Her Panties in Her Purse

It was her panties in her purse that finally convinced me. I had been denying it for months, but finding them in there finally proved it to me. Why would a woman put her undies in her handbag if she hadn't taken them off and needed a place to hide them, without other people knowing she had taken them off? So, she was seeing someone, took off her panties and needed a place to put them. Why would I be looking in her purse? To find her car keys. There they were: Moist, hidden, forgotten, and underneath her wallet.

The first signs I had dismissed as just coincidences, but the panties were hard evidence to ignore. The man's fragrance on her blouse? Probably a coworker at the office getting too close. The credit card purchase of a man's tie, probably an early present for my birthday. The longer shopping trip than she'd figured? Just getting too wrapped up in buying stuff. The panties were harder to explain away.

So, if reality was catching up to me, what was I to do? Confront her and run the risk of embarrassing myself with a logical answer? Not on your life. It wasn't the worse thing, sex on the sly as an afternoon diversion for a bored housewife. A secret lover that gave her a sexual thrill that would keep her smiling and in a good mood during trying days at work and at home, keeping her mind off the stove that needed replacing and the sick dog.

Accuse her? Make things even worse? Throw our moderately happy life into chaos and fighting over a harmless affair? Just a little afternoon delight, some playful sex while supposedly shopping? You see, it is not an easy decision. But panties in the purse are harder to shrug off and you need to make a decision here.

Yes, I had had a tryst or two of my own, and they didn't cause me to run off to Brazil with my secretary or a sexy model working for the company. They were just sex. Just a little afternoon entertainment between meetings. So were panties in the purse so bad? Problem was, thinking about those moist panties began to dominate my daytime. It wasn't her doing it that was the biggest problem, it was me thinking about it, fantasizing about really hot afternoon sex between my shy housewife and a hunky sort with a longer dick than me.

I began to obsess. I started to think up scenarios and consider how those panties ended up in that pocketbook. I began to imagine her taking them off, then riding in some dude's spiffy sports car and letting him manipulate her labia as he drove. I could see her with her legs up, her feet on the dash, offering him her splayed and eager pussy to fondle. The thoughts excited me far more than I wanted to admit. Did she fuck him in the backseat? Too small. Did they meet at a sleazy motel, one she wouldn't consider for us but as a rendezvous it would be fine. All she needed was a soft flat surface, reasonably clean sheets, and a lock on the door.

I started to fantasize about it and actually enjoyed the process. Everyday I would see those panties in my mind and the images would go on from there: pictures, events, even full narratives. I got to look forward to them, like they were distractions to daily problems. I would see her on the bed with her legs spread wide, a smile on her lovely face, and her hands balled into fists. She would be receiving oral pleasure from an expert who knew just how to please a housewife in need of sexual diversion to take her mind off troublesome thoughts that furrowed her brow and caused her stomach to be tied in knots.

At home I would watch her, imagining her with her panties in her purse, her vagina soaking from excitement, and her mind off her problems for an hour or two. I would fantasize about what she did to him and what he did to her. I would see him fuck her forcefully, giving her orgasm after orgasm that would explode from her throat like a stick of dynamite. In my mind she always had an orgasm.

She is the kind of woman who loves sex, but can get too busy to let herself enjoy her urges. We began having sex after one date. She would have an orgasm after just having me play with her slit. I would use my hands and she would come in just a few minutes. If I used my mouth, it often only took a minute or two before she would climax with a splash. After a few years of marriage things began to slow down. Then I found the panties and I began to imagine things.

I would come up with names: Julian, Lance, Darius, or Marcus. Some exotic name from a romance novel. A laborer, a bricklayer, or a carpenter. A man who serviced wives like other men went to work: daily, on schedule, between her shopping trips.

Each time I saw her with her purse I imagined them full of discarded underwear, envisioning her taking them off in the ladies room to accommodate the next man to want them gone. Instead of hating him, resenting his existence, I began to like him, being grateful for his elevating her mood, putting her in a much better frame of mind. Life is full of complications, difficulties that have to be overcome, so he was doing me a service by keeping her happy and satisfied, helping her get through some arduous days and problems of life. I began to realize he was doing as much for me as he was for her. He even has contributed to my sex life, making it easier for me to please her because she was in a better emotional state.

At work I began to create storylines in my head about things she might be doing with Mr. Panties In The Purse. I imagined her meeting a man at the front door to a motel room and standing in the doorway kissing him boldly on the front step, then slipping in and locking the door. I saw them in my mind undressing one another just inside and moving toward the bed while kissing and fondling forgotten areas of her body. Not that I have forgotten them, but daily life has gotten in the way.

I pictured them on the bed, fucking like minks and carrying on like college kids on a first date. I envisioned his cock punching into her open and very wet pussy with amazing speed. Imagined lovers can fuck incredibly fast. Faster than a speeding bullet, actually. I always pictured him eating her like a hungry lion licking at her swollen pussy and not coming up for air for hours. Imagined lovers can also hold their breath for long periods at a time. I imagined her coming like an atom bomb and knocking pictures off the wall with her orgasms. In my fantasies they always collapse a bed from hours of heavy use. If you are not imagining your wife fucking wildly in your make believe affairs, you're just not trying hard enough.

But what if it is not just one man keeping my panty-less wife happy, but a troop of men servicing her at different times and at various places? I began to think of her with many different purses of panties from different suitors, giving as much as she received, fucking a crew of men throughout the city. Instead of just an affair, she could be servicing men in the times I thought she was simply shopping and she could be on the clock at the time.

Could my wife be a working girl? Could the extra money she seems to have come from clients who pay big bucks for a hand job or an oral tryst in the backseat of their car?

What had started out as just a suspected affair had now bloomed to a potential career with benefits beyond quick orgasms and afternoon delights.

I started seeing her completely different. I would watch her sexy walk and would think about the practice it took to perfect that sexy stroll. I became aware of the time she spent in front of the mirror preparing herself for what I didn't know she was doing. Were those luscious lips a work related asset that could be written off on your taxes like a briefcase or a computer? Her wonderful, soft and round breasts were as much an resource as an attraction.

That sweet, round ass was as much of an selling point for a successful business as a well stocked office or a reliable secretary.

The panties in the purse could be a professional tactic that had to do as much with her workload as they were a sign of an affair. I began imagining her taking money off the nightstand and slipping it in her bra. Instead of an affair, perhaps she was investing in stocks with her earnings from working on her back. Rather than a sexually frustrated housewife, my spouse may be out in the business world helping the economy.

Either way, affair or line of work, the question was, would I reveal what I suspected? Would I tell her I know and possibly end my preoccupation, my obsession with the notion of my wife fucking a man of her dreams and my fantasies? I could reveal what I suspect and find out for sure, or I could continue to enjoy a daydream and reap the rewards of a delightful fantasy life. When put that way, I had only one answer: no way.

Whether she is fucking in the afternoon for relief from stress, or screwing for dollars while I am at work, I don't care to ruin the illusion by finding out the truth. I will be satisfied with speculating and relishing the delicious reverie of not knowing but wondering what she is doing, and imagining and savoring wonderfully fulfilling images of panties in the purse and afternoon fucking in a motel room with stained sheets and pictures on the floor. I could learn the panties had an innocent explanation and then all the luscious mental conjecture would be lost.

I have actually enjoyed thinking about her possible affair. I have no intention of destroying that fantasy. Panties in the purse has given me more than I can describe, and I will keep it to myself to bask in private, savoring the deliciousness of an imagined romance that keeps my fires burning.

To any other men finding their wive's soiled panties in her purse, I say don't upset things by looking too close for the truth. You may get more pleasure out of simply imagining who she is fucking and not rocking the boat. Unless you are so determined to know the absolute truth that you are willing to find out the panties belong to someone else, then the real mystery begins.

If you can't stand the thought of your wife fucking a dude other than you in her spare time, then don't be checking in her purse. If you smell another man on her clothes, and you can't put up with sharing her waterworks, then you might be single living over a garage by yourself. If there is a receipt for a man's tie and your birthday is not coming up, then be careful what you look for, because you may find another man's coat in your closet and be looking for a new mailing address.

One way or another, I am happy to think about those panties and what caused them to be put in that purse. Their being there has inspired many sweet dreams that have given me a smile and an erection. Take it from me, the worst thing in life is not a wife who fools around and fucks during her free time. It is a wife who does not like sex or a man's tongue on her slit. It is a woman who is not interested enough in sex to even have an affair. So if you find panties in your wife's purse, just thank your lucky stars she still likes putting them there and go wait your turn.