Panty Moments

How I become a wearer of women's underwear and love it.

*

It was the third or fourth time I had found myself doing it. Well that is not quite true, as I had done it years ago when I was a kid. I am talking now about doing it as an adult. As a forty five year old married man, a near middle-aged successful businessman who has been married for twenty years. I am talking now about relating it to my wife and not my mother, to my wife's and not my mother's panties. Yes, I am talking about wearing ladies panties to pose in and then masturbate.

That was a couple of years ago. It happened by accident, a simple, silly event. I had put a pair of shorts in the laundry basket and, whilst in the shower remembered I had left a memory stick in the pocket. It was dark and Kelly, my wife, was out, probably getting laid by some young buck, we have a very open marriage. Naked, I did not bother putting the light on in the bedroom and as I rummaged through the clothes, my hand fell on something smooth and silky. It does not take a genius to work out what it was. For some reason I held onto them. I do not why for it was not as if I had not felt them before, both when putting washing away, in exactly the same situation as now and when taking them off my lovely wife. This time, however, it felt different, the touch was different and my reaction was different. I lifted them out and put them to my face in the dark. I rubbed them across my cheek. The sensation of the silk on my face and then my lips was electric.

I switched on a lamp that lit the room very dimly. I looked at the tiny pair of pale pink, lacy, silk panties. They looked as alluring as they felt. I ran them across my chest rubbing the gusset on each nipple. I immediately began to get an erection. Looking in the mirror on the dressing table, I ran them down my chest and stomach and rubbed them along my rapidly hardening cock. The view of the pink material on my body was exhilarating. I wrapped them round my dick and slowly pumped it up and down. The sight of Kelly's panties on me was as, if not more exciting than the feelings. I removed them from my cock and continued to pump that while gently caressing my stomach, thighs and balls with my wife's knickers.

I came quick and hard, but fortunately not on them.

Although the memory of the feeling of Kel's panties on me often came into my mind, I did not have a repeat performance for a few weeks. Then, some urge built up in me and I did pretty much the same thing and again enjoyed a great climax with lashings of sperm, seemingly more than was usual.

Once more, I did nothing like it for several weeks. This time Kelly was in Spain for a week with some girls. The first night she was away saw me pulling a pair of blue, satin panties from the laundry basket. They felt lovely. I stood in front of the full-length mirror naked with them in my hand. As before, I rubbed them over my body and was quickly stunningly hard. This time as I wanked I held them on my cock and loved seeing the stream of my spunk splattering onto the gusset. I knew I was safe for I had time to wash them before she came back.

What I had done was in my mind all the next day. I could hardly wait to get home from work to have some form of repeat.

"Fuck" I said out loud when I rummaged through the laundry and found no panties. Realising I had a few days before she came home and the lady who does the washing and ironing was coming in the next day, I went to Kelly's underwear drawer. I had never looked through it before. I again said.

"Fuck," when my eyes were greeted by so many panties of varying colours, materials and style.

'Why the hell does she need so many' I could not help asking myself as I looked at what must have been nigh on a hundred pairs. It was like Aladdin's cave to me.

I sometimes tell Kelly that she has OCD, for she is so neat and tidy. Each pair were folded and organised by style then colour. So all her black thongs, and there were twelve of those, white bikini panties and pastel coloured boyshorts were together. Carefully ensuring I did not move them I ran my fingertips over the marvellous goodies of her drawer. Then I stopped and walked over to the bed. I undressed and was not at all surprised to see that I was already at half-mast. I am not that long at near to seven inches, but both flaccid and erect I am thick with a, just over eight inch circumference and three inch diameter.

I stripped naked, went back to the drawer and again ran my fingertips over my wife's underwear. I looked in the next drawer down where she kept her bras and although I liked what I saw, it was nowhere near the thrill of her panty drawer, so I went back to that.

Being very careful not to disturb the orderly rows of hard on inducing garments I inspected loads of pairs before selecting a black, silk and lace thong. Making sure I did not disturb the ones either side, I took the thong out of the drawer and laid it on the top of the dresser. I unfolded it slowly and making sure I remembered exactly how it was folded I ran the sexy piece of lingerie through my fingers. Dangling it across my chest, stomach and thighs I walked to the long mirror. I looked at my full erection in the mirror and watched fascinated as the flimsy, material seemed to glide of its own volitions around my balls and cock.

I was about to jack off when another thought hit me. It had never entered my head before, but it seemed so natural. I turned away from the mirror for a moment and then stood before it again. The sight of me wearing the thong almost took my breath away. I watched in amazement at the black thong with my cock sticking out the top and one of balls out of the bottom. I did not know what was exciting me more the look or the feel. I had to see more. I turned and looked over my shoulder in the mirror. My heart pounded even more when I saw the slither of silk that ran down from the waistband to vanish between the cheeks of my arse. It looked fabulous. Turning back to face the mirror I saw my side reflected into that from the mirror on Kelly's dressing table. I had an idea. I went to the dressing table and turned one of the mirrors. Then, when I looked in the full-length mirror I could see myself from both the front and the back.

I could not wait any longer. I put a towel on the floor in front of the mirror and, still wearing Kelly's thong I started to wank. I took it slow for I knew it would not take much. As I felt it starting, I moved even slower letting the climax build up gradually and holding back from cumming as long as I could. That made the eventual eruption even more dynamic and suddenly the damn burst and my spunk shot all over my stomach and hand, some went on my chest, some on the floor and, fuck it, some on Kelly's thong, luckily she was away!

I had some work to do that evening so Kelly's or any other lady's underwear was far from my mind. In fact, immediately after I finished wanking and saw myself in the mirror, I felt rather guilty and very sordid. My dick was softening rapidly, there was sperm splattered across my stomach and lower chest and, of course, there was my wife's thong. It had slipped down a little, but my balls were still snuggled in the pouch at the front although my still swollen cock was bulging over the side. In my post-orgasmic state it looked somewhat silly.

Although it came into my mind now and then over the next few days, I did not have a strong urge to 'dress.' Maybe that was because I had this lady who enjoyed afternoon bouts of sex so I came home fairly sexually satisfied. I did not see her on the day before Kelly was returning and that evening I felt particularly horny so after I had eaten my Indian take away I found myself again in front of that mirror wearing a pair of white, satin bikini-type panties with my rigid cock rearing out of the low-cut waist band. This time I laid down in front of the mirror on a towel and fucked my hand with the panties well down my thighs.

During the evening I cruised round the Internet looking at porn and chatting on IM. I did not jack off again, but found myself in bed half, well probably three-quarters, pissed going off to sleep in a pair of black lacy boy shorts. I wanked first thing the next day.

Luckily I am fairly domesticated and was able to wash and dry the offending material and pack it away before my wife arrived home later that afternoon.

"You look fucking gorgeous Kel," I said standing beside our bed just about an hour after she got home.

She was lying on it wearing just a pair of lemon, silky briefs, I had almost ripped the rest of her clothes off. The flimsy material and colour looked particularly fetching against her nice tan.

"Get yer kit off you horny bastard," she said in almost a growl. I was naked in a flash.

I knelt beside her on the bed, desperately wanting to get the enlarged nipples on her thirty-three inch B/C cup tits into my mouth, but she was out of reach.

"Come here" she said reaching out for my cock.

Since a few minutes after the woman who had given Kelly a lift from Luton Airport had left and I had grabbed my wife, she had been so up for it. Far more so than usual and I wondered whether, perhaps, it had been a 'sexless holiday' for her. I doubted it and would have loved to have asked what she had got up to, but we did not talk about our little escapades.

Rubbing her hands up and down my thick cock she mewed with pleasure and presumably anticipation.

"Fuck I didn't realise how much I missed this," she smiled as we kissed and I squeezed her tits.

"Nor me these," I muttered sucking one of her engorged nipples into my mouth.

"And what about this?" She asked pushing my other hand between her legs. I rubbed her lips and pressed right on her clit; she was so fucking wet. Her body jerked. "Oh yes," she grunted as I pushed her panties down to mid-thigh.

We kissed and ground our bodies together for a while. As we did so she reached down and fumpled her panties off, but held them in her hands and rubbed my chest and face with them.

"Nice?"

"Oh yes."

"And this?" She went on running them down my body and onto my cock and balls.

"Fucking lovely Kel," I groaned.

Using her panties on my body was not exactly new, but it seemed even more apt given what I had been up to during her time away.

"Fuck me James, fuck me now, make me cum" she whined.

I was up her like a rat up a drainpipe and we fucked quick and hard, which was just what we both needed.

*

It was as if I was in a dream. The Agent Provocateur shop in Soho had every imaginable example of erotic, but stylish ladies underwear. I had been passing and felt drawn in by the window display, but now felt rather helpless. I was only really interested in wearing panties so the ranges of bras, waspies, basques, stocking and the like all seemed a little superfluous.

I had to be careful. I had to make out I was looking for a present for my wife and not show what the massive range of everything imaginable was doing to me. Touching the silky camisoles and lacy basques I was rock hard and had to get out.

It was a relief to be outside, but the experience stayed with me.

Back at my office I logged on and googled AP. To me it was sexier than most porn sites. Over the next few weeks, hardly a day passed without me looking at the AP, Janet Reger or, what was becoming my favourite, Lejaby websites.

At the same time, more often now when I was in the house alone I raided the laundry basket and slipped into a pair of Kelly's panties. I liked to see the outline of my cock through the flimsy lace or net of the panties. There was something so fucking erotic about the combination of the sheer femininity of the panties with the blatant maleness of my semi-hard cock inside them.

I was becoming a lady's underwear junky. That said, though, it was not there all the time. It was like some form of red mist. It would lie dormant for ages, but then something would trigger something else and I would have to get my fix.

A couple of months later I went into the Marks and Spencer in Oxford Street. Although I buy nothing there, I know that Kelly will buy her basic underwear from one of their shops and I had noted when I had searched her drawer a few months ago when she was in Spain that they sold quite a range.

Being more open and less supervised than AP, it was easier for me to ogle the hundreds of pairs of panties in dozens of different style and colours. It was easier also to touch the silk and lace and cotton and satin on the panties and the fact that I had a raging hard on was easier to hide! I was in a cab on the way back to the office when it hit me. 'Why not get my own stuff?' I could choose exactly what I liked and would not have to worry about getting my cum on them or washing and ironing them and replacing them exactly as Kelly organised them. The only issue would be hiding them, but there were areas in my study where that could be done.

I was beginning to understand the pattern of my surges of desire for this slight diversion from the sexual straight and narrow. I was not surprised, therefore, when I did nothing about buying anything for a while. One evening when Kelly was out I was messing around on the Internet and found a chat room. Never one to be shy about trying something, well anything really, I registered and was in. It was obviously a sex site and in addition to the chat rooms there were other features including erotic stories, photos, members' videos and a forum. Remembering the last knockings of yahoo's chat rooms and how they were almost completely inhabited by bots, I had little interest in them and I knew the most of the videos and photos would be so basic as to be boring. I went into the forum and read a few blogs including one called 'I wear panties.' I was amazed at the number and variety of guys in there who were 'doing it.' Pleasingly, but surprisingly, I saw that most claimed to be straight, with the next most popular category being bi with gay very much bringing up the rear.

About half the bloggers had posted photographs. Although many looked faintly ridiculous, particularly when they tried wearing bras, just as many looked great. What excited me more than anything was how most had gone beyond mere panties. I loved the ones wearing stockings, both holdups and with suspender belts, I liked those who wore a slip, petticoat or camisole and I revelled in looking at guys wearing basques, waspies and corsets.

There and then, I decided to go shopping big time in Marks.

*

Undoing the lingerie from the tissue paper in which the rather tubby, but shapely and pretty, middle aged sales assistant with a name badge telling all and sundry that she was Debs, had wrapped it and tearing open the plastic packets containing the stockings was a big thrill in itself.

As big, almost as the sales assistant saying. "She's a lucky lady, I assume."

"You assume?" I retorted.

She looked me in the eye and held my gaze as smiling, she said. "Well nowadays you never know do you?"

I smiled back. "No I suppose you don't, but I guess you have a good idea don't you?"

"Oh yes, sir" she said looking up from where she was wrapping several pairs of panties in tissue paper. "We have a very good idea."

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if she would like to help me try them on, but I lost my nerve.

Once home again, I undressed completely. I had already unpacked all my goodies and laid them out on the bed. Doing that had been exciting so before I stripped, I was already half-erect. Now stripped with my 'treasure trove' of sexy underwear beckoning me, not only was I rigidly hard, but also my head was swimming with the intoxication of the appearance and touch and the anticipation of wearing the goodies. My eyes roamed longingly over the panties, stockings, full-length and waist down slips, camisoles, suspender belt, waspie with removal suspenders and, for good measure a full-length, pure silk nightdress.

I had spent over five hundred pounds in M & S for the more basic stuff and panties that I looked on as 'consumables' and in Harvey Nics for the slightly more esoteric and hopefully longer-lasting gear.

I had bought half a dozen pairs of stockings, both hold ups and for the susssy belt and I could hardly wait to try them on. I decided on the hold ups and carefully eased my foot into one then with equal care I rolled it up my leg and patted the lacy top in place round my upper thigh and just beneath my balls. Purposefully not looking in the mirror I did the same with the other leg then stood before the mirror. If I say it myself, my legs looked fucking lovely. They are slim, but hairy and, of course, the dark nylon emphasised their slimness and shape and hid most of the hairs. It really was some picture I thought seeing my legs in the black nylon with my hard, thick cock rearing up from between them to reach almost to my waist. I could resist no longer and I had to wank. Not surprisingly it did not take long for me to shoot onto the paper I had placed on the floor.

The next few days were amazing. Kelly was in Scotland at some exhibition and, not being busy at work I could get home frequently. I made good use of the time. I wore all types of panties, without and with stockings, sometimes holdups and other times with the waspie or suspender belt. I would glory in the feel of the silk of both the short and long petticoats and the camisole on me. I even slept in the full-length, silk nightdress almost having an accident by nearly cumming on the luxuriant and fucking expensive silk garment.

I loved the whole thing about dressing. Unpacking and getting the outfits ready, merely looking at them and touching them, rubbing them across my face and body, undressing and then of course adorning myself in the hugely erotic, panties, stockings and other accoutrements. I excited myself looking in the mirror and seeing: my cock snuggled in the pouch of a thong or, more likely poking out the top; the outline of it in panties that were not see-through; my balls leaking out the bottom; the black nylon or fishnet stockings on my legs, the black silk of the camisole against my skin and the tightness of the waspie or suspender belt round my waist.

I would parade round the room and past the mirrors for ages wishing that I had high heel shoes or other feminine footwear.

As time moved on I contemplated visiting some of the sites I had found on line for ladies underwear for men, but at present have left that as a tomorrow pleasure.

*

Actually, buying some made for men, lady's stuff, became a day after tomorrow excitement as another activity pushed it backwards.

I did not use my car that much when travelling around the UK. I found trains more convenient and quicker with the ability for me to plug in and work. Additionally, of course there is always the possibility of finding an eager, young businesswoman who is up for an evening or afternoon's fun when away on business. In that context I do not see much difference between men and women; once away on business our whole perspective seems to change and sex takes on another, very short-term, meaning.

However, on this particular trip I had to travel to several different towns and creating a suitable train itinerary was difficult. In the UK trains are fine if you want to go north to south or vice versa, but west to east, forget it.

I knew that Hull was a long, two fifty miles or so, and boring drive from London. I had a lunchtime meeting there and was then going on to Bradford for dinner. The next morning I had a meeting in Sunderland then made my way home via Harrogate, Blackburn and Stoke.

I had all the usual entertainment stuff in the car and of course I had my phone, but I knew that I would be crushingly bored particularly on the London to Hull hop.

That is how I came to be wearing black, lacy boy shorts and black, seemed, lacy top holdups under the dark blue Briony suit.