Found Dirty Panties Novels & Stories

“Yes, it’s pineapple.” “You shouldn’t need it, but I have to ask, just in case.” He slides off me, taking my bootie shorts and panties with him, “Well, this isn’t a surprise,” he holds up my panties that now have a dark patch in the crotch area, “my little slut is already making a mess and I haven’t done anything… yet.”

Leave your panties at home. I was in a deposition at 10 AM—some bullshit merger dispute—and I couldn't focus on a single word being said. All I could think about was sitting across from Ryan with my bare pussy exposed under the table. About his fingers sliding up my thigh. About him testing me to see if I'd actually obeyed. God, I'm such a slut. The thought made me wetter. By the time I got back to my office, my panties were soaked through. I took them off in the bathroom, shoved them in my purse, and put on the dress I'd brought—a simple black wrap dress that tied at the waist. Easy access.

She doesn’t even know I have a daughter, and glancing at the clothing in the pile I’m sure she’s wondering who the new woman in my life is. At the top of the small pile of folded shirts and pants is a neat stack of small silk triangles. Lifting one up, I’m shocked to realize that I’m holding Melanie’s panties in my hand, a lacy red g-string I have enough X-rated memories of to recognize immediately. I lift up two more pairs, both Melanie’s, both slinky and inappropriate for a teenager, and before I know it I’m tearing through the pile of folded clothing looking for any evidence that Hazel has panties of her own.

Oh God, that disgusting man had been in my house, he had put his slimy hands on my underwear. I could hardly breathe, I felt dirty and icky, knowing that the panties I was wearing had been touched by that man. I ran out of my room and headed for Elijah's room next, his room was open, I checked everywhere but no one was there. The other rooms in the house were locked so there was nowhere else to check. Thank God, the nursery was locked because I would have died if that man's hands had been on my babies' clothes.

Perfect. I locked myself in the handicapped stall, the biggest one, the dirtiest one. Back against the door, I yanked my pleated skirt up to my waist in one rough motion. Cool air hit my soaked panties and I hissed through my teeth. The cotton was dark, plastered tight, molded to every fold of my cunt. My clit poked out fat and shameless, clearly visible through the fabric like a little cock begging for attention.

“Oh, Richie!” “And that’s not all.” I pushed her up to the railing at the edge of the river, stopped under a street lamp, and bent to catch my breath. The air smelled fishy. I pulled out the ripped, bloodied panties and unfolded them for her to see. “Just before they showed up tonight, I happened to find these.” Martha’s eyes studied the panties, then rose and questioned mine. There were tears in their corners. “Where?” “Under the same cushion where they found the flashlight.”

I whispered under my breath, grabbing the counter for balance. I wiped myself with shaking hands, but it was useless. I was still wet. Still leaking. My inner thighs were glossy. My scent filled the room like heat. Damon. His name pulsed through my chest again. I bent quickly, grabbed the ruined panties from the floor, stared at the soaked fabric for a second, then shoved them into the trash like they were evidence. Another knock. Louder this time. “You dead in there or just drowning in your own cum?” one of the girls laughed from outside.

“Yes. You should.” With that cocky grin still on his face, he spins me around, pulling my skirt up over my ass. My panties come down next, and he lowers his pants so his cock is exposed. Pressing it against me, he pushes me forward. My hands land on my desk, holding me upright as he slides his fingers between my legs and rubs my clit, not stopping until I’m just about to come. Then he stops, spins me around, and drops to his knees. My eyes roll back as he pulls my panties the rest of the way down, tossing them on the floor. I perch on the edge of the desk, knocking over my coffee mug from this morning. It’s empty, thankfully.

I just glared at them and they finally ran away. "She has a period? Sir you might just want to buy her period panties, I guess?" "What?" "Period panties are washable, reusable underwear designed to replace pads and tampons, or be worn with tampons and cups for extra protection." "I'll buy them all." After buying those shits, I went straight to my private room and saw retard standing on one corner while her hands are on her tummy. “What the hell are you doing there?” I asked her. She looked at me like a poor little puppy. “I’m afraid I might stain your couch. I already stained your coat.”