Panty Thief Confesses All!

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Oh, I know what you think of me, Mrs. Riley. To you I’m only Jeffrey, that shy young man who lives down the street. Who doesn’t even have the ambition to go to college, and is just happy to clerk down at the TruValue hardware store.

You glance my way occasionally, but you don’t see me at all, do you? I’m only here at your backyard barbeque because you invited everyone on the block. You’re talking and laughing with your friends, looking stylish with your short ash-colored hair, that dark sleeveless top and those pleated linen shorts. You’ve very pretty for a thirty-something divorcee.

What would you say, Mrs. Riley, if I told you I was wearing a pair of your panties?

That’s right. Those low-rise nylon panties, in a floral print. Remember them? To be honest, they’re rather loose on me because you are, shall we say, a voluptuous woman. But oh, the way that sleek nylon feels against my cock. It’s been semi-hard ever since I slowly drew your panties up my legs earlier today, and invited them to cover my privates just as they once covered yours.

Do you ever wonder what happened to them? Well, I’ll tell you. Remember that afternoon your cousin Millie came over with little Tabatha, and the three of you were out on the back patio? That’s when it happened, Mrs. Riley.

I walked down the street in front of your house, carrying a pair of hedge clippers that my mother had borrowed from you a week earlier. When the street looked deserted, I casually walked up your garage apron and through the open garage, where I laid down the clippers.

When I opened the door to your utility room and could hear you talking on the patio, I knew my chance had come. Ever so quickly, I stole across your living room, and then mounted the stairs. Yes, I boldly went up to the second floor, with no escape other than your stairs. No guts, no glory, I say.

I went straight to your bedroom. What a mess. You should make up your bed, Mrs. Riley, and pick up a little more. But the clothes hamper in your closet, that was my goal, sweet lady. There was another pair of panties lying on the top, but their absence might be noticed. So, like the sly dog I am, I dug down and found the floral print ones.

Still listening to your voices on the patio, I came back into the bedroom and held the panties to my nose, drawing in that first exhilarating aroma of the crotch of your panties. The scent was faint, but I’ve a keen sense of smell, and truly enjoyed the bouquet of your cunt that was still embedded in the cloth.

Ah, that musky womanly fragrance was fine! So much richer than Mrs. Shaw’s panties, or my mother’s, or even Aunt Jessica’s. Ashley Wilson’s panties smell rather more fascinating perhaps, with all the sharp spicy flavors you might expect in a girl just reaching the prime of womanhood. But I know the scent of your cunt, Mrs. Riley, and believe me when I say it would please any man.

I felt the crotch, the liner there, and if you don’t mind my saying so, those panties did need a good washing. You surely didn’t wear them several times before putting them into the hamper, did you? Tsk.

Now, a prudent man would have simply retreated with his treasure, right? But not I. I stepped out of my sandals, undid my bermuda shorts and let them fall, and of course was wearing nothing underneath. Then I drew up your panties, feeling the joy that comes the first time you put on a woman’s most intimate garment and know that it’s now yours to cherish.

Oh, I was a bold one that day! I caressed my cock, which of course was fully stiff by now, through the fabric of your panties. As I did so, I walked over and sampled the aroma of some of your cologne. That, along with the panties, could have easily brought me to climax, but I was a model of self-restraint. There would be time for that in the quiet darkness of my bedroom.

Why do I do it, you wonder? I’ll tell you. As heavenly as is the feel of a woman’s soft panties in my hand, as arousing as is the scent of her pussy, that is not the best of it. No. As I stood there in your bedroom wearing your panties, Mrs. Riley, I could feel the coppery taste of fear in my mouth; cold dread in the pit of my stomach. My heart was pounding like a trip hammer.

And that is my real reward. That adrenalin rush when I snatch a pair of panties is so addictive! I do love women’s panties, but I love even more that thrill of risking everything to have them. Oh, the shame if I were caught! My mother would kill me! But it’s worth it. Worth everything to experience, for just a few moments, that heightened state of reality that comes from being such a naughty boy.

But now I did make haste, drawing up my shorts and sliding into my sandals. Again I checked to be sure that all of you were still on the patio, innocently sipping your margaritas and lemonade. Oblivious to the fact that a young man has pulled off a panty raid, so to speak.

Then I quickly returned sinop escort to the garage, waiting until Mr. and Mrs. Haley had passed by before I strolled back to the sidewalk and to safety. By the way, did you know that Mrs. Haley wears only thong style panties? She’s president of the PTA, well past fifty, yet wears only the flimsiest, sexiest panties you can buy. They cover none of her magnificent derriere. Do you suppose she wears them to please Mr. Haley?

At any rate, I just love the red silk thong panties that my trembling hands lifted from her clothes hamper last winter. If I had to pick just one pair of women’s panties to wear, it would be those. But as you can guess by now, Mrs. Riley, I have lots of women’s undies to choose from.

Oh, this is too much! Now you’re talking to Anne Barnett, the new schoolteacher. The prettiest woman in Hillsboro, if you ask me. But you wouldn’t believe what happened a week ago.

I was behind the counter at the hardware store, and who should walk up but Anne. “Hi, Jeffrey,” she says in that sweet lilting voice of hers. “How are you today?”

And I reply, “I’m fine, Anne, how are you?” But now I’m blushing like crazy and looking nervously around. Why, you ask? Because on that day I was wearing a pair of Anne’s panties! I had intended to wear Aunt Jessica’s pink French cut panties; but at the last moment I decided to wear something of Anne’s instead. They’re full briefs, midnight black, with lace panels on the side. Quite comfortable, I must say.

It’s happened many times, but even now it’s weird to talk to a woman and to feel her panties snug against your manhood. Anne looks at me, smiles a little, and said, “Jeffrey, you’re blushing. Isn’t that sweet!” I guess she was flattered, thinking that I had a crush on her or something.

See, that’s the thing about being a panty thief. No one can imagine a polite young fellow like me doing it. Would Anne Barnett have guessed that it was the feel of her silk panties on me, even as I gazed into her brown eyes, that was the reason for my red cheeks? No. Never in a million years.

And I’ll tell you something about Anne Barnett, Mrs. Riley. I’ll bet you don’t know this. She shaves her pussy. Every bit of it, as clean as a whistle. You see, that day I was helping Anne hang some pictures in her living room, right after she moved in, I had a chance to raid her dirty clothes hamper. I couldn’t resist taking not one, but two pairs of her undies. The black briefs and a really cute pair of Hanes bikini style, pale blue.

But anyway, as you can imagine, Mrs. Riley, I carefully examined the crotch of both her panties, and found not even one strand of pubic hair. So I’m pretty sure that her pussy lips and her mons get a clean shave.

Now you, on the hand, must have a really thick muff down there, Mrs. Riley. When I went over the crotch of your panties, there were quiet a few of your pubic curls. And you’re not a natural blonde, Mrs. Riley! Oh no. Those strands were dark brown, just like your eyebrows. So I’m on to you!

Would you like to know how I do it? First, I’m the friendliest young man around; always willing to help someone move furniture into or out of their house, to light their furnace, anything to get inside. And if they turn their back for a few moments, well …

The other trick is to be observant, Mrs. Riley. To watch and learn the pattern of your neighbors’ movements. For example, did you know that Ellen Spence is having an affair with Gavin Vollmer, recently divorced, who lives two blocks away? I do.

Ellen’s husband Daniel travels on business, you see, and some nights when I’m out walking Rocky I’ll see her leave the house about ten o’clock and go down to Gavin’s house. It always happens when Ellen’s mother Janet has come by to take their children over to her house for the night.

Whenever I see Janet drive away with those two kids in the back seat of her van, I know there’s some hanky-panky afoot.

Ellen usually comes back home around midnight, and a light goes on in her bedroom, then in the bathroom. The bathroom light stays on for maybe fifteen minutes before it goes off again. Well, Mrs. Riley, I couldn’t pass up a chance like that, could I? Even now I get chills when I think of that night about a month ago.

When I saw Ellen come down the alley and re-enter their house by the patio door, I waited patiently. As soon as the bathroom light came on, I moved stealthily down the alley, across their back lawn, and through the patio door. You know how people are in our neighborhood. It’s so safe and peaceful here; no one ever locks a door until they go to bed.

I quickly went upstairs, where I could hear the shower. Ellen was bathing. Hoping to wash away her sins, perhaps?

Her clothes were strewn around her bedroom, and of course there were her panties: Naturally Nude lace bikini style. I guess she wanted to look sexy for her sivas escort lover. But oh jeez, when I held those panties to my nose, it was sheer heaven, Mrs. Riley! They were filled with all the rich tangy flavors of musk; of a woman’s cunt just after she’s had hot passionate sex. It was every panty lover’s dream.

Engulfed by those aromas, I could picture it all in my mind, you know. First, she’s hurrying down to Gavin’s house, her panties becoming damp at the thought of spreading her legs for him. Then they’re in each other’s arms, and by now she’s really wet down there.

And afterwards she’s walking home, still basking in the glow of her illicit love, and of course her pussy is all slack and still leaking juices into her panties. Panties that I’m now holding in my hands. I savor the feel of the damp silk, the tangy salty taste as I kiss and lick the crotch, the delicious aromas, all of it truly sublime. To think, the whole carnal episode encapsulated and preserved there in Ellen’s panties. What a night!

Now, my plan all along, Mrs. Riley, was to slip those panties on and wear them as I made my escape. To feel Ellen’s pussy juices wetting my own cock.

But could I do it? I now realized that once Ellen came out of the shower, she’d look for those panties. She must be sure to wash them before her husband comes home. She would want to cover her tracks, you might say.

What would she do if she could not find them? I doubt if she could imagine that anyone, least of all someone like that nice Jeffrey, might sneak in and abscond with her damp musky panties. But where are they? she would say. I know I left them here on the bedroom floor. Where the hell are my panties!

Can’t you just imagine her anguish, Mrs. Riley? She would turn the room upside down trying to find them; then, desperately look in the closet and bathroom. Maybe I left them there! She’d be a nervous wreck, thinking that when Daniel returns, he might find them in some out of the way place she’d forgotten to check.

All of this went through my mind in just a few seconds. So when I heard Ellen turn off the shower, I carefully placed the panties back where I found them and quickly left the house. You see, Mrs. Riley, there is honor even among panty thieves. I’ve always liked Ellen Spence; she never fails to give me a friendly smile. And if she decides to take her pleasure with another man, who am I to judge her? We all have our faults, don’t we?

Now look who’s here. Your niece Kayla, such a charming little brunette. No, I don’t have a single pair of her panties, but I can always hope. Wouldn’t it be great to enjoy her most secret aromas?

But let’s talk about Kayla’s best friend Megan. You see, Megan is the one who started it all. You’re probably thinking I grew up as a little deviant, sneaking around and sniffing panties, but no. It all began just a year ago, Mrs. Riley. On a single afternoon, I became what I am today.

And Megan did it. She is truly something. Face like an angel, with her strawberry blonde hair, baby blue eyes, bee-stung lips. As well, a figure like Venus de Milo. And a heart as cold and black as a winter’s night. That’s our Megan.

It happened on a church picnic, would you believe it? Over at the state park. Megan, fresh out of high school, was wearing a ruffled skirt, way too short. But somehow it was the kind of skirt that an innocent naïf like her can wear.

She’s always enjoyed teasing me and having fun at my expense, and that day was no different. When we all sat down to eat our hamburgers on those rocks near the lake, she sat behind the others, facing me, so that only I could see her.

This is how it began. Megan, a sweet smile on her face, opens her thighs to reveal, to me and me alone, a glimpse of her panties. They’re thin cotton, with pastel polka dots. When she sees a blush spreading from my neck to my cheeks, when I become all nervous and flustered, she opens a little wider. And wider still.

Even when that girl had her legs spread wide, that saucy grin on her face, I think I could have resisted, Mrs. Riley, except for one thing. The angel has quite large puffy labia that can plainly be seen bulging out under the thin fabric. Above that, the ridge of her mons, and for good measure a few tufts of her russet pubic hair peeking out from the lace trim of those panties.

Now I’m hypnotized, and Megan knows it. I try, but I can’t take my eyes off those panties and that intriguing bulge at the crotch. Time becomes all weird, and I cannot tell if it’s rushing by or slowing down. All I feel is total fascination with those polka dot panties and the sweet secrets held within them.

Later I go over to the pine woods by myself to recover my composure. But of course Megan follows. So I’m sitting there on a log, enjoying the rustle of wind in the pines, their pure clean fragrance. Then I hear Megan’s voice.

“Well, Jeffrey,” she says tekirdağ escort with that cherubic smile, “did you enjoy your lunch, hmm?”

“Megan,” I say, “you shouldn’t tease a guy like that.”

“Who said I was teasing?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, now becoming flustered again.

She sits down on the log, close to me now, and says, “You know, it’s such a hot muggy day. And guess where a girl perspires the most on a day like this?”

“You mean … down there?”

“Down there. My panties are damp with sweat, Jeffrey hon, but that’s not all. You know Tyler Noyes, who was quarterback on the football team. Well, Kayla ‘n me were just now talking to him. Okay, flirting if you want to know the truth, and of course he was flirting back. Jeez, he’s a hunk, with those broad shoulders and big blue eyes.”

“Anyway, I started getting warm and damp down there, really damp, if you know what I mean. Do I have to draw you a picture, Jeffrey?”

I’m blushing beet red now, and I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I saw the way you looked at my panties. Wouldn’t you like to have them, Jeffrey? C’mon, admit it. You’d love to have my panties.” Now I’m hypnotized again by Megan repeating that word in her lilting girl’s voice: panties … my panties.

All of a sudden that’s all I want in life. I aspire to nothing more than Megan’s panties.

“You can have my panties, Jeffrey,” she says, her voice now a low murmur. “But you have to beg for them. Down on your knees.”

I’m totally under her spell now, and just like that I’m kneeling before her, saying in a trembling voice, “Megan .. may I .. may I please have your panties?”

She smiles so sweetly as she says, “Okay, but it’ll cost you. Did you know that in Japan you can buy girls’ panties? They even put them in vending machines, can you imagine?”

“Those Japanese do have a head for business,” I reply, swallowing hard.

“A hundred dollars,” Megan says, almost in a whisper. “Then my panties will be yours, Jeffrey. All yours.”

“I don’t have that much money,” I say. “Can I write you a check?”

“Hah! How much have you got?”

“I dunno, maybe thirty dollars or so.”

“Then that’s the price of my panties, Jeffrey. Give it all to me.”

So now I’m whipping out my wallet and handing all my cash to her. “Your pocket change too,” the sweet girl says, “every penny you have.”

In a trice I’m handing her my quarters and dimes. Megan stands up, gives me her most charming smile; and then, slides her hands up under that skirt.

Now, I’m really hoping Megan will show me what’s in those panties, Mrs. Riley, but she doesn’t. She does put on a little show, however. She slowly, teasingly grasps the hem of her panties, giving me a glimpse of the crotch. Then she draws them down her silken legs, and steps out of them.

“There,” she says, handing the panties to me. Now even she’s blushing a bit.

Still on my knees, I take them. For the first time ever I’m touching that wonderful soft fabric of a woman’s panties. For the first time I sense their aroma. I cannot help myself now. I hold them to my face and savor all the rich musky, sweaty fragrances of a young girl’s panties. It is divine, the most enchanting scent on earth. No perfume can match that aroma. Nothing comes close.

“Eeew!” Megan cries. “Gross! I should tell your mother what a panty-sniffing perv you are, Jeffrey!”

This from a girl who just sold her panties. “Go ahead,” I retort. “And I’ll tell your dad what you did.”

Then Megan gives me that saucy grin of hers, and she sticks out her tongue at me. She turns and hurries away, soon disappearing in the pines. But you know, Mrs. Riley, somehow she’s not entirely gone. It’s as if those panties hold some essence of Megan, a part of her that I’ll always have as long as I can feel and smell and worship her panties.

Sometimes when I’m lying in bed at night, wearing Megan’s panties, I’ll think, why did she do it? Do you know the answer, Mrs. Riley? Was it just to tease a bashful guy who sometimes gets tongue-tied around women? To see if she actually had the nerve? It’s a mystery to me. But after that day I knew I had found my passion in life.

Well, it’s almost dark now, Mrs. Riley, and your guests are starting to leave. I’ll go too. I won’t say goodbye, since you never said hello to me or even glanced my way. But I have enjoyed our little chat.

One last thing. The way I figure it, here in Hillsboro there are about five hundred grown women under the age of sixty. If I set my mind to it, can I swipe panties from half of them? All of them, maybe? Oh, I know what you’ll say, Mrs. Riley, that it’s just a young man’s impossible dream. That I’ve gotten my hopes too high.

But the thing is, Mrs. Riley, I really do have ambition. When it comes to women’s panties, I’m a real go-getter! A regular Donald Trump! I’ve set lofty goals for myself, just as my mother tells me I should. Maybe they aren’t the goals she had in mind. But if an intrepid young man like me eventually has the largest and nicest collection of women’s panties around, isn’t that something he can be proud of? Well, I think so.

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