The Belgium Neighbour's Knickers

I saw my swollen balls above the depressed waistband of the panties imitating a pair of Humpty Dumpty characters with royal blue waistcoats and rouge shirts, sat together on top of a wall. With both hands available I sought out the egg shaped oval of the unlined gusset of Dorene's pantyhose and held it to my nostrils. I audibly snorted the double weave of nylon and returned my grip to my woody shaft. The faintest aroma of urine but intense nutty fragrance of fanny pheromone overwhelmed me and despite wanting to make the experience last I could not. I let go of my shaft to bring the waistband of the panties above the head of my cock and as the delicate transparent mesh grazed the glans of my cock my seminal fluid started to seep through the gauze of the panties irrigating the embroidered leafy pattern upon it .

A primaeval groan resounded from deep within me and emanated beyond my lips as I shot ribbon upon ribbon of hot jism through the mesh of the front panel of my panties. Despite the resistance of the panty mesh my mess made its flight some distance from me and puddled on the wooden floor in front of my feet. I lay back on my bed. Spent. With my soaking panties around my loins, I fell asleep again.

During the following weeks, I really made the most of Dorene's hose, they were a constant companion when I went to bed and after the feminine traces of my hot neighbour were long gone I began to abuse them more and more. I reluctantly had to wash them after I had shot my lot regularly through the toes of both legs leaving them crusty and no longer soft and subtle and like sugar and spice and all things nice. I had been rolling the leg down over my shaft and having settled my cock head in the reinforced toe, I would introduce my hand into the other toe and caress my shaft and balls with my nylon covered hand. I would imagine it was Dorene's stocking foot doing the job and when I lost the lot it would be my neighbour's divine little stocking toes that would be the recipient of my glorious tribute.

I wanted to get to grips with more of Dorene's intimate bits and bobs to discover just how naughty the woman might be, I really needed to get to the door of the drawer where she kept all of her naughty underthings.

As Autumn drew to a close and I was busy baking bread in my kitchen, I became aware of the sound of activity in Dorene's garden next door. On looking through the kitchen window I saw that she had invited friends around and they were busy cooking food on her barbeque and having drinks. I reckoned that there must have been as many as fifteen or twenty guests and as the music grew louder so did the level of conversation. I regarded that the informality of the event was an opportunity to see her again so I considered the same trick as I had tried some weeks before and thought of some reason to go into my garden.

We had enjoyed quite a dry spell and the day was lovely and sunny for the time of year. I thought it would be an appropriate deception if I retrieved my watering can from the end of the garden and watered my plants.

I acknowledged several of Dorene's guests. I collected my watering can and on returning to the garden I saw that Dorene had joined the throng. She was dressed almost entirely in black, she sported black leggings with her fuschia coloured trainers and to my utter delight, I could see the hems of flesh coloured nylon socks above her ankles. She was wearing a 'T' shirt which had text upon it written across her darling buds which read, 'BIRTHDAY GIRL', in a shade that matched the tone of her trainers.

I might kneel at her feet and lavish kisses on her nylon adorned ankles as a birthday surprise but it might be viewed as being just a touch too forward. It seemed that the flow of alcohol had softened her up and upon seeing me she called,

"Hi, Henry, fancy a tinnie."

"Wow, yes please, that would be nice," I affirmed.

Dorene passed a can to me over the garden wall.

"I'm detecting a slight accent Dorene are you Dutch?" I asked her.

"No, but warm, I'm from Belgium," she told me.

"Guess what? it's my birthday, twenty-one today, twenty-one today," she sang to the tune of Ee Aye Addio with her appealing Flemish voice."

She surprised me when she leant over the short wall between our gardens and kissed me on the lips and said,

"Come over Henry, get yourself something to eat."

"I'll have you please dear, rare on a skewer," I thought to myself.

"Thanks very much, I'd love to, I'll be over in a minute or two," I replied.

It was a really pleasant couple of hours talking with her guests, many of whom were guys and I suspected that at least some of them had had their hearts broken at some time in the past by their adorable hostess.

A guy knows that he should try to rise above looking at a women's tits but it's impossible. All one can attempt to do is limit the time spent there. Turned at an acute angle to me and with her modest dainty mounds distorting her top the message written across them now seemed to read, 'BIRTHING GIRL'. I would have been honoured and eternally grateful to make that event a reality.

"I'm planning to do some alterations as soon as possible to the flat and I've heard what an amazing place yours is. Several neighbours have told me. Is there any chance that I could have a peek at what you have done in yours?" she requested.

"Wow, Dorene, you're very young to own your own flat," I suggested.

"My dad bought it for me for my twenty-first, I know that I'm a very lucky and spoilt Daddy's girl," she said with a smile.

"Dorene, come and have a look now if you want?" I informed her.

"That would be great, Henry, I'm quite anxious to get going with it so the sooner the better. Sis is about to leave so I'll just go and say goodbye to her," she replied.

Dorene disappeared through her back door and into her flat. I hadn't spotted her sister but if she looked anything like Dorene I imagined that one of the guests was probably giving her one in the spare bedroom.

Some thirty minutes later Dorene returned. I wasn't expecting anything less. A woman like that can't move through a party without being hit upon by every drooling guy within the place.

Dorene leapt the short wall between our gardens and landed on two feet. However, the alcohol had messed with her sense of balance and she toppled sideways and landed on her bum and lost one trainer in the process. She laughed. Clearly, she was not hurt. I quickly stepped over the wall and retrieved her trainer. I wanted so much to hold it to my nose and sample the fragrance of her perspiration. Instead, I decided to take a liberty of a different kind.

"Allow me," I courteously requested.

I reached towards her and took the sole of her foot in my hand and placed her stocking foot on my thigh. I loosened the laces of her trainer and then I took hold of the heel of her foot and directed her toes, with her beautifully pedicured red nails , into her shoe. It was a delight to see her little toes hiding behind the reinforced weave of the toe of her nylon ankle socks. The sensation of having both her moist sole and heel in the palm of my hand was mind-blowing, to say the least. The sight of her foot in the sheer flesh coloured nylon was terribly emotive for me. How I wished I had a movie camera in my spectacles so that I could have recorded that moment for posterity and re-run it as an aid for having a fantastic wank later.

"The age of chivalry is alive and well," remarked Dorene, blushing.

"So is the age of wanton unbridled lust," I thought to myself.

I extended my hand towards her and Dorene took it. My large hand swallowed her tiny mit in one bite. I helped her to her feet. I felt I had just married her and with a huge effort of will I did not pick her up and carry her across the threshold and into my flat. Instead, I let her lead the way. How chivalrous of me and nothing at all to do with wanting to watch her splendid bum as she made her way up the steps to my back door. Ladies before gentlemen. We may have to sacrifice our lives at sea but at least until that happens we have the opportunity to view a lot of fabulous arse.

Dorene was bowled over with some of the stuff I had done to my flat and when we reached the lounge she took one look at the shelves I had built in the alcoves at either side of the chimney breast. They were made from varnished scaffold plants and were invisibly secured with metal rods inserted within them that continued into the brickwork.

"Wow that's exactly what I'm after, declared Dorene. Don't suppose you would consider making some of those for me would you?" Dorene enquired.

My cock was yelling yes at her, I still had my head on so I calmly replied,

"Well I'm not doing too much of that these days but since I've just done it for Jo and Jack at the next door but one from you, it's pretty routine and I can tell you the fee for materials and fittings if you like."

"Wicked, Henry," she replied. "What would it cost?" she asked.

"Two hundred and forty quid would cover it and I could do it whenever you like," I informed her.

"Brilliant my dad gave me some money for my birthday and I've still got loads of my stuff in boxes since I moved in that I can't wait to get from under my feet. How would this week suit you, you can start tomorrow if you like," she suggested.

"Quite generous your dad, isn't he," I commented.

I lost concentration for a moment as I wished instead of those boxes I could be the subject under her feet.

"I'm out during office hours, so I can give you a back door key and you could get on with it if that suits you? Here you go," she said.

Dorene unfolded her delicate hand to reveal a key sitting in her little pink palm.

I was somewhat taken aback by her forthrightness. I took the key. Ironically it wouldn't be until later that I realised I had substituted it for my soul. I would end up in the palm of her hand in more ways than one.

"Right then, I'll order what I need tomorrow and make a start," I informed her. I felt that she had just given me a pirate's map to buried treasure.

Monday. The beginning of the working week. I woke at eight o'clock. I had already established with a voyeuristic compulsion that Dorene always left the house at eight twenty to go to work. I got the coffee on and went to my front window to wait for her to leave for her work. I heard my neighbour's door shut with a thud. From the bay window, I saw Dorene crossing the road. I spent a half hour there until I knew the coast would be clear.

I had the majority of the materials in house. A scaffolding company I regularly used informed me that they were passing my way in the early afternoon and could drop off the planking I required. I was all set to go wanking.

I had a whole eight hours to do just what I pleased. I smoked a spliff and then I went into my garden and crossed into my neighbour's property. I turned the key in the back door and pushed it open.

I set the job up. Should Dorene return I could be legitimately busy.

I collected together the tools I would need for drilling the wall and fixing the studs within it. Then I decided the time had come to claim my prize. I made my way to her bedroom to find her panty drawer.

The audacity of my subterfuge informed me that I should push the door open cautiously to her bedroom. There might be a guest from the celebrations the day before who had enjoyed Dorene delight. There was no one, an unmade bed and a pair of discarded black knickers beside it on the carpet was all that I saw.

Soon I had her discarded knickers across the palms of my hands. Had I been blind I would have known that they were of some quality, simply by the texture of them.

The label sewn into the waistband at the back was three pages long. This 'little rag book' informed me that they were made in China, they were size eight, Euro size thirty six, USA size four and distributed by an English department store. The front panel was composed of fifteen percent elastane and eighty-five percent polyamide. The back panel was ninety-five percent cotton and five percent elastane. The gusset liner was ninety-five percent cotton and five percent elastane. They were to be washed with similar colours on a delicate cycle. Reshaped whilst damp and not tumble dried.

I had every intention of making them damp and then reshaping them.

It would take far too long to describe the elaborate nature of the front panel of mesh and the creeping delicate floral bouquet written in it by modern software but to give you some idea of the complexity I reckon it would have taken about three years for a single lace maker to knock out a similar pair of bloomers for Queen Elizabeth I of England, give or take a month or two.

The back panel is easier to describe, it was uniform, soft and carried the label that invited any guy to rub his schlong upon it along the cleavage of some girl's tight little buttocks until he shot his lot half way up the woman's back.

The soft cotton gusset of these knickers was encrusted with a copious quantity of her pale, dried, creamy, and aromatic fanny syrup. Knickers from the day that the horny Belgium beauty had just turned twenty-one years of age. Traditionally, the day once recognised as being the day of adulthood.

She had worn them below black leggings on a warm sunny day. She had perspired freely inside them. She may have been surrounded by some of her old conquests which may have stirred many exciting memories of the naughty goings on that she performed with those guys. I held the crusty secretion to my nostrils and my cock went ballistic. Prior to delightful Dorene distraction, I thought that I should check out to see if the scaffolders had dropped off the planking. That had happened. I didn't have a front door key for Dorene's flat so I picked up her naughty little black panties from the bedroom and went back to my own flat. I threw her knickers onto my bed and went downstairs to retrieve the planking which I brought in and took into my own back garden.

That would do for a single day at the office. I wanted an entire dirty afternoon with her saucy black panties. I would return them to whence they had come from before her Royal Sexiness returned home that evening.

I made a good start on Tuesday morning. I finished drilling the party wall in the alcoves and having squirted sufficient chemical anchor into the holes I pushed the studs, that were to carry the shelving, to the desired depth and then left them there to cure.

Meanwhile, I cut the planking to length and joined it to make the shelves. I would wait until the following day to clean them up, rub them down and smooth them up.

So I had time on my hands. According to my rigorous plan, the day would also involve digging deeply into the sexy underwear of my neighbour. I found that she stored her lingerie in wire baskets at the side of the bed. There were some really saucy little items there including several lovely lacy black panties, a red lacey nylon bikini panty and some really naughty black stockings with a fine reticulate pattern overlayed with a second more random network emulating crazy paving. Their reinforced tops were lace-like and floral in nature. There was also a pair of pink stockings with sandal foot toe which on closer inspection had been cut from a pair of pink pantyhose. There was no sign of the remaining panty so I fantasised it may have been damaged when some boyfriend or other had ripped open her hosiery to obtain rapid access to her darling honey pot. It's something I certainly would have enjoyed doing immensely.

A pair of classic red high heels, stored beneath the bottom basket did not escape my attention.

Then I spotted the laundry basket. I found a sheer white nylon 'g' string. Very sporty indeed.

I took the saucy item back home with me to enjoy. Before the end of office hours, I said goodbye to its good company and placed it into Dorene's laundry basket so it would not be missed.

I spent Wednesday morning putting the finish on the shelves. I belt sanded them in the garden and then took them into Dorene's flat to offer them up to the alcoves. Returning to the garden I adjusted the width of them where necessary and coated them up with the first coat of lacquer and put them aside to dry.

That done I went on to continue with the important business of the day. I went to Dorene's bedroom for another lucky dip in her laundry basket. She hadn't attended to her laundry.

I pulled out a pair of sheer full cut pink nylon panties and when I unfolded the little bundle I discovered to my delight that embroidered on the front panel in a deeper shade of pink was a slogan that read, 'Every Bunny Needs Some Bunny'. They were absolutely delicious and so naughty that I longed to put them on.

When I went back to my own bedroom. I could not resist making some photographs of myself in such saucy panties and after having done that I cupped my balls through the silky nylon and shot my lot into the gusset of the black pantyhose I had taken from Dorene's wheely bin weeks before. I returned the bunny panties in good time to her bedroom.

On Thursday I began drilling the shelves, forming two fifteen mm diameter holes and some one hundred and fifty mm deep into each one of them, one on the left side and one on the right side. Then I applied a second copious coat of lacquer to the shelving, having lightly rubbed them down to settle the grain of the timber.

On Friday I would install the shelves forcing them onto the studs I had installed in the brick wall and finally, I would give them a third copious coat of lacquer and that would be that.

With lots of time on my hands, I had my next appointment with Dorene's laundry. I was feeling quite cock sure of myself but as I entered the back door of the flat I decided to lock it just in case another neighbour might call. I intended to have my wicked way in her bedroom just for the naughty crack of it. I took my camera with me and I went directly to her bedroom.

I had every intention of running away with at least one item of hosiery and one pair of her knickers. A pair of her black panties were favourite as she had several pairs in that colour and I thought her less likely to miss them in the short term.

The majority of her underwear I would regretfully have to leave. I intended to photograph it for posterity. I write dirty stories for my own enjoyment and she would certainly be the protagonist of at least one of them. To be able to illustrate the story with pictures of her sexy underwear, with or without me wearing or otherwise abusing them would doubtless increase the emotional impact of the stories for my own amusement.

My camera is very smart. Upon entering her bedroom I picked up the laundry basket, upturned it and with a good shake I discharged its entire contents onto the floor of the bedroom. A faint aroma of the woman's chosen cologne, reminiscent of the pantyhose at the moment that I first purloined them from her garbage, aroused me.

Before me was a little mountain of froth. There were pantyhose in black as well as white, half slips, one white with little blue dots and another red lacy one with a bow that would sit beneath her cleavage. Hoop patterned socks, tiny black and white bikini style panties, 'g' strings of the most minute proportions with bows to the front and back panels of size so conspicuous that they almost rivalled the size of the panties themselves.

I stripped completely naked in this dream girl's bedroom and soon my cock was bulging behind the sheer pink material of her 'bunny' panties.

I sat on her bed and slipped a sheer white 'g' string over my head so that the crusty and yet otherwise soft cotton crotch was covering my nostrils. The tiny form of these scanties did nothing to impede my vision as I peered through the leg holes and I continued to be visually enchanted by the topography and colour of the pile of soiled laundry in front of me on the floor.