The thumping in my chest was accentuated by the flickers of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. I'm in, just like I’ve done a hundred times before. The laundromat hums with the sound of spinning machines. I move between the rows of humming dryers, watching, listening for the right moment.

The thrill was in the risk.

And there it was. A flash of lace peeking out from a basket. My mouth watered. The temptation pulled me forward like a magnet, my heart beating in sync with the gentle thrum of machines. I grabbed them — soft, delicate, pink... and not yet cleaned. Fuck.

My fingers tightened around the fabric as I glanced around once more before pulling it close to my nose, inhaling the scent. It was intoxicating — the heavy perfume of a woman’s sweat and... something more primal. My cock twitched at the scent, already hardening beneath my jeans.

I quickly glanced around again, tension buzzing beneath my skin. No one. No eyes to catch me. I buried my face in the panties, sucking the fabric into my mouth, licking the crotch where her scent was strongest. The taste is earthy, just slightly salty. My hips grinded my erection against the counter. The thought of her, whoever she was, wearing them, her skin pressed tight against the fabric, made me groan, quiet and low.

The thrill of it made my blood race hotter. Every breath was a risk. I imagined her walking back in, catching me like this, her cheeks flushing in shock as her eyes widened at the sight of me pressed against her intimate clothing, my lips curled around the edge of her panties, wet with my spit. Fuck. I couldn't help but stroke myself through my jeans.

Then, just as my fingers slipped into my pants, I heard it — the faint click of a door opening. My heart leapt into my throat. I gripped the panties and moved like a ghost between the aisles, quiet but trembling with adrenaline. She was back, softly murmuring on the phone, probably oblivious to the pervert sneaking just a few feet away from her.

Crouching behind a row of washers, I yanked my zipper down, pulling myself free. The air felt cold against my heated skin, and I wrapped the panties around my shaft, the cotton fabric sliding along my length. It was so soft.

I imagined her again, her voice in my ear, gasping, maybe moaning as she catches me. "What the fuck are you doing?" she'd yell, probably furious — but there’d be heat behind it. Maybe she’d bite her lip, her eyes glued to my cock as I thrust into her underwear, watching me as I stroke faster, harder.

"Ohh fuck," I groaned under my breath, the friction perfect, the fabric gliding along me as my hand moved faster. I couldn't stop. I didn’t want to stop.

The sound of her footsteps grew louder. Shit**.** My grip tightened, squeezing the soft cotton harder against my shaft. The rush, the pounding in my chest, it was all too much. I teetered on the edge, gasping, biting back a moan as I felt the pressure building. I jerked harder, faster, my hips thrusting into the panties, every inch of me focused on that moment.

Then it happened.

I spilled into it, my cum soaking through the thin fabric, hot and sticky. I shuddered, biting down on my lip to muffle the sound of my release, but I couldn’t stop the quiet grunt that slipped through. My breath came short as I held the panties tight, feeling the warm slickness seep through, marking it. The evidence of what I had just done.

I yanked my hand away, stuffing the now-ruined panties back where I found them. T thought of her discovering them later was super hot. The rush of almost getting caught, the idea of her picking them up, feeling the wetness on her fingers — oh god.

I zipped up quickly, my heart still racing. I slipped out the back, the woman's voice still in the background, clueless.