Being a student, and obviously impoverished, I was intrigued to see an advert posted on the noticeboard in the Student Union offering work. The poster, a Mrs Roslyn from the Bursary Department, was seeking a student to work over the summer redecorating her large house on the edge of town. My degree course in the history of art didn't qualify me to decorate a cake, let alone a house, but I was not one to duck a challenge.

I saw that the ad had been placed a couple of weeks earlier. The job might have been taken, but I still felt it was worth phoning. I spoke to Mrs Roslyn, and I was happy when she invited me to drop by her house the next day.

oooOOooo

I found the property with no trouble. There were three steps leading up to the front door. I climbed them, rang the bell and then stepped back down to wait for her to answer. For some reason, I had it in mind that a woman from the Bursary would lead a sedentary lifestyle. She would probably be nearing retirement—someone not keen to do DIY but not wealthy enough to employ a professional.

It was therefore a surprise when the door was opened by a fit and attractive woman in her early forties. She was dressed in a tight-fitting pair of leggings that accentuated her shapely legs and an equally tight-fitting sports bra that highlighted her pert breasts. A bare midriff separated the leggings from the top. Her body was glistening with perspiration, and it didn't need Sherlock Holmes to deduce I'd interrupted a workout.

Her appearance screamed MILF, and I felt an immediate attraction towards her. She was slim, and her body was well-proportioned. With so little left to the imagination, I felt my penis stiffening inside my boxers. There was much about her that was turning me on.

She towered over me from the top of the steps.

“Hello, Mrs Roslyn, I'm Julian,” I explained. “We spoke on the phone about the decorating... Is this an inconvenient time?”

“Yes, it is,” she bluntly replied, seeming a tad irritated. She looked me up and down. “And I was expecting someone who was... er... well, you know what I mean.”

“Sorry? I don't understand.”

She hesitated for a moment, finding what she hoped was a tactful explanation. “Well, I was expecting someone taller and stronger. Someone more muscular because it's physical work. There's furniture to shift and ceilings to reach, and you look a bit... how can I put this? You look wimpish. A little effeminate, possibly? Sorry, no offence intended!”

Offence was taken! “I might be slightly built, but I'm stronger than I look, Mrs Roslyn,” I retorted.

“Hmm. I doubt it, but as no one else has applied, I guess you'd better come in.”

I climbed the steps up to the door and entered the house. Now standing alongside her, I could tell she was four inches taller than me. Her muscles, while not disproportionate for her size, were well-toned and her midriff was taut. I sensed she was probably stronger than me. She could be right—I did feel like a wimp standing next to her.

She pushed back her blonde hair and stared at me for a few seconds. Her sweat, infused with a sensual perfume, wafted in my direction, causing a further stirring inside my boxers. I felt I was in the presence of a powerful woman. Physically powerful, perhaps, but also someone with a powerful personality. She didn't strike me as someone who suffered fools gladly.

She continued to look me up and down, her face screwed up in deep thought. “God knows why I'm saying this, Julian, but the job's yours if you want it. I'll pay you the rate stated in the advert for four weeks, but I need the whole of the interior decorated, and I expect the job to be finished in that time. Otherwise, I'll know you've been slacking. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay, but I don't know how big the job is, Mrs Roslyn.” She'd not shown me around, so I was clueless as to how many rooms there were.

“I've told you! It's the whole inside of the house, and it's four weeks' work. Are you dense? Do you want it or not?”

“No... yes... er... okay, I'll take it.” I needed the money, but what was I agreeing to?

“You start tomorrow at eight, and your day ends at five. Make sure to wear old clothes! I'll see you out, Julian.”

oooOOooo

Wearing my oldest tracksuit, I turned up at her house the following morning at 8 AM prompt. She quickly opened the door and, in contrast to my scruffy appearance, she was smartly dressed in a crisp white shirt and a navy miniskirt. The term MILF returned to me.

“I'll show you the room you're starting with,” she said. She took me upstairs to a back bedroom, explaining as we ascended that it was her twenty-one-year-old daughter's room, and she had recently left for a gap year after finishing university. Lucky for those who could afford it, I thought to myself.

When she opened the door, I could see that the room was stuffed full of furniture and possessions. In one corner, the decorating materials I needed were piled up—a step ladder, dust sheets, tools and large pots of paint.

“I need all the wallpaper stripped off, and the walls and ceiling painted white—two coats. See that you do a neat job. I don't want paint anywhere other than where it should be—otherwise, I'll be docking your pay to clean up your mess. Do you understand me?” Mrs Roslyn stared scornfully at me.

“Yes,” I replied. “But where do I put the furniture? There's not much free space,” I protested.

“That's not my problem. You move stuff around as needed. I would have thought that was obvious!”

“Yeah, but it's a lot of work!”

“Yes, and I'm paying you to do it, so just get on with it.”

oooOOooo

I got started, deciding that the wall behind a large chest of drawers would be the best place to begin. It was a heavy piece of furniture, and it didn't want to slide along a carpeted floor. Possibly she was right— I didn't have the muscles for the job.

I persevered to shift it and gave it a massive push, causing it to lean at a dangerous angle. There was a risk of the whole thing falling over. Luckily, I just managed to rescue the situation, except that a top drawer slid out, spilling its contents onto the carpet.

My penis gave a tremendous jolt when I saw that there were umpteen pairs of panties spread across the floor. They seemed to be in every style, every colour and every fabric. For someone like me, who is fascinated by panties, it was like all my Christmases had arrived at once. Sure, I owned a small collection, but seeing pairs that belonged to a real woman was something special.

I bent down to examine them but then paused. What if Mrs Roslyn were to appear? What would she make of it?

I froze and listened but could hear nothing, so I was safe. I got down on my knees and carefully investigated the horde, picking up individual items and feeling them with my fingers, or rubbing them down my cheeks.

By now, I had a rock-solid erection. I needed relief—urgently! I reasoned that one pair of panties, out of so many, would never be missed for a day or so—if ever!

I listened again for any signs of Mrs Roslyn making her way upstairs and decided the coast was clear. Hastily, I pulled down my tracksuit bottoms and boxers, chose a particularly delicious pair of pink satin panties and, still kneeling, began rubbing.

It took but seconds before I shot my load into the soft, silky material. My body collapsed as I ejaculated—so powerful was the orgasm. I held on to the panties, squeezing every last drop of jism into them. Then, finding an unsoiled patch of fabric, I wiped my organ clean.

My urges satisfied, I quickly got redressed.

But what to do with the soiled underwear? There seemed to be no choice but to screw the panties up and stuff them into my pocket. Then, I collected the many other pairs that still littered the floor, shoved them back into the drawer and slid it into the chest of drawers.

I got everything back just in time as I heard Mrs Roslyn climbing the stairs. Sensing danger, I began scraping at the wallpaper with one of the tools.

She poked her head around the door and sniffed the air several times. “What's that I can smell, Julian?” she asked.

“Er... I can't smell anything. Unless it's... it's old wallpaper paste. Yes, that would be it.”

“Hmm?” she queried. She came over and stood over me as I continued, on my knees, scraping off wallpaper. Stay calm, I told myself.

She sniffed a couple more times. “Yes, the smell is stronger over here. Make sure you open a window, Julian, because I don't want that godamn smell pervading the house.”

That was a close call.

oooOOooo

When I got back to my flat that evening, the first thing I did was to extract the soiled panties from my pocket. The semen had dried and was now serving as glue. Carefully, I peeled apart the fabric, my nose instantly picking up the stench of my spunk.

Clearly, in that state, the panties were wrecked. If I was to return them or, better still, use them again, then I had to wash them. This I did, by hand, and then I spread them out to dry overnight.

oooOOooo

The next morning, I was up early, and the panties were dry. They were crumpled, but a gentle press with an iron soon made them look as good as new. When I returned them to Mrs Roslyn's, she would not be any the wiser.

But just handling the panties, still a little warm from the iron, was causing my penis to thicken and lengthen. They were so soft and very unlike my boxers. I couldn't understand why girls, wearing such garments, weren't in a state of permanent arousal—maybe they were! I knew from experience that wearing such soft, delicate items so close to my own skin excited me.

And then a brilliant idea struck me! I would wear them to work! What harm was there in borrowing them for another day? I would wash them that night and return them the following morning.

Quickly, I slipped down my tracksuit, discarded my boxers and pulled up the panties. For once in my life, I was thankful that I was of slight build—a wimp, as Mrs Roslyn had put it. The panties were a good fit. Well, maybe they were a little on the tight side, but that only served to secure my balls and willy safely in place. Had they been a size bigger, things might have fallen out.

But quickly my penis began tenting inside the silky underwear. Fortunately, pressing a bag of frozen peas against the front of the panties soon brought matters under control, and I set off on my bicycle for Mrs Roslyn's. As I went, I willed myself not to think of what I was wearing, but the way they softly rubbed against my dick soon began to drive me crazy. By the time I pulled outside her house, I was semi-stiff, and I hoped that Mrs Roslyn wouldn't notice.

oooOOooo

Once she had let me in, I quickly set to work, moving more furniture to expose more wall. Anything to take my mind off the stimulating effects of the panties I was wearing. But it wasn't long before I was again attracted to the contents of the chest of drawers. Keeping an ear open for movement on the stairs, I once more explored the inside of the panty drawer, examining each item and imagining what it would be like to wear those sensual garments on a daily basis.

But I also needed to know what the other drawers held, so I pulled open another. It contained T-shirts. Another had shorts, another vest tops, another socks. Then I struck gold and opened one full of bras! Bras of every description, from plain T-shirt bras to the most exquisite lacy numbers.

I couldn't believe I'd stumbled on such a vast collection of lingerie. If the daughter had gone away for a gap year, what the hell had she taken to wear? I could only assume she was “travelling light”.

I picked up one or two of the bras for closer examination, feeling the soft fabric in my fingers and even pressing one against my chest to mimic what it would feel like to wear. My penis was rock solid, and I wondered if I had time for a quick wank.

Then I heard movement on the stairs. Moving quickly, I shoved the bras back into the drawer and pushed it shut. I had just resumed my attempts to remove the old wallpaper when Mrs Roslyn appeared. I made sure I had my back to her.

“Uh!” she huffed. “I should have hired a tortoise—it would have worked faster,” she snorted.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “The old paper's difficult to get off. I'm going as quickly as I can, Mrs Roslyn.”

She turned away but stopped suddenly. “Why is this drawer open, Julian?”

Mrs Roslyn's words instantly caused my erection to shrink. I dropped my scraper and jumped up, panic spreading through my body. Sure enough, the panty drawer was slightly open.

“Have you been mooching in here?” she demanded to know. She pulled the drawer fully open. “Yes, you damn well have!” she exclaimed. “Madeleine would never leave her undies in a jumble like this. She folds her stuff neatly and arranges by colour.”

This required quick thinking—which, at that moment, was beyond my abilities.

Mrs Roslyn glared at me and, if looks could kill, I would have dropped down dead. “What have you been doing?” she screamed, as she pulled open the bra drawer. “Oh, my God, you've been in here as well. Madeleine would never leave her bras in this state. Explain yourself, Julian!”

“Erm...” What was I to say? “Er... well... erm... you see... er. The drawers fell out as I moved the furniture. It's top-heavy!”

Shaking her head, she replied, “No way! Do you think I was born yesterday?”

She turned her attention back to the panty drawer, rooting through the contents.

“There's a pair missing!” she shouted.

“What?!” I sensed my face was turning bright scarlet. “How... how would you know? There are so many pairs.”

“It's a pink pair, Julian. I happen to know there were five pink pairs, and now there are only four.” She stared at me in an accusatory way but said nothing.

She was waiting for me to confess. “I... I don't know what you're talking about,” I pleaded in desperation. “You must be mistaken.”

“Empty your pockets,” she snapped. “Now!”

I gave a silent sigh of relief, reached down and pulled my tracksuit pockets inside out, showing they were empty. “See?” I defiantly said. “Nothing!”

She looked a little nonplussed and stood glaring at me. “I'm going to call the police and have them search your accommodation,” she boldly declared.

“Do that if you want... You won't find them there! I'll call them myself if you want?” My confidence was growing.

“Then where will I find them? Hmm?” She paused for a few seconds, weighing up the situation. Then her eyebrows shot up as if she'd had a brainwave. “Pull your tracksuit bottoms down!”

“No!” I yelled.

“Yes!” she retorted, with a sinister smile. “If you don't, I'll take that as proof that you're wearing Madeleine's panties. I'll call the police and get you searched!”

She pulled her phone from her back pocket. I was cornered—damned if I did, and damned if I didn't.

Reluctantly, I did what she wanted, revealing the missing pink panties. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed with a nod of satisfaction. Her manner had changed. Solving the mystery of the lost panties had brought about a change in her demeanour.

“I'm sorry, Mrs Roslyn,” I squealed.

“I'm keen to know why you're wearing them. Come on, Julian, you can tell me...”

“I don't know! I couldn't help myself... women's underwear turns me on. I love touching it... and feeling it.”

I hastened to pull the bottoms up, but she shrieked, “Take them off completely, Julian. And your top! Please!”

Grudgingly, I did what she asked. I was now standing in front of her, dressed in nothing but panties. And, if that wasn't embarrassing enough, bizarrely, my penis was once more swelling. She stared down at it, almost mesmerised as it grew, pushing against the delicate fabric.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “You have a very feminine figure, Julian,” she remarked. Her tone had softened further. “If you shaved off those wisps of body hair, put on a wig and applied some make-up, you'd pass as a girl,” she continued.

“What?”

“I'm just saying what I see, that's all. Has no one else ever told you that you could pass as a girl?”

“No! Of course not! I'm a man!” I retorted.

“Yes, what I can see down there tells me you're a man,” she replied, staring at my erection. “But you have strong feminine features, and you obviously enjoy wearing female attire.”

“Well, I—”

“Would you care to be more of a girl?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

She nodded back and opened up the bra drawer. After scrabbling around for a few seconds, she pulled out a lacy pink number and flung it at me. “Put that on, Julian,” she ordered.

I wasn't sure what was happening, but whatever it was, it was exciting me. The end of my stiff penis now protruded from the top of the flimsy panties.

“Come on! Put it on! You know you want to.”

I slipped my arms through the straps, pulled up the cups and reached behind. It didn't take much fumbling before the hooks were done up.

“You've done that before, haven't you?” Again, I nodded. “Quite a few times, I believe,” she added. I agreed again.

She found two pairs of pink ankle socks in another drawer. “Stuff those into the cups for shape,” she insisted.

I did, which intensified my excitement.

“Give me a twirl... slowly.”

I slowly turned through 360 degrees.

She licked her top lip. “You could most certainly pass as a girl. Would you like to go a step further with your girly experience, Julian?”

“I don't understand.”

“Girls get fucked, Julian. Would you like to get fucked?”

“Eh! What?”

“You heard me. Would you like to be penetrated to get the full girly experience?”

“What?! Do you mean? Yes, you do, don't you? My God!”

“Well?”

“Oh, my God. I think I would. That's never happened to me.”

“Cover the bed with a dust sheet and then kneel on it, on all fours. I'll be back in a moment.”

The “moment” dragged on, and it was about five minutes before Mrs Roslyn returned. I heard her come into the room and I looked at her through my legs.

She was naked, except for a black phallus fixed to a harness around her waist. It looked enormous and was bigger than my real thing, both in girth and length. And along the shaft were realistic-looking, throbbing veins.

“Haven't you anything smaller?” I pleaded.

“If you want the full girly experience, Julie, then bigger is better. Not that I would call this big, mind you! It's tiny!”

“Right,” I mumbled with a sense of disbelief. The end of the dildo was glistening and appeared to be coated in precum, but I saw that in her hand was a tube of what I guessed was lubricant. That provided some reassurance, but I was still nervous.

And then my eyes strayed from the dildo to her breasts, and my penis spasmed. I'd never seen naked breasts on a woman of her age, and I was stunned to see they were still firm and stood proud.

“Are you happy for me to proceed, Julia?” she enquired. “I'll be gentle, but I can assure you of the ride of your life.”

I gulped. “Yes... I'm happy,” I falteringly replied. Was I really happy?

She spread lubricant over my bum hole. It was cold and wet but welcome. Then I felt the dildo pressing against me, seeking admittance.

“Relax, Julie,” she softly urged. “Don't put up resistance.”

It was easier said than done, but I had this strange desire to have this foreign object inside me to discover what it was like to be fucked.

She increased the pressure while I tried to relax. Then, suddenly, it entered but didn't proceed too far. My suspicions that it looked enormous were confirmed. I thought it was going to rip me apart, but, slowly, I grew to accept this invader. The sensation was not unpleasant—in fact, I was beginning to enjoy it.

Gradually, she pushed the dildo in further, then pulled back a little, before pushing on again. With each stroke, it went in a little deeper, and then it collided with my prostate. I gasped in pleasure. “Ooooh, my God!” I cried.

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” she remarked. I felt that my reactions were all the answer she needed.

Mrs Roslyn reached forward and grabbed my erect penis, which was protruding from the scanty panties. She began fondling it while continuing to thrust in and out.

What she was doing was taking my breath away, but it was so satisfying. And then I realised that her respiration rate had increased and she was purring in pleasure. It dawned on me that the dildo must be double-ended.

On she went for a couple of more minutes, taking both of us closer to the point of no return. Then, without further warning, she climaxed, while at the same time manipulating my erection to ensure I joined her. My spunk shot out, spraying the dust sheet that covered the bed. On and on it went, my knees collapsing in ecstasy while she writhed in pleasure before collapsing on my back.

It was a few minutes before she withdrew and flopped down next to me on the dust sheet. She unbuckled the harness, dropping the assembly onto the floor.

“Well,” she said, after a further pause, “I've shown you what a man can do, so now you show me what a girl can do.” If I was in any doubt what she meant, she pointed between her legs.

I dropped down onto the carpet, and she used her fingers to open her vulva, giving me sight of her glistening pussy. Leaning forward, I was met by her musky scent, which began to reawaken my organ.

I had some prior experience of eating a girl out, but they had been beginners. Certainly, they'd enjoyed my attention, but I couldn't help thinking that Mrs Roslyn would be a more discerning recipient. She'd probably had sex with loads of men, and many of those would have had more practice than me.

But, as with decorating, I was not one to duck a challenge, so I moved in. My lips met with hers, and I began sucking, and she responded by murmuring something inaudible. Her juices were teasing my taste buds, encouraging me to continue with my efforts.

“Touch my clit,” she mumbled impatiently. I explored her pussy with my tongue, searching for this elusive organ. A sudden jerk from her told me I'd found it. “Gently!” she hissed.

I took her advice and brushed my tongue very lightly across it. It was rigid, and the merest contact caused her to squirm and cry out.

“Find my opening,” she muttered. I moved down with my tongue, seeking her vagina. It was easier to find, and I stuffed my tongue inside. In response, she grabbed the back of my head, pushing my face further into her pussy and allowing me to go in deeper.

I worked away inside her as her vocalisations grew louder and her wriggling more intense. “More!” she breathlessly moaned, and I increased my stimulation.

She was getting closer... and closer. Then her body began bucking, and she strengthened her grip on my head, determined that contact would not be lost. “Fuck... fuck... fuck!” she screamed. More juices squirted into my mouth as I endeavoured to prolong her enjoyment.

Then it was over—her body went limp, but still she pressed my face into her vulva.

She let go, and I pulled away and looked up at her. Her eyes were still shut, and then they popped open.

“Well,” she smiled. “Haven't you got decorating to do? Get on with it, unless you want your pay docked!”

“Yes, Mrs Roslyn,” I replied. “But what about?” I pointed at the lingerie I was wearing.

“Keep it... Madeleine is hardly going to want it back. I'll deduct £40 from your money to cover the cost.”

I gulped at the expense, but didn't hesitate to slip my tracksuit over the panties and bra.

THE END