Domestic bliss for me involved getting my brains fucked out on a nightly basis by my formerly somewhat frigid boyfriend Will. I had used to complain that his sex drive was no match for mine, but I just hadn't yet discovered his secret passion. Panties, as it turned out. Specifically, my panties.
Now, every time I took off my underwear at the end of the day, I had to pass them on to Will. He would wear them for another whole day. Of course, he was an English professor so he actually taught classes while wearing my panties.
Having my scent on him always, Will claimed, made him think of me constantly. The soft textures of silk, lace, cotton or nylon rubbing against his penis all day long kept him in a state of perpetual desire. He sometimes screwed me on the living room floor as soon as he walked in the door, unable to wait more than a few minutes.
I was kept in a constant supply of expensive undergarments. I seldom wore the same pair twice. The sales clerks at all the exotic boutiques in town knew us by name. We had maxed out a Victoria's Secret charge account. Will had a cabinet of alphabetically filed mail-order catalogs which he would frequently pore through with a highlighter. His "internet favorites" folder was exclusively devoted to lingerie web-sites.
Ironically, I used to go commando when I was horny.
There were a few other kinks which apparently went along with the panty thing. Will loved to be fucked in the ass with my vibrator. (Actually, afraid of cross-contamination, I gave him my old one and bought a new one for myself.) He also was a maniac for cream-pies. Every time he came inside, he would slurp his come out of me like it was whipped cream. He especially liked sucking my come-drenched panties. He would have made soup out of them if he could have.
I was glad for all the new attention, but I have to say that panties held no special magic for me. Will's new constantly jacked-up mood was a little difficult to keep up with, too. For the first time in our relationship, I would occasionally turn him down.
On one such night, we were laying together in bed. I was on my period, so I was wearing an old pair of shapeless, comfortable, drab granny panties. To Will's further chagrin, I was topless. I found it very uncomfortable to sleep in a bra, but Will usually insisted on something that matched.
He was laying beside me in a very expensive midnight blue negligee, stroking himself absently through the fabric. I usually didn't mind if he masturbated in front of me, sometimes I found it rather entertaining, but tonight I wanted something a little different.
"Tell me a bedtime story," I said.
Will knew all my stories. He knew that I didn't care for anal sex because my first boyfriend had ass-fucked me enough for two lifetimes. He knew that I had lost my virginity playing groupie to a real live rock star. (I was always coy about telling him which one. He had it narrowed down to Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan or Tom Petty. It was Petty, of course. Who loses their virginity to Bob Dylan?) He knew about my shameful year-long bar-slut phase. I had even told him about the wild Vegas weekend I'd just spent with my best friend Carrie. The only thing he didn't know about was my disturbing and possibly hallucinated affair with his own great-great-great grandfather. That one would blow his mind, and I wasn't even sure if still believed it myself.
Will's past, though, was a complete mystery to me. All I knew was that he was married to a woman named Carol for several years. Will would never utter the word, but from the things he's told me, the woman was an evil cunt. I knew she cheated on him many times, and eventually left him for a younger man. He didn't talk about their sex life much, except to say that it was practically non-existent. Carol, unlike me, had zero tolerance for Will's panty fetish. He told me that she only wore the plainest things, just to deny him happiness.
I didn't even know if he'd had any lovers other than his ex-wife. I didn't know anything. I was especially curious to find out where the panty thing had come from.
"Tell me how you lost your virginity," I said.
"What?" Will sat up in bed.
"I want to hear it," I said. "You know mine, but I don't know yours."
"Oh," he said, laying back down. "Uh, well, it's not that exciting."
"Why don't you tell it to me, then I'll tell you if it's exciting or not."
"OK," Will shrugged. "Um, let's see, where do I start? OK, I was home from college one summer . . ."
"How old were you?" I interrupted.
"I was going into my fourth year, so . . . almost twenty-two?"
"You didn't lose your virginity until you were twenty-two?"
"Twenty-one," he corrected. "I was almost twenty-two. I was kind of shy with women."
"Jesus, Will. I didn't lose mine until I was nineteen, and I thought it was never going to happen."
"That thought had crossed my mind," Will admitted. "Anyway, I was home for the summer and our next-door neighbor was this girl named Isabel Stamper."
"Isabel?" The name sounded hopelessly old-fashioned.
"Yeah," Will nodded. "She was eighteen that year, had just graduated from high school."
"Ooh," I laughed. "Was she cute?"
"Gorgeous," Will said. "See, I literally had not seen her in almost four years. I was only home at summer, and Isabel spent summers with her Dad. The last time I'd seen her, she was this annoying little skinny tomboy, not even in high school yet. But in those four years, she bloomed like you would not believe. Beautiful face with these huge brown eyes, long brown hair, incredible body. She was tall, too. Statuesque."
"Did she have nice tits?" I asked.
Will just closed his eyes and pictured them, grinning. "Not as nice as yours," he said. "But close."
I was grateful he had said that. Despite the fact that I'd asked to hear this, I was starting to feel the first pangs of jealousy.
"So, I was working at their place. Since her parents were divorced, Isabel's Mom had me come over once a week to mow the lawn, clean the pool, trim hedges. You know, like guy stuff she didn't want to do herself. Isabel talked to me a lot while I was supposed to be working. I think she was kind of impressed, just because I was older. And believe me, I worked that older man angle for all it was worth."
"Her Mom saw what was going on eventually, and told Isabel to quit bothering me while I was working. Not that she was, of course. Then she pulled me aside later and said that she knew Isabel was a little flirt, but she didn't want me to lead her on."
"Her Mom said that?"
"Yeah," Will said. "She was cool about it and everything, said it in a nice way, but she was basically telling me to back off her daughter. Mainly, I think, because she thought I was too old for her."
"Did you back off?"
"Well, we couldn't talk as much," Will went on, "but I think her Mom disapproving was actually a point in my favor as far as Isabel was concerned. I was dangerous now, and that made me seem even cooler."
I laughed at the thought of anyone considering Will to be dangerous.
