The Package

It was a yet another dreary, wet Wednesday. The week was dragging on longer than usual and I was more than ready for the weekend. No big plans, but at least I would be free of the office for a few days.

As I had a deadline looming, I had been concentrating on finishing my review of the latest print copy when the morning mail was dropped unceremoniously into my "in" basket. The "thud" of the pile pulled me out of my concentration. Looking up to acknowledge the delivery, I was surprised to see that it was not the regular mail boy scurrying down the hall to his next drop, but a spectacular view of a shapely female ass. This new mail girl had turned and was walking out my door toward the next office, her tight grey pants accentuating the slight wiggle that her steps caused. I dragged my eyes up from her ass to her slim waist then on up to view the clean sandy blond hair that enveloped her shoulders. I watched, and very nearly strained my neck as she disappeared from view down the hall.

That was infinitely better than a coffee break, I thought to myself. I would certainly be awaiting her return tomorrow.

Turning back to the mail, I scanned the pile and immediately noticed a small padded manila package beneath the usual marketing pieces and junk mail. Reaching under the rest of the mail, I drew it out and looked curiously at the petite and careful penmanship. It was addressed to me, and under my office address were three words in bold print: PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. There was no return address, but I noticed that it had been postmarked in North Carolina. I didn't recognize the handwriting, but assumed from the carefully formed letters, that it was written by a woman.

I gently squeezed the package, but felt no real resistance. No crinkle of a letter, nor the hard edges from a CD case or other media, but there was most definitely something inside. Loving a good mystery, I tore the package open and looked inside. It appeared to be a wad of silky fabric. Reaching in, my fingers encountered what I knew could only be a pair of women's panties.

What the hell?

As I was in full view of anyone who might walk by, I pondered this welcome Thursday mystery for a few moments before standing up to shut my door. I returned to my seat and once again held open the package. Reaching inside with giddy anticipation, I pulled the contents out and held aloft a pair of silky, colorfully striped bikini panties.

They did not look crisp and new, but rather appeared to be gently worn. The leg openings were not frayed and the lacy waistband still held all its elasticity. Looking at the tag, it displayed a size six and they were of an unremarkable brand. I inspected them from front to back, and with my pulse racing, looked inside at the cotton gusset. The once white material revealed what I had hoped to find, showing the unmistakable stains of use. I glanced at the closed door briefly, then brought the gusset to my nose and drew a deep breath. Much to my delight, they were unwashed and the heady scent of a woman's fluids had permeated the cotton. My cock stirred in my pants as I drew another breath of the sweet and pungent aroma, moving my nose across the fabric to catch all the nuances of my favorite scent. These panties had been worn by someone who obviously wanted me to know that she had become sexually aroused while wearing them. And she had left her calling card for me, in both stain and scent. Looking closer at the cotton, I saw that there were light yellow urine stains as well, though I could not smell those remnants. I looked further back, to where they had cupped someone's size six bottom, but there were no brown streaks and no earthy scent from her nether opening.

So...someone had sent me a pair of their used panties. But who would do this? Who would be so daring as to send their dirty panties to me at my place of work? Who did I know in North Carolina? Was there anyone there who knew of my almost unnatural desire for the secretions from a sexually charged female pussy? Did she know the extent of my secret longing?

For me, it has always been like a moth to the flame. I can never get enough of the sight, the scent and especially the taste of a woman as she lay on her back, legs spread, or on her knees with her ass in the air -- begging me to eat her, or smothering me as she grinds herself on my face -- seeking release. I could spend hours pleasuring a woman as I lap and nibble and taste all the amazing flavors that coat my lips, chin, nose and tongue. It doesn't matter to me if a lover is squeaky clean from a bath or shower, or if she has not washed in a few days. Nor do I mind if she is menstruating...actually, I desire her even more if she is. Only once have I ever tasted a woman when she was not palatable, and this was due to a medical issue. I am certainly not into coprophagia, but something about the earthiness and smell of a woman's anus adds to my enjoyment, even going so far as fucking her ass gently with my tongue as my nose rubs her clitoris. I have tasted a woman as she peed, but only once -- and very briefly, as it is not something that one tends to ask a partner to do. But I would certainly do it again, if the occasion presented itself.

Once, a lover spent a week on a solo hike and had returned emotionally and physically refreshed, yet not fresh -- as she had not properly bathed during that week. As we had missed each other intensely and were both horny as hell, we immediately stripped and I enjoyed her from head to toe. Her armpits were fragrant from her sweat, yet she tasted sweet and natural as I kissed every curve and crevice. Her vulval mound was dirty from only occasional baths in the streams of the wild, yet she tasted more female, more natural than I could have hoped for. As she was hairless, there was nothing to catch and hold the bitterness of her daily exertions. I gave her two oral orgasms before mounting her from behind and filling her with my hot seed. We showered later and I tasted her for many hours more.

So the question remained. Whose panties did I now hold in my hand? Whose crotch had secreted the wonderful stains that I enjoyed now and would surely enjoy later in the privacy of my home?

I looked again inside the envelope in hopes of finding some note, some clue...but it was empty. I took a final sniff of the silky gift, touched my tongue to the stains and put them back into the envelope. I hoped beyond hope that this was only the beginning of something good...something more.

...to be continued