Alex and Mia had been inseparable for nearly a decade, their friendship forged in the innocent days of childhood playdates and shared secrets. They'd seen each other grow up, from awkward pre-teens with braces and bad haircuts to the confident teens they were now. Alex had watched Mia's hair grow long and wavy, her laugh lines deepen from all their inside jokes. Mia had seen Alex grow, his voice drop, his shoulders broaden. 

And at 17, they are still the best of friends, doing everything together—blasting their favourite playlists through tinny phone speakers, sneaking into movie theatres for late-night screenings. As well as battling it out in intense video game sessions, they binge-watched anime marathons that left them quoting lines for days. They attend separate schools—Alex at the all-boys high school across town, Mia at the girls' academy nearby—but that never dulled their bond. They were incredibly close, confidantes in every sense. Yet, neither had ever given the slightest sign of attraction to the other. To them, it was pure platonic bliss—no awkward crushes, no stolen glances. Just friendship.

One lazy Saturday afternoon, they were hanging out at Mia's apartment, sprawled on her living room floor with controllers in hand, immersed in a co-op game. The place was cozy, a modest two-bedroom unit shared with her parents, who were out running errands. 

"Ha! Take that, noob!" Mia teased, her character landing a flawless combo on Alex's. 

He groaned dramatically, tossing his controller aside in mock defeat. "I need a break. Gotta hit the bathroom real quick."

"No problem," Mia said, pausing the game and stretching out on the carpet. "It's down the hall, first door on the right."

Alex nodded and headed off, weaving through the familiar layout. He flicked on the bathroom light—and froze, receiving a surprise. The girl's family's laundry was being hung up to dry right there in the small space. They weren’t a large family; just Mia's parents and herself, but the apartment didn’t have a working dryer, so clotheslines were strung across the bathtub and shower area, dripping garments swaying gently in the humid air. Shirts, pants, socks—everything from her dad's boxers to what had to be her mom's blouses. It was all so... domestic, so intimately personal.

Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, he carried on using the washroom as he initially intended. He unzipped, did his business, and sighed with relief as he finished. After washing up at the sink, hands scrubbed clean under the warm water, he dried them on a towel. But just before he leaves, he looks over to the laundry hanging up on clotheslines over the bathtub/shower, and grows curious. He’d never thought about Mia sexually before, but he’s hit with “she's a girl; a cute girl” and gets the urge to find Mia's clothes.

He could easily tell which were her dad’s—baggy boxers and plain tees—but differentiating between her mom’s and her clothes was a bit more difficult. The styles overlapped: simple blouses, jeans, skirts. But then he spotted a t-shirt with a cute anime girl printed on it, all enormous eyes and pastel colours; this has to be his Mia’s. Heart pounding, a little faster now, curiosity pulling him like a magnet, he started rifling through her blouses and skirts and other pieces, before he came across clothing that particularly piqued his interest: her bras and panties.

Being a teen boy, he knew of bras and panties and what their purpose was; girls have certain parts that boys don’t, and vice versa. But that was about as far as his knowledge went. He'd overheard locker room talk at school, saw ads online, but this was real, tangible proof of Mia's femininity dangling right in front of him.

He was at a crossroads; he knew it was wrong to go through his friend’s underwear, but when else was he going to have the chance to see what she wore? The bathroom door was closed, the apartment quiet except for the distant hum of the game menu music. Swallowing hard, his eyes locked on them: a matching black bra and panties set with pink edging. Who knew that his friend wore such cute and sexy underwear? The black fabric was soft, almost silky to the eye, with delicate pink trim that added a playful, feminine flair. It wasn't trashy or over-the-top; it was subtly alluring, the set that screamed confidence beneath everyday clothes.

He wanted to inspect, so he removed the bra and panties from the clothesline, the clips snapping free with a soft click. Holding them in his trembling hands, he spent a few minutes admiring both the bra and panties, feeling the cups, tracing his fingertips over the panties. The bra's cups were molded foam, smooth and supportive, with a gentle underwire that curved just right. He ran his thumbs over the inner lining, imagining how it cradled Mia's breasts—those soft, full mounds he suddenly realized she must have, hidden under her loose band tees and hoodies during their hangouts. The cups were deep enough to hold something substantial, the fabric stretching slightly under his touch as if remembering the weight it supported. 

God, these are for her boobs, he thought, a rush of heat flooding his cheeks. Mia's boobs rest right here, pressed against this padding every day. She fills these out, her nipples probably brushing the lace edges when she adjusts. 

It was intimate, invasive, thrilling. The panties were even more tantalizing—high-cut bikini style, the black material sheer in places, with that pink edging framing the gusset. He traced the crotch panel, soft and slightly reinforced, picturing it nestled between Mia's legs, covering her most private area, the smooth skin and folds beneath. 

This hugs her pussy, his mind raced, the word feeling forbidden and electric. It rides up against her ass, cupping those cheeks when she walks, sits, laughs with me.

The scent was faint—clean laundry detergent mixed with a hint of her floral body wash—but it was enough to make his pulse thunder. He appreciated every detail: the way the straps were adjustable and thin, perfect for not showing under clothes; the bow at the centre of the bra, cute yet seductive; the seamless edges on the panties to avoid lines. Mia wasn't just his tomboyish friend anymore; she was a girl with curves, secrets, sensuality hidden in plain sight.

He then turned the bra over, when he noticed a tag. Decided to look… it was an Aerie bra… not only that, his friend’s bra size was apparently a 32D. “Is that an enormous size?” he wondered; he thought back to how his friend looked. Through her clothes, he couldn’t tell how big or small she was—baggy sweaters and jeans concealed everything. But now, staring at the tag, then back at the cups, they are definitely not small. 32D—slim band, generous cup. 

Holy shit, Mia has D-cup breasts? The realization hit like a wave. Those cups could envelop handfuls, soft and heavy, spilling over if not contained. He pictured her in this bra, the black fabric contrasting her skin, pink edges peeking if her shirt rode up.

Suddenly, the boy felt tight in his underwear; a flood of thoughts entered his mind: his friend had boobs, his friend’s boobs rested in these cups, this is a sexy bra, his friend likely wore this sexy bra underneath when they were hanging out, etc. Visions flashed of Mia in this set under her school uniform, the bra pushing up her cleavage during anime nights, panties shifting as she crossed her legs beside him on the couch. His cock strained against his briefs, throbbing with need.

He glanced around nervously. Despite being in a bathroom, he was afraid of being walked in on. But he couldn’t ignore his urges. The door locks—he'd checked instinctively. Hands shaking, he unzips his jeans, shoves his hand down the waistband of his briefs. The cool air hit his heated skin as he gripped himself, stroking fast and desperate. 

Thoughts of Mia's body fuelled him: her breasts bouncing slightly in the bra during a goodbye hug, the panties damp after a long day, her ass filling them out perfectly. He bit his lip to stay quiet, breaths coming in ragged gasps. The fabric of her underwear brushed his arm as he pumped, heightening the taboo. 

Fuck, Mia... your tits in this... your pussy covered by these... 

It built quickly, tension coiling. A few minutes later, he released, holding back from making any noises. Hot spurts coated his hand, his body shuddering in silent ecstasy. Legs weak, he stumbled—fell over, quickly grabbing the closest thing he could find to stop himself… the clothesline. He stopped himself from falling into the bathtub, but not from knocking over a few of his friend’s clothes. Bras, panties, a skirt—they tumbled to the tile in a soft heap.

“Shit!” he said, panic surging.

He panicked and quickly tried to put the fallen pieces back on the clothesline, wiping his hand on toilet paper first, flushing evidence. Heart racing, he rehung everything as best he could—clips snapping back, but in his haste, orientations wrong, some inside out.

After masturbating and falling over the clotheslines, he returned to his friend, jeans zipped, face flushed but hoping it would pass for illness.

“Hey, is everything okay? You were in there for quite a while,” his friend asked, a look of concern etching her features as she sat up.

“Yes, no problem. Actually, I’m not feeling the best… would you mind if I headed home?” he asked her, voice straining.

She looked at him, all concerned, “Of course not. But are you sure you’re okay?”

"Yeah, just... stomach thing. I'll text you later."

A few days later, he was sitting at his desk in his bedroom, staring blankly at homework. The incident replayed in his mind on loop—guilt mixing with lingering arousal. He had heard little from Mia; texts were short, polite. Friendship on ice.

He received a buzz on his phone. Grabbing his phone, he noticed he'd gotten a text message from his friend. He smiled; he loved it when he and his friend talked. Besides, she couldn’t possibly know, could she?

He opened the message… and saw the most terrifying words he’d read up to that point in his life: I know what you did.

“Oh shit! I thought I put everything back the way it was,” he panicked. Well, apparently, he hadn’t. The wrong angles, the displaced sets—she must have noticed.

He sent back a text: I’m sorry, I can explain what happened.

She sent him a text back: Come over and we’ll chat. My parents are out right now.

He sat back and thought about his current situation: At least his friend hadn’t told her parents. But she knew he'd done more than just go pee that day. And that he hadn't been having digestion problems. She knew that he had done something with her clothes.

He sighed; this could be the last day of their friendship.

He left his room and house for his friend’s, the walk feeling eternal, dread knotting his stomach.

A little while later, he arrived. His friend greeted him at the door and told him to come inside.

After he closed the door, he turned around and saw her in front of him; she didn’t have an angry expression on her face, but she had her arms crossed.

“So… uh… you can imagine my shock when I went to gather my dry clothes after you left, and found several… things… out of place. You didn’t use the bathroom to go number two, so… what happened exactly?” she asked him directly, her voice steady but probing.

He sighed; while she hadn’t come out and said she knew he handled her underwear, the telltale signs were there. He likely put her pieces back differently, which stood out from her other clothes.

He might as well be honest with his best friend. He breathed heavily and said, “I was going to the bathroom to pee, when just before I left, I noticed your family’s laundry hanging up. I know I shouldn’t have, but curiosity got the better of me. I…went over to see what clothes you wear… as well as what kind of underwear you wear. We have been friends for a long time, and I’ve never seen you… in that way. In my mind, I just wanted to see how your underwear differed from mine.”

To his relief, her face grew softer, “I see. Well… I guess curiosity isn’t a sin. But that doesn’t explain why my undies were with my jeans and other clothes… and facing the other way.”

He thought about how to explain what happened; he was heading into some dangerous territory. It’s one thing to be curious about his friend’s underwear, but he had clearly moved them. There were only so many reasons he would need to touch her underwear. 

He explained, “Okay… I’m sorry; I touched your bras and panties. I wanted to inspect one of your bras, so I pulled it off the line. And then… it just came over me. Your bra was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen… and so I reacted. While I was… you know, falling over… I grabbed the nearest thing I could find so that I wouldn’t fall headfirst into the tub. And that was the clothesline.”

After taking a deep breath, he continued, “Next thing I knew, several bras and panties were scattered about. I panicked and started putting them on the clothesline as quickly and neatly as I could. But I guess I should’ve paid more attention to how you hung your laundry. And... not touched them at all.”

There; his friend now knew exactly what had happened—what he'd touched, felt, fantasized about, and the messy aftermath.

His friend’s expression didn’t change, “I accept your apology. But you should know… this changes things between us. I don’t know how much, but I wouldn’t have expected this from you. You touched my underwear, Alex. While you didn’t steal them, which would have been much worse, creepy even, I’m not sure I can trust you right now. Can you please leave?”

He nodded numbly, mumbling another apology as he slipped out, the door clicking shut like a gavel.

A few days later, communication still hadn’t returned to normal. He was growing worried that he just fucked up the best friendship he’ll ever have; all because of his stupid hormones. How the hell could I do something so stupid? he thought, pacing his room.

Sitting at his desk, he contemplated punching himself in the groin. But just before he brought his fist down in frustration, he sighed. Harming himself, maybe even potentially rupturing something, wouldn’t change his current predicament.

But then, almost by divine intervention, he received a text. It was from his friend! At least she would communicate with him again.

He tapped the message, which said, “I want us to remain friends. We’ve been through so much; just letting it die because of something like this would be overkill. With that said… you hurt me. And I think something needs to be done to ensure it won’t happen again.”

“Something needs to be done.” “It won’t happen again.” These were oddly threatening, albeit cryptic messages from a girl who just last week had laughed so hard at a scene on tv that she couldn’t breathe.

But, he couldn’t say he hadn’t seen this coming, and texted back: That’s fair. What do you want me to do?

For a little while, he didn’t get a text back. But then, he heard a knock at the front door. Going to investigate, he opened the door… to find no one. Only a carefully wrapped package greets him, plain brown paper tied with string, sitting on the mat.

What is this? he thought. It couldn’t be from her, could it? No, she implied there would be a retribution. He scooped it up, shutting the door, and unwrapped it on his bed. Inside: a week's worth of panties, folded neatly; the black bikini with pink edging from the bathroom, a lacy red thong, cotton boyshorts with cartoon prints, a silky blue pair, and more. All clean, but unmistakably hers. 

And attached to the package was a note: Proof will be required daily. Photos. Or else.

A buzz from his phone brought him back to the present. Mia was calling him. 

He answered his phone and heard, “Did you get the package? For your punishment, I’ve decided that you’ll be wearing my underwear instead of your own for the next week. That means you’ll be attending school in my panties, partaking in gym class in my panties, sitting down for dinner with your family in my panties, etc. Since you apparently like my underwear so much, I figured, maybe you should wear them. So, for the next week, I’ll be monitoring you. Do this and we can return to being friends.”