Cotton Priorities

I didn't know Miss Caroline set up cameras while I was housesitting for her.

If I did, would I have still let the curiosity swell until bursting? Would I have rummaged through her panty drawer? Probably not. But I did, and it happened. I rubbed the different fabrics between my fingers, taking in each delightful texture.

I'm not proud to say I sniffed a few, but I did, and it was intoxicating. I couldn't help it. I was drawn to them. To her. Each scent was like a piece of her left behind--delicate, intimate, an essence I shouldn't have been so eager to inhale. But I wanted it. I wanted her.

Without even thinking, I unbuckled my jeans, let them sink to the floor, and stepped out of them. I couldn't stop myself from picking up my favorite, a classy eggshell white with printed blue flowers and lace trim. I held them up in full display. Of all of them, these reminded me the most of Miss Caroline. A quiet elegance.

Needless to say, I replaced my briefs with the pair.

I experimented with walking around and felt how the cotton rubbed against me. It felt right. Correct. To be wearing panties. The snug fabric clung to my skin in a way my boxers never did, cradling my body in softness. It was as if the panties were made to fit me, teasing every nerve as I moved, heightening my senses. Each step sent a shiver through me, making it harder to focus on anything but the feeling of those panties against my skin.

I gazed at the mirror's reflection of me. The panties certainly stood out on me. I bet they were more accustomed to Miss Caroline's womanly hips and slender legs. I pondered how she felt in them and couldn't help picturing her perfect form in them.

She would slide into these effortlessly, filling them in all the places I couldn't. I pictured the waistband wrapping snugly around her narrow waist, the soft fabric caressing her in a way it would never on me. Her body would make these panties come alive, where I could only cheapen them.

I became lost in thought and sank onto her bed. While my feet were still planted on the carpeted floor, my back laid against her plush blanket. I stared up at the ceiling, and my hand drifted downward.

I wasn't working with much downstairs. Less than average, even. Maybe that's why the panties felt so good-- I was man enough for other underwear.

A soft chuckle escaped my lips, bitter but resigned. 'Man enough.' What a joke. My fingers brushed over the thin fabric, tracing the outline of my bulge, pitifully small compared to how those panties must have looked on her. I pressed harder, feeling myself twitch, the pathetic length pushing against the cotton. It made me feel even smaller, more insignificant--and for some reason, I loved it.

The humiliation wrapped around me like a second skin, tighter than the panties themselves. There was no hiding it, not from myself. The way my cock barely filled out the front, how it strained so pathetically against the dainty lace--it only turned me on more. I started tugging and thinking of Miss Caroline. What would she say if she were here right now? What would she think of the sight of someone puny like me jerking it in her panties? The thought got me so hard.

I imagined her degrading me, calling me a fool, her little fool, her puny panty-boy.

F-fuck--!

I came so quickly that it took me a moment to register.

Then I heard the door start to open. I sprang into action and leaped from the bed. I rushed to grab my jeans, pull them up, and pocket the briefs. In the rush, the panties remained on beneath the pants. My little secret. My little souvenir.

My heart pounded in my chest, still racing from the orgasm, now spiked with panic. I barely had time to zip up before heading out of the bedroom. I made it to the living room as the door creaked open fully.

Miss Caroline stepped in, her eyes flicking over the room. Did she notice anything? Did she know what I'd just done? I swallowed hard, trying to control my breathing, praying she wouldn't look at me too closely. The panties felt tight beneath my jeans, the waistband digging into my hips, a reminder of what I had just indulged in--what I was still wearing.

She didn't say anything. Just a polite nod as she walked past, oblivious to my frantic heartbeat. But I couldn't shake the feeling that her eyes lingered a little too long on me, like she could sense something was off. I felt exposed, vulnerable, and aroused all at once. God, what if she knew? My body burned under her gaze, a strange mix of fear and desire making me ache.

A part of me hoped she knew.