After hooking the delicate lace panty mask around my ears, I breathe and blink in the darkness, breeze tappin' the blind against the wooden frame. Her room's a comfort, in a way. Familiar. It must have been my room as a baby. Just a feeling I have; faint memories of Momma holding me in here. Rocking me to sleep. The door’s always shut unless we have company staying over, and this company’s mighty pretty. Annabelle’s her name.
My heart hammers too loud in the peaceful room. Enough that I fear she’ll wake.
I inhale deeply again. Every breath is her. Every breath tells a story. Scented atoms steep the cotton gusset that's touched her body all day. Makes me harder in my Iron Man jockeys, tugged aside so one hand can cup and massage my balls. They tighten, cock throbbing in the other hand as the trapped musk of a day's activity swamps my senses.
The rhythmic shuffle of skin on skin cuts through the silence. I know I should stop, but can't. My hot, hard cock swells in my grip.
My breath catches at the tang of her perspiration. It ain't sweat. It's exertion from the yoga stretches and workout. All the girls are into yoga. Earlier this afternoon, I’d pretended to read my magazine on the front porch, but I actually watched Annabelle’s sideswiping hips flexin’ in the afternoon rays. The sleek lines of the autos in American Car didn’t hold a candle to her panty line under the stretchy lycra. Each move deformed the material, capturing her natural perfume that now rolls up my nostrils and makes my dick swell.
Faint traces of lavender-scented detergent float alongside snatches of daily aromas. Sixteen hours of everything a girl does condensed into a few inches of fabric. I dare to poke out my tongue, jolting as if that hot, clear stream itself was cascading over its tip. The shiver takes me by surprise, my mind flashing with forbidden stills. The dark musk of her behind drifts, and I lose myself in energy that knots my stomach.
One mouthwaterin' smell slices through all the others. Her essence. Her pussy. Excitement grips my heart as tightly as my fist around my straining cock. A dot of pre-come oozes, the gentle lap of the skin's motion penetrating the quiet. The only other sound in the room is her rhythmic breathing against the pillow and the occasional deeper snore.
A sound down the hall stops my heart. Daddy! I replay his barking voice in my head. “Stay away from them girls!” Words he’d repeated over and over. If he catches me in her room, I’ll have no hide left, so still gripping my cock, I take a few steps to the doorway, poke my head outside, and listen. Whew! Snoring like a freight train. There ain’t nothin’ waking him now. Ever since I was knee-high, I was the one shaking him awake to head to the cellar when those awful summer storms hit.
Relieved I’m safe, I return my attention to sweet Annabelle. The sight of her turns me into one of those poets I’d read in Literature class. Moonlight catches her form. The curve of her calf, one leg bent, leads all the way to the hem of her plain nightgown that's ridden up over the contour of her bare ass. I can’t take my eyes off that soft rump where her panties have been nestled all day, soakin’ up the glorious scent of a freshly fucked girl into the threads that cover my nose. Freshly fucked. Thinking about what else coats this thin fabric makes me shudder. I inhale and lap the mixture, her scent releasing in thick waves for my body to process.
The panty mask. I didn't invent it, but I remember the lead-up to its discovery clear as day.
… … …
It all started that time Mary Kate’s sweaty panties fell outta her gym bag. I happened to be behind her and picked them off the floor. The fabric itself was the first thing I noticed as it ran past my fingertips. The flutter of cotton sent a jolt through me. Then their warmth registered and my heart raced. The moment my fingertips played over the damp gusset, something powerful took over, and I was hooked on panties.
That was all it took. I didn’t understand what was happening to me, nor why. Just knew how it made me feel. How I shook with excitement. And fear. Somehow I knew it was something I should keep secret.
Hearing about the loosened brick 'round the back of the girls' locker room opened a whole world of exploration. I spent many afternoons jacking off. Watching naked bodies climbing in and out of silky underwear that I longed to touch and kiss and sniff. Loved the fizzin' inside when I glimpsed that pretty stain between their legs.
'Course, the peepin' didn’t last. I was caught. Hauled in front of Principal Davies. He called me all sorts of names. Thought I was lookin' at the girls. Gave me licks with his thick wooden paddle to thrash the Devil outta me, and then sentenced me to scrub the nasty school toilets once a day for a month.
Even after all that, the need never left.
Once the groundskeeper patched the hole, I soon found it wasn't just the underwear I craved. Not only the fibers, but also the scent of the woman who had worn it. I’d never forget the musty smells coming from Mary Kate’s panties as long as my heart’s still beatin’.
Buying used panties off the Internet seemed more righteous than trying to steal them from girls’ gym bags, so that’s what I did.
I loved that uncontrollable shaking when the padded bag arrived, my name and address scrawled messy-like across the front. Racin' to my room and tearing it open, I’d carefully unwrap the plastic baggie to unleash the trapped scent. Lift it to my nose, eyes rolling back. I’d lose myself in thoughts of the everyday acts she'd performed. Going to the store. To the gym. The toilet. Sex. Masturbation. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know who “she” was. The magic of that creamy strip clamped between her thighs, slidin' over her pussy, held me captive.
Sometimes, they were dried out. With those, I'd stroke the firm ridge before burying my face in it. Licking helped unleash the flavors, burstin' onto my tongue and swamping my nose as I snorted and drank in her core, imagination soaring. Brunette, blonde, short, dark, fair, shaved, natural. Housewives, lawyers, personal trainers, I had no idea. My mind created their stories based on scent alone.
One day, I came home to find Daddy in the living room holding one of those bags that had just come in the mail. Figures that the one day Daddy gets the mail, I have panties arrive. On the table was also my prized bag of panties I’d hidden in my closet.
He snatched them up and stomped toward me, the veins in his forehead bulging like they were gonna burst. One of his calloused hands gripped the back of my neck, steering me outside where he had a fire going.
“No boy of mine plays with girls' underwear!” he roared.
“Daddy, let me ex—“
“No! Not a word! Burn ‘em with the rest of the trash!”
He dug in the bag and threw me the first pair—a silky black panty.
I held them tight, aware he was watching my every move.
“Toss ‘em in!” His eyes were wild, red with fire. I didn’t dare disobey.
I swallowed my guilt, twisted and numb, and threw those panties on the fire, and a part of me burned with them. Thankfully, Daddy shoved the bag at me and walked away before the first tear fell.
“Burn ‘em all, boy!” he yelled over his shoulder. “And get a haircut!”
That last part had to do with Momma. I must look more like her when my hair grows too long and starts to curl a bit. I’d never seen a picture of Momma on account of him burning everything she’d left behind after she ran out on us. I figure since Daddy has light, stick-straight hair, my dark, wavy hair must have come from her.
I didn’t like Daddy mad at me, seeing he was the only parent I had left, so I kept tossing them on the fire, one by one, cringing as the soft fabric melted. Sad the smoke was killing all the scents they’d held. Those used panties told stories that I’ll never hear again.
I came across a see-through pink pair. Two tiny triangles held together by strings, and the crotch was coarse to my touch.
Her username had been faith_101. I’d never forget her. The first girl I’d had the courage to interact with instead of just adding the pair to the cart. She did requests for a few dollars more. So with shakin' fingertips, I’d opened the chat and asked if she’d touch herself wearing them. Stroke her pussy. Tease herself as long as possible until she was soaked, then come in them.
Nope, they were special. I just couldn’t burn those.
Making sure my back was to the house, I wadded them up and stuffed them down the front of my pants before swearing not to order any more off the Internet.
Trouble was, the need never really went away. Always bubbled beneath my skin, dyin' to escape, night after night cooped up in my room with just my right hand as company.
My resolve crumbled when I landed the job at the gym. All those mesmerizing butts in tight yoga pants. Bouncing balls of flesh that left tantalizing pheromones on the seats of the equipment I had to wipe down.
When my boss wasn't looking, I stole sniffs. Seemed a crime to destroy the heady aura of a woman, but I had to man up and do my job. Spray and wipe while my cock continued to swell in my sweatpants. Oftentimes, I had to go beat off in the changing rooms, her anonymous scent lingering in my nose as I replayed her workout.
Losin' myself in a stew of hard heat and ungodly thoughts was how I coped; kept a crooked lid on things. Draining myself temporarily released the tension. Left me dizzy and buzzin' as I held my breath and jerked, splashing gobs of hot spunk on the floor.
I prayed for absolution and cleaned up my sins, of course. Well, at first.
One time, I'd been in such a frenzy after inhaling one of the regulars from the exercise bike that I didn't notice I'd stumbled into the female locker rooms. Double shift. Coverin' for Randy. It was late. As usual, I sealed myself in the stall, pulled out my already straining erection, and jerked off. She was incredible. A deep musk with overtones of some kind of blossom. Like she'd jogged through a field of corn and sunflowers. Real pretty too, for an older lady. Big brown eyes and long natural lashes.
I pressed one hand to the stall door and tipped my head back as I pictured that dark oval forming in her underwear. Imagined my nose drawing signals from the fabric, my tongue tracing its shape. My cock was thick and raging as my fist blurred, seconds from painting the stall when the outer changing room door banged, footsteps approached, and I froze.
My fogged brain couldn't process it. The only man in the place was Ty on the front desk, and he was cashing up. My mistake only fell into place when she began humming as she undressed a few feet from where I was trapped. Nothing I could do but pray.
The faucet squeaked. Water sprayed. The shower cubicles opposite the stalls had no doors. No way I could escape undetected.
The strawberry scent of her shampoo rose above the hiss of the shower and her humming.
I squeezed my eyes shut, thoughts unchecked of her spicy panties nestled in the pile of clothes barely two feet from my position. If I crouched, I could probably reach out and grab ‘em from the floor. Pull them to my face and inhale as I finish off. Rub her scent over my nose and cheeks and then put them back before the water went off.
The shower gel cap clicked. She soaped, lather splattering at her feet.
I held my breath and massaged the head of my throbbing cock. Began to crouch. Crept my free hand lower and lower on the stall wall. Beneath it. Beyond. Searching. I brushed her clothes and crept over 'em, electricity arcing as I made contact with the fibers of her panties, seeking that central strip, still warm.
Jackpot. Tacky juices skimmed beneath my fingertips, and I traced the damp line, willing myself to snatch them.
The water shut off, and I withdrew my hand sharply. Shook with a combination of terror and excitement. I brought my fingers to my nose and inhaled as deeply and quietly as possible. Tried to hold back, but the thoughts tumbled faster than I could deal with, and I came, ropes of release slashing against the bottom of the chipped door.
I must have snorted or something because she stopped moving. Approached, her shadow breaching the two-inch gap beneath the stall wall.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
I panicked, cock still leaking strings of come. Had no idea what to say or do. If I moved, I'd be done for. My heart pounded, and I prayed she couldn't hear it. Then her voice again, from lower.
"Jackson? Is that you?"
It took a moment to realize she'd bent down and spotted my shoes.
Fuck.
"Uhhh, yeah."
"What are you doing in there?"
"I'm uhhh… cleaning."
"Oh. Didn't see your cart outside, sorry."
Adrenaline spiked. Maybe I'd get away with it. "It's not you. I left it upstairs. Sorry. When I heard you, I figured I should keep quiet till you left. Didn't want you to think that I… y'know."
She paused. "Okay. Sorry again. I'll be out of your way in a few minutes."
"No worries."
I stood, tucked my limp cock away and grabbed a few squares of tissue from the hopper, wadded them, and wiped up my spunk from the door as she rustled. Tossed them in the toilet and flushed.
She began humming again. Toweling off. A spray of aerosol, the acrid combination of propellant, and some engineer's guess at what a meadow smelled like.
She called out. "I'm decent."
With a shaking hand, I slid the bolt back and stepped out.
She was far from decent. Just panties. Fresh red ones. I dropped my gaze to the floor. To her pile of clothes. Roved them. Her pale pink underwear was there, a dark stripe of sweat and the day's juices upward. A place where, minutes earlier, my fingers had been.
I couldn't tear my eyes from them as she continued dressing. "What is it, Jackson? You don't seem the bashful type. Does my body not… interest you?"
I shook my head. Then realized it could be taken the wrong way and nodded. "I uhh. I mean. Yes, it does. But I c… can't…"
As she pulled her top over her bra that struggled to contain her big tits, I gave up trying to talk. Casting one lingering gaze at her underwear, I just stumbled out.
Over the next few weeks, we became friendlier. Nothing more than idle chit-chat or a quick wave from across the gym, but I gradually felt more at ease in her company. A few times, I suspected she caught me about to lower my nose to the bike seat she'd vacated, but she said nothing.
Then one evening, she returned from the shower as I was shutting down the machines for the night. "Jackson! Glad I caught you."
I looked up. "Hey, Sandy." Her hair was wet and a much darker shade of brown than when dry. She smelled of coconut.
"I've been watching you."
"Oh." My heart sank. Maybe what I thought was conversation was her working out how to report me to management.