Staler and the Staled Ep. 02

One of the joys of my life in the city is being able to walk to my office from my apartment building. One day in returning home from work, in my mailbox I found stuffed into the small space, along with the daily mail, a pair of women's panties. I looked at them in astonishment and found that they had, "DAVID!" written on them in what looked to be red lipstick. I immediately thought it had to be the same woman that I stalked a few days ago. How did she know or guess my name? My name is not shown on the intercom or mailbox.

The panties were a leopard print skimpy little smooth satin and shiny. They were top end lingerie and they were fragrant! At once they smelled beautiful—laced with her sensual perfume. Holding them up to my face I could then smell her. The crotch of the undergarment smelled earthy and ripe. It smelled strongly of her. It smelled like her sex. I became amazingly aroused with an enormous erection, just standing in front of my apartment mailbox thinking of her. I couldn't wait to get to my apartment and "take care of myself"—she had made me so horny instantly.

What was her motive, though? Why hadn't she just stopped me and struck up a conversation the other day (why hadn't I?). Why didn't she come on to me then? Was it her intent to lure me into something? If so, she was certainly doing it! Walking up to my apartment, I found a scrap of paper lying in front of my door. On it was written, "ARE YOU A GREYHOUND?". She (or whomever) had been inside the building and found my apartment. Of this I had absolutely been "put on notice" and my mind and heart began racing. What was the "greyhound" message supposed to mean?

My mind was totally occupied with thoughts of her. I took her panties out of my pocket and studied them some more. Could these have been the very panties in which she had stroked herself off for me—for my pleasure? My erection was at full extension at the thought of this.

In my bedroom, as I took off my business suit, I sat back in my side chair and pulled my cock out of my briefs and started to stroke myself. I held her panties up to my face and smelled her—deeply taking in everything that she'd left of herself - left for me personally. I wondered what she had expected or hoped that I'd do with her earthy panties? Thinking of the way she showed off her sexuality for me, quickly bringing herself to orgasm so that I could see her sexual nature, drove me to focus on the pleasure that I was bringing myself.

My hands formed a circle around the tip of my cock and I imagined pressing myself past her pussy lips and entering her. Slowly penetrating her and withdrawing, only to slowly press my way into her again - descending into the pool that was her moist pussy. Soon I found myself fucking my own hands and the fantasy couldn't have been sweeter. I imagined that I'd be stimulating her clitoris at the same time we were fucking—trying to maximize the sensations for her and drive her to a place where she'd love to be - a place where waves of pleasure would sweep over her again and again. She'd grab my neck and twist me in her clenched fingers as she came yet again—enveloping me in a gush of her inner warmth.

When I finally came and shot myself off, I imagined the fulfillment we would both have had with each other as she would have cum along with me. I then imagined her stroking my hair affectionately as we both would settle back down—coming back to earth from the soaring high that we had just experienced.

I guessed that this was what she expected I'd do with her panties. I was definitely keeping those in a place of prominence in my bedroom!

Then I saw it. My mind put the comment on the scrap of paper into perspective. I saw the framed Icart print that I've had on the wall in my bedroom. It depicts in Art Deco style a glamorous woman (his wife, I believe) holding back a brace of greyhounds straining at their leashes. Entitled "Vitesse" (French for "speed", I believe), I've always loved it. Madame X had invariably seen this print on the wall of my bedroom and called me out as a greyhound-but how did she see the print? I looked around the bedroom and confirmed that no one could have had an angle to see it through my windows from the outside.

Erotic images of her in my mind suddenly changed and the hairs on the back of my neck started to bristle from this new creepy thought.