8 comments/ 54394 views/ 16 favorites Stealing Bras and Sniffing Panties By: SuperHeroRalph This is a Summer Lovin' contest story. Too many readers forget to vote. Please vote. The bra and panty bandit uses and abuses women to satisfy his obsession. * It was a hot summer day and Carl stood in his secret room relaxing naked. He had been out in the sweltering sun doing what he did best, stealing bras and sniffing panties. This was his quiet time and his alone time, while thinking about all the bras and panties that he's already seen, touched, felt, stolen, and smelled. He had discovered a foolproof way to steal bras and sniff panties without being noticed or suspected, never mind being caught. As if making a summer gift, wish list for Santa Claus in July, instead of making a list of those who were very good, he made a secret list of those who were very bad, and checked it twice. Instead of waiting for Santa to come down his chimney, he fulfilled his wish list himself. "Ho's! Ho's! Ho's," he laughed, instead of saying, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" He thought of all the women he used, abused, and sexually assaulted and all the women he still wanted to use, abuse, and sexually assault. On his list were all the women he wanted to publicly humiliate by stealing their most intimately personal apparel, their lingerie. As if they were gifts delivered to himself by himself, with each bra and panty he stole, he crossed his victim's name from his list. Always a different victim each time, with so very many women on his list, he didn't have to steal the bra and panty of the same woman twice. Reliving all that he had experienced, while sequestered in his secret room and masturbating, was his reward time that he took for himself, after stealing so many bras and sniffing so many panties. As if he had stolen their bras and sniffed their panties yesterday, still fresh in his mind, he went through his collection of bras, panties, and photos that he took to earmark the occasion. With his hand gently and slowly stroking his cock to an erection, he thought of all the women he used, abused, and sexually assaulted over the days, months, and years. In no random order, a three dimensional memory fashioned in cotton, silk, lace, and satin, his bra and panty theft list started with those women's bras and panties he loved to have to cherish. Even though she was now elderly, he targeted his old high school English teacher, Miss Richards, because she always picked on him, scolded him, and embarrassed him in front of everyone in class, whenever he was unable to recite his assignment, so very long ago. With the memory of her terrible torment still fresh in his mind, he used his bra and panty fetish to get back at her. Just to get even, while satisfying his fetish, just for the fun of it, and just because he could, he wanted to teach his teacher a lesson that she'd never soon forget. With a short, quick puff of air and the nearly imperceptible whispering whir of feathers flying through the air... "Phffft!" Becoming expert at stripping women, he had her bra and panty off in short order. In the time it had taken her to hit him on his hand with her ruler or fling an eraser at his head, and then lambaste him with her caustic frustration of being the virginal old maid that she was, he had her skirt up and bunched around her back, her panties off, her blouse unbuttoned and splayed open, and her bra undone and off. It took him longer to pose her for her candid photo, than it did to undress her and remove her lingerie. "Now look at you, Miss Richards standing there practically naked. Shame on you for making me do this to you. Shame on you, figuratively and literally," he said with a laugh. Then, there was Roger Brown, his old, much hated boss, who called him a weirdo, before firing him. With jobs hard to find and having been denied unemployment benefits and subsequently receiving them, after he had a hearing with the state division of unemployment, he immensely enjoyed getting even with his ex-employer. The pictures of Mr. Brown's pretty wife, Audrey, that decorated his office, inspired his decision to steal her bra and sniff her panty. Then, there were all of those personal phone calls that Mr. Brown made to his wife on company time, when Carl wasn't even allowed time enough to pee, that shot Audrey to the top of his bra and panty list. Now without a job and with plenty of time to stealthily stalk her, he waited for the right time and watched for the perfect place. Carl finally caught Audrey, as the vulnerable victim that he needed her to be. She was secluded in the far corner of a supermarket parking lot that had emptied, as quickly as it had filled. When Carl saw Audrey's car parked in the distance and she was with her adult daughter, Jenna, he couldn't help but to comment to himself. "Bogo! Buy one, get one. Now, this is my kind of two for one sale special, but in the parking lot of the supermarket, that I like." Audrey, no doubt, felt safely secure being in a public place with her daughter, while loading her car with groceries. So much better looking in the flesh, the pictures that he saw of them in Mr. Brown's office didn't do them justice. With the both of them leaning in their car trunk together, he took that serendipitous occasion and most opportune moment to steal the bra and sniff the panties of his boss's wife and daughter. With just a quick, short puff of air and then another, it was done. Flying through the air, as if they were two drone darts launched in a pub at three meters distance, the tiny missiles traveled at warp speed in search of a target not on a dartboard but on a backside. The darts found the women's buttocks and the women were both immediately tranquilized. "Phffft! "Phffft!" "Ow! Ow!" "Double bulls-eye," said Carl getting out of his vehicle. With Audrey, being such a petite, pretty woman, as if she was a calf in a rodeo ring and he was a cowboy being timed to see how fast he could undress her, it was his pleasure to lift up her skirt, tuck it in her belt, pull down her panty, unbutton her blouse, and remove her bra. "Time," he said throwing up his hands and looking around, as if awaiting his official score. Having become expert at this sort of thing, if there was a record for how fast he could remove a woman's panty and bra then, surely, he just broke it. Looking so much like her mother, like mother like daughter, he stole Jena's bra and panty, too. Then, with their pussies, tits, and asses so exposed, posing them together and taking one of the best photos he's ever taken, he took their picture as mother and daughter. "You're fired," he said, while impersonating his boss's voice. "You're naked," he said, while staring at the nearly naked images of his ex-boss's wife and daughter and slowly driving away. Still standing in the secret room in his basement, while stroking himself and remembering all of his victims, he remembered Mary Jane Robinson, his first love, now married with two kids. Always so full of herself, especially after she married a successful lawyer, she lived the good life on the other side of town. Oh, yeah, it was her big mistake, when she turned him down for a date, especially when he discovered she was playing the field and having sex with everyone else but him. She made it to his bra and panty collection list by rejecting his sexual advances, so very long ago and now that he could, it was his turn to get even. Away from the eyes of security and surveillance cameras, parking her car where the employees parked their cars, he found her behind the mall parking lot, where she routinely took that as a cut through to avoid the crowd of shoppers. Mindlessly putting her purchases in her car, she was such an easy victim. "Phffft!" When he lifted up her skirt to steal and sniff her panties, he discovered that she wore pretty, blue, silk ones. A pretty woman, with long, dark hair and big, brown eyes, he was disappointed when he removed her bra and discovered that it was fully padded. With the larger sized bras she wore, he always thought she had bigger tits and now wondered, with her money, why she didn't have breast implants. No matter. He took her nearly nude photo, nonetheless. "Who's your Daddy, now, Mary Jane? Huh? Who's your Daddy?" He remembered back to his ex-wife's two sisters, mouthy Michelle and angry Amanda. Never shutting the Hell up, always bossing him around and telling him what to do, and with him never able to get a word in to win an argument, he couldn't wait to take their bras and sniff their panties. Not seeing him walk down the driveway and/or hearing him creep by, he caught them alone arguing with one another in their mother's backyard. "Phffft! Phffft!" As if made of rubber, they collapsed to the ground. He lifted them and leaned them up against the backyard fence. Then, he unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled down mouthy Michelle jeans and removed and sniffed her panties, before doing the same to angry Amanda. Next he removed their sweatshirts and bras, before taking photos of their naked bodies to remember them, while masturbating in his secret room. "Nothing to say, now that you're standing there naked, Michelle? You don't look so angry now, Amanda, standing there with your pussy, ass, and tits so exposed." Stealing the bras and sniffing panties of women that he knew was always the most enjoyable pleasure of his sexual fetish and he couldn't wait to pose them to take their pictures, too. As if reliving places he went on vacation, he cherished the photos of his stripped women, nearly as much as he did his collection of their bras and panties. Now, stroking his cock faster, he thought of his ex-mother, Phyllis, an older, albeit even meaner version of her daughters. He fondled her previously collected bra and panty, while staring at her nearly naked photo. The pain-in-the-ass, always talking, and never minding her own business troublemaker, just as he remembered how he couldn't wait to expose her tits, ass, and pussy, he couldn't wait to steal her big bra and steal her big panty. "Phffft!" Without a doubt, he had made up his mind to take her bra and sniff panty a long time ago and when he finally did, he celebrated by masturbating all over her most intimate of apparel, just as he was hoping to do now. As if a trophy on his shelf, as if her underwear was the head of a wild boar shot on safari and mounted on his wall, the nearly naked photo of his ex-mother and two ex-sisters-in-law were some of his favorite photos taken. "What's that, Phyllis? I can't hear you. What? Did you say something? Well, in case you thought something but were unable to verbalize it because you're tranquilized, allow me to retort. Shut the fuck up, you nasty bitch with your tits, ass, and pussy so exposed." Stroking himself faster, he thought of his MILF of an aunt, Beverly and her three daughters, his sexy cousins, Denise, Donna, and Brenda. Still wondering if it was accidental or on purpose, unmercifully teasing him every time they visited or when he visited them, he thought about all the times they supposedly, inadvertently flashed him their bra and panty. So very sexually frustrated back then, as he still is now, alone in his room and masturbating, he thought about all the times he masturbated over seeing their bras and panties. As if it was yesterday, he remembered when he finally mounted the courage and found the opportunity to take his aunt's bra and sniff her panty. "Phffft!" If his aunt was a MILF, albeit an older MILF now, so weren't his three sexy cousins Denise, Donna, and Brenda, that he lusted over, ever since he was a young adult, when he was filled with too much testosterone and not enough sense. "Phffft! Phffft! Phffft!" More challengingly difficult to steal the bras and sniff the panties of relatives without being recognized and caught, with a bit of patient planning, he stole the key to his aunt's house from his mother. Then, he managed to find the right opportunity and take all four of their bras, panties, and photos, while posing them together in their living room. "Cockteasers! The four of you are nothing but cockteasers. When I remember all the times you made me crazy out of my mind with incestuous lust for you by accidentally on purpose flashing me your bras and panties, finally you all get what you deserve. Now, we're even, cocksuckers! Now were even." Having already laid out the bras and panties he had stolen, along with the photos he had taken, before starting to masturbate, he masturbated over different women every day. Today he was masturbating over Miss Richards, his old English teacher, Audrey and Jenna Brown, his ex-boss's wife and daughter, Mary Jane Robinson, his unrequited love, mouthy Michelle and Angry Amanda, his ex-sisters, and Phyllis, his ex-mother-in-law. As soon as he remembered his MILF of an aunt Beverly and his three sexy cousins, Denise, Donna, and Brenda, he exploded cum everywhere. Extending his list, after having given careful thought to it, he now had a whole new collection of women to target. Only, not as dangerous as he thought it would be, stealing bras and sniffing panties was just too damn easy. Why he hadn't thought of this before, he didn't know. The perfect crime in a time of political unrest and economic hard times, something that these targeted women would never report in a million years because of the personal embarrassment and the public humiliation, Carl was having the time of his life stealing their bras and sniffing their panties. Hidden in his house, concealed behind a secret basement door in an underground room, aptly called his masturbation room, was his wall of shame. Carl had an entire wall of photos taken of his victims, after having stolen their bras and sniffed their panties, along with a four drawer dresser filled with bras and panties. Each bra and panty set were sealed in plastic bags with the names of the women he stole them from and the dates and places where he stole them. With their skirts raised to their waists exposing their asses and pussies, after he stole their panties, and their blouses splayed open exposing their breasts, areolas, and nipples, after he stole their bras, the candid photos he took were his aces in the hole, his trump cards to be played, should he be caught and threatened with prosecution. If they dared tried to put him behind bars, he'd post their explicitly embarrassing photos on the Internet for all to see with the first bit of provocation. By the time the women got a court ordered injunction to have the pictures removed, their naked images would have been downloaded, viewed, and masturbated over by millions, including their friends, neighbors, relatives, and coworkers. Some of his photos were very flattering and others not so much. He knew that no woman would want to be so publicly exposed, especially in the way he took the care to pose them. Now, instead of going out daily to see what he needed to ogle, steal what he needed to take, and sniff what he needed to smell, he more carefully chose his victims. As if having become a connoisseur of fine, French wine, after being so exposed to cheaper domestic blends, his palette for the specific wearer of bras and panties had suddenly become refined. Moving from fetish to paraphilia by stealing the bras and panties from non-consenting women, his obsession now morphed to meld with revenge. Getting even for the way that he perceived women had mistreated him, if only by the curious looks they gave him, that's all it took for them to make it to his coveted bra and panty list. Nonetheless, Carl had reached a new pinnacle in his perverse fetish for lingerie. Presently, he had a new victim in his sight. Having done all his research, practiced and perfected his technique, and readied his alibi, he had been stalking her for weeks. Helen Murphy, the small town political big wig, was his next target. As if a one-eyed Cyclops in his myopic viewpoint of her, he focused all his sexual attention on Helen, the town's rich bitch. Starting out as an Avon lady as her pretense to go door-to-door, she serviced the horny husbands of her never at home customers. Without doubt, she spent more time on her knees and fixing her lipstick than she did selling cosmetics. Along the way, she made some powerfully influential friends, when she graduated from selling cosmetics and perfume to selling real estate. A woman who loved the limelight, she hit his bra and panty list, when she threw her high heel shoes in the political ring and was elected to the school committee, then city council, and finally mayor. Oh, yeah, stealing her bra and sniffing her panties would be his cope d'état. Unable to keep her blouse properly buttoned or her knees tightly closed together, after having already stolen numerous down blouse peeks of her bra and up skirt views of her panties with every public appearance she made, he knew everything he needed to know about her. She wore a C cup, low cut, strapless bra, always white with tiny yellow and pink flowers, and one that exposed her abundant cleavage, along with shear bikini panties, either pink or yellow. Oh yeah, such a rightwing conservative and such a phony, pretending to be so reservedly modest and wholesome in public, especially when she quoted the Bible, she made a public faux pas by wearing and exposing the lingerie of hooker to her mostly male constituents. While stalking her, with all the nefarious affairs he stumbled over her having to advance her political career, blonde, blue-eyed, pretty, and shapely, she was such a sexy slut. He wondered how much her husband would pay to have the information he had about her many lovers and how much she'd pay not to be so exposed. Having stumbled across her path years ago, when she called the police on him for leering at her, he was taken to the station, questioned and released. Yet, publicly humiliated, when handcuffed and thrown in the back of a police car in front of his neighbors, for sure, she needed to be taken down a notch or two and he was just the one to do it. Easy to find and easier to track, he knew where she lived, where she worked, and her daily, weekly, and monthly routine. It was just a matter of getting her alone long enough to do what he needed to do. It was just a matter of time before he stole her bra and sniffed her panties, too. Then, on a warm summer night with a full moon casting an eerie glow, he caught Helen leaving late from a political fund raiser. Always making an entrance by arriving late and with no thought to time, a gifted gabber who loved hearing the sound of her own voice, she was the last to leave. She had to walk a quarter mile in her high heels shoes down a deserted, dark country road, where she parked her car behind the others that had long since left. Naively safe in her false belief that no crimes happened in her closed community, she was an easy victim. Carl waited patiently for her in the bushes and when she opened her trunk to deposit her briefcase, campaign signs, and political materials, he struck. "Phffft!" As if she was made of liquid, she collapsed behind her car. With the full moon lighting what he needed to see, along with a small flashlight he held between his teeth, he lifted up her unconscious body and leaned her up against the car and removed the dart, the evidence of his physical assault. Then, feeling and touching her where only her husband should have been allowed to touch and feel her, he lifted her hem, took a step back and photographed Helen with her skirt bunched around her waist with her yellow panties so exposed. "I'm going to take your panties, now, Helen, and when I do, I'm going to sniff and lick them," he said whispering in her ear, before squatting down and repositioning the flashlight, so that he could see all that he needed to see, once her panties were removed. Stealing Bras and Sniffing Panties Slowly he pulled down her panty and gently lifted up her feet. Once off, he sniffed her panties, before licking them and pocketing them. Then, with the bottom of her skirt tucked in her waistband, he pulled out his camera, stepped back to make sure that he got all of her in the picture, including the back of her head, and photographed her naked ass. Carefully turning her around, so as not to make her slide down the side of the car and fall, he photographed the front of her with her face and pussy so exposed. "Now I'm going to remove your bra," he said whispering in her ear again, while wondering if she was conscious enough to hear and to realize what he was saying and/or who he was. Yet, as if she was soundly sleeping, he knew she was out cold. Still holding the flashlight between his teeth and shining the flashlight on her chest, slowly he unbuttoned each button of her blouse looking to see what each unbuttoned button revealed, before unbuttoning the next button. Then, he splayed open her blouse, took a step back and photographed her naked pussy and exposed white bra with the pink and yellow little flowers. Finally, reaching around behind her, he removed her C cup, low cut, strapless bra and took a last photograph of her slumped up against the car with her tits and pussy so nakedly exposed. "Perfect," he said. "For such a pretty woman in person, you're not very photogenic, are you? You look drunk," he said quickly viewing the photos on his camera. Recently, morphing into a super pervert, a demented predator, and a dangerous sexual deviate than just a creep, a real menace to society, Carl's bra fetish and panty obsession had turned another perverse corner from fetish to paraphilia. No longer happy with just down blouse peeks and up skirt views of panties, no longer happy with stealing the bras and panties of friends, acquaintances, relatives, and strangers, he was now after the really big game. He wanted, needed, and had to have the actual bras and panties of those women who were nasty bitches, those women who had been mean to him, and those women who everyone loved to hate. If they weren't so insulated, protected, and hard to get at, he'd do anything to steal Michelle Obama, Sarah Palin, and Michele Bachmann's bra and sniff their panties. "Phffft! Phffft! Phffft!" Oh, yeah, ready to hunt bear, the bigger the game the better, he couldn't wait. If he lived in California, he'd target celebrities, Jennifer Aniston, Angelina Jolie, and Kim Basinger. "Phffft! Phffft! Phffft!" Just for the Hell of it, if he could, he'd steal Oprah Winfrey's big bra and sniff her big panty, too, he would, really he would. "Phffft!" He could only imagine what the bra and panty of Kate Middleton's, the Duchess of Cambridge, looked, felt, and smelled like. "Phffft!" Even though he was the devil reincarnated to his victim, he was the Angel of sexual retribution to all those men, who had been abused by powerful women, women who showed no mercy to men by belittling them, abusing them, and emasculating them. Oh, yeah, pay back is a bitch, bitch. Whenever he bagged one of those much reviled women, no one cared. Even though most would never admit it in public, many thought the women got just what they deserved and some even thought it funny to read about them being stripped of their bra and panty and being so publicly exposed and humiliated. After already having successfully stolen the bra and sniffing the panties of the District Attorney who prosecuted him as a sex offender "Phffft!" and the judge who sent him away for 30 days observation for lewd and lascivious behavior, "Phffft!" he's made quite the name for himself. With a long list of sexual perverts that they so prosecuted and put away, the District Attorney and Judge had no idea and/or evidence that he had so targeted them. It could have been any one of dozens of men, who had stolen their bras and sniffed their panties. Tit, butt, and twat for all the photos he shot, even if they had the evidence to arrest him, he had their naked photos to make them think twice about the embarrassment that their public nudity would bring to their careers. So named in the press as The Bra and Panty Bandit, an Internet overnight success, he was infamously famous. Yet, now that he was once captured, tried and convicted and having to register as a sex offender, improving his chances of not landing in jail and being incarcerated for a very long time, he always took care to have a foolproof alibi, along with his naked photos to blackmail them. Documenting his sexual crimes with photographs, so as to save his ass from prison, he took care to always have just as much on his victims as they had on him. Looking so much the part with his longish blonde hair, blue eyes, and broad shoulders, resembling a young Robert Redford, Carl was a big game hunter and the summer was his hunting season. Not needing a license, not even needing a shotgun, all that he required was his six inch blowgun and the opportunity to stalk his prey. His big game weren't animals in the jungle. He hunted women in the wild. Able to justify the theft of their bras and panties more, the wilder the women the better. He hunted women in their own habitat, the supermarket and mall parking lots. In the way that hunters on Safari collect the heads and skins of wild animals, Carl collected bras and panties from women. His fetish was bras and panties, specifically used bras and panties, previously worn bras and panties that were still odorously warm from wear. Already having accumulated enough bras and panties in every size, style, and color, he had an entire collection of bras and panties from tall, short, fat, thin, young, and old women. No matter if they were blonde, brunette, or redhead, no matter if they were Caucasian, Asian, or Black, their bras and panties weren't safe from Carl stealing them. It started innocently enough many years ago, when female relatives and female friends of the family visiting his parents' house, inadvertently flashed Carl down blouse peeks of their bras and up skirt views of their panties. Later, wanting to see more, whether crawling around on the floor on the pretense that he dropped something, while looking up skirts or standing on a chair to change a light bulb and looking down blouses, Carl always found a way to see what he needed to see. A stealthy master of deception, no one caught him looking long enough to discern his real agenda. A normal rite of passage for any young, testosterone filled male to be so focused with seeing bras and panties, his true fetish first started when he stole and sniffed his sisters' and mother's dirty bras and panties that they discarded in the laundry basket. Unfortunately, with all the down blouse peeks and up skirt views he saw and still continued to see, Carl never outgrew his bra and panty fetish. Yet, even then, it took years and several exploratory voyeuristic detours for Carl's fetish to grow and return full circle to how it all began and continued to manifest itself. His obsession with bras and panties no longer stopped with him masturbating in his room. Over the years, his fetish continued to escalate, so much so that he wasn't able to maintain a physical relationship with a woman. As if she was standing before him in her lingerie, seldom even looking up at her face, every time he saw a woman, he thought of her in her bra and panty. Every time he talked to a woman, undressing her with his eyes and seeing her in his mind in her lingerie, he wondered what style, size, and color bra and panty they wore. The only relationship that he wanted and hoped to have with women was behind his closed bedroom door with their stolen bras and panties, along with the photos he had taken of them, while masturbating over all that he saw, touched, and smelled. In the beginning, unlike other men who actually collected bras and panties, who may even wear bras and panties, and/or who can't walk by a lingerie counter without feeling bras and touching panties, Carl was uniquely different in that regard. Originally, he needed to see the women wearing their bras and panties for his fetish to be satisfied. Most would mistaken him for a voyeur and, of course, he was that, too, especially in the beginning, but the reason behind his voyeurism was to satisfy his fetish of collecting the visual images of women wearing their bras and panties. To jog his memory of all that he saw over the years, he even maintained an encoded and detailed notebook of when and where he saw which woman's bra and panty. The writings in Carl's notebook was just scribbled gibberish but, able to interpret all that he wrote, his marks were what he needed to relive to see each and every woman's bra and panty that he saw. It was his obsession to masturbate while reading his notebook, while reliving again all that he saw and imagining all that he didn't see. Along with his imagination and experienced eye, a bra strap or a visible panty line was sometimes nearly enough and nearly as exciting as seeing a woman standing before him in her bra and panty. In the way that a big game hunter was expert in knowing where the animals in the wild were and how to bag them, so wasn't Carl expert in knowing where the women were and how to see them. Only, with his fetish taking more control of his life, something happened to Carl along the way. After spending years, decades of collecting images of women's bras and panties and painstakingly recording the sightings in his secret encoded notebook, tormented by his obsession, his fetish grew to feverish heights. More than just reading over his notebook every night, more than masturbating every day, sometimes, multiple times a day, he needed more than just a visual image that faded with his memory. Creating little more than frustrated sexual excitement, those down blouse views of bras and up skirt images of panties were no longer enough to satisfy his bra and panty fetish. Now, needing to possess bras and panties, he needed to touch, feel, sniff, and lick them. Not interested in going to the lingerie department and buying new and unworn bras and panties and bras, he now needed more than that. As if claiming the severed head of his prey, it was a given that he needed to take ownership of bras and panties, but not just any bras and panties. As if bagging the biggest and most ferocious wild animal, he wanted to take the bras and panties of those beautiful women he'd never have a chance with ordinarily. He wanted the bras and panties of those women who looked at him with a jaundice eye and made him feel that there was something wrong with him. Even though, of course, there was something wrong with him, in the way that he leered at, viewed, and sexually used, abused and assaulted women. Nonetheless, he didn't appreciate, an understatement, their perception of him, even though they may have been correct in their insightfulness. Their prejudgments of him made him angry and moved them to the top of his bra and panty to be had list. Wanting to publicly embarrass and humiliate women, just as they embarrassed and humiliated him over the years, he needed to steal, take, and remove their most personal items, their bras and panties, while they were still wearing them. Oh, yeah, their used bras and panties was what now interested him. Only, an act equal to the crime of rape, unless the women voluntarily gave up their bras and panties, how could he possibly take women's bras and panties without landing himself in jail? It was a puzzle that caused him many sleepless nights and a solution that eluded him, but one that he finally found. In the way that the Japanese men do, other than to run up on women and steal their bras and remove their panties, a middle-aged man, he was now too old and too slow to do that. Other than to drug women and remove their bras and panties, once they were unconscious, he couldn't do that either. He could hypnotize them to remove and hand over their bras and panties, but he didn't know how to hypnotize women. Moreover, he'd run the risk of them identifying him by remembering that he had hypnotized them and stolen their bras and panties. Stealing bras and panties while women were wearing them was a good idea, but in need of a solution of how exactly to go about doing it. Then, he thought about a blowgun that he saw, while watching the Amazonian Indians in South America and the Pygmies of Africa on National Geographic. Instead of using poison to kill his victims, thinking of the women as if he was stalking animals that roamed from the wild to exclusive bedroom communities and needed to be relocated, he'd use tranquilizers to tranquilize his victims. Illegal in California, Massachusetts, and the District of Columbia, fortunately for him, in the state where he lived, blowguns were legal. Of course, it was just the use that he was to put the blowgun to that was illegal. For a few hours of his time, he did some research on the Internet and found what he needed online. For less than one hundred dollars, he bought everything he needed to temporarily tranquilize and paralyze women long enough for him to steal their bras and sniff their panties. After practicing in the use of a blowgun, he couldn't wait to try his blowgun out on someone. By strictly trial and error, he didn't have an Amazonian Indian or an African Pygmy to ask or to instruct him. Not knowing what dosage to use and how quickly it would work, depending, of course, on the size of the woman, he only needed to have the women remain motionless for only a few minutes. Yet, not degreed and licensed as a doctor, not trained as an anesthesiologist, or even as a veterinarian, other than guesswork, he had no clue how much tranquilizer to give his victims. Yet, already halfway through the story, I'm skipping ahead. For the sake of some background information, allow me to begin from the beginning. Carl's bra and panty fetish started when he was younger. Much as it is now, the summer season was his favorite season. He loved the warm weather, the hotter the better. Heat didn't bother him one bit. Humidity was his friend. He loved those days that the heat approached 100 degrees and the oppressive humidity climbed to over 70. The dog days of summer, those were the days that women didn't care what they were wearing, what they were showing, and what he could see. Then, heating up his libido as hot as the temperature, it got even hotter. This year, with the summer sun scorching most of the country, was a voyeur's bonanza and a fetish jackpot. He couldn't wait to steal his first bra and panty. When it was unbearably hot, so hot that the only place to stay cool was indoors and in air conditioning or wading in cooler water at the beach or in a pool, Carl headed for supermarket and the mall parking lots. Too crowded at the beach to go unnoticed, as the closeted voyeur he sometimes needed to be to satisfy his bra and panty fetish, sticking out like a sore thumb when walking the beach in his street clothes or even in his bathing suit, in the way that he looked and leered, he'd be deemed a pervert at first sight. He needed to be less obvious for what he needed to see. As if going to the aquarium to look at the fish or the zoo to see the animals, malls and supermarkets was where he went on hot days to voyeur women. Whether they knew it or not, some women sometimes exposed more of themselves at the supermarket and the mall than they did at the beach. There were a few reasons why Carl preferred the supermarkets and the malls to scope out women. Instead of wearing bathing suits and bikinis at the beach, women at the supermarkets and the malls wore bras and panties beneath short, loose fitting, nearly transparent blouses and short sundresses that opened at the top when they leaned and raised up at the bottom, when they squatted. With bras and panties being so openly and routinely flashed and with bras and panties being his fetish, as far as he was concerned, it was more erotic seeing a woman's bra and panty than it was seeing a woman in her in her bikini. Later, once safely home and after having recorded everything in his notebook, with his hand firmly around his cock, while masturbating, he remembered not only all of what he saw at the supermarket and mall but also all that he didn't see and was imagining now. Pretending he was just another casual shopper, the supermarkets and malls were as if he were watching women in the wild and in their natural habitat. Even though women wore less clothes at the beach, the beach with the bright sun, sand, and water was an unnatural place for him to voyeur women. Splattered with husbands and boyfriends and sprinkled with children, too many people got in the way of him watching women without being watched and looking without being seen. More the peeper than the pervert, that is, until later, for his voyeurism to work enough to satisfy his bra and panty fetish, he didn't want to be caught looking. Having a better, albeit twisted self-image of himself, he didn't consider himself a full blown pervert, one who didn't care who saw him looking. So long as he got a good view of what he so wanted and needed to see without being noticed, harassed, and made a spectacle of, he was happy. As much as he enjoyed seeing hot women wearing bikinis, he preferred seeing a hot women in their underwear. With so many bikinis leaving so little to the imagination, an argument could be made that bikinis were much the same as seeing women in their underwear but, with so much more yet to imagine, he preferred seeing the real thing than just imagining it. So long as he could imagine more, so long as he could imagine them naked, he needed the inspiration of seeing women in their underwear. For him, it was more exciting to imagine a naked woman than it was to actually see a naked woman. The sudden and surprised flash of a bra or panty excited him more than it did to see a woman wearing a bikini, a woman topless, or even a naked woman sunbathing on a private beach or nude beach. If he was given a choice, seeing a woman in her underwear or seeing a woman naked, he'd pick the woman in her underwear every time. Oh, yeah, seeing a woman wearing her bra and/or panty is what did it for him. When walking the beach, he was too obvious. When walking the beach alone, when most people were relaxing on their towels as couples, families, or with a group of friends, he was conspicuous and looked too much like the pervert that he was. When he saw something to see, it was too difficult for him to get closer for a better look without calling attention to himself. With nearly as many men at the beach, as there were women, the chances of him being spotted staring and confronted by a jealous husband, a possessive boyfriend, or even a good Samaritan stranger, was greater than, if he kept his leering to the grocery stores and shopping centers, where the majority of customers were women. With him looking to see bras and panties, most women in the supermarkets and at the malls shopped alone and were too preoccupied with shopping for food or sale items to notice his bizarre behavior. Besides, if he was discovered leering in a store, rather than being trapped on a long, straight stretch of a hot, sandy beach, he could just turn down an aisle, duck in another store, and disappear in the crowd of shoppers. Feeling safer contained within the boundaries of the mall and supermarket, a boundary that extended outside to the parking areas, women were his valuable voyeuristic victims and, as if they were wild animals in the wild, his big game to hunt. Always in a hurry to get out of their hot cars and get in the air conditioned comfort of the mall or supermarket, women at the mall and supermarket were all so very hot, tired, frustrated, and otherwise preoccupied with what they needed to buy or what they just bought than they were with the wardrobe malfunction of their clothes. Oblivious to being watched, stuck to their car seats and emerging from their cars, SUV's, and minivans with their legs spread wide open and their skirts or dresses nearly hiked up to their crotch, most times, most women, didn't notice him staring to see what he could see. Too hot and aggravated, most women didn't care what they were showing and what it was he was seeing. To him, it seemed that they were showing him on purpose. To him, it seemed that they wanted him to see their bras and panties. Stealing Bras and Sniffing Panties An expert in looking and seeing without being noticed, most times, they were oblivious to Carl watching them. By the time they noticed him, he had already gotten an eyeful of all that he wanted, needed, and was hoping to see of them and all that they were accidentally or purposely showing him. By the time they noticed him, he was already leaving and in search of his next voyeuristic victim. In the way that women busied themselves looking for sale items, leaning over counters, and squatting down to look at the merchandise stowed in lower shelves and bins, innocuously positioned where he had the best view, while appearing as if he was just another customer shopping, he remained in the background, oblivious to their detection. Able to assess the whole scene, someone from across a crowded store had a much better chance of seeing what he was up to than the person he was watching. In the way that women focused on shopping or hurried to stow their bundles in their cars to get back in the air conditioning comfort of their vehicles, he saw more, closer up views at the supermarket and the mall than he ever did at the beach. When it was so unbearably hot and sticky uncomfortable, women wore anything, practically nothing, just to stay cool, while shopping, especially food shopping, a sometimes dreaded chore. As if shooting fish in a barrel, everywhere he went in a supermarket or a mall, he'd see something. From seeing a close up view of a bra down a woman's open blouse, while she leaned down to look and reach for something in the dairy case to seeing a woman's patch of panty between her legs, while watching a woman trying on shoes in a shoe store, everywhere he looked, he'd see someone flashing a bra or panty. When it was that hot, even the most modest of women, those rich bitches from the other side of town or the church women dressed so beautifully, didn't care what they were showing and who was looking. They were just hoping to stay cooler, while Carl was hoping to get hotter by looking at all they were showing. Mindful of the surveillance cameras that watched him, knowing their locations and where to position himself to avoid their detection, Carl didn't carry a camera with him. He didn't need binoculars. Not wanting to call undue attention to himself, he was an up close and personal kind of guy. It took little more than to hold up a package, as if he was reading the contents label, when he was looking down someone's blouse or squatting down to look up someone's dress. He'd rather photograph the close up images in his mind to record in his notebook and use later, when masturbating over all that he saw in the privacy of his bedroom. He hated pantyhose and fortunately, most women didn't wear pantyhose, especially in the summer. Their uniform of choice were bras and panties beneath something loose, light, and sheer. He loved those hot, humid summer days where he could see the hazy, hot fumes rising up from the black asphalt. Slowly, he'd circle around in his beat up pickup truck watching for targets, while looking for victims. Being that there were so very many of them, they were always easy to find. Women in low cut sundresses were his favorites, especially when there was a hot summer breeze blowing. Much like a supermarket special, they gave him two for ones, a down dress peek of their bras and an up dress peek of their panty. Watching women stow their bundles in the trunks of their cars or secure their children in the backseats were his best sightings and the thing that gave him the idea for his blowgun tranquilizer. He loved looking down their dress at their bras and up their dresses at their panties. With the material of their dress pulled tighter across their backs and asses, he loved staring at their exposed bra and panty lines, when they leaned in their cars. Always they showed him more than they knew they were showing. Whenever he was caught looking, as their personally violated reprimand to him, women gave him a dirty look, some swore at him or gave him the finger, and others, those who enjoyed the attention, even showed him more. Yet, whatever they did in response to catching him looking, their reaction gave him more masturbation material and was more a reward than it was an embarrassment for him. Sometimes, when there was no one around, wanting their reaction, he'd linger to watch longer, knowing he'd be caught looking. He loved the ones who felt invaded and somehow violated, as if he had taken something from them from seeing their bra and/or their panty. He took their expressions of shame and horror home with him to masturbate over later. An affront to their decency, he loved the women who were angry and threatened to call the police or security. He stole something from them, not only the image of their panty and/or bra but also their modesty, that they could never take back. His favorite women were the ones who wanted to play and who willingly showed more, when they knew he was looking. Look but don't touch, for him to satisfy his bra and panty fetish, his thing was voyeurism and not having sex with anyone, other than with himself. Even though he didn't shop there, in the beginning, Wal-Mart was his favorite store for seeing all that he needed to see. Whether inside the store or out in the parking lot, Wal-Mart was the Mecca, a voyeuristic paradise, a voyeurs Disney World. He'd see more bras and panties in one visit to Wal-Mart than he'd see in a week of frequently the supermarket and mall. Yeah, sure, a lot of the women who shopped at that store were fat, ugly, and/or fat and ugly, but there were still some hot chicks, who were too hot from the weather to care what they were showing and who was looking. He couldn't keep count of how many bras and panties he's seen at that one store. He couldn't keep count of how many women he's watched, just by walking around and seeing what some of these women were wearing and showing. Definitely the hot summer was his favorite season for women watching. It was obvious that some women, just by the way they dressed or didn't dress, were exhibitionists. Some women didn't care what they were showing him and what he saw of them. Needing that attention, no doubt, they were hoping to show. Yet, most were just hot and careless, and too hot to care. Most women don't realize that someone like him is out there hoping to see all that they were inadvertently showing. It always bothered him that he couldn't be at more than one place at a time. If he was all seeing and all knowing, he couldn't imagined all the bras and panties, he'd see. He couldn't help but feel that he was missing more than what he was seeing, which is why he decided to take his work home with him, by tranquilizing women and stealing their used bras and sniffing their panties. Instead of just recording notes in his notebook, now he'd have their bras and panties as his souvenirs. Only, now, instead of having to settle for stealing peeks of bras and panties at Wal-Mart women, he headed for the most exclusive neighborhood malls to steal the bras and panties of those women who'd ordinarily wouldn't look twice at him, the rich and beautiful women. With blowgun at the ready, hunting for bras and panties instead of for buck and bear, he was more focused than he's ever been. In the meantime, while looking for the one women to steal her bra and panty, as his routine diversion, he watched for down blouse views of bras and up skirt views of panties. In watching women as the voyeur he was, Carl remained ever vigilant for a victim to steal her bra and sniff her panty. Cautiously careful and stealthily silent, slowly driving around the parking lot, as if looking for the perfect parking space, he didn't want to be noticed, caught, and arrested for stealing bras and panties, when and if he found a victim. Waiting and watching for just the right opportunity, searching specifically for a woman who parked her new car away from all the other cars, for fear of dings, dents, and scratches, looking in the inner lower, and upper parking lots, Carl scoped out the outer parking lot, too. Away from the routine drive-by checks of security, he looked for those places that were more remote, desolate, and isolated, especially when he knew that security was busy on the other side of the lot. Mindful of the multitude of security camera surveillance, he hid his rear license plate with a an empty shopping bag partially hanging out from his tailgate. Unable to find anything but parked cars, as frustrated as he was excited, finally, he spotted her, his hoped for victim. Leaving his engine running and angled out of view of her rearview mirrors, he parked his truck a short distance away and slumped down in his seat, so as not to be detected. As if a detective on stakeout, he watched and waited. A bleached blonde was parked beneath a shady tree in the farthest corner of the parking lot. With her sitting in the passenger seat and with no other cars around, except for the one car parked beside them, he figured that was her car. Too cheap or not having time enough to get a room, she was a woman cheating on her husband, no doubt. Having witnessed this behavior before, he figured, eventually, her lover would leave and, not wanting to be caught together, she'd wait to follow. Hoping to somehow get her alone, he watched the woman making out with the man in his parked car. From his distant vantage point, when her head suddenly disappeared from sight, he figured she was giving her lover a blowjob. Oh, yeah, just the type of woman he had been searching to find. She was a wild and wicked woman. She deserved to have her bra stolen and panties sniffed. Waiting for the right moment, after her dirty deed was done with her lover and watching her reapply her lipstick in her rearview mirror, his chance came when the woman alighted from the man's car with several shopping bags. With one eye watching the man's car disappear in the distance, he watched the woman carefully take her time loading her packages in the trunk of her car. From the make, model, and year of her car, she obviously had money. Even from his distance, he could tell she was a young, pretty, and shapely woman. Not knowing what she did for a living, if she worked at all, to him she looked like a real estate agent. With her hair, clothes, and makeup just so, he's seen the type of well put together woman before. Bent over with her ass sticking out and her head and torso in her trunk of her car, as if she was a bear in the bush picking berries, she inspected and arranged all that she bought. Acting so much like the victim she was, appearing as if she was daring him to tranquilize her, she was oblivious to her desolate surroundings and to his surveillance of her. With her leaning so far in her trunk and the material of her dress stretched so tightly across her ass, even from the distance and without the aid of binoculars, he could see her panty line through her sheer, white dress. The closer he drove the more he could see and the more excited he became with the thoughts of what he was about to do. Quickly, as he drove by and silently stopped at the back of her car, he powered down his driver's side window and with a quick, short puff of air... "Phffft!" "Ow," said the woman, reaching her hand behind to grab at her ass, just as she fell head first in her trunk. "Bulls-eye," he said. With this his first victim and not knowing how she'd react and how long it'd take the tranquilizer to take effect, he was surprised that the dosage he gave her was immediate. Ready to bolt, if she turned and screamed, she shocked him, when she stayed so motionless with the upper portion of her body resting in her trunk. Surprised that his chemical concoction acted so fast, he wondered if he should have lowered the tranquilizing dose. Certainly, he didn't want to kill her. Not very good at math, he had no idea how much of a dose to give to a 120 pound woman, versus a 600 pound bear. "No doubt, probably less," he said aloud while thinking of lowering the dosage for the next victim. "Oh, well." Did he kill her? Hoping she wasn't dead, he quickly parked his truck behind her car. Cautiously and nervously, he put a finger to her neck to check for a pulse and, leaning inside her trunk, looked to see if she was still breathing. Thank God, she had a pulse and was breathing. Appearing as if she was sleeping, looking around to make sure no one was watching, he removed the dart from her ass and reached down and lifted her dress to her waist. With her panties so exposed, unable to continue, he was so nervous. Instead of doing what he had planned to do, he stared at and felt her panty clad ass, before reaching between her legs to cup her pussy through her panties. Controlling the urge to unzip himself, remove his cock, and masturbate over her exposed panties, instead, in one quick, fluid motion, he pulled down her white, silk panties, lifted her legs to remove them, and sniffed them, before sticking them in his pocket. Before it had a chance to penetrate her panty and soil her white dress, he wiped away dot of blood from her dart wound with a tissue and deposited that in her trunk. Then, reaching inside her trunk and around her, he reached inside her dress, unhooked her bra, and pulled that off of her, too. Victorious, he had claimed her bra and panty as his very first trophies. Elated as the hunter that he was, he was full of adrenaline. "I did it. Oh, my God. I stole her bra and panty," he said unable to contain his excitement. He could have taken all of her packages, but he didn't want those. He could have stolen her purse and her jewelry, but he didn't want that either. With her panty and bra in his possession, he already had what he was after and what he so wanted. Suddenly feeling empowered, it was then that he realized that, in conjunction with his fetish for bras and panties, even though he didn't know her, the real reason behind stealing her bra and panty was he wanted to control and humiliate her because she appeared to be the type of women who would reject him. At first, he didn't know and/or understand why he so wanted to control and humiliate women. Maybe, perhaps, after seeing so many bras and panties and not being allowed to touch them, this was now his chance to do whatever he wanted to do to such an unapproachable and unattainable woman as he perceived she was. He could have fucked her right there, but he didn't. It was enough for him, just to take ownership of her most intimate apparel. Much better than any encoded mark in his notebook, as if he was leaving with a part of her in his pocket, he was sexually satisfied. Wanting to leave her with her dress bunched around her back and her naked ass and pussy so exposed for all to see, for the sake of a quick, unseen getaway, he decided against doing that. Besides, he didn't even know this woman and that would be too embarrassingly mean and, perhaps, something that may make her want to find him to prosecute him. Instead, not having considered it before, thinking fast, he went to his truck and got his camera. "Click! Click! Click!" He photographed her naked tits, ass and pussy. This way, if she dared tried to find him and prosecute him, he'd publicly expose, embarrass, and humiliate her. With her still resting there with her dress askew, he realized that he shouldn't just leave her there like that and in that position. He quickly pushed her dress down, pulled her out of her trunk, checked again that she was still breathing and that no one was watching, closed the trunk, and deposited her in the front seat of her car. If security was diligent enough to discover her slumped in her front seat, they'd figure she was drunk or sleeping. He figured that the only time security would replay the recorded tape to see what happened, was if she or someone else reported the crime. Figuring that no one would report what had just happened, for the time being he was home free. "Oh, my God, I did it," he said driving away. Never had he been so excited. He did it, he really did it. He stole a woman's bra and panty. Now getting away with one, he wanted to do more. Only, with enough malls where he lived, as if a bank robber with a multitude of banks to rob, he didn't want to hit the same mall parking lot twice. Over the next several years, making his appearance only during the summer wicked woman hunting season, averaging three stolen bras and panties a week, he was dubbed the Gentleman Bra and Panty Bandit. He made business cards on his computer, Gentleman Bra and Panty Bandit and left them with the unconscious women. Victoria Secrets made a special line of bras and panties, called their Gentleman Bra and Panty Bandit line, lingerie that could be more quickly removed. There was an X-rated drinking game offered online, the Gentleman Bra and Panty Bandit game. A book was written detailing all the bra and panty stealing details and of all those victims who came forward to report the sexual assault, but for every woman who reported her bra and panty stolen, a dozen remained silent. A movie followed the book with Robert Downey, Jr. playing the part of the Gentleman Bra and Panty bandit. After finding it sometimes difficult to find his victims, once the newspapers published his brazen accounts, people bought the lingerie, played the online game, read the book, and watched the movie. Now, it was as if women were going out of their way to be his victims. He continued driving around parking lots watching women and looking for down blouses and up skirts. Either his eye was more trained or he had a multitude of careless women to choose from to steal their bras and panties. Taking care not to be caught, he turned down more women than he chose to steal their bras and panties. Coming home from work, on the pretense of helping her to change her flat tire, he stole the bra and panties of the woman he helped, that is, after he changed her tire. Perhaps, she was the one who told the newspaper that he was good looking. Perhaps, she was the reason why so many women seemed to be going out of their way to be his victims. The perfect crime for the perfect time, be on the lookout for Carl because he's watching you, while waiting for the perfect opportunity to steal your bra and sniff you panty. * This is a contest story and too many readers forget to vote. If you enjoyed reading this story, as much as I enjoyed writing it, please don't forget to vote, make a comment, and/or add me and this story to your favorite lists. Thank you for reading and voting for my story.