The next morning, Charlotte stirred awake, wiping the drool off of her face. You were still on her pillow, your face pressed into the fabric, waiting for her to acknowledge you. But instead of picking you up or even glancing your way, she stretched lazily, her long arms reaching toward the ceiling, and let out a contented sigh.
Her eyes finally landed on you, and she chuckled—a soft, almost teasing sound that sent a pang of humiliation through you. “Good morning, Oliver,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Sleep well?”
“Not really,” you muttered, your voice muffled by the pillow. “It’s kind of hard to sleep when you’re… well, a thong.”
Charlotte laughed again, the sound light and carefree, as if your situation were nothing more than a quirky joke. She reached over and picked you up, holding you at arm’s length as she examined you. Your face, now permanently affixed to the backside of the thong, stared back at her, unblinking and uncertain.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve been thinking about where to keep you. It’s kind of weird having you on my pillow all the time. Maybe you should sleep in my underwear drawer with the other thongs. You know, be with your coworkers.”
Your stomach—or whatever passed for a stomach in this form—dropped. “What? No, Charlotte, please. I don’t want to be stuck in a drawer with a bunch of… of… other thongs.”
She tilted her head, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Why not? It’s practical. And it’s not like you’re doing much else, right? Besides, I thought you’d enjoy the company. You can have little thong meetings or something.”
The humiliation burned through you like a wildfire. This wasn’t happening. You couldn’t just be tossed into a drawer like some forgotten piece of clothing. “Charlotte, I’m still your husband. I’m not just… I’m not just a thong.”
Her expression softened slightly, but the amusement didn’t fully leave her eyes. “I know, Oliver. But you’re also a thong now. I’m just trying to make this work. It’s… it’s a lot to adjust to, okay?”
You didn’t respond. What could you even say? She wasn’t wrong—this was a bizarre, humiliating situation—but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.
Charlotte sighed and stood, still holding you in her hand. “Come on, let’s get you settled in your new home.”
She walked over to her dresser and pulled open the top drawer, revealing a neatly folded assortment of lingerie. Thongs, lace panties, silk bras—it was like a rainbow of fabrics, each one more luxurious than the last. And now you were going to be one of them.
She placed you carefully on top of the pile, your face staring up at her. “There you go. Nice and cozy. You’ll be just fine here.”
“Charlotte, please,” you begged, your voice tinged with desperation. “Don’t leave me here. I… I don’t want to be stuck in a drawer.”
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the drawer. For a moment, it seemed like she might change her mind. But then she shook her head and closed the drawer, plunging you into darkness.
The silence was suffocating. You could hear the soft rustle of fabric around you, the faint scent of Charlotte’s perfume lingering in the air, but it did little to ease the sense of isolation. How had it come to this? One day, you were her husband, her partner, and now you were just another piece of clothing in her drawer.
Time passed slowly in the darkness. You tried to distract yourself by focusing on the sounds of Charlotte moving around the room—the soft pad of her footsteps, the rustle of her clothes as she got dressed—but it only made you feel more disconnected from her. She was out there, living her life, and you were stuck here, forgotten.
When she finally opened the drawer again, it felt like an eternity had passed. She reached in and pulled you out, holding you up to the light. “How’s my little thong doing?” she asked, her tone teasing.
“I’m not your little thong,” you snapped, the frustration and humiliation bubbling over. “I’m your husband. Remember?”
Charlotte’s smile faltered, and for a moment, she looked genuinely remorseful. “I know, Oliver. I’m sorry. I’m just… trying to make the best of this.”
“By treating me like a piece of clothing?”
“I’m not—” She stopped herself and sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I don’t know how to deal with this, okay? It’s weird. It’s confusing. And I’m doing the best I can.”
“Your best is locking me in a drawer?”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed like she might snap back. But then she shook her head and Charlotte hesitated, her fingers tightening around you for a moment. She sighed, a heavy exhale that carried more weight than she probably intended. “Oliver, I’m... I’m sorry.” Her voice was quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “I know this isn’t fair. I know it’s not what you want. I just... I don’t know how to handle this.”
She walked back to the dresser, her steps slower now, almost reluctant. The drawer creaked as she opened it, the soft glow of light spilling over the neatly folded lingerie inside. Her hand lingered in the air for a moment, holding you just above the pile of thongs and lace.
“I’m really sorry,” she repeated, her tone softer, almost pleading. “It’s just... for now, this is... practical. I’ll figure something else out, okay? I promise.”
Her hand lowered, and she placed you gently on top of the stack, your face staring up at her. The guilt in her eyes was unmistakable, even as she forced a small, apologetic smile. “You’ll be okay in here. I’ll make sure of it.”
The drawer slid closed, the click of the latch echoing in the silence. Darkness wrapped around you again, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the fabric that surrounded you. You weren’t sure whether to be comforted by her apology or infuriated by the fact that she’d still put you here. Either way, you were back in the drawer, and there was nothing you could do about it.
Charlotte’s voice reached you, muffled through the wood. “I’ll check on you soon, okay? I promise.”
Her footsteps retreated, leaving you alone in the quiet. “I’m going out for a bit. We’ll… we’ll talk when I get back.”
And with that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving you alone on the bed. The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, as you lay there, your mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. Humiliation. Anger. Fear. But more than anything, a deep, aching sense of loss.
You weren’t sure how much longer you could go on like this, trapped in this strange, twisted version of your life. And as the minutes ticked by, one thought kept circling in your mind: Was there any way back? Or was this your new reality?
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