pervy otw!michael being a panty theif :D (not proofread)
you’ve spent many a day at hayvenhurst, at this point it was safe to call it your second home. very familiar with the family, it was common for you to spend days, weeks, at times months at their residence. their doors were always open for you. this also means spending long nights, and tedious days. a girls gotta change clothes at some point! fortunately for michael he’d convince you to make his bedroom your return base for changing and sleeping. it’s like old times!
so it was only a matter of time before he spotted a pair of discarded panties on the floor of his bedroom. dainty as frail the way they’ve been forgotten, he’s so delirious from the sight it’s almost as if the cotton is taunting him. in hindsight the underwear kind of blended in, michael has a pretty busy room. but to him, it revealed itself blatantly.
the god-sent angel on his shoulder tells him to throw them in your sleepover bag, call in a sister. however, the devil on his shoulder says to pocket them. she wouldn’t notice..
with wonders of what he should do he has a mental battle with is conscious, but not long after lust has revealed itself as the decision maker.
he carefully peers behind his shoulder for any sign of nearby company before sneakily swiping the fabric into his large hands, and stuffing them beneath his pillow for later.
when later comes and it’s due to him being ‘exhausted’ and tired, he skips out on the planned activity you and his siblings scheduled for the day. he had something entirely different planned for his late afternoon.
a burnt orange glow casts a twinkly ambiance through the window shades and into his room. the setting is soft and comfortable, perfect for the plans he’s set to achieve. michael’s sat in his bed, hands steady as they lay at his sides. that angel and devil make their way back to his consciousness, face written with a mixture of guilty excitement and anxiety.
what if someone where to catch him, what if someone finds out, could someone secretly be listening? are his ancestors watching wishing they could slap him on the wrist?
but again that overwhelming weight of lust has him unconsciously reaching beneath his pillow. he thumbs at the fabric, lids heavy, and blinking slowly when he stares down at it. the material is worn, velvety and soft to the touch. and you’ve been marinating in it all day yesterday. your slit probably swallowed these panties whole, and he knows this fabric is drenched with your scent. so it’s only fair he tests his assumption.
with hesitance he slowly brings the crotch of the underwear to his nostrils, subtly halting before he allows himself the blissful experience of taking his first whiff.
his semi hardens to its fullest in an instant, head lulled back in lustful satisfaction, eyes nearly knocked to the back of his head. something too mentally and physically stimulating, you smell exactly how he assumed you would.
he knows he should feel guilty, he should feel perverted, disgusting, even untrustworthy. instead he feels a dark tinge of excitement. his mouth salivates at the sight of your worn out panties delicately woven through his fingers, he wants to mouth at it so bad. just place the tip of his tongue where your pussy once was, a tiny little taste wouldn’t hurt.
a filthy animal is what he is, lapping against the fabric, poisoning his senses with the natural smell of your pheromones. spit slick lips soil the panties now, a wet spot currently showing clear evidence that your underwear’s been tampered with. his free hand has made itself comfortable gripping at his thigh, dangerously close to where his need has grown, tip engorged and desperate the way it’s being neglected beneath this cursed denim.
there’s a twinge of desperation that shakes beneath his breath when he breathes, finally deciding to put the nail in the coffin.
fabric is placed directly on the tent in his pants, and he can’t help but give a soft hiss at the pressure he’s applied. poor, hard shaft twitchy and achy. he’s pathetic when he bucks into his palm, hips rolling against himself slowly and intentionally. he wants to drag out each rut. his eyes are fixated at the scene unfolding, memories and thoughts of you flash in and out of his awareness with each jerk of his hips.
“please forgive me, please forgive me.” his voice is hushed and whispered, abandoning his need to whine. his jaw is tight, and that familiar bloom spreads through his abdomen rather quickly. that coil getting tighter and tighter the longer he goes, he hadn’t even noticed he was forming a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.
the friction from his jeans, down to the actions being played in front of him, his brain is swallowed with a pussy-drunken haze. soft pants that break into low squeaks, and he can feel the edge of his mind teetering on blanking.
and right when that coil was on its way to snapping, a chest tightening knock, loud and sharp against his wooden door..
