Do you remember being twenty years old and in love? I do. It was a euphoric feeling. I was on cloud nine, but the most spectacular thing was my libido. It seemed to have a mind of its own. I was a rabbit. Just call me Roger. One thing that was sure to overheat my already revving engine was underwear. Actually, it was the lack thereof. Do you remember her leaning over to you, whispering close in your ear and telling you that she wasn’t wearing any panties? I know I do.
Oh man, was that something. I would sit there for hours, through dinner, through the movie, envisioning her little shaved twat sans silk and my cock would throb in my pants. It’s all I could think about. My hands would get all sweaty and my Adam’s apple would jump like crazy because I kept swallowing nervously. I knew, absolutely knew, that she had told me for a reason. She wanted me to know that she was without underwear. There was an ulterior motive to her comment. She had a master plan and the promise of sex was inherent in that very statement.
But, like all good things, even the lack of underwear can wear thin and become something perfectly routine and boring. Thusly, I present my wife. She was the eighteen-year-old nymph to my twenty-year-old rabbit. She’s older now. We’re both older of course but she’s still as sexy as she was in the beginning but she never wears underwear anymore. Wait, let me clarify.
She wears panties when she goes to work or to a wedding/funeral/bar mitzvah, whatever. The minute she gets in the house though she strips them off. I have become so accustomed to catching sight of her naked pudendum while she flits around the house that it no longer arouses me. I know that when she lays down next to me that she’s completely bare beneath her nightgown but it doesn’t do a thing for Mr. Happy.
It’s a little disappointing to realize that I’ve become inured to something that I once found so…hot. And yet, it’s opened up a whole new world of possibilities. So a panty-less Barbara does nothing for me but Barbara dressed up in lingerie kicks my sex drive into high gear. I happen to favor red lacy things with bows and garter belts are beautiful. There is even a variation on the lingerie thing too.
Crotch-less underwear. They should give the man who patented those a Nobel Prize! They are the next best thing since sliced bread. I mean, how lovely… Here I’ve built an immunity to a woman without underwear but sexy silky under things drive me nuts. Combine the two and a man’s got the best of both worlds. I can fuck her while she’s still wearing the panties! It blows my mind. Really. I feel like that twenty-year-old rabbit again.
I love it when she prances into the room in nothing but those crotch-less panties. Like I mentioned earlier, the silky red ones are my favorite. At any rate, she’ll come in and lie next to me on the bed, face down and she’ll make little sleepy noise as she burrows her face into the pillow. I know it’s an act. She’s as horny as I am, but it’s fun to pretend a little.
I’ll ignore her for a while, read my book or watch TV, whatever I’m doing and then she’ll roll over as if she’s turning restlessly in her sleep. Her legs will flop apart and I’ve got a view of the sweet spot. She doesn’t shave anymore but I don’t mind. Her pubic hair is as blond as the hair on her head. It’s like gold wire, spun gold. I’m Rumplestilskin to her princess.
I’ll set my book down/turn off the TV and then lean over her, bending my head close to her ear. I call her name a few times and she makes more sleepy noise and then I let my hands slide down. Ah, glory, glory hallelujah! There it is. I can feel her against my fingers.
I feel the rough texture of her hair and the heat of her honey pot. Invariably she’s wet. I think the underwear turns her on as much as they do me. I can feel the slick moisture coating her inner thighs and the elastic seams of the panties that encircle her plump thighs. I like to rub my fingers along the crease of her leg that spot that is not quite ass, not quite pussy or hips just a soft fold of skin that feels wonderful against my fingertips. I like the way the velvet-clad elastic feels against my fingers and the delicious ‘snap’ it makes when I pluck it.
That always gets a smile from her. I think she likes the little sting it brings. Barbara will open her eyes and raise her little hands to my head and slowly push my head towards her crotch. I don’t mind really. She has a delicious aroma that is…clean, slightly yeasty, and very much a personal scent. Sometimes I tease her and tell her that if she could bottle it she’d make a fortune in the perfume industry. It would drive men wild.
I like to hook my fingers under those thin slips of elastic and bury my face into the moist, fragrant triangle of her crotch. I root around like a greedy child with a sweet, letting my tongue delve into her and suckling her clit. Her juices coat my face. I can taste her and smell her and feel her. I love the way her thighs flex and bunch, flex and bunch right before her orgasm and then it works through her. She’ll shudder and then go perfectly rigid before sagging back against the bed.
She hums after she comes. I love that. I don’t know why she does, why I love it, or even what song it is. But she hums; dancing a finger through the air as she smiles and then she’ll roll over and kiss me full on my mouth. Every time, she wrinkles her nose and tells me that I have pussy-breath. I don’t really get a chance to respond to this because even as she speaks she’s already sliding herself down the length of my dick.
Ah, god, the way she does it so slow and sweet, when she’s so tight and wet… I feel like we’re teenagers again. And the panties. I like it when she’s on top because I can still see those lacy red panties and I can run my hands over them. I can cup her ass, sheathed in the slick material and feel her pussy sliding up and down my shaft.
I never last long when she wears those crotchless underwear. A few minutes, though it feels like a few seconds, and I’m exploding into her. I grab her hips and pull her down hard against me and she flexes her inner muscles around me, milking me for what I’m worth. Afterwards, she rolls away from me and disappears into the bathroom. I know she’s cleaning herself. She detests the way cold spunk feels on her inner thighs.
Before she goes to sleep, she removes her pretty panties and tosses them in the clothes hamper. After she’s already asleep I usually get up and root around for those panties. I like to press them against my cheek and inhale the smell of our combined juices that coat the little leg straps. I know it’s a fetish. But she doesn’t seem to mind it and it’s such a nice fetish, these panties. And it’s not as if it’s my only way of getting aroused. Not by far. It is certainly my favorite though.
Last time she wore them for me, after I crept out of bed to fondle and sniff them, I noticed something. They are beginning to wear out. There is a small hole in the rear of them and the red material is worn thin in some places. She’s going to need some new ones soon. I think I’ll go with her when she goes shopping for them. Just to make sure they’re properly lacy of course. Maybe I’ll suggest she get some black ones, and emerald green…not just red ones.
I might even be able to persuade her to wear a pair home. She could lean over to me and whisper, “I’m wearing my special panties.” It’s not quite the same as the no-panties comment from our youth, but oh man, I bet you anything it would have the same effect on me. I’d even take her out to dinner, jut to extend the anticipation for us both. Yes, she definitely needs a new pair or three of those crotchless panties.