“I said, you wet your panties, didn’t you?” “Y-yes!” she gasped. “I w-wet…” She took a sudden breath and let it out, sobbing. “…m...m-my p-panties! Ohhh, oh god…” She continued to sob. “You sure did,” I replied, still crouching behind her. “There’s a big yellow stain, right here.” I used a fingertip to trace the outline of the stain in the crotch of her panties. I put my face close to it and sniffed conspicuously. “You smell like piss too. God—how could you ruin such nice panties like that? I. But for some reason, on this particular day, I decided to go straight home. I got back to the house early, walking through the door by 4.30, six hours earlier than usual on a Wednesday.Harriet was already at home; she was usually out of the office by three - one of the perks of working for the local council.She was in the living room when I came through the door, sitting on the sofa, a freshly-brewed cup of tea on the table in front of her. She was wearing an old dress, something she only. More

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