A girlfriend’s tempting panties become the gateway to a whole new way of life for a kinky-minded man.
My domestic arrangement with Wendy was working out great. We were living together as boyfriend and girlfriend, and there had been no disasters. We got along well, and the sex was fantastic. Overall, I really couldn’t complain.
We shared all of the household chores, and that day it was my turn to do the laundry. I sorted our clothes before taking them out to the washer in the garage — our garage. Wendy liked her delicates done in the gentle cycle. I was happy to accommodate, especially considering how sexy she looked in her racy, frilly underthings.
As I pulled out the fourth or fifth pair of silky panties, I realized I had a major hard-on happening. Had I been fantasizing half-consciously about Wendy? No. Then what was the sudden turn-on about?
I held the black panties. They were sheer and trimmed with red lace. There was a little decorative bow at the front. Fuck, Wendy looked so hot when she wore them! In my mind I could see her in nothing but those undies, slinking toward me with a sultry smile on her face — tits bare and legs scissoring as she walked.
Wendy wouldn’t be home until after work later in the evening. I happened to have the day off, and I didn’t think I could wait until her return to get relief.
I undid my jeans and drew out my cock, which throbbed in my hand. On impulse I decided to strip, shucking off everything. Once I was naked, I felt my pulse quicken as lustful urges coursed through my body.
I closed my eyes, wrapped my fist around my meat and conjured up more erotic images of Wendy. I had a whole mental catalogue.
But I realized my arousal wasn’t entirely about her. I opened my eyes and picked up the black panties again. Did I want to jerk off on them? Hell, yes.
I didn’t figure it would do any harm. They were going in the wash anyway.
Yet that wasn’t quite right either. I tried to unpack the strange urges I was feeling. I rubbed the silken fabric between my fingers, sending a skittering thrill through me. I gazed at the black and red fabric, taking in the implacable femininity of the garment.
It was a provocative piece of cloth, meant to stimulate, to arouse naughty impulses. Wendy loved wearing this stuff. She always said it made her feel alluring, like she was an irresistible sexual being.
In that moment, for some reason, I deeply envied her that state of being. To be able to simply wear something and feel that way.
Well, why couldn’t I wear them?
The thought was powerful, exotic, alien and tantalizing, all at once. I was stunned that such a notion could occur to me, coming out of nowhere. Never before in my life had I considered doing such a thing.
My excitement redoubled. Pre-come oozed from my cockhead as desires potent and new took hold of me. In a kind of trance, I found myself stepping into my girlfriend’s panties and drawing them slowly up my legs.
The fabric whispered sensuously on my skin. I slid the panties up my thighs. They would never contain my hard
cock, but I pulled them up all the way. The band of red lace cut across my shaft about halfway up. The silk cradled my balls.
My breath came in short pants. I had to see. Had to see!
I turned toward the full-length mirror on the closet door and gasped out loud. My swollen cockhead nearly reached my belly button. My reflection was naked, but for the black lacy triangle. It was so sheer my cock and balls were visible.
This was a woman’s undergarment, but a man was wearing it. I was that man. The fact flipped some unknown switch in my skull. My whole body trembled. Excitement took me and shook me, and before I knew it I had my fist around my meat again.
I jerked once, twice, a half time more, and my come went flying. The hot splats hit the floor and the mirror, frosting the image of the man in the girly panties with spurts of jizz. I shouted as I came; my orgasm was incredibly powerful.
Afterward, I felt a confusing mix of guilt and elation. A part of me knew I had discovered something important about myself, but another part wanted to pretend it had never happened.
Bewildered, I did the laundry. When Wendy got home that evening, I said nothing about what had occurred in
But I couldn’t shake the memory of the experience. The genie was out of the bottle, as it were. I felt the ghost-whispers of the silk on my skin. I imagined myself dressed in the lacy undies, and my cock twitched and twinged with excitement.
How could I resist doing it again?
I did fight it, but the impulses refused to leave me alone. I held out until the next laundry day. I actually volunteered to do the wash, even though it wasn’t my turn. When Wendy was gone, I started sorting through her delicate undergarments.
It was like being in a waking daze. I handled the silky bits of underwear like they were priceless parchments. I appreciated every frill and dainty stitch.
With my cock throbbing in my pants, I stripped. I choose a pair from Wendy’s collection, a pair that was white and snug. This time I took a long, rapturous look at myself in the mirror. I turned around and saw how the gauzy fabric cupped my ass.
God, I looked so fucking pretty!
The panties, of course, couldn’t contain my rampant cock. I left it standing up out of the lacy waistband. But instead of jerking off, I snatched up the sheer white bra that went with the undies. Before I could talk myself out of it, I’d put it on. I had unhooked this same bra often enough. Now I did up the little catch behind my own back.
I stood panting, gazing at my reflection. Even before I took my cock in hand to make myself come, I knew I would be doing more of this. I couldn’t help it. I was hooked on wearing my girlfriend’s lingerie.
In the weeks that followed, I played dress-up every chance I got. To my ensembles I added sheer stockings, which caressed my legs in ways that made my balls hum.
One afternoon, I made the bold leap and put on a garter belt. After I attached the garters to the matching stockings, I saw to my absolute delight that I looked like a whore!