Ağu 04

Her First Stocking Slave

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I want to tell you the story of the day that changed my life forever.

But first, I must tell you a little about myself. I am a beautiful, elegant 35-year-old woman, with long red hair, pale ivory skin, and a passion for stockings. Not any old stockings, mind you – I have a fetish for real old-fashioned nylons, preferably fully fashioned. It’s the seams, you see – there’s just something about the way they draw the attention to the back of the legs, like a pair of arrows pointing right up my skirt. The way the smooth, taut, silky fabric encases my feet, ankles, calves, knees, right up to the top, and then suddenly gives way to my soft milky thighs… God, just thinking about it is making me shiver. I remember as a child, watching old movies, where the heroines were beautifully dressed, always wearing demure skirts and stockings, and desperately wanting to be just like that when I grew up. And so I amassed a wardrobe of chic tailored suits and knee-length dresses, and revelled in the voluptuous pleasure of wearing them with vintage hosiery and lingerie. The satisfaction I get from wearing these outfits out, and the reactions I get from the male species when I do, is really quite overwhelming. I think a lot of it must stem from my love of my feet and legs. Maybe it’s because I’m a Pisces, but I have always had a sensual obsession with these parts of my body. I love having them caressed, fondled, worshipped, adored. And when I slip them into a pair of slinky stockings, and a pair of wickedly high heels, I truly feel like a goddess. How can I resist?

So, now that you know a little more about me, I want to share with you my story. It begins just under two years ago, in London. It was a crisp autumn day, and I was meeting a gentleman friend for lunch… well, not just lunch, I have to admit. This gentleman and I were rather intimately acquainted, and the meal was to be a somewhat extended version of foreplay, which would end in a hotel room, where he would undress and worship me, kissing my thighs, running his hands up and down my nylon-clad legs, stroking my feet… you get the picture, I’m sure. And so, of course, I had chosen my outfit with great care. I often like to dress quite severely, in a business-like manner, and on this particular occasion I was wearing a fitted black wool suit, with a tight A-line skirt to just above the knee, and a simple white long-sleeved shirt. With my hair up and my tortoiseshell spectacles, I looked the very image of respectability, but underneath… that was something else altogether. For my afternoon of pleasure, I had chosen a black lace bra which perfectly cupped my soft, ivory breasts with their palest pink nipples, and matching lace knickers, through which you could just see my gorgeous, silky russet-coloured bush. The piece de resistence – a 6-strap suspender belt to hold up my barely black fully-fashioned hose. My slender, dainty feet were encased in 1940’s style black leather pumps with 4-inch heels. As I got dressed I imagined myself a few hours later, spread-eagled on the hotel bed clad just in my undergarments and hosiery, the black contrasting hatay escort starkly with my alabaster skin and my red hair. I became so excited I nearly laddered a stocking!

I arrived at the restaurant, a rather expensive and discreet little place in London’s West End, and felt the eyes of the other patrons following me as the waiter showed me to our table. My companion had not yet arrived, and I ordered a drink and allowed my gaze to idly scan the room while I waited. My eyes were drawn to a man sitting at a nearby table. He was in his mid-40s, wearing a charcoal grey pinstriped suit, with slightly receding brown hair, and the main reason he caught my attention was that he appeared unable to stop himself from staring at me! The third or fourth time I caught him at it, I gave him a very haughty look over my glasses and turned away in a most definite and obvious manner, hoping he would take the hint.

My drink arrived, and at the same time my mobile phone rang. It was my date, telling me he would be unable to make it for lunch, on some pathetically flimsy pretext. As I coldly pressed the disconnect button, disappointment warred violently with anger and frustration within me, and I downed my drink in one. I noticed the man in the grey suit staring at me again, and this time gave him a truly filthy look – at which point, to my utter amazement, he excused himself from his colleagues and came over to my table. “Excuse me”, he said, “do you mind if I join you for a moment? May I buy you a drink, perhaps?”

I was about to say no, and he must have seen it in my face, for he quickly added, “Please forgive my extreme rudeness in staring at you earlier, but I couldn’t help but notice your stockings. You have truly beautiful legs.”

Well, that was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment – I certainly couldn’t fault his timing! I invited him to sit down. And at that moment, the idea entered my head that was to change my life forever.

He was an average-looking man, not wildly handsome, but not completely repulsive either, and exuded the subtle confidence that money and power instil. I was absolutely furious at having been stood up, and feeling very sexually frustrated. My wonderful sensual afternoon that I had prepared for so carefully had been called off at a moment’s notice, and I wanted someone to pay for it – literally. I made a rash, split-second decision. I slipped off my shoes under the white linen tablecloth, leaned back, and gently ran my stockinged foot up his calf. The effect was immediate and electric. Then I looked him straight in the eyes and said, “This is how the rest of the afternoon will go. You will buy me lunch. Then we will get in a taxi and drive to Selfridges, where you will buy me 3 pairs of stockings and a pair of very expensive high-heeled shoes, of my choosing. Then we will get in another taxi and drive to a hotel, also of my choosing, where you will book a room. In this room, I will allow you to help me to try on our purchases. You will worship and adore my feet and legs, for a period of not less than one hour. You will follow hurma escort my orders, you will not have sex with me, and you will pay me £500 for the privilege. Do you understand?”

As the words left my mouth, I don’t know which of us was the more shocked, or excited. I felt my knickers become damp immediately at my own forcefulness and dominance. Although I had sometimes fantasised about it, I had never done anything like this before. My heart hammered wildly in my chest, but I kept my outward façade cool and composed. For a moment I thought, “He’s going to burst out laughing at me and I’m going to feel such a fool,” and then he said, “Waiter, can we have a menu please?”

He became my first client, and that afternoon in the hotel was one of the most exciting I have ever known. Slightly tipsy, and intoxicated with my success, I slid the key card into the door and laid the bright yellow bags containing our purchases onto the bed. He went to speak, but I placed my finger to his lips to silence him. Then I sat on the bed, with my legs slightly parted, and slowly raised my skirt to my thighs, the black wool and the silk lining rustling softly against the taut black nylon. He gasped, and dropped to his knees before me, reaching for my calves. “NO!” I sternly ordered, and he reeled back, mumbling apologies. “Shut up” I said. “You will do exactly as I say. First, lie on the floor and kiss my feet.” He prostrated himself face down, and began to lick and kiss my black leather high-heeled shoes. As he worked his way up towards my ankles, I felt again the twin sensations of sexual excitement combined with the thrill of my own dominance. “STOP!” I barked. “Did I give you permission to move above my feet yet? NO!”

As he again started to apologise, I kicked him and he stopped immediately. I pushed him roughly away with my feet, stood up, and unzipped my skirt, dropping it to my ankles and kicking it to one side. I stood above him, looking down, wearing my jacket, shirt, stockings, suspenders and heels. Revelling in my newfound sense of power, I slowly removed my jacket and unbuttoned my crisp white shirt, so it parted to reveal my black underwear and creamy pale skin. I pushed my glasses further down my nose and looked at him over the top. “Now, I will allow you to remove my shoes and stockings, and help me to try on a new pair. You may slide them gently over my feet, my calves, my thighs, and fasten the suspenders, But you must take very good care that my seams are straight, or I will have to punish you!”

He nodded his acquiescence, and reverently unwrapped a pair of luxurious, natural coloured point heel fully-fashioned nylons. He laid them on the bed, and then knelt before me as I sat on the edge. He removed one shoe, and then the other, caressing my feet and ankles as he did so. Then he looked up at me questioningly, and I nodded permission for him to unhook each suspender clasp and voluptuously roll each black, silky stocking down my cool white legs. His hands trembled slightly, and as he pulled them over my feet, he held each one to his face ığdır escort and inhaled deeply for a brief moment. I could see his excitement growing, which only served to further inflame my own desire. Then he proceeded to re-encase my elegant limbs in beautiful natural nylon, running his hands freely over my toes, the delicate arches of my feet, my firm, rounded calves, and my velvety thighs. He stood up and held out his hands, to help me up – then knelt behind me and refastened my black suspenders – one two three, four five six!

I walked over to the full-length mirror and turned around, surveying my reflection from behind. One seam was perfectly straight. The other – crooked! In the mirror I could see his face – desire and arousal combined with fear at his prospective punishment – what was it to be? Still facing the mirror, our eyes met. “Come here and straighten this seam,” I said, keeping my voice even and level. “I suspect that you did this on purpose, and that should cause you to forfeit your punishment. But as it’s our first time, I’m going to punish you anyway, because I feel like it. Take off your jacket and lie down on the floor, face up.”

He slowly complied, and I felt a dark thrill as I watched him humble himself before me. “Now, I am going to walk on you in my stockinged feet. I bet you like a little trampling, don’t you? After spending all day in your City office, telling everyone else what to do, being a big man. And look at you now, worshipping me, doing everything I say, at my mercy. And loving it, every minute of it. I can see your cock straining at your trousers, getting harder with every word I say.” I walked to his head, picked up my right foot and held it above his face as he stared hungrily at the sole, waiting for my silken tread upon his helpless body…

Then, suddenly, I turned and walked away. “Sorry, I think your time’s up. I’m finished with you for today. And that’s your real punishment. That will teach you to make sure my seams are straight in the future. Now go.”

As I sat down and nonchalantly began trying on my new green suede high-heeled Manolo Blahniks, he climbed stiffly to his feet, fumbled for his jacket and pulled out his wallet, counting out ten fifty-pound notes, and then adding another two. “When can I see you again?” he asked, eagerly. “I must see you again.”

Still feigning total absorption in my new shoes, I said, “Leave your business card – I’ll call you if I feel like it. Now please go.” In reality I couldn’t wait for him to leave so I could get my hands into my dripping wet pants and get myself off, right there on that hotel bed. I was more excited than I had ever been in my life. I wanted to take off everything except my stockings, suspenders and heels and writhe naked, reliving the whole encounter while rubbing my sweet wet pussy, until the tension ripped up and through me, overwhelming me. Even just writing about it now makes me feel the same! Just the idea of him crouched at my feet, begging me, pleading, desperate to worship and please me…

A few weeks later I did relent and see him again, and over the last two years have built up a small, exclusive clientele of wealthy men who share my special passions. Perhaps in the future I will tell you a few more stories of some of my especially exciting encounters! I hope you have enjoyed this one. Until next time…

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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