The panties of other people Turn Me On.
I get a kick out of other people’s crotches. Throughout history, they’ve done just that. Since the beginning of time, there has been a… When my lovely midwestern roommate was off from class, I would sift through her lingerie drawer, snooping for the alluring things she was reserving to wear when her long-distance lover came to town for a weekend getaway.
I’d dress myself up in her favorite things from time to time, such as the matching leopard-print pair she felt was extremely sexy, or the black lace boy-cut shorts with a tank-style top that she thought was particularly racy. Other times, I’d just hold them against my bare body, stroking myself with the delicate fibers they were made of. After washing the garment, I’d take my time to thoroughly sniff the fabric before donning it, catching a whiff of laundry detergent, perfume, lavender soap, or even the shadowy, lingering aroma of actual flesh.
Consequently, I believe this is where it all began. I’m talking about my own obsession. Because, at some point, wearing Lisa’s apparel wasn’t nearly as essential to me as sprawled on my little twin bed with the things in hand, stroking myself with the many complex designs, coming while surrounded by panties and bras and camisoles that weren’t mine. It was the fact that the pants belonged to someone else, rather than myself, that provided the greatest level of satisfaction. The message was not intended for me. My infatuation with her intimate underwear was completely unknown to the proprietor. I’m completely clueless.
After a year, I had established a regular schedule. Day after day, I’d fondle the bikini bottoms Lisa had carelessly left on her bedside table. I’d rest them on my face and take deep breaths as I stroked myself, delighting in the phantom embrace of her, even though I didn’t want her to be with me. Just her knickers were what I was looking for!
Although school was over for the year, my obsession persisted. Although Lisa’s lingerie was my first choice, I soon realized that any attractive woman’s underwear would do. In order to avoid this, I’ve never lived on my own and have always shared an apartment with a female roommate. With many flatmates over the years, I’ve tried hard to keep my wants secret, digging through laundry baskets or top dresser drawers or in the tangle of linens at the foot of the bed to avoid detection.
As I fingered the sweet-smelling satin hipsters, cotton bikinis, and lace thongs, my fantasies became even more vivid in my mind’s eye. The collections of my female housemates have provided me with enough material to satisfy my cravings, and I have never once revealed this to anybody.
Everyone and everything is out of the question!
Neither did Jamie, my sweetheart, who pledged on her life that she would love me through thick and thin, through illness and health. No one was there for me. The reason I didn’t tell her is because our marriage vows did not contain a section about love via fetishes, through panty raids, or through frequent touching with hidden erotic stuff.
Though it was always my intention to come clean at some time, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I rationalized this by stating that I was afraid of what she would say or how she would respond to my well guarded little secret if she found out. When she looked disgusted, I feigned I couldn’t stand the sight of her.
Truthfully?
Nothing like that was going on. Simply put, I couldn’t bear the thought of stopping myself from toying with her undergarments.
For me, Jamie’s lingerie is the ideal choice. She dresses in the most luxurious materials and the most beautiful pants in a rainbow of colors, everything to pamper herself. Though I have the financial means to purchase equivalent products for myself, I know from past experience that they will not provide me with the same level of pleasure that Jamie’s do. That is the case, and I have no idea why, but that is what it is. What really gets to me is when other people’s underwear gets in my pants pocket.
Whenever I’m in a hurry, I’ll pull out a G-string or an old thong from the laundry basket and go for a quickie while Jamie thinks I’m showering. It’s only when my fiancée is away for the evening that I can completely enjoy. Jamie’s underwear becomes the focus of my whole night of fucking myself. Before anything else, I look through her wardrobe drawer or our hamper and choose my outfit for the evening. A pair of her silky blue hipsters will sometimes set me off.
other people’s panties turn me on.
other people’s panties turn me on.
At the back of my crotch, I take a deep breath in and out. It’s like she’s there when I run my tongue down the seam. Alternatively, I use her cream-colored, lace-edged tap panties, which I like to see her wear but much more adore to peel down her long, slender thighs after she has worn them.
Every now and then, I’ll dress myself entirely in her seductive lingerie, right down to the garters and stockings—but most of the time, it’s enough to simply surround myself with an outfit or two, transforming the mattress into a display fit for an underwear catalog, writhing around in all of her lingerie, basking in a sea of her scent and her sensual tastes.
To this point, this has been the sum of my efforts and the only thing I’ve ever required—at least, until last night.
After work, Jamie made plans to go out with friends for the night. After hearing the front door shut, I immediately went downstairs to use the restrooms. When I opened the hamper this time, though, there was a pleasant surprise. The basket was carefully folded, and a red satin ribbon was wrapped around it to hold everything together instead of her different clothing pieces being thrown about randomly. After hearing a commotion behind me, I turned around to see Jamie standing at the door with a grin on her face. Nothing came to mind as I stood there speechless. …
Grinning, she continued, “I believe these are your favorites.”
With each movement, my hand brushed across the bright blue satin, the delicate pink lace, and the see-through black thong.
Then, with a sigh, I responded, “Yeah.” She had a point, of course.
“As a result, remove them.” Keep an eye on things for a moment. You have my attention because I am interested in what you do with them.”
As a starting point, I said, “How—”
It’s only a matter of doing it, sweetie.” That is something I am interested in seeing.
I walked inside the bedroom with my hands trembling as I carried the bundled parcel containing my prized possessions. After that, I went down to my underwear and began working out.
A few feet away, Jamie stood and watched. At first, I was very aware that she was looking at me, and I felt a tingle go through my body at the notion of being on show. My attention was drawn away from my thoughts and into the pleasure that constantly flooded through my body. The feel of Jamie’s exquisite underwear, as well as the hidden aroma of her own perfume, let me tune out the rest of the world. I focused on the feel of the textiles and the secret scent of Jamie’s own perfume, which was imbedded in her beautiful lingerie.
Her approach and sitting on the bed went completely unnoticed by me. I didn’t see her until she walked right next to me, and she grabbed the pieces from me and carefully rubbed them over the rest of my body, which was a surprise. It seemed like she went wherever I asked her to go.
Then, upon my arrival, I said in hushed tones, “I had no idea you were aware.”
I glanced at Jamie, into her lavender-blue eyes, at her heated pink cheeks, and I could see she was on the verge of coming to terms with her own feelings.
The way she purred back at me told me that this was just as thrilling for her as it was for me, and I knew it in an instant. Once I found out what you were up to, it really turned me on,” she said. The fact that my pants got you wet made me dripping wet… “…
Maybe there are moments when you genuinely don’t know what someone else is going through…
up to the point at which you walk a mile—or fuck about in their panties—
other people’s panties turn me on.