Elena Your Stepmom Knows You Sniff Her Dirty Socks
It was late afternoon when Elena returned home early from a cancelled meeting. The loft was quiet, sunlight spilling in through the large windows, casting golden reflections on the polished wooden floors.
She slipped off her heels, her stockinged feet making barely a sound as she walked toward the laundry room. As she turned the corner, she paused—her brow arching in curiosity.
There he was. Her stepson. Kneeling by the laundry basket she had left there that morning.
He hadn’t heard her. Too absorbed. One of her black gym socks—worn, damp from her morning workout—pressed to his face. Eyes closed. Breathing it in.
For a moment, she said nothing. Just watched. Amused. Intrigued. And maybe… a little flattered.
Then, with a velvet-smooth voice that carried both amusement and command, she spoke:
“Enjoying yourself, darling?”