Sexy Little Delight
The figure entered the outlet store. It was one step above a thrift store, not the sort of place that panties in the style that the figure made were sold. No naughty delights to titillate a young woman's wanton desires. No trendy clothes were sold here, which was exactly why the figure knew
these
pair panties was needed here.
The figure wasn't noticed by any the shoppers. Nondescript, ordinary. On a shelf that sold packets of plain, boring panties, so similar to the type worn by the last girl the figure had changed, a new pair was left behind. Vibrant, cherry red panties with those bold, blue letters surrounded by a shimmering silver border.
Sexy Delight.
The figure kept walking, knowing that special girl, Heather Miller, would be along in moments.
Heather was a tall girl, eighteen, wearing a baggy, gray dress to hide the fullness of her figure. Curvy and lush, her bounty overflowing. She had the sort of body that boys would drool over. The type of ripe delight that would grace their wet dreams and fuel their masturbatory fantasies.
Not that Heather would ever be allowed to show off her figure. Not with her mother, Honor Miller, ensuring that her daughter wore the blandest, most unflattering clothes possible.
Her daughter would stay pure.
Heather didn't mind. She was a quiet girl who obeyed her mother. Shy. She wasn't like one of those flashy girls. "All started out," her mother would like to say. "You're my good, daughter. You would never be one of those painted harlots."
When Heather saw the pair of panties casually draped over a packet of boring underwear, she knew there must be a horrible mistake.
Those
panties did not belong here. She had popped into the store to run a quick errand. Normally, she would never shop for clothing without her mother being present. She only passed this particular kiosk by happenstance. She snatched up the panties merely to deliver them to the proper store worker. As she gripped it, she noticed the words printed on them, Sexy Delight. The sight stirred a strange, wistful longing through her soul.
The braid of long, black hair swung down her back as she stared at those glittering letters.
Would anyone ever think
I
was sexy?
she thought.
Her mother certainly never believed she would be. "I always gave thanks to God that I had a Plain Jane for a daughter. None of the boys will ever sniff around you. You're going to be pure."
Heather knew she shouldn't do this. That it was wrong. A tingle surged through her. She found herself folding up the panties and pressing them into her purse. She pushed it deep, burying it beneath all the accouterments rattling around in her purse. Her cheeks burn with shame, but she rationalized her action by simply reminding herself that these panties
clearly
weren't the store's merchandise.
It wasn't stealing if she found them.
She hurriedly collected the new potato peeler to replace the one that had broken last night and paid for it as quickly as she could. She hurried home, her purse feeling extra heavy despite how little the pair of panties weighed.
* * *
Heather Miller
Why did I take these?
I'd asked myself that hundred times since the previous evening. I couldn't explain it. Right now, I was supposed to be getting ready for college, but I hadn't even gotten out of my nightgown. I wanted to put these exciting panties on. They were so different than anything I've ever worn. So bright and colorful. They were for a pretty girl. A painted harlot. Not for a Plain Jane like me.
There was a wet heat between my thighs. It was something I rarely paid attention to. Sometimes, I felt that shameful warmth when in the shower and washing myself down there, or when I allowed myself to stare at a particularly handsome boy at my college. The type of boys my mother always warned me about.
Boys like my father.
"You don't want to ever marry a boy," Mother often told me. "He'll leave you. Just like your father did. They want painted harlots, not a Plain Jane like you. I was beautiful, and your father still chose that big-breasted cow. You won't ever leave me, right?"
I shuddered as I pulled off my nightgown. I could hear mother making breakfast downstairs. I had to get dressed. My large breasts swayed before me as I pulled down the pair of light-blue panties I wore to bed, the shade of periwinkle so faded it practically was white. I worked the cotton off my thighs and glanced at the garish pair. I couldn't believe I was going to wear them. I must be mad. Maybe for one day, I could pretend.
Was there anything really wrong with that?
It wasn't like any the boys would notice me. They would never know I had them on beneath my long skirt. That I was wearing something with those naughty words on it.
Sexy Delight.
Just thinking of those two words increased that warmth between my thighs. I glanced down at my black bush, gasping at the sight of moisture beading on my pubic hairs. My cheeks burned. This hot shame rippled through me. I grabbed the cherry-red panties and stepped into them fast. I pulled them up my legs, the strange, electrical tingle racing ahead of them. I whimpered, the heat building and building inside of me.
What was wrong with me?
I whimpered, my large breasts swaying, slapping into each other as I wiggled the tight panties up my legs. The fabric clung to my thighs then my rump. I had to work the stretchy fabric up and over my plump rear. I shuddered, my hands adjusting the elastic waistband about my hips. They rode lower than they should. They fit so tight. Where they too small for me?
"Heather, it's time for breakfast!" Mother shouted from below.
I had no time to change. "Just a minute!"
I already had my outfit for this day laid out. A long, dark skirt and a gray blouse that button all the way up to my neck, the sleeves going all the way to my wrist. It was loose to hide my breasts. I grabbed my bra, the type that was designed to constrain such unwieldy, large boobs like mine. I slipped the band around my torso and fastened it behind me. I groaned as my breasts were flattened, pressed against me so the boys wouldn't realize just how busty I was.
"Even a Plain Jane will have the boys sniffing around her if they realize she has big breasts," mother would say. "Just like that harlot cow who stole your father."
I pulled on the gray blouse that I'd selected, working the buttons up with the rapid motion. It fit loose on me, just the way it should. I fastened it all the way to my neck then smoothed the collar. The tails fell to my mid-thigh. I grabbed the long, black skirt. I stepped into it as my mother called my name again. I hurriedly drew it up and tucked the tails of my blouse into it. The skirt zipped on my left side and fit snugly around my waist. I smoothed the fabric, my bare toes flexing. I grabbed my socks and pulled them on as fast as I could.
"Heather Miller," Mother cried for a third time, "why are you dawdling?"
"Sorry, Mother!" I called back.
I rushed to the door, my black hair swaying a thick braid behind me. I was so nervous after taking those panties home, that I forgot to undo it before I settled on the bed. Lucky me, I didn't have to spend the time to re-braided them this morning.
Those naughty panties gripped my rump as I headed down the stairs. The fabric seemed to slip between my butt-cheeks, molding to my flesh. It felt so wrong. So naughty. That heat between my thighs swelled and swelled as I came downstairs.
My mother peered at me from the kitchen, wearing a long, pale dress decorated with paisley flowers. It was as conservative as mine, the collar snug about her neck, the sleeves descending to her wrist, and the hem falling down to her ankles.
