Nate sat in the armchair in the corner of his room, naked, cross legged. His tablet was perched precariously on the arm of the chair, the same short video playing that he had been watching for weeks, ever since he’d moved in. Renting a room in a house with a woman was a new experience, one that he hadn’t expected would be so challenging, despite always having lived alone. Against his own better judgement, he had moved into this house with a woman that he found intoxicatingly beautiful and incredibly unattainable. In the beginning he had chalked it up to basic lust and being single for awhile, but now he was six weeks in and relieving himself more than daily of the ache in his balls and chest that She put there. He clicked “replay” on the video and settled in as the the buxom dominatrix bellowed at the bound and gagged man at her feet.
His favourite moment was four minutes or so into the video when she stuffed his mouth full of her balled up panties, red lace obscuring his chin as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy. He bit the tip of his tongue and slid his hand down under the cushion of the chair and slowly pulled out a very similar pair of red panties, lacy and with a little black bow in front. His head swam with shame and guilt as he slowly pushed the soft lace into his mouth, the musk of the soiled gusset filling his nostrils and making his mouth water. He had stolen them from the hamper when She was doing laundry and hid them, touching them surreptitiously, wearing them to sleep, wrapping them around his cock as he fantasized about Her, smelling them and sucking them, hating himself for the violation and disrespect of it all, but craving Her scent. He lost himself in the swirl of fantasy, edging himself along with the man in the video, his lips silently whispering the dialogue as if the powerful, angry woman on the screen was his voluptuous housemate, as if She were speaking directly to him.
Over and over he watched their interaction; the supplication of the man, the sheer dominance of the woman. It was a combination that was new to him, one that had awakened in the first week of sleeping down the hall from Her. She was a quiet person, introverted and private. He knew She’d be mortified and furious if She found out about his petty theft but he felt unable to resist, the perversion and taboo of it only heightened his desire. He stroked himself deftly, no longer watching the video, but listening to the moans and sharp instructions as he watched the wad of red fabric in his hand, draped around his shaft. He pushed himself to the edge over and over, breathless and frustrated, punishing himself for his deviance, fantasizing about Her punishing him harshly. The names She called him in his imagination made him grind his teeth with the need to come. He could imagine Her hissing “filthy panty thief” in his ear and finally let himself go, grunting and holding his breath as he milked his cock onto the red lace.
Spent and relieved but humiliated, he rested a moment before getting up to rinse the mess out of his prized possession. He strode into the hallway, naked, and avoided looking himself in the mirror as he delicately began to hand wash Her panties. In a moment of fate, or just bad luck, he failed to hear Her come home. Usually the sounds of the front door, Her keys being dropped into the bowl in the hallway, even the zippery sound as She kicked off Her tall boots, would have pricked up his ears and made his pulse quicken but the running water and post orgasmic fog kept him insulated from Her arrival, vulnerable and naked, his worst secret wet in his hands with the bathroom door wide open.
“Oh my god! Excuse me!” Her words jolted him from his thoughts and he swiveled around. Their eyes met but hers quickly moved from his face to his pelvis to his hand and the dripping underwear in his fist.
“I didn’t realize you were home, I was just …”
“Are those my panties?” She was wide eyed and exasperated as she lunged forward and snatched them from him. “I’ve been looking for these for weeks. Oh my god, why are you washing them? Did you …? Oh my god.” He watched in horror as Her thoughts congealed and She made sense of the scene. He cleared his throat and focused on the hexagonal tile at their feet, unable to say anything of value, his empty hands cupping his genitals, which incidentally had receded as close to his body as possible as if in actual fear of Her response. He didn’t look up until She had turned and walked out. Only then did he exhale, gather himself and secure a towel around his waist. He didn’t hear Her door slam, or Her music turn on. He returned to his own room, and found Her sitting in the very armchair in which he had defiled Her lingerie. She was watching the video on his tablet. He steeled himself for Her inevitable fury and hurt, entirely sure that he would have to move out.
“Sit down,” She didn’t look up as she spoke, her eyes didn’t leave the screen. He did as he was told and sat across from her on the foot of the bed. He waited, listening to the porno playing in her lap, anxious to speak but too ashamed to try. He fidgeted and waited like a schoolboy outside the Head Master’s office, his eyes avoiding the wet panties draped over the arm of the chair where She sat.
“I want to tell you a story,” She said quietly as She set aside the tablet. He nodded.
“When I was fourteen, I thought I’d try smoking. It wasn’t even something I wanted to do but it was something I knew I shouldn’t even try and that made it all the more appealing. I didn’t have my own cigarettes, of course I couldn’t just buy them, so I had to steal them. The only person in my life who smoked was my grandmother. She was a tough old bird – terrifying – an absolute pistol of a woman. She wasn’t someone to trifle with, but I was just a kid, I thought I knew how to get past her, how to get what I wanted without getting in trouble. I would nick a cigarette at a time but never from a full pack. That was too obvious, so was an almost empty pack. I had to wait until she was partway through before I could sneak one. It took me forever to finally get my hands on that one cigarette. I smoked it like a real badass, loving every inhalation, sitting on my Granny’s back porch, trying to French inhale. What I failed to calculate for was her coming home from playing Bridge and finding me there. Do you know what she said?”
His eyes met hers and he shook his head “no”.
“She told me that that sometimes the things we want most are the things that are not ours to have. She sat down on the porch with me, I can even remember the dress she was wearing and how her breath smelled like coffee as she lectured me. When the lecture was over, she produced her cigarette case and handed it to me. It was full. Twenty pristine cigarettes. She made me smoke the whole lot. Well, she tried, but I didn’t get very far. Can you imagine? A fourteen year old chainsmoking cigarette after cigarette? I was sick to my stomach all over the porch stairs and that’s when she let me stop. The irony was that the overexposure was meant to be a remedy, meant to make me not want them any more, but all it did was addict me to the poison. I smoked for the next ten years and every puff felt like a triumph. I loved it. Eventually I smartened up and quit, I turned to other vices.”
She paused, watching him. He waited. She leaned forward and took the panties in her hand.
“Come here,” She pointed at the floor in front of her. He obliged, standing in front of Her, his heart thundering in his chest.
“Kneel down,” Again, he obliged. She put the wet fabric to his mouth, eyes locked on his, and pushed it into his mouth. She pet his cheek gently and slid her hand to the back of his neck, gripping it ferociously. Her eyes sparkled and She spoke in a low, dark whisper, hitching up Her skirt and spreading Her legs, pushing his face between them.
“Now then, let’s see if this is the poison, or if it’s the remedy.”