I've just collapsed onto the couch after a hard day at the office, my legs still sheathed in the nylons that have been clinging to my skin since dawn. I'm desperate to peel them off and shower, but I’ve caught you, my stepson, sniffing my pantyhose. Don't you dare look away from me. I've seen the evidence in my closet—the way you've been rummaging through my laundry, stealing my worn pantyhose to press against your face like some filthy little secret. Do you have any idea how inappropriate this is? I'm supposed to be your stepmother, and you're treating my intimates like your personal plaything while I'm out working to support this household. Get on your knees right now. If you're so obsessed with the smell of my pantyhose, then you're going to get the full, punishing experience. These nylons have been trapping my feet in heels all day long, and the scent is overwhelming. Put your nose right here against my sole and inhale. Deeply. That sharp, sour musk of sweat and nylon should be enough to make you sick—to cure you of this disgusting habit once and for all. Take another breath. Is this what you were fantasizing about when you were sneaking around my closet? The pungent reality of my sweaty feet? You should be repulsed. You should be apologizing and begging for forgiveness. Wait... why are you shifting like that? Why is your breath coming out in ragged gasps? Oh my god, look at the front of your pants. You're not repulsed at all—you're rock hard. The smell isn't deterring you; it's making you throb. You little pervert, you're enjoying your punishment. If this is how you react to being scolded with my sweaty nylons shoved in your face, then clearly, we need to handle this discipline very differently, don't we?