Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of 18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts include gay and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play, diapers, cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are mostly based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others he has met. Every attempt to conceal these identities has been made. These stories are placed in Nifty for the enjoyment of its readers and are not to be copied and/or distributed without the approval of the author.
Wet Panties
by Amber Fountaine
Chapter 1
As much as I hate to admit it, my dad is a wuss - always has been and always will be. I think I first picked up on it around the age of six or seven. I know it wasn't long after I started school and began to spend more time around other families that I noticed a big difference in the way my dad acted and the way other kid's dads acted.
I was ten when my mom disappeared. At first they all fed me bull-shit stories about her being on vacation by herself and telling me she'd be back in a week or two. But I overheard enough of the whispered conversations between my dad and my grandparents that I knew she'd left town with another man and intended to divorce my dad.
Then, just as I'm going the perils of puberty, the dumb son-of-a-bitch falls in love with another woman that walks all over him. I mean, I hate to be disrespectful to my dad, but here I was, a no-nothing kid, barely into my teens, but it sure looked to me like he was setting himself up to be screwed over again. However that was his problem. As for me, Jean, his new love interest, treated me lots better than my mom ever had and when dad said he intended to marry Jean, I was all for it. Though to be honest, I think it wasn't until I met Jean's daughter Roni that I began to hope my dad went through with it.
Jean's daughter Veronica, or Roni' as she preferred to be called, was four years older and a knockout! I had a crush on her the first time I met her - maybe because we'd all gone to a resort and Roni was wearing a bikini. A crush' to me meant that I was in lust. Thinking about Roni made my little cock hard almost as fast as seeing her. Some of the girls my age were filling out. Roni was already there and had a body as good as, or better than, her mom's and her mom . . . well let's just say that while my dad did have his faults, picking women wasn't one of them. He might let them walk on him, but he could sure pick `em. I'd been the envy of the guys at school when he dated a well known actress for a few months.
But he settled on Jean. And Jean came with Roni as part of the package. And a year or so later I was only too happy to be my dad's Best Man at his wedding. Jean and Roni had been living with Jean's mom so while Dad and Jean went on their honeymoon, Roni stayed there and I got to stay home by myself - except for Carlotta, our maid, and she gave me plenty of room after the first time she walked in and found me jacking off. With school just out, and me left to my own devices, I think I must have cum more times during those two weeks than my dad did on his honeymoon. I had Chris to thank for that.
Christopher Harris was about as close to a teen idol as we had at my school. He was two years older and ten times more popular with the girls than I had hopes to be. He wasn't the brightest bulb on the tree, which was why he'd been only a grade ahead of me at Tate Middle School. However he was good-looking, all-star athletic, and his dad was as rich as mine. The best part was that he lived next door and there were no other guys close to our age in the area. So he took me under his wing and decided to make me his pet project. With school out and nothing on either of our schedules for the summer, which ever of us was up and dressed first would go next door to hang out. That's how I came to discover that Chris liked to sleep in the nude and had a huge cock.
Well maybe it wasn't all that huge, but comparatively speaking, he was bigger than me, especially when we were both hard, and the first time I saw Chris's cock, it was hard.
His mom answered the door and told me Chris was in his room, probably still sleeping, and that I should go get him up. So I went to his room, shook him awake, and he threw the covers off and got up, still half asleep. His morning erection was much more alert and ready for the day than he was. When he realized I was staring at it, he couldn't pass the chance to tease me. He told me, "You can touch it if you want. It doesn't bite but if you play with it, it'll spit at you."
I knew he meant spit cum and I knew that guys weren't supposed to really play with each other that way. It was just part of the bull-shit that guys our age said to each other, so I laughed it off. But I'll admit, I was intrigued and maybe Chris could sense that because he didn't quit. Instead, he held it around the base, shook it at me, and stepped closer.
"Kyle, I'm not joking dude," he told me. "Feel how hard it is and tell me if you can get that hard."
We'd had a brief discussion a while back about our cocks getting hard and he'd told me he was sure his got harder than mine. I thought mine got pretty damn stiff and it seemed to me that it got that way without a whole helluva lot of provocation, but we'd never resolved the issue. Now he was giving me an opportunity to determine if he really did get harder and the only way to know for sure was to do as he said; feel his erection and then compare that to how mine felt. Normally there's a little voice in the back of my head that would warn me if something didn't seem right, but Chris's suggestion made enough sense to me that I wrapped the fingers of one hand around his cock and felt it. Then, for whatever reason, once I'd gone that far, I didn't want to stop.
It was sort of like grabbing hold of an electrical wire and not being able to let go. There was something so incredibly exciting about having that prick in my hand. I had one just like it, had held mine many times when it was in the same condition, but holding another boy's cock - especially one so much larger - was twice as electrifying to my sexual senses. Without a second thought, once I had my hand on it, I squeezed it a couple of times, and then as if my hand had a mind of its own, I caressed it and began to slowly stroke it.
"Damn dude. You do that better than Amy."
Chris was a great guy in many respects but the one thing that had always irked me about him was that he was always critical - at least of me. Whenever we did something together, I was always too slow or too fast, or too high or too low, or too something. A compliment from Chris was so rare that when he told me I was doing something `better than' someone else, I glowed with pride and continued. Then at last that little voice woke up and asked me what the fuck are you doing with another guy's dick in your hand and I realized I was committing one of the biggest misdeeds of my school age social sect. I was giving another boy sexual pleasure. I let go of his prick and I know I was blushing when I told him, "Yeah. You do get pretty hard," trying to make it sound like all I'd done was give it a quick feel to see how hard he was.
He wasn't fooled at all. He looked at me, grinning, and I'm sure he was aware that I'd enjoyed playing with his prick and was now trying to pretend I hadn't. I was also sure I hadn't heard the last of the incident. "Give me a couple of minutes," he said, "to beat this monster into submission, and I'll get my mom to fix us something to eat - or give us some money to go eat at the mall." He had a bathroom off his bedroom like I did at my house. He paused at the door to tease me. "Unless you want to watch?" he asked sort of hopefully, grinning. "I like to watch myself in the mirror. Watching someone else is even hotter."
I just shook my head and turned away, like I was searching for a magazine or book or something to look at. But I noticed that when he closed the door behind him it was only about half-way and when I walked over to his desk and looked back, I could see him in the large mirror that covered the wall behind the sink and counter. He'd turned on the lights in the bathroom and was standing naked at the sink, stroking his cock, using much the same technique for jacking off that I used; a few rapid strokes followed by a brief period of slowly milking it. After about a minute, he used his other hand to play with his nuts at the same time and I noticed his nut sack was no longer hanging down between his thighs. It had almost disappeared and I wondered if mine did that. I'd never tried jacking off while watching in a mirror and I'll have to admit it was very exciting to be watching Chris. I wondered how he knew it was exciting to watch someone else. Who had he watched - and why? He was right though, it was exciting. At some point, while stroking Chris's cock or watching him do it, I'd gotten just as hard.
Then Chris did something that amazed me. He'd been stroking himself rapidly, like he was all set to cum, and then had stopped, squeezing his dick to keep himself from shooting. After several seconds of holding his cock pinched between his fingers, right behind the head, he let go and using the fingers of the hand that had been fondling his balls, he caught a large dollop of cum that oozed out. That was a technique I'd never seen or heard of but the most amazing thing was that he brought that little puddle of cum to his mouth and licked it off his fingers as he went back to jacking off, shooting out several ribbons of jizz with just a few strokes. I was still staring at his prick as he milked out the last of it when I happened to glance up and saw him staring back at me in the mirror. He knew I'd been standing there watching the whole time and had been putting on a show for me. Then he walked out of the bathroom, pulled the fingers he'd been sucking from his mouth, and asked, "Ever try it that way?"
Since I was caught, there was no sense in denying that I'd watched almost the whole thing. I shook my head again, too embarrassed to speak.
"You ought to try it," he told me, making an exaggerated show of licking his lips. "I'm sure every guy does but they're too chicken shit to say so."
I wasn't at all sure how he'd meant, "You ought to try it." I was pretty sure he'd meant jack off like he had and then tasting my cum. Yet the way he'd looked at me, hefting his cock as he'd said it, made me wonder if he was offering to let me try his cock and taste his cum.
The rest of the day was a blur. All I could think about was Chris and the jack-off performance I'd witnessed. You can bet everything you own that as soon as I could get home and to my room, I was duplicating it or trying to. It took several tries over the next few days, but eventually, with much enjoyable practice, I was able to do the same thing, stopping just before I was going to shoot, waiting until the throbbing stopped, and then letting some of my cum ooze out so that I could catch it and taste it while I finished.
Naturally, that made me curious - just as I was to later learn that Chris had been sure it would - as to whether Chris's cum and mine tasted the same. However, before that curiosity could become strong enough for me to act on, a sexual adventure of another sort entered our lives. My dad and new step-mom came home and Roni moved in with us.
"THAT is your new sister!" Chris said in awe as soon as he'd seen her. "You lucky son-of-a-bitch!"
We stood inside the sliding glass door and watched Roni cavort around the pool in her bikini and from the way Chris was panting, I knew he'd be over at my house as often as he could. And from the way he had to suddenly readjust the lump in his jeans, I felt sure I'd be seeing his cock again, stiff and hard. Maybe I was a lucky son-of-a-bitch. But . . . .
I wasn't so sure of that yet. I was still feeling invaded. Like Chris, I had a bathroom connected to my bedroom but at my house that bathroom also connected to the bedroom that Roni would be using and that meant I had to share the bathroom. Suddenly, the toothbrush, hair brush, and comb that had always sat in the same place on the bathroom counter were now shoved in a far corner and there was girl shit on both sides of the sink, from one end of the counter to the other. There was a small drawer on each side of the sink, under the counter. I had toothbrush and toothpaste on one side and the other was truthfully a junk drawer where I put things I didn't know where else to put. She took over both of those and dumped all my stuff in the bottom drawer of the cabinets to the far right, across from the toilet. How could a girl that looked like she didn't wear makeup have so much makeup? I wanted to complain but to who? About what?
My dad had made a point of telling me how important it was that I get along with Roni and that I should have an unselfish attitude about sharing our home with my new step-sister. So what good would it do to go to the one person I could complain to - the guy I already knew was a wuss and wouldn't do anything anyway - and tell him I'd decided to be selfish? Zero. Zip. Nichts. Nada. Not a damn thing. But then, several days later, like a golden ray of sunshine, something else appeared on that counter that seemed to have a magic glow, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I awoke one morning, went in to take my usual morning piss, and there on the counter, like they'd been tossed at the sink and hadn't quite made it, was the most beautiful pair of panties ever created.
Now I'll admit I was young and naïve, but I had seen panties before. However what I'd seen previously had been the ones my mom had thrown in with the rest of the wash. I think she probably had some like Roni's, but they'd been hand-washed in her bathroom, hung on the towel bar to dry, and not left for my eyes to enjoy. These were white with red flowers and lace; feminine and sexy and right there in front of me within easy grasp - if I dare.
I stopped in mid-step, the urgency to pee suddenly gone - or at least not registering. It appeared as though Roni might have tossed the panties at the sink from the door to her bedroom with the intention of washing them later. That meant they would smell like girl smell and I'd heard various opinions from guys at school as to what that was supposed to be like. The strange part was that none of the so called experts on the subject had any first hand knowledge. While each of them acted like the definitive source of information on the subject, they all began their stated opinion with things like, "I heard," or, "It's supposed to," or something like that. In other words, they didn't know a damn thing more than I did, but at least I admitted I didn't know shit. So it seemed to me almost as if I had some sort of moral duty to my fellow pubescent comrades to pick up those panties, smell them, and report my findings. I could envision the hush of awe from all of my buddies when I told them, "I don't know what other pussies smell like but my sister's . . ."
As soon as they were in my hand, I could feel that they were wet and a profound sense of disappointment washed over me, thinking the panties had already been rinsed out and no longer had the aroma I was hoping for. Was I ever wrong. There was an unfamiliar pungent odor that grew stronger, the closer I brought the panties to my face, and mixed in with it was the unmistakable smell of urine. As weird as the idea seemed to me, I had to assume that Roni had pissed in her panties.
Suddenly it was like my brain had suddenly divided in half; each off on its own tangent. One part was admiring the panties, the sexy material, the bright colors, and dainty construction, and wishing my male underwear was as pretty. The other part of my brain was asking bunches of unanswered questions. Did Roni wet the bed? Could someone older than me be a bedwetter? She'd been back to her grand-ma's house the previous evening to pick up some things. Had she forgotten to go before she left and hadn't made it home in time? Had she taken the panties off before her boyfriend came by? Or had she been wearing the pissed in panties for the short time he'd been here? They'd disappeared outside for a while. Had she pissed in the panties while he was watching? Did he know she peed her panties? Or, if she'd wet the bed, were the sheets still wet? How pissed was Carlotta going to be if she found pissed in sheets?
I'm not sure at what point I began rubbing the panties on my face, or used my other hand to rub the stiff prick sticking out of my pajamas. But I did and when I felt myself getting close, instead of using the other hand to catch the cum, I got the urge to cum on the panties and lick it off. As I enjoyed the flushed feeling of a good cum, tasting my jism as I licked the wet nylon material, my mind went back to asking questions. I wondered what pussy would taste like? What would it taste like before I fucked it and afterward, when my cum was in it? Just before I'd pulled the panties from my face to catch my cum, I'd been sucking on the crotch, hard enough to taste Roni's pee. At least I thought that's what I'd tasted. I'd never tasted pee - hers, mine, or anyone else's. Did people ever do that? Taste each other's pee? Or their own?
Then something that Chris had said popped into my mind. The previous day, while waiting for me to get dressed, he'd been talking about his girlfriend Amy and I'd teased him about wanting to get in her panties. He'd come back at me, telling me if I had a chance to get in a girl's panties, I'd probably just want to put them on. Then he'd teased me about wearing Roni's panties and how cute I'd look. He always seemed to get the best of me in those inane discussions so I'd dropped it. But now . . .
Why not try it? Maybe I could even pee in them like Roni had done. With my cock now soft - or as close to it as it was likely to get - maybe the panties would fit? My hands almost trembled as I pulled off my pajamas and stepped into the panties. Then I had to decide how to wet them. Should I leave them on and sit on the toilet like a girl? It occurred to me that sooner or later Roni would be looking for those panties and I got what seemed like an ideal inspiration. I could wear the panties in the shower, pee in them, maybe jack off again, and then rinse them out for her. That would hide the evidence of my using them, and maybe make me some points for . . . washing her panties for her? How would she react? She couldn't get too mad, especially if she knew I knew she'd wet them. What if pissing her panties was something she did all the time? Would she let me wash her panties for her every time she wet them? That twisted thought had a lot of appeal to me for some reason and it showed in the growing lump in the panties. As I admired myself in the mirror, I had to admit Chris was right. I did look cute in Roni's panties.
If my bladder hadn't suddenly gotten my attention, I might very well have jacked off again right then. And at the same time I realized I'd never locked the door into Roni's room. I'd been trying to remember to do that since Roni had moved in, but it hadn't become a habit yet. Then I wondered what her reaction would be if she did walk in and catch me in her panties? Would I have the guts to tell her something like, "You pissed in them so I thought I'd give it a try." It seemed to me she flirted with me a lot, but I didn't think it was serious. I think she just loved teasing me by finding excuses to come in my room in these little nighties that were short, low cut, and damn near see through. Did she know I always jacked off when she did that? I suspected she did and that was why she did it. With all those thoughts going on in my mind, as well as the sexual excitement from all of it, it was no wonder some of my other senses weren't up to par.
With the door to my bedroom open, hinged as it was, it covered most of the glass door into the shower stall. The urge to pee had been postponed now for several minutes and my bladder was telling me that I needed to either get to the toilet or get in the shower or else there'd be a big wet spot on the bathroom rug. The shower was closest and I liked my idea of pissing in the panties and then rinsing out her panties for her. So I closed the door to my bedroom and reached for the door of the shower stall and froze in position when I saw Roni, naked and grinning at me.
Well actually, I couldn't see her naked. The frosted glass of the shower door was as high as the bridge of her nose. But she was holding on to the top of the shower door, standing on her toes to see over it, and almost leaning against it for balance. Her tits were mashed against the frosted glass, making the nipples and areolas very visible. But the small trimmed patch of pubic hair was barely more than a dark fuzzy area since it was a few inches away from the glass. At first I tried to make myself believe it was a figment of my imagination. Like so many other times when I'd jacked off lately, visions of Roni had been going through my mind. So for just a fraction of a second, I thought those bright blue eyes looking at me over the top of the shower door were my mind playing a trick on me. Any chance of that being true shattered when she spoke.
"Oh Kayla," she teased. "Don't you look cute!"
Her voice broke me out of my stunned paralysis. In some combination of fear, embarrassment, and yes, excitement, I stepped backward until my butt hit the edge of the counter. I briefly considered opening the door to my bedroom to escape, but she stopped me by pushing open the door to the shower. Not only did the shower door block me from opening my bedroom door, Roni was now totally visible to me and I couldn't have moved if the house had been on fire. I was sure I should say something, but all I could think of, other than how gorgeous she was, was that Chris had made the same remark about I'd look cute in her panties. Then it dawned on me that not only had she caught me wearing her panties, she must have been watching me the whole time I'd been in the bathroom. She must have seen me rubbing her piss soaked panties on my face, jacking off, and then licking up my cum.
As she stepped out of the shower stall and reached for a towel, it occurred to me that her taking a shower must have been what had woke me up and my opening the door had prevented her from opening the shower. Then she'd seen me pick up her panties and had decided to remain quiet to see what I did with them. My bedroom door had covered all but about six inches of the shower door, just enough for her to watch me in the mirror and see the whole show. Suddenly I was as red as the lace on her panties.
She never said a word, just smiled at me and went about her business like I wasn't there. After slowly, and to me, sensuously, drying herself off, she wrapped the towel around her head like a turban and told me, "I think you're as big a perv as I am. Follow me. We need to talk."
What choice did I have? If she told my dad . . . or worse, told Jean, her mom, and Jean told my dad, I'd be embarrassed beyond words and grounded for the rest of my teenage years. Worse, I'd be stuck in a house where I couldn't look anyone in the eye. So I fell in step behind her, trying not to stare at her beautiful behind, when again my bladder got my attention. "Uuh, I uh, need to use the toilet."
She spun around and already her mind had figured it out. "Then why were you going to get in the shower? Do you always pee in the shower? Wearing my panties?"
"I . . . uh . . . they were . . . the panties were already . . ." I couldn't bring myself to say, "Peed in," so I told her, "Already wet."
Her grin just kept getting bigger and she seemed to be totally unaware that she was naked. The hair above her slit was trimmed in a perfect triangle and it would appear that unlike Chris had suggested, my new step-sister was a natural blonde. She let me stare a moment, then told me, "Poor little boy has never seen a naked girl has he?"
I shook my head. "You're . . ." I searched for the perfect word. "Hot" was the first to come to mind but I didn't want to go in that direction. After rapidly considering several others, I settled on a restrained, "Beautiful."
"Thank you," she told me, then mimicked a little curtsey. Than she said, nodding toward the shower behind me, "Go ahead. Let me see you wet them."
I'd been giving some thought to what might happen if she caught me. In none of the brief scenarios had I imagined her wanting to watch me pee in her panties. But she obviously liked the idea and I have to admit it did sound exciting to me so I stepped into the shower stall, left the door open, and with considerable effort, finally managed to piss.
An ounce or two less in my bladder and maybe it wouldn't have happened. It seemed like the harder I tried to pee, the harder it was to pee. Then she suggested I just relax and let it go on its own. She began talking to me softly, coaxing me to relax, like some sort of hypnosis tape and all of a sudden, I had pee pouring out of my dick, soaking the wet panties even more, and then running down both of my legs.
"Feel good?"
I nodded though I wasn't sure. It was . . . pleasant . . . maybe even exciting. I was already thinking about how much of this I could tell Chris about and wondering what his reaction might be. Since that morning I'd watched him jack off, I'd been trying to get to his house early enough that it might happen again. But since Chris had seen Roni, he'd been trying to get to my house early enough that he might get a glimpse of her in the little nighties I'd told him about. So far neither of use had been successful in our efforts. However I was sure if I told Chris about even some of this, he'd get turned on enough to want to, "beat the monster into submission," and maybe this time . . . .
Roni was still standing there, an expectant look to her. She wanted more of an answer than my nod. "First time I did that since I was a little kid," I told her.
"Really? What happened? How old were you?"
It seemed strange to be standing there in front of a naked girl, talking about something that happened when I was seven or eight years old. But I told her how we'd been to a company picnic for the business where my mom worked and how she wouldn't let me go to the restroom unless someone went with me because there were supposed to be perverts that hung out at that park and how she'd gotten busy talking and kept putting me off until all of a sudden I was wetting my pants. Everyone else thought it was funny, but my mom had been furious, had taken off my wet jeans, and made me walk around in my wet underwear in front of all the other kids. Then when I'd started crying, she'd called me a baby and borrowed some diapers from one of the other women that had a toddler with her and she'd diapered me on the picnic table bench in front of everyone. I told Roni how up until a few minutes earlier, when I found out she'd been watching me, that incident at the park had been the most embarrassing moment of my life.
I expected Roni to ask something about the wetting incident or me being put in diapers or even about me wearing her panties. Instead she asked, "Which park did you go to? Might be fun to go there some day and see if there really are any perverts. I mean the pool is nice and you have a great house here, but I think it's going to get boring pretty quick if we don't find something else to keep us busy."
When the pants wetting incident had occurred, I hadn't been old enough to understand what a pervert was or why my mom insisted an adult accompany me to the restroom. However I was now in middle school and had heard rumors that Ledge Falls Park was supposed to be a hangout for queers that met with each other for sex. Even as I was telling her which park I'd been talking about, my mind was racing through new scenarios of going there with Roni and how we might determine if there were any perverts there or not. The only one that worked was if I went in the men's room and let some man try to seduce me. The thought of a grown man waving his dick in my face or offering to play with mine was even more exciting than thoughts of Chris's cock and it showed.
Roni giggled and pointed at my prick, inching up under the lacy waistband. "Better rinse off. Use COLD water and throw the panties back in the sink. When you're dried off, come to my room. I'll give you some more to wear. We still need to talk."
Whoa! That gave me more things to think about. Did she think I liked wearing her panties? Well, considering everything she'd seen so far, why shouldn't she think that? Should I tell her I didn't want to? Would that be the truth? Probably not. The idea that she intended to dress me in her panties was exciting! I was already beginning to envision how doing that could be our little secret; something that might bond us in a way that would be better than having a real sister.
So I did as she said, going a step further and rinsing out the panties and putting them on the towel bar next to the sink. Then in a belated act of modesty, I wrapped the towel around my waist and went to her room.
To be continued. Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com