tyler.”
“More like a man of vices and non-restraint,” Sam shot back, staring at the bulge at Gene’s crotch with a bit of longing. Four hours was all the damned dinner with the mayor should last, and five hours before they could return… “Do you really want Litton, of all people, to see your pan handle?”
Gene’s face fell. “When you put it like that…”
“Come on,” Sam started to trudge his way up the stairs, towards the bedroom, trying to avoid the piles of laundry and dirty takeaway containers that littered the hallway.
“What is it that you intend to do? Shrink my tadger in cold water before we go?” Gene sneered as he followed Sam up the steps, only to find the other man standing in the middle of his bedroom, rifling through bureau drawers and eventually emerging with another one of the pairs of silk knickers that Vera had left behind.
“This should manage to hold you in for the rest of the night,” Sam said, and Gene gave him an appraising look.
“Do you have any idea how tight those are? I could barely stand wearing the last pair for a day!”
“And this is only five hours! Now get into them!” Sam thrust the knickers at Gene and strode out of the room, waiting by the door until Gene walked down, his tackle, thankfully, constrained by the tight silk of the panties.
Two hours later, the mayor’s maid stood outside of the linen cabinet above the dining room, hoping that the other guests wouldn’t guess what was happening above their heads, and wondering when she could get home to pull out her pen and paper…
3.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Please, Gene.”
“I’m having none of it, Sam.”
“You said you liked it…”
“I do! But there’s no clear pairs left! An’ I’m not taking a loud of my own laundry and four pairs of ladies’ knickers, stained with my own impressive manliness, down to the launderette! So unless you have a load of woman’s clothing on hand for me to pay to have cleaned alongside them, we’re out of options!”
“Gene…”
“What is it now?”
“I bought these for you. Told the sales person they were for my girlfriend.”
“Sometimes, that bastard brain of yours is too smart for our own good, you cheeky little bastard…”
4.
All of CID tried not to look at the door to Gene Hunt’s office as they heard DI Tyler and DCI Hunt having yet another loud, angry argument.
“This is absolutely ludicrous! You can’t just bloody expect me to allow that kind of thing to happen! One of our DC’s was just blatantly harassing one of the WPC’s, and that just CANNOT happen! Sexual harassment in the workforce is not…”
“Will you shut it, Tyler! She didn’t pay it any mind!”
“Annie found her crying in the ladies’ room!”
“Maybe she lost her ring or sommat…”
“You daft bastard! You cannot allow your officers to make those sorts of remarks! This needs to stop, and now!”
“Fine, I’ll bloody reprimand DC Chester, have him apologize to the dozy little plonk, is that by the book? Are you bloody happy, now you’ve had your way, once again?” Gene was fuming as he poured himself a drink and stared at Sam, who was still standing in the center of his office, his fists clenched at his sides.
“There needs to be policy on this! I can’t believe that there isn’t already! Rulebooks, posters, official training sessions - I’ll run them, if you,” Gene cut Sam off before he could finish his sentence.
“Tyler. I will deal with Carl bloody Chester and his remarks about the lack of tits on WPC Fanny Flatchest, all right? But that’s the end of it! I’ll tear him a proper new one, make sure everyone knows that that sort of shit will bring down my wrath, and that’s the end of it,” Gene took a long drink from his glass and glared at Sam, his eyes flashing, but Sam refused to back down.
“Guv, this cannot be allowed to happen…” Sam gritted his teeth as Gene cut him off once again.
“I already told you, I’m not going to allow it! Grow some damned ears, deaf aid! Will you stop running your bloody gob over this and just let things be? I told you, I’ll deal with it, just the way you want me to, all right? But no more bloody yammering on about policy and bloody wallpapering the place with your walk this way talk this way naffy nonsense!”
“Gene…” Sam started to speak again, and Gene set his glass down on the edge of the desk with a thump, and then spun around, his back to Sam. “Oh, very mature of you, just turn your back around and hope that I’ll go away? Is this a new tactic to drown out the voice of reason?”
“No, this is a new tactic to busy the much overworked smug gob of an annoying inspector!” Gene suddenly dropped his trousers, and Sam realized that he’d been working at his zip and belt during his last sentence. And the pants that he was wearing…
Gene turned around, his cock trapped beneath the thin silk front of a new pair of women’s panties.
The rest of CID shuddered as they heard the slams and crashes, the shouts and groans and expletives, issuing forth from Gene’s office. The two of them were definitely having a fist fight now, instead of a row, and bets were being taken as to who would come out with the most bruises. Annie watched the bets being collected and sipped her tea, envisioning what could really be happening in the office with a smile on her face…
5.
“What are you doing? That’s my wash, you damned poof!” Gene fumed as he stormed into his house and found Sam folding all of his things, which had obviously been washed in his own washer, hung on his own line, and not brought to the launderette to have the angry Finnish bird from hell wash them for a fee and return them properly folded, starched, and accompanied by a thinly veiled insult in broken English.
“I know, it’s your wash, and I’ve done it for you. I also straightened up the place a bit…” Sam gestured towards the house, which was now even more pristine than it had been when Vera had ruled the roost. Gene gawped at the sight around him, wondering how the hell Sam had managed to scrape away nearly a year’s worth of hard-won filth in the space of only a day, and then crossed his arms over his chest.
“Did I give you permission to do this? You bloody great poof, how on earth could… You’re not throwing them out!” Gene pointed at the pair of ladies knickers in Sam’s hand, and Sam gave him a questioning look.
“Gene, these are torn. I must’ve split them up the front with my teeth; they’re not going to serve our purposes, or any purpose, in this state. And while I do wash and clean and cook, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know a needle from bloody damned Adam, so these are going in your bin.”
“You wash, you clean, you cook, but you don’t mend? Soldiers and sailors and all sorts do their own mending, but it’s the one household that you won’t do? You are a bloody girl, you damned twat. And you give those here, I’ve an idea.”
“What the bloody hell do you mean, ‘idea?’ They’re spoilt! Torn! Ripped apart!” Sam started to giggle, “These are EX-knickers!” Gene shook his head at the stupid grin on Sam’s chuckling face and ripped the panties out of his hand, then dashed up the stairs before Sam could stop him. Sam gave him a confused and irritated look as he went, and then went back to his folding, not noticing the sound of soft footfalls as Gene tried to come down the staircase as quietly as he possibly could.
“Oh Sammy Boy…” Gene called out, and Sam looked up, and then felt his jaw drop. Gene was standing at the foot of the steps, clad in nothing more than the split knickers, except that these appeared to be intact….
“Backwards. I always tell you, trust the Gene Genie,” Gene waggled an eyebrow at Sam, his meat and veg slightly less contained than they would be by a right-ways set of knickers, and then turned around, “And what does your bloody science and logic bollocksed brain think this could mean?” The split on the front of the knickers was directly over…
“You do know you’re psychotic…” Sam whispered, a grin spreading over his face as he slowly climbed to his feet, the laundry completely forgotten.
“This from the man that says there’s going to be a woman prime minister,” Gene scoffed, and then dashed up the stairs, Sam in hot pursuit behind him. It had been a perfect day off, and it was going to be an even better night…