By Steph E. Strong
Review & Description
While moving furniture, a box falls out of a Wayne's closet and spills panties all over the floor. Wayne is mortified, and confesses to Steph that he has a underwear fetish. Steph is intrigued and talks him demonstrating what he'd do to claim hers as a fresh addition to the collection.
Warning: This short story contains explicit and graphic depictions of sex and a panty fetish. It is only intended for mature and adult readers over the age of 18.
Excerpt:
A cardboard box fell off the top shelf in my boyfriend’s office closet and hit the floor, and a dozen or more soiled panties spilled out. There were all types and varieties, from simple, white cotton undies to more sophisticated black lace lingerie bottoms. Wayne had nearly every shade of the rainbow, and his face turned an embarrassed bit of scarlet. “I can explain,” he blurted.
“Oh, really?” I laughed. I had been helping Wayne rearrange furniture in his home, and I half expected something to happen. There’s always something pervy with Wayne, and when you make a living as a stripper and an occasional internet porn actress – like I do – you can’t be super selective about who you date. Most guys either wouldn’t go out with me, or they make the mistake of thinking I’m primed for sex at every moment of every day. Sure, I take my clothes off for a living, but that doesn’t make me hardcore slut who wants it all the time. Wayne tended to be sweet, and he hardly ever cheated on me without telling me about it. (We had an open relationship, so long one keeps the other informed and in the loop of who is doing who.) So, the price I had to pay for that, once in awhile, was putting up with his many goofy and kinky desires.
Wayne looked at the panties and then he nervously looked at the floor. “I haven’t added to that collection since we starting going out.”
“Oh?” I crouched down and poked through them. He even had a few with prints of strips and plaids. By the elastic waist, I even picked out a plus-sized pair of granny panties. “So, that makes this better, how?”
“They’re all from prior relationships.”
Wayne tended to be a pack rat anyway. The man collected everything – comic books, stamps, coins, and, apparently, dirty panties. The only difference between him and a hoarder was that he tended to be meticulous and organized with it all. He often joked that even in a digital age such as the present, he longed to create a card catalogue system for all of his junk – a collection of cards about his collection, so to speak. Normally, I just smiled, nod, and go, “Yes, dear. “ Still, when it came to his array of soiled underwear, I was amazed by the variety there. “You know.” I glanced up at him. “I’m sort of offended to not see any of mine in here.”While moving furniture, a box falls out of a Wayne's closet and spills panties all over the floor. Wayne is mortified, and confesses to Steph that he has a underwear fetish. Steph is intrigued and talks him demonstrating what he'd do to claim hers as a fresh addition to the collection.
Warning: This short story contains explicit and graphic depictions of sex and a panty fetish. It is only intended for mature and adult readers over the age of 18.
Excerpt:
A cardboard box fell off the top shelf in my boyfriend’s office closet and hit the floor, and a dozen or more soiled panties spilled out. There were all types and varieties, from simple, white cotton undies to more sophisticated black lace lingerie bottoms. Wayne had nearly every shade of the rainbow, and his face turned an embarrassed bit of scarlet. “I can explain,” he blurted.
“Oh, really?” I laughed. I had been helping Wayne rearrange furniture in his home, and I half expected something to happen. There’s always something pervy with Wayne, and when you make a living as a stripper and an occasional internet porn actress – like I do – you can’t be super selective about who you date. Most guys either wouldn’t go out with me, or they make the mistake of thinking I’m primed for sex at every moment of every day. Sure, I take my clothes off for a living, but that doesn’t make me hardcore slut who wants it all the time. Wayne tended to be sweet, and he hardly ever cheated on me without telling me about it. (We had an open relationship, so long one keeps the other informed and in the loop of who is doing who.) So, the price I had to pay for that, once in awhile, was putting up with his many goofy and kinky desires.
Wayne looked at the panties and then he nervously looked at the floor. “I haven’t added to that collection since we starting going out.”
“Oh?” I crouched down and poked through them. He even had a few with prints of strips and plaids. By the elastic waist, I even picked out a plus-sized pair of granny panties. “So, that makes this better, how?”
“They’re all from prior relationships.”
Wayne tended to be a pack rat anyway. The man collected everything – comic books, stamps, coins, and, apparently, dirty panties. The only difference between him and a hoarder was that he tended to be meticulous and organized with it all. He often joked that even in a digital age such as the present, he longed to create a card catalogue system for all of his junk – a collection of cards about his collection, so to speak. Normally, I just smiled, nod, and go, “Yes, dear. “ Still, when it came to his array of soiled underwear, I was amazed by the variety there. “You know.” I glanced up at him. “I’m sort of offended to not see any of mine in here.” Read more
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