by Ella Ford
Nylon Feet Mega Bundle
by Ella Ford
Seduced By Her Feet
Her Best Friend Likes Feet
Her Boss Likes Pantyhose
Nerd Girls Like Pantyhose Too
Pantyhose College
Pantyhose Professionals
Pantyhose Roadtrip
Lesbian Pantyhose Secretaries
Lesbian Pantyhose Gamer Girls
Lesbian Pantyhose Therapy
Copyright © 2017 Ella Ford. All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
First published 2017 by Second Wolf Publishing
http://secondwolf.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. All characters are 18 or over. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Seduced By Her Feet
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Epilogue
Her Best Friend Likes Feet
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Her Boss Likes Pantyhose
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Nerd Girls Like Pantyhose Too
Prologue: The club
Chapter 1: Monique and me
Chapter 2: Miss Laura Todd
Chapter 3: Bad girls need discipline
Epilogue
Pantyhose College
Prologue
Professor’s Pantyhose
Sorority Feet
Religious Studies
Epilogue
Pantyhose Professionals
Prologue
Performance Review
Business Lunch
The Launch Party
Epilogue
Pantyhose Road Trip
Prologue
The Hitchhiker
The Stripper and the Older Woman
Vegas
Epilogue
Lesbian Pantyhose Secretaries
Prologue: An Ocean of Feet and Legs
1: I Wasn’t Always a Pantyhose Sex Slave
2: The Punishment For Dress Code Violation Is…
3: Returning the Favor, and More Besides
4: The Taste of Lucy Cummings and my Rebirth as a Pantyhose Sex Slave
Lesbian Pantyhose Gamer Girls
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Lesbian Pantyhose Therapy
Prologue
Session 1
Session 2
Session 3
Session 4
More by Ella Ford
Seduced By Her Feet
by Ella Ford
Prologue
Samantha and I are sitting on the comfortable old sofa in my apartment. The TV is on and we’re working our way through a DVD boxset of Sex and the City. I don’t like the show personally, but Samantha thinks it’s highly amusing and insists we watch it together. It doesn’t bother me too much, my mind is elsewhere.
I glance over at Samantha. She’s sitting back against the end of the sofa, her legs are sprawled over me with her feet resting in my lap. She’s wearing a simple black t-shirt that clings to her figure, hugging her chest in a most pleasing way, and a short tartan skirt that barely covers her thighs. Her honey blonde hair is down, and she’s lazily sipping from a glass of wine. She glances at me with a look of relaxed contentment and I smile back at her, thinking how amazing she looks like this.
My attention is drawn to her legs, as it so often is. They’re long and slim, and tonight she is wearing opaque black pantyhose. I draw my hand slowly up her leg to her knee and she shivers involuntarily. I glance at her again and she smiles back, urging me to continue.
I reverse my touch and my hand finds its way to her feet. I gaze at them and she wiggles her toes in the way that she knows I can’t resist. She must be feeling horny tonight, I realise and shudder at the prospect of feeling her tongue on my pussy.
I reach out and take one of her feet in my hands, pressing my thumb into the soft flesh of her sole and kneading it gently. She sighs at my touch and sinks deeper into the sofa, putty in my hands.
I study her foot, the soft curve of her arch, the faint hint of her painted nails through the material of her pantyhose. I wonder what it is that I find so compelling about it, why I feel a sudden warmth deep inside myself as I touch it and feel it touch me. What has awakened these insatiable feelings inside me?
I think back, to the first time I met Samantha. A normal day in a normal week; a trip downtown and a chance encounter. My mind drifts away...
Chapter 1
The very last thing I expected when I went into the coffee shop that morning was to get seduced by a woman. And, I swear to you, the very idea of being driven into a frenzy by a pair of female feet was not even an entry in my book of possibilities!
I’m not a lesbian, I’ve always considered myself comfortably straight. I wouldn’t even say I was bi, though I hear it’s very fashionable these days. I mean, I’d thought about other women in that way on more than one occasion, who hasn’t? But only in a theoretical capacity. I’d never considered actually doing anything about it. In truth, my life was complicated enough trying to find a sympathetic cock to fill the long dark nights. The last thing I needed was to figure out a whole different set of genitalia!
And feet. Oh boy. I don’t even know where to begin with this one. If women were the furthest thing from my mind that day, then feet weren’t even on the map! Feet are just things at the end of your legs that you stand on all day, then moan about how much they hurt. Right? They’re not sex things, they’re walking things. I mean, I’m not completely sheltered. I was aware that foot fetishes were a thing. If you date in the modern world I don’t think you can avoid it. Sometimes it seemed like every third guy that I got to go home with me wanted me to keep my heels on in bed, or was suspiciously eager to give me a foot massage. I never really thought about it, it just seemed like guys, you know? I certainly never thought about feet that way myself… at least, until I met Samantha.
Wait, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up a little and tell you a bit about me, the charming narrator of this sordid tale. My name is Sarah Fisher. Okay, that’s not my real name, but it’ll do for now. What I’m about to tell you is not the kind of thing I want following me around for the rest of my life. What is true is that I’m twenty four, live in New York and I’m a moderately successful copy editor for a small pop culture magazine downtown.
In certain conversations, I have been described as “mousey”. I’m not sur
e whether that’s a compliment or not. Whatever. Anyway, I don’t mind staying under the radar in the looks department. It just means that when I let my hair down and wear contacts instead of my nerdy glasses for the office Christmas party, I get told that I “scrub up well”. You take what you can get, right? I guess Sandra Bullock would play me in the movie version of this story… Oh boy, what I wouldn’t give to see Sandra Bullock doing the kind of things that happened to me…
I digress.
So, I’m twenty four, five seven, nice tits and unruly brown hair that has been my curse since I was thirteen. I guess I should mention that I have good legs and take care of my feet, though I was never sure why I bothered. As luck would have it, on that particular day I had a day old pedicure on my toes and the skin of my shins still burned from the waxing that the Groupon offer had included. I’m telling you this to stay in genre, you guys appreciate that right? Sexy foot fetish scene setting.
I wish I could tell you that I cut quite the pornstar figure for my steamy encounter at the coffee shop, but in reality it was my day off work and I was on my way downtown to collect some dry cleaning. My hair was pulled back in a slouchy ponytail, the result of about, oh, fifteen seconds of effort an hour before. I hadn’t bothered with makeup and the seductive outfit I chose to wear that day was my favourite pair of skinny jeans and a tight black t-shirt that hugged my breasts and informed anyone who wanted to know that I was a fan of Nickelback. Hey, no shame right?
I was not exactly the sultry, sapphic seductress that you might expect. To this day, I have no idea what it was that attracted Samantha to me.
Enough scene setting.
On my way to the dry cleaner, I decided to stop off at Paolo’s, a tiny coffee shop off 34th that hadn’t yet succumbed to the relentless encroachment of Big Coffee and had somehow stayed off the radar of hipster culture. It was just a normal place, you know? Good coffee, friendly staff, no bullshit. I found myself dropping in for an hour of quiet contemplation a few times a week, ordering my usual skinny latte and sinking into one of the battered old chairs in the corner to watch the world go by. I guess next time I go in I’ll take my laptop and work on my book, The Great American Foot Fetish Novel. Ha-ha, right?
I ordered my coffee and paid Josh, my server. The handsome barista had earned a decent tip by telling me “you’re looking great today Miss Fisher,” with what passed for genuine sincerity. I wished him a pleasant day and set up in my usual spot for some good old fashioned people watching.
I spotted her instantly. Hard not to, since we were the only customers in Paolo’s that lunchtime, but I genuinely think that Samantha would have stood out in any room, no matter how crowded. Her presence shone like a beacon, drawing the eye and firing the senses. I want to use the word “breathtaking”, but I’m afraid she might one day read this and I’ll never hear the end of it.
She was sitting across the room on one of the tables by the door, head bowed and lost in the important task of stirring her coffee. I guess I would describe her as elegant. Her hair had way more than fifteen seconds of effort invested in it. Honey blonde and wavy, it fell over her shoulders and down her back, resting on the chair back like spun gold. Too much hyperbole? Okay, I’ll reign it in a little.
She wore a fuschia business suit, tailored jacket and tight pencil skirt cut above her knees. Her white blouse was crisp and provocative, with perhaps one too many buttons open over her perky chest.
My eyes fell to her legs, crossed under the table and clearly visible to passersby. They were long and perfectly shaped. Not too thick, and not the kind of skinny that you see on some girls in New York that make you wonder how gravity hasn’t crippled them yet. She wore tan pantyhose, or stockings. I’m not sure which, though I could spend whole afternoons pondering this important issue. They softened the toned muscles of her calves and swished together in an infuriatingly compelling way when she crossed and uncrossed her legs. On her feet, she wore delicate, black high heeled pumps. The heel was high and thin and very precarious, lengthening her already endless legs and pulling the muscles of her calves into perfect definition. I felt my eyes drawn here, unable to look away as she lightly tapped her foot up and down.
I should ask Josh to dig out the security camera from Paolo’s that day. I would pay cash money to see the look on my face as I stared at Samantha for the first time. I would imagine it was a cross between dumbstruck awe and mild incomprehension. How could someone so beautiful be allowed to roam the streets of the city alone? I felt about two strokes away from pulling off my sneaker and hitting myself over the head like Bugs Bunny in those old cartoons. Homina homina, right?
I’m not sure I would say that I was immediately dripping wet with lesbian desire. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but at first my interest was driven by her immaculate aesthetic rather than animal lust. At first, that is. Something about the gentle swell of her breasts as she breathed, pushing at the tight material of her blouse and straining for release. Her delicate features, demure and refined, full red lips and high cheekbones. And, of course, the long, soft line of her coltish legs.
As I watched, she slowly rotated the foot of her crossed leg, pointing her toes in a lazy circle. I gasped, not really sure why. It was hypnotic, compelling.
She looked up from her coffee, glancing over in my direction and catching my eye as I stared at her legs. She smiled. Not a wide grin, but a knowing smirk that set my heart beating. I blushed and turned back to my own coffee, suddenly wishing that the cup was large enough for me to climb into and hide from the blinding radiance of her gaze.
I glanced up, daring to risk a fleeting glimpse across the room. She had returned to stirring her coffee, that mischievous smirk still on her face. My fleeting glimpse turned into a stare, unable to take my eyes off her for reasons I couldn’t fully articulate. I tried giving my best shot at subtlety, flicking my eyes around the room seemingly at random, attempting to appear distracted by my thoughts but landing back on her every fifty milliseconds or so.
She wasn’t fooled by my discreet surveillance, continuing to wear that knowing smirk and occasionally lifting her gaze from her coffee to glance in my direction.
As I half-watched, she lowered a manicured hand to her knee and leaned forwards slightly, stroking her hand down her lower leg as if checking the material of her stockings. Her foot pointed in my direction. She looked up at me as she reached her delicate ankle and winked.
Oh. My. God. I suddenly realised that she was flirting with me. My mind raced and my heart pounded. I felt my face flush with excitement and something else. Something deeper and unfamiliar. A warm feeling in the pit of my stomach that radiated pleasantly through my body. Quickly Sarah, do something cool and irresistable, my mind demanded. My body responded by hunching my shoulders and lowering my head to stare intently at my cooling coffee. Smooth.
After about a million years of wishing that I was continents away from this temptress, I risked another look in her direction. She’d taken a pad and paper from her purse and was scribbling something with an old fashioned pencil, the kind they gave you in middle school when you were old enough for pointy things but not old enough for ink.
A movement caught my eye below her table and I glanced down. Her legs were still crossed, but the shoe on her raised foot was now dangling from her toes. As I watched, she rhythmically flexed her toes and caused the shoe to bounce languidly up and down.
Now, I’m going to attempt to describe how this seemingly innocent scene affected me. You’ll have to understand that all of this is new to me and I’m describing raw feelings that I have no context for. I suppose other foot lovers will get what I mean, but the rest of you reading this will just have to accept that while you might not get it, I am at least attempting to be honest.
My first glimpse of Samantha’s “naked” foot thrilled me! I was mesmerised by it, captivated by the delicate curve of her arch, the soft skin of the sole through the thin material of her stocking. I longed to see her toes, willing the shoe to fal
l to the floor and reveal them to me. I craved the touch of that perfect foot on my face, to plunge my nose and mouth to the gap behind her toes, to breath her in and taste her. I wanted to knead her warm flesh with my thumbs, stroke my fingers up her ankle to her shapely calves. I wanted my world to be consumed by that damnably perplexing thing.
I realised that I was staring again and suddenly didn’t care. I just wanted to preserve this odd moment in my mind forevermore.
My trance was suddenly interrupted as my quarry misjudged her lazy dance and the dangling shoe slid off her toes and dropped to the floor. I caught a glimpse of the muted red of her painted nails before she put her foot on the floor behind her bag. I quickly looked away, but stole another glance at her when I sensed her moving.
She was staring at me, her head cocked to one side endearingly as she bent to retrieve her shoe. Her gaze never left mine and I was unable to look away as she slipped the shoe on her foot with glacial grace. She winked again and turned back to her notepad, tearing off a sheet of paper and slipping the pad back into her purse. She stood, straightening her skirt and jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder.
Too late, I realised that she was walking in my direction. My heart raced and I considered making a break for it or throwing myself through the window or something else to avoid this seemingly inevitable confrontation. My treacherous body failed me once more and left me frozen to the spot and watching this valkyrie approach. I did my best to appear nonchalant, but succeeded only in misjudging my elbow position on the table and slipping off the side.
She reached my corner, seemingly floating across the room on a billowing cloud of perfume and rose petals. She looked at me quizzically, cocking her head to the side in that enchanting way. She raised a hand and dropped something on the table before me, then turned on her heel and marched out of the door to Paolo’s, not pausing once to look back.