Peter was pawing through my laundry again. He’d been working from home instead of enduring a tiresome commute like me. I’d just come home from the office, and I heard an odd noise as I stepped into the house. Thinking he might be up to no good, I removed my high heels but left my pantyhose on as I tiptoed down the hall to spy on him. I stole a glimpse through the bedroom door and spotted him sniffing my worn stockings. That dirty pervert. I knew it was time to teach him a lesson.

I stood in the hallway with the door open just wide enough, so I could watch as he held my black seamed thigh-highs in his hand, pulled down his gray sweatpants and started stroking his boner with the delicate material. There I stood in my full coverage nude pantyhose, black bodycon dress and claret blazer, shoeless and sweaty from my long drive. I knew he’d just wrapped up his day of not being cooped up in a corporate office, and I wondered if this was his post-work ritual: rubbing one out by using my precious — and not to mention pricey — stockings.

I knew Peter liked feet. It wasn’t a secret. I also knew he liked the fancy lingerie I wore. But I’d noticed things had started going missing from the laundry. Like the special stockings I’d wear to work when I needed an extra boost of confidence for meetings with high-powered executives. I always asked Peter if he knew where my stockings were “disappearing” to, but he’d always sheepishly shrug and pretend he didn’t know. Well, now I knew. And I wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t judging him for having a fetish. I was more annoyed that his fetish was costing me hundreds of dollars because I had to replace expensive pantyhose and stockings that had mysteriously gone missing.

I watched his eyes roll back in his head as he continued to jerk off with my thigh-highs. As pissed off as I was, it was still one hell of a sexy sight to see him pleasuring himself. But hearing his moans and grunts as he came on my stockings set me off.

I threw the door wide open and caught him red- and sticky-handed.

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shouted.

The blood drained from Peter’s face.

“Baby, I can explain,” he said, dropping my now utterly soiled stockings and clumsily pulling up his pants.

I shook my head and shucked off my blazer as I told him, “I don’t think you can, but I’ll make you pay for it anyway.”

I stomped over to him and unzipped his hoodie, practically tearing it off his body before tossing it on the floor. His tattooed chest heaved — looking impossibly sexy — but I had no time to get distracted.

“Take off your pants,” I demanded.

Peter looked both alarmed and aroused as he complied. Standing naked before me, he was as hot as hell — but I was hotter under the collar, so to speak.

“Get on your fucking knees,” I said.

He gulped. I wasn’t typically that assertive with him. But my curt tone meant business, and he knew it. He sank to his knees as I unzipped my dress, letting it fall to the floor next to my blazer. I stood there wearing a black-and-white lace thong and a matching brassiere — and my pantyhose, of course. I removed my black hair clip and let my blonde curly hair fall around my shoulders. I knelt and picked up my soiled stockings, crusted with Peter’s come. I was annoyed about the stockings, but I knew what I was about to do was going to change my whole mood.

“Open wide,” I said. “Time for you to be taught a lesson.”

Kneeling before me, Peter seemed as if he was practically vibrating with excitement and nervous anticipation. He tentatively opened his mouth, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes. He was blushing, likely from guilt as much as from arousal. I brushed his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes and not so gently shoved my balled-up stockings into his waiting mouth. I could tell he loved it because his twitching cock began to stiffen. Summoning all my yogic skills of balance, I stood on one foot as I briefly ran one of my nylon-clad soles over his cock. He moaned against the soft fabric in his mouth. I leaned down and stroked his hair, running my hands through it and pulling on it to force him to face me.

“Get up, and lie down on the mattress,” I said.

He stood and shuffled over to the bed, where he lay down, fully nude, with his dick almost entirely erect.

I unclasped my bra and tossed it aside. Clad in only my pantyhose and thong, I climbed onto the bed with Peter. I turned around and hovered over his face with my sweaty ass inches from his head. I leaned down and lapped up a drop of pre-come perched on the head of his cock, and I heard him moan from the teasing swipe of my tongue. I sat on his face, and his cock jumped. His shaft was now rock-hard, and I smiled as I smothered him, stroking his cock with one hand and grinding my pantyhose-clad pussy against his face. It felt so fucking good to take control and rub against him like that. But it wasn’t quite enough.

I rose, letting go of his cock and relieving his face momentarily. He grunted against his makeshift gag, and I chuckled. I was certainly having fun, but he needed some more torment before I’d be satisfied. I hopped off the bed and deftly removed my pantyhose and panties. I got back onto the bed and removed my stockings from his drooling mouth. Barefoot, I reached over and rubbed my soles against his dripping cock, sliding my toes all over the head and jerking him off at an agonizingly slow pace with my feet.

“Oh fuck, baby. Oh, fuck me good,” he said.

I stopped, and he groaned in displeasure. I reached up and pinched his right nipple, looking him dead in the eyes.

“You aren’t supposed to be enjoying this more than me,” I told him. “Also, you owe me an apology. In fact, I think you owe me much more than that.”

I sat up in bed and swung my legs around, so my feet were covering his face. I stuck my big toe into his gaping mouth and ordered, “Suck on this, and think about what a bad boy you’ve been, stealing my stockings and lying to me.”

My voice trailed off as he dutifully worshiped my feet. He sucked my toe as ordered, then allowed his tongue to slither between my piggies and slip up and down my soles. He no doubt licked his own pre-come off my feet. I won’t lie. It did feel amazing, but I wanted more.

I straddled his face once again, facing his feet and leaning over to take his hard cock in my mouth. I swirled my tongue around the head of his dick, and he moaned against my pussy. Peter voraciously sucked on my clit and tongue-fucked my dripping hole. His hands wrapped around my hips as I ground against him, sucking his cock and squeezing his shaft with one hand. I knew he had to be close to climaxing, but I wasn’t about to let him get off that easy. I stopped sucking and could hear him moan in displeasure, but he continued pleasuring me. I squeezed the head of his cock and teasingly kissed it as I used Peter’s face for my own erotic bliss.

“You don’t get off until I get off,” I said. “And even then, I may not let you come.”

He whined, and I chuckled. But he didn’t let up with his tongue, and I felt myself getting closer to orgasm as I rode his face.

“Keep it up,” I said.

Peter diligently licked my crotch until I felt myself on the absolute brink. My thighs gripped his head, and I clawed at the bedsheets as I came all over his handsome face.

I shouted triumphantly and rolled off him, then I admired his glistening mug, which was sticky with my juice. He looked pretty pleased with himself. I kissed him roughly, slipping my hand around his throat and lightly squeezing it as I shoved my tongue in his mouth and tasted my own musk.

I climbed further down the bed and positioned myself between his legs, taking his hard cock in my mouth and sucking him off in earnest. I swallowed his entire length, deep-throating him and listening to his helpless groans.

I quickened my pace, and he lifted his hips in response, fucking my mouth and repeatedly saying, “Oh fuck!”

I pulled away and switched to jerking him off with both hands, rubbing the underside of his cockhead with my thumbs as he tossed back his head in ecstasy.

Stroking him faster, I told him, “I’m gonna to make you come all over my toes.” He could only nod in agreement. “And then you’re gonna clean them off with your tongue.”

“Oh yeah…oh fuck...I’ll do anything for you,” he swore.

“Anything?”

He nodded frantically, speeding toward his orgasm.

“Beg me,” I said.

“Oh please. Oh fuck, baby. Please can I come?” he whined.

“I don’t think you want it bad enough,” I said, slowing the pace of my hands.

“Please let this dirty little bitch boy come all over your toes!” he pleaded.

I stroked him harder and faster and positioned my feet in just the right spot as he shot his cream, letting it land all over my toes.

Sitting up with my dripping feet pointed toward him, I made a come-hither motion with one finger. I wiggled my sticky piggies, and he sat up, crawling over to position himself to service me.

“That’s right,” I said, “Be a good boy, and clean up my dirty fucking feet.”

He looked up at me with a sly smile and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”