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A story of how I unwittingly managed to fuck all of the women in my best friend’s life. Be warned, this is a long story, heavy on panty fetish, masturbation, old-young sex and Indian references. All characters depicted are 18 years and older.
Arun and I grew up together on either side of the same street in a small town in Tamil Nadu, South India. Our fathers worked in the same public sector company, and we lived in similar company-provided accommodations and went to company sponsored pre-school and elementary school. Our lives revolved around the company. But all this changed in the late 80s, when Arun’s dad decided to quit the company and get a job in the Gulf. My father followed suit a year later, though we went only as far north as Delhi where he got a job as a consultant.
I was very sad to see Arun leave as we were true friends and friendships forged at that early age remain with you forever. But imagine my surprise when their family decided to move back to India for their higher studies. Arun and his twin sister, Neeta, both enrolled in a prestigious college in near Delhi and had to stay in the hostel. And I joined a local public college for my engineering, and so was able to commute from home.
Our families reconnected after about eight years. Arun and Neeta used to come home together from college during some weekends and for holidays. On these occasions Arun and I spent a lot of time together in each other’s houses.
Neeta had turned from a nerdy, toothy, spectacled girl into a raven-haired, doe-eyed, dusky beauty. She was short but was thick and was adept at classical Indian dance styles. I remember watching her practice at home for her recitals. She had a fabulous body. Her belly was flat, her arms well defined, her ankles were shapely, and thighs tight and thick, all thanks to her dancing. When she wore western clothes, her pants and shorts hugged her thighs tightly and her torso bulged from her dresses. Her breasts jiggled up and down when she wore a bra that was slightly loose. They stayed in place when her bra was tight, as when she went to college. Her kameez (when she wore salwar) made a deep V at her neck and I could see her cleavage and the swell of her breasts. Man! I could make out the outline of her bra in front, and the straps at her back without fail every time I saw her. I took great precautions so as to not make it obvious as I ogled her. It was clear that she knew the effect she had on boys and men. I was not sure if she realized I was one of those that fantasized about fucking her.
Not surprisingly, I started fantasizing about her. I genuinely hoped she was a virgin. In my fantasies, Neeta and I lost our virginities to each other – she initiating it and I providing experience from my research and knowledge watching porn. As I jerked off, I visualized us spending lazy Sunday afternoons, naked on my bed and enjoying each other’s company and bodies – her legs spread wide and my head between them sucking her clit, licking her cunt from top to bottom and bottom to top, rimming her ass. When it was her turn she would suck my cock for hours, lick my balls and pleasure me by rimming my asshole. Man, what all can a perverted mind think of?!
Arun’s mother, whom I called Charu aunty, was a beauty in her own right. The years abroad had treated her well. Though she was the same age as my mother, the similarities stopped there. She was one of the ladies who aged gracefully, perhaps due to her genes as I did not see her working on keeping fit and trim. It may have come naturally to her. While other women developed large bellies and thick flabby arms and swollen, drooping faces and jowls (my mother included), aunty seemed to be able to maintain her figure, her skin tone, her general youthful appearance. I came to know that she did rigorous yoga daily and that was the secret of her youth.
I had many opportunities to notice aunty very closely. She was very curvaceous when seen from behind. She had shapely ass cheeks and wide hips and a smaller waist (which she generously displayed). Her sari always exposed a thin layer of baby fat on her hips, and the material of her blouses did nothing to hide the bra she was wearing and which in turn outlined the shape of her tits. She let down her guard when we were around the house and I had a lot of great and bountiful looks down her blouse. The tops of her boobs almost bounced out of her blouse as she twisted and turned..
Unrelated to all this, I had developed a genuine interest in cooking and I spent a lot of time in my mother’s kitchen learning the art of South Indian cooking and other dishes. Charu aunty, though, was not that great of a cook and she had lost some of her touch while abroad. I practiced my skills in her kitchen and used it as a pretext to be near her, gawking at her body, tits and ass, noticing her panty line visible beneath her tight behind, and making up fantastical situations where we would end up fucking, naturally.
Charu aunty also figured bahis firmaları in my fantasies during those college days. I made up scenarios where we would have wild sex, with her being the one initiating and taking my virginity. Or sometimes, I would imagine forcing myself on her first and she gradually accepting me and allowing me to pleasure each other. Damn! The things I could do to her if only she was willing. She was certainly being fucked by uncle (Arun’s dad). And why not? If I had a wife like her, I would be dipping my dick in her at every opportunity. But uncle had let himself go. He was already balding, spectacled and had a very big paunch, smoked and drank (every quality my father had in equal measure). How would they be fucking? Fuck, I was jealous of Arun’s dad!
On many occasions, when Arun and I were the only ones in his house, and he was either taking a bath or a nap or otherwise preoccupied, I would sneak down to where they kept their dirty laundry for the maid to do the washing. Aunty did a good job of separating the women’s clothes from the men’s. I found that Neeta wore brightly colored panties and bras, whereas aunty used the standard issue white ones. I was convinced this was where my panty fetish developed, and I confess that it has not diminished, but has grown stronger, even in my fifties, now that I am married with children who themselves have married.
From Arun’s small room upstairs I could look down out the window and see their clothes line. On many previous occasions when I happened to be in his room, I had chanced upon Neeta’s and aunty’s clothes drying out in the sun and could clearly make out their underwear. Damn! I always thought how glorious it would be to have one in my hand. To touch and feel them, to smell them. I imagined them cupping their ass cheeks, biting into their cunts. A few times I also saw Neeta reaching behind her and correcting her wedgie as her panties rode up her ass crack. I saw aunty’s dress tight against her backside as she went about her housework and made out the faint outline of her undies. Did they wear them to bed? I made up all sorts of plans to get my hands on their underwear. Oh, what would I not do to get them!
Arun was saying, “Hi da, Ramu, just wait for ten minutes. I will take a bath and shave and then we can head out. OK?”
I said, “Fine. I will read this week’s SportStar. I missed it.”
Ten minutes were more than what I needed. As soon as I heard water running in the bathroom, I dashed downstairs to implement my almost simple plan. I was flush with excitement. Could this be the day I held a girl’s panty in my hand? What would it feel like? What would do with it? Smell it, lick it, rub it on my cock, sneak it out of the house. Fuck!
I remember it was a Sunday and the maid had the day off. The pink basket was where aunty kept her’s and Neeta’s clothes. They were in plain sight. I bent down and gingerly picked up the bright orange one. My first real panty.. In my hand! My dick swelled. My whole body shook as I turned it over this way and that. I had done a lot of research on panties and was familiar with the shapes, sizes and parts of women’s underwear. It was a full back panty as that was mostly what girls wore those days in india. I realized it was well used. Could it be the one she was wearing yesterday? The gusset was thick with crust and also slightly wet. I put it to my nose. Heaven!! Is this what cunt smelled like? Fantastic! The mellow, musky odor from where it pressed against her vagina and clit made me swoon. Last evening I had seen Neeta leaving for the library with some friends. Most of them had on skirts and as they got on to their moped and drove away, I could see flashes of long silky legs and the thick thighs of Indian girls. This sent my imagination flying and at night I jerked off thinking about Neeta, about what Neeta and her friends were wearing under her skirts. How fabulous it would be to view their thick, packed crotch, and slowly peel away their panties and feast my eyes on their cunts!
I rummaged quickly through the rest and found a blue one. I repeated the process. I put it to my nose. This time I could sense the faint aroma of piss as well. Maybe she leaked a bit? Wow! I put out my tongue and licked it all the same. Mother fucker! My cock almost exploded in my pants. It was so obscene and erotic. Was Neeta wearing the orange or the blue one yesterday? Fuck!! It was driving me crazy, just to think of this piece of cloth against her cunt lips!
Wait! How about aunty’s? I bent down and picked up an off-white panty that was clearly hers. It was a bit bigger than Neeta’s and also full back. It was clearly well used and I could see a few small holes on the front and back. I turned it inside out. The crotch was thick and crusty on this one also, like Neeta’s. And I found a few small black hairs. Cunt hairs! I said to myself. I put it to my nose. Hot damn! This smell was stronger and sharper and more pungent than Neeta’s. Maybe mature kaçak iddaa women had different secretions. Still, it was the smell of a cunt, and it went right up into my head through my nostrils! Oh god! How sweet it was!!
By this time my swollen cock was pushing itself out of my sweatpants. Some pre-cum had oozed which I ignored in my excitement of handling the panties. My imagination ran wild. Now I was on my hands and knees, my face latched on to aunty’s crotch, smelling her cunt through her panties, feeling her hairy bush on my lips! Now I had my face between Neeta’s thighs, these very panties rolled down to her knees, and the flat of my tongue licking her shaved cunt up and down.
Fucking hell! I had to get a release somehow, somewhere. But how? Where could I go in Arun’s house? What if he gets out of the bathroom? It would have to wait. I took a few last looks at the panties in my hand. I committed to memory their feel and shape. I smelled then once more. Oh! If only I could bottle this smell and keep it with me! Painfully, I tore my eyes away from them and went back.
Fuck! I was back in Arun’s room sifting through the pages on the magazine when he came out of the bathroom. I prayed that he wouldn’t notice the bulge still in my pants.
“Ready, mate?” he asked.
“Yep. Let’s go!” I said, and turned away from him.
I lost track of the number of times I repeated this over the years we were in college. If asked, I could have provided an inventory of the panties Neeta and aunty used at any point in time those years. I knew when they bought new sets – usually during the festival seasons and almost always together. Without fail, they did it twice a year.
I was able to see that as the years went on their taste changed with the times and their undergarments became more progressive. Both of them had started using boy shorts in their routine, and Neeta’s became smaller and smaller. Amazingly though, aunty maintained her shape and figure throughout and her panty size was unchanged.
Folks who grew up in India would be familiar with the way families disposed of their old clothes. We would generally collect all of them and when the quantity of unwanted and used clothes reached a certain limit, would one fine day trade them away to a group of people in the society whose social role it was to collect and repurpose these old clothes. They would offer either cash or something else of value in exchange.
Lady luck favored me a few times when this happened. Aunty generally threw the old clothes that she wanted to dispose of in a heap on the verandah by the side of the house. My mother did the same with our clothes. I was able to snatch a few of the panties from aunty’s heap and smuggle them inside my pants and get them to my house.
Oh! How I masturbated with these panties!! I placed them on my pillow and inhaled the scent of their cunts as I fell asleep. I turned them inside out and placed them on the bed and rubbed my cock on the crotch and gusset, imagining my cock going in and out of their hairy cunts, getting covered in their white, thick, slimy juices that lent their scent to the panties. They were the first smell in my mornings! I always took a sniff of the panties before my sun salutation yoga pose out on the balcony. And when I wanted to retire and dispose of a well worn pair that had served its purpose, I jerked off and spurted my cum on them as a celebratory send off gesture. Damn! Those were the days!! This is how I started my panty collection, which now in my fifties, has grown to more than two hundred from the different girls and women I knew, sexually or otherwise.
Arun and I went our separate ways after college. His family moved to Mumbai and his dad took over his uncle’s business. Arun did his MBA in Mumbai and I in Chennai. For the next three or four years I tried my hand at business but failed miserably. By a stroke of luck I managed to get a job at a multinational software company.
Imagine my surprise when I came to know that Arun and I both had been offered jobs at the same private company in Bangalore and both of us had accepted. We stuck to each other like long lost brothers in a Hindi movie. We decided to get an apartment and stay together.
Our landlords were an old couple in their sixties and Arun and I got along with them very well. We called them uncle and aunty as was natural. I was friendly with aunty and Arun found a smoking and drinking partner in uncle. They lived alone and were visited by their daughter’s family over the weekends. They had a cute grand-daughter named Madhu who was in the second year of college. She seemed to want to talk to us but was very shy. Arun somehow finagled himself in a position to spend a couple of hours with her when they were visiting by promising to tutor her on math and other subjects! Good for him, I thought.
Arun and I spent long hours reflecting on our childhood and college days, recalling fond memories of places and people visited, kaçak bahis of things done and not done, of regrets and all the rest. Along the way he dropped the news that Neeta was working at a company in the neighboring town and was only an hour’s drive away. I knew she had been married for about three years now. She had fallen in love with a guy from her college. We had been invited to the wedding of course. I couldn’t attend but my parents did.
Arun dropped another bombshell. His parents may be coming to visit us in our apartment and stay for a bit just to see how we are getting along.
What!! Neeta and Charu aunty! Wow! Again after so long! A flood of memories came rushing back to me. Man, those were the days! How would they be now? Along with the fond memories came the sexual ones that I had treasured during our years together. Neeta and her boobs. Aunty and her fantastic ass. Their panties!! Goddamn!!
I must confess that at twenty-five, I was still a virgin. Arun had confided in me that he was one too. But I had reached first, second and third bases with a few of the girls in college and postgraduate school and at work. I had convinced them to give me their panties in exchange for other favors – assisting in homework, positions in clubs, procuring alcohol and drugs in some cases, getting them plum projects at work etc. Some gave them willingly and others scoffed at my fetish. But none was willing to go all the way. So here I was with my panties collection just growing with some new additions over the years.
That night I opened my treasure chest and took out the very first panties I had in my collection. An orange one from Neeta and a grey one from aunty. I fantasized and jerked off all night long with these two. Oh! How I missed them. When will I see them again? Would they have changed?
Arun had changed over the years. He took after his dad. He smoked a pack a day and drank alcohol without fail each night. He had become soft in the middle and was nearly obese. He had put on a lot of weight and now wore glasses. But he was my friend and I did not want to judge him. He wanted to live life his way, and I mine.
I had discovered the pleasures and joy of yoga in my early twenties. I also discovered girls, women, chicks, dames, broads. I wanted to impress them. I worked out furiously. I immersed myself in a tough fitness and dietary regime. I gave up alcohol. I was brought up a vegetarian but in college I converted to eating all kinds of meat. And by the time I joined Arun at work I was fit and trim as an elite soldier in the army. I was a late bloomer and grew taller in my late teens. I was a full head taller than Arun and my shoulders were wide and rounded. I kept my hair short and my clothes tight. I could see with glee how girls were noticing me and were willing to chat me up or did not object when I went up to talk to them. Even older women and girls I passed on the street gave me the once over. Man it was good to be fit and strong.
“Oh Ramu!” gushed Charu aunty as I opened the door to the 2-bedroom apartment I shared with Arun. “Look at you. My! Arun was right! You have changed! You are a man now. Wow!” she continued. Arun was doing the afternoon shift at work so it was just me in the house.
I laughed nervously, “Oh Aunty. Nice to see you. It’s been a long time .. it’s you know… some exercise and good food..that’s all. Nothing much.”
“Nothing much?! I have known you since you were practically a baby. Oh I am proud of you,” she reached up and squeezed my bicep. “Nice!”
Meanwhile uncle had also come in and we all had a good laugh at what aunty said.
Charu aunty still looked very trim and fit and I was sure she took care of herself very well. Even now her sari could not hide her curves. Seeing her wide hips, narrow waist, well-defined arms brought back memories. Man! She looked good. She was a MILF if ever there was one. Her boobs seemed bigger than ever and her thighs were thick and round under her sari. I imagined her ass to be as tight as I remembered it to be. She was sweating and had a thin layer of moisture in the armpits of her blouse and droplets on her hips and forehead, all adding to her allure. The ten years got wiped out in the 30 seconds since I laid my eyes on her again. My cock responded immediately and I turned away. God! I wanted to fuck her!!
“You can get a role in a movie,” aunty continued. And then added, “Am I not correct, Neeta?” She turned to the door. “Neeta? Where is Neeta? Oh must be bringing stuff from the car.”
Neeta? Here? Now? Damn! And I am not prepared!
“What ma?” said a sweet voice from the door, and Neeta walked in. She looked stunning! She had lost some weight. She too looked trim and fit. Her hair fell in curls around her head. She was wearing a salwar-kameez without a dupatta and her top was stretched tight across her firm breasts. Her tummy was flat and made a V between her thick thighs. Her smile was radiant and it only got wider and more beautiful as she laid eyes on me. God, she was magnificent. It took me all of five secinds to assess her, but I wanted to fuck her right then and there. My cock swelled a bit more in my pants.
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