Foreplay: Anyone who has read my stories will know that there's usually a liberal helping of panty sniffing within. I suppose we all have our little vices. Here's a story totally devoted to my favourite pastime ;)
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They say confession is good for the soul. I've had a good life, and having two younger sisters around as I grew up I can't remember a time when a girl or woman hasn't been in the house for long. That was until I grew older. Sisters get boyfriends, go to work, even leave home. Ready-made fantasies were always there whenever I wanted them. Like most boys, I suppose my interest in females gradually increased with every birthday and, at times, it seemed the interest increased day by day.
I'm not going to deny there was temptation lurking within the laundry basket. Occasionally there would be mum's, Alison's and Brenda's panties right at the top of the basket and I didn't need to delve deep - the scent was there. Mingled in was an infusion of perfumes, body sprays and sweat, not forgetting eau-de-pussy. Combined, they provided a pleasing mix of pheromones, biological and artificial odours. I didn't understand why my favourite friend swelled in appreciation of those scents until much later, even though some of my friends at school were already into helping to sort the dirty laundry and were most enthusiastic about how delightfully scented the panties were. I suppose I was too shy or too cautious. I could never get it out of my head that they'd notice even if I picked just one pair up to my nose.
My parents tried their best to help pay for me to go to university but sacrifices had to be made. My application and thus my student loan were late being processed and by then all the best uni accommodation was taken. Due to pure luck (or bad luck for her) one of my friends told me that a girl he knew had to drop out from the same uni as me, because of an ongoing health problem that had flared up again.
She had reserved a room in a shared house with three other girls if I didn't mind taking her room. No problem there ... I'd lived with two girls and my mum and I was used to being outnumbered and out-argued. Girls seemed to always win.
Three weeks later mum drove me and my belongings the 80 or so miles to my new temporary home. I'd already had hugs and kisses from my sisters, and that just left a tearful mum to give me even more hugs and kisses before she left.
It turned out that the converted terraced house had small rooms and mine was an attic bedroom up two flights of stairs. Two of the girls had arrived but apart from saying "Hello", they just sat chatting in the kitchenette.
I guess the sparsely furnished room was OK considering the £70 a week rent. I stored as much stuff away that I could but it was much smaller than at home. Hungry, I left the house to find a takeaway and returned, eating it, to where my new house mates were.
As the days went on, a week or two into the autumn semester, I was getting used to having three friendly but untidy female house mates. Sue and Mandy were veggies - openly complaining about the lack of choice and the more expensive cost of eating only vegetarian meals, then one evening I suggested they buy the ingredients and I'd cook them a vegetarian curry.
"You can cook?" said Sue, eyes open wide at the thought a 'man' could cook.
"Sure," I said. "One of my sisters isn't a veggie but she thinks a vegetable curry is far healthier than a meat one."
"You just cook curries, or what?" chimed in Mandy, who possessed the best pair of legs I'd ever seen and wasn't shy of showing them. Why bother with a pair of jeans or (heaven help) a dress, when wearing just a sweater and panties around the house would do. 'Less washing,' she often remarked.
"Curries, pasta, pizzas, quiche, whatever," I replied. "Although I can't remember having made a vegetarian lasagne. But I could try," I added.
You could almost see saliva flowing and about to drool down their chins.
"Tonight?" they chorused together.
"Sure, like I say, you buy the stuff and I'll make a curry tonight."
I gave Mandy a list of what I'd need. She scooted up to her room to hastily put on a pair of distressed jeans and went off to the small local supermarket.
At home I'd had plenty of practice. I loved cooking and mum rarely bought readymade meals, except for occasional Chinese and Indian takeaways as a special treat. With help from both girls we did all the peeling, slicing and chopping and I got on with cooking the curry.
Zoe, the third girl in the house, was quite shy like I'd been the past. She'd often stay in her room except when we ate together, though she did help with chores. LOL! Chores meant things we HAD to do, like washing when we'd nothing clean left to wear and washing dishes when there wasn't a single plate, cup, dish or pan left to use.
"Wow, you're just FANTASTIC," said Zoe, in one of her more talkative moments. Four or five word sentences were the norm for her.
"That curry was amazing," the other two agreed, and all three in turn gave me a hug and kiss, totally devoid of any sexual intention, but in appreciation of my cooking skills.
From then on I cooked quite often. They bought the basics and I supplied the skills, often chipping in the cost of a bottle of cheap wine. I got used to the novelty of having three sometimes partly-clad young ladies around, except the times when I'd a long wait for the shower to be available, or indeed the bathroom. You didn't go in the bathroom when someone was in there - unless it was urgent, like badly needing to piss or throwing up after a night out - but if the young ladies wished to wander around in very little following a shower, then I had no objections.
Despite my initial reservations I began to ease off my cares. At home, mum would tell my sisters that it wasn't right to wander around semi-naked. Similarly she would tell me to wait for the bathroom becoming free.
I was never sure in that terraced house whether the girls were respecting my ability to cook, or whether they just couldn't care less. Intimate items of clothing seemed somehow to be always on the bathroom floor. Most students I guess, if not all, care little for organisation or tidiness, so perhaps it was all OK. Within a few days of the start of the semester I was already missing the scents of the laundry basket and, well, one morning I admit to succumbing to temptation.
It was just any day, any day at all ... except that my first lecture wasn't till 10.30. My flatmates were up early, showered, dressed and away. By the time I'd dragged myself out of bed it was gone 9.15. I'd got three quarters of an hour to shower, dress, eat and catch the bus. Easy.
The bathroom was its usual mess, empty shampoo bottles, suds drying on the glass shower panel, scum round the drain, skid marks (not mine!) in the pan and PANTIES on the floor. I could forgive the skid marks, they'd probably deny anyway but leaving panties on the floor, where I could easily see them ... that seemed like an invitation.
Trying to ignore them, I stepped into the shower and closed the still soapy panels. All through my shower I couldn't get the panties out of my mind. The thought of the gusset being pressed up against one of the girls pussies made me hard and I stayed that way until I was showered and dried. Cautiously I picked up the pair and inspected them. They were still damp, the girl obviously having worn them overnight. They weren't by any means expensive designer panties, but pink, cotton, patterned with small rose motifs and obviously well worn.
Judging by the size, I immediately ruled out Mandy who was always snacking and who often finished off any remaining food after dinner. Sue had a slim curvy body with an very rounded butt. I also knew that parents ran a business and were quite well off. That ruled out cheap panties, so by elimination it left Zoe.
The fabric of the panties was wearing thin, enough I supposed to easily expose a cameltoe. Completely without style they were obviously chain store and the gusset might, at one time, been white. It was now rucked up, with a light yellow stain fading into a creamy secretion. Just a hint of brown betrayed a wet fart or perhaps just the remnants of a wipe.
Unsure what I might smell I put the gusset to my nose. The yellow was mildly acid, obviously pee, the brown I didn't chance but the creamy part rapidly enlarged and hardened my cock. I needed to get moving, no time to dwell so I had to put the panties back exactly where they were left.
My mind wandered a lot during the lectures. I took notes, hoping they would jog my memory later. Even thinking about what I'd done caused me to firm up again. It was a guilty, though pleasing feeling and I could half-remember the smell itself. As the day went on the effect lessened. I just had to revisit the bathroom when I got back to the house and hope the panties hadn't been moved. Luckily I was first back and I now took in a deep breath, the scent infusing into my brain.
Quickly releasing my swollen cock I rapidly tugged with the gusset held to my nose by my left hand. It took only seconds for me to unload my frustrations into the toilet bowl. I was on a high and that, my readers, was the first time I'd wanked off to the intimate scent of a woman's panties.
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