"What time do you call this?"
Brittany's response was simply to look at her stepfather as if he had just crawled out from beneath a rock. Clearly she believed that how late she stayed out partying was her business, not taking into account that she was still living under this roof without contributing a cent or even helping out with the chores now and again.
At 23, Mike sometimes felt she hadn't yet left her troublesome teens behind. He'd been about to call her out but realized she had noticed his distracted gaze, which made him briefly uncomfortable. If there was one thing he hated, it was being caught out.
It was her legs, of course. Those fabulous, long shapely legs revealed in all their glory in shiny opaque black pantyhose. The tiny black mini skirt she wore with them was equally distracting and drew his eye...and not for the first time, either.
Brittany gave an insolent smile - more of a sneer, really - which was exaggerated by her heavy crimson lipstick and the heavily mascaraed eyes; the Goth look was something she'd been cultivating for some time now, and annoyingly it made her all the more attractive to her stepfather.
He wanted to wipe that smile off her face, possibly by sticking his throbbing erect cock inside her mouth and forcing her to suck it like a lollipop.
She turned to the sink and ran the faucet, fixing herself a glass of water. And that was when Mike noticed it. A creamy white stain on the pantyhose, high up her thigh, close to her buttocks. It was still wet and still a little slimy, like spilled jelly. Semen, obviously. The sight made Mike's heart - and another part of his anatomy - lurch.
"You've got a stain on your pantyhose," said Mike.
Brittany turned around and looked to where her stepfather was pointing. She pulled the hem of her skirt to one side, twisting her body round to get a better look. The reinforced hip area of her pantyhose came into view, and, briefly the lower edge of her buttocks, which were naked beneath the nylon. Mike's heart thudded and he had to bite his lower lip so as not to gasp. Inwardly, he thought, "Oh, dear God..." and had to struggle to seem impassive.
Brittany wiped at the stain with the tips of her fingers and then gingerly sniffed them, letting the skirt drop back in place.
Her nose crinkled.
"Asshole," he muttered, under her breath.
"What?" said Mike. "Who are you talking about."
That scornful smile again, "Not you, dad...in case that's what you're thinking." She giggled at that. "Though sometimes you can be one."
A brief flash of anger, but Mike held it in check. He risked a comment, "If that's what I think it is, you shouldn't let yourself be taken advantage of like that?"
Brittany began to rinse her hands under the faucet and addressed her stepfather's reflection in the darkened window. "Oh? Who's taking advantage now? I mean, I never said anything about the cum stains on my panties and pantyhose in the laundry...and I know for sure they're not mom's."
Mike blushed hotly. He felt mortified. And backed into a corner. If Brittany told her mom...
As though reading his mind, Brittany turned, backside against the sink cabinet, crossing one ankle over the other, which parted her thighs slightly, and said, "Don't worry, dad...I won't tell. But you might need to do something for me in return."
The nylon gleamed on her inner thighs, shining under the striplights. It was hard for Mike to look away.
He sighed, "Okay, how much do you want, Brittany?"
Brittany gave what Mike could only describe as an evil smile, exaggerated by the thick lipstick and Goth makeup. Witchlike, he thought.
