[ad_1]

I knocked on the door of the cabin where my crush and her husband were staying during our weekend away at the lake. Her husband answered the door, asked if I wanted a beer, and we drank in the small kitchenette until I had to take a piss.

When I entered their small bathroom, the first thing I noticed was the tiny mound of fabric on the hardwood floor that could only be one thing: Her discarded panties.

I began to shake uncontrollably. I opted to sit down on the toilet to piss—My knees were too weak! I stared at the skimpy panties on the floor, and I thought if this might not be too good to be true.

If I touched the panties, would I be able to get them back in a believable position? If I took too long and the panties appeared to have been left in an unnatural position, would I be found out? And what if they were clean? Surely they had been worn to have been discarded like that, but would there be a smell? If not, my risk would be for nothing.

I finished pissing, still shaking beyond belief, and peeled off my shorts and underwear. There are many things you can ask a man, but why he took so long in the bathroom is not one of them. (Still, taking too long while these panties lay ass up in the middle of the floor gave some cause for concern.)

I left my undergarments behind and tip-toed silently toward my crush’s unwitting behind. I felt a cold touch on the inside of my left thigh and looked down to realize that my pre-ejaculate had leaked from the bulbous, throbbing head of my lusting member down to the inside of my thigh.

At this point, I can not understate how small a pile of fabric my crush’s panties made there on the floor—they were mere strings, it seemed! (Also, I can not overstate my fit of shaking that threatened to overcome me in my quest.)

I managed with two fingers to lift the fabric from the floor. It was a thong! My god!!! It was a blue and gray thong. I had come this far.

I bumbled back over to the toilet where my own underwear lay discarded, and knelt. This was the moment. I had happened upon other undergarments in my time (and I had sniffed them all), but not all of them had revealed the scent of my true desire.

You must know that this woman—this petite woman with the long black hair—had been taunting me for the better part of two years, having married into the family, and having worn the skimpiest jumpers to every family get-together to the point (of course I had inspected her) that I seriously doubted she wore panties at all.

I once saw her bend over in front of me (not directly, of course, but within six or seven feet) and her jumper had sucked up into the crevasse of her tiny ass so deeply that I swear I could draw you a picture of her butthole.

My whole body shaking beyond control, I fell to my knees, naked from the waist down, before the clean white bowl of the cabin’s toilet, my cock aching for what I knew to be godly potential.

I held the thong up to inspect it. I examined the outside, as well as the inside of the crotch. How many days have we wasted, my love? They were clean.

I didn’t lose hope, however, because, this being a thong, it had likely spent hours in her crack on the car ride out here. (I remembered her husband saying their car air-conditioner was hit or miss.)

I found the spot on the rear string that I knew had come closest to her butthole. I took my throbbing wiener in one hand and held her thong in the other.

I imagined the crevasse of her nubile bottom as I had seen it (through clothes) many times before.

I sniffed the panties.

They smelled like butthole! The smell was overwhelming, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

I writhed and I shook. I pressed that little butthole to my nose, pumped my cock five or six times, and blew at least twenty shots of nut deep into the water.

When I said hi to her for the first time that weekend an hour or so later, I was even then smelling her ass as if it were right on the tip of my nose, which, of course, it was—And I was even able to jack off to it again before it left me (until next time).

NSFW: yes

[ad_2]