Chapter 1: Caught in the Act
I’m Angie, 33, and I’ve always had a sharp eye for the sneaky and the sly. My husband’s cousin, Ale, 40, had been a frequent guest at our home, but I’d noticed something off about him for a while. Panties—my favorite lace ones, mind you—kept vanishing. Pink, black, red, didn’t matter. They were gone, and Ale was one of the few who had access. My suspicion had been simmering, but last night, after a wild evening of drinking, it boiled over into something I never expected.
We’d all passed out after too many shots of tequila—my husband snoring on the couch, friends sprawled across the living room. I woke up to the creak of a door. My head spun, but I caught a glimpse of Ale slipping into the bathroom. Something in my gut twisted. I had to know. Barefoot, still half-drunk, I tiptoed after him, the cool tile under my feet grounding me just enough to keep from stumbling.
The bathroom door was cracked open, and there he was. Pants around his ankles, my pink lace panties—my favorite pair—wrapped tight around his cock, hard and straining as he stroked himself with a desperate rhythm. In his other hand, another pair, black and silky, pressed to his nose. My breath hitched. Those weren’t mine. They were Zoe’s, my 21-year-old daughter’s. He didn’t know that, though. He thought they were mine, and the thought of him getting off to what he believed was all me sent a dark, forbidden thrill racing through my veins.
I should’ve been pissed. I should’ve stormed in and slapped him. But the tequila, the heat pooling low in my belly, and the sheer audacity of it all held me frozen. Then he groaned, low and guttural, and I couldn’t stop myself. I pushed the door open with a slow, deliberate creak.
His eyes snapped up, wide with panic, but his hand didn’t stop. ‘Angie—shit, I—’ he stammered, his voice thick with lust and fear.
‘Don’t stop on my account, Ale,’ I purred, leaning against the doorframe, crossing my arms to push my chest up just enough to mess with him. ‘You’ve got my panties wrapped around that cock of yours. Might as well finish what you started.’
His jaw dropped, but his hand twitched, betraying him. ‘I didn’t mean—fuck, Angie, I’m sorry. I just—’
‘Just what? Couldn’t resist sniffing what’s mine?’ I stepped closer, the air between us crackling. I could smell the musk of him, the tequila on his breath. ‘Or is it the thrill of getting caught that’s got you so damn hard?’
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘You’re not mad?’
‘Oh, I’m furious,’ I said, my voice dripping with mock anger as I closed the distance. ‘But I’m also curious. How long have you been stealing my shit to get off? And don’t lie to me.’
‘A while,’ he admitted, his eyes dark, locked on mine. ‘Every time I’m here, I can’t help it. You’re… fuck, Angie, you’re everywhere in this house. Your scent, your stuff. It drives me insane.’
I smirked, heat flooding my core. ‘And now you’re caught. So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna keep jerking off with my lace, or do you want the real thing to push you over the edge?’
His breath hitched, and I saw the hunger in his eyes. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Dead serious,’ I shot back, stepping so close I could feel the heat radiating off him. ‘But you don’t get to touch. Not yet. Keep going. Let me see how much you want it.’
He groaned, his hand moving faster, the lace of my panties sliding over his cock with every stroke. My pussy clenched at the sight, a rush of wetness soaking my own underwear. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to shove him against the wall and take over. The bathroom was small, the air thick with tension and the scent of arousal. I could hear his panting, see the sweat beading on his forehead.
‘Fuck, Angie,’ he rasped, his voice raw. ‘I’m so close. I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so fucking long.’
‘Then show me,’ I challenged, my voice low and commanding. ‘Cum for me, Ale. Let me see what you’ve been hiding.’
His eyes locked on mine, and I knew he was done for. The forbidden thrill, the danger of it all—it was too much. I leaned in, just close enough to whisper, ‘Do it. Now.’
And that was it. His groan echoed off the tiles as he came, hard, the lace catching every drop as his body shuddered. I watched, transfixed, my own body aching, dripping with need. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But for now, I’d let him think he’d gotten away with it.
‘Clean yourself up,’ I said, stepping back with a wicked smile. ‘We’re not done talking about this.’
His eyes followed me as I turned to leave, and I knew—deep down—that this was only the beginning of something dangerously horny between us.
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