Messy Panties Novels & Stories

"Tell me about this lingerie you've been hiding from me." I giggle, "Well, the corset laces up the back and it's made of lace. Entirely see through." He groans, "See through, huh?" "Mmmhmmm and the panties are made of see through lace as well." He gulps loudly. "Is that so?" "Yep." I say popping the p, "But you see they are magic panties." He cuts me off before I can explain, "Magic, magic panties? How? How are they magic?" He's fumbling with the room key and I almost feel bad for getting him this worked up already. Almost.

There, dangling on the edge of his finger, is a pair of pink panties with little hearts printed in an all-over pattern. It’s easily my most cutesy – and most embarrassing – pair of panties. But it’s also the most comfortable. And honestly, though pink isn’t really my color, I like to feel cute now and again. Sue me. Beau beams like it’s Christmas morning and his pile of presents is the biggest. “What are these, Nanny?” I lean forward in a flash, making a grab for the panties. But he’s quicker at snatching them back. I grab at empty air instead.

“But actually, I came in here to ask you about something else, Johnny.” “Oh?” I responded, feeling my heart thump faster, unsure what she could possibly want... still trying to conceal her clothing in my hand. “Yeah, about these,” she said, as her hand thrust forward... holding a pair of panties that I had used just the other day! A soiled, debauched item! My dried cum stain was still visible on the exterior. Oh jesus... caught! “Ummm... I don’t think so,” I shrugged, not even able to convince myself it was true. How could I forget shooting a blast of hot semen into those luscious things!

Since the dress barely covered the essentials everyone could see the lady was not wearing any underwear with this hot satin handkerchief. She had to show me that she had her skimpiest panties, essentially a tiny red triangle with an absorbent gusset (in case we fucked). The back and the waistband was transparent fishing line. These minimal undies were in her purse, but could be worn if there was a need. If she was drunk enough she teased that she could put them on in public - so I could remove them for the fun stuff.

Something about it made my gut twist, like I knew I should stop, but curiosity won out, and I reached up on my toes, pulling the bin down and popping the lid off. Inside, instead of random junk, there was a neat stack of fabric, soft and colorful, and as I picked up the top one, my stomach dropped hard. These were my panties, at least five or six pairs, folded carefully, some with crusty white stains right in the crotch area that looked exactly like dried cum. My face got hot instantly, a rush of shock and grossed-out anger hitting me all at once. I grabbed one, the red thong I wore to that party last month, the one that disappeared after I got a little too buzzed and crashed hard.

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.

I try to do the same but fail. “You’re cute..” he says. yep hes swoon worthy. he calls for our menus. Once we ordered we began talking about random things. Then something fell from underneath the table, so i looked down. It was the napkin that was on my lap. It always slides down for some reason. When i tried to pick it up, my leg, specifically my thigh made contact with the leather of the seat,rubbing in the process , making a loud fart noise. Oh no..

“I don't think so, maybe I should check for myself” Then she tried to shove her hand under my skirt, but I caught her hand before she could. “Fine” I sighed. “I'm not wearing any pantys" I agreed. “Care to tell me why you aren't wearing any?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. I shrugged my shoulders. “I just want an easy access” I replied, referring to later when I want to get laid. Megan glared at me, before rolling her eyeballs and pulling my skirt down a bit, because it's just two inches away from my butts.

But it was the other evidence that made her stomach churn—used condoms, crumpled and sticky, tossed carelessly on the arm of the couch. Women's panties, lacy and stained, dangled from the back of a chair like perverse decorations. The air reeked of stale sweat, cheap perfume, and something muskier, more masculine kind of smell. Emma dropped her bag with a thud, her face twisting in revulsion. "What the actual fuck?" she muttered, stepping over a discarded bra that lay like a snake on the carpet. Her brother Justin was twenty-seven, old enough to know better, but he acted like a perpetual frat boy.

People seem to judge popular people harder than regular people due to their popularity, they expect calm in the face of disrespect and expect angel behaviour always. Stepping out of the bathroom, I walk to the standing wardrobe, its in a brown fine finish wood, I slide the lowest drawer open and frown. Three panties are missing from here, I frown again and walk to the bathroom to my circular plastic panty hanger to find it empty too, meaning five panties have gone missing.