Starstruck Pt. 01

"Oh, you poor thing!" cried Mari. "Well, it's good that I found you. You're fast becoming one of my favourite friends, Mr. Butler. Maybe I can be like family to you."

She leaned across and gave me a hug. I tensed for a second, unsure of what to do, and then relaxed into it. She smelled so nice. Her perfume hung in the air with the slight scent of sweat that came with such a hot summer day. I could have stayed in that hug forever.

As it was though, Mari had another meeting with the label execs - "they're soooo boring!" - and so it came to a natural time for me to leave.

As I got up to go, though, I realised that I really, desperately wanted to stay with Mari. For the first time in my life I did something spontaneous, without overthinking it first.

I asked if she had any more chores for me to do.

Mari clapped her hands together, delighted. "Such a gentleman!" she squealed. "How lucky I am to have a friend like you."

Internally, I felt a huge wave of relief. She hadn't found it strange that I asked. I could stay here a little longer. I could be useful.

And so, I got to work again. The chores were different today. I was mostly cleaning the downstairs. I mopped and swept, and tidied up her cupboards. I watered her plants. I felt a sense of joy in doing so. Normally, my mind was so busy... When I was at work, I procrastinated, and when I was at home, I worried about how little work I had done. But not now. Now I was just in the moment, focused on my tasks, helping Mari.

The last task was the washing again. When I saw it on the list, my heart skipped a beat remembering the dirty encounter I had had the day before. How did she generate so much washing? It seemed like she wore every piece of clothing in her wardrobe for about ten minutes, and then discarded it into the bathroom washing basket.

Fishing it all out, I suddenly had a sly thought. Though I had washed her underwear the day, she must have still put yesterday's pair in after I left. Though they wouldn't be as exciting as the pair worn for her nighttime escapades the other day, perhaps I could still give them a look...

I sorted through the clothes, but there were none there. Disappointed, I picked out the assortment of dresses and skirts and turned towards the door. At least I would still get the satisfaction of doing a good job washing her clothes.

As I was about to walk out of the bathroom, I saw them.

Rather than being with the rest of the washing, yesterday's panties had been tossed onto the floor next to the shower. Evidently she had thrown them off in a rush to get in, and then forgotten to put them in the basket afterwards. My heart raced as I gingerly picked them up.

The first thing I noticed was that they were slightly wet. "How?" I thought to myself. "Had water from the shower got on them?"

As I brought them to my face, the answer became clear. The smell of the previous pair of panties had been muted until I brought them right up to my nose, faded away by a few days in the basket. There was nothing subtle about the smell of these. The scent of sex and cum was unmistakeable, and very strong. I realised with a start that they were wet because the cum in the gusset was not yet fully dry. Not only that, but it had soaked and smeared around other parts of them as well - up the back, onto the pretty ribbon on the front - implying that she had not only pulled the panties back on after sex, but also moved around actively enough to spread the fluid around. Maybe the mess was the result of sleeping in them afterwards?

I was stunned. The cum was fresh, it was undeniable. How long would it take cum to dry in this scenario? Could it be that Mari had had sex with someone the night before, after I had left, and slept in the panties, leaking into them all night long? Could even be that she had been fucked this morning, before I arrived? Either way, I felt a sudden pang of jealousy. This surely confirmed my status as "friend", and only "friend". She had someone else, a fuckbuddy perhaps, or a boyfriend, who was fucking her and ejaculating inside her between our meetings.

Conversation with me in the day, and hot, sweaty sex with him in the humidity of the summer night.

And yet my raw jealousy was already being soothed and balmed by my arousal. The thought of Mari, spreadeagled on the bed, her small body being roughly taken by a man who was certainly taller and stronger than me. The thought of her lying in bed afterwards, sweating and panting, savouring the feeling of his cum dripping out of her as she falls asleep...

I looked again at the panties in my hand. I listened out: yep, Mari was still talking animatedly on the call. She shared the house with her cousins but they were out of town this weekend. It was just me again, alone in the bathroom, holding the crusted and damp evidence of their sex.

The temptation was too great. I raised the panties to my nose and took a deep breath. God, but that smell was good. The smell of raw sex and pheromones. I'm not attracted to men at all, but the powerful smell of his cum mixed with her juices made me feel an almost animalistic lust. I imagined what he must be like. Certainly big and muscular, to have a chance with a girl like Mari. Could he be white? That would be humiliating. She would fuck a white guy, but only a tiger, not a puppy-dog like me. Probably he would be sporty too, and not too intellectual - that's a trait for a friend after all, not a lover. I wondered if he was the kind of guy who might have bullied me at school.

Despite this self-hating train of thought, my cock only grew harder as I continued to smell the panties. The continued noise of Mari's muffled voice through the walls made me feel even bolder. There was something I secretly wanted to do, but was it too gross? It would certainly be the biggest violation of trust yet. Something which anyone *normal* would be disgusted by.

I stuck out my tongue, and touched the tip of it to the last drying puddle of semen, in the middle of the gusset.

It tasted sour and salty, yet somehow appealing. My penis strained against the front of my trousers. Objectively, it wasn't a taste I would enjoy out of context, but oh, how important that context was. I had tasted their lovemaking. I had tasted her lover's cum. I had tasted *Mari*.

On that momentous act, my rational brain won out again and I began to get paranoid. What should I do? If I picked them up and washed them, Mari would know that I knew about her nocturnal escapades. If I left them where they were, she would surely reason that I couldn't have missed them and that I must have left them there deliberately, which would have the double disadvantage of making things awkward between us and potentially upsetting her that I didn't do all of her washing. I decided to act as if she had put them in the basket, and wash them anyway.

When Mari came out of her meeting later, I had already hung her washing up on the line. She didn't comment on the underwear, though I was sure I saw a momentary look of recognition cross her features.

In any case, I was greatly relived that it didn't change anything. She chatted away to me about the internal politics at the label, about how they were restricting her artistic expression, her words flowing out like a river, gushing and constant.

When it came time to leave again, Mari asked me to come back the following weekend. I enthusiastically agreed, and she gave me the sweetest smile, her face lighting up like a bulb. All the way home though, whenever I thought of her, she looked as she had in my imagination while I held the panties - gasping, shuddering and clawing at the back of a masculine man pinning her against the bed.