Addicted to Panties
by Max Swan
Copyright© 2026 by Max Swan
Erotica Sex Story: Jason has a problem. He's addicted to jerking off with dirty panties. He's sick. But he can't stop himself.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Mother Son Brother Sister Father Humiliation Size AI Generated .
The house was silent, the kind of quiet that amplified every creak of the floorboards under Jason’s bare feet. It was past midnight, and Emily’s door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of moonlight slipping through the curtains like an invitation he couldn’t ignore. His heart hammered in his chest as he pushed the door open just enough to slide inside, the air thick with the faint, musky scent of her—his sister, the one person he shouldn’t crave like this.
Jason’s hands trembled as he closed the door behind him, his eyes darting to the hamper in the corner of her room. There they were, tossed carelessly on top: a pair of her worn panties, pink lace edged with frills, stained from her day. Emily, with her curvy hips and innocent laugh, had no idea how she tormented him, leaving her intimate things scattered like that.
Jason’s breath hitched, his small dick already twitching in his boxers. He was early twenties, but that pathetic little thing between his legs made him feel like a boy, inadequate and desperate. Obsession gnawed at him nightly, pulling him back to her room, to these forbidden scraps of fabric that carried her essence.
He crossed the room in three quick steps, snatching the panties from the hamper. The material was soft, still warm from the laundry basket, and as he brought it to his nose, the sharp, tangy aroma of Emily’s pussy hit him like a punch. It was real—her sweat, piss, her arousal from whatever she’d been up to earlier, maybe touching herself under the covers. Jason inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the illicit scent, his mind flooding with images of Emily’s smooth thighs parting, her fingers dipping into that wet heat he could only dream of.
A wave of humiliation washed over him, hot and shameful, but it only made his tiny dick harden more, straining against the thin cotton of his underwear. ‘God, I’m such a loser,’ he thought, his face burning as he pressed the crotch of the panties harder against his nostrils.
The fabric was damp there, a faint stickiness that spoke of her body’s secrets. Jason couldn’t stop himself; his tongue darted out, licking the soiled spot tentatively at first, then with hungry laps. The taste was salty, slightly bitter, like her skin after a long day—Emily’s flavor exploding on his tongue.
His free hand fumbled with his boxers, shoving them down to free his small dick. It bobbed out, barely four inches, the head already leaking pre-cum in shiny beads. He rubbed the wet fabric against it, gasping at the contrast of lace against his sensitive skin, the dampness smearing along his shaft.
Jason sank onto the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, surrounded by her pillows that smelled of her shampoo—sweet vanilla mixed with that underlying musk. He wrapped the panties around his little dick, the lace scratching lightly as he gripped the bundle tight. His hand moved slowly at first, stroking up and down, feeling the way the material clung to his girth—or lack of it.
‘She’d laugh if she saw this,’ he imagined, the thought twisting in his gut like a knife, yet fueling the fire in his veins.
Humiliation pulsed through him, making his balls tighten, but so did the arousal, raw and insistent. He moaned softly, a low whimper escaping his lips as he pumped harder, the friction building heat along his short length. The scent enveloped him, Emily’s pussy’s aroma seeping into his every breath, and he licked at the panties again, sucking the fabric into his mouth to taste more of her.
Faster now, his strokes turned urgent, the panties twisting around his dick with each jerk. Pre-cum soaked through the lace, mixing with her dried juices, creating a slick glide that had him biting his lip to stifle louder groans. Jason’s mind raced with filthy visions: Emily catching him like this, her curvy body in those tight shorts she wore around the house, her eyes widening in shock before ... what? Teasing him? Forcing him to show her his tiny dick?
The idea made his humiliation spike, cheeks flushing as he whispered to himself, “Fuck, Emily, your panties feel so good on my little dick.”
He buried his nose deeper into the fabric, inhaling like a man starved, the desperation clawing at him. His hips bucked involuntarily, thrusting into his fist, the bed creaking faintly under the rhythm. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his body tensing as the pressure built low in his belly. He could feel it coming, that tight coil ready to snap, his small dick throbbing in the confines of her panties.
The taste of her lingered on his tongue, salty and intimate, pushing him closer to the edge. Jason’s free hand clutched the sheets, knuckles white, as he stroked relentlessly, lost in the filthy thrill of it all—his sister’s scent, his own pathetic need. But then, a soft sound from the hallway froze him mid-stroke, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Was that a footstep? Emily’s door was closed, but the house wasn’t empty. He held his breath, dick still wrapped and pulsing, the climax hovering just out of reach, teasing him with what might come next.
The sound in the hallway faded into nothing—just the house settling, or his paranoia playing tricks. Jason exhaled shakily, relief flooding him even as his small dick throbbed insistently, demanding release. He couldn’t stop now, not with Emily’s scent wrapped around him like a vice, her panties slick against his skin.
The fear only sharpened the edge of his arousal, making his humiliation burn hotter. ‘What if Emily walks in right now?’ The thought sent a fresh wave of shame through him, his cheeks flaming as he imagined her curvy frame silhouetted in the doorway, those innocent eyes widening at the sight of her brother with his pathetic little dick buried in her dirty panties.
He resumed stroking, faster this time, his hand a blur over the bundled lace. Jason’s small dick twitched violently in the damp fabric, the head swollen and leaking pre-cum that soaked through the material, mixing with the faint traces of her pussy juices. The slickness made each pump glide easier, the friction pulling low moans from his throat despite his efforts to stay quiet.
His balls drew up tight, heavy with need, as he ground the panties harder against his shaft, the lace edges scraping his sensitive skin. Every inhale dragged in more of Emily— that tangy, intimate musk that made his head spin, visions of Emily’s thighs clenching around her own fingers flashing behind his eyelids.
“Fuck, Emily,” he whispered hoarsely to the empty room, his voice cracking with desperation.
The words tasted like sin on his tongue, but they fueled the fire coiling in his gut. Humiliation twisted deep inside him, a sharp pang at how small he felt, how unworthy of even fantasizing about her soft, curvy body.
Yet it only made him jerk harder, his hips snapping up into his fist, the bed creaking softly under the force. Sweat trickled down his back, his free hand fisting the sheets as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. He pressed the crotch of the panties to his nose one last time, inhaling deeply, letting her scent overwhelm him—salty skin, faint arousal, the essence of the sister he craved in ways that made his stomach churn.
A groan ripped from his chest, louder than he intended, as the orgasm crashed over him. Jason’s small dick pulsed wildly, spurting thick ropes of cum into the damp lace. He trembled, body arching off the bed, each jet soaking the fabric further, his seed mingling with her dried remnants in a filthy union.
Shame flooded him even as pleasure ripped through his veins, hot and unrelenting: ‘I’m cumming in my sister’s panties like a fucking pervert,’ the thought echoed in his mind, making his release drag on, his tiny dick jerking with aftershocks. He clutched the bundle tight, milking every drop, the sticky warmth seeping through his fingers.
Panting, Jason sat there for a moment, the panties limp and heavy in his grip, now sticky with his cum and her lingering scent. The room smelled of sex—his sharp, musky release cutting through her sweeter aroma—and guilt clawed at his chest like talons. What had he done?
Emily’s innocent face flashed in his mind, her careless habit of leaving her frilly things around twisting into something cruel, unintentional torment. He felt exposed, small in every way, the evidence of his obsession clutched in his hand like a damning secret. Arousal still simmered low in his belly, but shame drowned it out, leaving him hollow and trembling.
He moved quickly then, heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped animal. Jason shoved his softening dick back into his boxers, the fabric chafing against the sensitive, cum-smeared skin. He wiped his hand on the edge of her bedspread—another violation, marking her space with his filth—before stuffing the soiled panties into his pocket.
They were warm and wet against his thigh as he stood, legs unsteady, glancing toward the door with wide eyes. The house remained silent, but every shadow seemed to shift, every creak a potential footstep from Emily’s room. He crept to the door, easing it open just enough to slip out, the cool hallway air hitting his flushed skin like a slap.
Jason’s bare feet padded softly down the corridor, pulse thundering in his ears, the weight of the panties in his pocket a constant reminder of his depravity. Guilt twisted sharper with each step, mixing with the fading echoes of arousal—how could he feel this rush of dirty satisfaction even now?
He reached his room, slipping inside and locking the door behind him with a soft click that echoed too loudly in his mind. The space was his own, plain and unremarkable, a stark contrast to the vanilla-scented haven he’d just defiled.
He collapsed onto his bed, fishing the panties from his pocket. They were a mess—pink lace darkened with cum, the crotch panel glistening with the combined evidence of their forbidden connection. Jason stared at them, breath ragged, humiliation burning through him like acid.
‘She’s going to notice they’re gone,’ he thought, panic flickering alongside the twisted thrill.
Part of him wanted to keep them, to press them to his face again tomorrow night, inhaling the drying scent of his shame. But the larger part recoiled, fingers trembling as he shoved them under his mattress, hiding the filthy trophy where no one would find it.
Lying back, Jason stared at the ceiling, his small dick twitching faintly in his boxers at the memory. Shame wrapped around him tighter than the lace ever had, but beneath it, the obsession pulsed on—Emily’s curvy silhouette haunting his thoughts, pulling him toward the edge once more. What if she asked about her missing panties? The question hung in the air, unanswered, as sleep evaded him, the night stretching into tense, guilty silence.
The next morning dragged Jason from a fitful sleep, his mind still tangled in the sticky web of last night’s shame. Sunlight slanted through his blinds, casting harsh lines across the rumpled sheets, but the weight under his mattress pressed on him like an accusation. Emily had left early for class, her door ajar as always, oblivious to the theft that gnawed at his gut.
Their mom was out running errands, the house echoing with an unnatural quiet that set his nerves on edge. Home alone—again. The thought sent a forbidden spark through him, arousal flickering low despite the guilt churning in his chest.
He avoided the laundry room all morning, busy with pointless tasks, but eventually the pile of his own dirty clothes demanded attention. Heart thudding unevenly, Jason gathered a basket and shuffled down the stairs, each step amplifying the twisted anticipation building in his veins. The laundry room door creaked open, revealing the familiar chaos: baskets overflowing, the hamper by the dryer spilling its contents like a taunt.
His eyes locked on it immediately—the lacy edges peeking out, a rainbow of fabrics that screamed intimacy. Mom’s dirty panties. She was constantly tossing them in without a second thought, her mature curves leaving behind scents that haunted his filthiest dreams.
Jason’s breath hitched, his small dick stirring in his sweatpants as he stared. ‘Not again,’ he thought, but his body betrayed him, heat pooling in his groin.
The hamper brimmed with them—damp from yesterday’s wear, the crotch panels darkened with her essence. He could almost smell it from across the room: that richer, earthier musk compared to Emily’s lighter tang, a mother’s forbidden allure that twisted the knife of humiliation deeper.
His hands trembled as he reached in, fingers brushing soft cotton and silk, snagging a pair of soiled black lace bikinis. They were damp, the fabric clinging slightly, heavy with her pussy’s residue. Guilt slammed into him. ‘She’s your mom, for fuck’s sake,’ he thought, but the thrill overrode it, his pulse racing with that guilty rush that made his tiny dick harden painfully.
He clutched the panties tight, the basket forgotten on the floor as he bolted back upstairs, legs shaky with urgency. The door to his room slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking like a confession. Jason collapsed onto the bed, the same one still faintly scented from last night’s depravity, and brought the stolen lace to his face.
He pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply, the pungent aroma flooding his senses—sweat-slicked skin, the sharp tang of her arousal, a hint of piss, a hint of soap from her shower that only amplified the raw intimacy. It was thicker than Emily’s, more lived-in, stirring visions of his mom’s full hips swaying in the kitchen, unaware of how her careless laundry fueled his obsession. Shame burned his cheeks, his small dick throbbing against his thigh, but he couldn’t stop; the humiliation fed the fire, making him feel pathetic, exposed, yet achingly alive.
A low whimper escaped his lips as he dragged his tongue along the crotch panel, tasting her. The fabric was salty-wet, the flavor bursting on his tongue—musky and intimate, like licking the forbidden core of his own family. Jason’s free hand shoved down his sweatpants, freeing his tiny dick, the shaft barely four inches hard but swollen with need, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
He wrapped the damp panties around it, the lace hugging his small length like a cruel embrace, the moisture slicking his skin. ‘So fucking small,’ he thought bitterly, the self-loathing twisting into arousal as he began to stroke, his fist pumping the bundled fabric up and down his shaft.
The friction was exquisite torture, the rough edges scraping his sensitive skin while her scent enveloped him. Jason’s hips bucked involuntarily, moaning louder now in the safety of his locked room, the sound raw and desperate. ‘Mom’s panties on my little dick—I’m such a worthless pervert.’
The words echoed in his mind, humiliation flooding him as he jerked harder, the panties growing slicker with his leaking pre-cum mixing into her dried juices. His balls tightened, heavy and aching, as he ground the fabric against his tip, imagining her curvy body, those mature breasts he’d glimpsed in old photos, her pussy that had birthed him now staining his hand with filthy promise.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his strokes turning frantic, the bed creaking under his thrusting hips. He licked the panties again, sucking the crotch into his mouth, savoring the tangy essence while his hand blurred over his dick. Pleasure coiled tight in his gut, emotional turmoil crashing with physical need—love for his mom warped into this degrading lust, the incestuous thrill making his small shaft pulse violently.
‘What if she knew? What if she caught me like this, her son’s pathetic dick wrapped in her dirty underwear?’ The thought pushed him closer, shame and ecstasy blurring as he moaned her name under his breath, a guttural “Mom...” slipping out.
His orgasm hit like a storm, Jason’s body arching as his tiny dick twitched hard in the lace. Cum spurted in hot ropes, soaking the already damp fabric, thick white strands seeping through the black lace to drip down his fingers.
He groaned loudly, the release dragging on with humiliating intensity, each jet marking the panties with his seed, mingling with her scent in a sticky, taboo mess. Tremors wracked him, his free hand clutching the sheets as waves of pleasure ebbed into crushing guilt, leaving him panting and spent.
The panties lay limp in his lap, heavy with cum, the air thick with the mingled smells of his sharp release and her pungent musk. Jason stared at them, chest heaving, the emotional weight settling like lead—another secret, another layer of obsession.
He should return them, wash away the evidence, but his fingers lingered, tracing the soaked panel. The house was still silent, but how long would it be before someone returned? The thought lingered, arousal flickering faintly beneath the shame, pulling him toward the darkness once more.
A few days passed in a haze of restless nights and stolen glances, Jason’s obsession festering like an untreated wound. The hidden panties—Emily’s and Mom’s—burned holes in his drawer, their crusted stains a constant reminder of his depravity. He avoided eye contact at dinner, his small dick twitching under the table whenever Emily bent over, or Mom laughed, her voice stirring memories of that musky taste on his tongue.
Guilt gnawed at him, but the humiliation only fueled the fire, making him harder, more desperate. He needed more, something to push the boundaries further, to drown the shame in fresh filth.
That Thursday morning, Jason lingered by the kitchen window, coffee mug forgotten in his hand as he watched the next-door neighbor’s house. Mrs. Harlan—mid-thirties, with curves that strained her yoga pants and full breasts that bounced when she jogged—backed her SUV out of the driveway.
She was always rushing off to her office job, blonde hair tied back, oblivious to how her tight clothes hugged her ass, how her scent might linger in the air. Jason knew her routine; he’d watched her for months, heart pounding at the sight of her bending to pick up the mail, her skirt riding up just enough to tease.
And crucially, she never locked the back door.
Careless, trusting in this quiet suburb. Jason’s pulse quickened, arousal stirring low in his gut as her car disappeared down the street. ‘This is insane,’ he thought, but his feet moved anyway, drawn by the forbidden pull.
He waited ten minutes, ears straining for any sign of return, then slipped out the back door, crossing the shared fence in quick, silent steps. The morning air was cool against his flushed skin, but sweat already beaded on his neck. Heart hammering like a drum in his chest, Jason approached her unlocked back door, the screen creaking softly as he eased it open.
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