I've come to horribly regret the day I told my wife of my panty fetish.

While my wife is rather vanilla--much like a proper housewife who prefers dresses over pants--she has developed a rather nasty addiction to cruelly humiliating me about my panty fetish. Her nastiness was evident from the very beginning, but since my fetish is so intense, I have clearly fallen prey to my wife's debasement and there seems to be no end in sight.

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Things started out innocently enough, I thought. While my wife never dresses in anything too risqué she is a model of femininity. Her long flowing hair, conservative tops and cute little skirts. She enjoys wearing heels, but they are not the tall spiky variety, but rather the ones that give her legs and butt a gentle lift--a look that simply drives me wild. Her figure is the envy of many women. And with all this, I feel very lucky to have married her.

Similarly, my wife's choice of panties is not wild but equally as feminine as her outer clothes. She typically wears bikini style panties and most are nylon with some stretchy cotton varieties thrown in. She likes to wear many different colors with the majority in pastels; some have little designs on them. I pay particular attention to her panties, of course, since I have such an intense fetish for them.

So ever since the time we were dating, I had always tried to secretly initiate some "nose-to-panties" time in our foreplay. I never disclosed my fetish directly with her since I was not sure how she'd react.

Over time, I developed a favorite way to explore my fetish. I would suggest that my wife sit on the edge of our bed, still fully clothed in her skirt, and have her prop one foot up on the side of the bed with the other still planted on the ground.

I would kneel in front of her and begin kissing the inside of her legs, eventually moving up to her inviting panty crotch. Feeding my fetish, I would try to spend and much time smelling, kissing and virtually worshipping my wife's crotch as she patted my head or stroked my hair. She was very loving and understanding of my desire to worship her in this position, but she had no idea of the extent of my fetish. She thought it was simply foreplay and we always ended up have regular vanilla sex afterward.

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Then, a few years into our marriage, my wife unmistakably discovered my fetish.

One Sunday night, while we were on vacation in Europe, I tried to get my favorite "action" from my wife. As I positioned her on the side of the bed in our hotel room, I began to go down to my panty treasure.

"Oh honey," my wife alerted me with a concerned tone, "I don't think you want to go down there right now. I haven't changed my panties all weekend and we've been site-seeing all day in the hot sun."

My wife smiled down at me as I kneeled in front of her, "I think I'm a bit 'ripe,'" she giggled with a wrinkled up nose.

"That's okay," I answered, brushing aside her skirt determined to make my way to her beautiful crotch.

"No, I'm serious," my wife stopped me and then grabbed the top of her panty's waistline and pulled them up super snug against her crotch. She shifted her hips backward a bit to give herself a better view, "and look, there's a yellowish stain right there. No way, honey," she continued a little bit embarrassed, "I've gotta take these smelly things off."

And much to my disappointment, she did.

We had sex that night and it was a nice way to end our last weekend on vacation. We had planned to catch a flight back home the following afternoon and most of our bags were packed and ready to go. We shoved our dirty clothes into a small canvas bag that we leave in the bathroom; it's usually the last thing to go in our suitcase.

Lying in bed that night I couldn't stop thinking about my wife's dirty panties. The fact that she described how dirty they were and how long she had been wearing them was driving me nuts. I eventually fell asleep and, not surprisingly, I had a dream about her panties.

At about 3:00 a.m. that morning, I got up to go to the bathroom.

I stumbled my way to the bathroom, and as I tend to be very groggy in the middle of the night, I decided to sit down on the toilet to take a piss rather than risk her rage by pissing all over the toilet.

The bathroom was lighted by a small "night light" that gave off only a candle's amount of glow. But it was enough to illuminate our canvas bag with our dirty clothes in it. A giddy, sneaky feeling came over me. I reached over to it as I sat on the toilet and began to rummage through. Sure enough, right on top were my wife's stinky weekend panties.

I pulled them out of the bag and began to handle them as if they were a true gift from God. Even though I was still half-asleep, the mesmerizing power of these dirty panties was simply overwhelming me. And the fact that I was just dreaming about them was simply more gasoline for the fire.

I brought my wife's panties close to my face and let the night light's illumination cover them. As my eyes adjusted, I could clearly see the little designs embroidered around the body of the panties. I pulled them closer and fondled them carefully until I found what I was looking for-- the cotton crotch.

The panties were still right side out but I could still smell how pungent they were. The fabric was even a bit stiff--like all of her sweating and fluids had dried hard. I then brought the crotch of my wife's deliciously dirty panties slowly to my nose and inhaled deeply.

The smell was absolutely intoxicating.

I breathed in her scent a half dozen times when I suddenly realized the pain in my cock as it strained mightily against the inside of the toilet seat. Since I had already finished pissing, I leaned back and took my cock in my hand. I gave myself a few slow and deliberate strokes, then turned the panties inside out. I was feeling like a little boy with all the pent-up anticipation of opening a present at Christmas!

Well, there was no doubt my wife was right. Covering virtually the entire length of the cotton panel was a big yellowish stain that was almost intimidating if it wasn't so sexy.

I brought the panel up to my nose and repeated my deep inhalations. I was going out of my mind! I was sooo horny! Even though I had just had sex no more than 6 hours before, I found that my fetish for my wife's musty panties had a chokehold on me.

I knew what I had to do next, so as I pumped away on my cock with one hand and brought the crotch to my lips with the other. Her taste was incredible, forbidden, I was loving every minute of this.

I then fully concentrated my licking on the stain of my wife's panties. Bringing them back away from my face every few licks to see how much of my wife's dried fluids were left to lick. I felt so depraved!

I licked and licked for another 2 or 3 minutes until every last spot of the stain was almost gone. I then stretched the crotch as much as I could in my one hand and proceeded to give long licks across the entire length of the cotton crotch. Slowly, deliberately, obscenely.

I was out of my mind and completely absorbed by the panties.

Then with almost perfect timing, I came like mad shooting my cum across the bathroom and on to the floor. Catching my breath, I tried to remain as quiet as possible to avoid disturbing my sleeping wife. As I regained my composure I put my wife's panties back into the bag, and proceeded to gather toilet paper to wipe up my mess.

As I turned my head toward the door of the bathroom I stopped cold . . .like something out of a B-movie, my wife, leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom door, was looking at me coldly with her arms folded tightly across her chest!

"You are so disgusting." She scolded in a slow and deliberate cadence.

"Um. . .wait!, but. . .I can explain--how long have you?. . ." I stumbled aimlessly looking for something intelligent to say when my wife interrupted.

"I've been standing here the last 10 minutes. I saw everything. You're so sick." Scolding me like a child.

Her face turned from stern and cold to condescending and girlish, "Did you like your little treat? You sure looked like you did!" she mocked as she swiped her panties out of the canvas bag.

My wife looked at the now very wet cotton crotch of her panties and noticed the stain was almost completely licked clean. "I can't believe how perverted this is--how perverted you are," she glared. "Those panties were disgustingly dirty. Did you really like that?"

I tried to mumble my way out of the situation but it was no use. My wife had just witnessed her husband spend 10 minutes licking and worshipping a pair of dirty, stained panties that she had worn for 2+ days straight. Not to mention that I had masturbated to them and shot my cum all over the bathroom while sitting on the toilet at 3:00 in the morning.

"Well," my wife continued as she examined the crotch of her once disgustingly dirty panties, "you'd better clean up all your 'little mess' just as well as you cleaned my panties." My wife then pointed to various places on the floor where my cum had landed, "I should make you clean this up the same way you cleaned my panties. Pervert."

Horrified and not waiting to see if my wife was serious, I grabbed one of the hotel's hand towels and got down on my knees and cleaned up all my cum. My wife, meanwhile, just stood over me like a drill sergeant pointing and directing my cleaning efforts.

I returned to our bed as my wife used the toilet. When she returned I tried to explain my actions. I told her of my intense panty fetish. I hesitated, and then told her that the dirtier they are the better.

Then after 15 minutes of my best explanation of my panty fetish, I assured my wife, "I'm still a man, you know. I'm still the man you married, not some weird freak."

My wife, still facing away from me in our bed responded coldly, "Maybe. We've got a long flight in the morning. We'll continue this discussion when we get back home." I rolled over and tried to get some rest, but I couldn't help thinking that things had drastically changed in our marriage.

I was right, but I didn't know just how right I was until we got back home.

************************

We had an uneventful flight and for about a week afterward nothing regarding the "panty incident" was discussed. Then on Sunday evening, about 2 weeks after coming back from our vacation, my wife raised the topic over dinner.

"So, just how strong is this 'panty fetish,' as you call it," she said sternly looking at me between bites of her dinner.

"It's overpowering," I told her boldly. "I think about your panties . . . almost everyday."

"Really?" she asked in a tone that half questioned me and half knew that I would answer that way.

"Well," she continued, "I've been giving this some thought since we got back from our trip. And to be honest with you, I think I've devised a way for you satisfy your little fetish, while I get something out of it as well."

My wife continued with a sober tone, "When you told me that 'you're still a man' and that 'nothing has changed' because of this fetish, I at first believed you. I wanted to believe you. But as I thought about it on the plane home, and over the last few weeks, I think your fetish--particularly as you displayed it at the hotel--will fundamentally change this marriage." My wife was unwavering. "That is, if you want to continue this marriage."

"I do. But what do you mean?" I asked, getting concerned.

"Well," she went on, "no man that I know, in fact, no man that I've ever dated or had sex with has ever expressed the desire to lick my panties clean. Particularly, my dirtiest panties." Putting down her fork and leaning deliberately toward me, "In fact, quite frankly, I think you are less of a man than anyone I know-- including the man I thought I married."

"But. . ." I tried to explain.

"Let me finish," putting her hand up like a traffic cop, "I don't like the fact the you have this--this 'fetish,' so I'm going to indulge you but only with a couple of conditions."

I tensed a little, but waited quietly for what she had to say next.

"I'm going to let you clean my panties, or whatever you do with them, but only when I tell you that you can--but it will come at a price."

My beautiful wife continued. "First of all, I'd like you to get rid of this panty fetish. But so as long as you insist on behaving in this pathetic manner I'm not going to sit back quietly as you do it. I find the whole thing disturbing and I'm not happy. So I've decided that I'm going to ridicule you about doing it until you stop. Okay?" not waiting for a response.

"Hopefully, that way you will leave this silly fetish of yours and revert to being a real man again--the man I married."

My wife's tone had shifted to a cross between sarcasm and malignancy. I instantly recognized that my once nice feminine wife had a budding mean streak.

"And as a part of that," she continued, "you will be expected to contribute much more around here." Looking at me with a contrived smile, "Starting with something you seem to like to do. . .cleaning."

I admittedly did not do much around the house, so everything seemed fair. "Okay," I responded.

"Don't be so quick, I'm not done yet," she warned. "I will not hold back with my ridicule of you. I want you to be aware all of the times you thought I was acting bitchy in the past will be nothing compared to what I'm going to do to you now."

"But I only have a panty fetish," I pleaded, "is it really that bad?"

"Yes, it's that bad," she scolded, "and if I have to live with it, then I'm going to live with it in a manner that makes me happy. And it'll make me happy to scorn you about something I detest. That will come natural to me."

Then she added a bomb, "and if you don't want this ridicule you can either stop this fetish--or I will leave you. And if I do divorce you, I will tell all our friends and family exactly why I did. Got it?" My wife was more serious than I have ever seen her. I was genuinely concerned.

"Yes," I answered meekly, "I understand."

"Good," as she lighted up her tone and smiled sweetly, "now tell me a little more about this fetish of yours."

"What haven't I told you?" I asked.

"Well, do you really like it when my panties are so dirty?" now with her voice much more girlish and innocent. She continued with a little wry smile, "I mean you realize that there is some pee and other nasty secretions on those panties. You know, sometimes, like when I'm in a hurry, my panties act almost like a toilet paper replacement," she giggled.

"Yes, I know," as I tried to hold back my excitement. "That is what makes it so exciting for me."

"So then, you like to lick my pee stains? You like tongue-cleaning my dirtiest article of clothing? Is that right?"

"Yes, I love it. I adore it. Oh, honey, I want it so bad it hurts!" My wife was really pushing my buttons and I was finding it hard to hold back.

"You know, of course," my gorgeous wife continued, "there are other stains on my panties--you know, from back here," as she patted her behind, "and at certain times of the month," she added with a cocked eye.

"Yes, I know!" now unable to curb my enthusiasm.

My wife switched her tone back to pure bitchiness, "God, you are so damn perverted!" She then got up from the table and motioned me to follow her.

"Come on," she said, turning back to me, "I have something for you."

We got to our bedroom and my wife approached her laundry basket and flipped off the lid. She rummaged through the basket and picked out several pairs of panties.

Looking back at me as she separated her laundry, "So is there something about the fact that my panties have been nestled against my crotch for hours that turns you on?" asking like she already knew the answer.

I nodded. "I thought so," she smirked. "Well, don't you think there should be some correlation between the time I wore them and the time needed to . . .clean them?" Answering her own question, she continued, "Yes, I think that's a good idea. Since you love your wife's smelly panties so much, then I'm going to give you plenty of time to show your 'love,'" she smiled with dripping sarcasm.

I looked at her bewildered, "What do you . . ."

"Shh, I'll explain. As I said, I'm not happy with you and your fetish, so I'm going to give you a little assignment tonight," as she searched.  "Take off all of your clothes," she barked without even looking at me. 

I stripped as fast as I could.

My wife grabbed a pair of peach colored panties and pointed to me, "Sit down here, on the floor." Then stretching the crotch in examination she observed, "Eeeuuww, these are some nasty ones," as she presented the crotch to my nose.

"No," she corrected herself, "on second thought, I want you to lie down right here, next to my pile of panties. And put your hands above your head--I don't want you touching me. . . or anything else," as she sat down on my lower stomach, exposing her panties under her upturned skirt.

Noticing how excited I was, my wife stood back up and removed her short skirt. Now, with her soft pink, bulbous pantied crotch mocking me with desire, she sat back down on my torso.

Then she leaned forward and stretched the waist band of her dirty peach panties and hovered the filthy crotch an inch above my nose. "Are these dirty enough for ya?" she mocked. "Take a big whiff, panty boy," she teased. "Do they smell nice and stinky?"

She then reached back underneath herself to check on my crotch, "Are you getting excited?"

Yes, I was excited. More like elated. My cock was rock hard and I was desperate to stroke my aching knob. But since my wife had it pinned underneath her butt, and since she has demanded I keep my hands above my head, I knew there would be no self-pleasuring right now.

"Yes," she continued to taunt as she fondled my growing cock, "my little panty boy is still awfully excited. Perhaps you'd like a little taste now, hmm?" I was delirious and so excited I thought I might lose it right underneath her.

"Yes, please" I said, sounding like desperate little boy.

"Okay, then. Lick away panty freak," as she pressed the cotton panel to my lips. I could taste her secretions instantaneously, almost an exact repeat of the hotel episode. After a couple of licks, she withdrew the panties for inspection.

"Hmm, there seems to be a big glob of stuff right here," as she pointed. "Yuk, it's all dry and caked!" Then, as if she had a moment of tortuous insight, she smiled wickedly at me and said, "open your mouth . . .wide."

I did.

"No. Wider . . .like when you're at the dentist's office," she corrected me. I opened my mouth as wide as I could. "Now, push out your lower teeth--like you have an overbite. There you go," she dripped with ridicule, "that's a good panty boy."

Then my wife put her index finger on the other side of the dried glob on her panties and brought them back down to my mouth. "This is how I want you to clean a big mucky mess," she instructed. "Put your finger behind the muck like this, and then scrap all the dry goo onto your lower teeth, like this," as she scrapped the entire length of her finger-supported panty crotch alongside my teeth. Just like scrapping mud off a shoe.

I could feel drops of my wife's hardened secretions falling into my mouth and on my tongue. As she scrapped away, she cried out, "Nasty! I think most of this is my dried pee! Perhaps a little sweat in there too . . .and God know what else," she laughed.

My wife was smiling all the while, clearly enjoying her deliberate debasement of me.

"Can you taste it?" she teased. Then, in a moment of cruel insight, she stopped, "Wait! Don't swallow. Since you love it so much, I want you to savor my taste. Take the glob that I just scrapped off onto your tongue and suck on it--like it was a gumdrop," she laughed uncontrollably at her own inventive cruelty. "Yummy, yummy!"

I did, and just as she thought, I loved every minute of it!  I loved her taste. I loved this scene, and I even loved the fact that my wife seemed to be enjoying herself. I thought I was dreaming.

"Okay," she ordered after about 30 seconds of my sucking, "you can swallow now."

I did.

"Now, let's get going on the second part of your panty duty," she continued. "Once you've scraped off all the dried or gooey gross globs off into your mouth--savoring every last little bit for as long as you can, then you need to start sucking," she smiled down at me like a princess.

"Fold the crotch in half, like this," as she bent the cotton panel of her panties at the mid point of the dirtiest spot, "then take them into your mouth and suck and suck until you've cleaned most of the residue. Go ahead," as she placed them carefully and fondly into my mouth.

My wife scooted forward a bit on my stomach and reached behind me and grabbed my cock. "Hmm, I see you're still really enjoying this," she again mocked.

"Keep sucking," she instructed. The minutes ticked by and my wife looked on with contempt and boredom, "just another minute or 2." Then, for what seemed like 5 minutes of sucking--so much that her taste had long past and only wet cotton seemed to remain--my wife removed the crotch from my mouth.

Looking at the crotch of her peach panties like she was reading a thermometer, she announced my failure. "There's still a stain here."

And then she set out my further duties. "So, now phase 3 begins. Here you need to lick the panties until there is no remnant of a stain left." Bending forward and holding my eyes, "and I mean no stain at all remaining, do you understand?" as her voice turned cold and commanding. "You remember how to do that, don't you?" she teased.

She then got off my stomach, put her skirt back on and began to leave the bedroom, "I'll be back in a few minutes to check on your progress," smiling as she turned to leave the room.

I then began licking her panty crotch much like I had done 2 weeks ago in our hotel bathroom. Short licks, followed by long licks, and then pulling the crotch away from my face every so often to check on my headway. Since my wife had left the room, I reached down to my throbbing shaft and helped myself as much as I could. 10 minutes later, and with a full hard-on, my wife entered the room.

"Well, let's see how well my panty boy has done, shall we?" she sang out in a girlie pitch. "It looks pretty good," examining her panties, "I think this pair might be finished. Good boy!"

I sat upright with my back against the side of our bed.  I was a little exhausted--and a lot horny.  My lovely wife looked down at me and put her hands on her cocked hips. "So, as I asked earlier, if my panties have been caressing my crotch all day, how long do you think you should clean them for?" she questioned.

I looked up at my wife with a blank expression, unsure of how to answer.

"Well, this pair took about 20 minutes, didn't it?"

"Um, yes. . .I guess so," I stumbled.

"So," she continued, "since my panties have been embracing my most private areas for 24 or more hours before I change them, then don't you think a proper homage by a panty boy should be to spend at least 1 minute cleaning my panties for each hour I wore them? What do you think?" she giggled proudly.

"One minute cleaning for each hour you wore them?" I confirmed.

"Yes" she paused, "I thinks that's a fair amount of time--unless you don't want to clean my panties," she taunted knowing full well I was powerless to resist.

"So, that would be 24 minutes of cleaning for each pair of panties?"

"Yes," my wife confirmed, "but since you're so in love with them, why don't we make it an even 30 minutes per pair. That way it'll be easier to keep track of time when you clean multiple pairs of my panties . . .like tonight," she hinted.

I responded, "Okay, I guess that's all right," a little unsure of what I was getting into.

"Great!" my wife jumped up like a schoolgirl and then picked up the pile of dirty panties that she had separated earlier. "We'll start with these," grasping them with a perky smile.

Unsure of her now giddy behavior, I remained silent.

"Your new cleaning duties will begin tonight, panty boy." Looking at me with an hint of contempt, she continued, "and this is where I'm going to enjoy myself at your expense," laughing loudly. "So, let's see how many we have here. One, two. . .three, four, five. . .six. . .seven, eight, nine. . .ten! You've got 10 panties to clean, panty boy!" she mocked with true cruelty.

"Ten!" I cried, "that's. . .that's six hours of cleaning!"

"That's right, and you will have to clean all of them tonight--or you know the consequences."

"But. . .but. . .it's 10:00 p.m.! I wouldn't finish until 4 in the morning!" I pleaded.

My wife smiled at me coldly, clearly enjoying her new power over me, "4:00 a.m. at a minimum." She continued, "Now listen up, this is very important. You will spend a minimum of 30 minutes per pair, but at the end of each 30 minutes if there is still a stain on the crotch of my panties, you must continue licking and sucking until the stain is gone. And by 'gone,' I mean undetectable. Got it?"

I was in shambles, "But honey, please. It's Sunday night, I have to work in the morning." Pleading like a child I continued, "when am I supposed to get any sleep?"

"That's not my problem, panty lover. Remember, this is your fetish, and you're the one who is so excited by it, and you're the one who can't live without it. Well, now your going to pay for it by doing it my way." I have never seen my feminine wife more cold and calculating. "If you finish your cleaning properly, you can get some sleep at 4:00 a.m."

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