I was reaching up to the top shelf in the supply closet, my too-short skirt riding higher with every stretch, when I first caught him staring. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as I turned slightly and locked eyes with Mark across the room, his gaze fixed right between my thighs where the white cotton of my panties must have flashed against my skin. My cheeks flushed hot, a strange mix of embarrassment and something warmer pooling low in my belly as I held the box of files, feeling the thin fabric cling to my pussy lips from the morning's humidity. He looked away quickly, but not before I saw the way his jaw tightened, and I wondered if he'd been picturing what was underneath all day.

Later, in the conference room during the budget meeting, it happened again while I crossed my legs under the table. The skirt had hiked up even more as I shifted in my chair, and I noticed Mark's eyes dart down repeatedly from his seat opposite mine, catching the pale expanse of my panties each time the hem slipped. My heart pounded against my ribs, nipples tightening under my blouse as the air conditioning brushed cool against my exposed skin, and I felt a slickness building between my legs at the thought of him seeing the damp spot forming on the white cotton. I uncrossed and recrossed slowly on purpose that time, savoring the way his breath seemed to catch, the tension in the room crackling like static against my bare thighs.

By the time I was back at my desk that afternoon, typing up reports with my legs parted just enough for comfort, I caught him a third time from the corner of my eye. He stood by the printer pretending to check something, but his stare lingered on the flash of white between my knees, the panties now slightly sheer from the day's heat and my growing arousal. A thrill raced through me, my pussy throbbing softly as I leaned forward to adjust my monitor, deliberately giving him a longer view of the fabric outlining my folds. The office buzzed with keyboards and distant phones, yet all I could focus on was the electric pull between us, the way his hidden erection probably strained against his pants while mine ached for touch.

I felt the cool air of the produce section brush against my thighs as I bent to grab a bag of apples, my sundress riding up just enough for that creep by the oranges to catch a glimpse of my black thong. My face burned with embarrassment, heat flooding my cheeks as I straightened quickly and shot him a sharp glare, but the way his eyes lingered made my stomach twist with irritation—I hated how exposed I felt, yet the flush in my skin betrayed something more confusing beneath the anger.

Later, reaching for a jar of pasta sauce on the top shelf in the aisle, I caught him again from the corner of my eye, his stare fixed on the thin strip of black fabric barely covering me as the sundress hiked higher with my stretch. Embarrassment prickled hot across my chest, and I yanked my arm down fast, turning to give him a pointed frown that only seemed to make him shift awkwardly, my pulse racing with a mix of shame and quiet fury at his boldness in the middle of the crowded store.

By the time I was loading groceries into my cart near the checkout, he was there once more, pretending to browse the magazines while his gaze dipped low to the thong's outline pressing against the fabric of my dress. I felt my body tense, anger bubbling up alongside the mortification that made my hands tremble as I adjusted the hem, wishing I could vanish but settling for a cold, pointed look that left me simmering with discomfort long after he turned away.

I drove home from the store still flushed from that stranger's lingering stares, the memory of his eyes on my thong making my thighs press together against the seat as I pulled into the driveway. My boyfriend's son, home from college for the break, was already in the kitchen when I walked in with the bags, and as I bent to set them on the counter my sundress rode up again, the black lace of my panties peeking out just enough for him to catch it from across the room. His gaze snapped away too quickly when I straightened, but the heat in my cheeks wasn't pure embarrassment this time—it left me wondering if the faint throb between my legs was from shame or the quiet thrill of being noticed by someone so much younger.

Later that afternoon I was folding laundry on the living room couch in a loose tank and shorts, the fabric of my panties—a delicate white pair with a tiny bow at the front—visible whenever I leaned forward to reach the next pile. He passed through on his way to the garage, and I felt his eyes dip low, tracing the curve of my ass and the way the cotton hugged my pussy lips, before he mumbled something and kept walking. My pulse quickened with a confusing mix of mortification and something warmer, the uncertainty making me shift in place as I wondered why the attention from my boyfriend's son stirred me instead of just repelling me.

That evening I padded downstairs in my short silk robe after a shower, the tie loosely knotted so that when I reached up for a glass the front parted slightly, revealing the sheer pink panties I'd slipped on underneath. He was on the couch scrolling his phone and his head turned just long enough for me to notice his stare fixed on the thin fabric clinging to my mound, the outline of my slit faintly visible through the material. I tugged the robe closed with a soft gasp, heart hammering as I fought the flush spreading down my chest—part of me wanted to hide away in pure embarrassment, yet another part savored the way his attention made my nipples tighten against the silk.

I stepped into the lecture hall wearing a fitted blouse and a knee-length skirt that felt tighter than usual after laundry day, the soft cotton of my white panties with delicate floral trim already settling against my skin. As I bent to retrieve a fallen marker near the front row, my skirt lifted just enough for the lace waistband to slip into view, and I caught my 19-year-old student Mark staring openly, his eyes locked on the way the fabric hugged the curve of my ass and pressed lightly against my pussy. My breath caught, heat flooding my face and lower belly, yet I lingered a second longer than necessary, pulse racing with a shameful spark that made my nipples tighten against my bra.

During office hours the next afternoon I reached across my desk for a stack of papers, the movement causing my skirt to ride high at the back. Another student, Tyler, froze mid-sentence when he glimpsed the thin strip of white cotton wedged between my cheeks, the faint outline of my slit visible through the material. I straightened slowly, heart hammering as his gaze jerked upward, the air between us thick with the knowledge of what he'd seen; the throb between my legs grew insistent, mixing embarrassment with an unexpected wetness that soaked the gusset.

By the end of the week I was seated at my desk during a quiet study session when I crossed my legs, the motion hiking the hem once more. This time it was Jake who noticed, his eyes dropping to the exposed edge of those same panties where they clung to my mound, the damp spot from earlier arousal now faintly darker. I uncrossed and recrossed deliberately, letting him have the full view for a heartbeat longer, the rush of mortification and forbidden excitement leaving me breathless and aching, my fingers tightening around my pen as I wondered how much more I could let them see before the line blurred entirely.

I tugged at the hem of my short plaid skirt as I slid into the front row of Professor Harlan's afternoon seminar, the thin pink cotton of my panties with their little satin bow already riding up between my cheeks after the long walk across campus. When I leaned forward to pull my notebook from my bag, the fabric pulled tight over my pussy, outlining the soft lips beneath, and I felt his eyes on me immediately—the low, steady gaze that lingered on the exposed strip of lace at the top of my thigh. My face burned, but I didn't straighten right away, letting the cool lecture hall air kiss the dampening gusset while a slow throb built low in my belly, my nipples tightening against the lace of my bra as I imagined what he could see.

Later that week during his office hours, I perched on the edge of the leather chair across from his desk, legs crossed at the ankle until I uncrossed them to reach for the graded essay he'd handed back. The movement hiked my skirt high enough that the professor's pen froze mid-note, his eyes dropping to the sheer pink panel clinging to my mound, the faint darker spot where my arousal had seeped through the cotton. Heat flooded my cheeks and spread down my chest; I held the pose a second longer than necessary, pulse hammering between my thighs as his throat worked in a hard

The peeking diaries