Worshiping the Queen
The figure entered the department store. By now, this sort of store was familiar to it. It had been in a similar place before. It moved, sliding between the shoppers, not noticed. It was so average. So nondescript. Nothing to be concerned about. Why give it a second glance?
The figure trembled. It could feel the building ecstasy. Eight panties had gone out. Eight girls mind-controlled into new beings. The rush of meddling was almost orgasmic to the figure. It shuddered, clutching its newest pair of panties.
They were snow-white and decorated with bands of dainty lace. On the rump, between the stripes, were two words stitched in gold, cursive letters: Top Queen.
The figure was eager for its intended person. Elizabeth "Liz" Donaldson. The figure just knew
she
was the perfect person to pick up the panties.
The figure reached the clothing section and its uninspired collection of lingerie. Nothing like the more titillating designs it had seen at trendy clothing stores. No, these were utilitarian panties. Just the sort that its target would buy.
With a flick of its wrist, the panties landed on a pile of packaged underwear. And then, without a second glance, the figure was ghosting away, not noticed at all by the nineteen-year-old girl wandering in, a red shopping basket slung under her arm. Her hair fell in a long, blonde braid down her back. She peered at the cloths, in need of a new package of panties.
Liz--only her parents called her Elizabeth--paused when she saw the ruffled lace of the panties. She frowned, picking them up. They were so out of place. Something just so regal and majestic about them. She stroked the lace, and a tingle raced through her. Her fingers traced the cursive letters.
"Top Queen," she whispered. Something stirred inside of her. This imperial instinct. She shuddered and dropped the panties into her shopping basket.
Blinking, she snagged the package of underwear she came to buy and dropped them down on the more majestic pair, covering the special undergarment. The tingle racing through her body, she hurried to the cash registers.
Like with other panties made by the figure, no one noticed that it didn't ring up when the cashier scanned it. But she didn't pay for it. After all, it was a gift. One that would change Liz's life forever.
* * *
Elizabeth "Liz" Donaldson
A tingle raced through me as I stepped into my college building that morning. I had on those strange panties I found three weeks ago. I had never worn anything so majestic before. I kept brushing my skirt, feeling the bands of lace that adorned the panties through the fabric. I couldn't believe I had bought them. That I was wearing them. Every day I had stared at them in my drawer, forcing myself from grabbing them. I kept telling myself they weren't me. I was just plain Liz. I was nothing special. I don't need to wear panties like that.
Today, I cracked.
"Hey, Elizabeth," Rosa said as she walked by. She was a Hispanic girl with a silver nose ring piercing her left nostril. She had a round face and brown eyes. Her large breasts were cupped in a halter top, a pair of tight jeans gripping her ass. "How was the weekend?"
"Oh, fine," I said, blinking. Did she just call me Elizabeth? Only my parents called me that. Not even my professors did.
"Hey, Elizabeth," Maryanne said, her sandy-blonde hair gathered in a pair of pigtails. She liked dressing like she was younger than she was. She had the weird idea the boys would find it hot. Maybe they did because she always seemed to be dating a different guy. She had her backpack slung hanging from both shoulders, making her look so cute in her one-piece dress. Her hazel eyes gleamed while the freckles on her cheeks danced as she smiled. "How's it going?"
"Fine," I said. I cocked my head at her, feeling this strange tingle racing from the panties I was wearing. "You called me Elizabeth."
"Uh, yeah," she said. She blinked. "What else would I call you?"
"Liz," I said.
"But doesn't Elizabeth just sound
better?"
She grinned at me. "You don't look much like a Liz. Definitely Elizabeth."
I don't know why, but hearing her say that triggered this strange itch inside of me. I felt almost that wet urge to masturbate. Warmth dotted my cheeks at that realization. Why would one of my friends calling me by my full name stir
that
emotion to me? It was like she was a cute boy.
"Hey, Elizabeth," another one of my friends named Rochelle said. She was a brunette with curly hair and a heart-shaped face. She, too, had big tits like Rosa, but Rochelle didn't show them off. She dressed a little more conservatively. Like I did.
"How was your weekend?"
"Fine," I said. "What are you girls up to? Why are you calling me by my full name?"
Rochelle gave me this puzzled look before she took my hand. To my shock, she brought my fingers up to her lips and kissed them like she was a knight and I was a lady in ye olden times.
"What was that?" I asked.
"Greeting you," Rochelle said, the tingles racing out of my panties again.
"Oh," I said.
"Looks fun," Maryanne said. She took my hand from Rochelle and did the same, her lips feeling hot. A shudder ran through me. I shifted my hips, blinking at that.
"You make me feel like I'm a lady or something," I said.
"Well, you are lady," said Maryanne, a mischievous grin on her lips. "Lady Elizabeth." She said with an Elizabethan accent like she was in a Shakespeare play or something. She even did a little bit of a bow.
The itch in my pussy intensified. The warmth in my cheeks spread. I kept walking through the halls, my bliss deepening as more and more girls were pausing to greet me. Some would take my hand and kiss the back of it while others who were wearing skirts would do little curtsies. It was so surreal. It was like they were playing some sort of prank on me. I just couldn't figure out why?. It was so strange of them to do this.
It was all so flattering.
When I walked into my first class, the couple of girls who were seated stood up and smiled at me. "Hi, Elizabeth."
"Hi," I answered back, a little put off.
