Forced Feminizing our wife Arjun

Arjun jolted awake before dawn, his sheets twisted around him like restraints from his nightmares. Dreams of sarees around him, mangalsutras choking his breath, and mocking laughter echoing in endless halls had plagued his sleep. He rubbed his eyes, the weight of the previous days pressing down like a monsoon cloud. A quick shower did little to wash away the mental grime; the water cascaded over his shaved skin, a stark reminder of his forced smoothness. Drying off, he stared at his wardrobe, selecting a simple blue jeans, white t-shirt, and a light jacket to blend in. But as his hand reached for a fresh boxer, Vikram's taunting text from the night before flashed in his mind: "Wear panties to college tomorrow, wife. Or else." Reluctance twisted his gut, sadness welling up as he bypassed the boxers.

The black panties from the previous day lay crumpled on the floor, stained with dried evidence of his unwilling climax—unwashed and revolting. No way he could wear those. With a heavy sigh, he pulled out the pink set stolen from Aunty Catherine's line. Sliding into the panties, he winced at their tightness, the fabric hugging him like a vice. To his shock, the constriction flattened his small private part almost completely, erasing any bulge. It was both a relief and a horror less noticeable, but a deeper emasculation. The bra he left behind; no instruction for it today. He worried about the pink hue showing if his shirt rode up, so he tucked the t-shirt deep into his jeans, pulling his belt extra tight. A quick glance in the mirror showed a normal college boy, but the secret beneath screamed otherwise.

Grabbing his backpack, he skipped breakfast—time was short, and he'd grab lunch at the canteen. Locking the apartment, he descended the stairs carefully, every step mindful of the panty's grip, restricting his stride just enough to feel unnatural. The bus ride to college was tense; he sat rigidly, avoiding bumps that might shift his clothes. Surprisingly, the morning classes passed normally—no sign of Vikram or his crew. Lectures on circuits and algorithms droned on, but the constant tightness of the panties served as a silent tormentor, a whisper of "Anjali" with every shift in his seat.

Lunch hour arrived, and the canteen buzzed like a beehive—students laughing, the aroma of pav bhaji and dosas filling the air. Arjun wove through the crowd, but suddenly felt hemmed in. Bodies pressed from front, back, and sides—four guys closing ranks, their presence suffocating. Before he could react, a familiar voice purred in his ear: "Hello, wifie... how's our wife doing today?" Terror iced his veins, shockwaves rippling through him. His mind blanked, heart hammering as he tried to turn, but Rohan seized his right hand and pinned his right leg with his own. Sameer mirrored on the left, immobilizing him subtly amid the chaos. Karan, facing him, reached behind with a grin, unbuttoning Arjun's jeans in one swift motion, yanking up the t-shirt just enough to expose the panty just enough.

Arjun's mouth opened to protest—"Stop, please!"—but Vikram clamped his left hand over it, silencing him. With his right, Vikram dove in, rubbing over the pink panties, edging Arjun with slow, deliberate strokes. The crowd masked their actions, voices drowning any muffled sounds. Arjun's body betrayed him again, arousal building under the sensual assault, tears streaming down his cheeks as his mind spiraled into a haze of humiliation, unwanted pleasure and a drop of precum started to appear now there's no control. Just as release neared, Vikram withdrew, whispering, "that stain looks you enjoyed it wifie....Hope you enjoy your day, wifie. See you Friday evening at our house." They released him in unison, the other three flinged Arjun's private part as they left causing a sudden rush of arousal to Arjun.

Arjun stood frozen, then realized his jeans were still undone panties visible. Panic surged he zipped and buttoned frantically, hands shaking, praying no one had seen the flash of pink panty or his aroused state. Luck held; the canteen's density had shielded him. But the bulge strained against the tight panties, restricting every move, a throbbing reminder. He skipped lunch entirely, and slumped onto a bench outside to catch his breath, willing the arousal to fade. The afternoon classes blurred by in a fog of dread; he scribbled notes mechanically, mind replaying the violation. How could they do that in public? The risk, the shame—it terrified him.

As the final bell rang, Arjun bolted uncomfortably cause of the panty towards the bus, heading back to his apartment. The day's events replayed in his head like a horror film: the secret panties, the cornering, the edging in broad daylight. Friday loomed like a storm—another summons to Vikram's, no doubt with more demands. He arrived home exhausted, locking the door and collapsing on the bed. The mangalsutra in his drawer called to him mockingly; he had to steal those sarees tomorrow, buy the makeup. Tears came again, but resolve flickered faintly—he had to find a way out, somehow. Yet deep down, the blackmail's grip felt unbreakable, pulling him inexorably deeper into Anjali's world.