Addicted To Panties
By SmutWriterAI.
Jason’s hands trembled as he closed the door behind him, his eyes darting to the hamper in the corner of her room. There they were, tossed carelessly on top: a pair of her worn panties, pink lace edged with frills, stained from her day. Emily, with her curvy hips and innocent laugh, had no idea how she tormented him, leaving her intimate things scattered like that.
Jason’s breath hitched, his small dick already twitching in his boxers. He was early twenties, but that pathetic little thing between his legs made him feel like a boy, inadequate and desperate. Obsession gnawed at him nightly, pulling him back to her room, to these forbidden scraps of fabric that carried her essence.
He crossed the room in three quick steps, snatching the panties from the hamper. The material was soft, still warm from the laundry basket, and as he brought it to his nose, the sharp, tangy aroma of Emily’s pussy hit him like a punch. It was real—her sweat, piss, her arousal from whatever she’d been up to earlier, maybe touching herself under the covers. Jason inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the illicit scent, his mind flooding with images of Emily’s smooth thighs parting, her fingers dipping into that wet heat he could only dream of.
A wave of humiliation washed over him, hot and shameful, but it only made his tiny dick harden more, straining against the thin cotton of his underwear. ‘God, I’m such a loser,’ he thought, his face burning as he pressed the crotch of the panties harder against his nostrils.
The fabric was damp there, a faint stickiness that spoke of her body’s secrets. Jason couldn’t stop himself; his tongue darted out, licking the soiled spot tentatively at first, then with hungry laps. The taste was salty, slightly bitter, like her skin after a long day—Emily’s flavor exploding on his tongue.
His free hand fumbled with his boxers, shoving them down to free his small dick. It bobbed out, barely four inches, the head already leaking pre-cum in shiny beads. He rubbed the wet fabric against it, gasping at the contrast of lace against his sensitive skin, the dampness smearing along his shaft.
Jason sank onto the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, surrounded by her pillows that smelled of her shampoo—sweet vanilla mixed with that underlying musk. He wrapped the panties around his little dick, the lace scratching lightly as he gripped the bundle tight. His hand moved slowly at first, stroking up and down, feeling the way the material clung to his girth—or lack of it.
‘She’d laugh if she saw this,’ he imagined, the thought twisting in his gut like a knife, yet fueling the fire in his veins.
Humiliation pulsed through him, making his balls tighten, but so did the arousal, raw and insistent. He moaned softly, a low whimper escaping his lips as he pumped harder, the friction building heat along his short length. The scent enveloped him, Emily’s pussy’s aroma seeping into his every breath, and he licked at the panties again, sucking the fabric into his mouth to taste more of her.
Faster now, his strokes turned urgent, the panties twisting around his dick with each jerk. Pre-cum soaked through the lace, mixing with her dried juices, creating a slick glide that had him biting his lip to stifle louder groans. Jason’s mind raced with filthy visions: Emily catching him like this, her curvy body in those tight shorts she wore around the house, her eyes widening in shock before… what? Teasing him? Forcing him to show her his tiny dick?
The idea made his humiliation spike, cheeks flushing as he whispered to himself, “Fuck, Emily, your panties feel so good on my little dick.”
He buried his nose deeper into the fabric, inhaling like a man starved, the desperation clawing at him. His hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into his fist, the bed creaking faintly under the rhythm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his body tensing as the pressure built low in his belly. He could feel it coming, that tight coil ready to snap, his small dick throbbing in the confines of her panties.
The taste of her lingered on his tongue, salty and intimate, pushing him closer to the edge. Jason’s free hand clutched the sheets, knuckles white, as he stroked relentlessly, lost in the filthy thrill of it all—his sister’s scent, his own pathetic need. But then, a soft sound from the hallway froze him mid-stroke, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Was that a footstep? Emily’s door was closed, but the house wasn’t empty. He held his breath, dick still wrapped and pulsing, the climax hovering just out of reach, teasing him with what might come next.
The sound in the hallway faded into nothing—just the house settling, or his paranoia playing tricks. Jason exhaled shakily, relief flooding him even as his small dick throbbed insistently, demanding release. He couldn’t stop now, not with Emily’s scent wrapped around him like a vice, her panties slick against his skin.
The fear only sharpened the edge of his arousal, making his humiliation burn hotter. ‘What if Emily walks in right now?’ The thought sent a fresh wave of shame through him, his cheeks flaming as he imagined her curvy frame silhouetted in the doorway, those innocent eyes widening at the sight of her brother with his pathetic little dick buried in her dirty panties.
He resumed stroking, faster this time, his hand a blur over the bundled lace. Jason’s small dick twitched violently in the damp fabric, the head swollen and leaking pre-cum that soaked through the material, mixing with the faint traces of her pussy juices. The slickness made each pump glide easier, the friction pulling low moans from his throat despite his efforts to stay quiet.
His balls drew up tight, heavy with need, as he ground the panties harder against his shaft, the lace edges scraping his sensitive skin. Every inhale dragged in more of Emily— that tangy, intimate musk that made his head spin, visions of Emily’s thighs clenching around her own fingers flashing behind his eyelids.
“Fuck, Emily,” he whispered hoarsely to the empty room, his voice cracking with desperation.
The words tasted like sin on his tongue, but they fueled the fire coiling in his gut. Humiliation twisted deep inside him, a sharp pang at how small he felt, how unworthy of even fantasizing about her soft, curvy body.
Yet it only made him jerk harder, his hips snapping up into his fist, the bed creaking softly under the force. Sweat trickled down his back, his free hand fisting the sheets as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. He pressed the crotch of the panties to his nose one last time, inhaling deeply, letting her scent overwhelm him—salty skin, faint arousal, the essence of the sister he craved in ways that made his stomach churn.
A groan ripped from his chest, louder than he intended, as the orgasm crashed over him. Jason’s small dick pulsed wildly, spurting thick ropes of cum into the damp lace. He trembled, body arching off the bed, each jet soaking the fabric further, his seed mingling with her dried remnants in a filthy union.
Shame flooded him even as pleasure ripped through his veins, hot and unrelenting: ‘I’m cumming in my sister’s panties like a fucking pervert,’ the thought echoed in his mind, making his release drag on, his tiny dick jerking with aftershocks. He clutched the bundle tight, milking every drop, the sticky warmth seeping through his fingers.
Panting, Jason sat there for a moment, the panties limp and heavy in his grip, now sticky with his cum and her lingering scent. The room smelled of sex—his sharp, musky release cutting through her sweeter aroma—and guilt clawed at his chest like talons. What had he done?
Emily’s innocent face flashed in his mind, her careless habit of leaving her frilly things around twisting into something cruel, unintentional torment. He felt exposed, small in every way, the evidence of his obsession clutched in his hand like a damning secret. Arousal still simmered low in his belly, but shame drowned it out, leaving him hollow and trembling.
He moved quickly then, heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped animal. Jason shoved his softening dick back into his boxers, the fabric chafing against the sensitive, cum-smeared skin. He wiped his hand on the edge of her bedspread—another violation, marking her space with his filth—before stuffing the soiled panties into his pocket.
They were warm and wet against his thigh as he stood, legs unsteady, glancing toward the door with wide eyes. The house remained silent, but every shadow seemed to shift, every creak a potential footstep from Emily’s room. He crept to the door, easing it open just enough to slip out, the cool hallway air hitting his flushed skin like a slap.
Jason’s bare feet padded softly down the corridor, pulse thundering in his ears, the weight of the panties in his pocket a constant reminder of his depravity. Guilt twisted sharper with each step, mixing with the fading echoes of arousal—how could he feel this rush of dirty satisfaction even now?
He reached his room, slipping inside and locking the door behind him with a soft click that echoed too loudly in his mind. The space was his own, plain and unremarkable, a stark contrast to the vanilla-scented haven he’d just defiled.
He collapsed onto his bed, fishing the panties from his pocket. They were a mess—pink lace darkened with cum, the crotch panel glistening with the combined evidence of their forbidden connection. Jason stared at them, breath ragged, humiliation burning through him like acid.
‘She’s going to notice they’re gone,’ he thought, panic flickering alongside the twisted thrill.
Part of him wanted to keep them, to press them to his face again tomorrow night, inhaling the drying scent of his shame. But the larger part recoiled, fingers trembling as he shoved them under his mattress, hiding the filthy trophy where no one would find it.
Lying back, Jason stared at the ceiling, his small dick twitching faintly in his boxers at the memory. Shame wrapped around him tighter than the lace ever had, but beneath it, the obsession pulsed on—Emily’s curvy silhouette haunting his thoughts, pulling him toward the edge once more. What if she asked about her missing panties? The question hung in the air, unanswered, as sleep evaded him, the night stretching into tense, guilty silence.
*****
The next morning dragged Jason from a fitful sleep, his mind still tangled in the sticky web of last night’s shame. Sunlight slanted through his blinds, casting harsh lines across the rumpled sheets, but the weight under his mattress pressed on him like an accusation. Emily had left early for class, her door ajar as always, oblivious to the theft that gnawed at his gut.
Their mom was out running errands, the house echoing with an unnatural quiet that set his nerves on edge. Home alone—again. The thought sent a forbidden spark through him, arousal flickering low despite the guilt churning in his chest.
He avoided the laundry room all morning, busy with pointless tasks, but eventually the pile of his own dirty clothes demanded attention. Heart thudding unevenly, Jason gathered a basket and shuffled down the stairs, each step amplifying the twisted anticipation building in his veins. The laundry room door creaked open, revealing the familiar chaos: baskets overflowing, the hamper by the dryer spilling its contents like a taunt.
His eyes locked on it immediately—the lacy edges peeking out, a rainbow of fabrics that screamed intimacy. Mom’s dirty panties. She was constantly tossing them in without a second thought, her mature curves leaving behind scents that haunted his filthiest dreams.
Jason’s breath hitched, his small dick stirring in his sweatpants as he stared. ‘Not again,’ he thought, but his body betrayed him, heat pooling in his groin.
The hamper brimmed with them—damp from yesterday’s wear, the crotch panels darkened with her essence. He could almost smell it from across the room: that richer, earthier musk compared to Emily’s lighter tang, a mother’s forbidden allure that twisted the knife of humiliation deeper.
His hands trembled as he reached in, fingers brushing soft cotton and silk, snagging a pair of soiled black lace bikinis. They were damp, the fabric clinging slightly, heavy with her pussy’s residue. Guilt slammed into him. ‘She’s your mom, for fuck’s sake,’ he thought, but the thrill overrode it, his pulse racing with that guilty rush that made his tiny dick harden painfully.
He clutched the panties tight, the basket forgotten on the floor as he bolted back upstairs, legs shaky with urgency. The door to his room slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking like a confession. Jason collapsed onto the bed, the same one still faintly scented from last night’s depravity, and brought the stolen lace to his face.
He pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply, the pungent aroma flooding his senses—sweat-slicked skin, the sharp tang of her arousal, a hint of piss, a hint of soap from her shower that only amplified the raw intimacy. It was thicker than Emily’s, more lived-in, stirring visions of his mom’s full hips swaying in the kitchen, unaware of how her careless laundry fueled his obsession. Shame burned his cheeks, his small dick throbbing against his thigh, but he couldn’t stop; the humiliation fed the fire, making him feel pathetic, exposed, yet achingly alive.
A low whimper escaped his lips as he dragged his tongue along the crotch panel, tasting her. The fabric was salty-wet, the flavor bursting on his tongue—musky and intimate, like licking the forbidden core of his own family. Jason’s free hand shoved down his sweatpants, freeing his tiny dick, the shaft barely four inches hard but swollen with need, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
He wrapped the damp panties around it, the lace hugging his small length like a cruel embrace, the moisture slicking his skin. ‘So fucking small,’ he thought bitterly, the self-loathing twisting into arousal as he began to stroke, his fist pumping the bundled fabric up and down his shaft.
The friction was exquisite torture, the rough edges scraping his sensitive skin while her scent enveloped him. Jason’s hips bucked involuntarily, moaning louder now in the safety of his locked room, the sound raw and desperate. ‘Mom’s panties on my little dick—I’m such a worthless pervert.’
The words echoed in his mind, humiliation flooding him as he jerked harder, the panties growing slicker with his leaking pre-cum mixing into her dried juices. His balls tightened, heavy and aching, as he ground the fabric against his tip, imagining her curvy body, those mature breasts he’d glimpsed in old photos, her pussy that had birthed him now staining his hand with filthy promise.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his strokes turning frantic, the bed creaking under his thrusting hips. He licked the panties again, sucking the crotch into his mouth, savoring the tangy essence while his hand blurred over his dick. Pleasure coiled tight in his gut, emotional turmoil crashing with physical need—love for his mom warped into this degrading lust, the incestuous thrill making his small shaft pulse violently.
‘What if she knew? What if she caught me like this, her son’s pathetic dick wrapped in her dirty underwear?’ The thought pushed him closer, shame and ecstasy blurring as he moaned her name under his breath, a guttural “Mom…” slipping out.
His orgasm hit like a storm, Jason’s body arching as his tiny dick twitched hard in the lace. Cum spurted in hot ropes, soaking the already damp fabric, thick white strands seeping through the black lace to drip down his fingers.
He groaned loudly, the release dragging on with humiliating intensity, each jet marking the panties with his seed, mingling with her scent in a sticky, taboo mess. Tremors wracked him, his free hand clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure ebbed into crushing guilt, leaving him panting and spent.
The panties lay limp in his lap, heavy with cum, the air thick with the mingled smells of his sharp release and her pungent musk. Jason stared at them, chest heaving, the emotional weight settling like lead—another secret, another layer of obsession.
He should return them, wash away the evidence, but his fingers lingered, tracing the soaked panel. The house was still silent, but how long would it be before someone returned? The thought lingered, arousal flickering faintly beneath the shame, pulling him toward the darkness once more.
*****
A few days passed in a haze of restless nights and stolen glances, Jason’s obsession festering like an untreated wound. The hidden panties—Emily’s and Mom’s—burned holes in his drawer, their crusted stains a constant reminder of his depravity. He avoided eye contact at dinner, his small dick twitching under the table whenever Emily bent over, or Mom laughed, her voice stirring memories of that musky taste on his tongue.
Guilt gnawed at him, but the humiliation only fueled the fire, making him harder, more desperate. He needed more, something to push the boundaries further, to drown the shame in fresh filth.
That Thursday morning, Jason lingered by the kitchen window, coffee mug forgotten in his hand as he watched the next-door neighbor’s house. Mrs. Harlan—mid-thirties, with curves that strained her yoga pants and full breasts that bounced when she jogged—backed her SUV out of the driveway.
She was always rushing off to her office job, blonde hair tied back, oblivious to how her tight clothes hugged her ass, how her scent might linger in the air. Jason knew her routine; he’d watched her for months, heart pounding at the sight of her bending to pick up the mail, her skirt riding up just enough to tease.
And crucially, she never locked the back door.
Careless, trusting in this quiet suburb. Jason’s pulse quickened, arousal stirring low in his gut as her car disappeared down the street. ‘This is insane,’ he thought, but his feet moved anyway, drawn by the forbidden pull.
He waited ten minutes, ears straining for any sign of return, then slipped out the back door, crossing the shared fence in quick, silent steps. The morning air was cool against his flushed skin, but sweat already beaded on his neck. Heart hammering like a drum in his chest, Jason approached her unlocked back door, the screen creaking softly as he eased it open.
The guilt hit him hard. Breaking in? For panties? You’re a fucking creep,’ he scolded himself mentally. But the excitement overrode it, his small dick hardening in his jeans at the thrill of invasion. The kitchen smelled of her: faint vanilla from her coffee creamer, mixed with something warmer, more intimate. He moved fast, sneakers silent on the tile, eyes darting to the hallway leading deeper into the house.
Upstairs, the bathroom door stood ajar, steam still clinging to the mirror from her recent shower. Jason’s breath came in shallow bursts as he pushed inside, the hamper right there by the sink, lid half-open like an invitation. He rifled through it with trembling hands, pushing aside towels until his fingers closed on soft fabric—her dirty panties, a pair of red cotton bikinis, the crotch panel damp and darkened from her morning wear.
They were warm, heavy with her essence, the scent hitting him immediately: a heady mix of sweat, pussy juice, and that feminine musk that made his mouth water. Not family this time, but the risk amplified everything—the neighbor he’d fantasized about, her body so close yet untouchable, now offering up her most private stain.
Jason sank to the cool tile floor, back against the tub, clutching the panties like a lifeline. His free hand fumbled with his zipper, freeing his tiny dick, already stiff and leaking pre-cum onto his thigh. It looked pathetic in the harsh bathroom light, barely four inches, the head flushed red and desperate.
‘Look at you, breaking into a woman’s house to jerk your little dick in her underwear. Pathetic,’ he thought.
The self-loathing twisted in his chest, emotional shame flooding him even as arousal throbbed through his veins. He brought the panties to his nose, inhaling deeply, the pungent aroma filling his lungs—salty sweat from Emily’s ass crack, the tangy sharpness of her arousal-soaked pussy, hints of urine that made it all filthier, more real.
It was different from Emily’s fresh tang or Mom’s mature depth. Mrs. Harlan’s scent was confident, lived-in, evoking images of her spreading her legs in the shower, fingers teasing her clit.
A groan escaped him as he dragged his tongue along the damp crotch, tasting her. The fabric was slick against his lips, the flavor bursting salty and bitter on his tongue, her pussy’s residue coating his mouth like a dirty secret. He sucked harder, pulling the panel between his teeth, moaning at the wet sounds echoing off the tiles.
‘Fuck, she probably wiped her wet cunt with this after touching herself,’ he thought, the humiliation burning hot as his hand wrapped the panties around his small shaft.
The cotton hugged his length tightly, the moisture slicking his skin, her juices mixing with his pre-cum to create a slippery glide. He stroked slowly at first, savoring the friction, the way the fabric bunched around his modest girth, emphasizing how small he was—how unworthy of a woman like her.
His hips jerked up, pace quickening as he pumped his fist, the panties sliding up and down his dick with obscene squelches. Jason’s mind raced with visions: Mrs. Harlan catching him, her eyes widening at his tiny dick wrapped in her soiled underwear, laughing at his perversion before maybe—god, no—making him lick her clean.
He moaned louder, unable to hold back, the sound bouncing in the small room. “Yes, fuck, your dirty panties on my little dick—I’m such a loser.”
Sweat dripped down his temple, his balls drawing tight as pleasure built, coiling in his gut like a spring. He sucked the crotch again, tongue delving into the fabric to lap up every trace of her, the taste making his strokes frantic. His small dick pulsed in the bundled panties, veins bulging against the cotton, pre-cum soaking through to darken the red further.
The house creaked somewhere downstairs—wind? Or her returning early?—and panic spiked his arousal, pushing him closer. Jason’s free hand gripped the hamper edge, knuckles white, as he jerked harder, the motion blurring, his moans turning to desperate grunts.
“Gonna cum in your panties, you hot bitch—mark them with my pathetic load.”
The orgasm crashed over him without mercy, his body tensing as his tiny dick twitched violently in the fabric. Hot cum erupted in thick spurts, soaking the crotch panel deeply, white ropes seeping through the cotton to pool on his fingers and drip onto the tile. He groaned long and low, hips bucking wildly, each jet dragging out the humiliating ecstasy, his seed mingling with her dried pussy juices in a sticky, taboo blend.
Tremors shook him, chest heaving as waves of release faded into panting aftermath, the emotional weight settling—heavy guilt mixed with that lingering thrill, his spent dick softening in the ruined panties.
Jason sat there, slumped against the tub, the air thick with the sharp scent of his cum overpowering her musk. The panties hung limp in his lap, drenched and heavy, evidence of his latest descent. He should clean up, slip out before she got home, but his fingers traced the mess, arousal flickering faintly beneath the shame.
The haze of post-orgasm clarity crashed down like a cold wave, dousing the lingering heat in Jason’s veins with thick, suffocating guilt. ‘What the fuck did I just do?’
His mind reeled, staring at the ruined panties in his lap, the fabric sodden with his cooling cum, her scent now tainted by his own salty release. Breaking into Mrs. Harlan’s house, jerking his pathetic little dick in her dirty underwear—he was lower than dirt, a disgusting pervert who’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.
Shame burned in his chest, hot and tight, making his stomach churn even as a faint twitch stirred in his softening dick at the memory. But no, he couldn’t stay. Panic clawed at him. What if she came home early? He shoved the panties back into the hamper, wiping his sticky fingers on his jeans, the evidence smeared across the denim like a brand.
Jason bolted from the bathroom, heart slamming against his ribs as he retraced his steps—down the stairs, through the kitchen, out the back door. The screen creaked shut behind him, and he vaulted the fence, landing in his yard with a thud that jarred his bones. Sweat soaked his shirt, the morning sun now mocking his flushed face as he slipped inside his own house, locking the door with trembling hands.
Safe, but the violation echoed in his skull, mixing with the raw arousal that still hummed under his skin.
*****
He leaned against the counter, breath ragged, the sharp, bitter taste of Mrs. Harlan’s pussy lingering on his tongue—salty sweat and tangy arousal, a forbidden flavor that made his mouth water even now.
Upstairs in his room, Jason collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as guilt twisted like a knife. His small dick lay limp against his thigh, spent but not satisfied, the humiliation feeding that endless hunger. ‘You’re a thief now, stealing women’s scents to stroke your tiny dick. Emily would hate you if she knew—Mom too.’
The thoughts swirled, emotional weight pressing down, but beneath it, excitement flickered, promising more depravity. Jason needed to hide, to process, but the house wasn’t empty. The distant rush of water hit his ears— the shower running in the bathroom down the hall.
Emily.
She’d just gotten home from volleyball practice, her laughter echoing faintly through the door earlier as she kicked off her shoes. Jason’s pulse quickened, anticipation building in his chest like a storm, guilt warring with the pull of her presence.
He waited, ears straining over the spray of water, imagining her under the stream—curvy body slick, water tracing the swell of her breasts, down to the trimmed patch above her pussy. Emily, his sister, was so careless with her things that she left her scent everywhere for him to devour. The shower shut off after what felt like eternity, her footsteps padding to her room.
Jason held his breath, counting minutes until silence fell. She must be dressing or scrolling on her phone, oblivious. His body moved on instinct, slipping from his bed, creeping down the hall to her door. It was cracked open—another careless habit—and he nudged it wider, heart pounding so loud he swore she’d hear.
Emily’s room smelled of her: vanilla lotion mixed with the fresh tang of sweat from practice, her volleyball uniform tossed on the floor, cleats by the bed. Jason’s eyes locked on the laundry hamper in the corner, overflowing with her clothes.
He darted inside, closing the door softly behind him, the air thick with her essence. Kneeling, he dug through the pile, fingers brushing soft fabrics until he found them—her volleyball panties, black spandex bikinis, still damp from the game. The crotch was soaked, heavy with her juices, darkened from hours of running, jumping, her pussy grinding against the fabric with every move.
The scent hit him hard: sharp, musky sweat from her ass and thighs, mingled with the creamy wetness of her arousal, probably building during the match without relief.
A low whimper escaped Jason as he clutched them, the warmth seeping into his palms. ‘God, these were on her cunt all day, rubbing her clit, trapping her stink.’
Humiliation flooded him—sniffing his own sister’s practice panties like a desperate animal—but it only made his small dick harden again, straining against his zipper. He couldn’t do this here; too risky with her just down the hall. Stuffing the panties into his pocket, the damp fabric bulging obscenely, he snuck back to his room, locking the door with a click that echoed his racing heart.
Alone at last, Jason yanked down his jeans, his tiny dick springing free—four inches of throbbing need, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He sank onto the bed, pulling out the panties, their weight slick in his hand. Bringing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply, the pungent aroma filling his lungs: Emily’s sweaty pussy, thick and intimate, like her body heat trapped forever.
‘Fuck, sis, you sweated so much for me—your juices all over these.’
The incestuous thrill twisted in his gut, guilt sharpening the arousal, making his balls ache. He dragged his tongue along the crotch, tasting Emily—salty sweat bursting first, then the creamy tang of her pussy cream, slick and real against his lips. He sucked harder, pulling the fabric into his mouth, moaning at the wet sounds, her flavor coating his tongue like a dirty kiss.
His hand wrapped the damp spandex around his small dick, the cool moisture hugging his length tightly, her juices slicking his skin. It felt so small inside the bundle, pathetic against the athletic fabric she’d worn while dominating the court. Still, the humiliation surged pleasure through him, emotional shame blending with urgent need. Jason stroked slowly at first, savoring the glide—her wetness mixing with his pre-cum, creating obscene squelches that filled the room.
‘Jerking my little dick in my sister’s volleyball panties—I’m such a fucking loser, obsessed with her cunt smell.’
Faster now, his fist pumping, hips bucking up as visions flashed: Emily in her uniform, skirt flipping to show these exact panties, her ass cheeks flexing, pussy lips outlined in sweat.
Moans spilled from his lips, louder than he meant, the bed creaking under his rhythm. The taste of Emily lingered, sharp on his tongue, fueling the fire as his small dick pulsed in the fabric, veins bulging against the spandex.
Guilt clawed. ‘She’s your sister, you sick fuck!’ But it only heightened the intimacy, the forbidden bond twisting pleasure into something deeper, more consuming. His free hand cupped his balls, squeezing as strokes blurred, pre-cum soaking through to darken the black further. The scent enveloped him, her sweaty essence everywhere, pushing him toward the edge.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, body tensing as climax built, coiling tight in his core. He sucked the crotch again, tongue lapping desperately at her dried juices, the flavor making his head spin. ‘Gonna cum in Emily’s dirty panties—add my load to her pussy sweat.’
The thought shattered him, his tiny dick twitching wildly as hot spurts erupted, thick ropes of cum flooding the fabric, seeping into the damp crotch to mingle with her essence. He groaned, body shuddering, each jet dragging out the humiliating bliss, his seed marking her most private wear.
Panting, Jason slumped back, the panties limp and sticky in his grip, the air heavy with mingled scents. Guilt washed fresh, but so did that insatiable pull—what if she noticed them missing? Or worse, what if she didn’t, and he could do this again?
Jason lay there for a few minutes, chest heaving, the sticky mess in his hand cooling against his skin. The mingled scents—Emily’s musky pussy sweat and his own thick cum—hung heavy in the air, a filthy reminder of his depravity. Guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, but the thrill lingered too, a twisted satisfaction in marking his sister’s panties with his load.
He couldn’t keep them; she’d notice if they vanished. Wiping his hand on his thigh, he tucked his softening dick back into his jeans, the fabric chafing against the sensitive head.
Heart pounding, Jason crept back to Emily’s room, the house silent except for the faint hum of her music from down the hall. He eased the door open, scanning for any sign of her—nothing. The hamper sat innocently in the corner, and he knelt, fingers trembling as he lifted the lid. The volleyball panties felt heavier now, sodden with his cum seeping into the spandex.
He buried them deep among her other clothes, pressing them flat so the damp spot blended with her sweat stains. No one would know. He slipped out, closing the door with a soft click, relief flooding him even as shame burned hotter. Back in his room, he collapsed, the secret weighing on him like a chain, but his mind already wandered to the next fix.
Days blurred by in a haze of normalcy—family dinners where Emily chattered about school, Mom bustling in the kitchen, Dad buried in his newspaper. Jason kept his head down, avoiding eye contact, the memory of her volleyball panties fueling late-night strokes under the covers.
His small dick ached constantly, humiliated by its size yet insatiable for that forbidden rush. He stole glances at Emily’s curvy legs under the table, imagining the scent trapped in her everyday panties, the incestuous pull twisting his gut with equal parts disgust and desire.
*****
It was late afternoon, the house quiet with everyone out—Emily at a friend’s, parents running errands. Jason wandered the upstairs hall, restless, his tiny dick half-hard just from the boredom. As he passed his parents’ bedroom door, ajar as usual, something pink caught his eye on the floor just inside.
He froze, pulse quickening. Pink panties, lacy and delicate, were discarded like trash. Mom’s. He remembered her heading to bed last night in her nightgown, the fabric swishing against her thighs. These must be what she’d worn under, peeled off after… whatever happened in the dark.
Jason’s mouth went dry, a mix of fear and excitement surging through him. He glanced down the hall—empty—then pushed the door wider, slipping inside. The room smelled of Mom’s perfume, floral and warm, mixed with the faint musk of unwashed sheets. He bent down, hands shaking as he snatched the panties from the carpet. They were damp, almost wet to the touch, the crotch slick and cool against his palm.
‘Fuck, she must’ve gotten off last night,’ he thought, the idea hitting him like a punch.
Or more.
He stuffed them into his pocket, the bulge pressing against his thigh, and bolted to his room, locking the door behind him.
*****
Alone, Jason yanked off his jeans, his small dick springing up, already leaking pre-cum at the tip. Four inches of pathetic need, veins throbbing as he climbed onto the bed. He unfolded the pink panties, the lace trimming soft, the gusset darkened and sodden. Bringing them to his nose, he inhaled deeply—Mom’s familiar scent hit first, that mature pussy aroma, earthy and tangy from a day’s wear, her ass sweat clinging to the fabric. But there was more, thicker, something sticky coating the crotch. His tongue darted out before he could think, licking the damp spot tentatively.
The taste exploded—salty sweat from her pussy lips, the creamy bitterness of her arousal, but underneath, an unfamiliar thickness, almost gluey, with a sharp, bleachy tang. Jason sucked harder, pulling the fabric into his mouth, tongue swirling over the wetness. It coated his lips, sliding down his throat, and realization dawned like a thunderclap.
‘That’s not just hers… that’s Dad’s cum.’
The thought slammed into him, his dick twitching violently, pre-cum dribbling down the shaft. His parents had fucked last night, Dad’s load pumped deep into Mom’s pussy, leaking out to soak these panties. The incestuous taboo deepened, not just sniffing Mom’s dirty underwear, but tasting Dad’s jizz mixed with her juices—a filthy family secret on his tongue.
Humiliation crashed over him, hot and choking. ‘You’re licking your dad’s cum from Mom’s panties, you worthless perv with your tiny dick.’
But it ignited something wild, raw arousal flooding his veins, making his balls tighten. Jason wrapped the damp lace around his small dick, the slick crotch hugging his length, Dad’s drying cum smearing along his skin like a perverse lube. It felt obscene, the fabric stretching over his pathetic size, but the emotional weight—the betrayal of boundaries, the intimate violation—pushed him over the edge.
He stroked hard, fist pumping fast, the wet sounds filling the room as her pussy cream and his dad’s seed mixed with his own pre-cum.
Moans tore from his throat, low and desperate, hips thrusting into his hand. The flavor lingered, salty and creamy, fueling visions: Mom on her back, legs spread, Dad’s dick—big, unlike his own—plunging into her, filling her with hot spurts that now Jason devoured.
‘Tasting Dad’s load from Mom’s cunt… I’m such a disgusting little brother, jerking my shrimp dick in their sex mess.’
Guilt twisted with the intimacy, the family bond corrupted into this urgent, graphic need. His free hand squeezed his balls, pulling them tight as strokes blurred, the lace chafing his sensitive head.
Sweat slicked his skin, body tensing as climax built, coiling like a spring in his gut. He sucked the crotch again, tongue lapping greedily at the mingled cum, the bleachy taste sharpening his shame into bliss. ‘Gonna add my worthless load to Dad’s in Mom’s panties—complete the family circle.’
The words echoed in his mind, shattering his control. His tiny dick pulsed, hot jets erupting into the fabric, soaking the already damp pink with thick ropes of his cum. He groaned, shuddering through the waves, each spurt dragging out the humiliating high, his seed blending with theirs in a sticky taboo.
Panting, Jason slumped, the panties limp and ruined in his fist, the air thick with the scent of family sin. The wild arousal ebbed, leaving deeper guilt, but that insatiable hunger whispered for more—what other secrets hid in the laundry, waiting to be tasted?
The End.
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