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Chapter 1: Silken Sins and Feminine Delights

Even I had to admit the boxes were too heavy. They toppled from my arms, one of them falling onto the bed, its contents spilling out over the naked mattress. I groaned and set the last one down on the floor, turning to straighten up the mess I'd made with Mrs. Lovell's things. I looked down at what had come out: a bunch of old magazines, well-preserved but with edges curling, slightly yellowed.

But I was not prepared for what they were.

On the cover of one — Girly Thrills — a tall woman with silver makeup and raven-black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail towered in knee-high boots, standing astride another girl on all fours between her legs. The other girl was dressed in a frilly maid's costume, her skirt pulled up to reveal a lace stocking top and a glimpse of black satin panties.

My stomach dropped and my mouth dried out. What were these?

Almost automatically, I brushed it to the side to reveal another one. Feminine Delights pictured a surprised looking girl naked save for panties around her ankles, clutching a pillow over her crotch for modesty. Pinching her chin was a hand with long manicured nails connected to a slender arm that went off the edge of the photo.

I could feel my chest tightening. I didn't want to see more.

But I knew I had to.

Underneath was Silken Sins , which featured a woman laying on her back in a classic pin-up pose; long, stocking-covered legs reaching up in the air. She wore a tiny nurse's outfit, the blouse unbuttoned enough to reveal a hint of a pink bra beneath. I slid my eyes down her legs, noticing she wasn't wearing panties. And then I noticed something else.

Peeking out from behind her legs was a small, pink cock.

She has a — a— I screamed internally, barely noticing that my own manhood was rapidly swelling in my pants.

I stood there for a moment, breathing fast, staring at the magazines on the bed. Then, almost without thinking, I rolled the three magazines into a fat tube and crammed them into my pocket, draping my shirt over them. My hands were shaking. My stomach was filled with butterflies. I had to know more. I had to see what was in them.

This is not what you're supposed to want, I scolded myself.

But my curiosity was too much to bear.

"Mrs. Lovell?" I called as I powered towards her front door. "I just remembered I have an appointment I need to head out for."

Susan Lovell, my new neighbor, appeared in the entryway to the kitchen as I reached the door. We were surrounded by haphazard stacks of boxes and a clutter of unpacked furniture. A long, silvering lock of had fallen from her carefully coiffed hair. She was too delicate, too posh to handle moving all of this herself, so I had volunteered to help after her movers had abandoned her.

?The way a man is supposed to.

"Oh, of course, Edward," she said. "I appreciate your help!"

But I was already out the door. I rushed to my bedroom and laid the three magazines out on my bed, glancing from one cover to the next. My heart was jackhammering in my chest. I'd never seen anything like them before — and why did a sweet old thing like Susan Lovell have them?

Delicately, as if it might bite me, I picked up Silken Sins and flipped through the aged pages. I stopped at a random spot in the middle. She insists on her pretty boys being just the way she wants them! read the title. I spread open the pages, revealing glossy photoshoot featuring a woman in black, 70s-era lingerie having her way with a gorgeous, soft-featured boy in a diaphanous nightgown trimmed in marabou feathers.

My breathing got shallow as I stared at him, mind racing. The nightgown was powder blue, just sheer enough to show the contours of his legs and chest. Hidden somewhere beneath were his panties, and inside those were —

Could I wear that? I thought excitedly. But I quickly reminded myself: Not that I want to.

In one photo, the woman in the black underwear had pushed the boy in the nightgown down into a round, space-age chair. He looked up at her, face a mixture of fear and arousal, full lips colored red with lipstick and half-parted. I thought I could see the outline of something long and stiff in his panties. The woman in black was standing with her legs spread wide, standing in front of the chair. The photo was shot from below, the boy's face framed between fishnet-covered thighs.

I sat on the bed and freed my rapidly-stiffening manhood from my jeans.

Why are these so hot? I wondered as I began stroking myself, looking from one photo to the next.

I flipped the page and was presented with an enormous shot of the boy on his knees, arms wrapped around the black-clad woman's legs. She was bent at the waist, her blood-red fingernails sinking into the boys cheeks and pulling his face up towards her crotch. My gaze lingered on the boy in the nightgown — she looked longingly at the other woman.

My erection surged in my hand, orgasm close. But I glanced up at the woman in black, pushing the boy in the nightgown out of my mind.

I'm supposed to be in charge, like her, I reassured myself. That's what a man is supposed to do.

I flipped the page again and froze, butterflies exploding into flight in my stomach.

The woman in black had the boy in the nightgown pinned to the bed and was kissing his neck while she held his arms up against the headboard. The nightgown had fallen open, revealing lacy underwear — and standing straight out of the blue panties was a slender erection.

My heart was pounding. I couldn't stop staring at it. He looked stunning in the gorgeous lingerie, the sheer fabric of the nightgown brushing against naked skin. It looked so soft, so lovely to wear. The woman in black wanted him to wear it. She wanted to take him while he wore it. She was going to bend him over and pull down his panties and have her way with him. She was going to whatever she wanted to him while he was dressed in something lovely and pretty and —

You can't cum looking at a boy in lingerie, Eddie, I scolded myself.

It took effort, like my limbs didn't want me to do it, but I managed to close the magazine and push it away. But I turned my gaze towards the other two still sitting on the edge of my bed. Overwhelmed with curiosity, I opened them, turning the pages to reveal more photoshoots of girls and boys in all kinds of lingerie and costumes — with different kinds of cocks to match.

Does Mrs. Lovell know about this? I wondered, my stomach tying itself in knots and my heart pounding. Should I tell her about them?

And why was my dick still so damn hard?