Mauve Panties


“See y’all later!” My friend’s mom waved cheerfully from her station wagon. “I’m off to get groceries — need anything? Oh, and I’m going to pick up a pair of mauve underwear, so if you need …” Her voice trailed off as the heat rushed to our teenage faces. She drove off laughing into the misty afternoon.

“Hey kids, I’m back!”

We scrambled to get our clothes in order and open our books. Studying, we were supposed to be. Sophomores in the local state university, grinding our way through second year tech courses.

“Did you get everything on your list?” I asked. My friend gave me a quizzical look.

“Oh yes, everything. I checked out that nice lingerie store that just opened in town. They have very beautiful things there.”

She barely raised an eyebrow at our perspiring faces and bulging trousers as we quickly closed our laptops where we’d been watching MILF porn. “Whatcha been doin, guys?” A wink and a big guffaw came on the heels of her quip as she sashayed into her room.

When she came back she had a cigarette between her fingers and a tray with three old fashioned glasses. Her eyes were shining with mischief. She slid the patio doors open and headed outside. The garden, surrounded by a tall, dense hedge was cool, despite the early-summer heat. My friend’s neighbourhood was a ’50s suburb of one-story ranch houses.

She’d changed into a long, loose, dark maroon caftan. She was still a very good-looking woman, with long dark hair curling below her shoulders and big, soft tits. I’d imagined touching them often as I beat my meat for relief.

Stiff nipples poked at the soft fabric that draped from her shoulders to her wide hips as she handed a glass to me and her son.

The drink was deep amber, glinting red where the setting sun refracted through clear ice. In each glass a cherry peeked among the cubes along with a twist of lemon peel. The aroma was intoxicating.

She took a sip, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. “Well?”

It was strong enough that I almost sputtered, but sweet enough that the second sip was a gulp, in spite of my eyes watering.

She chuckled. “Is this your first manhattan? I daresay you’ll enjoy many more in your life — handsome guy like you. Why, the girls must be drawn to you like flies to honey.”

My friend was turning red, and not because he’d downed most of his drink in a couple of quick gulps.

His mom noticed, and came back with a pitcher of ice and three bottles: rye whisky, vermouth and a small wrapped in paper. She proceeded to mix a pitcher full of these “manhattans,” adding dashes of what she called Angostura at the end, then stirring them gently with a tall chrome spoon.

“I know you both just had 19th birthdays, and I’m sorry I couldn’t attend because beşiktaş escort of work but I heard you had a super time with a pack of buddies and a posse of girls. I’m sure you didn’t miss an old broad like me.”

The heavy globes of her breasts swayed rhythmically as she stirred the drinks languidly. The nipples got harder as they rubbed against the soft maroon fabric. The image was hypnotic.

The girls we hung around with tended to be athletic — pretty, yes, but the sports bras they wore like a uniform gave them all boyish figures and, while their leggings occasionally showed a bit of camel toe, they were for the most part androgynous.

My friend’s mom, on the other hand, was all woman. And the second drink was giving me stupid courage. The filters I’d learned being brought up by a single mom in the Big Smoke were rapidly fading in the California haze. And then it happened …

“How long since you’ve been fucked with your panties on, Mrs. Stanton?” I blurted. Bold for a 19-year-old.

My friend choked loudly, and shoved an elbow hard into my ribs. “Come on, tell me you haven’t fantasized about your mom,” I whispered. “And your dad, when he was around. Everyone does.”

Mrs. Stanton took me by the hand and led me to the outdoor sofa, its cushions plump and inviting.

“Young man, you’re pretty forward, aren’t you? But that was a pretty perceptive question, though it shocked me at first.

“I have to admit it’s been more than ten years, if you really want to know.”

She sat down a bit heavily. I could smell the fresh lemon from her second drink, which had left her a trifle tiddly. She reached up and pulled me down beside her.

My jeans were already straining and I gingerly reached out toward her. She held my wrist and let my thumb graze her left nipple, which sent an electric shock through both of us.

“Mauve, yes. With lace,” she said.

I grinned at her. My friend gulped his drink and poured himself a double.

“Do you have a ladies’ hand mirror?”

“Whatever for?”

“I want you to enjoy this as much as I do, Mrs. Stanton…”

“Call me Peggy, please. And yes, in the bathroom cupboard, middle shelf.”

I practically skipped back with the mirror, laying it carefully on the end table. The sun had set but the twilight glow was extremely flattering.

I squeezed beside her, nibbling an earlobe. She shuddered slightly and sighed.

I kissed her warm lips gently and she parted them, flicking her tongue against mine. The spicy liquor tasted sweetly erotic, then she pulled back a bit and pulled my white t-shirt up and over my head, then unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans.

It was all I could do to keep beşyol escort from spurting as her hot hand slowly measured the length of my cock through my y-fronts. My friend covered his eyes, but I could see he was peeking through his fingers.

Regaining my courage, I pushed her shoulders back so she was lying stretched out on the sofa, smiling with half-closed lids.

I grabbed a couple of handfuls of her caftan and lifted it slowly. Solid thighs, nicely tanned. Mauve panties, silky with baby-blue lace panels in the sides and a band of the same lace around the waist.

I slipped the soft maroon jersey higher, exposing the soft bottoms of her juicy breasts and finally wide brown areolas with dark rose nipples jutting out like pencil erasers.

As I leaned in to kiss them, I could feel her sudden intake of breath. With the flat of my palm I caressed her belly and the front of her panties, feeling the springy softness of her well-developed bush underneath.

She groaned as my finger slid down between her silk-covered lips. Suddenly she reached up and roughly yanked my underwear down around my thighs. I picked up the mirror and handed it to her so one hand was on handle and the other steadied the frame. She smirked.

My rod jutted out stiffly, the head glistening and rosy purple. Spreading wide, she lay her head back and tilted the mirror to enjoy the view.

I hoisted her thighs around my hips, and pulled the crotch of her flimsy panties to one side. I was intoxicated watching the rise and fall of her belly and breasts as her breaths came faster and faster.

The head of my cock was nearly there, poised above her entrance with its stiff pink rosebud and wet, welcoming opening visible between her thigh and the moist mauve silk of her panties.

When we touched, it felt like a shock. Then I slowly pushed in — as she stared wide-eyed at the mirror.

Halfway in, there was some resistance. I pulled out slowly, stroking my rod to spread her creamy moisture down the shaft, then gripped myself tight and pushed in until my curled fingers were snug against her lips and my thumb on her rosebud.

She gasped, and I gently rubbed her rosebud while I squeezed my throbbing cock painfully to keep from blowing the load I could feel straining to splash into her hot, wet tunnel.

“Slowly, boy, slowly,” she growled, clamping my rod inside her and digging her mauve-manicured nails into the muscles of my hockey-player ass. “Pull out and slide your cock over my bush. I want to feel your loaded balls bang my clit … Ahhhh, like that.


My rod, wet with her juices, slid between the mauve panties and the soft brown hair of her bush. With every stroke beykent escort my sack made a heavy slap as it banged her clit and her breath hissed between her lips.


I froze. “Change places. Lie on your back.” She knelt between my legs and licked my rod from balls to tip until I thought I’d burst, then straddled me and stood my dick up till its head was touching her rosebud.

She used it to rub herself until I could feel the juice running down over my balls and hear her gasping for breath. She moved slightly, and slid down and back till I was in her to the hilt as she rode me.

Grinding on me slowly, she clamped my rod with her thighs and swung her heavy breasts over my lips so I could lick them with every stroke. I was pretty well cross-eyed with lust.

Suddenly she slapped my face lightly. “Not yet!”

I exhaled as she magically massaged my rod without moving her body. My eyes almost rolled back in my head as the internal contractions continued slowly, keeping me just shy of exploding.

“Joe! Get over here…”

I’d almost forgotten my friend. I turned my head and saw his jeans down around his knees and his hand sliding back and forth along his unusually long, skinny member as he watched his mom with me deep inside her.

He lurched drunkenly toward us, his jeans around his ankles and his hand still gripping his dick. “Kneel behind me,” she ordered.

He landed heavily on the sofa, eliciting a “tsk” from his mom, who was staring into the mirror at her son. From somewhere she produced a tube of lube and passed it to him.

“Pull my panties down and quirt this in the crack of my ass, then rub a handful all over your cock.”

The obedient son did as he was told.

She spread her cheeks with her hands. “Now! Put it in!”

I felt his iron-hard rod slide into her well-lubed ass, stroking my dick as he got rhythm.

Once he got balls-deep she started to slide back and forth on my dick and his.

I reached up and grasped her nipples as her breasts swayed in front of me.

Her breath came faster and faster and she reached down to rub her rosebud in time to our rhythm. She was like an orchestra conductor, synchronizing our movements from largo to andante to presto to crescendo, all the while keeping an eye on the action in her mirror.

Suddenly all her muscles contracted, she screamed softly, and Joe and I unloaded. I could feel his dick jerking as he groaned and his hot sperm blasted into his mom’s ass, and my throbbing rod splashed its full load into her cunt.

As our breathing and heartbeats slowed in synch we softened, slid out and drenched the cushions and our thighs with sticky white jizz. Mrs. Stanton had a loopy, contented grin, and we laughed in unison.

“Goddamn!” she said tipsily after she caught her breath. “Those mauve panties were the best fucking deal I’ve ever spent money on! I wish I’d bought a dozen. I’ve got to tell my girlfriends about that store.”

There must’ve been a lineup at the shop the next week. Joe and I got invitations to drink manhattans at half a dozen houses that term.

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