When I finished university and got my first job, I needed a place to stay in North London and advertised for a house share. I had sixteen replies, but the house nearest to my work belonged to a retired couple who thought it would be good to have help paying the bills. As they had plenty of space, they had looked for a lodger and within 2 weeks of my placing the ad, I'd moved in.
Pat and John were both 65, John was medium height and slim, and was very quiet. Pat was 5' 3", busty, with a bit of a tummy and big bottom and thighs. She had curly brown hair (dyed, I suspected), and wore a lot of make up including blue, or sometimes green, eye-shadow, reminiscent of women in the 1950s. In height and build she was very much like my mother and I suppose this helped put me at ease living in this new place.
I'd been living there for about 2 weeks, when one day while Pat and John were out and I was using the loo, I noticed the lid had been left off their laundry basket. I did my own washing and had therefore never had occasion to lift the lid, but today it was off. My eyes were drawn like magnets to a pair of Pat's knickers lying on the top of the dirty laundry. They were black, cotton and quite large, and I couldn't stop myself picking them up. My mind was transported back to when I was younger and still living with my parents. I would sometimes take my mum's knickers from the laundry basket and smell their heady aroma while masturbating. Sometimes I would come in the gusset before cleaning them up and replacing them in the basket.
On this occasion however, I put them back and returned to my bedroom, but couldn't get Pat's knickers out of my mind. I returned to the basket and lifted them again. Underneath was a pair of tan coloured nylons stockings and I picked these up also. I went to my room, undressed and put the knickers up to my face. The smell was wonderful, and it made me think of all the times I'd wanked my cock into mum's pants at home. I wrapped the stockings round my cock, wanked it up and down, and before too long I was squirting my sticky blobs into the gusset of Pat's knickers. As I did so, I repeated Pat's name and called her some dirty names to heighten the intensity of my cum. "You dirty girl Pat, you're making me cum in your pants, dirty bitch..."
When I'd finished, I cleaned the sperm out with tissue and replaced the stockings and knickers in the basket. They were still very wet, but I figured she wouldn't notice before washing them.
Over the next few weeks, every time Pat and John went out I was straight up to the bathroom to see what was in the laundry. Usually, I was rewarded with a pair of worn knickers and stockings, or sometimes knickers and tan-coloured tights all rolled up together. I would always take them to my room and masturbate. I loved to smell the aroma of Pat's slit on the material, and before long I graduated to putting my tongue in them and tasting it. I always finished by squirting my filth into the gusset while saying dirty words. I'd also started to take her knickers at night after Pat had gone to bed, putting them back straight afterwards.
When Pat was around, she always wore skirts that finished just above the knee, and I loved to look at her legs from behind delighting in the sight of her high heels and the nylon stockings over her big legs. I always imagined what I'd be doing with those stockings later if she was out.
One day things changed completely. Pat and John had been out for the evening when they got back it was obvious Pat had been drinking quite heavily. When john went upstairs to bed she told him she'd be up shortly, and stayed in the lounge half sitting, half laying on the sofa. When she heard John close the bedroom door, she got up to follow him, and said "goodnight you naughty boy, I'll leave you a present in the usual place." My heart nearly stopped and I spluttered that I didn't know what she was talking about. She just smiled her drunken smile, leaned over me and said "don't be shy, I know what you get up to. It's OK it can be our little secret!" With that she staggered out of the room and went upstairs.
My heart was pounding, and I was scared. How much did she know, and what would she do? If she'd been angry, surely she would have confronted me before. I didn't go into the laundry basket that night and vowed never to do so again.
The next morning, Pat came downstairs later than usual wearing only her nightie. She was suffering a serious hangover and looked as though she was going to pass out at any moment. She sat at the breakfast table with her head in her hands, and as soon as John left the room she said "I'm sorry if I disgraced myself last night, I was very drunk. Please don't take it the wrong way". I told her it was OK, but I had no idea what she was talking about. She gave me a funny look, put her hand on top of mine in a reassuring gesture, and said "now please don't deny it, it's all OK. I'm not feeling well enough to talk about it now, but when I've recovered we should discuss it."
I could do nothing but look down at the table, and as she went off back to bed and I decided that having been rumbled I would move out as soon as possible. I got the previous night's newspaper and started to look.
I needn't have bothered. By lunchtime, Pat was downstairs again looking fantastic, showing her huge cleavage as usual and wearing a tight above-the-knee skirt, brown nylons over her chubby legs and sexy high heels. I smiled and said hello, and without warning she took me by the hand and led me to the sofa. We sat down and she began to speak. She told me that she and John had the typical married life of a pair of 65-year-olds, and that meant limited bedroom 'activity' as she put it. I was mortally embarrassed and could feel my face getting hotter. She explained how the problem was with John, not herself, as his drive had diminished to almost nothing over the years. However, since I had moved in she told me things had improved for them, and she was afraid that my embarrassment at what had been said the night before might lead me to want to curtail my activities, or even move out altogether.
She told me neither she nor John wanted either of those things, and then she made her big confession. The undies in the bin had been put there deliberately to attract my attention as part of a game designed to fit in with John's fantasy in the hope of improving their sex life. She told me that the only way to get John even slightly aroused was for them to pretend she had been with another man and that he was getting 'seconds' afterwards. This had sustained them for a short time, but the addition of her soiled underwear to the mix helped the story along for them She admitted she was turned on by this also.
