I’d put on a few pounds over the last month. The irony. Managed to lose almost two and a half pounds over Christmas, but here I sat in February, looking at my reflection in the wall mirror, and pulling and prodding at the roll of flesh that rippled the breadth of my belly.

My son stood near the doorway of the bedroom, snickering. With his genetic skin & bone body type.

Lucky little sod.

“Shut it,” I said.

He did, but I could still see the glimmer in his eyes.

“Right, did you sort out the bathroom?”


“And your washing?”

He nodded. Edging toward his escape.

“Did you get the pile of clothes I left out for you?”

“Yeah.” He pulled the towel tighter around his waist. Wiped the fingers of one hand through the wet bristle of hair on his head.

“OK. You can-”

I reached out a hand and pointed to the landing beyond the bedroom door.

“Do me a favour, reach me in the other pile.”

While he went to get them, I tugged at the straps of my bra, until the weight of my breasts didn’t dig them into my shoulders quite so much, any more.


He stood to the side of me with the pile of underwear held away from him like it was poisonous.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to be holding your knickers. That’s what’s wrong.” His features scrunched up in revulsion. Making him look closer to fourteen, than his actual nineteen years of age.

“Would you rather I went out without them?” I jabbed the words at him. Maybe a little too harsh.

In an effort to lighten the mood, I pulled a pair of the underwear from him and threw it at his face.

And that’s where the game changed.

His cheeks flushed. His face contorted into an awkward, somewhat manic smile.

That’ll teach you.

I dropped my gaze for no more than a split second. But it was a second I could never get back.

I gulped. Blinked. Pulled away, prodded at the straps of my bra again. Toyed with the threading on the towel that covered my bottom half.

Jesus Christ.

I couldn’t get the image out of her head.

Something washed over me. Or into me.

My teeth itched. My lungs ached. I fidgeted, ground my toes into the carpet. My heartbeat grew faster and thicker in the back of my throat. An overwhelming rush of blood roared through my ears.

And, somehow, somewhen, my nipples had hardened. Their sensitivity almost an irritant against the fabric of my bra.

I squeezed my thighs together.

“Is that it?” he croaked.

I glanced back at him.

His towel remained tent shaped. An impressive tent at that. And as the thought occurred to me, I felt sick to my stomach.

But enthralled.

It reminded me of my first experience with drugs as a teenager. That single moment of facing something so wrong and so dangerous in the eyes of everyone who’d ever mattered to me. And yet, awash with excitement.

I forced myself to breathe.

I needed to break the moment. With humour. It was the only way.

“Got somewhere to be?”

He nodded. And even with the slight movement of his head, the thing at his groin tugged at the towel. Threatening to pull it off his hips.

“Maybe you should take care of that before you do anything else.” I chuckled.

He didn’t.

His face turned almost purple, and as I watched him, it spread down into the once-pale flesh of his neck and chest.

He mumbled something. And yanked his hands across his front to cover it.

I sat up straight. A moment to be earnest with him.

“Sorry. I’m only teasing you.” I sighed. “It’s perfectly normal. You’re a teenager. It happens.”

“Yeah.” Again, his voice was little more than a mumble.

“Right, can you at least give me my knickers?” I chuckled again.

And, again, he didn’t.

He practically threw the clothing at me, some of it landing on the bed, other items on the floor.

As I stretched down to lift up the few strays, I caught him in my peripheral vision.

And I don’t know what took over.

“Was it these?”

I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t even mean to think it. But my mouth opened and the words were out before I could do anything about it.

“What?” He gawped. “I mean. No.”

“Are you sure?” It was more than for fun now. I was genuinely interested. Intrigued. Was it the idea of women’s underwear, the sexuality behind it? Or was he curious about wearing some himself?

Had he?


The last thought struck a cold chord through my body. The tips of my nipples turned to ice. Painful against the material of my bra that pressed against them.

He didn’t answer.

“Malc,” I said. beylikdüzü escort I paused to consider it a little longer. “Malc, is that what did it?”

He shrugged. Followed it up with a, “No.”

“I’m going to ask you one question, Malcolm. And I need you to tell me the truth.” I eyed him until he lowered his gaze back to the floor.

“I won’t judge you. There’s no punishment. I just need the answer. And I need it to be the truth.”

He twitched. His fingers scratched at the bulge he was trying to hide.

“Have you been wearing my knickers?”

His eyes shut tight. Just for a quarter of a second. And when they opened he shook his head.

He had.


I made an odd sound as if I was about to talk, then forgot the process.

He sensed it.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a squeaky huddle.

“I’m more pissed off that you lied to me, Malcolm.”

“I couldn’t admit to it,” he said. And I sort of saw his point. It almost made me laugh. The thought of it. Him standing there with a hardon, admitting to wearing his mother’s knickers.


“I’m sorry,” he said. Again.

“How long?”

“I dunno. Not long.”

The air in the room was heavy. Palpable.

“I don’t care about what you get up to. In that respect.” I paused, and considered my next words more carefully. “It’s normal. You’re still finding yourself.”


I cut him off. “But, you have to respect other people, too.”

He nodded. Inhaled. Exhaled.

I was still holding my knickers. All the way through this. That made me chuckle a little bit inside, but I didn’t dare express it.

“Here.” I tossed him a pair of older purple ones. The material was soft, like a cheaper version of satin, with some lace at the front which served as a sort of window display.

They fell to the floor when he failed to reach out and catch them.

“You can have them. But you wash them yourself. And I don’t want to see them again.”

He gasped for air. Nudged his body as if going down for them, then stopped.

“They’re yours. Take them.”

He hunched down and picked them off the floor. And as he stood back up, the towel slipped.

I didn’t get much of a view, but it was enough, before he covered himself again. I had to fight the urge to nod in approval. Or was it appreciation?

“Oh Christ.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. I eased off into gentle laughter. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed about.” The last words lilted a little too much. I hoped he hadn’t noticed.

He stared at me. A wrinkle across his forehead. One eye cocked higher than the other.

Cocked. Lots of cocking going on today.

“So you don’t mind?” He didn’t give me time to interrupt. “I can wear them? Any time I like?”

“They’re yours,” I said.

“You can put them on now, if you want.” Shit. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain.


I couldn’t get out of it.


He dropped the towel in a heartbeat. But with his hands shaking, and his cock heavy and bobbing, or maybe jousting, he struggled to get the knickers up over his legs.

I got a right eyeful. And I wasn’t complaining.

He pulled the flimsy material up over his thighs, covered his erection. But the fabric stretched out as if it had no resistance at all. Showed off the shape and curve of his cock to perfection. And between the gaps in the lace, I could see so much hard, excited flesh.

“Come here a minute,” I said to him.

He had them on all wrong.

When he stepped forward, I pulled the knickers up higher on his hips. Straightened out the sides, and some of the back, until they fit snug on him. Making his balls hang in two well-defined globe shapes.

I managed a quick breath.

But it was still his cock that stole the show. Thick and meaty, unfurled across the top of the knickers, toward one hip. Some of the exposed crown stuck out of the underwear. Glistening.

I couldn’t resist. I know I should have. And I know I should have done everything necessary to do so.

But I just couldn’t.

I stroked my fingertips over the front of the knickers, until they brushed against his wet glans. And tried to poke it back inside. There wasn’t enough material.

“Hmmm,” I said.

He didn’t make a sound.

“I’m guessing every time you wear these, it’ll be like that.” I prodded a fingertip against the shaft.

He didn’t reply.


“Yeah. I guess.” He blurted the words out as if answering a headmaster.

“They won’t really do then, will they?”

“What? Why?”

I moved my fingers again. Grabbed the head beyoğlu escort of his cock. “Because it doesn’t fit in there when it’s hard.”

His breathing stopped. But I could still feel his pulse. It throbbed all the way up my arm.

“How about another pair?”

“No. It’s OK. These are fine.” His body tensed.

“It’s okay. There’s a few others that might fit you better. And I don’t have a matching bra for this pair anyway.”

I was in now. Whatever it was. I was in.

“I don’t want a bra.” His pitch rose again. As if indignant.

“Just the knickers?”


I pondered it for a few seconds.

“Why? Wouldn’t it be nicer to have both?”

“I just like the feeling of these..” He nodded down to the underwear.

My intrigue was piqued again.

“So, you’re not interested in dressing like a woman?”

“No. Of course not.” The indignance had no almost to it now.

“Just one other question, and I’m sorry for asking this. It’s no business of mine. But, are you gay?”

“No.” He almost screeched it.

So it was all about the feel of the material on his cock. I got it now.

“I think I have just the thing for you, then.” I stood up, and padded to the chest of drawers on the other side of the bed. After feeling about in the middle drawer, I pulled out a pair of actual silk knickers. Small. In fact, too small, for me. I’d stopped wearing them a year or so previous.

I rushed back to the bottom of the bed, and sat myself down again. My breathing ragged, and a grin on my lips. I was having fun now.

He stood there. Unmoving.

“Come on,” I said. “Get those ones off.

He inched his hand toward them, but it seemed to be taking a lifetime.

I reached across and yanked them down his legs.

His cock sprang out and almost hit me in the face. In that second I was disappointed it didn’t. But I tried to wipe it clear from my thoughts.

He stepped out of them, and I made him wait a few more seconds before I handed him the silk ones. They were a bit ragged and frayed at the waistband. But I figured that might be a good thing, for what he had in mind.

He pulled them up. Tried to get them into the right shape. Failed.

I tweaked them, twisted them on his hips, neatened the edges, until his balls nestled in just the right place.

I couldn’t see the flesh through the fabric this time. But a lot more of it was exposed at the top. On either side of the silk. Like a thong trying to hide a fat arse.

His face contorted. But not with embarrassment or shame. Sheer enjoyment.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his cock, rolled it down to his balls. Sighed through gritted teeth.

I was enjoying it too. Perhaps a little too much.

Before I had a chance to linger on that thought, I stood up. Picked his recently discarded underwear, and stepped into them. I pulled the towel from my waist, just as the knickers hugged my knees.

He was breathing heavier.

I took my time. Inched them up over my thighs, making sure I wasn’t covering up too much.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see him pawing at himself. Pressing, rubbing. Nothing too obvious. But I knew.

“Looks like you’ve stretched these a bit,” I said.

I chuckled.

And this time he joined me.

I played with the waistband, pulled them just a little higher than usual. Until the main fabric kneaded my pussy.

I looked down. Chuckled again.

“Looks like I have very small, flat balls. Not like yours at all.”

He laughed.

“Do they feel good?”

“Yeah,” he said. The sound came out elongated. Savoured.

I pulled at his knickers again. Stroked the curve of his balls. Up over the shaft. Followed it until it peeked out from the waistband. The skin was hot. Hard. So hard. And when I reached the tip, it was wet. I rubbed into the pee hole for an unfathomably short time. And we both hissed through our teeth.

I backed off. Shifted myself on the bed. Tried to grind against the mattress. But nothing helped the sensitive fire between my thighs.

“So, what do you usually do with them?”

I surprised myself with the question. But I wanted an answer all the same.

“I-” He coughed. “I dunno.”

“Sure you do.” I laughed. “When you take them without me knowing, what do you usually do with them? Just wear them? Look at yourself in them?”

“Yeah-” The sentence ended too soon.

“Is that all?” I was still trying to grind myself into the mattress, but it wasn’t sturdy enough to give me what I wanted.


He wasn’t making it easy.

“Yeah?” Before I knew it, the clasp of my bra bomonti escort was open, and I was pulling it down over my arms. My breasts bounced free. I was proud of them, and I hoped he might appreciate my openness. And return the favour.

He stiffened again. His mouth locked, and his tongue squirmed inside.

“So what else do you do?” As I asked, I could see his cock flexing. Making the knickers bulge and stretch even more. I was sure it would burst free any second.

I hoped.

“I sort of-” He closed his eyes and sucked a deep breath. “I play with myself in them.”

“Right.” Finally.

I decided to raise the stakes. My body decided for me. I just played along.

“So, you steal my knickers, and wear them in your bedroom? And you lie on your bed and rub your cock through them?”

His eyes opened up like a puppy dog’s.

“And when you come. You just leave the spunk in there, and put them in the washing?”

He nodded. His neck was stone-like. Making the nod stolid and almost painful looking.

“So, is that what you’d like to do now?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Run off and hide in your room, so you can have a quick wank in my knickers?”

His eyes widened even more.

“It’s OK. I don’t mind. They’re yours now.”

He laughed. But it was tight, and laboured.

“You can even do it in here, if you want.” That was it. It was up to him now. I’d put it out there. Begged, almost.

To help him decide, I slid my way up the bed. Laid myself in my usual side, and watched him with an eager gaze.

He twitched one way, then the other.

I couldn’t help him any more. It was up to him now.

He stepped toward the bed. Slowly. Oh, so slowly. And with each tantalizing step his cock got closer. Bigger. Bolder.

He lifted one leg to climb onto the mattress. And it happened. His cock sprang loose. Jutted out from the waistband and past his belly button.

Juicy. It was no longer moist, or wet. It was juicy. I licked my lips.

He lay on his back.

I reached over. Tried to fix it back into place. It was an impossible task. It was so hard now I could barely move it. “Seems it doesn’t want to go back in.”

“Yeah. That-” He sucked another breath. “That happens, sometimes.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off it. When I tried to wrap my hand around the shaft, my fingertips didn’t quite meet.

In that split second I made a very important decision. Life jumped up slapped me in the face. I was getting too carried away. I couldn’t fuck him. It wouldn’t happen.

But I continued to knead his meaty cock under the guise of trying to wrestle it back into the knickers. His hips followed my movements, and his breathing became inward moans and outward gasps.

I had an idea. Gently, I tugged the knickers up, as far as his balls would let them go, until I could grip his cock through the silk. Just enough of it.

“Like that?”

He mumbled and shuddered. But it sounded like a, “Yes.”

Another idea. A much bolder one.

I let go of him. Begrudgingly.

With a flailing of my limbs, I pulled my own knickers off, wrapped them around my left hand. He didn’t say a word.

I pulled up his knickers again, and started stroking him through the silk. Then I placed my left hand over the rest of his cock, and rubbed the fabric up and down. Concentrating mostly on the head.

He moaned and groaned. Bucked against me.

I needed to get this over with. Before I did something I’d regret. Something that I’d regret more than what I was doing right then.

I used my thumb, still through the knickers, to rub at that sensitive spot on his cock. Manoeuvred the fabric until my thumb was on a satin part. Rubbed harder, and faster.

With my other hand, I moved down and squeezed his balls. I loved the sensations of his flesh through something so feminine. His balls tight, and soft and smooth in the silk. His cock hard, thick, and so primal under the satin.

He held his breath.

I pulled my knicker-clad hand off his cock. Spat on the tip. And rubbed him again.

He froze at first. Spasmed. Grunted and growled.

I could feel the wet, hot streams unload against the fabric, and soak through to my hand. One of the jets managed to sneak away, and landed on the duvet in the middle of the bed.

He gathered his breath. I tried to get mine under control.

The reality of it all hit both of us at the same time.

Suddenly the room was awkward. And silent.

He got up off the bed, paused to say something, thought better of it. And walked out.

I lay there still naked. Every inch of my skin on edge. Desperate to be touched.

I pulled the spunk covered knickers to my face. Inhaled. Closed my eyes, seduced by the heady scent.

I placed them on the top of my dresser. A reminder.

Perhaps for both of us.

With my breath still ragged and wanton, I started to dress.

I still had to be out by 11.

The End.



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