The Unboxing

Today I retrieved from my secret postal box my first secret delivery of feminine attire.  This was a bold initial experiment, which cost me quite a bit of money, and delivered me more new stuff at once than I've ever attempted before.  I picked up my package from the post office on my way to work. It came in a simple, nondescript cardboard box.

For days, I had anticipated this moment. I could even dare to wear my new panties this very day! That would be incredibly risky: I contemplated how I could even get them on, given the lack of necessary privacy even in the men's room at the office.  I also worried about defiling them before I could even really appreciate them.

Already back on the road, yet unable to contain my excitement, I cut the tape sealing the box while waiting at a traffic light. When I pried open the box flaps, I immediately noticed each item sealed into its own plastic bag.  One by one, I pulled out these bags and placed them on the passenger seat, for all the world to see: the bikini bra; the satin bra; the bikini panties; the metallic teddy. But where are my satin panties? Did they mess up my order? The shoe box lay at the bottom of the box, with a packing slip and catalog on top of it. Were my panties together with the bra? That would explain the volume of the bra bag. But the packing slip shows it as a separate item, and I did order it separately. The label on the bra bag says nothing about panties. My heart sank with fear of disappointment.

These quick explorations were cut short when the traffic light changed, and I had to go.  I quickly tossed everything back into the box, and drove on.  Almost every traffic light was green, which would normally be a good thing, but I wanted to spend time inspecting my goods.  Where were my damned panties?  They had to be hidden inside somehow.  I finally hit another red light, and pulled out the shoe box. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the panties in their bag, folded flatter than any other item, underneath where the shoe box had been.  I pulled them out and put the shoe box back in, followed by all the other items. Everything was now accounted for.

I finally arrived at work, and pulled into a parking space in the garage.  I arrived just in time for a morning meeting, but it would have to wait.  Well hidden from prying eyes, I again pulled out all of my new garments, and marveled at each one in its plastic wrapper. Both bras were much puffier than I expected; were they padded?  But what I really wanted to see were the shoes. I pulled the shoe box out of the packing box, and placed it on the passenger seat.  I cut the tape that held it closed, and peered into it. The shoes were covered in paper. I peeled aside the top layer, revealing the right shoe.

I was stunned by the boldness of the pattern, the shine of the leather, the height of the platform at the toe, and the outrageously feminine shape of the shoe overall. I moved more paper out of the way, and tried to lift it out of the box to get a better look at it.  It was still tangled in some packing paper, and as I pulled at it, the sheer height and slenderness of the heel, which had remained hidden, became shockingly evident. I couldn't even see it, yet I was awed and disconcerted by it.  I had touched the shoe of a Goddess, and I would soon giddily sacrifice myself to its overwhelming femininity. Somewhat intimidated, I gently released the shoe, closed the box, and put everything back into the packing box. I didn't have time for this.

My heart racing, I rushed up to my office to join the meeting, only five minutes late, still reeling from the realization that I now have incredibly sexy 4 1/2 inch heels, of which I am woefully unworthy. The rest of the day would be spent fantasizing about my new stash.