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Tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, I’d be leaving the UK for Italy, at least for a few years, maybe longer. I’d accepted a three-year junior lecturer position at the Università di Roma, and if it led to an extension or even a tenured post then goodness knows when I’d next be back in England for anything but a flying visit. I should have been happy. I should have been excited. And since I hadn’t even started looking for somewhere to live over there, I should have been panicking.
What I shouldn’t have been, was obsessing over Valentine’s Day and Mike.
Mike was a post-doc specialising in medieval economics. Mike was gorgeous. And Mike had this way of making me completely tongue-tied each time we bumped into each other at departmental get-togethers. Me, fluent in three languages and opinionated in all of them, the epitome of the sharp and sassy twenty-something woman, reduced to a vocabulary that would have shamed a two-year-old.
And whilst I’d hemmed and hawed, my flatmate and colleague Val had put the moves on him.
I shouldn’t have been upset. I mean I was leaving the country. It was hardly the time to be thinking of starting a relationship. I should have just left Mike to Val, and wished her the best of British luck.
But it rankled. In the days running up to my departure it gnawed at me in those long moments between switching out the light and finally falling asleep in my lonely bed.
So after mulling it over, I’d decided to send him a Valentine’s card. I’d gone into town on the Saturday and chosen what I thought was the perfect one — elegant, witty, and cheeky without being crude.
Now here I was, early on Sunday evening, the day before Valentine’s Day, in the faculty building, standing outside the office he shared with another post-doc, ready to sneak in and slide the red envelope under his keyboard for him to discover tomorrow.
I listened at the door, just to make sure he wasn’t inside, putting some hours in when there weren’t pesky undergrads about to bother him. Silence. So I slipped inside.
By the dim glow of the car park floodlights, I made out another envelope already under Mike’s keyboard. It, too, was red, though rather fatter than mine. Fatter than one would expect from just a card. Even from here I could see that the flap wasn’t sealed down. Curiosity, my eternal downfall, beckoned me.
With one polished nail I lifted the flap a fraction of an inch. I caught a glimpse of black lace, and a sweet perfume crept out to assail my nostrils. Knowing that I shouldn’t, I pulled the envelope out from under the keyboard and opened it fully, withdrawing the card from within, being ever so careful not to bend it.
The card had a pair of panties stretched round it, skimpy lacy things with a tiny bow at the front. I opened the card and held it closer to the window to read. Inside were just two words: “Guess who?”
I didn’t need to guess. I’d seen that writing in countless notes on the fridge door of our shared flat. I’d smelled that perfume, heavy in the air after my flatmate had preened herself for a night out. I’d even seen those very panties, last weekend, pegged to the clothes horse in our hall.
I was suddenly seized by strong emotion. bahçeşehir escort Not jealousy, but competitiveness, one-upmanship. Even if she got Mike, I was determined to elbow in in some way.
From the faint whiff of soap powder behind the perfume, I was sure Val hadn’t worn the panties before she placed them around the card, or if she had then it hadn’t been for long enough for her intimate scent to permeate them. She’d been pretty daring in sending her own panties to a man she’d not even been out with yet, but she’d not taken it to its logical conclusion.
I could. It would be simple for me to peel the panties from the card, slip them on in place of mine, and rub the crotch against my pussy until the lace took up my scent. The thought of Mike sniffing in the musk, imagining it was Val, maybe even wanking over the fallacy, well that was truly delicious.
My conscience stopped me for all of, oh, five seconds, and then suddenly I had the panties clenched in my fist and was headed for my old office across the corridor, Val’s card pushed back under Mike’s keyboard. Safe in the room I’d only vacated that Friday, I threw myself down into my old chair, hauled up my skirt and yanked down my underwear. I had to get this done before I bottled out.
I squirmed into Val’s panties. They fit rather snugly, as I’d known they would (I’d seen her size label in the laundry bin often enough) and I had to wriggle my bum quite a bit to get them right up. Even then, they bit into my flesh, though not enough to be uncomfortable.
It felt quite strange to be wearing my flatmate’s panties, knowing that material that had stretched over her sex was now stretched over mine. Strange and rather kinky. I’d never thought of myself as having lesbian tendencies and it both disturbed and excited me. But this was about Mike, so I shoved aside the mental picture of Val bursting in to see me wearing her panties and instead conjured up the face of the handsome, dark haired post-doc.
The lace of Val’s undies squashed the fine brown hairs flat on my mound and I imagined the pressure of the taught material was Mike’s hand cupping my sex.
“Val, you’re so hot down there,” fantasy Mike whispered in my ear.
“I’m not Val,” I tried to tell him, “I’m Kate,” but he shushed me with a finger across my lips.
“You’re Val,” he responded. “I recognised your writing in the card. And anyhow you can’t be Kate. Kate’s not interested in me. Every time I’ve gone near her she stops talking and looks away, like I bore her or something.”
Mike’s (my?) finger trailed up the lace over my mound, pressing the material against intimate lips that were becoming increasingly swollen. I wanted him to continue, and if that meant being Val for the moment, then I would.
“Tell me how I feel,” I urged the Mike of my imagination, slipping my fingers under the waistband of the borrowed panties and resting my middle finger along the slit of my sex.
“Warm,” I imagined him answering. “Warm and swollen. Why are you swollen, Val? Do you want me?”
“Yes,” I murmured aloud. “Yes. I want you. I want your fingers inside me. I want you parting me, opening me. And I want it now!” I crooked a finger, bending istanbul escort it between my folds, scooping up the moisture that was seeping from within me, spreading it up and over my clit, wafts of my scent drifting to my nostrils.
At that first touch on my bud I almost jumped, my buttocks clenching involuntarily on the chair. I’d never got so aroused so quickly. I was discovering a kinky side I never knew I had, and I liked it!
With my free hand I stretched the waistband of the panties far enough open to let me remove my damp digits with their load of cream intact, bringing it to my mouth. I sucked my fingers, but in my imagination it was Mike’s lips closing around them, Mike licking the evidence of my arousal, Mike revelling in the taste of me. And that taste was rich, creamy, with just a hint of spice and bitterness. I’d never really been into tasting my own juices, until now. Another new thing to add to the list, I thought with a smile.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” fantasy Mike exclaimed breathily in my mind, dragging my attention back to the scenario I was weaving in my head.
“Yes, fuck,” I replied, looking into his deep brown eyes. “Fuck me. Now.”
I thrust my hand back inside the black lace panties and straight into me, imagining it was Mike’s cock penetrating me. Two digits slid up easily, squelching into a pussy sodden with moisture. Then a third. My fantasy Mike was big, and I wanted to feel it, feel him stretch me.
With the middle finger of my other hand I began to circle my clit, slowly at first, then speeding up until I was strumming away like a demented musician.
“Do you like it?” I muttered. “Do you like feeling yourself inside me? Am I all you imagined?”
Fantasy Mike looked down at me with awe. “You are more than I ever imagined, Val. You are awesome. Fucking awesome.”
My heart sang. It was proof that I was a better fuck than Val was, a better fuck than Val could ever be. It didn’t matter that Mike’s praise was all in my mind. It felt real and it felt good. I was strong, I was passionate, I was sex incarnate.
“That’s because I’m not Val,” I told imaginary Mike, proud to have fooled him. “I’m Kate. It’s Kate who’s taking your cock like this. It’s Kate who’s making you crazy with lust.”
Mike stopped dead, his cock still embedded in me. “No,” he whispered. I pulled my fingers out a fraction, imagining he was withdrawing from me.
But I’d not allow that. I leaned over and grabbed a cushion from the visitor’s chair beside the desk, grasping it to my crotch, digging my fingers into the material and imagining I was digging into Mike’s buttocks, holding him in me.
“Yes,” I hissed. “I am Kate, and I’m a better fuck than Val. Tell me. Tell me I’m the better fuck.”
I started moving my fingers back and forth inside me again, fast, lewd squelching sounds filling the office alongside the rich creamy scent of my arousal. The crotch of the panties must have been sodden by now. “Yes,” fantasy Mike finally blurted out. “Yes, you are the better fuck. You, Kate, are the best fuck I’ve ever had!”
I let go of the pillow and reached up across my heaving chest to dig fingernails into my shoulder, imagining that it was Mike escort bahçeşehir grasping at me as he thrust into me, driven by his lust so as to be careless of any pain he caused me. Through the thin material of my blouse I pinched myself hard, so hard that the pain of my fantasy was real pain too.
“Yes, Mike,” I called out. “Harder! Fuck me harder!” I yanked my fingers out from within me and raked them over my clit, abusing myself with violent intensity. Seemingly out of nowhere my orgasm struck. At the first wave of contractions I grasped my left nipple, tweaking hard. It hurt, but it hurt damned good. The pain in my breast met the fire jagging outwards from my cunt in a roiling explosion deep in my belly. Fuck! Fuck, it was good!
I moaned as muscles spasmed all over my body, arching in my chair as if I’d been electrocuted. It was torture, but torture of the most exquisite kind.
“Oh!” I finally managed to expel the breath that had been caught within me. “Oh. Oh God. Oh, God, oh Mike!”
Fantasy Mike smiled, then slowly faded from my vision. I closed my eyes, sad at his passing, then opened them again to look down at my still-quaking body. I was rather a mess. My skirt was crumpled up around my waist and my blouse was creased, a sweat stain spreading from my cleavage. I smiled to see that the black lace panties were an even darker shade over my crotch, soaked with my moisture. I pressed them in between the lips of my sex just to make sure they were well and truly saturated.
The room reeked of sex, of sweat and of the creamy scent of my lust. I reluctantly peeled Val’s panties off and brought to my nostrils. Ah yes. They positively stank of me. No way could anyone mistake what had been done in these panties.
I pulled my own knickers up in their place and got unsteadily to my feet, arranging my clothes to make myself decent again, though nothing could have hidden the satisfied glow which I was sure must be lighting up my face, the glow of a stonkingly good orgasm. Then I made for the door, wobbling slightly, feeling quite drunk on the outrageousness of what I’d just done.
Back in Mike’s office I retrieved Val’s envelope, and stretched the damp lace panties back onto the card. I paused for a moment. Should I leave him thinking that Val had masturbated in the panties for him? But what if he thanked her for that? All hell would break loose. And anyway, I wanted some credit for my efforts!
So instead I picked up a university compliments slip from a box on his desk and wrote a note, kissing it at the bottom then slipping it into the envelope with the panties and card. It was the most open and honest thing I’d ever written, and I’d never have dared had there been the slightest chance that I’d still be here when Mike read it. But I’d be on a plane when he opened the envelope, half way to Italy, so I could at last say exactly what I wanted to.
Maybe I’d try to contact him about it later.
The card and panties are from Val, but the juices on them are from me, Kate.
I stole them and brought myself off, wearing them, thinking of you. Thinking of you fucking me.
If you hit it off with Val, remember this, and remember me. As you fuck her, close your eyes and imagine it’s me under you. Then give her that big smile of yours and thrust into her one more time, hard, for me. I’ll know. Across the miles, I’ll feel it.
Don’t tell her, ever. Our secret.
Happy Valentine’s Day.
Your minx, Kate
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