Smell My Panties, You Filthy Little Pervert

I Caught Him in the Laundry Room.

My sweet, quiet, way too polite for his own good friend. Standing there with a pair of my panties in his hand, eyes closed, face buried deep in the crotch like he’d die without that scent. He didn’t even hear me come in. I said nothing at first. Just leaned against the doorframe and watched. The way he was sniffing, slow and deep. The way his hips moved, just a little. He didn’t even notice me until I said it. “Smell my panties, huh?”

He jumped like he’d been shot. Dropped them. Tried to stammer out some excuse, face going red as hell. But I didn’t let him speak. I picked them up, held them in my hand. “You’re hard right now, aren’t you?” He looked down. Couldn’t answer. I smiled. “Sit.” This would be a fun sensual roleplay of control.

He sat. I walked up close…too close and rubbed the panties against my tits through my shirt. His eyes followed every motion. I slipped one hand down the front of my shorts and dragged my fingers through the wetness between my thighs.

Smell My Panties!

“You want to sniff something?” I asked, pulling my fingers back out. “Watch me first.” I sat on the dryer, spread my legs, and pressed the wet fabric between my legs. Right over my clit. I started grinding. Not fast. Just slow and mean. Enough to make his mouth fall open. “That’s right,” I whispered. “I’m gonna come in the same pair you were sniffing. How pathetic does that make you?”

I moaned louder. Rubbed faster. Gasped. And when I came, I clenched the panties between my thighs and soaked them. He looked like he was gonna faint. I stood, pulled them off, and walked over. Pressed the warm, wet ruined fabric right to his face. “Smell my panties again,” I said. “But now it’s on my terms.” He did. Deeply. Desperately. Like a man starved.

After that, I took a clean pair still warm from my drawer and handed them to him. “Go ahead. Jerk off while you smell my panties. But I want to watch.” Of course he hesitated. “Now.” And he did right there in front of me. Cock out, panting like a dog, buried in the scent of my pussy like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He came fast. It was messy, and pathetic in the best of ways watching him smelling my panties and cumming like a loser.

Sniffing My Panties is His New Ritual.

Every day, he comes over. He kneels. I hand him a pair. Sometimes worn and sometimes fresh off my body. Sometimes I make him earn them by begging. He never says no. Just sniff, stroke, obey. When I am feeling generous, I sit on his face after. Sometimes I use his mouth while he’s smelling my panties. Sometimes I tell him to come untouched while I tease him about his weakness. He always does.

He says it’s the most intense thing he’s ever felt. Like, better than sex. Better than anything. Personally, I think he’s addicted. I know I am. We’ve crossed into full-on sensual roleplay territory now. I own his orgasms and I own his breath. I own what little dignity he has left. He still looks at me like I’m a goddess. Like my scent could save him. I never let him fuck me. Something made me want to give him a taste of the heartbreak fetish. Maybe someday I’ll let him feel my pussy around his cock. But for now, he can just keep sniffing. My dirty little panty boy.

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