Creamy Used Panties Novels & Stories

I stare at it, it's bobbing up and down, thick and reddish, the precum dropping onto my cleavage. Fuck, I'm so hot, so wet, so achy. I'm shaking and salivating for his cum. I want to suck him until he gives me every drop. “Now take all the cream you've been making for me and lube up my cock with it.” I'm caught off guard by his order. “What?” I drag a breath in. “You're creaming your panties for me, aren't you?” he asks, his expression impatient. “Yeah.” I nod fast.

I lifted my hips, and my shorts came off, but not my panties. I blushed, realizing which panties I was wearing. They were so silly -- plain white but with the Rolling Stones mouth and tongue logo right above my pussy, looking ready to eat me out. They were a gift from one of my more raunchy friends, custom made for the whole track team. Jon smirked at them. "Cute. I didn't know they made panties like that." "You can get almost anything made online, apparently." "Are those... an invitation?" he asked.

I folded it quickly, almost angrily, and tossed it next my jeans. My panties matched the same wine-red color with a thin band of lace at the hips and a little bow at the front that I suddenly realized looked ridiculous in this context. It's like I had shown up to war carrying a ribbon. I ripped them off as heat crawled up my neck, tossing them next to my bra.

She was always complaining, slowing everyone down. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to have endless patience and indulgence for her. "Alright. Let's see what's so heavy." He stopped the group, knelt, and opened Dakota's backpack himself. In front of everyone, she carefully pulled out her precious belongings, as if presenting a prized collection. There was a full set of luxury travel-sized skincare, a nearly unused oversized power bank, chips in every flavor, jelly, sour belts… and a heavy jar of peanut butter.

I'd always examined them with an eye to my luxurious comfort, but now I considered how easily his fingers would slide around the fabric as it covered my body and shivered. One nightie called out to me. When I held it up, it stopped just above my knees. The lace was delicate and soft, but the satin fabric was like liquid across my arm. I found pale, rose-colored panties in the same soft material and on impulse I got them all. My department store credit card had a high interest rate, but I couldn't resist.

she muttered fondly under her breath, a mix of affection and frustration warming her chest. She quickly pulled on a tight red stretch dress that clung to every mouthwatering curve like a second skin. The Lycra hugged her massive double-D tits perfectly, and she decided to go braless, knowing her tailored black jacket—long enough to reach mid-thigh—would provide just enough coverage while still letting her feel deliciously naughty. A regular pair of cotton panties with a fresh pantyliner went on next, just in case Barry’s cum tried to leak out later and betray her.

It didn't occur to him that his stepmother was just as turned on as he was. Sue felt like she was bent over for a very long time, but it was more like several seconds. She knew that she had to straighten up when she felt her juice begin to trickle out. Slowly she stood up, holding a pair of skimpy red panties in her hand. Then she bent again and stepped into the panties, pulling them to her waist. She could feel the silky material caress her buttocks sensuously and pull tightly to her swollen sex lips.

I waited to hear her door close and went in. There they were. She never leaves them behind, but there they were, laid out perfectly on the floor of the bathroom, her panties, white, hipster panties. No Victoria's secret, not yet. These were just Hanes white panties, my sister's, perfectly displayed, the waistband towards her room. I'm stupid, but even I knew this was a presentation for my benefit.

He came around the front of the car, his broad shoulders filling the space between us, and held out his hand. Reluctantly, I pulled the bag from under my jacket and handed it over, watching as he dumped the contents onto the hood. The black lace panties spilled out first, delicate and sheer, the kind that would cling to my ass cheeks and show every curve. Then the bra, cups edged with scalloped trim, meant to push my tits up high and inviting. “These are slutty as hell,” he said, picking up the panties and holding them up to the light, the fabric translucent enough to hint at what they’d barely cover.

I muttered a quiet thank you and returned to the bathroom. When I opened the bag, my jaw dropped. Inside was not only a full carton of pads, but also a dozen pairs of expensive panties, all silk, all delicate and embroidered like they belonged in a boutique. My hands shook as I touched them. “God,” I whispered again, tears burning my eyes. “Who is this man? And why is he being this caring to me?” I slipped into one of the panties, stunned at how perfectly it fit. How did he even know my size?