The Start of It All Pt. 01

I suppose the story should start at the beginning, as all good telling does.

My Father passed away when I was a teenager and sadly it meant I had to leave the private school I boarded at. My Mother and I had been completely unaware of the financial problems besetting him and, on reflection, had lived something of a charmed life.

This ended in the late spring of the year he dies and by the end of the following term I knew things were bad for my Mother financially. So, to make things easy I deliberately failed the yearly exams and it was quickly suggested that due to my loss I may be better looking to continue my final year locally (as my private school really didn't want my failure in their exam results of truth be told).

The one thing left behind my Father was the small holding we had out in the country. Everything else was gone and this was it, no more rich expensive hotels, eating out and travelling club class.

I was young and fit so it was easy enough for me to work the land, there wasn't much, but enough to generate a small income for us and plenty of food could be grown and chickens kept, you get the picture I'm sure. The weeks turned into months and before we knew it, Winter was coming. I spent my days loading up the wood shed, making sure I got everything I could from the few acres we had and worried about how things would be. My Mother had a Sister, Monica (my Auntie obviously) who would visit from time to time. Never married she was kind to us and provided my Mother with much support where I was unable. I liked her and had called her Mon since I was a young boy.

During this time, I had a secret, something that worried me but that I could not avoid. It had started, and been quickly suppressed by me, before Father had gone. One sunny morning, while the two of them were out, I had been putting my stuff in the wash basket for our cleaning lady to wash. As I opened the wicker lid I had seen a pair of Mum's panties, upturned and slightly stained. As if an unseen force was guiding me, I found myself lifting them from the basket. The headiness I felt when I sniffed them was overwhelming and my cock had grown thick and hard within seconds. With a trembling hand I had brought them close to my face, inhaling the wonderful scent and feeling a aroused as I ever could be. I had returned to my room and masturbated myself. all the while thinking about pressing my face to those stained panties, only to feel degraded and humbled that I should have found such pleasure in my own Mother's underwear.

During that fateful summer, as I worked each day, the thoughts returned. It was as if my Father's passing had released the pressure valve. I needed repeat the experience and repeat it I did. As I was always up first, I would take my clothes from the day before to the laundry basket and search, yes search, for those hidden treasures that were Mother's panties. The day I found them slightly soiled down the back of them I almost came in my pants such was the arousal I felt.

I quickly moved from sniffing to licking, tasting her on them and becoming more and more fixated on finding them every morning. It was ritualistic for me, and I lost myself in my routine and ritual. I rubbed my face against them, wrapped them around my hard cock as I masturbated and found I would have explosive orgasms which would create problems in themselves I would cum so much. Many was the time, I found myself wiping the flagstone floor as I had shot with such ferocity I had ejaculated some feet away.

The days went by and I would find it unbearable if there were none there, scrabbling around like a demented young man and spending the day in moody melancholy, only to find to my delight they would be there in the evening where I would surreptitiously push them in my trousers, go to the bathroom and gorge my desires as I stroked myself.

Sundays were my favourite day, Mum seemed to always have deliciously scented and (by this time) tasting worn panties for me to indulge myself and indulge myself I did. Sometimes the thought of what I was doing would haunt me but I couldn't stop, the need and the drive was overwhelming, so on those quiet mornings while she was out at Church, with friends or wherever I had ceased to care, I would, with shaking and trembling hands pick those panties out, savouring that first moment of inhaling, then licking and tasting.

And so, time went by, things were calm until one fateful Sunday morning.

Mum had left some 15 minutes earlier, shouting to me she would be back later. She shouted something else, but I didn't hear as already my mind turned to my morning delight. Watching the clock for the obligatory 15 minutes to go by, I then padded down to the utility room and took the cover off the basket. There they were, as if waiting for my attention, a faint mark from between Mum's wonderful cheeks (yes I was thinking like this by now, how wonderful they were) a slight dampness which told me Mum had slept in them before showing and changing earlier. I picked them up, once again, savouring that sweet scent, my cock already hard in my other hand as I stroked and licked.

"You are a disgusting young man."

The words hit like a bolt. My breath was short as I turned to see Aunt Mon standing there, fierce now, stern and the epitome of self-righteousness. I was mortified, rooted to the spot.

"Get out of here!"

I scurried past her. Me, a young strapping man, caught in his disgraceful act and leapt up the stairs to my room.

The next few hours were unbearable. I heard her leave and then silence. I watched the clock turn waiting for Mum to return, knowing Mon would have told her....