Sequel to:
"And this one is the black chantilly lace with adjustable straps, and t-the crotchless panties, Mr Ironwood," Mr Ironwood whispers, pressing his thighs tightly together.
"Spectacular. Now show me the view from the back," I instruct.
He turns, his peachy, young ass on full display. Catcalls carry through the office window from the construction site across the street.
"Come here. Let me see the material." I trace a fingertip along the underside of the lace cups, noting his stiffled gasp. "Such a thin material..."
"Yes, sir."
"All the better for tearing off," I muse.
'Abigail' swallows and shudders. "Ye-yes, sir."
"It's hard to believe it's another anniversary. I've been married for 16 years and yet it barely feels like I've known that woman more than a year," I smirk. "You've remembered to schedule in the renewal of our vows, yes?"
He nods silently, lamenting the loss of the wife and life that were now mine. As my loyal PA, he'd given me everything I needed to be him, managing with consummate skill those trecherous few months of transition in which a person of my abilities is so vulnerable to detection, such that now there is no fragment of his life, no password or bank account, no private in-joke or intimate secret that I don't know. No swapper has even been so blessed.
Now useless to me as Mr Ironwood, he sensed I was considering discarding him as a liability, and had made himself invaluable as Abigail in desperation.
I wave a hand over the many opened boxes of exotic lingerie. "So, Abigail, in your opinion as a woman, which of these do you think Mrs Ironwood would enjoy the most?"
He extends a trembling hand towards a tiny pink slip. "She always... liked satin."
"Correct," I smile. "Let's see you in that one next."