Say, "I think we need to talk about what you do when you go out like this..."

I look worried as I ask, "Why?"

You continue, "You've been going out a lot lately, and on school nights, and your clothes have been getting more and more... unsavory."

I roll my eyes and drop my purse, looking mortified as I groan, "Daddy..." playing the part of a pissy teenager perfectly, (my guidance counselor always said that I should either be an actress or a prostitute)

You insist, "You come back at all hours of the night, having done… who knows what...”

I groan again, “Daddy…”

You continue, “I haven’t even met these friends of yours…”

I protest, “Daddy! They’re just some friends. We’re going out together, I can’t make them stop and come in because they have to meet my Dad! Do you even realize how embarrassing that would be?”

You come back at me, “I don’t care what excuses you have, you’re not going out.”

I yell, “What?! Give me one reason why!”

You lose your cool and yell, “Because your panties reek of cum!” I am obviously shocked, looking wide-eyed and silent. You wonder if you should say anymore…

I enquire, “How do you know what my panties smell like?” You realize that you shouldn’t have said that, but it’s too late. I continue, “How long have you been sniffing my panties, Daddy? Huh?” I grin a sick, disturbed grin and start walking toward you, interrogating you, “Is that what this is about? Is that why you really don’t want me going out? Huh? You’re trying to keep me away from boys because really you want me yourself?” Since you don’t reply, I continue, “You like it when I go out dancing and get all sweaty and smelly down there so you can smell my underwear and get a strong scent of my pussy, huh? Or at least you did like it, until you started smelling somebody else’s juices in them. That’s why you suddenly have a problem with me going out. Well, if you just want to smell my panties…” As I get closer, I reach down and pull the front of my dress up. I lift one foot and put it up on the back of the couch, placing my cotton-clad crotch no more than a foot away from your face, saying, “…why don’t you smell them right now?”