Chapter 5 - The Game

Morning brought doubt. The confidence that Brianna had intentionally left those panties for me had faded overnight, though the idea she was okay with me "using them" still turned me on. Not wanting to return them stained with my cum, I jerked off into them one more time before washing them and slipping them into her laundry basket while she was at school.

That evening, her bedroom door stood open as I walked past. She was on her bed, music playing softly while she read some magazine. I glanced in and muttered "Hi" as I went by. Could've sworn I saw the exact pair of panties I'd returned lying next to her on the bed. Why would she leave them out? A few minutes later, on my way to the kitchen, I passed her room again. Definitely them—the black cotton ones I'd used twice now.

Just as I was about to walk away, she called my name. I poked my head back in her doorway. "Hey, what's up?"

Brianna picked up the panties from beside her. "Hey... did you wash these?"

"Yeeeaaahh?" I answered cautiously, confused by the question.

She rolled her eyes, voice tinged with annoyance. "Well, what was the point in me asking for them back?"

I just stood there with a look of complete confusion. After a few seconds of silence, I stammered, "Uh... I don't... know?"

She rolled her eyes again. "You're an idiot."

Then she stood up and started unbuttoning her jeans. I couldn't believe what I was seeing as she pulled them down along with her underwear. Completely bottomless right in front of me, her pussy came into view for the first time. It was perfectly smooth—bald and shaped like a clam with pink lips peeking out. She picked up the panties she was just removed from her pussy and turned them inside out. Holding them flat, she proceeded to rub them right against her pussy. Then she flipped them over and wiped herself with the other side. My eyes practically bugged out of my head as I stood frozen in her doorway, watching this completely matter-of-fact demonstration.

She walked right up to me and held out the panties she'd just used on herself. "Let's try this again. Only this time, when you are done using my panties, give them back to me and DON'T wash them."

Then she just went back to her bed, put on the black panties that had been lying there—pressing them against her pussy for a moment before pulling up her jeans—and continued reading her magazine like nothing had happened. Not sure what to do, I took her silence as my cue to leave. I backed away from her doorway, her still warm panties clutched in my hand.

My mind was reeling. Was it more shocking that she'd just shown me her pussy without hesitation, or that she'd given me fresh panties to masturbate into? I was pretty sure she wanted me to cum in them and return them stained, but this was so far beyond normal. A part of me became nervous—if she had no boundaries about exposing herself to me, what else might she do? I started worrying about the situation I'd gotten myself into.

Yet as I stood there contemplating her mental stability with her underwear in hand, I realized my cock wasn't worried at all—it was absolutely throbbing in my pants. After a few minutes of weighing the risks, I found myself on my bed, stroking myself while pressing her damp panties to my face. The scent of her fresh arousal was intoxicating. Within minutes I was cumming into them again. Not as much as before since I'd already jerked off that morning, but I loved wiping my cock clean with her cum-soaked underwear afterward, thinking that she'd soon be touching the very thing I was using to clean my dick.

The next day while she was at school, I put the panties on her dresser and made sure I was home when she returned. I quietly read in my room with the door open, listening. Her routine was always the same—come home, go straight to her room to drop off her bag. I heard the front door open, footsteps down the hall, then her bedroom door. In a friendly voice, I called out, "Hey Brianna," but got no response.

Then I heard a thump—like she'd dropped her bag—and seconds later, her bedroom door clicked shut.

My mind was racing. Did she even see the panties? Or was she just having one of those days? I still felt like I'd crossed some invisible line, even though she'd practically ordered me to do this exact thing. Curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped into the hallway, trying to be quiet. That's when I heard it—soft moans and whimpers coming from behind her door. Brianna was touching herself, and my dick went rock hard instantly. Her moans started low but quickly grew louder and more desperate. She wasn't trying to be quiet at all—she clearly wanted me listening from across the hall. Overwhelmed, I shut my eyes and pictured her frantically rubbing her pussy while staring at my cum staining her panties. Before I knew it, I was stroking myself again in my room, matching her rhythm from across the hall.

This was something totally new with Brianna—exciting in a way nothing had ever been before. Part of me worried I was about to screw up our living arrangement, but I was so turned on by our little game that thinking straight felt impossible. I had no clue where this was going, or if it was going anywhere at all, but I was discovering parts of my own sexuality I never knew existed, and goddamn it was thrilling. It scared me how easily Brianna showed me her pussy, rubbed her panties against it, and then handed them to me like it was nothing.

Over and over, I told myself she was crazy, but then I had to face that my fantasies were just as insane. The difference was, I only ever thought about doing this stuff while jerking off—I'd never actually have the nerve to do it. Brianna didn't seem to have that filter. She understood written rules and followed them strictly, but anything else? Fair game. For me, that was both terrifying and intoxicating. I couldn't believe how casually she'd handed me her panties to use—it was the hottest thing I'd ever seen. And I had no idea how far she'd take this game, or if I could even get her to stop if I wanted to. I knew this was probably a terrible idea, but the rush was too much. I felt like an addict out of control—so exhilarating that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. From that moment on, I decided the risk was worth it.

Until this whole thing started, masturbation had always been my dirty little secret. As a 20-year-old, I jacked off a lot. I looked forward to those private sessions every single day—it wasn't just something I enjoyed; it was a necessary function. If I went more than a couple days without it, it's all I could think about and I could barely function. Masturbating was as important as eating or sleeping—some days, it was all I could focus on. While I probably didn't do it much more than other guys my age, I always felt guilty about how often I did it and the stuff I thought about. I never told anyone about my jerking off habits—not even my girlfriends. I perpetuated that teenage lie that it was only for guys who couldn't get the "real thing." I pretended I was too cool for something so desperate and pathetic. But after hiding this secret for so long, it felt like such a relief that Brianna might enjoy it just as much as I did. I loved the idea that we both masturbated regularly and knew about each other's secret habit.

The thrill for me was sharing my secret, but Brianna didn't seem to share my shame about masturbation. Either she didn't understand what was so taboo about simulating sex with yourself, or she just didn't care. While I felt like some pathetic teenager who couldn't keep his hands out of his pants, she treated it like something she did between dinner and bedtime. It was as normal to her as brushing her teeth—just something that needed doing. Her freedom from guilt or embarrassment was refreshing, and it made me less ashamed about how often I did it. Her casual attitude toward masturbation was her normal, but for me, it felt incredible to finally embrace what I'd always seen as some adolescent deviance.

For the first time in my life, I actually felt proud of how much I came instead of feeling ashamed about jacking off all the time. The thought of her seeing the results gave me this power rush—like I was showing her what my body could do as a man. It was weirdly satisfying knowing she'd be looking at my mess, like I was putting on a display just for her. But what really got me going was her reaction. She didn't just see it—she immediately wanted to get herself off to the sight of my cum. That alone felt incredibly validating.

Replaying it in my head over and over gave me this amazing high. She couldn't help but touch herself right when she saw what I'd made by having sex with my hand. I never would've imagined feeling this way—normally I'd be mortified if a woman knew I jerked off. But with Brianna? I was actually proud to show her that I had just had sex with myself.

----------- Chapter 6 - The Smell of Sex-----------------

My schedule for the following week put me on night duty—four in the afternoon until six in the morning. The only window where Brianna and I might cross paths was in the early mornings, when I dragged myself home just as she was preparing for school. Morning and Brianna were never a good combination; before eight a.m., she wasn't interested in human interaction, so our conversations were minimal that week.

But the lack of contact didn't stop my mind from replaying the same scene over and over: Brianna, using my cum to get herself off. I must have masturbated at least fifteen times that week, whenever I had a moment to myself. Without speaking to her for over a week, I had no way of knowing what was going through her head. Did she think about it as much as I did?

On the last day of my night shift, I sent Brianna a text—I'd be home at midnight instead of in the morning. I didn't want her startled by someone entering the house in the middle of the night. She never responded. When I finally unlocked the front door at midnight, I found something waiting for me on the knob to my bedroom door: a pair of her underwear.

They were the same black cotton panties from before, but these were freshly soaked with her cream. The smell was intoxicating—sharp and musky—and they looked as if she'd stuffed the entire pair inside herself. They were wrinkled and thoroughly damp, the crotch so wet that when I ran my fingers over it, her arousal stretched from the fabric to my finger in translucent strings. Seeing her cum in this liquid form, I spent the next ten minutes just examining her panties, lost in arousal.

How long had they been hanging there? Not long, I decided. I imagined her hearing my car pull into the driveway, then quickly pulling them off her body just moments before I arrived. She wanted me to see how wet she was. The thought sent a jolt through me as I wrapped my hand around my cock. She wasn't just leaving them there—she was requesting cum.

I'd had girlfriends who wanted to watch me cum, but this was different. She was specifically asking me to deposit my cum into her underwear. It made me feel special, this idea that by masturbating for her, I was giving her sexual satisfaction. The more I thought about it, the more I knew exactly how to return them: I would give them back just as she had given them to me—freshly covered in my own cum moments before handing them back.

But first, I had to build up my reserves. As difficult as it was, I resisted the urge to masturbate that night. Torture didn't begin to describe it. My hands and cock had absorbed the scent of her pussy from handling her panties, and the aroma followed me everywhere. I tossed and turned for hours, my erection making it impossible to get comfortable enough to sleep. Every so often, I'd bring my hand to my face and inhale deeply—that blissful scent of her pussy lingering on my skin. The next day, I don't think I lost my erection for even a single minute as I waited for her to come home from school. Knowing her usual routine, she'd arrive around four p.m. I started masturbating around three, making sure I was ready to cum at a moment's notice.

At 3:50 I slipped into Brianna's room, the black panties spread flat across her comforter like an offering. I watched the street from her window, my hand gliding down my shaft in slow, deliberate strokes, each movement bringing me closer to the edge. My cock throbbed with barely contained urgency—two pumps was all it took to make the pressure build behind the tip. Ready. Just waiting for her car to appear. I imagined her finding my cum still warm, glistening in puddles on the fabric that normally rests against her pussy. The thought alone nearly sent me over as I worked myself with excruciating patience.

There it was—her silver sedan turning onto our street. The panties stretched before me, dark against the light grey bedspread. I hovered my cock an inch above them, aiming carefully. Less than ten seconds before my release—the force surged through me, hot and unstoppable. Cum splashed against the cotton in thick ribbons, and I floated on that euphoric wave, picturing Brianna's reaction to what I'd left behind.

The towel in my other hand was supposed to catch the overflow—a lesson I tried to learn from last time's cleanup disaster—but I was lost in it, couldn't stop painting her underwear white with my release. A river, not a puddle—that's what I'd created. The panties vanished beneath layers of milky fluid. There were little dark spots on her grey comforter, completely surrounding her panties. This was an absolute mess, like I had just poured cum onto her bed. With cum flowing off her panties and down the side of her bed, the light grey comforter highlighted every drop of cum that I had spewed in a unmistakable pattern of orgasmic release. Furthermore, my orgasm stretched on for what felt like forever, still pulsing into my cupped hand as I scrambled away from the evidence. Bottomless, pressing a towel to my dripping crotch, I bolted from her room just as the front lock clicked. Behind me, a gleaming pearl of cum glistened on the middle of her wooden floor—I'd missed. No time. I barely made it into my room before her footsteps echoed down the hall.

Reality crashed over me. Leaving that kind of mess on her bed felt wrong. There would be no mistaking that I had just masturbated in her room, on her bed. So much more wrong than simply returning soiled panties—I suddenly felt scared that I had gone too far, like I had defiled her private space. Remembering that she'd left those panties on my doorknob without entering my room, panic started to seized me, cold and sharp. My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed against my wall, door still wide open, straining to hear her reaction over my own frantic pulse.

"Oh my god!"

Her voice—sharp, loud, then nothing. My stomach plummeted. The door. I hadn't closed my damn door. If she came to confront me, she'd find me exactly as I was—naked below the waist, clutching a towel like some pathetic excuse for modesty. Frozen. Paralyzed. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, my breath held tight in my chest, listening for any sound—any clue to what would happen next.

Then I heard it—the metallic clink from her room, then a soft scrape as something slid against the floor. Fear gave way to excitement in a rush—was that a belt buckle? I yanked on a pair of shorts, my hands shaking as I moved silently into the hallway. Her door remained open, but I heard no movement from inside. I had to know: had she taken off her pants or was she horrified by what I'd done? I crept to the edge of her doorway, my breath caught in my throat as I peeked inside.

Brianna stood in the middle of her room, completely still. Her pants and panties lay in a pile on the floor at her feet. She was looking down, wiping herself with the panties I'd just coated with my cum. She dragged the fabric over every inch—down the curve of her ass, along her inner thighs, all across her mound. Then she slipped a finger between her legs and brought it to her mouth, sucking it clean. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Right there, she had my cum on her pussy and the taste of it in her mouth. Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to leave—I'd be caught if she turned even slightly in my direction—but my feet were rooted to the spot. I couldn't look away. But Brianna seemed completely absorbed in what she was doing, never once lifting her eyes from between her legs. She stood there, bent over slightly with her legs parted, like she was admiring the deposit I'd made for her, studying the globs of cum glistening on her pussy.

She closed her legs, pressing the cum-filled panties between her thighs as she pulled off her shirt and bra in one smooth motion. For the first time, I saw her breasts. They were perfect—not perky exactly, but full and natural C-cups that moved with her. Her nipples were the most perfect shade of pink, about the size of a half-dollar. Without even bothering to close her door, she stretched out naked on her bed, spreading her legs wide. Her eyes closed, and she started rubbing the panties into her pussy as she began to masturbate.

"Your cum is still warm," Brianna moaned softly, the words barely audible.

I didn't know if she was talking to herself, or if somehow she knew I was watching from the doorway. Not that it mattered—I wasn't moving my eyes from her for anything. My cock was rock hard again within minutes, straining against my shorts. God, I wanted desperately to take it out and cum right there while watching the hottest sight of my life, but I couldn't risk drawing attention to myself and ending this show. Instead, I rubbed myself through the fabric, trying to soak in every detail as I watched her fuck herself with my cum.

Her moans started soft but grew steadily more intense. I knew she was close. Then she slid her left hand into her pussy, coating it with the clear mixture of our fluids before bringing it to her nose and mouth. Smearing our combined juices across her face, she inhaled deeply through her nose as her tongue flicked out to taste her fingers. The sight sent another jolt through me. She started rubbing the panties against her clit more vigorously now, her moans growing louder and more desperate. Within a minute, she was trembling and whimpering with an intensity that almost sounded like pain.

I stood frozen in amazement as her entire body shuddered uncontrollably. At the peak of her climax, she cried out, "Fuck!" and her face contorted as the sensation overwhelmed her. She kept rubbing herself frantically as her thighs clamped shut around her hand, almost like the pleasure was too much to handle. She flipped onto her side, giving me an even better view of her ass and pussy from behind. I could see her wetness dripping down the back of her thighs. Her legs were squeezed so tightly around her hand that I could see her fingers turning pale. It looked like she was trying to keep touching herself, but her body was fighting against it, the sensations too intense. Eventually, her movements slowed until she just left her fingers on her pussy, her thighs still pressed together as she gently traced the edges of her sex.

With her ass still facing me and her face buried in a pillow, I backed away from her doorway as quietly as possible. I tiptoed down the hall to the basement stairs, creeping down one step at a time to make it seem like I'd been in the basement the whole time. In the basement bathroom, I didn't waste a second—stripping naked, turning on the shower, and stepping in while already stroking my cock. I poured baby oil over myself and replayed every incredible second in my mind as I jerked off frantically. The image of her standing there, examining my cum as she smeared it across her pussy—it wasn't long before I was cumming in my hand yet again.

When I emerged from the shower, I found her in the basement lounge watching TV. My heart was still racing from what I'd just witnessed upstairs. I tried to sound casual, surprised. "Oh hi, I didn't know you were home."

Brianna's eyes stayed fixed on the television. No smile, no smirk—nothing. "Oh hey. Yeah, I just came." Her tone was as flat as her expression, but I knew damn well that sentence wasn't an accident.

She gave zero indication she was kidding, barely even seemed to register my presence. The silence stretched. After a few seconds, I got the message: she was focused on the TV, not on me. I turned and headed for the stairs, feeling dismissed.

Just as I reached the middle of the staircase, when I couldn't see her face anymore, her voice followed me up. "Oh, by the way, I put the underwear back in your room."

I pushed open my bedroom door and there they were—the panties I had just filled with cum, that she had just rubbed into her pussy—lying flat in the center of my bed. They weren't just damp anymore; they were soaked, wrinkled, and drenched in the smell of sex—her scent and mine mingling into something completely new. The irony wasn't lost on me: we'd never actually had sex together, yet here was this fabric that had experienced the closest thing to it, twice in the last hour. It held the exact look and smell of what it would be like to actually be inside her.

I stood there for several minutes, just staring. Something primal took over then. Raw animalistic desire coursed through me. Seeing our cum mixed together in her underwear made me want to have sex with her in the worst way possible. At that moment, masturbation never even crossed my mind. All I could think about was feeling her wetness on me as I plunged my cock deep inside her body. Despite having just cum twice in the last hour, all I could imagine was taking her until we were both dripping with sweat and soaked in each other's fluids.

----------- Chapter 7 - Can I watch?-----------------