Panties From Wrapping Paper Ch. 01

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“Damn and shit. How did she do it? This wrapping paper’s too thin.” I realise far too late that I should have asked her. But how can you ask your lover how she made her paper knickers when your mouth is full of perfumed pussy? I urged myself to calm down and quiet down too or I’d wake him before I’d wrapped his present. The poor love had no idea; he’s searched high and low this past month trying to find out what I was giving him for Christmas. I hope he likes it, I’d refused him often enough.

Walking into the kitchen I decided I’d make a start on the dinner and then wrap it. Cup of tea and a ciggy were first though, while I tried to figure out how to not tear tissue thin wrapping paper whilst trying to wear it.

I’d discarded the idea of just making a skirt or dress because he’d guess straight away and besides he already has me. This present was a very specific part of me. I really hope he’s not disappointed. Oh my god… Sprouts. Jumping from the kitchen table I saw straight away that I hadn’t forgotten them, they were there in the pan, grinning at me, daring me to light the flame before they were ready to start. Bastards. I hate sprouts. I checked the oven again to make certain the turkey hadn’t got up and walked away during the night, with his butter coat and bacon pullover and his little chef’s hat shoes.

I flopped back down onto the barstool at the breakfast nook, next to the kitchen door. Tea. Just nice. A timid knock at the door made me nearly jump off the stool and nearly drown myself simultaneously, when I gasped in with a mouthful of hot sweetness.

“Who the fuck is that at half past six in the morning?”

Through the frosted glass I could make out the blurred shape of Martin-from-next-door. Poor lamb. Martin was the young, very young man from next door, waiting to go back to college. He’s made a point of being very helpful to his new, helpless, next door neighbour. Popping by every single day, co-incidentally always after hubby had left for work. He was a love, and I teased him unmercifully. He always managed to catch me in nothing more than my housecoat, once, for devilment, in a large towel straight out of the shower. No doubt I was a very good topic of conversation with his drinking mates, I noticed they were always curious about our house when they passed on their way to or from next door. No doubt I was a very good topic for a wank too, although I wouldn’t trust a single one of Martin’s friends not to try it on with me. Martin never had. Even after I began greeting him with only one button on the housecoat fastened. I sail very close to the wind sometimes.

Maybe I’ll give Martin a present this morning too. Nothing too expensive. A quick flash. Not sure which though, breast or bush. Maybe both, it is Christmas.

Listening for movement from upstairs, I slid off the stool and as unobtrusively as I could, pulled off all but one button on my housecoat. Then, whilst trying to push sarıyer escort loose, now dry fringe hair behind my ears I reached forward and turned the latch. I let a happy surprise paint itself across my smile as I declared in my throaty morning voice “Martin! What a lovely surprise.” I waved my arm in the direction of the empty kitchen, which lifted the hem of my coat to reveal quite a large expanse of creamy flesh to his young eyes. Perhaps a little more than I had anticipated as I quickly altered the angle of my arm. But Martin had seen. His eyes had widened, his cheeks had flushed.

As he brushed past me through the strategically limited opening I leant forward and kissed his burning cheek, accidentally pressing my small, nipple hard, breast into his arm. “Merry Christmas Martin,” I whispered in his ear, hissing the sibilance. This time, he blanched. He was changing colour faster than traffic lights.

“Sit down.” I indicated a chair next to the newly polished kitchen table, which would need the linen tablecloth and serving mats at dinner if I didn’t want to spend the New Year stripping and rewaxing. Never mind all that. “Martin. Would you like a drink?”

“Please, Mrs Edwards.”

I took the opportunity, and with one hand on the table and the other on the back of the occupied chair, leaned forward to ask, “What in particular would you like?” My spread arms opened up the top of the housecoat. I looked down to see how much and was quite shocked at the sight of my naked breasts in such plain view. Too much? He would surely see my nipples. Too late now. The buttons I would need to modify the effect were lying loose in the pocket. I’ll have to sew them back on later. Looking up I glimpsed him look quickly down. “Well?” I enquired. Martin’s head came up and I leaned closer to hear his request. His eyes never left the view of my slightly rounded belly seen through the upturned valley of my tits.

“Anything, Mrs Edwards.”

As I turned towards the cupboards Martin snook his hand into the pocket of his skate pants. And as his wrist fell from view I could tell; either they were deep pockets or no pockets at all. I smiled.

With his free hand, Martin took the glass of cold orange juice and thanked me. His other hand was buried deep in his trousers, but I could just make out movement under the baggy material. If this had been one of his pals then I’m pretty sure that the movement would have been wholly obvious, but Martin was discrete in his own fashion. I dithered over giving him his next present.

Chatting pleasantly about girlfriends, drinking and social life I moved back to the stool across the room. I sat, drinking my tea, using the cup to hide my eyes, so that I could watch his next move and plan mine accordingly. I parted my thighs a little. Martin squirmed in his chair and slid down the seat. Cliché.

I left my own esenyurt escort seat and wandered about the kitchen a little, trying to think. Everything was cliché. If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it properly.

I crossed the room again. Martin was trying to speed up the action of his fist without letting me see and failing spectacularly.


“Yes Mrs Edwards?” his fist slowing once more.

“Martin. Did I wish you a Merry Christmas?”

“Yes Mrs Edwards. When I came in.”

“Oh. Oh well.” I made the decision and as I wished him a merry Christmas again I raised my foot to the seat of the next chair, hoping this would achieve the desired effect. It did. Martin was stunned. So stunned that he stopped rubbing his cock under his skate-pants, and stared directly and deliberately at my naked pussy. I let him gaze his fill for a full minute, during which he resumed his secret wank. I was thrilled to the core. Watching this young man pull his meat in front of me while he looked longingly at my bush.

I have no idea who or what to blame for what I did next. It was going to be; just let him look and have his trouser-wank then out and start on the Christmas dinner. I found myself saying “Wait here Martin, I need to change.” His face fell as I put my foot to the warm tile floor once more. Holding a grin, I leaned forward again to make him look up. “I won’t be a moment.”

As I walked through the kitchen door I could hear the sound of knuckles on denim.

Pulling the door closed I waited, knowing that it would swing open of its own accord. If I’ve asked Mick once, I’ve asked him a thousand times to re-hang it. I’m glad he hasn’t got round to it.

I paused on the stairs, listening for signs of life from the bedroom whilst waiting for the kitchen door to swing silently open, which it did, as if on cue. And there, framed in the doorway, was my present. A picture of a young man pulling his cock fast and hard. Martin didn’t turn to look but I could tell he knew that the door was now open. He edged his chair away from the kitchen table and quite deliberately and tantalisingly removed his quite large prick from within his pants, and sat there lazily stroking the now glistening shaft. I just hoped that he would abide by the unspoken rules. His mates would have no qualms about fucking a bored housewife in her own kitchen, across the table, whilst her husband slept upstairs. Each taking their turn spewing their cum into my cunt. Then they would no doubt want to push their hard young cocks as far down my throat as they could, making me gag and beg for more. If I let them do that then sooner or later, standing up, whilst one had his long cock inserted in my flaming cunt one of the others would push his meat up my backside and arse-fuck me to oblivion. I might tell Mick about that one.

With, now silvery, sliding thighs I continued quietly up the stairs avrupa yakası escort to find the wash-basket in order to present Martin with his third and last present. Not having planned it this way I now had to rescue my slender shirt which I know for a fact shows off my succulent titties to full effect.

How the hell does he expect me to wash his work clothes if he hides them behind the wash basket instead of putting them inside? Bloody hell. These are from two weeks ago. I’ll take them down with me now – no I won’t. I’ll get them after dinner. What I need is… This. Yes.

Carelessly pulling open the housecoat I managed to remove the remaining button and also lose it god knows where. I pulled on the shirt and smoothed it as best I could. Can’t iron it now. Can I? No. Martin’s present. He’s not going to be bothered about creased wrapping.

As I gained the middle step, downwards, I looked and sure enough there he was. Cock still in view. Still stroking. Is he going to leave it out for me to see? I stand deliberately on the creaky step, listening up and looking down. No movement upstairs and none downstairs. He’s getting bold now, so I step into the kitchen and stare into his eyes. He stares into my tits and continues stroking. He moans when he sees how well they look in this top. “Is this a present for me?” I ask him.

“Yes Mrs Edwards.”

Anxiously I ask if he understands the rules of this Christmas only game. He nods and smiles. I explain why I put on the shirt. “So that you can give me your present and I only have to wash a dirty shirt.”

“I’ve got it Mrs Edwards. You want me to shoot my spunk on you,”

Shocked, I nodded slowly

“I’ll shoot my spunk all over your shirt?”

Smiling, I lowered my eyelids and sat opposite.

“And onto your tits?”

Thrilled. I flashed my lashes, and squirmed to ride my shirt up my backside. Martin looked at my sopping twat then into my eyes and for all his youth he saw the ‘no’ in them.

“You don’t want me to cum on your cunt though.”

I sank further and smiled my thanks.

Martin stood and towered over me, vigorously wanking his beautiful length in front of me.

“But I’m going to come on your face, and your lips and in your eyes.”

I nodded acceptance. Martin stepped closer, touching his knee to my elbow, needing at least that contact, whilst I fought the need to take his entire cock in my mouth and gag on his spunk.

Scant seconds later I was showered with his eruption. I watched his body twitch with his head thrown back and convulsions wracking his system. Still pulling hard but slowly now, deliberately, his arse would jerk backwards, as his fist pulled forwards forcing another gout of cream to splash over my spunk bedecked shirt and face. In a final gesture of hard fought dominance he wiped his leaking cock across my shoulder and left a trail of silver up to my cheek and nose and onto my eyelid. I luxuriated as he came to his senses. I smiled as he hastily tucked his still hard cock inside his pants. I giggled, as he made his exit, and called out “Merry Christmas Martin.”

Part two of “Christmas Panties” will appear shortly when Mrs Edwards presents her husband with his Christmas Present, and we discover how her office lover gave her the idea for the wrapping.

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