Dorm Discipline: Panty Parade

There was only the sound of eating for a while.

When I could feel one hunger fade and another start to grow I set my plate on the lamp table, held my drink in both hands.

"You often do science in the nude?" I asked, actually curious.

She looked quizzical, glanced down, noticed she was naked for the first time.

"Oh! I guess that's a Slut thing. I don't really think about clothes unless I'm cold. I guess I should do better."

Alarmed I blurted "Over my dead body!"

She colored, poked her head forward, got a peck on the lips from me.

"I could be persuaded to keep going around naked I guess. If there was something in it for me."

"We could come to some arrangement." I ogled her openly, fondly.

She ate some more, drained her horchata, looked at the cup, understanding what it was for the first time I think.

"What is that? It's amazing!"

"Vascular replacement fluid for humans." I ad-libbed.

Slut, Alani I guess, she'd blushed after all, took that at face value.

After a minute she observed "I have to pee like a racehorse." She swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood, walked to the bathroom.

I watched her hips sway, the curve of her butt, those legs. Wow. And she wasn't even trying.

In the bathroom I heard her, true to her word, peeing like a racehorse. When the flow subsided and some fumbling with paper, she called out.

"These panties can't be yours, lover. Must be Kitty's? You two been fucking again?"

She said it like she was asking about the mail.

"No sweet cheeks. I just washed them for her."

That provoked a series of questions and answers that ended with Alani lying on the bed laughing until she couldn't breath, overjoyed at my budding reputation as a panty perv.

When she subsided, still wheezing, she had a question.

"You have to show me how you got them so clean, I can never. Some geek-chemist magic? Silk! Gotta involve dark rituals, virgin sacrifice."

"Like I could find a virgin around here. No, just vinegar, mild acid, warm water, eye of newt and patience."

"That explains it. I have no patience."

I'd noticed that. Unless were were in slow-loving-fuck mode she was bolting to the next thing, all energy and brilliance. Her mind moved so much faster than reality is how I figured it.

"I'll give them back to her. I know you get all knock-kneed and tongue-tied around Kitty."

I looked at her like she'd spoken Swahili, but she just gave me another peck and went to pocket the panties.

Didn't work; no pockets.

Casting around on the floor she found her sweatpants, put them on, stuffed the panties in the hip pocket, prepared to go back to work.

I watched her regretfully, sad about the pants blocking the view, knowing I couldn't stand in the way of science, then greatly entertained that she thought 'wearing torn sweatpants that flashed her bush' and otherwise topless was her 'doing better' in the clothing department.

A quick snog, a surreptitious dick grab and tit squeeze, and she was off.

Listening to her shoot up the stairs, it was curious that the sound didn't seem to stop after she should have reached the top.

That wasn't the sound of feet on stairs; that was a diesel engine. On the street outside? I wandered outside, saw a trailer through the hedge. A weedy guy was coming up the walk.

Had to be one of Hippie's horndogs.

"Hi!"

He looked relieved to see he didn't recognize me. "Hi! I'm here for the tee-pee."

"Follow me!"

He didn't need anybody to show him the way; he'd cum many times in that tee-pee. But I wanted him to have an escort, should he meet other house members.

The tee-pee was right where they'd left it, the flap closed but otherwise unchanged. He disappeared inside, came right out carrying the water pipe. That he ferried out to his truck presumably.

He came back with some sort of tarp, I guess I'd find out what that was for.

Reaching the tee-pee, he started to un-stake the cover. I helped by holding the flap as he worked his way around.

When he came back around, he untied the cord at the top of the door, and started hauling on one end. The other end snaked up to the top, then around some pully gadget I hadn't noticed up there.

As he kept pulling and it snaked down the other side of the seam, the cover started to gap open. He let that happen, wound up the cord and laid it on the tarp thingy.

Taking the corner by the door, he walked it around, his circle getting larger as he went as it unwound from the pole frame.

Halfway around he left it, came back, did the same thing with the other side. Before he'd gotten all the way around, it crumpled and all came down slowly into a pile. Didn't seem to bother him.

"Give me a hand?" I got up, helped him pull the cover away, lay it out on the lawn. It was huge! Spanned the yard and then some, as a big semicircle. We folded it in half by me holding the center while he walked one corner around to the other.

Did the same thing again, redoubling it. Then we folded a wedge of one side over, rolled that up in a sort of lumpy tube.

Dragging that to the tarp we lumped it on, grabbed two pull ropes worked into the tarp, and started to hump it out to the trailer.

I got the idea - the tarp was to keep from rubbing the shit out of the valuable tee-pee cover as we dragged it.

It was a beast to get on the trailer. If we'd had a ramp we'd just drag it up. Instead, hump one end up, then the middle, then with enormous effort get the last part up without letting anything roll off.

Sweating, hands sore, we leaned on the truck for a time, just breathing.

"Hank." He was telling me his name.

What to answer? I decided the house name was all he needed.

"Dick."

He nodded, and I'm pretty sure he got the reference.

I hazarded a question. "How's Hippie?"

He alerted like a setter, then when he saw I was serious he relaxed.

"She's greatly bummed. Didn't like the way things ended. She says she's changed now, confronted her jealousy, wishes she could do it all over again."

I nodded. "Pretty much the same around here. Well, mostly."

His turn to nod. "She's not a bad sort, not really. I think she was intimidated by the women here. They're all so together, confident. Super weird and super ok about it. She was acting out; she knows that. Trying to prove she knew stuff, deserved to be here, running with the big dogs. But being a real cunt about it, she knows that now. Tried to fit in, but alienated everybody in the process."

I thought that was very mature of her. If it was true; I guess I had no reason to doubt it.

I made an observation. "It's not that unusual, in college. I've been an RA before, seen it all or enough anyway. Given time folks get over it, make their peace with each other. But the stakes around here are maybe higher. More intense. Things can peak, way higher peak than, well, anyplace else. "

He nodded. That was about how he saw it.

"She's sad. Says this was the best place she ever lived; maybe the best she'll ever have. She'd really bummed she messed it up, lost it all."

I thought about that. Got a notion.

"Another way to think of it? This wasn't a place until they made it a place. It may be unique, but not like a diamond. Like a wonderful thing that people made. You can make another one. It's not easy, and takes time. But she's really sad about losing it? Maybe she can make her own, find her own."

He perked up. "That's deep, man. I'll try that on her. I'd like to see her happy, see her have fun again. She was so fun, so alive. But now..."

We both stood up from lounging on the truck.

"Welp. Those poles aren't going to load themselves."

That part was maybe easier. We un-chocked each pole, kicked it out a bit, went around. Careful to stay out from under.

When they got about halfway down, picked the end of one up, walked it to the next, set it down, making a gap.

Once they were all paired up, started walking each of the first ones, by the gap, over by the next, widening the gap.

All this caution was wearing, but when it started to come down you could see why. It slumped over slowly, fell into the gap. We backed away and let it go. But still it kicked up sod, poles clattered and bucked when they hit the ground.

Untying the complicated noose that held the top together, we took each pole to the truck, laid them in a row with a rope strapped around each one. Took both of us, they were a bitch to carry, heavier than they looked.

I left him finishing up the strapping, shook his hand. He looked like he wanted to say something.

"Can Hippie talk to you? I mean, if she wants to? I have an idea she might have some things to say."

I thought hard on that. It would probably help her, but it was these women, this house I was here to support. In the end it was the Dean's words that decided me.

"Sure, if we can find a better finish for this, we ought to try."

He looked relived, like he wanted to hug me. But just nodded, went back to his ropes.

I went inside, took a shower. Dirty, sweaty, sore. I'm not cut out to be a festival roustabout.

When I came out again, the truck was gone.

Saturday was the day I used to hate. I'd work on updating a grant proposal, or flesh out my research paper against the day I actually measured a significant result. Just another work day, but alone.

Otherwise I used to take a walk through neighborhoods grown too familiar to be interesting, catch up on papers in my field, visit the library.

I didn't know it was hate before. I just toiled through it by rote, the life of a researcher. A grey life.

But now I had a house; I had a home. It was enough just to be here; to tidy the kitchen, the pull weeds around the back door, to fiddle with the stove and get out the broken thermocouple.

Why was this better? It's the same kind of toil. But I didn't hate it. I craved it.

Why? Because Alani was up there, above me somewhere. I thought of her in the rafters doing her thinking and potting and science, I felt a rush. I felt proud. I felt at home.

I felt useful and happy, doing things to make this place better for her, for the house, for all the rest of us.

Was it sex that changed my chemistry? Made happy-hormones that my brain sucked up and smoked like some prime kind of weed?

No. I'd had sex before, with a variety of other researchers. I'd meet women at a paper session, or at the library, or a faculty-sponsored event. We'd dated, fucked, talked shop.

They were great; it was a fine healthy kind of casual social lubrication; it kept me sane and kept my mind keen. They enjoyed similar benefits I imagine.

But now I loved Saturday. Because I could be here all day if I wanted, loving this extended family, doing things we needed done, getting love of various stripes in return.

Knowing I could pop up those stairs, ogle a world-saving genius super woman scientist any time I wanted, well that changed everything. To see her smile to see me! To give her positive strokes when she was tired or frustrated, feel her unwind and her tension ebb.

Sleep in our room, our bed, cuddled up talking late, making slow sweet generous love. Or pounding the shit out of her hungry slut cunt while she called me names!

Giving love and attention to the other house members when they needed something they weren't getting, whether that was a dick or a suck, a snuggle on the couch or even baked pasta.

God I loved this house, loved my life.

I had my head in the oven, struggling with my hand down a greasy hole near the back, trying to fit the new thermocouple I'd gotten downtown from the hardware store.

It wasn't going well. It seemed like the new one was bigger around that the old one, and wouldn't fit under the clamp it need to fit under.

There I was, struggling and swearing and getting mad. And I felt a small body hit me from behind, slender arms grab me around the middle and hug.

I jerked; I banged my head on the top of the oven and scraped the holy fuck out of my wrist pulling it out of that hole in the sheet metal.

Ready to say something really cutting, madder than a hornet, frustrated. And then I heard a voice behind me.

"Oh Dickie! Dickie! Oh you sweetie! Oh thank you thank you thank you!"

It was Kitty. And I found my mad just melt away like an ice cube under a blowtorch. I would not, could not be mad at Kitty. She mattered too much to me.

I extricated myself carefully, checked my wrist for blood (none), sat down on the floor and just breathed the adrenaline away.

Meanwhile Kitty had let me go, was so happy she was hopping up and down, barefoot, wearing just her t-shirt and panties, waving that clean pair of panties like a flag.

"Slut gave me these! The panties I threw away! You fixed them! You fixed them!"

I smiled a weak smile, nodded. Yes I fixed them. You're welcome.

She was admiring them, rubbing them on her face, looking astonished.

"Nobody can fix them! Just you! You are amazing!" She fell in my lap, kissed me playfully, dithered the panties in my face and generally annoyed me on purpose.

I grinned, reached under her shirt, tickled her. She shrieked! and jumped up.

"I can use them again! And cum in them again!" She looked devious, held the panties in her mouth and stripped off the ones she was wearing.

I thought she meant to fuck me right there, on the kitchen floor. The alarm in my face set her off in giggles. But she just dropped those dirty ones in my lap, took the clean ones from her mouth and stepped into them.

Wriggling them up snug, she high-stepped and patted them and ran her hands around her hips.

"They feel amazing! Better than before! All sparkly and slippy!" She put both hands between her thighs, squeezed her legs together and smiled her adorable smile.

"Can you clean those ones for me too? I want them to feel sparkly and slippy too!"

I pretended to deliberate, frowning and examining the pair she'd just removed. She looked stricken, but when I smiled and nodded she lit up like a ray of sunshine.

"Oh we'll have such fun with clean slippy panties! Thank you Dickie!"

She sprinted out of the kitchen, leaping into the air like a colt in spring, her hips gyrating at each jump, yelling to no one in particular "Dickie cleaned my nasty cummy panties!"

I felt as if a whirling dervish had been in the kitchen, left me battered and windblown, and flitted back upstairs. But also I felt content, appreciated.

Kitty was good at that.

I finished fixing the oven in good spirits. It didn't take much longer once I figured out the clamp could be swiveled aside, the thermocouple fitted and the clamp popped back.

Carefully refitted the cover, backed out of the oven without banging anything. Turned it on - rumble-poof and it was running!

Time for a scrub - I was a greasy scraped ashen mess.

In the shower I heard a knock at my door. Turning off the water, I held a towel around my waist, stepped out of the backroom, opened up.

"GG! What can I do for you?"

"Um, Kitty says you um, can clean silk?"

I smiled. "Yes, I cleaned some silk for Kitty. I don't like to see good silk thrown away."

She brightened. "Can you clean satin?" She was holding something behind her back, brought it out to show.

A fistful of color-print satin panties, larger size than Kitty's, clearly soiled with sweat and sex. I took them from her, tucked my towel so I could use both hands to examine them closely.

From the label they were a silk-synthetic mix. Mild detergent, maybe an enzyme cleaner for the stiff crotch stains.

"I can clean these, no problem."

"Are you sure it's no problem? It's just they come out of the washer all stretched and twisted and they're never the same."

"Silk-based cloth is sensitive, should never be put through strong mechanical agitation. It'll be best if I do these by hand."

She looked pleased, put a hand on my shoulder, gave me a quick kiss. "You are the best! I just don't want to be any bother."

Preppy came up behind her. "Don't worry, he likes it. Dick's got a panty thing, he likes nasty dirty panties! The smellier the better!"

GG smiled, relieved, went back down the hall as Preppy took her place.

"I don't... I just..." I stood stammering, not knowing what I could say to avoid getting in any deeper.

"Here's some I gave up on, you might like to try!" She had two more pair, jersey with elegant lace.

Entire panels of lace. That boyfriend of hers must have shot his prodigious load all over them. The lace was sad and drooping, curled and stuck, clotted with dried cum, shiny with stretched smeared sheets of dripping cum. And the crotch heavily stained with her excitement.

I took them helplessly, resigned to being the house cum-cleaner from now on.

"I made them extra dirty, so you would like them. Don't worry; we can come to some sort of deal." She slipped her elegant manicured hand into the waistband of my towel, which slipped open and dropped to the floor.

She stroked my cock, which responded enthusiastically.

"Oh you do like your nasty dirty panties, don't you?" she purred, giving my cock a companionable yank before turning, going back down the hall, swaying her hips deliberately.

I looked after her, my mouth open but no words.

As a Chemist it actually made sense, I was best suited for the job. Since some of this was my cum, it was only fair. And honestly I am fond of using my skills for my friends.

This would be my fate then. I would take one for all the panty-lovers out there, be the house panty perv, clean all the sex stains they could bring me.

That was a sobering thought. This crowd could create an enormous volume of sex stains. I was gonna have to build a chemical processing setup. In the house. For removing cum. It had come to that.

I laughed, picked up my towel, collected my current batch of silky sticky crusty girly underwear, and closed the door.

"Jesus fucking Christ that's a lot of gross panties!"

Slut was not as enthusiastic as I was, about our room becoming a panty depot. I had piled the cummy mess on the dresser, a riot of color and snotty lace.

This was a lot to ask, setting up a wash station in our room. She didn't wear panties as a rule, not any more. Not in the house for sure. So no vested interest.

"I'm sorry! It just got out of hand."

She sighed. "How big a job is it?"

"Maybe a couple hours, say Saturday afternoon. But with this many, and who knows what's to come.." She giggled at my unintentional wordplay.

"You can laugh! But I have to hand-wash all this. I'm gonna have to set up a bench, get reaction vessels, reagent flasks, tincture jars, a waste drum..."

She considered. "If by that you mean washtubs, bottles, droppers and a bucket, I may have room for you up in the greenery."

"You do? You would? That would be great! It would only take like, one table?"

She nodded. "I can let you have one potting table, the one near the windows. Hey, this isn't going to stink a lot?"

I considered that, a reasonable question. "What is 'a lot'? Not as much as your compost bin. Not as much as a skunk. Less than your fertilizer bag."

A botanist encountered lots of interesting smells. I didn't imagine this would even register.

She nodded. "Deal. Hey, what about a drain? Will this stuff be ok to go in my drainage system?"

"What does that entail?"

"A sink with a drain hose out the window to the rain spout. Ends up in the back yard under a bush."

"It should all be ok. Mild acid, mild astringent, an enzyme. The enzyme should be mostly consumed in the reaction if I measure right. Very dilute.

Oh, and the jizz, what gets washed out. Mostly fructose, some protein clotting factor, Prostaglandins, some trace stuff. Oh! Salts and glucose from the, uh, girl juice."

Slut looked thoughtful. Made a decision. "Don't flush it. I want it."

My turn to be grossed out. "Really? What on earth for?"