As you would imagine, party season at our house is noisy, boozy, and messy. We have a large extended family and a bunch of neighbours who have all grown up together. No one ever left the village, and those who tried it, albeit briefly, still returned.

Well, I've 'moved away' to Uni, but my room is still there, pretty much as I left it, although I suspect it's become another spare room for people staying over even though my mum promises no one ever stays in there.

My dad's friend Rob always thinks he's being funny and clever by teasing and trying to embarrass me by saying he slept in my bed, but it wears thin after hearing it a hundred times. He has slept in my bed anyway. I know he has slept with his wife, and I bet he loved every minute of it.

I know he's had a good mooch around the room, too. It's probably not very often that he's had the chance to look around a teenage girl's bedroom in the last fifty years, but he must make the most of mine. Well, I guess there are quite a few 'certain areas of interest' for the older man when he finds himself in his friend's daughter's bedroom. Especially when she decides to 'surprise' visit her mum and dad two days early for the Christmas holidays and walks into a wine-fuelled house of over-excited fifty-somethings.

Well, I decided to go home early from uni and stay with my parents as I do each year. I was going to make out it was because I was in the Christmas mood and missed them, but of course, they would know I was skint; my shared house was freezing with no food, and the girls I shared with had gone home early too.

So I was sneaking back in the taxi after a long train journey, knowing they would be happy to see me anyway. I assumed that although it was only 9 p.m., they would probably be half drunk by now, filled with Christmas spirit and vodka. Of course, I was right, seeing all the cars parked on the pavement kerb and driveways as the taxi pulled into my cul-de-sac. There was a party going on. Welcome home, I smiled to myself.

Anyway, my plan to fling the door open like a cowboy through the saloon doors soon looked silly, as they seemed all out back. Half were stumbling around the conservatory, and half were on the patio dancing in the heat and light of one of those big outdoor heaters glowing and beating out more heat per second than we have in our student house per term.

No one noticed me as I walked through the front door, so I decided that before doing anything else, I would nip upstairs and claim my bedroom. The way these lot drink, I'm pretty sure someone would want to hog my bed tonight, and no way is that happening now that this Princess has returned! It's mine again, at least for the next two weeks.

So, up the stairs, I clomp like a less-than-glamorous baby elephant with my three bags, two of which are dirty washing bags, of course, crammed in with a scattering of the usual cheap Christmas gifts a poor student girl has managed to muster up from the normal tatty shops around a seaside university.

So, anyway, I dump my bags on the bed, and after a couple of minutes rummaging around for the Christmas presents to take downstairs for under the tree, I leave my dirty laundry all over the bed and floor and go downstairs. Yes, she's back!

Mummy and Daddy are mega surprised and happy to see me and smother me with shrieks, cuddles, and kisses. Aunties and Uncles and neighbours welcome me home, and of course, the older guys in the room are happy for someone new to perve on and throw out all the usual cheesy lines about haven't I grown and how everyone remembers me when 'you were this high'. I'm happy to smile and let them have their moment gawping at me like I'm at the zoo or up a pole dancing, and they soon remember they have drinks, and back they go into party mode. But it's nice to be home, and it's Christmas, and the attention is on me for a change. Plus, excitedly and thankfully, I know that fresh bed sheets and central heating are my life for the next few weeks.

So before long —well. Immediately— I join the drinking. The gaggle of uncles, aunties, and neighbours, who are all well on the way to becoming inebriated, all play the game of scratching their chins, asking if she was drinking. Is she old enough? They are teasing me like they think they are stand-up comedians. Well, the teasing concern of the older men is more about the hope that I will loosen up enough to get me drunk and flirty.

'Oh, that reminds me,' I say to my mum, putting my vodka and Red Bull down on the side. One of the girls has this weird Greek drink, and I said you might like it. We tried it, and it's gross. I brought it back for you,' I say, making my way to the stairs and my already messy room to get the grim bottle.

Bouncing up the soft carpeted stairs, barefooted, which I couldn't do in my student digs without chipping my nails and collecting splinters in each toe, I catch a shadow moving from the bathroom to my bedroom. Big shadow, so it must be guy. All very cloak and dagger, like seeing a baddie ghost through the dimly lit streets of Sherlock Holmes times. Anyway. What's the cheeky sod doing going into my bedroom? Please tell me it's not already been promised out for rent by my mum despite my best efforts to mark my territory with my bags!

Anyway, as I get to the top of the stairs, I have to double-take as I look over the bannister into my room. The door has been pushed slightly closed, but a big enough gap exists to see into the room. The shadowy guy is standing there next to my bed in my room, holding up a pair of my panties. I had to look again to ensure it wasn't a trick of my imagination. It's my dad's friend Rob. And yes. He is standing there holding up a pair of my panties. It's almost as if he's holding them up to the light as a shopkeeper holds up a ten-pound note to ensure it's genuine. Only he's holding them up a lot longer than the shopkeeper would.

Anyway, this has caught me by surprise a little. Well, a lot. I know guys do this, and I know he is probably not the first man or boy to hold my knickers, but it's my dad's friend Rob, and it surprises me, I mean right underneath him, downstairs in the lounge, his wife is dancing like an Irish river-dancer squealing and shrieking full of wine! And here he is, holding my dirty pants up and admiring them right above her head—my little pink lacy panties. I was only wearing them yesterday under my black leggings as me and the girls lounged around watching Netflix.

I have this emotional freeze as I don't know what to do now. How awkward will it be if I barge into the room? So I pause, stay still and sit on the top stair, looking through the gap in the bedroom door with a mass of questions starting to bounce around my mind as he delicately inspects my panties front and back under the bedroom light.

I slept in those knickers and wore them all day, so I don't think they're anything to be 'too' ashamed of. I didn't cum in them or soak them up, or even, oh my god, I didn't use them after sex! But it's a bit late for that now as he closely inspects them. In fact, I shiver almost in tune and motion to him each time he moves my panties around for a different view. And then, when he turns them inside out and places them literally right next to his face, looking closely at the inside gusset of my pinkies, I tremble. Oh my fucking God, I get entirely lost in a piercing tingle. Actually. A wave of piercing tingles.

It's like everything starts to go in slow motion. I shiver, tremble, and tingle on repeat. I shiver, tremble, and tingle because Rob, my dad's friend whom I've known since I was about 6, is inspecting the inside of my knickers, my dirty panties, on my bed, in my bedroom. His wife is just a few feet below him, oblivious.

I have a quick flash in my mind of that moment with Simon, well Jack, as I now know his real name. The guy I met at the student bar. I can feel that moment in his car. His wife's name flashing on the dash screen as she calls him. He has me in the car trying to seduce me when his real life collides with his sexual fantasy. Me and my teen experience so close to his wife and his everyday reality. How my tingles and goosebumps felt that day when I realised the power and energy of that moment, the discovery of his desire for me above his wife. I got those goosebumps terrorising me again, now at the top of the stairs.

But then, like a tornado, the shiver, tremble, tingle, repeat syndrome intensifies when, oh my god, he puts them against his face—his nose, his eyes, his lips—and he breathes in—deep breaths in.

I have to hold a little gasp in myself. Rob is literally standing on the other side of that door. My dirty pink panties in his hand against his face. Smelling me. He knows what my panties smell like. So he knows what I smell like between my legs. Oh my god. I wasn't expecting this as I came home early for Christmas.

He must be a connoisseur of panties because this isn't just a quick sniff to discover my sexual aroma; this is proper wine-tasting levels like you see at those posh things on TV. Looking at me from all angles, seeing what I've left in the panties and maybe imagining how they look on me.

I know he's always had a soft spot for me, and many years of cuddling and sitting on his knee have now begun to make sense. Judging by this experience, I'm guessing I should add to that list probably many years of him checking out my knickers.

I know he likes it and enjoys every second of it. I can see that from how deliberately he inspects and smells me. As I lean in for a clearer view through the gap in the door, I can see his delight from the bulge in his tight jeans. I wouldn't have thought to look down for a bulge if I hadn't noticed him reach down and stroke himself through the jeans. That's how I know he approves of my dirty pink panties. He's smelling every

last scent and wanking himself while he does.

Despite the surprise, and trust me, the surprise element of this situation is through the stars and beyond, it's pretty nice to be home and have a tingle at the top of the stairs.

Maybe having this conversation with the girls about our dad's friends or older men we know doing this might have made me go urrrggghhh in the past. But at this moment in time, my little panty worshiper was really holding my attention so far.

Anyway, just as I move, contemplating making a start to sneak back down the stairs before he catches me snooping. He moans. He moans like a man who just tasted his first well-earned sip of beer. He moaned as his tongue ran along my panties gusset for the first time. Now, that really did shiver me up. Tingle alarms ring between my legs through the panties I'm wearing on the stairs.

Then. Not only does the intensity of my tingles rise, but so does the intensity of Rob's desire to taste me, as his slow, deliberate enjoyment of my panties very quickly becomes animal urges to devour them. In one seemingly smooth action, he wipes and licks and smells me on my pinkies as he releases his hard cock from his jeans.

Now, that caught me by surprise again. I knew Rob was horny for my knickers as he was stroking through his jeans, and I could see a bulge, but how hard and big he was, blew the cobwebs away. Oh my god. That's a big thing. It might be in its 50s, but it looked very, very fleshy from tip to base. Swaying from side to side with waves of throbs and aches, his big hand gripping it hard to control it in one smooth move.

I was hot in today's panties. Hot and warm, the drops of delight were starting to show in this new gusset. It caught me by surprise, a pleasant surprise actually, that Rob, after all these years of being the silly old uncle type, was licking and smelling my worn, dirty pink lacy panties against his face, wanking his big hardness furiously up and down, in my room, standing next to my bed, as I myself was holding in moans and gasps and sighs.

How many times has he done this, and I've walked innocently around after he's smelled me and wanked? Oh my god, I realise with an extra piercing tingle when he returns downstairs and kisses his wife under the Christmas mistletoe, he will have my smell and taste on his lips and face. Oh my god, I want to be in a prime position to watch that happen, so I giggle. This sneaky panty theft moment is too much, too much to see and feel and sense and hear as he intensifies his wanking over me.

Now...

My panties moved downwards in his old man's hands until they became trapped around his manly hardness. That tiny pink thong, all cleaned up by his lips and tongue and face, now wrapped around his cock. A wanking toy. Moving his cock up and down as he wanks and moans next to my bed, his knees trembling and buckling as I see him speed his wanking motion until boom, boom, boom.

Wet little pink lacy panties again.

This time they're wet as my dad's friend Rob soaks them in his cum. Probably not for the first time. I'm speechless, holding my breath as I watch cum cover my panties. I've never seen so much cum. Puddles of it, leaving his big cock tip and landing on his hand and my panties and carpet and bed. Covered by him. I can see the relief on his face as he looks at my dirty, cummy panties and throws them on the bed. His breathlessness as he begins buckling his belt back up is my cue to sneak downstairs.

Flustered and red-cheeked, I wander back to my mum without the weird Greek drink I had gone upstairs to find. But she'd forgotten anyway. And I made my red-cheeked way to the drinks table, poured a glass and, drank some, guzzled some before seeing come downstairs and kiss his wife under the mistletoe.

He was a man who showed no signs of having just emptied his balls all over his best friends daughters little pink thong. A little pink thong which stuck to my foot in the middle of the night as I drunkenly stumbled into bed. My bed with splashes of his cum on the bed sheets. The image was clear in my mind as I started to doze, hand teasing inside my panties.