A man with a long-treasured obsession with panties meets the girl of his fantasies who possesses more than her share of pairs.

“You really ride that bike hard,” I said to the perfect blonde at my side.

“Well, if you think I ride bikes hard … ” Imelda said, and she let the sentence trail off into incendiary fantasies that made my heart race and my feet pedal faster. We weren’t going anywhere but further into lust, biking side by side on stationary cycles at the high-end gym where we both are members.

I would have been happy to pedal next to Imelda even if we never moved an inch. We seemed to share the same schedule and often found ourselves in the cycling room at the same time. Imelda’s as hot as fuck. I often daydreamed about her, especially because she wore skintight black leggings that always hung low at the waist, revealing a flash of whatever colored panties she had on that day: cobalt, brilliant crimson, pure snowflake-white. Her panties inspired many an x-rated vision, and I lost hours to thoughts of pulling down her workout gear to discover exactly what type of knickers she favored on any particular day.

“You’re slowing down, Beau,” she chided, and I looked at her, startled. I’d snuck a peek at today’s pair: lemon-yellow lace. Be still my heart. For the rest of the workout, I made sure to match her pedal for pedal, but all I could think of was those sexy panties. I wanted to strip her down until she was clad only in her underwear. Was she sporting bikinis, briefs or possibly boyshorts? I didn’t care. I love them all.

I imagined stroking her through the fabric, eating her pussy through the gusset. But I kept up a little flirtatious banter until the workout robbed us both of speech. For the last few miles, we simply panted together. When we were finished, I headed to the showers, hoping that she’d be in the lobby waiting for me when I walked out. Maybe today was the day we would finally connect off the bikes and in the real world. Unfortunately, after I cleaned up, Imelda was nowhere in sight. I started to walk home in a funk. My cock was semi-hard, and I had mental snapshots of what she’d looked like during our most recent workout flickering in my head.

That’s when I saw her a few paces in front of me. It took me a moment to make sure the woman was actually Imelda. I’d often seen her rock a pair of leggings and a bra top, her hair up in a bun, her face shiny with sweat. But I’d never seen her in street clothes before. She was dressed in a formfitting t-shirt and a micro mini. The skirt was so damn short, I was certain I was going to catch a peek of her panties. In fact, that’s why I kept walking behind her, even after I should have called out to her to let her know I was there. If the wind blew just right, if she took an extra long stride, I might see panties.

I continued to walk a pace behind her, and I worried that she would enter a store or perhaps flag down a cab. Then where would I be? Without any type of satisfaction. Suddenly, she turned around, and I stopped as she said, “Beau!”

“Imelda!”

I hoped I sounded as casual as she did.

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other. There had been much flirting in the past, but nothing had ever come of it. Now I could feel the heat between us, and I wanted to say, “Your panties are spinning all sorts of dirty fantasies for me,” but I thought that might sound odd. Instead, I said, “Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?”

She smiled and nodded, and then she said, “I saw you behind me — your reflection caught my eye in the window. You like this skirt, don’t you?”

She’d nailed me! I stammered for a moment, but then I thought about the time she’d made the inferred double-entendre about riding men as hard as she was riding the stationary cycle, and said, “Actually, it’s not the skirt … ” and let the sentence hang in the air for a moment. “I was wondering what you had on underneath.”

To my surprise and delight, she turned around and quickly flipped her flirty skirt up in the back. For a second, I swear my heart stopped. She had on a thong. Why hadn’t I thought thong?

“You know,” she said, pivoting to look at me over her shoulder, “I’m not really in the mood for coffee. Would you like to come over for something stronger? I live right over there.”

She pointed to a two-story apartment building across the way. The complex was built into a semi-circle, with a well-manicured lawn and a fountain in the center. On a different day, I might have commented on the quaint architecture, the petal-pink of the paint which matched the flowers growing in window boxes, but not today. We practically sprinted across the street and up the stairs together. The two of us had endured months of flirtatious bantering. The attraction had been palpable. Now we had run out of patience.

I felt as if there was not a second to spare. I wanted to spread her out on the landing and get between her legs, tear that skirt off her and lick her through her panties until she creamed.

With Herculean effort, I got her inside her apartment before I pulled her skirt off. I think I should get points for that. Was there a delicate mobile of small paper cutouts overhead? Did vibrant English roses gently drop their petals onto a glossy black countertop? Who knows? She could have lived in an empty room for all I cared. All I wanted was Imelda, and her beautiful, gorgeous, sweet-scented panties.

Thankfully, she didn’t live in a bare room. In the center of her living room was a plush-looking armchair covered in a deep cranberry fabric. I had her sit on the edge of the chair in only her t-shirt and her thong, and then I finally began to touch her. She sighed with relief as soon as she felt my fingers. I had the feeling she was as turned on as I was.

All those times we’d flirted, and I’d never dreamed we’d actually be here. I let my fingers wander over the front of her panties, and I stroked the sunshine-yellow lace, the satin triangle that was sheer enough for me to see she was totally shaved beneath. She seemed to be ready for me to do more, but I wanted to admire her panties for a little bit longer.

“You really seem to appreciate these,” she observed wryly.

“I’m into panties,” I said, more to her pussy than to her face.

“I like that,” she murmured as I started to lick her through the satin of the sensual undergarments — and I didn’t know if she meant that she liked my fetish, or if she approved of what I was doing to her with my mouth. The first time my tongue touched her panties I felt an electrical shock flow through me. I had been waiting for so long. I’d been fantasizing about this moment with such intensity that the reality blew me away. I almost went off in my slacks. I had to back off to breathe before diving in once more. Imelda’s thighs were tanned and toned. All those cycling sessions had definitely paid off. I’d never been between such a gorgeous pair of gams before. I took a moment to kiss and lick her inner thighs, then I resumed my mission of learning — and laving — every inch of those incredible undergarments.

Imelda stroked my hair and whispered words of encouragement. “Oh, Beau. That’s so good.” I hadn’t even touched her split yet. I was kissing her panties all over. I kissed the elastic band, licked the lace, then pulled her off the chair and had her lie on her back on the floor. I spread her legs wide apart so I could suck on her pussy through the fabric. Imelda began to moan and beat her hips against the wine-colored carpet.

Corkscrewing one finger over the other, I slid one hand into her panties and then entered her pussy. I began to finger-fuck her while I continued to suck on her swollen clit through her panties. I could taste her essence even through the barrier of the underpants. By the time I was done with her, those panties were going to be soaking wet. I felt beyond excited as I licked and sucked.

Imelda began to toss her head back and forth. She called out my name and pulled my hair hard. She was coming, and I loved that. I had made her come without ever touching my tongue to her naked pussy. Imagine how good I could make her feel when I got the panties off her.

Except, I didn’t want to do that. I adored her in the panties.

While she panted in recovery from her first climax, I helped her out of her t-shirt. Now she was in her panties and a matching bra. The yellow of the lingerie brought out the warm, golden hue of her skin tone. She lay back again and grinned at me, obviously waiting to see what I wanted to do next.

“Roll over,” I told her.

“With pleasure,” she said.

She rolled onto her hands and knees. I plucked at the floss that bisected the sublime globes of her dreamy ass. Imelda wriggled her hips. I pulled on the waistband so that the ribbon of lace was most definitely rubbing against her asshole. Imelda let me know she was happy with purring sounds she made each time I did this trick. I lost my willpower then and pulled the floss to the side. Imelda got onto her stomach and reached behind to hold her asscheeks open. She didn’t seem to mind my kinky streak in the slightest.

My heart throbbed.

Before she could say a word, I bent to kiss her pucker. “Oh, fuck me,” Imelda begged. “Fuck me, Beau.”

My cock wanted to fuck her. But my brain wanted something more. “Will you put on a show for me first?”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “What do you mean?” Her face was as flushed as when we are cycling next to each other, side by side. But I knew her cheeks were pink for a different reason entirely.

“A panty show,” I said, and I wondered if she could hear the desperation in my voice.

Imelda looked at me longingly. She had one hand on her pussy already, and I surmised that she had planned to stroke herself off as I’d fucked her. I felt as if could see the warring thoughts in her eyes. Then I won a round for fetishists everywhere when Imelda smiled at me, stood up and left the room. I couldn’t believe my luck. She was going to do what I asked. She was going to — quite literally — make my fantasies come true.

In moments, Imelda had returned. In her hands was what appeared to be a drawer from a dresser. I felt my dick start to leak pre-come when I peered inside. The drawer was like a modern art painting — swirls of every color imaginable — gold, tangerine, emerald, black, violet, fuchsia. There were patterns and prints, as well: paisley, zebra, leopard, polka dot. Imelda seemed to have a passion for panties that rivaled my own.

“What would you like to see first?”

I sat back against her sofa. “Surprise me.”

“Close your eyes.”

I did what she said, breathing slow and steady to calm my wicked thoughts. In only a heartbeat, she said, “Okay, you can look.”

I opened my eyes and gazed at her. She was wearing a pair of pristine white boyshorts and a matching tiny tank top. I lunged for her so quickly that Imelda let out a shocked giggle. I came close to wrestling her to the floor in my effort to caress, cradle and capture the sensation of touching these new garments. Imelda, seeming to understand how deep my desires ran, moved with me. She took my hands and placed them on her breasts, so I could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of the top. Then she took one of my hands and placed my fingers against her split. She’d only just gotten into these, but already her pussy juices were dampening the crotch.

Quickly, I resumed the actions I’d begun before, sucking on her clit through the fabric barrier, moving her so that I could attempt to lick her asshole as well. It was more difficult to do this through boyshorts than it had been with the thong. Imelda graciously allowed me the freedom to explore her body through the white set. Then she said, “Now close your eyes again, Beau. I have another set for you.”

I moved back to my original position, shut my eyes, and did my best to be patient. I heard her rustling through the drawer. What would she come up with? Might she be wearing a teddy? A sexy slip? A demi bra that would allow me access to her perky nipples?

“Open your eyes, Beau.”

I looked. Then I simply sat and ogled. Imelda was wearing a lavender satin camisole and a pair of tap pants with slits high to the hip. I made my way to her on my knees and immediately pressed my face against her panty-clad pussy. So far, these were my favorites. The fabric was so smooth and shiny, both delicate and dangerously sexy. I slid one hand up the back to palm her naked ass while I continued to nibble on her pussy lips through the panties. I let her feel my finger touch her asshole while I teased her satin-covered clit.

Imelda seemed to be enjoying the show as much as I was, because before I could make her come, she pushed me away and told me to take my place once more. This time, she took much longer to get ready, so long that I will admit to peeking. She wasn’t looking in my direction when I squinted through half-shut lids for a surreptitious stare. I wouldn’t have been caught, I’m sure, except I moaned.

“Cheater!” Imelda growled at me.

“Couldn’t help it,” I said. My cock was like bone. Imelda had put on a ruby-colored bra, matching silk panties, stockings and a garter belt. That’s what had taken her so long: attaching the stockings to the belt.

“Oh, dear lord,” I sighed, and I sat and stared. Imelda came to me this time. She stood in front of me and let me look at her, let me touch her, let me drag my fingers up and down her silken stockings. Then she faced away, and I cradled her asscheeks in my hands and squeezed.

She bent forward and put her palms flat on the floor. I’d spied her in a yoga class once at the gym, so I was not surprised at how good her downward dog was. But I wanted doggy-style instead. Still, I took my time touching and petting her through the beautiful lingerie. I had my face pressed firmly to her split, and I started to jack my hand up and down my cock through my slacks. Honestly, I couldn’t keep from touching myself at that point.

Although I wanted to taste her for real, I was loath to move the panties to the right or the left. I sucked on her hard through the knickers, but soon Imelda tired of my teasing games, and she pulled the panties off and handed them to me. “You can hold on to them while you eat me,” she said, and she settled back into position and spread her legs wide apart. I dove at her, and I suckled her clit while fondling the panties in my fist.

“Take your cock out,” she murmured, and I hesitated in my goal to bring her to her finish line in order to obey her command. I split my slacks open and began to work my naked cock while I ate her, and she said, “Stroke yourself with my wet panties while you eat me.”

It was like she’d spoken my personal magic words. I did exactly what she said, and in seconds I was shooting into the crimson satin of her panties. I didn’t stop eating her, however. I continued to lick circles over her beautiful pussy, and I even kept stroking my cock with the now-sticky knickers. I was like steel again in no time.

Imelda came on my tongue once more before she insisted that I fuck her. I could still feel the contractions of her muscles squeezing and releasing as I slid my dick inside her warm, wet tunnel. Now that she had something to grab on to, Imelda’s muscles tightened further still. It felt as if she never actually stopped climaxing. One orgasm seemed to extend into the next. The pleasure of the whole event made Imelda chatty. While other girls I’ve been with have gone silent in the throes of passion, Imelda started to talk about my brand-new favorite subject: her panty drawer.

“I know you like the yellow ones,” she said. “I could tell at the gym, when you kept sneaking peeks. At first, I thought you were checking out my ass.”

“You have a remarkable ass,” I told her, and I took a second to rub both of her perfect cheeks.

“But when you were behind me, I started to get the idea that you were into something else.”

“I’m into all of it,” I said, bringing her panties up to my face then and whiffing the scent of our nectars comingling.

“Then I should really tell you something, Beau.” She was breathing faster now, but she seemed to be completely capable of continuing the conversation. “That’s only one of my lingerie drawers.”

Did my dick get just a little bit harder at her words? It felt like I grew another inch at least. Imelda groaned, sensing how aroused I was. I ground my pelvis against her, and I said, “Tell me more.”

“I’ve got three drawers dedicated to panties,” she said.

“Three,” I echoed helplessly.

“At first,” she confessed, “I felt a little bit bad. Who has three panty drawers, after all? But then I got over that feeling and embraced my obsession.”

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Her collection melded deliciously with my own intense desires. She was as much of a fetishist as I was.

“So after you come,” she whispered, “we’ll go into my bedroom and I will put on a second show for you. We’ll make it a game. You can see how long you can watch me parade around in my panties before you have to pounce.”

I came with those words. I came so hard that I felt as if I had tapped some inner reserve of semen. I didn’t know I had that much in me. Imelda stopped talking long enough to let the climax trigger her own. She sighed and relaxed completely as the pleasure flooded the two of us. Then she wriggled out of my embrace, stripped out of her remaining attire, and said, “Come on, Beau. Let’s try on some panties!”

I hurried after her, my thoughts spinning.

A front-row seat to a panty parade? Maybe I’d never moved an inch forward on the stationary cycle next to Imelda, but I seemed to have ridden right into the relationship of my dreams.