Caught: You Made Me Do It

You know, just after we talked yesterday, I actually did it. I don't really know why. I am not usually into these kinds of things. Yes you tried teasing me a bit. But we were just fooling around, right? Yesterday though, I found myself opening the drawer where she keeps her underwear. She likes to wear black mostly. Not overly lacy, practical aspects are as important to her as a bit of luxury in wear, and feel. And looks. So when it comes to her bras for example, she likes them padded. I am sure it gives her a bit more confidence but I also know that she likes those looks that women get when they present their boobs to the world. I am also sure that her padded bra serves her well at work. Maybe she likes that too. And maybe I like that she likes that. Men like it when other men, and perhaps women too, find their spouse desirable.

I sometimes wonder how a woman feels when she realises a pair of eyes lingering just that split second too long on her breasts. Does it make you feel exposed? Does it give you a feeling of power, mixed with a certain sense of vulnerability perhaps, or even a tinge of arousal? I hear you chuckle, because I shall never know. What I do know though is that my wife walks that little bit more upright and confident when she wears those bras, no matter whether she gets ready for work or snuggles into her favourite jumper.

But I digress. When rummaging through her drawers, I was less looking for her bras. It was her panties that I was after. Yes, you made me think of her panties, without actually literally making me think of her panties. I wonder what women think when they slip into their lacy panties, the soft fabric feel nice to the skin and folding snugly between the legs. When you slip into your lacy panties, do you imagine, a bit a least, how your buttocks look to preying eyes? Do you like that moment when you briefly turn in front of the the mirror to check yourself out before getting fully dressed?

My wife does not like to show off her behind too much. She hates G-strings. At the front however she likes her panties to look seductive a bit, even frilly or somewhat see-through at times. That I particularly like. I am a crotch man. Maybe Mr Boobs a bit, and some attention to the rear. But the thought of a women teasing me with her legs has unpredictable effects on me. Not that my wife would necessarily know it. But she does not shave, so I like to try steal a glimpse between her legs whenever there is an occasion to catch her in her panties. In the morning for example, when she is getting dressed. If only she knew what this does to me, what women could do to me, playing on those effects to tease me into compliance with whatever secret wishes or fantasies they turn in their mind when they slip into those lacy panties.

I was not very picky. It is a strange thought, pleasuring yourself with a woman's panties. But it's a bit taboo, right? That's how you teased me, with your dare. They felt so nice. Cool to the touch at first, as I draped the silky fabric over me as I felt my arousal rise. What if I'd spill? "Darling, what are those strange marks on the carpet in front of the drawer, any idea?" Just the thought of it! And, what was I doing here anyway? Once you begin though, it's difficult to stop. I heard your voice in my ear, edging me on to do it, to go for it no matter the consequence.

Let me spare you the details and me any further blushes. Before I knew, it was all over. A right sticky mess. Luckily, the material was more absorbent than I had feared. But still, a hot mess. What on earth had just overcome me? And, what next? -- As I write this, the thought crops up in my mind that somehow, you might have seen me there, just at the moment when I could not hold back any further. I am not proud of it, not of what I did, nor of thinking of you in that moment. But I did.

You know that I am the one doing the laundry in our household? So I did not have to think twice. I simply added the soaked ball of silky cloth to the stack of clothes piling up in front of the washing machine. I would get to it soon enough and found myself turning to other things that kept me busy during the afternoon. So before I thought of the washing again, let alone the soaked panties on top of the pile in the larder where we keep our washing machine, it was six o'clock and I heard the car coming up the drive.

I am not sure I should tell you what happened next. I still feel embarrassed about it, and I am not sure what you will think of me if I tell you how panty gate actually unfolded. But you made me promise, so here we go.

Hearing her car pull up the drive is always a moment I look forward to. I like the aura that she brings back from work, still somewhat high on adrenalin, still in her professional clothes that give her that certain radiance of a woman who knows what she's worth and what her effect is on those around her. It's always a brief moment of magic when she comes through the door before she winds down and I retire to the kitchen to finish cooking. More often than not I try to catch a view on her from behind, before she disappears to change into those grey joggers. She typically wears trousers at work, slim cut, with a blouse on top and a lose jacked cast over her shoulders, and when she enters a room in that outfit you will notice her.

"Darling, have you got a moment?"

I think nothing at first when I hear her voice from the larder and pop my head round the corner.

"Darling, whatever happened to my panties?"

She looks over to me, pointing at the unmistakable piece of evidence sitting there for both of us to see, on top of the laundry pile.

"Oh.. yes, that was a funny thing, I had to.." I desperately try to come up with a story that, if not plausible, will at least allow me, and her, to navigate this moment without spilling into outright embarrassment. Perhaps, with a few magic words, this will all go away.

"Psst, quiet, not a word." She's got that twinkle in her eye and gently pulls me closer. This is unexpected.

"Poor darling. You must have felt lonely today, all by yourself the whole day."

Her eyes tease me mischievously. Then her lips find mine, and she begins to kiss me, gently at first, as if to say hello, but then more passionately, probing.

"Close your eyes for me darling." Not a command, simply a suggestion. There is innuendo in her voice. Clearly, my game is up. She traces my lips with her fingers, and I try to give them a kiss. Instead I feel something soft, and moist, first just touching but then gently being pushed between my lips. "Kiss me.." she hisses, as she seals my lips as I try to make room for the fabric that had been at the receiving end of my passion just a felt minute ago.

I feel dizzy as reality slowly hits me. I feel her body pressing into me in a passionate embrace as I feel my saliva mixing with the lacy fabric and all that it holds. That taste, her smell, the softness of her lips on mine, keep me in a strange suspense. Then I swallow.

Finally, she lets go of me. "No, don't open your mouth just yet darling. Just keep them there and think of me while you tidy up. I hope dinner's ready soon?" Turned, and disappeared.