It has gone quiet upstairs and I wonder if Roy is on a break so I can nip to the loo. I climb the stairs, passing the open door to my bedroom. That's odd, the light is on, and the laundry basket is knocked over. As I enter, I catch a whiff of something musky, not the typical fresh paint smell. I see Roy, the painter I hired, knee deep in my dirty laundry. His nose is buried in a pair of my underwear, sniffing like a bloodhound on the scent.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demand, my voice echoing off the walls.
He jumps up and drops the panties like they're on fire. "I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me," he stammers, his eyes darting around the room for an escape.
"You're sniffing my panties?" I say, incredulous. "You're the one who's supposed to be keeping his hands to himself!"
"It won't happen again, I promise," he says, backing away with his hands up. "Please, let me make it up to you."
I look at him, the desperation in his eyes, and a wicked idea forms in my mind. "You want to make it up to me?" I ask, a smirk playing on my lips. "Alright, I want you to use them... fully."
He looks confused, but hopeful. "How do you mean?"
"You're going to masturbate into these panties," I say, holding up the pair he'd been sniffing. "And not just any way, I want you to wear a pair of my dirty pantyhose while you do it."
His expression turns to shock, but he doesn't argue. He takes the pantyhose I toss at him and starts to put them on, his hands shaking. He looks at me, unsure if this is a trick or if I'm just that kinky.
"Go on," I say, watching him with a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Do it."
He sits on the edge of my bed, the pantyhose stretched over his erection, and starts to stroke himself. The sight is ridiculous, but there's something about the power I hold in this moment that makes me feel... alive. He finishes quickly, his eyes never leaving mine as he cums into the panties.
"Now, clean up," I order, tossing him a tissue.
As he's picking up the mess, I decide to press my advantage. "You know, if I tell my friends about this, you won't have any female customers left."
"I'm so sorry," he says, genuine regret in his voice. "What can I do to make it right?"
"Give me a big discount on the painting," I say, my mind racing. "And I expect you to pay me a little extra, for keeping this between us."
"Of course," he says, nodding eagerly. "Whatever you want."
"Good," I say, feeling a thrill of power. "But I'm not done with you yet. I want you to come around every week and do that little performance for me. It's your payment for the secret staying safe."
"Every week?" he repeats, his voice strained.
"Yep," I say, popping the 'p'. "And if you don't, I'll make sure everyone knows about your little laundry fetish."
He nods again, resigned to his fate. "Okay, I'll do it."
"And you'll enjoy it," I add, "or I'll know you're not trying hard enough."
He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine, and I see something in them that tells me he might just get off on the humiliation. "I'll enjoy it," he says, surprising me.
"Fine," I say, hiding my smile. "But you're still giving me that discount."
"Deal," he says, and for a moment, I think he might actually be smiling too.
"Good," I say, turning to leave the room. "See you next week, then."
As I walk away, I can't help but wonder what other kinks I might discover in this unexpected arrangement.
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