That Saturday afternoon, I had the house to myself, which was something of a rare occasion now that my daughter and her roommate were staying with me. They'd temporarily moved in after a summer storm did some damage to their apartment building. 

I enjoyed having my daughter, Olivia, back under my roof. At twenty-three, she'd returned to her hometown after graduating college, and her apartment was just ten minutes from my house. Olivia's mom and I had divorced several years ago, and while I'd gotten used to living alone, I'd never grown fully comfortable with it.

Olivia's roommate, Bridget, was twenty-eight. Despite their five-year age difference, she and my daughter got along fantastically. When Olivia asked me if Bridget could stay with us while their apartment building underwent repairs, I was quick to agree.

It surprised me what good friends the two of them were. Olivia had a sunny personality, always laughing and smiling. Bridget, on the other hand, was more brooding. She spent much of her free time writing the first draft of a novel, which she hoped would one day become a bestseller. Like me, Olivia worked a typical nine-to-five job, five days a week. Bridget's work schedule was far more irregular. I got the sense that she put in just enough hours to scrape by while she pursued her dream of becoming a famous author.

Now, I shuffled around the house. I had plenty of time on my hands after finishing the housework. Olivia was at her mother's and wouldn't be back till evening. I had no idea where Bridget had gone. 

I decided to do some laundry before getting started on dinner. Once I'd collected my dirty clothes, I went into the bathroom the girls shared so I could retrieve their clothes from the hamper. Anything lacy and/or expensive, I refused to touch, but I was perfectly capable of washing shorts, leggings, and casual tops.

With a clothes basket under my arm, I headed down to the basement. The washer and dryer were in a small room partitioned off from the rest of the open-space area. August sunlight worked its way through the small, high window. 

Humming under my breath, I sorted the clothes into lights and darks. As I did, I tried not to linger too long over Bridget's things. Both she and Olivia often wore expensive undergarments, which I didn't know the first thing about laundering, but Bridget also opted for sensible cotton underwear. My guess was that she wore those while working out.

When I picked up a pair of sky-blue panties, I immediately knew they were Bridget's, for she was curvier than Olivia. I rushed to set them aside, ignoring the fact that my pulse had quickened.

I washed a load of dark clothing first. The washing machine started its churning, the garments making rotations I could see through the door window's glass. There was nothing to do now except go upstairs and wait until the load was ready to be moved to the dryer.

Yet I hesitated. My stare dropped to the remaining dirty clothes in the basket. At the top of the pile, I saw those light blue panties.

Filthy thoughts raced through my head. I struggled to will them away even as my dick stirred beneath my shorts. Temptation pulled at me like a magnetic force. Soon, I was trying to rationalize my urges. What would it hurt if I took a closer look at Bridget's panties?

What would it hurt if I took a whiff of them?

My hand shot out to grab the underwear. I grazed my fingers over the soft fabric, imagining how the material would look stretched across Bridget's gorgeous ass. Many times, I'd sneaked glances at her when she leaned over to take something from the fridge, or when she strolled by me in her skintight jeans.

I began trembling with need as I examined the crotch of Bridget's panties. Was it my imagination, or did the fabric there feel slightly stiff? Maybe it was from her natural lubrication.

Closing my eyes, I brought the underwear to my face. I breathed in and then released a groan. Ah yes, I could smell her! The scent was faint but unmistakable. 

And my God, Bridget's pussy smelled heavenly. Before I could stop myself, I extended my tongue and licked. My other hand journeyed to my groin so I could stroke my cock through my shorts. 

It felt wrong to be doing this; guilt warred with arousal in my mind. But I still ached for more. 

In desperation, I shoved the fabric between my lips so the crotch of the panties was pressed against my tongue. I sucked at the cotton, getting it wet with my saliva, while I took out my dick in order to jerk off.

The panties muffled my loud moans. Thrusting my hips, I drove my cock through the circle my fingers made around my shaft. The washing machine reached its spin cycle; its shuddering seemed to urge me on.

I was close to shooting my load when a harsh voice sounded from behind me.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Whirling around, I yanked the panties from my mouth and used them to try to hide my erection. Bridget stood in the doorway, her arms folded over her chest. Her dark, shoulder-length hair framed her face in waves, and her equally dark eyes flashed with anger.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" My face burned, while sweat broke out on my skin. "I was just doing laundry, and..." I had no words to excuse my actions; she'd caught me masturbating with her panties stuffed in my mouth.

"I saw what you were doing, Bill." Her glare traveled over me, down to my rapidly waning hard-on. "How could you do something so filthy? So wrong?" 

Her accusations struck me like slaps. "I'm so sorry," I repeated. Helplessly, I allowed her panties to escape my grasp. As she looked on, I rushed to put away my cock.

"Not so fast."

Bridget's sharp tone made me freeze. She regarded my dick, a faint smile playing at her lips.

"You can't just pretend this never happened," she went on. "I'm a guest in your house, and you've betrayed my trust."

I held up my hands in a form of surrender. "I don't know what came over me. I've never done anything like this before." Anxiety had me panting, and I drew in a shallow breath. "Please, I'm begging you, don't tell Olivia."

Bridget started toward me. I tried to back away, but the washing machine allowed me to retreat no further.

Even in her fury, my daughter's roommate was beautiful. She wore a clingy top and barely-there shorts. Her feet were bare, as she always took off her shoes as soon as she entered the house. I noticed each toenail was painted crimson. 

She came to a stop with about eight feet separating us. Pointing at the floor, she simply said, "Crawl."

My mouth dropped open in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Crawl." Her lips, also dark red, pulled into a sneer. "I bet you were fantasizing about fucking me while you licked my panties!"

I covered my face with my hands, as if to hide. "Bridget, I'm sorry..."

"I don't want your apology!" she snapped. "I want you to get on your hands and knees, and I want you to crawl to me."

Lowering my hands, I tried to determine if she was serious. She held my stare, her eyebrow raised.

Though a pathetic whimper escaped me, I sank to my knees. I would do anything to guarantee her silence. If Olivia ever found out about this, it would damage our relationship. Maybe even ruin it.

With my cock still out, I leaned forward and braced my palms against the cold floor. Bowing my head in supplication, I began to crawl toward Bridget.

"Slower, Bill!"

The journey was hard on my knees, and even harder on my pride. But when Bridget's feet came into view, I was astonished to feel my dick stiffen yet again. 

Finally, I reached her, my gaze fixed on her lovely toes. 

"Stay right there." Her tone was a little softer now.

I didn't dare lift my head, for I was completely at her mercy. My eyes widened when I realized she was lowering her shorts.

"Go on, pull them all the way down," she told me.

I feared this was some kind of trick. Still, I knew I had no choice but to obey if I wanted to keep her quiet. 

Resting on my knees, I reached to hook my fingers into the waistband of Bridget's shorts. I was shaking, my movements clumsy, but I managed to slide the shorts down her thighs to reveal the pink gingham panties she wore. The front, just above her plump mound, was adorned with a delicate bow.

The sight instantly revived my erection. I wished I could hide my excitement.

"Oh, you like these panties, too?" Bridget's question dripped with derision. "You want to lick them clean for me, Bill?"

"No!" I averted my eyes, terrified of what she could read in my needy stare.

"No?" Now she sounded indignant. My throat tightened with dread. Tilting my face upward, I tried to silently plead. 

"I mean, yes, I really like your panties," I admitted. As I spoke, my cock gave a pulse, which I was certain Bridget noticed. "But I know it's wrong for me to... to..."

"To taste them while you jerk off?"

To my surprise, she placed a hand on the top of my head. Never in my life had I felt so vulnerable, so submissive. 

My dick began leaking precum. 

"Poor Bill," she sighed. "So lonely. So horny. It must be terribly difficult to control yourself."

"It isn't."

Bridget gave my cheek a light slap. "Don't lie to me. I've seen you checking out my tits and ass when you think I'm not looking." Beneath her indignation, I glimpsed a trace of amusement. "Now, since you used my panties as a tool for your pleasure, I'm going to use you."