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So this guy found himself in a difficult financial position, deeply indebted to a woman he couldn’t repay. They came to an unusual agreement: instead of interest, he would sacrifice his weekends by being transformed into her panties every Friday evening until Monday morning. It meant no more plans with friends or lazy Sundays; instead, he became intimate clothing she wore against her skin for days at a time. She’s a real social butterfly too, always out on the town. Every Friday she puts him on under her favorite little black dress and hits the bars. He feels every sway of her hips as she dances, the sweat building from her skin as bodies press close in the club. Men flirt with her all night, hands resting on her waist, he feels that too, right where he is. When she takes someone home later, he’s there for everything... Saturday morning arrives, and he’s still on her from the night before. She wakes up hungover, maybe a little nauseous, she doesn’t bother changing him out before heading to the bathroom, she'll pee, and some will inevitably dribble onto the panties . Later, when her stomach acts up from last night's drinks, he feels it too as a thin smear escapes onto the fabric. It’s part of the deal now: weekends mean wearing whatever comes naturally for her. By Saturday night he’s already stained with dried sweat, stale urine traces, a little poop, and that faint musky scent of sex from hours earlier. But none of that stops her from pulling on a fresh pair of jeans and taking him back out dancing again, tonight will only add more layers to what he absorbs until Sunday.