Ned’s two unruly teenaged stepdaughters disliked him to his bones. The girls resented the fact that their mother had dumped their father and picked up Ned—a man six years her junior. And they made it their business to constantly remind him of their feelings towards him. 

They did not accept him as a father figure in their lives and they made sure that he never forgets that fact. In every situation they showed him utter disdain and contempt.

What made things worse, was the fact that their mother gave them a lot of slack and let them off the hook whenever they did wrong. The two little pests were like thorns in his side, and he could hardly wait for that time when they would reach the age and gone away to college.

Sometimes the two tormentors ganged up on him and did little acts of nastiness just to spite him such as messing with his handyman toolset and leaving it in total disarray, knowing that that would drive him nuts. 

At other times, just to demonstrate their contempt for him, they would purposely ignore him as they walked past him on their way in or out of the house, never acknowledging his presence one way or the other whether in word or glance.

It really irked him when they did that. He couldn’t stand the ill-mannered urchins. He’d seen many like them at the high school where he worked seasonally as a maintenance man. They seem to think that they were better than he. He wished that he could get back at them somehow. Eventually he did, and in a very sweet way.

That time of the year finally came when Ned was laid off from his job for a few months and had extra time on his hands to do things at home and around the neighborhood.

Seeing that he was home doing nothing, both his wife and the girls took advantage of the chance to leave almost all of the domestic house work for him to do: all the cleaning, the laundry, and most of the cooking. 

His status as husband and surrogate father was further eroded by this demeaning job in his own home. He felt more like a domestic immigrant worker who came from a third world country for the expressed purpose of working in American homes.

One day he was so fed up with the whole idea of being a domestic helper that he made a snap decision: he refused to pick up all the worn bras and panties that the two little pigs had left lying around the house and in the bathroom from the previous day. 

The decision had cost him. Later that day, when the girls came home from school and his wife from work, he’d had hell to pay.

That night, in the master bedroom that he shared with his wife, she scolded him as if he was just one of her little kids and not her husband and man-of-the-house. She chastised him while playing on his guilt complex.

She berated him loudly without regards as to who might be listening in on her quarrel. In fact his wife seemed to gloat in his belittlement!

His esteem couldn’t go any lower. Wasn’t a man supposed be ‘the king of his castle’? 

“What the [expletives] you’ve been doing here all day anyway!” she screamed. “I’m out all day working to put food on the table. The kids have to go to school. And here you are, just sitting around frigging your self all day. Look at the freaking place. Couldn’t you clean up some?”

She went on and on about how she had to be supporting him while he was out of work, and the least he could do was to help her by doing a little bit of house work. Was that so hard for him to do?

Intense humiliation boiled up within Ned, but he didn’t bother to answer his tyrant of a wife, for she wouldn’t have liked what he would have told her, and that might have caused a bigger fight. 

A real fight with his wife was the last thing he wanted. Men got locked up overnight in police precinct houses for that. They called it domestic abuse—even though it wouldn’t’ have been his fault. So he endured the tirade until she gradually cooled down. 

Beside, he wasn’t quite sure if she wasn’t right. She has always been right in everything else, that’s one reason why he’d married her. Regardless of all her faults she always knew what was the right thing to do in every situation.

The next day Ned decided to be a good boy and straightened up the place properly before he went out to look for odd jobs around town. He decided to start with the bathroom. 

He knew he was acting the wimpiest, a real man would refuse to lift another finger, but his wife was calling the shots right now—with him not working and all.

He picked up one of the girls’ ever-present worn panty that was draped over the side of the bathroom’s washbasin. Ned wondered why in heaven’s name she couldn’t just put her soiled clothes into the dirty laundry basket instead of throwing the damn stuff all over the place. 

The Panty seemed like a very small size, so he knew that it had to be a very tight fit as none of the girls were that slim—the older one was even a little chubby.
It displayed a size six on a tag sown to the inside of the elastic waistband. A larger size lay on the floor beneath it. Other pairs were lying over the side of the bathtub and the pipes.

The underwear was rolled up like a sausage as if hastily peeled down her legs. He idly put the thing to his nostril and sniffed just to see how worn it was. No scent. Almost. The faint smell of fabric softener mixed with genitalia could hardly be detected. 

This girl was sloppy but clean—at least clean where it counts!

After Ned had finished tidying up the bathroom he proceeded to the young women’s shared bedroom. It was a repeat performance there, only on a larger scale: more bras and panties strewn all over the bed and floor.

Indignantly he reflected that these were really some nasty little bitches. Only, they weren’t so little anymore and they should have known better. He completed the task there and moved to the master bedroom that he shared with his wife. 

The only clothes lying about in there belonged to his wife . . .. Like mother, like daughters. His was neatly packed away.

Ned didn’t realize, till later, after he had finished cleaning the living room, and sat down on the sofa in front of the TV, to take a five, that he was experiencing a raging hard-on. 

What the hell . . .!

Whoa there boy where’d that come from? As far as he knew he wasn’t thinking about pussy, so how come . . . 

It seemed that all the panty sniffing, and the smell of fresh, young cunt had wreaked havoc on his poor male member, without his even being aware of what was happening.

Immediately he felt embarrassed and slightly ashamed within himself.

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