Sara's Panties

She effortlessly lifted the weight, up then down, gradually slowing, working harder as she counted - seven times. I watched her breathing, the expanse of her white tummy tensing and releasing with each effort. She rested for a short period, before another seven, and one more. The sweat forming on her upper lip. Her legs were open on each side of the bench as well and I could see she had been sweating. Her sweats were discolored between her legs and I could smell her. There was actually the softest scent of pussy in the air, I knew the smell - and of her sweat. She did her three sets and I stood dutifully, spotting her.

“There,” and I stepped back as she sat up and spun around on the bench.

She was looking at me, winded, eyeing me. I was developing a slight erection. My trousers were bulging lightly and she seemed to notice but I did not want to do anything to call attention. I simply stepped back myself.

"Is there anything else you need. Is that all?”

She looked at me again, smiling.

“Uh, yeah. Hold my feet while I do sit ups.”

She lay on another bench that inclined so that her feet were above her head. She lay on the bench with her knees bent and held open. I sat at the top, my legs on either side, and held her feet tightly between my legs. She worked hard when she was in the gym.

With her legs apart and her body on an incline down to the floor away from me, her top fell up higher to just beneath her breasts, her tummy was shining with sweat now, and her legs were splayed directly in front of me, wet from front to back in a line between her legs.

The smell of her was unmistakable. She did something like fifty sit ups but I was not counting. I was watching her, the shine of her skin, her hair falling back onto the floor and rising behind her shoulders, the tensing of her wet abs, flexing with each effort, and the patch of wetness between her legs.

She paused in the sitting position, and smiled at me, and said softly, “Like the way I smell?”

“Pardon.”

"I mean you seemed to like it from what I could see. Earlier. Right?!" Wicked girl.

She was practically laughing now.

I went crimson, and the unmistakable smell of her was all around us. "Cruel girl."

She continued, “I get kind of aroused when I work out.”

I nodded.

“It’s an aphrodisiac. . . Arouses me . . . You didn’t answer me.”

I was still holding her feet.

“Well. You like it?”

I simply said, “Yes.”

I was so fully erect now that it was pressing into my pants at an odd angle and needed to be adjusted, but I couldn’t as I was still holding her feet and she was looking right at me.

She did ten more situps, legs held wide, and then she was sitting up again looking into my eyes and smiled, smiling at my yes. “Ok then.”

And she swung herself around and I quickly turned from her and adjusted myself and asked, “Is that all?”

“That was great,” she said. “Thanks.”

********************

Next morning she was in her usual boypants and half top. All in white. She had coffee ready for me. Her hair was all tussled. She hadn’t showered.

And I noticed when she brought my coffee to me this morning she stood a little closer to me than normal. I could smell her again. This was purposeful. I felt myself harden as she held out my cup.

“Here.”

As we sipped our coffee, she complained about having a little heartburn. She explained that she had had a little scotch from my cabinet before she went to bed and it seemed to settle wrong. She asked me if I had anything for it and I didn’t.

I said, “I could rub it. That sometimes helps.”

“My heartburn?”

Jesus god, she’s practically a doctor. What was I thinking ‘I could rub it.’ I continued, steeled myself and pressed on. “No uh, your breast . . . just your breastbone. I rub you there and just below into your intestines, it helps.” I sounded almost reasonable.

She looked at me, flicking her eyebrows, “Ok.”

And we moved over onto the sofa in the living room and I sat on one end of the sofa. She lay at my side and settled her head into my lap. Not a really well thought out plan because I in fact was a little bit hard, and there was no way she would not recognize that with her head now laying right in my lap. I adjusted her so she was down a little bit, but still. . .

She was looking up at me, biting her lip a little, her wide eyes. Her blonde hair lay spread out on my lap. Compliant. Being daddy’s little girl. “Ok, what do I do.”

“You just relax and close your eyes. Here put your hands like this,” and I moved each of her soft hands to her belly. She let me move her into position.

“There. Now I just . . . if this is ok?”

“Go ahead.”

And I lay my hand right between her breasts, touching the breastbone running up from her tummy to her neck. Tracing that narrow line with my finger tips I ran my hand up and down her center in a straight line. I could not believe I was touching her like this.

“Mmmmm,” she cooed. “That feels nice.”

She kept her eyes closed and relaxed into the couch. I continued to stroke her up and down up and down, widening my fingers so that after awhile the flat of my hand running through her center so the edges of my hand now were grazing her breasts, soft, rising on each side.

“Here now a little lower, down into your stomach,” and I let my fingers drift lower along her body until it touched her skin.

She jumped.

Sorry. I was ready to stop.

“No its just that your hands are cold. Here.”

And she turned and took my hands in hers to warm them, so there we were. Her laying with her head in my lap, turning toward me so her cheek was laying on my cock, both her hands wrapped round mine stroking my fingers.

“There that’s better.” And she shifted herself a little higher and began to lift her half top just a little higher so the bottom was bunched up around the bottom of her breasts.

“This is helping I think.” And she closed her eyes again. “Here you can rub me up under my top. That will be a little better I think.”

Her hands fell back to her belly. I blinked, looking down at her top pulled up and head turned to the side away from me, thinking of what she just had said.

I lay my hand at her tummy. “I’ll start here," I croaked.

She smiled, “your hands are warm.”

“Good.” I could barely speak. My cheeks burning.

And I stroked her tummy at the top, just above her navel and drew small circles with my hand there, tippling her soft skin with my finger tips. And then, I began to let my hand rise higher and up beneath her top for the first time looking at her. She made no move.

And I continued to rise higher and higher through her center following the breast bone to her collar. My heart was beating madly, and my hand was trembling but I continued. Her top rose higher still and I could see her bare breasts almost to her nipples and still she just lay there contentedly. Smiling. Eyes closed.

I let my hands open a little wider too, I let them graze her breasts a little more freely, watching her closely still she did not move a muscle. Just soft little moans and silence as she settled into my lap.

I let my hand fall back down to her tummy, and began to stroke her navel and then below her navel pressing into her abdomen feeling the bone of her hips and then back beneath her shirt. My hand wider and flat up through her center. I let my hand this time wander off center. I had to see, I could barely breath. What was I doing?

Just yesterday she had watched me smelling her panties. And now. Again. What was I doing? Yet, I let my hand wander off the center and caress her breast lightly slowly and softly one side and then the other. Not touching the nipple but the swell of her breast from the top across the side and the bottom cupping my hand around her breast, before falling down onto her tummy. Skin to skin, the warmth of her rising around me.

I rubbed her over and over sliding my hands down her sides, letting my fingers wander over her breasts. One then the other, her soft flesh yielding my touch. Little squeezes, not hard but a pressing of my fingers into her. On a few, very few occaissions I let my fingers close around her breasts and then touching, just letting the edge of my hand slide along the edge of her nipples, feeling the rise of flesh there.

And after about ten more minutes, she opened her eyes and looked at me. I was utterly breathless, unable to talk, my hands falling and resting upon her tummy. Unable to look her in the eye. Her top was almost completely up around her breasts.

She looked at me with a that-was-interesting grin, knowing that she knew what I did just then.

But all she said was, “Thanks, it helped I think.”

And she lifted herself up on the sofa, turned herself so she was not sitting next to me, and tugged her top back down around herself which had been clinging up around her breasts. Her cheeks were flushed.

“Thanks she said again.”

I confidently added, Yeah, I’m good at massage. I’ll have to give you a full body rub sometime.

She kissed me on the cheek.

“Sure.”

********************

The opportunity of the morning she had 'heartburn' did not present itself for quite awhile after that, but I relived it each and every day thereafter. And when I looked at her in the morning the feeling of titillation that rose in my cheeks was something I had never felt before.

Her manner never seemed to change. She was ever relaxed, casual, comfortable with her body. But she seemed to enjoy playing these games with me. I sensed she liked her effect on me. She liked to see me flush and stammer, she was wearing her small little outfits, her nightshirts were getting a little shorter in the evening. She was standing closer, she bit her lower lip and tipped her head and gave me sideways glances. But was it just a game?

The event which seemed to be a watershed for me, mainly because it lifted me to such heights and dashed me to such a low happened on a morning that was very similar to the heartburn incident.

It was another morning, and today she was not wearing her boypants, but a little baby doll nightie that was so sheer that I could just see the brown stain of her nipples through the fabric. These were appearing on occasion, so gradually I don’t even remember when it started, but this morning she stood there in her baby doll. She wore a pair of loose bloomers beneath them, equally thin so that I could see the crack of her ass rising from between her legs when her back was to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her this morning. Her smell was intoxicating.

But she was quiet, frowning slightly and I took the bait, “What’s wrong?”

She looked at me, “I went to the doctor a few weeks ago for something and he gave me some medicine.”

“Baby. What is it?” I was genuinely worried.

“Oh, its not that, its nothing. It’s a cut, a little cut. . . on my bottom, and it got infected. I need to put on an antiseptic cream, but I’m pretty sure I’m not putting it on right, cause it’s not getting better. This is pretty weird but could you help.”

“Uh, sure. Where is it?”

“Like I said right on my bottom. My butt," and she pointed around to her backside.

“Sure. I guess I can help. What do you want me to do.”

“To apply it.”

My heart was leaping into my throat. I had visions of seeing her bare bottom, and of placing my hands, touching her, rubbing her bare skin.

“Wait her five minutes then go into the bathroom. I’ll get ready and be in there. That way when you come in, it’ll be easier. I won’t be so embarrassed.”

I sat in the kitchen, laughing *em-bare-assed* my mouth dry, my heart pounding, envisioning what lay ahead. I had fantasies of helping her every day.

Five Minuets - EXACTLY - and I rose from the chair and padded my way into her bathroom.

She was sitting on the counter wearing just a thin white silk robe that was set high up on her thighs and opening slightly at the middle. I was looking up between her legs which were held close together. She was looking at me, sitting there on the counter as I entered. I went in and sat on the toilet.

“OK,” I said. “Ready.”

“I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find what?”

“The medicine. I can’t find it. I think I left it at work.” She was rising to leave. “But thanks anyway I’ll figure something out,” and she walked out of the bathroom.

Then she got ready and went to work.

Later that evening when I asked her about it she said, “Oh yeah.” She laughed. “I took care of that. I did leave it at work, and I had my office mate, Jessica, do it for me. She thought it was just as weird as you did. So. It’s fine.”

And next morning I stupidly asked again, and she just said, “You know what I think its clearing up now. Thanks for asking.”

Now I didn’t even know if any of this was even true or not.

************************

I was masturbating furiously now. And she was my sole fantasy, and I could not help it. I could not control myself. I was still washing her panties, drinking in her scent. It was the one thing I had unfettered access to. The one thing in my life I controlled.

The sensuousness of the fabrics, the smells - silk and satin, nylon, lace edges - it was beginning to have a massively obsessive impact on me. She was all I could think about. I was taking her panties during the day now to my room and using the silk fabrics to rub my skin, slippery and soft, sliding the satins along my cock, smearing her scent on my skin, until I came in ribbons into the fabric, catching my cum and using the fabric to wipe myself clean as I lay in my room before washing them - her scent and mine. Picturing her opening her robe. Thinking about the feel of her small breasts on my fingers, and her smell. Picturing her red panties that morning. Of not letting me rub her bottom and my endless fantasy visions of doing just that.

There was one evening which at the beginning of her living with me would have seemed utterly bizarre, but in light of our evolving history, seemed now comically normal.

I was sitting in the study reading some publications, taking some notes. I had on my bifocals. She came into the study wearing only the smallest set of matching panties and bra. Her small frame glowing in the doorway. I looked up at her and froze as she said simply, “Have you seen Tuesday?”

“What?” I could not take my eyes off her small frame as she leaned against the doorway. I could see flowers on her panties and bra, a sheer transparent tan webbing between the petals. The tan was her skin.

“Tuesday! My days of the week panties. Tuesday is missing.”

I in fact still had some underwear of hers in my room, which I had reserved for later tonight. Shit. I didn’t notice one of the pairs had writing.

“They must, uh, be in the laundry still. I have some stuff in the wash.” I lied. I went back to reading, glancing at her as she remained there.

She looked at me, a smirk on her face. “I checked that already.”

She turned to leave, and as she did said, “I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

My mind was all in a muddle now. I was hot, I loosened my collar. I tried to continue reading, but could not get her out of my mind. Why would she ask me about her panties? What was she doing?

I began to think of her, running through various pictures of her in my mind, the feeling of her breasts, her panties. Her scent. I was thinking about her just now standing in my room. I could still see her there. I kept looking at the spot. I'll check I thought.

I silently went to my room because in fact they were likely in my room where I hid them. I tended to keep some of her panties under my pillow. And sure enough there was 'Tuesday.'

I took them in my hand. They had not been washed yet, and I brought them to my nose. Wonderful! My heart began beating in my chest, I wanted to take them to her right then, to go into her room and take them to her. Did she need them?

I began to change, put on my pyjamas, with 'Tuesday' laying on my pillow. I lay on my bed and slid my cock out hard in my hand wrapping the panties around my cock, silky soft sliding its whole length. I began thinking of Sara laying in her room right now, the way she had looked when she stood in my study, and I set the panties back down on the bed and stood again.

I'm going to take them to her and I headed off to her room my heart in my throat. I had never gone to her room at night. I was in a heat. Did not know what she would be wearing. I stood outside the door and rapped lightly.

"Come in."

"Here they are, I found them. They were still in the dirty pile." I was breathless, stupidly standing with her panties in my hand.

She was laying on her bed, a wall of pillows at one end, wearing only a half top reading a book, papers spread out on the bed. Her knees were up touching, her feet spread out on the bed so that I could see the rose panties she had worn in the study peeking from between her legs, and I sat on the end of the bed by her feet looking up between her legs still holding 'Tuesday' in my hand. My hand was shaking, and I did not even know why.

"Here. Here they are. Did you need them?"

And she brought her knees down sideways, turned herself to a half sitting position, sort of a covering of herself but still reclining on the bed facing toward me so I could still see the expanse of her thighs. And I handed them to her.

She let them hang from one finger, let them dangle before my eyes. Mischief in her eyes. "They're still dirty? Noooo. . . I don't NEED them. I just had every day but that one, and thought it was weird."

She was holding them in her hand looking at them then me, and then playfully tossed them back at me again.

"Silly. You can wash them," and she casually twisted herself back around onto her stomach, so that I was looking down at the small of her back and ass on the bed. She began looking at her papers spread out on the bed ignoring me.

I stayed where I was, "What are you reading?"

She looked back at me over her shoulder. What am I doing? I thought. She was making not the least effort to cover herself, almost as if I were not in the room.

"Oh, Just parts of my disertation. Not really correcting, just checking flow." She shrugged, "The usual."

I blurted out, "Would. Would you like a shoulder rub? . . I mean you said you were kind of sore this evening."

She Laughed, brushed her hair back on her shoulder. Smiling her teeth at me, amused at my presence, "Ha! You think I should let you?"

I scootched closer up the side of the bed and reached out my hand, "Just your shoulders, promise. You can keep reading. It looked like it was right there," and I lay my hand onto her shoulders with both hands and began to squeeze firmly the muscles right at the top of her arms, pressing down and squeezing there and then sliding in to the base of her little neck. Her small shoulders melting in my hands.

"Mmmmm. Nail on the head. Ok then. But JUST my shoulders." Her eyes batting back at me.

"I told you, I'm good at this."

"Oh, Mmmm, you did. I still have that rain check on a body rub."

"I can do that."

"Um, lets stick with shoulders, tonight. . . Mind if I keep reading?"

"That's fine."

"Thanks, this is nice. Here I'm going to put on some music."

She reached across to her nightstand and pressed a switch. I thought, this is a dream.

I continued to kneed her shoulders working the length of muscles from her arms to her neck, and then up her neck into the line of hair and pressing my fingers into the edges of her head and neck. Her hair falling around my hands as I pressed into her, it felt so wonderful. Her soft warm flesh. As I squeezed and continued to loosen the muscles, she let her head fall between her shoulders and began to settle herself down into the bed, her shoulders arched up on her elbows, her head hanging down onto the bed.

She was groaning now, "God, I am tight. Mmmmm."