5 Times a Day

**Chapter 55**

Why was I horrified?

That question was probably sitting at the front of most people’s minds.

To answer it properly, I had to turn the clock back a few days.

A few days earlier, I had found a pair of purple satin panties in my aunt’s laundry hamper. I had taken them. Not only had I taken them, but I had also wrapped them around my cock and finished inside the soft fabric until the fabric was soaked and stained. Afterward, instead of putting them somewhere secure, I made the single stupidest decision possible: I stored both pairs, the used one and the clean one I had taken earlier, inside my suitcase instead of in the inventory, where no one could have done anything about them.

That mistake had consequences. Both pairs vanished. At the time, I assumed someone in the house had found them. Mira’s sudden change in attitude toward me made her the most obvious suspect.

Only now did I know with certainty that it had not been Mira.

The reason for the horror was simple.

Imagine looking at the woman whose stolen, cum-stained panties you had hidden in your luggage, and realizing she was wearing those exact same panties right in front of you.

Aunt Elise had lifted the back of her tennis skirt just high enough for me to see the familiar purple satin stretched across the full curve of her ass. The same pair I had ruined. The same pair that should still have been buried at the bottom of my suitcase.

She didn’t even glance back after the flash. She simply continued up the stairs and disappeared into the master bedroom, most likely to shower.

Once the initial shock loosened its grip, the only question left was *why*.

If she had known for two days, why had she stayed silent? Why hadn’t she confronted me, or told Tom, or thrown me out of the house? An ulterior motive from Tom felt unlikely; Aunt Elise had never struck me as the type to play those kinds of games on someone else’s behalf. The remaining possibility was that she was deliberately messing with me. But to what end? Did she want something illicit in return for her silence? Or was she just teasing me? Showing me she was in control?

I couldn’t find a clean answer, so I did the only practical thing left: I went back down to the basement.

Tom and Ross were still planted in front of the television. Sitting in the same room as the husband of the woman whose cum-stained underwear I had just seen on her body was its own special kind of discomfort. I stared at the screen without absorbing a single play.

“I guess you’re a lightweight, huh, Tyler?”

Tom’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

“Huh? What?”

“You must really love basketball.” He grinned. “I’ve never seen anyone that locked in.”

I forced a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah. I just love it.”

“Haha! Of course you do. Here.”

He pushed a shot of tequila into my hand. Only then did I notice the state of the other two. Ross was no longer watching the game so much as staring through it, eyes glassy. Tom himself smelled strongly of alcohol. The beers had been replaced by harder liquor; tequila and vodka were lined up on the low table.

“Come on,” Tom said, still holding the shot out. “Be a man. We’re going all night.”

I took the glass and downed it in one swallow. The burn hit my throat and then faded into nothing, exactly as every other drink had. My system simply refused to let me get drunk. The nervous energy in my chest stayed exactly where it was.

The pattern continued for a long time. Shot after shot, toast after toast, while the game played on in the background. After roughly two hours of continuous drinking that still left me completely sober, I finally reached a decision.

If Aunt Elise had wanted me gone, she would not have waited two quiet days. If she had wanted leverage, she would have used it directly instead of staging a silent panty reveal on the stairs. Something else was happening, and the only way to deal with it was to stop running from it.

I looked at my drinking companions. Ross was nowhere in sight, probably collected earlier. Tom was slumped deep into the couch, completely out. I checked his breathing out of habit; steady and strong. Sure he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, I left him there and headed upstairs.

The faint smell of cooked food still lingered in the kitchen. Mira was finishing the last of the cleaning.

“Hey,” she said without looking up at first. “You want something to eat? You three were down there for hours.”

“Hours?”

It had only felt like two. Then I glanced toward the sliding glass doors and saw pure dark beyond them. Night had fully settled.

“That engrossed, huh?” Mira asked. “Ross’s mom picked him up about an hour ago. When I went down to get him, he was passed out, and you looked pretty checked out yourself. Just in a different way.”

She offered again. “I can make something quick if you’re hungry. Everyone else already went to bed.”

“I’m good,” I said. If I got hungry later, there were still cooked dishes available in the system shop, Rox’s world cuisine, but food nonetheless.

“Sure.” Mira finished the counters, dried her hands, and headed for the stairs. The house settled into silence around me.

Once my thoughts lined up clearly enough, I decided there was no point waiting until morning. The girls were in their rooms. Tom was unconscious in the basement. Aunt Elise was alone on this floor. Whatever conversation needed to happen could happen now without an audience.

I moved the way Rox used to, weight distributed, footsteps almost soundless, until I stood in front of the master bedroom door. I knocked once. No answer. Twice. Still nothing. On the third try, I tested the handle. It turned easily. Unlocked.

The room was dark except for the soft silver spill of moonlight through the curtains. Aunt Elise lay on her side beneath a light sheet, body curved in sleep. Even under the fabric, the heavy, rounded shape of her ass was unmistakable.

The pink haze that always clung to her was thicker here than I had ever felt it. Three bottles of liquor had done nothing to me. The concentrated scent of her lust did what the alcohol couldn’t; it blurred the edges of rational thought until the only thing left was heat and the slow, heavy beat of my pulse.

I rounded the bed to the side Tom usually occupied and carefully climbed on. The mattress dipped. She shifted once, a small, restless movement, then settled again. Still asleep.

I eased the sheet down.

She wore a plain white tank top with no bra underneath; the soft weight of her breasts pulled the fabric into gentle peaks. Below that, stretched tight across the full curve of her hips and ass, were the exact purple satin panties I had stolen and ruined. The same pair she had flashed me on the stairs. The same pair that proved she knew everything.

I rested my hand on her ass cheek.

The word “soft” felt inadequate. The very word was made to describe this ass. The flesh yielded under my palm like warm, dense memory foam and then slowly pushed back when I released the pressure. I molded the shape of her ass with slow, deliberate squeezes, watching the satin stretch and shine under the moonlight. She made a small sound in her throat, “Mmm…,” but did not wake.

Emboldened, I let my fingers travel lower, tracing the deep cleft between her cheeks through the thin fabric, following it downward until I reached the soft heat between her legs.

The satin down there was damp.

Not slightly. But unmistakably, very wet.