Stealing Bras and Sniffing PantiesbySuperHeroRalph©
Slowly he pulled down her panty and gently lifted up her feet. Once off, he sniffed her panties, before licking them and pocketing them. Then, with the bottom of her skirt tucked in her waistband, he pulled out his camera, stepped back to make sure that he got all of her in the picture, including the back of her head, and photographed her naked ass. Carefully turning her around, so as not to make her slide down the side of the car and fall, he photographed the front of her with her face and pussy so exposed.
"Now I'm going to remove your bra," he said whispering in her ear again, while wondering if she was conscious enough to hear and to realize what he was saying and/or who he was. Yet, as if she was soundly sleeping, he knew she was out cold.
Still holding the flashlight between his teeth and shining the flashlight on her chest, slowly he unbuttoned each button of her blouse looking to see what each unbuttoned button revealed, before unbuttoning the next button. Then, he splayed open her blouse, took a step back and photographed her naked pussy and exposed white bra with the pink and yellow little flowers. Finally, reaching around behind her, he removed her C cup, low cut, strapless bra and took a last photograph of her slumped up against the car with her tits and pussy so nakedly exposed.
"Perfect," he said. "For such a pretty woman in person, you're not very photogenic, are you? You look drunk," he said quickly viewing the photos on his camera.
Recently, morphing into a super pervert, a demented predator, and a dangerous sexual deviate than just a creep, a real menace to society, Carl's bra fetish and panty obsession had turned another perverse corner from fetish to paraphilia. No longer happy with just down blouse peeks and up skirt views of panties, no longer happy with stealing the bras and panties of friends, acquaintances, relatives, and strangers, he was now after the really big game. He wanted, needed, and had to have the actual bras and panties of those women who were nasty bitches, those women who had been mean to him, and those women who everyone loved to hate. If they weren't so insulated, protected, and hard to get at, he'd do anything to steal Michelle Obama, Sarah Palin, and Michele Bachmann's bra and sniff their panties.
"Phffft! Phffft! Phffft!"
Oh, yeah, ready to hunt bear, the bigger the game the better, he couldn't wait. If he lived in California, he'd target celebrities, Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, and Kim Basinger.
"Phffft! Phffft! Phffft!"
Just for the Hell of it, if he could, he'd steal Oprah Winfrey's big bra and sniff her big panty, too, he would, really he would.
He could only imagine what the bra and panty of Kate Middleton's, the Duchess of Cambridge, looked, felt, and smelled like.
Even though he was the devil reincarnated to his victim, he was the Angel of sexual retribution to all those men, who had been abused by powerful women, women who showed no mercy to men by belittling them, abusing them, and emasculating them. Oh, yeah, pay back is a bitch, bitch. Whenever he bagged one of those much reviled women, no one cared. Even though most would never admit it in public, many thought the women got just what they deserved and some even thought it funny to read about them being stripped of their bra and panty and being so publicly exposed and humiliated.
After already having successfully stolen the bra and sniffing the panties of the District Attorney who prosecuted him as a sex offender
and the judge who sent him away for 30 days observation for lewd and lascivious behavior,
he's made quite the name for himself.
With a long list of sexual perverts that they so prosecuted and put away, the District Attorney and Judge had no idea and/or evidence that he had so targeted them. It could have been any one of dozens of men, who had stolen their bras and sniffed their panties. Tit, butt, and twat for all the photos he shot, even if they had the evidence to arrest him, he had their naked photos to make them think twice about the embarrassment that their public nudity would bring to their careers.
So named in the press as The Bra and Panty Bandit, an Internet overnight success, he was infamously famous. Yet, now that he was once captured, tried and convicted and having to register as a sex offender, improving his chances of not landing in jail and being incarcerated for a very long time, he always took care to have a foolproof alibi, along with his naked photos to blackmail them. Documenting his sexual crimes with photographs, so as to save his ass from prison, he took care to always have just as much on his victims as they had on him.
Looking so much the part with his longish blonde hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, resembling a young Robert Redford, Carl was a big game hunter and the summer was his hunting season. Not needing a license, not even needing a shotgun, all that he required was his six inch blowgun and the opportunity to stalk his prey. His big game weren't animals in the jungle. He hunted women in the wild. Able to justify the theft of their bras and panties more, the wilder the women the better. He hunted women in their own habitat, the supermarket and mall parking lots. In the way that hunters on Safari collect the heads and skins of wild animals, Carl collected bras and panties from women.
His fetish was bras and panties, specifically used bras and panties, previously worn bras and panties that were still odorously warm from wear. Already having accumulated enough bras and panties in every size, style, and color, he had an entire collection of bras and panties from tall, short, fat, thin, young, and old women. No matter if they were blonde, brunette, or redhead, no matter if they were Caucasian, Asian, or Black, their bras and panties weren't safe from Carl stealing them.
It started innocently enough many years ago, when female relatives and female friends of the family visiting his parents' house, inadvertently flashed Carl down blouse peeks of their bras and up skirt views of their panties. Later, wanting to see more, whether crawling around on the floor on the pretense that he dropped something, while looking up skirts or standing on a chair to change a light bulb and looking down blouses, Carl always found a way to see what he needed to see. A stealthy master of deception, no one caught him looking long enough to discern his real agenda.
A normal rite of passage for any young, testosterone filled male to be so focused with seeing bras and panties, his true fetish first started when he stole and sniffed his sisters' and mother's dirty bras and panties that they discarded in the laundry basket. Unfortunately, with all the down blouse peeks and up skirt views he saw and still continued to see, Carl never outgrew his bra and panty fetish. Yet, even then, it took years and several exploratory voyeuristic detours for Carl's fetish to grow and return full circle to how it all began and continued to manifest itself.
His obsession with bras and panties no longer stopped with him masturbating in his room. Over the years, his fetish continued to escalate, so much so that he wasn't able to maintain a physical relationship with a woman. As if she was standing before him in her lingerie, seldom even looking up at her face, every time he saw a woman, he thought of her in her bra and panty. Every time he talked to a woman, undressing her with his eyes and seeing her in his mind in her lingerie, he wondered what style, size, and color bra and panty they wore. The only relationship that he wanted and hoped to have with women was behind his closed bedroom door with their stolen bras and panties, along with the photos he had taken of them, while masturbating over all that he saw, touched, and smelled.
In the beginning, unlike other men who actually collected bras and panties, who may even wear bras and panties, and/or who can't walk by a lingerie counter without feeling bras and touching panties, Carl was uniquely different in that regard. Originally, he needed to see the women wearing their bras and panties for his fetish to be satisfied. Most would mistaken him for a voyeur and, of course, he was that, too, especially in the beginning, but the reason behind his voyeurism was to satisfy his fetish of collecting the visual images of women wearing their bras and panties.
To jog his memory of all that he saw over the years, he even maintained an encoded and detailed notebook of when and where he saw which woman's bra and panty. The writings in Carl's notebook was just scribbled gibberish but, able to interpret all that he wrote, his marks were what he needed to relive to see each and every woman's bra and panty that he saw. It was his obsession to masturbate while reading his notebook, while reliving again all that he saw and imagining all that he didn't see.
Along with his imagination and experienced eye, a bra strap or a visible panty line was sometimes nearly enough and nearly as exciting as seeing a woman standing before him in her bra and panty. In the way that a big game hunter was expert in knowing where the animals in the wild were and how to bag them, so wasn't Carl expert in knowing where the women were and how to see them. Only, with his fetish taking more control of his life, something happened to Carl along the way.
After spending years, decades of collecting images of women's bras and panties and painstakingly recording the sightings in his secret encoded notebook, tormented by his obsession, his fetish grew to feverish heights. More than just reading over his notebook every night, more than masturbating every day, sometimes, multiple times a day, he needed more than just a visual image that faded with his memory. Creating little more than frustrated sexual excitement, those down blouse views of bras and up skirt images of panties were no longer enough to satisfy his bra and panty fetish. Now, needing to possess bras and panties, he needed to touch, feel, sniff, and lick them. Not interested in going to the lingerie department and buying new and unworn bras and panties and bras, he now needed more than that.
As if claiming the severed head of his prey, it was a given that he needed to take ownership of bras and panties, but not just any bras and panties. As if bagging the biggest and most ferocious wild animal, he wanted to take the bras and panties of those beautiful women he'd never have a chance with ordinarily. He wanted the bras and panties of those women who looked at him with a jaundice eye and made him feel that there was something wrong with him. Even though, of course, there was something wrong with him, in the way that he leered at, viewed, and sexually used, abused and assaulted women. Nonetheless, he didn't appreciate, an understatement, their perception of him, even though they may have been correct in their insightfulness. Their prejudgments of him made him angry and moved them to the top of his bra and panty to be had list.
Wanting to publicly embarrass and humiliate women, just as they embarrassed and humiliated him over the years, he needed to steal, take, and remove their most personal items, their bras and panties, while they were still wearing them. Oh, yeah, their used bras and panties was what now interested him. Only, an act equal to the crime of rape, unless the women voluntarily gave up their bras and panties, how could he possibly take women's bras and panties without landing himself in jail? It was a puzzle that caused him many sleepless nights and a solution that eluded him, but one that he finally found.
In the way that the Japanese men do, other than to run up on women and steal their bras and remove their panties, a middle-aged man, he was now too old and too slow to do that. Other than to drug women and remove their bras and panties, once they were unconscious, he couldn't do that either. He could hypnotize them to remove and hand over their bras and panties, but he didn't know how to hypnotize women. Moreover, he'd run the risk of them identifying him by remembering that he had hypnotized them and stolen their bras and panties. Stealing bras and panties while women were wearing them was a good idea, but in need of a solution of how exactly to go about doing it.
Then, he thought about a blowgun that he saw, while watching the Amazonian Indians in South America and the Pygmies of Africa on National Geographic. Instead of using poison to kill his victims, thinking of the women as if he was stalking animals that roamed from the wild to exclusive bedroom communities and needed to be relocated, he'd use tranquilizers to tranquilize his victims. Illegal in California, Massachusetts, and the District of Columbia, fortunately for him, in the state where he lived, blowguns were legal. Of course, it was just the use that he was to put the blowgun to that was illegal.
For a few hours of his time, he did some research on the Internet and found what he needed online. For less than one hundred dollars, he bought everything he needed to temporarily tranquilize and paralyze women long enough for him to steal their bras and sniff their panties. After practicing in the use of a blowgun, he couldn't wait to try his blowgun out on someone.
By strictly trial and error, he didn't have an Amazonian Indian or an African Pygmy to ask or to instruct him. Not knowing what dosage to use and how quickly it would work, depending, of course, on the size of the woman, he only needed to have the women remain motionless for only a few minutes. Yet, not degreed and licensed as a doctor, not trained as an anesthesiologist, or even as a veterinarian, other than guesswork, he had no clue how much tranquilizer to give his victims.
Yet, already halfway through the story, I'm skipping ahead. For the sake of some background information, allow me to begin from the beginning. Carl's bra and panty fetish started when he was younger. Much as it is now, the summer season was his favorite season. He loved the warm weather, the hotter the better. Heat didn't bother him one bit. Humidity was his friend. He loved those days that the heat approached 100 degrees and the oppressive humidity climbed to over 70. The dog days of summer, those were the days that women didn't care what they were wearing, what they were showing, and what he could see. Then, heating up his libido as hot as the temperature, it got even hotter. This year, with the summer sun scorching most of the country, was a voyeur's bonanza and a fetish jackpot. He couldn't wait to steal his first bra and panty.
When it was unbearably hot, so hot that the only place to stay cool was indoors and in air conditioning or wading in cooler water at the beach or in a pool, Carl headed for supermarket and the mall parking lots. Too crowded at the beach to go unnoticed, as the closeted voyeur he sometimes needed to be to satisfy his bra and panty fetish, sticking out like a sore thumb when walking the beach in his street clothes or even in his bathing suit, in the way that he looked and leered, he'd be deemed a pervert at first sight. He needed to be less obvious for what he needed to see. As if going to the aquarium to look at the fish or the zoo to see the animals, malls and supermarkets was where he went on hot days to voyeur women. Whether they knew it or not, some women sometimes exposed more of themselves at the supermarket and the mall than they did at the beach.
There were a few reasons why Carl preferred the supermarkets and the malls to scope out women. Instead of wearing bathing suits and bikinis at the beach, women at the supermarkets and the malls wore bras and panties beneath short, loose fitting, nearly transparent blouses and short sundresses that opened at the top when they leaned and raised up at the bottom, when they squatted. With bras and panties being so openly and routinely flashed and with bras and panties being his fetish, as far as he was concerned, it was more erotic seeing a woman's bra and panty than it was seeing a woman in her in her bikini. Later, once safely home and after having recorded everything in his notebook, with his hand firmly around his cock, while masturbating, he remembered not only all of what he saw at the supermarket and mall but also all that he didn't see and was imagining now.
Pretending he was just another casual shopper, the supermarkets and malls were as if he were watching women in the wild and in their natural habitat. Even though women wore less clothes at the beach, the beach with the bright sun, sand, and water was an unnatural place for him to voyeur women. Splattered with husbands and boyfriends and sprinkled with children, too many people got in the way of him watching women without being watched and looking without being seen.
More the peeper than the pervert, that is, until later, for his voyeurism to work enough to satisfy his bra and panty fetish, he didn't want to be caught looking. Having a better, albeit twisted self-image of himself, he didn't consider himself a full blown pervert, one who didn't care who saw him looking. So long as he got a good view of what he so wanted and needed to see without being noticed, harassed, and made a spectacle of, he was happy.
As much as he enjoyed seeing hot women wearing bikinis, he preferred seeing a hot women in their underwear. With so many bikinis leaving so little to the imagination, an argument could be made that bikinis were much the same as seeing women in their underwear but, with so much more yet to imagine, he preferred seeing the real thing than just imagining it. So long as he could imagine more, so long as he could imagine them naked, he needed the inspiration of seeing women in their underwear.
For him, it was more exciting to imagine a naked woman than it was to actually see a naked woman. The sudden and surprised flash of a bra or panty excited him more than it did to see a woman wearing a bikini, a woman topless, or even a naked woman sunbathing on a private beach or nude beach. If he was given a choice, seeing a woman in her underwear or seeing a woman naked, he'd pick the woman in her underwear every time. Oh, yeah, seeing a woman wearing her bra and/or panty is what did it for him.
When walking the beach, he was too obvious. When walking the beach alone, when most people were relaxing on their towels as couples, families, or with a group of friends, he was conspicuous and looked too much like the pervert that he was. When he saw something to see, it was too difficult for him to get closer for a better look without calling attention to himself.
With nearly as many men at the beach, as there were women, the chances of him being spotted staring and confronted by a jealous husband, a possessive boyfriend, or even a good Samaritan stranger, was greater than, if he kept his leering to the grocery stores and shopping centers, where the majority of customers were women. With him looking to see bras and panties, most women in the supermarkets and at the malls shopped alone and were too preoccupied with shopping for food or sale items to notice his bizarre behavior. Besides, if he was discovered leering in a store, rather than being trapped on a long, straight stretch of a hot, sandy beach, he could just turn down an aisle, duck in another store, and disappear in the crowd of shoppers. Feeling safer contained within the boundaries of the mall and supermarket, a boundary that extended outside to the parking areas, women were his valuable voyeuristic victims and, as if they were wild animals in the wild, his big game to hunt.
Always in a hurry to get out of their hot cars and get in the air conditioned comfort of the mall or supermarket, women at the mall and supermarket were all so very hot, tired, frustrated, and otherwise preoccupied with what they needed to buy or what they just bought than they were with the wardrobe malfunction of their clothes. Oblivious to being watched, stuck to their car seats and emerging from their cars, SUV's, and minivans with their legs spread wide open and their skirts or dresses nearly hiked up to their crotch, most times, most women, didn't notice him staring to see what he could see. Too hot and aggravated, most women didn't care what they were showing and what it was he was seeing. To him, it seemed that they were showing him on purpose. To him, it seemed that they wanted him to see their bras and panties.