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Subject: "Dirty Panties Soup" by jjj7676
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===================
"Dirty Panties Soup"
by jjj7676@hotmail.com
Your comments, of course, are always deeply welcome.
***
Kirsten was walking in the door as I was walking out.
"Hey!" I said. "I've got lab until five, but I'll be back in enough time
tohelp you get ready." Kirsten had another date--she went out all the
time.
"OK," she said, nodding. "He's picking me up at six-thirty."
"I won't be late," I said. I reshouldered my bag and moved past her.
"Cool." She flashed a smile. "I think I'll let you have Dirty Panties
Souptonight."
I halted and barely started to say something, but it got stuck in my
throat.I felt myself juicing up, and warmth spreading down my legs and up to my
chest. My mouth went dry, and my heart sped up.
"Have fun at lab!" Kirsten said, and shut the door.
***
Lab was a mess. I mean, it was no big deal, because I understood the
material and the concepts, and I knew what I was supposed to be doing,
but Ijust couldn't focus. I dropped my pen and dropped it again three times
trying to pick it up. I knocked my notebook and notes off the table, and
they went everywhere. Taking simple measurements of anything seemed
beyondme. Through it all, I was hot and juicy down below, and my mouth wasn't
dryanymore either. It was full of saliva.
I just wanted to get myself off. I imagined all the ways I could do it:
brazenly, sitting on my stool with my pants down and legs spread, giving
everyone a show, my fingers dancing in my panties. Covertly, leaning
closeto my work station with my hand down my jeans, waiting to see who caught
me(pretty Sara at the next table? nerdy-but-cute Justin? our TA, Sal?) and
what they did about it. Filthily, standing next to one of my classmates
(Sara? hot, trashy, gay Mark? snotty, sexy Amanda?), with my eyes
closed,rubbing myself off against her purse or his textbook until I was
noticed. Iimagined how the murmur would spread around the room until everyone was
watching me dry-hump myself to climax.
And as my clit started spasming and the wet streamed out inside my
thighs,I'd open my eyes, lick my lips and smile at all of them, and they'd see
whata deranged fucking whore I am.
That was lab, or the first few minutes, anyway. The fantasies quickly
spiraled up and away--or down and dirtier, rather, I guess. I got my
workdone, but in my mind I was being gangbanged by the entire class. I was
sucking on the boys' toes. The girls were passing me back and forth, not
kissing me but pushing glob after glob after glob of hot wet spit into
myopen mouth, so that my chin and throat and tits got covered with drool.
Inmy fantasies, I followed one of them--first Amanda, then Sara, and then
Amanda again--into the bathroom and watched her pee, and then I wiped
herclean. She took the piss-soaked toilet paper from me and stuck it on my
face.
In my fantasies, I licked the gay boys' butts until they were sopping
wet,and I guided the other boys' cocks into them. In my fantasies, Sal told
me Iwas a genuine nymphomaniac and that the school was going to hold me for
observation, but that really meant I was going to live in a cage in a
laboratory and eat out of a dog bowl and get fucked six or seven times a
day. In my fantasies, the dean of the college matter-of-factly called me
adumb slut, and gently advised me to give up my dream of med school, move
toLos Angeles, and start working in porno.
Dirty Panties Soup. That's what those three words do to me. They'd do it
toyou, too, if you ever tasted it.
***
The first time I tasted Dirty Panties Soup was the beginning of the
schoolyear. Only five months ago, but so much had changed, it seemed like at
leasta lifetime.
Senior year, my first apartment off-campus. I had met Kirsten, a friend
of afriend, toward the end of sophomore year, but we didn't really start to
hangout until about a year later. We both wanted to find a place off-campus
andwe couldn't afford to live alone, so we moved in together in June. I
thoughtit was great, because she seemed like she was pretty together, focused,
likeme. And she liked to go out. I wasn't a party girl, but I usually hit
thebars on weekends, and that summer was like one long weekend. We were hot
together, and we never had a problem meeting guys.
I got a lot of drinks bought for me, but I didn't usually bring guys
home.Maybe I'd make out a little at the bar or on the street, and once when I
wasreally drunk, I went home with a cute boy and went down on him until he
shotin my mouth, played with him until he got hard again, and then pulled my
skirt up and sat down on his bare cock. I talked dirty to him until I
felthim twitching, and I could feel him spraying inside me. And then all I
remember is drunkenness, and long snake moan that was mine, and pure
heat.
I woke up next to him a couple of hours later and looked at his naked
sleeping body. I thought how I could wake him up and spread my legs and
gethim to fuck me into oblivion again, a tremble shook me, and I pulled my
clothes on quietly and snuck out. That was the only one-night stand I'd
everhad.
Kirsten brought home guys all the time. I mean, every weekend, and often
onweeknights too. I got used to leaving the bar with her and a random boy,
toturning on the TV for a few minutes before I went to bed while they
pawedeach other on the way to her room. I got used to all the innuendoes from
theguys hoping they were going home with both of us, not just her. I got
usedto hearing the panting and moaning and dirty talking and slurping
throughthe wall.
I knew she was safe, because used condoms and their wrappers were always
visible in the overflowing wastebasket by her door. In spite of the fact
that she had random sex all the time, I didn't think of her as a slut, I
guess because she was so together. She was maintaining a 3.9, she had an
internship and was involved in a couple of activities. She read and had
goodtaste in movies and music, and I never knew her to sleep later than
seven.She brought home girls once in a while, too, and I remember deciding she
wasmore of a sexual connoisseur, like a hobbyist, fucking all these people
because she wanted to, not because of low self-esteem or something.
I remember being a little jealous, too. I had a long-standing fantasy
aboutsex with another girl, and I struggled not to fantasize about Kirsten. I
guess I assumed that she fucked so many people, she'd have fucked me
alreadyif she wanted. Maybe, I told myself, she didn't want to make living
togetherweird. So I tried not to let her into my mind, tried not to imagine her
sneaking into my room one night, crawling naked under the covers with
me--because I was afraid if I let my dirty thoughts head that way,
they'dconsume me.
I had tried it with another girl, once before. The year before I moved
inwith Kirsten, at the end of summer break, I had driven two hours to meet
agirl I'd met online. She was twenty-five, older than I was, and we'd
emailedback and forth all summer about our girl-on-girl fantasies. Things
culminated with a hot late-night session of phone sex, and we'd decided
tomeet.
I got to her place, and she was really cute, and we tried to relax, but
wewere both so nervous. Finally we started kissing tentatively, and then
wewere full-on making out on her couch. We had our shirts off and were
squeezing each other's tits, and I unbuttoned her jeans. She shimmied
themdown her hips, and I remember so clearly seeing the dark wet spot on her
little panties. I put my fingers there, pressing on her juicebox through
thefabric. I stopped kissing and stared, and was on the edge of leaning
down,pushing my tongue against her, sampling her.
She pulled away from me. "I'm sorry," she said. She was breathing
heavily."This is hot and--but ... I'm sorry--I can't--I'm sorry--"
For a moment I almost grabbed her and forced her back onto the couch,
shovedmy tongue back into her mouth, I was so hot. But suddenly I was
embarrassed,found myself turning red. She kept saying "I'm sorry" as I pulled my
shirton and left as quickly as I could. I had replayed the whole thing in my
mindnearly every night since then, imagining how close I'd been to feeling
another girl cream on my face.
But back to the soup.
***
So between the constant fantasies about girls and my roommate's sexy
adventures, I guess I was ripe for the plucking. I was literally a
littleout of my mind, and by the third week of class I was absolutely
frazzled.
I got home one morning at six after a whole night working in one of the
computer labs. Well, most of the night I'd been working, but I kept
takinglittle breaks to look up porno sites on the Web. Eventually I'd been
takingbreaks every five minutes, getting nothing done but never getting off
either, and I'd finally given up and gone home.
I threw my bag on the couch and went to the bathroom. I was going to
pee,collapse into bed for about three hours, and then head back to campus
forclass. The toilet seat was down, and lying atop it was a pair of
panties.
A pair of Kirsten's panties.
They were dirty, was my first thought. They had to be--you didn't leave
clean underwear in the bathroom accidentally.
And then I started wondering, were they dirty? And if they were, then
howdirty? Had Kirsten just taken these off before taking a shower before
bed,and forgotten them? Were they just a little moist with her sweat from a
regular day of school and work? Or were these nasty panties, wet from
masturbation or from a hot fuck?
And then it was like my mind sort of separated itself from me, and I
thought, Well, I have to pick the panties up to use the toilet. I
thought,Well, I have to pick the panties up anyway. I picked the panties up, and
Iremember letting my mind go blank, not letting myself think about what
mybody was doing. I picked the panties up, brought them to eye level,
staredat them. I remember thinking how disappointed I would be now, how
awfullydisappointing it would be if these turned out to be clean, fresh
panties.
Tentatively, I leaned forward, sniffing. A little farther. Sniffing. I
smelled something--I smelled it, sweet and pungent, the smell of girl.
God help me, I mashed those panties into my face. They were positively
wetin the crotch, like a piece of fluffy candy with a juicy center. I
inhaled,stuck my tongue out into the wetness, felt my puss get tight in my own
panties.
There was a noise, and I caught movement in my peripheral vision. The
bathroom door was wide open, and I was exposed to anyone looking down
thehallway from the living room. I went into a quiet panic and dropped the
handwith the panties to my side. Looking over, I couldn't see anybody, and I
casually dropped them on the floor a moment before Kirsten appeared.
"Hey!" she called. "Working on your paper all night?"
"Yeah," I said, and shut the door quickly. My heart was pounding, and I
looked in the mirror and saw my face was crimson. I sat down on the
toilet,peed, and fled into my room. I masturbated twice before I fell asleep,
wishing I had the panties. I kept imagining myself naked, on all fours
onthe tile floor of the bathroom, my face buried in the wet dirty panties
while Kirsten watched me finger myself and called me names.
I could barely drag myself out of bed when the alarm went off, but
Kirstenwas in the living room watching the news and eating toast. She didn't
haveclass on Fridays, but she smiled at me sympathetically. "Don't fall
asleepin class," she said.
I nodded and made a noise, and as I left, she called out, "I'll make
dinnerwhen you get home."
By the time I got home again, I'd forgotten about that, but she already
hadthe pot cooking when I walked in. "It smells good," I said while I hung
upmy keys. "What is it?"
"Soup," she said. "It'll be ready in about twenty."
"Cool." In my room, I peeled my clothes off--I hadn't even taken them
off tosleep that morning--for a quick shower. Stepping onto the cool tile of
thebathroom reminded me of the day's earlier events. The panties were gone.
I was nervous as I showered. What if Kirsten had seen me rubbing my face
inher panties? Had she? Or had I gotten lucky, and she'd just passed me
without looking? I finally told myself that she was the last person to
judgesomebody else about sex. Secretly--I wouldn't admit it to myself--I was
alittle turned on by the whole thing, too.
I was putting some sweats on when Kirsten said, "Soup's on!" She was
settingbowls out on the coffee table when I came into the living room.
We watched TV while we ate. The soup was a light broth, but surprisingly
robust, with traces of something familiar and something else, something
unnameable. It was hot--but not spicy, really, because it was like the
heatmelted in my mouth.
I finished my first bowl quickly, and started to get up to get some
more,but Kirsten gently pushed me back into my seat. "Sit," she said. "I'll
getyou some more." She took my bowl to the pot simmering on the stove.
"It's great," I said, accepting the full bowl she put into my hands.
"Whatis it?"
She shrugged. "It's a special recipe." She smiled and turned back to the
TV.
I didn't press the issue, mostly because I was starving and busy
spooningsoup into my mouth. Again, I started to get up, and again Kirsten pushed
meback down and filled my bowl. I tore through this one too, and looked at
thebowl in her lap, her first and still half full.
"I was kind of snacking all day," she said.
"Not me," I said, drinking what was left in my bowl. "This is so good.
C'mon, what is it?"
Kirsten smiled, a small, smart, kind of sneaky smile that I couldn't
helpbut find sexy.
"C'mon, what is it?" I said.
"Do you like it, Jill?" she asked. "Do you want more?"
"Yes!" I said, and I surprised myself at how fervently I said it. "What
thehell is it?"
She smirked, and it made me juice up, just a little.
"It's Dirty Panties Soup," Kirsten said.
"What?" You have to understand that you don't expect someone to put
thosewords together. That, coupled with the morning's events, made me certain
Iwas just exhausted and my brain was mishearing things.
Kirsten just smiled and stuck her tongue out a little, and I juiced up
somemore. She nodded toward the kitchen. "Go see."
I stood. By now I had convinced myself that I had misheard her, and that
looking in the pot would give me some idea of what was in the soup, and
Iwould be able to figure out what she had really said. But when I lifted
thelid on the pot, it was full of the broth I'd been inhaling, and pairs of
panties.
The pot was full of panties, about a dozen pair. All at once I found
myselfthinking that this was a weird dream, and that Kirsten really had said,
"Dirty Panties Soup."
She walked into the kitchen. "It's a little something I came up with,"
shesaid. "I throw some herbs and seasoning in there, but what gives it its
unique flavor is about two weeks of underwear. After it's fermented in
thehamper for a few days, of course." She grinned.
I could not speak. It was like I was out of my mind again, and I was
justlistening and watching, and I was vaguely aware that my pussy was slowly
throbbing.
Kirsten picked up a spoon and dipped it into the pot. She lifted a
spoonfulof soup toward my lips, and opened them, accepting the soup. "Of course,
thesoup is never exactly the same. It depends on the panties. You have your
plain old dirty panties that barely even smell at the end of the day,
andyou have your sopping wet,
I-was-too-lazy-to-take-them-off-so-I-just-fucked-myself-on-the-vibrator-and-came-right-in-thempanties. Like the ones you were smelling this morning." She giggled and
nodded sideway toward the pot while she fed me another spoonful,
indicatingthat the panties were in this batch.
Now I had absolutely lost control. My breathing was heavy, my nipples
werepoking through my bra and shirt, and my legs were shaking visibly.
Kirstenfed me and pushed the spoon back and forth in my mouth. I licked and
suckedit, running my tongue all over it. She forced it along the sides of my
mouth, and wiped it back and forth on my lips and all over my face.
"You can add sweaty workout panties. And little 'accident' panties--you
know, after you finish taking a pee, and you pull them up, and just a
littlemore squirts out. And of course, there are fuck panties." She fed me
moresoup, and I squirmed, sucking it up.
"Fuck panties, when you lay back, and he just pushes them to the side
andworks his cock in and out and you cream all over them. Guess what?" she
said.
I stopped frenching the spoon long enough to breathe, "What?"
She spooned up more soup and pushed it back into my mouth. "I had a boy
overa couple of hours ago, just to make fresh fuck panties for your soup."
I shook and just about lost it in my pants.
"Yeah, first he ate me out"--she leaned in close, licking the spoon
herself--"and he licked my butt too, and I made sure he used a lot of
spit,so the nasty would get all over the panties. We fucked for so long, and
heused a condom, but I made him take it off when he got close so he could
jizzall over them."
Kirsten bit my earlobe. "Do you like how his jizzy tastes, Jilly?" she
whispered.
***
Do I need to tell you how it's all turned out? Kirsten basically told me
that if I became her sex slave, she'd make me Dirty Panties Soup again.
Iwould have said yes even if she hadn't said that. She smiled and told me
she'd made Dirty Panties Soup a few times before, and that it was
amazing,the power it had over the people who tasted it.
"They say it tastes so good, they get addicted to it instantly," she
said.
We were lying in her bed. She shifted and pulled something from under
thecovers. A used condom.
"That's not from today," she said. "That's a couple of days old."
Kirsten smiled and kissed me. "They say they get addicted. But I think
it'smore like, they realize how nasty I am, and all of a sudden they can be
asnasty as they always secretly wanted to be," she said.
"And a lot of people are secretly very nasty," she said. She pushed the
usedcondom into my warm, accepting mouth.
***
I don't know, myself. The truth is, I can't resist Dirty Panties Soup.
Kirsten has tested me, and gotten me to skip classes, dates, and even
Thanksgiving dinner by promising it to me. If that's not addiction, I
don'tknow what is.
But the truth also is, I am very nasty. And I get nastier with every
bowl ofsoup, and I like it. Now, when she brings a random guy home with us from
thebar, she just makes out with him until we get back to the apartment. Or
shetakes him to bed for a few minutes. Or she keeps him all night. But
eventually he ends up in my bed, and I'm getting screwed by a total
stranger, and creaming on his cock. It's never a three-way--I think she
justgets off on giving my pussy away.
Now my floor is littered with used condoms and condom wrappers. Kirsten
loves to take me out and find someone to promise me to for the night.
Thefirst time it was a quiet, handsome guy from out of state. Then it was a
pretty French exchange student about to go back to Paris. The last time
itwas a couple of juniors, one I have a class with. "Jill is kind of shy,"
shetold them after she introduced them to me, "but she wants two guys to
fuckher, for as long as they can, all night. She wants you two to fuck her."
Shevideotaped the whole thing, telling the guys my secret fantasy was to be
aporn star. I couldn't stop coming. At first I got scared she'd show the
tapeto someone, but later, I don't know how it happened, I was eating a bowl
ofreheated Dirty Panties Soup and begging her to put it out on the
Internet.
I'm starting to get a reputation, and I'm ashamed, but it makes me hot
too.Guys and girls approach me all the time now, and I know they've heard
I'm ahot, easy fuck. I'm doing fine in school, but I spend more and more time
looking at the pictures Kirsten takes of me fucking different guys and
girls, editing them and sometimes posting them to random places on the
Internet. The pics are getting nastier and nastier--the more Kirsten
puts methrough, the more soup I eat, the hotter I think it is to shove my face
andtongue in a sexy boy's ass, or to hold a girl down and piss all over her
sweaty tits, or to stay past closing in a dive bar and pass out condoms,
letthem fuck me with beer bottles on the pool table.
As for Kirsten, I give her pedicures all the time, and suck and kiss
eachtoe. I wash her clothes, and shave her legs and puss. When she gets home
from a bikini wax, I wiggle my tongue up in her asshole to make sure
she'sall clean. I help her get ready for dates, laying out her clothes and
doingher hair, and if she calls me, I wait by the door for her to get home.
Ifshe's not interested in giving a guy a fuck, she goes to bed, and I blow
himin the doorway, and then he goes home.
Or at least that's how it used to be. Now I usually end up inviting the
guyinto my room, and giving up the the pussy. It doesn't matter if he's
cute,or if he's old, or if he smells bad. In fact, that makes it hotter,
sometimes.
***
"I'll be bringing him home later," she said from the kitchen. "It's a
goodthing tomorrow's Saturday."
I nodded. This guy wasn't old or smelly, but he was the VP of a fairly
largeporno production company. If he found something he liked, she said, he
couldget it seen by millions of people. I felt hot and sick when I heard
that,and I instinctively spread my legs.
"It's a good thing tomorrow's Saturday," she repeated, "because I have a
feeling you'll be up all night. You'll need your energy, so eat up."
Kirsten walked into the living room with a steaming bowl.
"Soup's on."