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Oh, how did we end up here?
Jonathan knew better. He should've known better. Yet, here he was, in your bedroom, ruffling through your laundry like some sort of depraved pervert.
He never believed himself to be a pervert. No. You do this to him. You drive him insane. You turn him into the kind of lustful man who snoops through his lab partner's belongings.
You wreck him. Just last week, when you invited him over to finish your lab report, he nearly creamed his pants at the thought of being in your home.
Inevitably, this all leads to his trembling hands digging through the loose pile of laundry in your hamper until he stumbles upon the prize he's been searching for.
Jackpot.
A pretty pair of white panties: Soft, plain, with a slack elastic band at the top. Before he can stop to question his morality, he holds them to his nose, taking one big whiff as if he were inhaling crisp Everest air.
Oh, poor, pitiful Jonathan Byers, whose timing is just awful.
"Hey, so, we're out of strawberries—" You begin, shoving through your bedroom door with a textbook under your arm and a plate of snacks balanced in your palm.
You'd never expected to return to your room and find Jonathan kneeling over your laundry with your underwear scrunched in his hand— Pressed in his face.
He freezes like a deer in headlights, face blazing crimson. After a beat of agonizing silence, he slowly lowers the fabric, then shoves it behind his back, as if that somehow makes this better.
"I can explain..." His voice barely rises above a whisper, and it sounds more like a question than anything else. Can he explain? No. Unfortunately, there is absolutely no plausible deniability here.
"...You can explain why you're practically inhaling my underwear...?" You say, eyes flicking over his utterly mortified frame. Maybe you have terrible survival instincts, but you don't even feel like screaming or kicking him out. Instead, the sight is delightful. "You're such a creep." You spit, circling him like a predator eyeing its prey. "Do you have any idea how pathetic you look right now?"
Oh, he's aware. He's painfully aware. Hell, he feels like the most desperate loser in the world. Yet, something about the way you look at him only makes him more flustered.
"I... I..." He shifts uncomfortably, trying to speak, but the words get snagged in his throat, coming out as nothing more than choked sounds.
"Well, go on. Don't let me stop you." You take a seat at the edge of the bed, crossing your legs and leaning back condecendingly. "Show me what you were doing to do, you pervert."
"I... I was just... I..."
"Show me." You repeat, a little sharper. "What were you plotting, Byers? Gonna sneak my panties into your pocket? Take them home? Jerk off to the smell of my pussy? Show me."
"I... I wasn't—" His mouth gapes. He hadn't anticipated this reaction from you. Is it a blessing or a curse? Does it matter? Whether stemmed from terror or excitement, it still makes his heart race. "I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me." You interrupt. "You're not very good at following orders, are you? I won't ask again." You won't have to. Slowly, Jonathan's trembling hands bring the garments back into view, clutching the fabric to his chest, looking up with shame filled eyes. "Go on. Smell them."
He swallows hard. Who is he to deny you? Would he even want to? He cautiously lifts the panties back up to his nose, relishing in deep, shaky inhales.
"Oh... God..." He groans, eyes nearly rolling back, an obvious tent already forming against his jeans. He's such a mess for you. Never has a man been so ruined by the thought of one woman.
"You're disgusting. You just can't help yourself, can you?" You hiss as if the sight of him like this isn't sending your heart into frenzy. Then, an absurd idea sparks in your mind, and you suspect you're just as much a pervert as he is: "Touch yourself."
He gasps, eyes widening at the command. Are you serious? He hesitates for a moment, hand dropping as your undergarments fall away from his nose.
"N-Now? You want me to... Now?"
"Now." You nod. "What? Too ashamed to show me how depraved you are in private? They're my panties, aren't they? I wanna see what you'll do with them." He takes a moment to absorb reality before bringing a shaky hand down and tugs at the zipper of his jeans. "Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you're working with."
Jonathan yanks his jeans down halfway, his chest heaving with exhilaration. Underneath it all, he's wearing basic white briefs, and the outline of his excitement strains against the fabric.
"More?" He looks up at you, and there's a desperate, panicked need in his eyes. A need for approval. A need for you to order him to continue. A need for your praise.
You nod, and he obeys. Shit— You're nearly going speechless the moment that 'more' comes. For someone who's meant to be written off as an outcast, the boy is blessed.
His twitching cock springs free, oozing with precum dripping from his flushed tip. He's big. Painfully hard and girthy: All for you. Always for you.
"Not bad." You murmur, composing yourself before the admiration can reach your face. "Now, show me what you can do with it."
His hesitant hand reaches down, wrapping his long fingers around himself. He lets out a strangled gasp, and he can't stop the panting breaths which spill from his lips.
His pretty face turns up tp you again, the question clear in his expression: Is this okay? Do you enjoy the show? He wants to be good for you. He wants to please you.
He strokes his leaky cock is slow motions, up and down, pressing your panties to his nose and breathing heavy. Arousal pools low in your stomach as you watch the way his pathetic, puppy-dog eyes glance up for approval.
He's a whimpering, whiny mess. You hadn't expected him to be so loud— So undone by you. It's sweet. It's heartwarming. As much of a pervert as he may be, he's obedient. Obedient dogs deserve a treat, don't they?
Agonizingly slowly, you lift your hips off the bed, fingers breaking the waistband of your bottoms as you prepare to slip them off. Jonathan's breath hitches in response, losing his rhythm.
He watches every movement like a starving man, pupils blown wide, hips jerking forward at the sight of you lifting up for him. A broken noise erupts from his throat when the realization of what you're doing— What you're offering— Settles in.
"P-Please—" His plea is muffled by cotton.
"Shh. Just be good and keep going for me, yeah?" You purr, pulling your clothing down in one bunch, exposing your soaking cunt to him. You lean back down on the bed, tossing your soiled panties into his lap. "There you go, Byers. Fresh, for you."
He whines like he might actually cum right then and there. He clutches at your new wet panties like they're some sort of holy relic, immediately bringing them to his nose.
"You smell so good—" He mumbles into the cloth before pressing it harder against his face. Your fingers teasingly trail down your torso, lower and lower. Jonathan doesn't dare blink for fear of missing this miracle. "Please, can I—?"
He leans forward, wanting for a touch. A taste. Anything. Such a greedy boy, desperate for more. You raise your foot, pressing it against his sweaty forehead, stopping him from inching any closer.
"Oh, no. You keep your dirty hands to yourself." You exhale, cruelly. "You're going to sit there and watch."
He lets out a pathetic, wounded noise, forcing himself back. For a second, it looks like he may cry, but he doesn't dare move. Not without your permission.
Your fingers eventually circle your clit, and you let out a breathy moan, eyes never leaving his as sparks of pleasure jolt through you.
He drools into the already soaked fabric on his face, eyebrows furrowed and hips jerking uncontrollably as he tries to last. Poor thing isn't even ready for what comes next.
Finally, your fingers slip into your sopping cunt with a pornographic squelch and your head tilts back as your legs spread wider to give him a better view.
He chokes out a needy sound, jerking like his body's been electrocuted. His cock twitches violently in his palm, precum dripping all over his own clothes.
"Fuck, please—" He whimpers out your name as tears prick the corners of his eyes.
"Mm, crying now? You want it that bad? You're so desperate." You groan, fingers curling against your hot, spongy walls. Would it be a crime to admit you're just as desperate? You're already soaking into your sheets. Who can blame you? He's so pretty on his knees. "Not even gonna a-apologize?" You stutter out. "For being a sick freak who tried to steal my panties? Hm?"
His lips part, but no sound comes out. He wants to apologize, he really does, but the words get stuck somewhere in his throat. The gushing sounds of your fingers moving inside you are the only things that pull his mind from the haze.
"M'sorry—" He finally manages to force out. "S-Sorry for being.... Being a f-freak—" He presses his forehead harder against your foot as if trying to hide himself, all while still watching your every movement through his wet lashes.
"You've been fantasizing about this, haven't you?" The sweetest moan slips past your lips as your fingers curve deliciously against that oh-so sensitive spot. "D'you touch yourself to the thought of me?"
"Mhmm!" His entire body shivers at the question. "Every night... I— I— Every—Ngh—Night—I j-just... I think so much about you. I can't s-stop—"
"Every night? God, you're a filthy boy." You exhale, fingers quickening to match the rapid pace at which his hips drive into his fist. "You wish you could feel it, don't you? My pussy squeezing around that pretty cock of yours?"
He can hardly believe the nasty, sinful words leaving your perfect lips. Oh, those lips— The lips he's thought about thrusting into too many times. He curls in on himself at the thought, letting out a high pitched, animalistic noise.
"F-Fuck! Fuck I c-can't!" He gasps, voice cracking pathetically. Tears spill over now, streaking down his flushed cheeks as he clings to your panties like they're the only things keeping him grounded.
He's so close it hurts. So close to spilling his hot cum all over your floor and himself. All the while, you watch him with that cruel little smile. He can't take it.
"Gonna cum already? So soon?" Despite the taunting, you're almost glad, because you can feel the familiar pressure of your release coiling while your fingers delve deeper into your hole.
"Please— Please— I just need—" He can barely speak, a babbling mess of helplessness.
"Beg for it properly. Use your words." You command quickly, back arching as you teeter on the edge of climax. Jonathan is practically hyperventilating, breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
"Please let me cum!" He squeals. "I'll be good! I'll be good, I promise! I'll be so—so good for you, please!" His face is a mess of tears and drool as he whimpers your name, over and over. The pathetic desperation of it all is enough to send you over the edge.
"Fuck, Jonathan—" His name leaves your lips in a heavenly cadence. "Cum for me, Baby." You bite your lip, suppressing a loud whine as intense waves of pleasure crash over you, slick walls spasming around your own fingers.
Jonathan lets out a strangled cry at your permission, entire body seizing up as he finally spills all over his trembling legs and on the floor between his knees. It's messy and undignified: Exactly how you wanted him.
He's panting like he'd just run a marathon. His forehead remains pressed against your foot, seeking warmth after being thoroughly ruined by you.
"Holy shit." He mumbles weakly.
Holy shit indeed.
You give him a fraction of a moment to catch his breath before standing, knees nearly buckling as you grab his jaw and force him to look up at you. Then, you plunge your soiled fingers into his needy mouth.
"Clean them." You command, and he doesn't hesitate.
"Mmph—" He moans as his tongue drags over your fingers with shaky desperation. It's humiliating, it's degrading, but he's exactly where he wants to be.
"Good boy." You whisper, pulling your saliva coated fingers from his mouth with a slippery pop. Then, you turn away, dressing yourself with deliberate laziness, leaving him a shaken heap on the floor. Once you're decent enough, you grab a tissue box from your dresser and toss it toward him. "Fix yourself up," You speak evenly. "We've still got a lab report to finish."