The Panty Perils of Me

OK, I can get back to Mr. Lawrence now that I have brought you up to date on Professor Eric.

Mr. Lawrence had asked me to accompany him to a theme party at his racquet club. He told that the theme of the party at his club was “Rock of Ages”; the musical based upon the late 80’s and early 90’s style of dress and music.

I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s when pants were tight, skirts and shorts were short, and bras and panties came in all colors and patterns; a time when I had awakened sexually; seen my first erection; gave my first hand job; and swallowed my first mouthful of spunk.

It brought back so many memories of my first times causing mini convulsions to begin in that sensitive area between my legs.

I couldn’t wait to get out and find my ‘Rock and Roll’ outfit.

I drove to a store just off of the University where most everyone went for their Halloween costumes as it carried clothes or facsimiles of clothes from the 50’s through the 90’s.

I immediately looked for a black denim micro mini as it was my secret uniform on weekends. You know what I mean.

I would leave my house in jeans with my mini tucked away inside my shoulder bag. Once my girlfriends and I were a few blocks away from the house, we would pull the car over and change into our “Hey guys, look at us” outfits.

As I recalled my younger years, I continued to look through the skirts trying to locate one that would duplicate my wardrobe of 20 years ago.

When I found one in my size, I perused the blouses with shoulder pads and found one that was pure 90’s. It was a blue blouse that buttoned up the front with a Native American print and huge shoulder pads.

Two items down, one to go.

I then went through the shoes and found the perfect pair of black suede boots that covered my ankles and had a black leather piece of trim around the top with 3 inch heels.

I took everything into the dressing room and tried on the blouse and skirt. The blouse was perfect as the shoulder pads made it look square on my body and the tails barely reached to my waist.

I was 19 years old again.

It was exactly what I used to wear on Friday and Saturday nights after I had graduated and started going to clubs and parties.

Now it was time to put on the black denim mini.

It looked short on the hanger. I mean, very short.

I took it off of the hanger, stepped into it and pulled it up my legs. The hem just kept going higher and higher as I pulled.

It sat perfectly on my hips just like I used to wear them, and the short length of my blouse left a space of bare skin where the waistband of the skirt and the tails of my blouse ended.

I then looked in the mirror and saw my legs exposed to the top of my thighs. OMG!!

I reached my arms high over my head, and there was my nylon covered crotch staring back at me.

I turned around and leaned forward as if to pick something up from the seat in the dressing room. Yep! My panties were on display in the back as well.

It is such a shock to put on a skirt that you commonly wore while in your 20’s to realize how much of yourself used to show.

I can’t even imagine how I did anything as the slightest movement of my arms brought the hem up to my crotch.

No wonder I attracted so much attention.

This skirt was exactly the length and style that I wore in my late teens and early 20’s, but I am now in my forties.

Purposely showing so much skin off to Mr. Lawrence or anyone else just didn’t seem the right thing to do.

So why am I starting to feel aroused just thinking about it.

Ever since this whole chain of panty perils began I have allowed my deepest desires and fantasies to take precedent in my decision making.

I need to start acting more responsible.

I gathered up my clothes and boots and walked back to the mini skirts. As I looked through all of the skirts sliding one hanger after another on the rack, I felt my body reacting to the reflection of myself in the dressing room mirror.

It was flooding my mind with all of the memories of my younger years.

I loved to tease and my array of short, short skirts with eye catching colors worn underneath became my weapon.

After all this was only for one night.

Without even realizing it I found myself at the cash register sliding my credit card, as the blue blouse, black suede boots, and black denim micro mini were being put into a bag.

As I started my trek home the sense of deja vu became even stronger.

I started to remember the first pair of panties that I had purchased for myself with my own money.

My sexual awakening was accompanied by a desire to wear women panties, not little girl ones. The days of cotton bikinis with kittens or rainbows printed on them had drawn to a close.

I wanted something much sexier underneath my school uniform and mini skirts.

I went by myself to the mall and found three pair of matching string bikini panties in the thinnest nylon fabric. The string was literally a string as it was a nylon covered string of stretchy material.

Just picking a pair up from the display table was a sensual delight as they were made from a mere whisper of fabric. The overhead lighting in the store caused the fabric to be almost transparent as I could see my fingers through the material.

Just imagining wearing something so light and thin caused my lower lips to swell.

The colors were red, white and blue, and I purchased all three.

Once I got home I closed the door to my bedroom trying one of the pair on. I was too intimidated to try them on at the store as I could only imagine the sales woman thinking, “slut” as I showed her my selection and headed into the dressing rooms.

I couldn’t believe how tiny they were as the little triangle in front barely covered my pubis.

The amount of skin that was uncovered between my navel and the top of my panties was quite a bit more than I was used to.

The string sides cut ever so slightly into my hips stretching the thin fabric so it fit snugly across my bottom barely covering my 19 year old cheeks.

Once I was done trying on all three I quickly stuffed them in the very bottom of my underwear drawer knowing that my days of having my mother wash my clothes were over.

As I recalled how I felt whenever I wore them, I realized this was when my “moods” began. I would always feel super sexy, along with very sexually charged.

Is it just possible that my series of panty perils is my own karma asserting itself for being such a tease when I was younger?

Remembering all of this in such vivid detail was a bit overwhelming. I hadn’t really felt so sexually alive or desirable since my children were born.

My inner wanton sex goddess had been dormant until the morning that my skirt tore off at the playground, thus beginning this series of adventures. (Please read The Panty Perils of Me 1)

There is no doubt that my series of panty perils had brought the 19 year old me out of hibernation.

No wonder my “moods” were so frequent now.

As I sat in my car remembering my first ‘sexy’ panties, I knew that I needed to find a pair just like them.

And I knew just the place to look.

My plan to start behaving responsibly hadn’t survived for longer than 20 minutes.

I drove to a small lingerie boutique that I frequented regularly. In fact, I thought that I should bring Professor Eric here as I walked in the door.

Right on the first display table was a royal blue pair of string bikini panties.

Does karma play a role in lingerie as well?

I went right to them and held them up. They were perfect. The string sides were literally stretchy strings covered in blue nylon. They connected a small triangle of blue nylon that would barely cover my trimmed mound with a little larger triangle of blue nylon that would also barely cover my derriere.

And just like my original pair there was no additional lining in the crotch, allowing my intimate area to essentially be front and center to all tactile sensations.

When I was 19 and discovered my red, white, and blue pair, I reveled in how thin the nylon fabric was. My kernel would react to everything that I pushed my crotch against.

Even if I was wearing jeans, I could get off by humping a table edge.

In high school I would purposely lean against a desk pushing my pubis into the edge just to feel the sensations invade my awakening kitty.

These memories just kept coming and my need to act out was coming with them.

Acting responsibly was already in the past tense as I held the delicate two triangle creation in my hand.

I took the size small, waving to the owner as I walked to the dressing room.

Off came everything that I had on below my waist and I stepped into this tiny blue nylon creation.

Yes, I know that I should be trying on panties over my panties, but just like when I was 19, I needed to feel the barely there fabric against my skin.

I just knew that they would fit.

As I pulled the strings up to about 4 inches below my hip bones, I let out a long exhale of pure satisfaction.

They were perfect. I lightly rubbed two fingers across my lower lips and just as it had so many years ago, my entire body came alive.

Looking in the mirror, I was no longer 42 years old, but 19 again wearing my favorite pair of panties underneath an extremely short mini skirt.

There was no doubt that I wanted to feel sexy and vibrant again.

Everything about this party was going to test my limits for proper conduct and decorum. Hell, why am I kidding myself?

The wanton 19 year old sex goddess inside of me had been released from bondage and now she wanted to play.

I kept the panties on, handing the price tag to my friend, telling her to order every color in my size.

All of the way home, my entire body pulsed with sexual energy.

I only had 24 hours before the party to calm down and hoped that it would be enough time.

Deep down I wanted to feel this way for the rest of my life.

The Party

Friday night arrived. I had on my 90’s outfit and the need to tease.

Harold (Mr. Lawrence) drove into my driveway and I quickly exited my house so none of my neighbors would notice my attire or escort for the evening.

I opened the door and slid into the seat. If I hadn’t known already, the look on Harold’s face told me all that I needed to know as to how short my skirt was.

I remembered the same look when I was similarly dressed so many years ago.

Harold was in a black shirt and very tight black jeans that displayed his physical reaction to my short skirt quite effectively.

Another sight that I was used to seeing long ago.

We drove to the club with Harold taking every opportunity to look over at my legs as my skirt extended no more than a couple of inches past my crotch.

I was getting wet just from the visual attention that he was giving me.

This evening I may have had a 40 year old body, but my mind was only 19 and it wanted to play.

We pulled into the driveway in front of the clubhouse and a valet opened my door. There was no way for me to not give him a full view of my blue nylon covered crotch so I didn’t even bother to be discreet.

As I slid my right leg out of the door, my skirt slid up the remaining two inches and I could feel the night air say hello to my kitty.

I wanted to squeeze my thighs together and rub them up and down, but stopped myself.

It was a little early in the evening to be masturbating particularly in front of such a young man.

I looked into the valet’s eyes as his eyes looked down at my crotch and enjoyed watching his lips curl up in a smug look of satisfaction.

He had no idea that I was letting him see up my skirt on purpose.

As I slid out of the seat my royal blue crotch came fully into view and the valet’s jaw dropped.

I can only imagine what stories he would be sharing with his friends regarding my crotch.

I loved to tease when I was young, and had no idea how much more exciting it was at 42.

Now I was really getting wet.

Any sense of being prim and proper had been left behind in the lingerie store’s dressing room.

Harold came around and joined me oblivious to the valet’s voyeur instincts and escorted me into the club.

The party room was made out to look like a 90’s rock club with a bar on one end and a deejay and his music equipment on the other.

Harold introduced me around to his various clients and other members of the club. It was quite amusing to see so many couples in their 40’s and 50’s dressed to look like aging rock stars and groupies.

I was one of the few women that had opted to wear a micro mini as most had on skin tight black,white, or red lycra pants. All with coordinating ankle boots similar to mine.

Hair was big and teased and most of the men were wearing wigs that might have been borrowed from their wives, but they served the purpose.

It was fun to see the upper class of the city out to have some fun.

The evening went very well and I was probably asked to dance by most every man in the room. The music along with two hands clutching my bottom brought back more memories of my early 20’s.

By the end of the evening the front hem of my skirt had a permanent V-shaped fold in it as so many of my dance partners had ground their erections into me.

It didn’t seem to matter whether the music was fast or slow as virtually all of us women with decent figures were the recipients of groping hands and grinding penises.

I remember my school dances to be very similar until the nuns forced all of us young couples to separate.

Many of the men remembered me from the charity auction and asked me how my day of service had gone with Mr. Abromsky.

I responded as vaguely as possible although I am sure that they would have enjoyed my story of being the center of a circle jerk.

Other than the aforementioned groping and grinding, Harold was the perfect gentlemen for the evening. After all it wasn’t like he was the only one doing it.

And if truth be told, I enjoyed the attention that I was receiving and how it made me feel i.e. just like when I was 19.

An elderly and very distinguished gentlemen stood off to the side of the room for most of the evening staring at me. It wasn’t the kind of stare that would make you uncomfortable. It felt more like a compliment.

I gave him a smile and he nodded at me.

He wasn’t dressed for the party as he was wearing a beautifully tailored deep blue check patterned dress shirt and a pair of black silk trousers.

I found myself looking at him just as much as he was looking at me.

I liked everything about him and didn’t even know him.

I would guess that he was in his early 60’s, tall and lean with thinning gray hair. His face had a very sharp jaw line along with two gorgeous hazel eyes that made my stomach quiver as well as another part of my anatomy.

He was very comfortable being the only one in the room without a costume and I could tell that all of the other members respected him as they all took the time to say ‘hello.’

After what seemed forever, Harold finally took me over to him and introduced me. His last name was Van der Waal and he was the founding member of the club.

I was comfortable with him immediately and hoped that our paths would cross again very soon.

I didn’t realize at the time that they would cross later in the same evening.

By the time the evening ended I was fully in my mood.

The combination of my outfit, my underwear, the music, and the memories of my younger years all served to create the perfect formula for acting out.

Every time I visited the bathroom, the visage of a 42 year old woman looked back at me in the mirror, but all I saw was a 19 year old looking to have some fun.

We left the club and the same valet brought our car to us making sure to get out of the driver’s seat and around to the passenger side before I opened the door for myself.

It seems that one good view up my skirt deserved another, so as before my blue nylon covered crotch was front and center and with the newly added V-shaped fold in the front of my denim skirt he saw all of the way to the top elastic.

It made me feel so deliciously naughty to let him stare up my skirt.

I even parted my legs just enough to show him my developing camel toe.

I was in full tease mode.

The vibrations were intensifying and I was enjoying every shake, rattle, and roll.

I should have asked Harold to take me home, but I was beyond playing it safe.

I settled into the front seat applying my seatbelt, which only served to exaggerate the front fold in my skirt.

Harold noticed my uncovered crotch the moment he climbed into the driver’s seat. His eyes told me, although his smile told me much more.

He was aching for some alone time with me and with the mood that I was in I was willing to play.

After all, he had invited me to one of the most fun evenings that I had experienced in a long time and had introduced me to Mr. Van der Waal, who I couldn’t stop thinking about.

Doesn’t all of that deserve a little play time?

We drove to a nearby park, which normally would have caused me some anxiety, but not on this particular night.

I was so completely lost in my memories, that it only seemed natural to find a secluded parking lot in order to thank my date for the wonderful evening.

With Harold’s hand on my upper thigh, I leaned over and placed my own hand directly on the tent formed in the front of his pants.

He slid his hand up my bare leg towards the crotch of my panties as I undid his belt and unzipped his pants.

While he continued to grope between my parted legs, causing my lower lips to start glistening, I pulled his pants down his legs to see the top three inches of his erection sticking out of a pair of my lilac panties. The very same pair that I had given to his son, Arnold, after our first or was it our second date.

Well, well, like father like son, I thought to myself, bringing me back to my current age.

It was akin to having a bucket of ice cold water thrown in my face as well as between my legs. But I couldn’t help but stare at Harold’s full erection barely encased in my lilac panties.

It was so weird and sexy all at the same time.

Yes, I loved to have his son Arnold wearing my panties, but this was a grown man, not a young, impressionable 19 year old.

His testicles and lower shaft completely filled the front and could be seen quite clearly as the thin nylon material hugged every bulge.

It wasn’t long before the cold water effect vanished as I continued to stare between his legs and I found my hand rubbing the front of my panties i.e. the ones currently being worn by Mr. Lawrence, eliciting a very satisfied and sensual moan from his lips.

I realized right then and there that I really like to see my panties being worn by a man, or at least the two men from the same family.

I closed my hand around his lower shaft wrapping the thin nylon material around his erection and began to slide it up and own.

I was using the material of my panties to get him off.

Harold moved his hand away from my crotch using the other one to locate the automatic seat control.

He tilted the back of his seat down so his pelvis was now front and center.

I continued stroking him through the slippery nylon material watching the tip of his penis ooze almost continuously.

My panties were so small on him and yet they fit perfectly.

It was so odd for me to see a pair of my panties on my date and at the same time so arousing.

Along with everything else, how could I not reward him for providing me with such an unusual and sexy vision?

After all it’s just a hand job right?

I had buried his son’s face in my crotch and used it to masturbate.( see The Panty Perils of Me 14), so what’s the big deal about giving Dad a hand job.

My mind was getting over active with thoughts and ideas and if I let it continue I would have been able to justify anything.

I stopped myself so I could concentrate on the matter at hand or should I say the erection in my hand?

Repositioning myself I knelt on the passenger seat. Now I could completely focus on the very sexy sight in front of me.

I have always loved to see a man squirt.

Well, it was time to have Harold squirt for me.

Another father/son comparison for my memoirs.

Harold started to move his pelvis in the opposite direction of my manual ministrations until he was perfectly in sync with my hand movements.

But then, catching me completely by surprise, he grabbed the back of my head forcing my face right into his groin smearing my lips and cheek with his issuing goo.

I know how much most men enjoy having a woman’s lips wrapped around their pleasure pole, but I still wasn’t expecting to find Mr. Lawrence’s penis between mine.

I can’t quite explain why I opened my mouth letting his oozing erection slide into it, but I did.

I guess the nuns were right about me being a ‘loose girl’ after all.

With one hand now firmly in place on the back of my head, he used his free hand to literally tear the hem of my micro mini up and over my protruding bottom.

Not the easiest feat as I was kneeling on the seat next to him bent over with my head in his lap, which stretched the material of my skirt around my upper thighs and butt.

I guess that he really wanted to see my panties.

As the fabric of my skirt slid up and over my nylon clad bottom I felt the cool night air caress my swollen and moistening lower lips that were extruding from between my legs

Harold slid his fingers across my cheeks easily locating my camel toe and began to massage my puckering lips.

In response to his groping fingers I began to move my head as far down as I could until the head of his penis would hit the back of my throat and then bring it all the way back up. With my pursed lips around his swollen tip I used my tongue to lick away the goo eliciting a little “huh” from his lips.

At the same time I would emit a little “ach” as my gag reflex would react to the feel of his penis against the very back of my throat.

If anyone had heard us, we were a symphony of “Huh, Ach, Huh, Ach”.

Knowing that he no longer needed to physically encourage my oral efforts on his penis, Harold used both hands to pull my skirt completely up my lower torso almost turning it inside out around my waist.

And as you know by now, I hate having men stare at my panties especially when I have them on.

I was beyond aroused.

Now that he had me uncovered to my string bikini panties from the waist down and my mouth affixed to his firm flesh, it wasn’t long before his entire body tensed and a loud “Yesss” exited his mouth.

I knew full well what usually followed a loud exclamation of “Yesss” as I wasn’t an amateur at oral sex.

The first spasm of ejaculation filled my mouth.

So much for watching him squirt, but I certainly was getting a taste.

As one liquid spasm after another threatened to overflow from my mouth, I continued to suck and swallow until nothing but a dribble was issuing from his tiny oriface.

My kitty wanted to be stroked, but it seems that it was to remain neglected unless I took care of it myself.

Harold was the one to raise my head from his softening penis allowing me to sit back on my heels still with my skirt well above my waist.

“God, that was the best ever,” he said to me and I couldn’t help but smile.

When he added, “You are such an incredible woman,” it erased any guilty feelings that would regularly accompany this latest performance with fellow married person.

Maybe I was getting past feeling guilty about my sexual urges and moods.

I still was feeling very sexy and alive. My body was tingling in anticipation of something more.

When Harold started to drive me home I blurted out, “Let’s go back to your club,” with a sly grin on my face.

I have no idea why it was so important for me to go back to the club, but I was listening to my over aroused body and it wanted to go back to the club.

The Club

So back to the club we went.

Everyone was gone for the night and the lights were out.

I opened my door and got out feeling the cool night air on my exposed skin. Pulling the hem of my skirt back down to its proper position, I reached behind my back undoing the button and zipper, and let it side down and stepped out of it.

The thought of walking around an exclusive club wearing nothing below my waist other than my string panties was intoxicating to me.

If it had been just a little warmer, I would have removed my blouse as well.

Harold followed me with a look of consternation on his face. He wasn’t very comfortable being with a half dressed woman strolling about his Club, particularly one who wasn’t his wife.

I on the other hand was fully in one of my moods.

We walked around to the back of the club where the tennis courts were located.

Harold nervously whispered, “I think we better go.”

I didn’t want to listen as I had an orgasm to attend to.

I sauntered over to the gate in the chain link fence walking inside to the court. Taking a hold of the chain link fence while looking directly at Harold who was standing on the other side I pushed my crotch up against the metal links.

I loved how the thin nylon fabric allowed me to feel everything as I rubbed myself between the links.

My lower lips had parted quite a while ago letting my female kernel protrude slightly from its aperture.

I found that I was able to rub the very tip against the metal links of the fence sending the most exquisite sensations throughout my entire body.

Harold’s nervousness was forgotten as he watched me hump the fence. The look in his eyes as he stared at my nylon cloaked pubis rubbing between the links aroused me even further.

Despite his desire to leave he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.

I wanted to put on a show that he would remember for a very, very long time.

It is funny how not so long ago the thought of masturbating while someone watched me would make me break out in a cold sweat. Now the sweat was very warm and located right between my legs.

But I required a more effective perch to really get my blood flowing.

I looked around and spied the short metal post that held the tennis net up and walked over to it wiggling my bottom and swinging my hips.

I took a hold of the top of the metal post while doing my best impression of a pole dancer; squatting down, spreading my knees wide apart, and leaning way back so the very center of my crotch was right up against the metal post.

It was nice and smooth which along with my lubricated panties made my sliding movement quite effective.

I was now lost in my need to orgasm becoming oblivious to Harold as well as anyone else that might have been watching as this latest technique was bringing me very close to the edge.

Each time that I was on the precipice of orgasm, I would pull my entire body into the pole pressing my lower lips and protruding kernel firmly against the metal.

The cold metal pressing against my intimate spot effectively shut my impending orgasm down allowing me to continue in my pre-orgasmic state.

I was so close, but didn’t want my current condition to end. It felt so good to be so sexually charged and uninhibited.

I wanted to stay in this state of orgasmic suspense for as long as I could.

I found myself wishing that the nuns from my high school could have been here to witness how I had turned out.

The feeling of being so scandalous and sexually out of control was exactly what I was craving.

It had begun with my little walk down memory lane and now was seeking new memories to feed my fantasies.

Knowing that the longer I delayed my orgasm, the more intense it would be, served as my compass and now the needle was pointing towards the tennis net itself.

I let go of the post intending to straddle the tennis net. Swinging a leg up and over the net allowed the taut fabric to press against my soaked crotch.

Slowly sliding along the net only served to increase my state of sexual arousal and abandonment.

I walked the entire length of the net making sure that its hard surface was pressed directly against my over sensitive nub.

Just as I was right on the cusp of a very over due release of all my pent up sexual energy and without any warning, a tennis ball smacked me across my barely covered bottom.

It turned out that not everyone had gone home as I had thought.

The same distinguished gentlemen, Mr. Van der Waal, that had spent most of the evening watching me from the corner of the room had commandeered the ball machine expertly aiming it at my butt.

It wasn’t set very high provided a rather erotic stinging feeling on my nylon covered cheek.

I had attracted a playmate to my tennis court provocation.

I should have been alarmed or at least embarrassed, but I was quite a few miles down the road from feeling self-conscious.

Besides, as I previously have stated, I liked the look of this older man from the moment that I first noticed him.

There was something about him that gave me a sense of sexual abandonment, which was certainly my current craving.

I offered him my best version of an enticing smile, again lifting my leg up over the net. Walking back to the post, I bent my upper body forward, providing my new provocateur a more tempting target.

Another ball smacked against my other cheek sending a delicious vibration to that sensitive spot between my legs.

This was exactly what I had been searching for all night i.e an experience that was sensually kinky.

Giving Mr. Lawrence a blow job with my mini pulled up to my waist allowed me to relive a period of my younger years that I often wished was still present.

However, being molested by a ball machine aimed by a distinguished looking stranger put much more of an adult spin on the evening’s activities.

I watched over my shoulder as the next series of well aimed balls ricocheted off my bottom bringing with them more exquisite tingling between my legs.

My attacker knew that I was I enjoying his expertise, and by the size of the pole sticking straight out from the front of his beautifully draped trousers I could tell that he was enjoying me as his target.

I held up one hand to have him cease his assault and slowly walked back to the chain link fence putting a very exaggerated swing in my hips.

I could feel his eyes on my barely covered cheeks as I strolled back over to the fence. It made me excited to know that this obviously successful man was interested in me.

I took a hold of the fence with both of my hands, giving a little shake with my cheeks as my signal to start shooting again, although my mind was focused on a different kind of shooting.

Smack, smack, smack went the tennis balls across my cheeks pushing my groin into the chain link fence sending delectable sensations right to the tip of my female nub.

Each ball that bounced off my bottom brought me closer and closer to orgasm.

My inner thighs were dripping in response to everything that had occurred and was occurring on this tennis court.

The fact that I was getting off at having tennis balls aimed at my panty covered bottom was more than strange.

But think about it a bit. I had a phallic shaped cannon shooting missiles at my almost naked body.

It was the perfect symbolistic representation of being ejaculated on. At least I thought so. And my body was reacting to it.

After all don’t they say that the most effective sexual weapon is the human brain.

I only wonder what Freud would have thought about it.

I again stuck my hand out and cautiously turned around with my mound and crotch front and center.

His aim was incredible as the next ball hit me right up against my swollen and open lips vibrating my nub into a minor spasm.

It was more of a splat than a smack as my entire intimate area was drooling sex.

It was so unexpected that I grabbed myself between my legs letting out a little squeal of “Ouch.”

I slid down the fence still gripping my crotch to find myself sitting on the cool surface of the tennis court with my legs splayed out in front of me.

The cool air on my sodden crotch felt good.

I looked for Harold, but it seems that when the latest participant came along, Harold had vacated the premises.

So Mr. Lawrence had abandoned me again, only this time he had gotten what he wanted from me. And I have to admit that I enjoyed every swallow.

Mr. Van der Waal approached me as I sat on the ground minus my skirt displaying a dark blue stain across the crotch of my panties.

His face was filled with concern for my crotch causing me to giggle out loud.

“I am quite all right, Mr. Van der Waal,” I said, “I just wasn’t expecting such a perfectly aimed shot to my intimate area.”

I really enjoyed everything about him.

He responded, “Ms. Harley, I am so very sorry for the errant tennis ball. I had no idea that you were going to turn around. I must say that despite this final mishap, you have provided me the most interesting and erotic evening that I have had in years. I have watched you when you have been a guest of the Club, and you have the same spark in your eyes that my wife had when she was alive.”

“I am so sorry for your loss, but if you wouldn’t mind telling me, what spark is that?” I replied.

“You have a sense of adventure combined with a lack of inhibition that sets you apart. I was hoping to connect with you sometime soon. This evening confirmed my intuition about you.”

As we talked he told me about his late wife who had passed away 5 years previously.

He had grown a company from the ground up and then sold it making him very wealthy.

With time on his hands along with a passion for all racquet sports, he founded an exclusive club for exclusive members.

These members were much like him; they enjoyed racquet sports as well as women or men that had that spark in their eyes.

The entire time that we conversed I remained seated on the ground perfectly comfortable to be sitting in front of him in my blue blouse and panties.

I really liked him; a lot.

He finally reached down, taking my hand pulling me up from the ground.

As I tried to get my feet under me, I was still a little dizzy from being on the edge of orgasm for so long that I stumbled against him feeling his erection directly against my stomach.

It gave me a very naughty idea.

I started by telling him about the party and how much it brought back memories of my late teens and early 20’s.

I explained my outfit as it was exactly what I used to wear when I was young and discovering my sexual side, right down to my panties.

I lifted my blouse to give him an unobstructed look at my teeny royal blue string bikini panties performing a little pirouette so he saw me front and back.

I was so incredibly comfortable around him.

When I turned back around, his smile told me that he liked me as well, although there was something else about it that made me quiver.

It wasn’t a nervous quiver, but more of a “What else is going on in that kinky little mind of yours?” quiver.

I ignored it and ant on to share my story of the first time that I performed a hand job on my boyfriend, although it really wasn’t a hand job as it involved more of my abdomen and belly button than my hand.

I reached for the front of Mr. Van der Waal’s trousers and undid his zipper explaining how I had stood in front of my boyfriend with nothing on but my blouse and the same style of panties that I had on now except that they were red.

Reaching inside his open fly I discovered that he was wearing an exquisite pair of black bikini briefs in a very soft and thin silk fabric.

Thinking that I might have discovered my second panty wearing male of the evening I reached further inside the opening and explored the fabric and fit.

It was a pure pleasure to investigate his erection while it was encased in such a fine fabric, and since there definitely was a pouch for his goodies, I knew that he wasn’t wearing panties.

Keeping my hand inside his trousers while gripping his erection through the silk fabric, I told him that my boyfriend also wore bikini briefs, which excited me to no end and still did.

He let me continue my story and demonstration without any interruption. What a surprise!

I unbuttoned the front of my blouse while keeping my other hand busy stroking his throbbing flesh telling him how I had pulled my boyfriend’s erection out and over the top of his bikini briefs and then through the opening in his trousers.

Out came Mr. Van der Waal’s erection into the cool star lit night glistening with its own kind of dew.

I then began to rub his firm oozing flesh across my stomach making sure that the very sensitive opening in the ridge of the head was placed directly on my navel.

Just as I had done so many years ago, I rubbed his erection across my stomach letting his goo create a slick enough surface on my skin to provide just the right amount of friction.

Mr. Van der Waal’s eyes rolled back into his head and he began to let out a most delectable moan.

I pushed the head of his totem of flesh firmly against my skin and began to stroke his shaft from top to bottom.

My other hand reached under the crotch of his silk trousers and I began to massage his scrotum as well.

It wasn’t long before his body arched back pushing his erection deeper into my stomach and the first spurt of white, sticky goo gushed forth splashing across my skin.

I pushed two of my fingers against his scrotum while sliding my other hand to the base of his penis issuing another stream of hot liquid across my stomach.

It was virtually identical to how I remembered it happening so many years ago that I completely lost the fact that I was performing this particular activity on a complete stranger; a man that I had only met for the first time a few hours ago.

I found myself encouraging him by saying, “That’s it honey, squirt on me.” I pointed his ejaculating penis at my tiny breasts letting his warm spunk splash across my very erect nipples.

Yes, I wasn’t wearing a bra as I couldn’t find one that went with my panties.

It seems like he hadn’t ejaculated in quite a while as he continued to erectile vomit all over my exposed abdomen and breasts.

I literally milked him until my front torso was dripping in creme.

I guess that I was more than just a target for his tennis balls.

I certainly hadn’t lost my talent for hand jobs either, although I was now covered in spunk without any method of cleaning myself off.

Once Mr. Van der Waal had gotten himself put away, he led me to the rear entrance to the club and to the door of the ladies locker room.

“You should find everything that you need inside.” he said holding the door open for me.

I walked inside stripping off my clothes except for my panties and walked into the shower room.

Since my panties were dripping of sexual residue I thought that they needed a good washing as well.

Each shower head had its own tiny stall for privacy with a curtain.

I slid aside the curtain to the nearest stall, turning the shower on to hot and luxuriated in the warm stream of water rinsing all of the evening’s activities off my skin.

I slipped my soaked panties off and washed them with the liquid body wash found in every shower and slung them over the curtain rod to drip dry.

Then while leaning against the back wall of my stall I aimed the shower spray right between my legs so it caressed my still aching nub.

I still hadn’t orgasmed and it was time.

As my moans increased their intensity I didn’t realize how the sound echoed off the tile walls particularly when only one person was in the shower area.