Like a mirage, the strap appeared and then disappeared. Aqua blue vanishing into black tightness, or the pitch-colored pants covering white tightness. Step, bounce; step, bounce; step, bounce--one hertz of my sister's thong. Involuntarily, I found myself getting the greatest erection of my life.
I ogled my sister's ass meditatively: Surely, she knew the effect those tight pants would have on me, even if she did not know her thong was showing--no it was not really showing--just peeking out now and again. Teasing me! Frustrating me! Blue-balling me!
My sister was a blonde, but she was also a genius. I, on the other hand, was completely filled with testosterone. Just your typical nineteen-year-old male, I suppose. All except for one thing: I was a virgin. In other words, every morning I woke up with a tent-pole; every night I thought my balls would burst with sperm.
My first day on college campus I saw one. My second two. My third three. Three--and those were just the obvious ones, those that peaked out. Counting the lines--I never believed thongs were meant to hide pantylines--there were at least quadruple.
Pretty soon, I was seeing ones just hanging out, fully three or four inches above the top line of the pants, as a girl walked by, or even stood next to me, and if that was not enough to blue-ball an introverted virgin I soon saw the whole length of thongs. Well, I don't want to exaggerate--maybe not the whole length but at least that portion which was not encased in glorious hot-girl buttocks.
Sunny days--I used to hate them because I am red-haired and easily sunburn, but now they were giving me one of Superman's most vaunted powers: X-ray vision. Many girls wore skirts that were white and see-through. Ditto for pants, but there it did not stop with the color white. Some hot girls wore those mesh black pants with holes in them. I wasn't even seeing through material anymore. The clothing was conveniently pre-holed for perverts' boring-eyes.
As much as I like transparent clothing, the real pleasure came from seeing the hidden thongs. I would watch a girl as she sat down or got up; I could not help it. Like a druggie, I needed my fix. My eyes were drawn like magnets. Most times I would not see anything, but many times I would be rewarded. You never could tell who would show. Sometimes it was the whore; other times it was the shy, geeky girl--the one who wore glasses.
It seemed that every hot girl was wearing them. Not only the students but also the TA's. I mean teacher's assistants, of course, but I suppose you could consider it a pun too. I was surprised once when a girl sitting in front of me sneezed and her thong popped out. She was using crutches; I held the door open for her. Isn't funny how hot girls bring out the manners in men?
Another time, I rose just as two girls in front of me were rising and saw that they were both wearing thongs--satiny and black--both of them, and they were friends. I wouldn't be surprised if they had bought them together. Not even if the same inspector had approved them both.
Once I saw two really geeky looking guys and a super-hot chick working the Campus Crusade for Christ table. Of course, the girl bent over to pick something up--in front of the table--while I was walking by--and I saw her Victoria's Secret thong--three inches of vertical strap.
It was not just what the women wore, but also what they did not: bras and some cases, even panties. It was not just the panties, but also what the women said. Women are always talking. Sometimes it's annoying; other times it is titillating. One girl who was sitting next to me told everyone how she slept naked every night, always had.
On the bus back, there were two hot Asian girls sitting in front of me. As if that was not enough for me to develop an Asian-fetish, one of them bent over and showed a white g-string as her phone was ringing Chopsticks.
The build-up to finals had been rather hectic. When I came home for break, I expected a quiet period. Needless to say, I was caught off guard, when I saw my sister wearing a thong, a g-string.
I fought it, but it was like someone had spiked my drink with Viagra, Cialis, and whatever that third drug is. I tried to think of other things, but I could not. All I could think about was--well, being my sister's thong, and that was the most polite of my fantasies.
Of course, we were not the wonder twins, my sister and I. I could not simply turn into a thong, or a pair of tight pants, or a matching bra, or, perhaps, most ingeniously, a dildo or vibrator. I could, however, sneak into her room when she went out for the night, find her disregarded pants, reach into them and sniff her thong and maybe lick it a little.
That was not what I did though, at least not immediately. I had a certain level of pride and control, as well as respect for my sister and her property. Doing what I was thinking of doing would be wrong. Besides there was a moral question at stake: what if she caught me?
All I could think about was my sister's bouncing ass. I had never seen it, not naked anyway, at least not recently, not since it developed, yet I felt I could easily picture it because of the black pants--so round and so tight, jiggling and bouncing.
Left, right, left--I saw her walking in front of me again, the light blue thong strings popping out like a pedometer. Now my reservations dissolved; I felt morally obligated. It was either that or come in my pants, next time my sister walked by. Not that I was exactly against the idea, but, again, she might notice, and somehow I felt that it would be impolite
I went to my room. I undid my belt. It jingled, and, because I was wary of my sister, I turned on the radio to provide some white noise. As luck would have the first song was I want to make you sweat. I did not need to boot up my computer for porn, or use even any magazines. The image of my sister was still in my mind.
I came quickly. The height of my pleasure, even surprised me. My orgasm was so intense that the Times ended up escaping. (Next time! I thought.)
I came on the wall. Fortunately, the paint was somewhat dark. I would hate to think what would have happened to wallpaper. The whole thing was something of a precedent for me, and, I had masturbated hundreds of times before. Well, at least in that spot.
In a little while, she went out for the night. I had fought with myself a long time. I decided I needed a reward, something suitably perverted. Sweet for the sweet-tooth, you know.
I could barely control myself, but I waited a couple of minutes. It seemed like hours--days--weeks--but I waited. It would have been awkward, if she saw the lights suddenly go on in her room, once she had stepped out the door. Maybe she would not notice or just think she had forgotten to turn them off, but, then again, maybe she would come back and find me rummaging through her panty-draw.
Perhaps, I would be inspired and be able to think of some plausible excuse.
I turned the knob fatefully. When I turned on the lights, I felt I was crossing the Rubicon. The die is cast! I am a perv for my sister!
My heart raced as searched the room. I was looking for something sexual, anything--a thong, a vibrator, a dildo--something that I could put in my mouth. I know it sounds gay, but I thought the dildo would be the easiest to find.
Boy, was I wrong! My sister had many accoutrements! There was shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, deodorant, and many I could not name.
Of course, my sister was very smart. There were also advanced books on biochemistry, physics, and biology; perhaps, I could ask my sister to tutor me--in biology, especially--although I suppose that there would be some biochemistry involved in the wetness of the vagina and the production of sperm, and so on. Though I got an A in all those classes, maybe I could pick one and alter it so that it appeared to be an F.
I had a similar thought when I saw a mat for Pilates; perhaps, she would volunteer to teach me exercising in the nude. And if she did not already use that method, one could always propose it in a totally unassuming and accidental sort of way.
One of my first discoveries was also the most mind blowing: a bottle of hair removal gel. Well, they say dynamite comes in small packages! This was like a bottle of nitroglycerin--so my sister was bald after all! Even with her long hair!
It took me a while to find the right draw and the right items, but, when I did, it was well worth all the efforts.
there were panties of every color. Beautiful, glorious, pleasant-smelling sister panties! Some were even rainbow colored. A couple were stitched with seemingly incongruous cartoon themes. She had a ton of sexy satin and lace bras and thongs and g-strings and bikinis
One pair had tie-sides. I bit them gently, but did not untie them because I was too fearful of leaving a sign of my presence, something that would betray me to my clever sister. Perhaps, this is what started me on the oral fetish.
I could not believe the size of a certain red, micro-thong: it was very easy to stuff the whole thing in my mouth. Yes, I could not transform into a thong, but I still could do the next best thing. I licked the crotches of the others, also where I thought her bush would be, if she had one--theoretically she might have just used the hair removal gel on her legs.
I hoped she would not notice if her panties were a little wet. Hell, she was probably wet there anyway!
The cotton ones, the satin ones, and the silk ones--it was not long before I licked them all, and then I suddenly found myself wishing that my sister wore tights or leotards. Better yet--that it was summer and there was a bikini handy and also that we had a swimming pool were I could watch her wearing it. Not to mention the fact that I could also fraternally get her a Popsicle.
As I looked through more, I found a little diary, I opened it up to yesterday's date:
"Ass string broke in class. Need to find more durable material, perhaps bra straps. Could get some jewls for back part."
As I read I was realizing that some of these thongs she made herself. Did she do this so mom wouldn't see her wearing thongs? I only saw her wearing that blue thong today. Maybe, I would even see it peeking out of her pants--just a millimeter or two of skin under the horizontal band would do for me. Sure, I would prefer to see her totally naked and masturbating, but the important thing was the clue to unbounded sexuality--the thong.
Sister-voyeurism is a much more difficult art than it is made out to be. I could not simply look in a keyhole or through a crack in a door, and I am sure that my sister would notice if I opened her door, when she was masturbating. Similarly, I could not just pretend to mistakenly walk into the bathroom while she was showering, nor did she undress with the blinds open.
I looked curiously at her mirror. It was wide and tall--perhaps I could smash a hole through the wall and make it a two-way. I scratched my chin meditatively. Of course, there were difficulties: two rows of lathes, all that plaster, and sooner or later one of us would move out. Perhaps, our parents would remodel and discover my secret. No--I would have to continue to get my kicks out of her panty draw!
