Caught Sniffing Mum’s Knickers 2

The two boys decide that they want to get caught this time, but things go a little different than they planned.

Five days had passed by since that afternoon in Karen’s bedroom. Five days of Tommy and Steve barely speaking about it at first, then whispering nonstop whenever they were alone. At school they’d sat at the back of the class room, trackies tented under the table, replaying every second in hushed, filthy detail. The slap across Tommy’s face. The way Karen’s voice had gone low and vicious when she called them faggots. The feel of her warm knickers stretched tight round their cocks. The way their spunk had soaked through the cotton and lace like they’d pissed themselves. And then, worst and best of all, the knowledge that she’d stayed behind after they ran out, doing who knows what.

They were obsessed. Proper addicted. Neither had wanked properly since; every time they tried alone it felt empty, like jerking off to a Polaroid when you’d already had the real thing. By Thursday they’d agreed: they had to do it again. Not sneakier. Not safer. The opposite. They’d make it obvious. Let her catch them. Pray she’d lose her rag the same way. Maybe even more.

“Bet she’s been thinking about it too,” Steve said on the bus home, voice low under the rumble of the engine. “She didn’tell your dad or my parent's, which means she won'the next time.”

Tommy nodded, throat dry. “We go in naked this time. No messing about. Straight to her drawer. If she walks in… we don’t stop.”

They got off at the stop near the chippy, bought two cans of Coke to kill time, then headed to Tommy’s. Karen had said she’d be at the salon till half-five, maybe later if Mrs Patel wanted a perm.

The house was quiet when they arrived. They kicked off trainers and socks in the hall, stripped their shirts and jeans on the stairs like shedding skin. By the time they reached the landing they were bare-arsed naked, cocks already half hard from anticipation. Tommy’s slim five incher bobbed as he walked; Steve’s thicker sixer swung heavy between skinny thighs.

They pushed open Karen’s bedroom door. The air still held traces of her, hairspray, cigarette smoke from the ashtray on the dresser, the faint sour sweet whiff of cunt from the laundry basket. The bed was made this time, crisp white sheets tucked military-tight. The basket overflowed again.
Tommy’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

They tipped the basket onto the carpet. Knickers spilled out like colourful guts, cotton briefs, high-legs, a couple of thongs Karen only wore when she went to the bingo with her sister. Steve grabbed a red pair first, plain cotton with a wide gusset already stiff in the crotch from yesterday’s shift. He wrapped them round his cock like a bandage, the fabric clinging to his leaking slit.

Tommy took a cream-coloured pair, high-waisted, old-fashioned, the kind Karen wore under her work skirts. He slid them over his knob, pulled the waistband up so the gusset cupped his balls. The smell hit him instantly: ripe, tangy, her. His cock stiffened fully in seconds, pushing the cotton out like a tent pole.

They stood facing each other, naked except for Mum’s dirty knickers wrapped round their pricks, hands moving slow. No words at first. Just the wet sound of skin on fabric, the creak of the floorboards under their bare feet.

Then the front door.

Click of the latch. Carrier bags rustling. Heels on the lino in the hall.

They froze for half a second, pure animal panic, then Steve grinned like a lunatic and sped up his strokes.

“She’s early,” Tommy hissed.
“Good. Dont stop”

Footsteps on the stairs. Slow. Deliberate.
Karen appeared in the doorway wearing her work tunic, white polyester, name badge still pinned, black skirt hugging her thick thighs. Her hair was teased high, lips bright red from fresh lipstick. She stopped, arms folded under her heavy tits, and looked at them.

Two naked boys. Cocks wrapped in her used knickers. Hands pumping like crazy. Faces flushed with shame and also desperate hope.

She didn’t scream this time. Didn’t slap. Just raised one perfectly pencilled eyebrow.

“Well, well,” she said, voice dangerously calm. “Look what the cat dragged in. Again.”
Tommy’s hand faltered. Steve kept going, slower now, eyes locked on her, hopeful.

Karen stepped into the room, kicked the door shut behind her. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Leaving the front door unlocked, stripping off like a pair of tarts, waiting for Mummy to come home and give you another show. You honestly thought you could trick me into wanking you off with my dirty knickers a second time?”

She walked round them in a slow circle, heels clicking. Her eyes raked over their bodies, skinny ribs, pale arses, hard cocks straining the stolen panties.

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” she sneered. “Two little mummy’s boys so desperate for a bit of attention they’ll parade round naked in my bedroom hoping I’ll call them faggots again. Look at you. Hard as nails just because I walked in. Disgusting little fuckers.”

She stopped behind them. “Turn round. Both of you. Bend over the bed. Hands on the mattress. NOW.”

They obeyed instantly. Tommy’s legs shook as he bent, palms flat on the sheets, arse presented. Steve mirrored him, thicker cheeks parting slightly to show the pink pucker between.

Karen stood between them. She lifted her right hand high.

“You think this is a game?” she hissed. “You think you can manipulate me? Make me your dirty little fantasy?”

The first slap landed on Tommy’s left cheek, crack! loud enough to echo. He yelped, body jerking forward. The sting bloomed instant and fierce.

“You little cunt,” she snarled, and slapped again, harder, right cheek this time.

“Stealing my knickers. Wanking your pathetic boy-cock into them. Saying you’d fuck your own mother.”

Another slap. And another. She alternated, five on each cheek until Tommy’s arse was glowing red, skin hot to the touch. Tears pricked his eyes but his cock stayed rigid, dripping precum through the cream knickers onto the carpet.

She turned to Steve.

“Your turn, you filthy queer.”

Her hand cracked across his arse, once, twice, three times in quick succession. Steve grunted, teeth gritted, but didn’t pull away. By the tenth slap both boys were whimpering, arses on fire, yet their cocks throbbed harder than ever, heads shiny and purple through the stretched fabric.

Karen stepped back, breathing hard. “Look at the state of you. Spanked like naughty schoolboys and still leaking like taps. You love it, don’t you? Being punished by your mate’s mum.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, skirt riding up to show the tops of her black hold-ups.

“Sit,” she ordered. “Right here. On your sore little arses. Face each other.”

They straightened gingerly, wincing as punished flesh met the crisp sheets. Tommy and Steve sat hip-to-hip, legs spread, cocks jutting obscenely from the ruined knickers.

Karen leaned in close. “Now reach over. Grab each other’s pricks. Through my knickers. And wank each other. Slow. I want to see those hands moving on my dirty laundry while you stare into each other’s eyes like the pair of bum-boys you are.”

Tommy’s hand shook as he reached for Steve’s cock feeling the heat through the cotton, the slick precum soaking the gusset. Steve did the same to Tommy, gripping the cream pair, thumb rubbing deliberately over the leaking slit.

They started stroking. Slow, deliberate pulls. Eyes locked. Faces burning.

Karen watched for a moment, then uncrossed her legs. She hiked her skirt higher, exposing thick pale thighs and the black lace of her own knickers, the crotch already dark with wetness.

“You want to see what you’ve done to me, you little perverts?” she murmured.

She hooked two fingers into the leg-hole of her knickers and pulled them aside. Her cunt was hairy, a dark bush trimmed only at the edges, her lips fat and swollen, glistening. She spread herself with two fingers, showing them the slick pink inside.

“Look at that,” she said, voice thick. “Your own mum’s cunt dripping just from spanking two skinny little virgins. You’ve made me wet, you disgusting little faggots.”

She slid her middle finger inside herself, then added the ring finger. Two digits plunged deep, fucking in and out with wet, obscene squelches. Her other hand rubbed slow circles over her clit, big, protruding, dark pink.

“Keep wanking each other,” she growled. “Faster now. I want to see those cocks spurting in my knickers while I finger-fuck myself to the sight of you two queer boys playing with each other.”

Tommy’s strokes sped up. Steve matched him. Their hands were slick now, precum soaking through the fabric, making everything slippery and hot. The room stank of sex, sweat, spunk, cunt.

Karen’s breathing grew ragged. She fucked herself harder, knuckles disappearing inside her hole. “That’s it… wank each other like good little bum-sluts… look at Mummy playing with her hairy cunt… you’ve turned me into a filthy slag… two virgin pricks and I’m creaming myself…”

She pulled her fingers out, slick and shining, and sucked them clean, loud, slurping noises, then plunged them back in. Her hips bucked off the bed.

“You’re going to cum for me,” she panted. “Both of you. Shoot your nasty boy-spunk into each other’s hands. Do it while you watch Mummy cum. Watch me squirt thinking about my own son’s cock.”

Her thumb mashed her clit. Her cunt made filthy wet noises. Then she froze, her body rigid, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck yes cumming oh oh fuck”

A clear jet of juice squirted from her hole, arcing onto the carpet between the boys’ feet. She kept rubbing, another smaller gush, then a third. Her thighs trembled, tits heaving under the tunic, nipples like bullets against the polyester.

The sightof Karen’s cunt pulsing, squirting, her face twisted in ecstasy snapped something in both boys.

Tommy came first. His cock jerked in Steve’s grip, thick ropes of spunk erupting through the cream knickers, coating Steve’s fingers in hot white pulses. He cried out, hips snapping forward.

Steve followed instantly, his thicker prick spasmed, unloading jet after jet into Tommy’s hand. The knickers turned dark and sodden, cum oozing between fingers, dripping onto their thighs.

They milked each other through it, gasping, shaking, until every last drop was squeezed out.

Karen sat there panting, her skirt still rucked up, cunt exposed and dripping. She looked at the mess on their hands, white streaks, sticky webs between fingers.
Then she laughed, low and cruel.

“Pathetic,” she said. “Look at you. Covered in each other’s spunk. Sitting on my bed like a pair of used rent boys.”

She stood, smoothed her skirt down, adjusted her knickers back into place.

“Get to fuck out,” she snapped. “Both of you. Leave the knickers on the floor. Don’t even think about touching them. And if I catch you in here again without permission, I won’t just spank you. I’ll make sure the whole estate knows what a pair of dirty little fuckers you are.”

They scrambled up, legs weak, arses still burning, hands dripping cum. They grabbed their clothes from the landing, dressed half on the stairs, half in the hall. The front door slammed behind them.

Karen stood alone in her bedroom. She looked down at the two soaked pairs of knickers on the carpet—cream and pink, heavy with teenage spunk.
Her hand drifted back between her legs.

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