Themes: mast, lez, ws, light scat
This in an offshoot project from the Margey Household chronicles. Some of the characters are the same, some new. Read the other stories in the series (Books 1-11) to find out the full background or some of it won’t make any sense.
Warning: The events and characters in this story are imaginary. If you attempt to duplicate them in real life, you will end up sharing a jail cell with a big fat man called Bubba
Chapter 12-5 Panties for Sale
by Stack of Books
(2018words)
Tonight, I drove round to BSB headquarters when I knew Bindi would be out with the others delivering food to a client. This was the best and favourite part of the job as far as she was concerned. Before going, she would put on a nice sari (never western clothes), apply very careful and understated (not vulgar) makeup, wear dangly earrings, and adorn her very long hair (still past her buttocks) with colourful ribbons and sparkling chains of diamonds. The first time I saw her like this, I didn’t recognise her at all – until this unknown Indian princess who I assumed was a visiting dignitary’s wife, walking past me in the corridor, leaned into my face, slipped me some tongue and whispered her catchphrase in a dusky and recognisable voice: Hey Stevie-boy, I need it up both holes later tonight.
She was definitely a people person, and thoroughly enjoyed meeting her hosts, and then mucking in with the other helpers she occasionally hired if the job was big enough, setting up the heated tables for the main dishes, arranging the normal tables for other mains and desserts and supervised everything so it looked perfect when everyone walked in. Almost always she got a round of applause when the guests saw it, then she disappeared into the night leaving them to their nosh, returning later after all had gone home bloated and satiated, in denim shorts, trainers, old T-shirt, and hair tied up, as packing up was always a messy business.
Of course, Beth and Suze were always with her at starts and finishes, but were more than happy to let her take the lead. It was after all her house, the business mainly her idea, and she was the more skilful in cooking, and there was no jealousy or bad feeling about it.
Anyway, back to tonight’s mission: when Bindi first moved in with us after her parents left for India, she and I had a thing going on. One of our rituals was that I wanked into her used knickers from the linen basket, for her to find and wear the next day, heavily encrusted and itchy as hell.
Obviously, with the tragedy of her parents’ death, that had all stopped, but now she’d moved out to BSB HQ House, I decided to start up this little game again.
I sneaked in through the back door (no idea why they gave me the keys to the place – these were the only times I used them), and crept up to her room. Found her basket, picked out the ones with the thickest mucus layer and biggest skidmark, with actually a small piece of poop stuck to it. To rev my engine, I remembered back to the day when I took her anally and pissed up there as well, and fired my wad into the front panel, where her clit would be. I wrapped them up loosely and put them in her work shoes that she used in the kitchen. Then disappeared into the night, like the guy in the Milk Tray advert used to do.
Unknown to me, the trio had a half day off the next day, and unexpectedly trundled round in their car in the morning, found me in the garden, and started tying me up – still fully clothed – with scarves and bits of rope that Margey had helpfully (!) prepared for them.
I saw her out of the corner of my eye recording it all on that fucking portable video camera – the one she told me not to buy.
Hey, hey, what’s the big deal?, I innocently cried, but my twinkling eyes betrayed me.
The mean Bindi face appeared. You!! You are a naughty and fucking sick pervert! How dare you leave your disgusting fucking baby batter anywhere near my precious clothes, especially my very expensive underwear.
So saying, she lifted up her short skirt to show the offending piece of underwear next to her cunt.
Yeah, we’re her friends – to the bitter end, the two accompanying sisters intoned tunefully and in harmony, thus quoting my favourite song from my favourite Disney movie.
Suze: You’ve reached the pinnacle of your sexual deviance…
Beth: …and now you’re going to pay for it, Big Bird.
Unluckily for me, three of the four lodgers were there that day (not Sandy, or I might have got a real sassy earful) and came out to view the action although they hadn’t a clue yet what it was all about.
Bindi pulled her skirt off and peed everything she had through her knickers into my mouth, thus combining her urine with old mucus and my semen…I just hoped that piece of shit was a cling-on and not detachable.
Beth & Suze followed suit, but they were knickerless and their delivery was clean and delectable – but not all in my mouth, some all over me.
Margey ordered Bindi to pull my zip down and take out my dick, and peed a HUGE bladderful on it and up my chest.
Bindi explained to the lodgers what I’d done the night before, but said it was just a joke, there was nothing mean or sinister in it, it was just our silly ritual, our kink, and she showed them that she loved wearing the knickers afterwards. Ally and Lyn and even Sven nevertheless covered every inch of my still dry clothes as an act of “solidarity & revenge”.
When they eventually untied me (I was left lying on grass, sodden, for at least 10 mins), I stood under the outside shower with clothes on, first to get as much of the urine out of them before they went into the washing machine, then rinsed the rest of my body.
All 8 of us jumped into the hot tub (what a good investment it was), but the trio had to leave not long after, with many hugs and kisses, to prepare and load up for a smallish event that evening.
*****
I had given a red card to Sven for trying to push the girls into the tub. That got them a spanking. I put my thinking cap on for his punishment.
In the end I decided on this. There was an Irish comedian called Spike Milligan and he wrote many books, including 7 containing his war memoirs. They are hysterically funny (but also sad and deeply moving at times, as it’s when he started his spiral into deep and severe psychiatric problems which affected him for the rest of life). I don’t usually laugh out loud when I read, but in his case I learned not to take them on public transport cos I found people were staring at me – and then I realised I had disturbed their peace with my loud cackling.
The army boys played many practical jokes on each other, but this was my favourite. They used to make fake ‘Richard the Thirds’ and leave them in their victim’s beds.
Richard the Third is London Rhyming Slang for ‘turd’.
It’s easy. You take old-fashioned brown wrapping paper, soak it in water, fashion it into a shit log of desired length, make it smooth or gnarly according to your mood, and insert it under your enemy’s covers. Not only is there an element of surprise as at first glance it looks very realistic, but the ‘oh fucking hell’ factor as they realise the bed is now too wet to sleep in.
I left a note for Sven saying: Richard the Third bids you goodnight and asks you do not try to throw the girls in the tub again.
The next morning, Sven brought his fake brown friend on a paper plate into breakfast and the three girls freaked out as he touched it and pretended to eat it. Even deputy Sassmeister Sandy was fooled by it, which gave me a huge amount of satisfaction.
It took a long while for him to understand the Richard the Third connection. He thought he was the patron saint of poop, or something like that. Even when I explained other language examples (apples and pears, jam jar, butcher’s hook, trouble and strife, etc.) he just looked more confused.
*****
So Sal reopened her mum’s old website (with her permission) saying she was bored with dressmaking, but this was just a stopgap until something else appeared. Her dad offered to finance her setting up in their new city as his research told him there was really nothing like ASS there. She thanked him and said I love you dad, but neither she nor Arnold wanted to move.
Her mum said she would send her her used ones (very thick mucus) and she still had contacts from the old days of people who would contribute, for a percentage of the selling price.
She and Zeta started bagging up and sealing hermetically (so the nice smells didn’t escape) all the ones they had. On their periods, they didn’t wear pads or tampons and just leaked blood into their underwear, changing often. They pissed into them, farted into them, deliberately skidmarked them and by leaving them on for days, they got a nice coating of vaginal discharge. Sometimes they used good quality underwear, otherwise pound shop ones, but the price of the ‘basic raw material’ was factored into their online selling price. To suit everyone’s pockets.
They made a secret visit to us without my knowledge and talked to the four ladies. The two sisters were too naive to even know this fetish even existed and that there was a market for it. (It’s huge!) Everyone was asked to contribute piss, poop, period or mucus ones, or any combination thereof. S & Z had with them packs of new knickers to give, of different qualities, either for using and submitting or as replacements.
Likewise at BSB’s. Bindi was a past master at doing this, but not for selling, only to yank my chain. They also did not know about the commercial aspects of it. Jenny was there that day as she was teaching them a couple of new Indian dishes. (But the day after, the trio concluded that less is more and “let’s just stick with what we’ve got. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”.) Jenny and some of her Indian friends wanted to help out as some clients preferred ‘Asian’ ones.
Sal & Zeta stayed to eat the new dishes with them and declared them delicious.
Everyone at both houses received hermetic bags, and had to put the used ones inside immediately after wearing for “freshness”, rather than pull them out of the washing basket 3 days later. There was space on the bag to write each person’s special code so that Zeta and Sally knew the source of each and remuneration could be given accordingly.
The two entrepreneurs renamed their site “Zelly’s Smellies – genuine used knickers at an affordable price”, the name being a combination of both girls’ names of course.
The first week of being active, they sent out 20 packages, the week after 30. Demand soon outstripped supply. There are ways of faking these things, but S & Z never stooped that low. If a customer had to wait too long for an order, they apologised and refunded, and said try again soon to get the real thing. Almost all did.
Please give only helpful and constructive comments. Thank you
Proofread many times, but not spell-checked due to technical issues.