The Panty Perils of Me 14

Just the other day my nosey neighbor, a Kathy Schmidt, stopped me in the grocery store asking me, "Was that the professor's car I saw parked outside your driveway the other night?" I barely kept myself composed, as it was quite clear that nosey Kathy had seen my little skirtless walk to my door. I was at a complete loss as to how to respond, as undoubtedly she also knew that I was on my own for the evening, making my lingerie saunter from the professor's car to my back door even more condemning.

For some reason I decided to answer the question exactly as she asked it and to force her to ask for further details if she dared. So I said, "Yes, the professor and I had gone to dinner together and he was dropping me off afterwards."

The look on her face told me clearly that her mind was on overload. She just heard me admit that I was with the professor and having seen me exit his car without a skirt or pants on was playing havoc with her. I could tell that she was dying to ask more particularly about my state of undress, but as with most nosey neighbors she was afraid to pry further into my private life.

I knew that the rumor mill in my neighborhood was about to become overloaded with tales about my debauchery. The only satisfaction that I had was that there was no real proof as all of my collaborators weren't about to spoil their relationships with me by telling.

Despite this fact I resolved to behave myself from that point forward and to suppress any and all of my sexual cravings going forward. I needed to stop now and forever.

What still bothers me to some degree was my unquestioning willingness to comply with the professor's wishes. This man definitely has a profound influence on me. I cannot deny that particularly since I spend so much of my free time thinking about him.

Six weeks have gone by since my encounter with Kathy and I have been absolutely boring as it regards anything sexual. Summer has settled in with hot and humid days and sultry nights, which has always had an effect on my libido.

It is a Saturday and for as long as I have been celibate so to speak, I have tried to get my husband to paint our living room. We moved the furniture to the middle of the room weeks ago and that is as far as we have gotten.

He keeps telling me to hire someone, but it just doesn't make sense to me to pay someone to paint. C'mon, how difficult can it possibly be?

As he is out for the day playing golf with clients and my daughters are again with friends, I have decided to give it a go myself and purchased the paint, roller, drop cloths, brushes, etc. during my lunch break yesterday.

What I wasn't expecting, particularly since I have been doing so well, was that funny feeling that I get when I want to be a little naughty. I don't know whether you know this feeling, but it starts in my stomach with a pulsating that is very similar to butterflies. After a while the pulsating heads directly south and invades my most erogenous zone i.e. the one located exactly between my legs.

The pulsating fills my head with a craving to misbehave.

I thought that maybe an extensive session with the hand held pulsating head of my shower might cure these impulses, but they only made them worse.

I virtually have no control when these urges take over. I want to be scandalous and with my prim and proper filter turned completely off, I have thought of the perfect way to achieve my desire.

I am going to paint our living room wearing only a bra, panties and a pair of high heels. And not just any bra and panties, but my virginal white matching set with a sheer front half cup bra and a sheer front string bikini panty. As an afterthought I put a white sweatband on to complete my all white ensemble.

I absolutely feel wicked standing on the step ladder in just my see through undies with the front and patio doors swung wide open to eliminate the paint fumes and let in some air. I am positively oozing between my legs. My entire body is vibrating hearing in the distance one of my neighbors out cutting the lawn and others walking in front of the house with only a screen door as my veil to the outside.

I want so badly to sit on the top rung of the stepladder while reaching down the front of my panties masturbating until I absolutely scream in ecstasy. But I have a room to paint before I play.

It turns out to be not so difficult once I get the hang of painting a large W on the wall with the paint roller and then filling it in. And using the smallest brush that I purchased to paint along the baseboards and ceiling works quite well as long as I keep a steady hand. I think, "Just the opposite kind of hand I want to use on myself," and silently laugh.

After the first wall, I have become totally engrossed in my task and am oblivious to the outdoor sounds that had previously added to my sexual excitement, and besides, working on a step ladder in high heels requires just a little bit of concentration. Try it if you don't believe me.

As I am applying paint to the wall that basically connects our front door with the patio door a soft knocking on the screen door breaks my concentration. With the paint can in one hand, the paintbrush in the other, and my left leg raised to begin my climb back up the ladder, I glance towards the front door. It is my college student and academic fraternity member neighbor, Arnold.

I have become so involved in the chore at hand that until I see the look in Arnold's eyes, I have completely forgotten what I am wearing, or should I say, what I am not wearing, which is most of my clothes.

I let out a little scream of surprise and embarrassment to see him peering through the screen at my exposure. Sure he has seen me in just a pair of panties before, but this wasn't in my house or in our neighborhood. It makes me feel so much more self-conscious.

I try to act nonchalant by sitting on the top rung of the ladder saying, "Oh, Hi Arnold. What brings you to my door?" But my voice cracks in nervous anticipation.

Arnold tells me that he is home for the summer as his school year ends in late Spring and was hoping to see me. "Well, he certainly is seeing me", I think to myself.

I am not exactly sure why I do this, but I invite him inside. For God's sake, I am wearing nothing more than a very revealing set of undies and I have just asked a neighbor's son into my home. Regardless of Arnold and my history together, this is still considered quite scandalous should anyone see us together. The pulsating that I experienced earlier has started up again and it is very centrally located. My aureoles are clearly visible through my lace cups surrounding a pair of very dark red and very erect nipples.

As I slide my body around to the front of the ladder to face Arnold, his eyes are having a very difficult time trying to figure out what to look at first, my tiny red nubs poking provocatively through my lace cups or my undoubtedly glistening trim clearly visible through the sheer front panel of my white panties.

My attempt at staying composed is gone and I find myself just sitting there as Arnold stares at every inch of my exposed skin as well as the parts that aren't fully exposed.

I want to cross my legs while squeezing my thighs together as tight as I can knowing the effect that this will have on my developing kernel, but I force myself to remain as I am.

After what seems to be an eternity of sitting under a heat lamp caused by Arnold's leering eyes, I am able to say, "Stop staring and grab a roller."

Arnold breaks out of his self-induced trance and awkwardly reaches down hitting his head on my bare knee. The effect is erotic as the vibration from the hit combined with the heat of this forehead sends the most exquisite shockwaves through my lower anatomy. I stifle a moan as I hear Arnold, say, "Oh, I'm sorry Mrs. Harley." Again that little voice inside my head silently responds, "I'm not. Not at all."

We both are having a very difficult time concentrating on the painting as Arnold keeps staring at all of my body parts and I keep glancing sideways to see if he is looking. Every time our eyes meet my stomach lurches.

This becomes our routine for the next 60 minutes as the walls of the living room slowly turn to a new shade of color. The entire time Arnold has a full erection sticking straight out from his khaki colored shorts. I can visualize the dark shade of red that his penis has taken on almost matching my still erect nipples.

We are almost finished when my paintbrush inadvertently flips out of my hand splashing paint all over Arnold's t-shirt and shorts. Without even thinking I order him to quickly go down to the basement and put his clothes into the washing machine before the paint sets. While he is gone I gather up all of the rollers and brushes and carry them downstairs to rinse them out in our basement utility sink.

As I head down the stairs I hear Arnold let out a loud gulp of concern and immediately wonder what he is up to. Pardon my use of words, but essentially both interpretations would be accurate considering what I see next. Arnold is standing in front of the washer wearing an incredibly small and tight fitting pale blue bikini panty that looks identical to one of mine. The mushroom head of his very erect and very swollen penis is completely sticking out of the top waistband, while Arnold's face wears an expression of pure terror and shock.

My young college attending and academic fraternity member is wearing a pair of my panties and obviously likes it.

The sight of Arnold wearing a pair of form fitting and too small bikini panties does nothing to calm my earlier mood of being naughty.

Instinctively, although I had no idea that I had this in me, I tell Arnold to stop trying to cover himself up with his hands and to just stand there. Arnold does as I say and the view of his entire body improves greatly. Now it is my turn to stare. I causally walk past him placing the rollers and brushes into the sink filling it with warm soapy water.

As poor Arnold continues to stand there while another inch of his erection sticks provocatively out of my panties, I began to soap up the brushes and rollers that are sitting in the sink.

I purposely make sure that he watches me soap up each roller gripping it around its cylinder and moving my hand up and down its length. The poor boy is beside himself and clear drops of thick and gooey liquid are starting to ooze out of his pulsating organ.

I spend as much time as I can stroking each roller until all of the paint color is gone and Arnold's member is absolutely oozing.

I tell him to rinse the rollers and brushes off until the water runs clear allowing him a brief respite before I decide on my next little scheme.

I go over to the clothes basket which Arnold has obviously rifled through and put all of my light colored clothes into the washer along with Arnold's shorts.

I add the laundry liquid and turn the washer on. Then the next idea floods my mind with a most erotic vision.

While the washer is working through its first cycles I make Arnold model my panties for me. I watch him walk back and forth across my basement as his entire body takes on a deep flush of crimson. It is interesting that his profound embarrassment seems to have no effect on his flagpole as it continues to show its colors sticking out the top of my panties.

When I hear the washing machine change its sound to the next cycle, I immediately stop it and tell Arnold to come over to me. As he sheepishly walks towards me I place my hands on the top of the washer and use them to boost myself on the top so I am now sitting on it with my legs facing forward towards Arnold.

I place each of my legs on either side of him and tell him to bend forward. He hesitates knowing that this movement will place his face directly in my scantily clad lap. That side of me that surprised me before almost yells, "Do it." Grabbing him by the back of the head I virtually straddle his face with my wet crotch and using my elbow I push the washer back on to begin its rinse and spin cycle. I am going to use the momentum of the washing machine's spin cycle along with Arnold's face to masturbate myself.

As I grip the back of Arnold's head the washing machine begins its vibrating motion and immediately I know that it won't take me long to orgasm.

Poor Arnold lets out a muffled sound but right now my main concern has nothing to do with his possible lack of air. I want to get myself off.

I literally don't have to do a thing other than to insure that Arnold's chin is in the right place as the washing machine does all of the glorious work for me. The exquisite view of Arnold's little hairless butt barely covered by my light blue panties adds to my arousal and within the first 3 minutes I achieve two violent orgasms that have my thighs gripping Arnold's head like a hungry anaconda. Thankfully he isn't overly sensitive to pain as I am almost yanking my handfuls of his hair out of his head.

As I come down from my erotic high I loosen my hand and thigh holds of Arnold and settle back onto the washing machine. God, it felt so good and has been so long since I allowed myself to play.

As my punishment to Arnold for rifling through my panties, although truthfully I found it quite sexy, I make him go upstairs with me to fold the dropcloths and put away the ladder while his clothes are drying in the dryer. Arnold's erection never goes away the entire time.

Once his clothes are dry I tell him to bring them as well as the other contents of the dryer upstairs. Then with a devilish grin I make him fold my panties into little squares of nylon and again watch his penis oozing goo.

I am not about to let him or assist him in ejaculating. He will just have to suffer while I have my fun.

Then out of nowhere that all too familiar feeling of shame hits me full in the face. Arnold can tell that something has changed my mood and I try desperately not to take it out on him. I ask him to take m y panties off and to get dressed. I promise to email him later, and hurry him on his way. Right now I need to be by myself.