Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor
“I want to wear your knickers,” he tells me, and I’m instantly turned on – I love it when guys wear my knickers. I’m running simulations in my head: what he’ll look like in my knickers, and which pair might best show off his cock. But then he hits me with the next part… “and I want you to treat me like a silly little slut.”
I love it when men wear my knickers. There have been a few guys over the years who have enjoyed rummaging around in my knicker drawer and picking a pair that they feel comfortable in: a quality pair of pants that sit right in that sweet-spot of joy right on the line between silky comfort and tight-enough-to-cuddle-their-cock.
The hottest time a guy has worn my knickers was when I wasn’t even there. I left a pair at his house, shortly after we started dating, and he – knowing me – thought it’d be fun to do a photoshoot.
I can still remember those images: the erection trapped against his body by tight purple cotton. There was light-blue trimming around the edges of the knickers, which framed the whole package perfectly. He showed me a photo of his precome leaking through the front of the fabric, and I was transfixed by the whole ensemble – just above the wet patch was a tiny blue ribbon, tied in a bow.
But hot isn’t always the way it goes down, because where there are my knickers, women’s knickers, there are also sometimes uncomfortable conversations.
Do you want to wear my knickers because women are silly sluts?
When I was younger, I used to be in a drama group. We played a game where we’d have to improvise scenes, then we’d be given playing cards and told to act out that scene again, but with the statuses that matched our cards. So the person with a three would play a very low-status character, the person with a Jack would assume much more power and authority. It was interesting, to see the same scenarios but with different status characters, and to watch a previously-high-status person suddenly draw a two and immediately shrink – in stature, in volume, and in power.
Similar things have happened occasionally when men have worn my knickers. I watch them crumple from ‘guy I really fancy, who is super-hot’ to ‘obsequious parody of what he thinks a woman should be.’ He’ll lower his eyes and bat his lashes the second he starts wearing silk, not just because that’s what he wants in the moment, but because that’s how he thinks that women are.
It’s not just “I want to be powerless” which is deeply hot if done consensually. It feels more to me like he’s saying “I want to feel silly, and thus deserve to be powerless, because I wouldn’t know what to do if I had that power anyway.”
It makes me uncomfortable, because it makes me wonder: is that what you think of me? I’m submissive, and so I wouldn’t blame any guy for trying to inhabit the role of ‘me’ and becoming a bit more subby. And if you’re role-playing a slut like me then sluttiness is surely part of the deal. But neither my sluttiness nor my submissiveness fully covers the abject obsequiousness that some guys exude when they’re pretending to be me. The ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ and ‘spank me harders’ are fine, but it’s the ‘tell me what to do’s and the doe-eyed pretence at silliness that get to me.
Is this how you see me, wearer of lace knickers?
Do you want to wear my knickers because I’m a slut?
It would be odd for me not to highlight that the vast majority of my sexual experience – and all of my dudes-wearing-my-knickers experience – has been done with cisgender guys, and I’m sure that’s a factor in how I feel about it. What’s more, I’ve deliberately kept this post really personal – it’s about the things I like and dislike, rather than an analysis of the reasons why people – in general – like stuff. I know that there are plenty of people who engage in this kind of role play and find it intensely arousing, and perhaps within the dynamic of your relationship, you’re able to navigate some of the things I mention above without discomfort or worry. If you can, well done to you.
But for me men wearing my knickers is quite a sensitive thing. I need them to be really careful of the atmosphere they’re conjuring, and the way in which their play might reflect on how they see me.
That doesn’t mean they can’t wear my knickers, it just means I’m going to be much more turned on by someone wearing my knickers because they like the feel of them against their skin, or because they enjoy the way the lace hugs tightly against their cock and balls. Someone who wants to wear them so he can strut around in front of me looking amazing, rather than cower at my feet pretending to be someone I don’t recognise. Swaggering around in my knickers, understanding why they are sexy on him, rather than turning himself into a parody of girlishness itself.
The guy who wore my purple knickers wore them because he had been sniffing them, enjoying the smell of my cunt on his face while he wanked, and wondered if he’d also enjoy the sensation of wearing them himself. He wore them because he thought they’d feel fucking great on his cock, and he knew I’d appreciate a photo of him grabbing his erection through the fabric. He wore them because he knew that the cut of my knickers would do interesting things to the sight of his muscular thighs and furry stomach, and perhaps also enhance the look of his arse.
He wore my knickers because they belonged to me – not ‘me’ a parody of womanhood, but ‘me’ a horny pervert who loves the sight of a rock solid boner. The ‘me’ who can’t resist a photo of a spunk stain spreading neatly through the cotton of my knickers. The ‘me’ who accidentally left my knickers at his house, and deliberately encouraged him to try them. It wasn’t about what he thought I expected – or what society expects of those who wear lace knickers.
It was about me, and about him. And about what we found hot.
This post is written for the Kink of the Week topic ‘men in panties’ – click the badge below to read all the other entries! You can also click here to see other kink of the week stuff I’ve written.