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Panty Fetish Thief No Match for Naughty MILF

panty fetish
A panty fetish thief is an opportunistic scavenger. They are not the least bit picky, but they will snag the tastiest morsels if given the chance. Isn’t that right, my lil cotton-crotch-sniffer? You thought you struck gold when you found our hamper with panties ranging from tiny to sexy MILF.

 I know what you’re doing, you nasty pervert! You are stealing our panties when you don’t think that I am looking. Not only my sexy ones, either. You’re also snatching the sweet little bitty ones with innocent princesses on them. You have been for a while. Do you think that I wouldn’t start to notice? The collection of our satin, lace, and cotton must take up three of your dresser drawers! I blame myself.
I’ve known for a long time. They keep jumping into your pockets and I keep buying more.  I can tell when you have them, too. You get all fidgety and looking for an excuse to be heading home. I want to know what unspeakable things you do to our feminine fabric through! Are you only sniffing them? Do you wear them like a mask while hitting poppers? Does that slick satin feel good wrapped around your deviant dick?
PANTY FETISH THIEF PAYS DUES WITH POPPER PLAYTIME!
By now you would have found that I haven’t washed a single pair in a week. I have decided to lay a trap for my Panty Thief whose fetish knows no limits. There they are, you find them in a laundry bin full of temptation. You are like a greedy squirrel trying to take every last nut buster back to your hidey-hole in one trip. Your pockets remind me of puffed out squirrel cheeks when you return to me. Sweating and stuttering you try to make your apologies for leaving so soon.
That third bulge in the front of your pants tells me that you are already halfway through a home run! I throw a bottle of poppers at you, which you catch with as much grace as a juggler with butter on his hands. The blood drains from your face as you realized what you were holding. That’s ok, I want all your blood concentrated in another area, anyway.
Your confusion is delectable. Your stammering is nonsense words tinged with guilt, shame, and indignation. Smiling, I demand to know what’s in your pockets. Like the nasty little panty sniffing fetish troll you are, you assert that it is none of my business. That quivering lip and unsteady voice rob you of any semblance of authority, though. To speed things up, I instruct you to take a hit of poppers. I use my no-room-for-negotiation Mommy voice which takes away the option of refusal.
The second that I see the warm, tingling sensation has washed over you, I start emptying your pockets. Your face shows your contrite shame. That growing cock tells me that it’s your little head that is doing the thinking now. I pull out a pair of the smallest panties and stick them right under your nose. You are a cartoon character following the smell of something delicious as I lead you to the bedroom. “Come, now. Let Mama show you how to have fun with these little bitty things.” Cum over and feed your Panty fetish.
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