Brett relished the thought of his mother’s panty drawer. Nothing twisted his stomach with the hot knife of desire like wearing his mum’s panties. He even loved the burning brush of shame that stung his face with its heat and pricked his genitals to movement. Brett’s small penis tucked neatly into his mum’s panties, whichever ones he wore, and she had a lot to choose from.
His mum had a whole drawer full of panties, thongs, bikini bottoms, boy shorts; silk, lace, ornate and plain, some skimpy, most skimpier still. Underwear that he could buy for himself, no matter how much the thought turned him on when he was buying it, never got him as hot as his mum’s. Brett knew by now it was the thought of her being in it that was so tantalising, the image of each gusset having been against her crotch, so close and gently pressing over the flesh of her lips, damp and sweet.
He had brought himself to so many splendid climaxes, too, reveling in the phantasmagoria of his mum sliding a pair of her panties onto him as she giggled coquettishly at his little cock, imagining her fingers pinching the head through the cloth, laughing all the more at how his underdeveloped penis barely pushed the gusset out of shape.
After each shuddering orgasm he would hastily pull the panties from his flaccid groin, more embarrassed now the all-consuming passion had waned, washed away in his spilling of semen. It was why he took care of his own washing; after every panty-raid he threw the soiled cloth into the washing machine along with a basket of his own clothes, and made sure to be the one to put it in the tumble dryer; definitely made sure he was the one to empty it and sort out his clothes, all so as to discreetly return his mother’s borrowed underwear.
But no matter the shame, no matter the petty hassle of laundry, Brett went time and time again to his parents bedroom, hungry to feel once more a worn silk thong or a cotton pair of briefs wrapped around his hips, hugging against his nub of a cock and little marble-hard testicles.
He had never expected to be caught.
Brett was always careful, even when he was taking his time he was hurried in his choice of what skimpy garment he would wear, and then he would squirrel it away to his bedroom, only ever indulging his whims and fantasies when both his parents were absent from the house. But of late he had become careless, /wreckless/. He had taken it upon himself not only to borrow his mother’s underwear but to do a strip-tease for himself in her big standing mirror, discarding his clothes item by item until he stood only in his boxers. These he would whip off, eager and anxious, sometimes already straining and dripping precum. He slipped on the lime-green panties he had chosen, that left a couple inches of his pert bum flashing out. He was tingling with coiled lust as he looked at himself in the large mirror, stroking his fingers across the lacey edging, already drifting into the grip of a conscious wet-dream.
Maybe that was why he never heard the motor of his father’s car pull up, why he paid no attention to the front door being opened, as if he could push reality itself away by the force of his fantasies. It wasn’t even the bedroom door being opened that yanked him from his imagination. No, what made him finally fall away from his own hands and desire was the sound of his bahis firmaları father’s low, throaty chuckle.
Brett was beet-red before he’d even whipped around, absurdly wanting to cover his chest, having sense enough in his foggy mind to cover his crotch.
“My boy,” his father, Brett saw, was crying with mirth. “My boy, I did not know you enjoyed your mother’s underwear.” His tone was jocular, almost friendly, but Brett raised his eyes just long enough to see the sadistic gleam as his dad watched him, tears of glee wiped away. Brett’s stomach was a knot of dire dread and stifled lust that even now still attacked him; he felt the head of his miniature penis prodding against the palm of his hand.
Taking full grasp of the opportunity to torment, Brett’s father took a step forward, smiling and showing his teeth. A hunter’s grin. “Well take your hands away, boy, and let’s see what we’re looking at here.”
Brett bristled with humiliation from the top of his scalp down to his toes but not an ounce of it seemed to be affecting his libido. He didn’t know what was worse, the panties he wore or the abysmal excuse of a cock inside them. He would have no defence against his father’s cruelty.
“Well,” his father repeated gruffly. “Get to it.” Luca Fisk was not a man used to not getting what he wanted, be it from his colleagues, his clients, not even his wife or son were exempt from his domineering personality. He was thoroughly enjoying having found his son in such a compromised situation and he was going to enjoy it for all it was worth. Luca watched with coldly gleaming eyes as Brett slowly took his hands away.
“I mean my God,” Luca exclaimed quietly, though loud enough for his shameful and shame-faced son to hear. “What sort of eighteen year old man wants to wear his mother’s knickers? Any woman’s knickers matter of fact?” Then he laughed, long and deliberately slow, pointedly looking at his son’s pathetic show. “Sweet jesus,” Luca breathed, “did I say man? Did the doctors really think you were a boy when you came out of your mother’s vagina?”
Brett was trembling from fierce embarrassment, and there were tears in his eyes; even as his father spoke, his cock was standing to its utmost, and he knew without having to look down it would only take certain lighting to make it look like there was nothing to see at all. This was beyond his wildest dreams and worst nightmares. Brett knew if he only had the opportunity to retreat into his bedroom – or into a hole in the ground! – it would take the minimal of strokes to bring himself to an absolutely explosive climax. He had never even thought of his father when he was fantasising, and the mortifying situation he now found himself in had brought Brett to a whole new level of Heaven and Hell. He was too near crying, too stunned with the reality – new twist or not, he now realised! – to do anything but stand there and tremble.
It was why he did nothing as his father briskly walked forward and cupped his crotch, squeezing in one hand Brett’s little scrotum and undersized penis.
Luca laughed again, genuinely amused, wondering how on earth this disgrace of a young ‘man’ was his son. He was laughing even as he said, “Lordy, you make me wonder if your mother didn’t fuck the milkman. You sure as shit didn’t get this sad package from me.” He squeezed harder kaçak iddaa until he saw his son visibly wince, then kneaded Brett’s excuse of a cock between two fingers.
“I think I’ve seen clits bigger than this, son.” Luca leaned close, menacingly so, til his breath was hot on Brett’s ear. “You like wearing these skimpies ’cause you wanna be a woman?” he asked quietly, “or is it because your own underwear always feels too loose?” He squeezed again, sure he was crushing his son’s member, certain of it when he drew back and saw the tears falling now, the trembling lip, heard the stifled whimpers. Luca grinned like the devil himself.
“What is it, boy?” Brett, doing his best to endure the suffering and – horrid truth – pleasure being inflicted upon him, heard his father say. “Why don’t we move this little slip aside and see if we’ve been using the wrong pronouns for you all these years?”
Brett groaned as he felt his father’s fingers finally release him, and groaned again – already past the point where he had any control over himself – as Luca, smirking and merciless, moved aside his wife’s gusset from his son’s privates.
Luca tutted and sighed dramatically. “I don’t know,” he evaluated, “maybe we should’ve called you Brettney.” He stared in open amazement at Brett’s tiny member. It stood to rigid attention, though three inches of blood-pumped meat was nothing to brag about for anyone. He saw precum glistening from the tip. “And it looks like Brettney got mummy’s panties dirty, didn’t she?”
Brett finally found his voice but it was a gasping desperate one, pitiful and pathetic. “I’m a man, dad,” he sobbed. As if it had a mind of its own and thought it was helping confirm its masculinity, Brett’s cock twitched. He ached to be touched, even if it was his father’s brutal fingers doing the touching. Did his dad know he was making him harder than he’d ever been able to make himself, so hard it was painful? Brett was sure if his dad continued with the spiteful comments and teasing he was going to shoot his load into the air. He could imagine his semen staining the carpet, the moment never to be erased from family history.
His little cock twitched again, precum giving his helmet a milky sheen.
“You ain’t a man,” Luca sneered. “You’re a big-clitted sissy-boy.” Spitefully he flicked the head of Brett’s penis, grunting in amusement as it quivered and he whimpered sharply. His son’s face was red as a baboon’s arse. Brett’s hands, desperate to still be covering himself, were clenched into impotent fists by his side.
Luca tugged the panties back into place over Brett’s pathetic penis with a disgusted shake of his head. “Come on then,” he said, giving his son some space. “Give us a twirl and show me the rest.”
Brett stood there, useless and shivering from lust and rage he didn’t, would never, have the strength to voice.
“Spin boy!” Luca barked. Not a man for patience, he shoved Brett round in a rough circle, giving one arse-cheek a slap as he did. “You got the arse, you got the clit, you got the panties!” Luca’s voice was loud, excited, sadistic. Brett was sobbing fresh tears, too meek, too cowardly to do anything but keep going with what his father wanted. He wanted to ejaculate and be released, sexually and physically, but he knew no matter what happened after it was going to be his kaçak bahis overbearing terrible father leading his hand to his cock, whether he was with him or not. His mother’s panties, his father’s hands. Even as he stood mortified, degraded and wishing the ground would swallow him up, his mind was conjuring up new fantasies: ones where he tried on underwear for his dad, tight little thongs with the string cutting into his backside; his dad forcing him into uncomfortable bras that smothered his nipples; being made to parade around the house dressed only in all manner of women’s underwear, having to keep wearing it under his clothes when he went out; and, the one that made his balls ache, that he was sure would send him into a frenzy of spurting semen all over the carpet, the thought of his father tugging his trousers down a little, in front of company, indoors or out, to check – with loud verbal confirmation – that Brett was wearing what he’d been ordered to. He was whimpering in repressed delight, unable to stop his trembling lips from betraying him even as Luca continued grinning, jeering.
Brett didn’t think it could get worse.
Before his dad was again crushing his shameful junk in between his hand, furiously kneading Brett’s weeping cock through the panties with no tenderness, nothing but a single-minded determination to destroy his son with degradation.
“Let’s see if you got the spunk!” Luca whooped his words, looming and leering over his son as he crushed and released and crushed again that sickening excuse of a prick. “Come on, Brettney, don’t disappoint daddy with the one thing you must be able to do!”
Brett let out a strangled gasping moan as he felt that sweet soul-destroying orgasm rocket through him, gushing out of his cock-head. He felt the hot sticky spunk hit the gusset, slick against his cock as his knees buckled. Luca didn’t wait for Brett’s orgasm to finish before he took his hand away, wiping it on his trousers though no semen had come through the panties. There would be a dark patchy stain on the gusset though.
Luca howled with derisive laughter at the sight of his son, shuddering with his climax still, on all fours on the floor. He slapped Brett’s half-covered booty four times over, each slap after every word of “That is my girl!”
Brett was dizzy with the sheer pleasure of the most powerful orgasm he had ever had. It had gripped his whole body and forced him to the floor. Gasping and panting still, not wanting to look up at his father from his kneeling position, he shifted his weight and made to start peeling off the used panties. He wanted to be allowed to drag himself and his humiliation to his own bedroom, to sleep away a few hours of an existence he knew would now and forever be dogged only by embarrassment, shame and his father knowing exactly how to control him through lust.
But Luca yanked him up with a hand under his sweat-saturated armpit, hauling him off the floor and shoving away the hand that had tried to free Brett from the semen-soaked panties.
“Not so quick, sport,” his father murmured. Brett’s intense desires may have been temporarily hidden in the back of his brain now that he’d got his release, but Luca’s appetite for sadism – especially with an opportunity he had never thought of in his wildest dreams – was ever-present. “Mama’s home soon and I want to show her what her darling son gets up to.”
He leant in close to poor broken Brett, hissing with a sing-song voice full of sadistic lust, “don’t worry, Brettney, together we’ll show her the sissy you are…”