Nylon Feet Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  “Oh,” I said, unsure what to say. Kristy pressed her thumbs into my flesh and began to make tiny circles of exquisite pressure in the small muscles of my arch. “I’m not…”

  “Did it surprise you?”

  “Yes.”

  “In what way?”

  “I’ve never… never seen… something like that,” I replied haltingly, responding to every minute force that was being applied to my foot. Kristy seemed lost in her work, almost… mindless.

  Lucy Cummings sat back in her seat and leaned her head, a strange mannerism that I’d never noticed her do before.

  “How did it make you feel?”

  “I don’t know,” I paused and sighed as Kristy squeezed my big toe. I tried to pull back, but she held me tightly. A pleasant warmth and a tangible fear warred for attention in my stomach.

  “Curious?”

  “Yes.”

  “About what?”

  “Who… who the girl was. Who took the photographs. What… what it’s like…”

  Lucy sat forward. “What what is like?”

  Kristy lowered my foot and reached forward for the other. I felt a momentary sense of absence as her intense attention ceased, but she soon got to work again. Was I enjoying this? The thought rose for the first time and shocked me, making me fall silent for a period of long seconds.

  “What it’s like to be tied like that… to be helpless.” I paused, knowing what I really wanted to know. “What it’s like to be spanked… by a woman.”

  Lucy smiled. “Anything else?”

  “Was it you?” I asked, speaking the question that burned in my mind. “In the photos I mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “And…”

  “And the girl?”

  I nodded.

  “She is my sex slave, my pantyhose sex slave.”

  The words hung between us like an accusation. A thousand thoughts and images rushed through my mind. Every sordid sight from the laptop screen. Lucy Cummings’ bold insistence on a pantyhose dress code. Kristy’s sudden and surprising capitulation to her odd request. The way Lucy gazed at my foot as it slid through Kristy’s hand. The pieces of the puzzle slid into place and…

  “Use your mouth please Kristy,” said Lucy abruptly. I gasped.

  Kristy turned to Lucy and, I swear, I thought she would protest. Instead, she peered at our boss, pausing for a second while an unseen communication flashed between them. Then she nodded.

  I looked on, paralyzed with fear and guilty pleasure. A soft fire burned between my legs, something I’d barely noticed, but which was becoming more apparent by the second. Kristy turned to my foot again and lifted it high, holding it inches from her face. Her eyes locked on my soles. I opened my mouth to protest, to tell her to stop, to back off, to plead with her to stand up to Lucy Cummings and her peculiar request. But I couldn’t make myself speak.

  When Kristy’s mouth closed around my toes her eyes fixed on mine. There was an apology there, of sorts, but something else as well. Hunger, longing… desire.

  Without thinking, I pulled away, dragging my foot from the wet warmth of Kristy’s mouth with every ounce of willpower that I had. I couldn’t believe that this was happening, couldn’t believe that I was falling so easily into this forced seduction. Why don’t I get up and leave? Why don’t I write an email report to HR about Lucy Cummings and her abuse of power? I knew that I could do all of those things, I knew that I could leave and Lucy would do nothing more than shrug in that contentedly smug way that she had.

  And Kristy? What would Kristy do? Would she stay? I glanced down at this girl I barely knew, a glimpsed acquaintance, nothing more. What did I really know about her? Was she into this kind of thing as well? Why wasn’t she fighting the things that Lucy was making her do? Was she… was she a lesbian, like Lucy Cummings appeared to be.

  Was I?

  Kristy reached forward and took my ankle in her hand again. I felt a warm rush as her fingers closed around me, a light shudder that ran through my body like a summer breeze. I gave a token tug of my leg, fighting against her faint grip. Kristy peered at me, her eyes wide like saucers, emerald green and twinkling in the dim light of the break room. Her ruby red lips curled up in a smile, a mischievous look that was disarming and mesmerizing. She wants this, I thought with a confused jolt, she really wants this.

  “Why are you doing this?” I said, to Lucy more than to Kristy. “Why us? Why now?”

  Lucy Cummings chuckled to herself and leaned over, resting her chin on her hand. “You amuse me, Sarah.”

  Her response surprised me, confused me, just another bewilderment in a night of them. For a fraction of a second, my firm tug away from Kristy faltered and my leg muscles relaxed, allowing Kristy to pull my foot towards her face. Without a word, she was on me again, burying her nose in the space behind my toes, kissing my sole with full lips, closing her eyes as though sipping from the finest champagne. I could have pulled away, but I didn’t. Instead, I found myself captivated by the sight before me. This attractive, willing, utterly obedient girl, lost in a world that I couldn’t yet understand. A world that consisted of her and my flexing foot, of the soft friction of nylon pantyhose on skin, of scents and sensations that I knew instinctively that I must abhor, but which fascinated her nonetheless.

  “I amuse you?” I finally replied, breathless words slipping out of my mouth without conscious effort. A fire burned within me now, a growing conflagration that I couldn’t control or extinguish. Why don’t I just leave? insisted an increasingly quiet voice.

  “Yes, you amuse me,” said Lucy, sitting forward, reaching over and touching her hand to Kristy’s long blonde hair and stroking it absentmindedly while Kristy licked and kissed the sole my foot. “You project an air of confident certainty,” she continued, “parading around on your high heeled shoes, wiggling that pert little bottom of yours, thrusting out your young breasts in a vain attempt to attract a rich lawyer who will take care of you and put a baby in you and take away the need to ever think for yourself again.”

  “That’s not…” I started, but didn’t finish.

  Kristy began to nibble on the arch of my foot, small bites with her perfect teeth, alternating warm flicks of her hot tongue as she went. The fire between my legs leaped upward, touching every part of my body. I pulled back, not through reluctance or self-consciousness, but surprise. Surprise at how this was making me feel, how my body was reacting. A girl was worshipping my foot and I was loving it. I’d never had so much as a single fantasy about another woman before, not one. I’d never kissed a girl. Never thought about touching one, not like that. Before tonight, I would have found it quite repugnant - a gift of my conservative upbringing, I suppose. Yet here I was, enthralled by the sights and sensations of Kristy and her attentive hands and mouth. And Lucy Cummings… what part did she have to play in my descent into this forbidden desire?

  “You can protest all you like, but it’s true,” she continued. “All you want is for someone to come along and absolve you of responsibility. Well, honey, you’ve found it.”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” I stuttered, half confusion, half distracted pleasure from Kristy’s increasingly intense ministrations.

  “Have you ever eaten pussy?” said Lucy with a smirk.

  “No!” I protested. “Ew! Oh…” My protest was cut short by a wave of pleasure that rippled through me as Kristy began to suck hard on my toes.

  “Kristy, I think that Sarah’s foot is nicely relaxed.” She paused and sat back. “Maybe Sarah would like to return the favor,” she added, crossing her leg before her.

  Kristy released my foot and sat back on her heels, peering at me with a sultry, expectant gaze.

  I shook my head as if awaking from a dream. I could feel the damp warmth of Kristy’s mouth still soaking my pantyhose. For a fraction of a second, to my utter surprise, I found myself contemplating nodding and falling to my knees before Kristy; reaching down and taking her ankle as she took mine; lifting her foot to my face and
sinking my nose into her sweet scent, tasting her, touching her, feeling her against me… feeling her on me, in me.

  Instead, I stood.

  “This is wrong,” I said firmly, swaying slightly as my dizzied mind shook off the sensations that had gripped it. “I don’t want this. I don’t want what you think I do.”

  Lucy Cummings sat back and smiled. Kristy peered at me with curious interest, as if unable to explain my actions.

  “If that is your wish,” said Lucy unhurriedly. The room fell into silence.

  I reached down and hooked my fingers into my shoes, pleading at Kristy with my eyes, backing away towards the distant door. It felt like a thousand miles to the freedom I thought I craved. All the while, Lucy eyed me with icy intent, studying me, scrutinizing me, measuring me with metrics that I couldn’t conceive. “Are you coming?” I said, looking at Kristy, still kneeling on the floor, lipstick smeared on her face from her passionate attention.

  “Take off your clothes.” Lucy spoke suddenly, firmly.

  “I’m not…!” I spat instinctively. I was nearly at the door now.

  “Take off your clothes, Kristy.”

  I blinked. My hand touched the break room door. I was so close to being out of there, so close to the dim corridor beyond, so close to the life I thought I knew. To my surprise, I paused, stopping with one hand on the handle, one hand clutching my shoes before me like a shield. I sensed a movement behind me. Unable to control myself, I turned.

  Kristy had stood up, standing between the couch and the armchair where Lucy Cummings still sat. Lucy was watching me intently.

  “Kristy, you don’t have to do this,” I said.

  Kristy looked at me. She seemed small, tiny, vulnerable. Standing there in her stockinged feet, robbed of the height and power of her heels, one side of her blouse escaped from her skirt and hanging limply before her. She blinked, and then her expression changed.

  “Kristy, seriously…” I urged, pleading with her, wondering why I was still there, but unable to leave the girl with this awful, mesmerizing woman.

  Slowly, purposefully, Kristy began to unbutton her blouse. Tiny, slender fingers deftly flicking at each tiny white button, revealing the creamy expanse of her chest as she gradually disrobed. With a shrug, her blouse fell away, sinking to the floor like an afterthought. Kristy looked up, gazing at me with a dreamy expression. There was something strange about this, something peculiar that I had no ability to determine.

  Reaching behind herself, Kristy flicked open the clasp of her lacy, white bra and allowed it to slip down her arms. I felt my heart thud in my chest, felt a dizzying wave of something I couldn’t explain wash over me as I caught my first glimpse of Kristy’s naked breasts. Full and firm, with perfect pink nipples, hardened to granite nubs. I couldn’t look away.

  With a casual toss, Kristy dropped the bra to her side and Lucy Cummings bent to pick it up, still studying me with that menacing air. She lifted the bra to her face and breathed deeply, closing her eyes and smiling as she did so.

  Kristy continued her slow, halting striptease. Reaching to her side, she unzipped her skirt, then wiggled the dark garment down her wide hips, allowing it to inch down her thighs, over her knees to collect at her ankles. She stepped forwards, and kicked it back, making no attempt to cover her breasts or the fact that beneath her pantyhose she was wearing no panties. The shaven mound of her sex was visible through the thin, muting gauze of nylon and I glimpsed the neat line of her pussy lips, disappearing between her legs, offering a hint that was as tantalizing as it was shameful.

  But it wasn’t this that I fixated on, and the plain fact of Kristy’s revealed body washed over me with barely a reaction. Instead, my eyes had locked on her hip. A barely visible detail that nevertheless enthralled me. Beneath dark nylon but clearly visible, a tiny tattoo. A familiar tattoo. One that provoked images of glimpsed perversions. A tied girl, bound ankles, naked breasts. A tattoo of a stiletto shoe.

  “Do you still want to leave, Sarah?” said Lucy distantly.

  “No,” I replied, without even thinking.

  3: Returning the Favor, and More Besides

  The room fell into a nervous silence, the only sound being the distant hum of the building’s air conditioning and the wind outside the window. Kristy remained standing in the center of the space, gazing at me with listless eyes, naked and fragile, looking wholly vulnerable before the predatory stare of Lucy Cummings. For my part, I remained resolutely frozen in place beside the door, neither in the room, nor out. A fitting metaphor for the transition that was occurring in my life, though I did not yet know it.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t take my eyes off the tattoo on Kristy’s hip, the curious identifier that cast every aspect of this strange evening into confusing doubt.

  “What is happening,” I demanded with a thin, breathless voice. I felt dizzy and alone, abandoned and betrayed. Was all this an elaborate set up? “Kristy,” I continued, finding my voice, “what is going on? What are you doing? Were you the…?”

  My voice trailed off. Kristy turned to Lucy and paused. “Mistress?” she asked. There was a deference in her tone, an implicit capitulation that seemed half fear and half adoration. A distant part of me noted that she used the word Mistress. I wondered what on earth that meant.

  Lucy Cummings nodded with a smile, as if granting a favorite niece a guilty permission.

  Kristy turned back to me, utterly unashamed of her nakedness. “Did you want to know if it was me in the photos, Sarah?”

  I nodded.

  Kristy’s lip curled in a bashful smirk. “It was. Mistress took them just last night. She thought you’d like them.”

  I nodded and sighed as I parsed the meaning of her words, and then the implication. “What… what do you mean?” The world on the other side of the door seemed to be receding at a million miles an hour, dragging with it my innocence and my liberty. But I didn’t chase it. I felt myself being drawn back into the room, pulled along by my curiosity, the sight of Kristy’s naked body and the hypnotic, alluring, appraising gaze of Lucy Steadman, the architect of my strange downfall. “What is your part in this?” I asked, suddenly needing to know.

  Kristy spoke without hesitation. “I am Mistress’s pantyhose slave. She owns me.”

  I shook my head, the full force of all of my feminist whims and college pursuits slamming me right in the mid-brain. “No-one owns you Kristy, you’re nobody’s slave!” I spat.

  “And yet…” said Kristy with a knowing, infuriating smirk.

  I glared at her, sudden anger replacing the fear and arousal that I felt. Why was she being so weak, so feeble? What hold did Lucy have over her? But the bulk of my anger, I realized with a sigh, was directed at myself. Why was I still here? Why didn’t I leave? Why was I so utterly mesmerized by Kristy’s nakedness?

  “Perhaps I should interject,” said Lucy, standing up with a feline grace and smoothing the sharp lines of her skirt, “before you girls come to blows. As compelling a sight as that would be.”

  With purposeful strides, she brushed past Kristy, touching her hand to the other girl’s nylon-clad bottom with an affectionate caress. Kristy shuddered and sighed, a soft smile rising on her pretty face.

  I watched her approach, hypnotized yet perfectly alert. I became curiously aware that I was still gripping my heels in my hands, like a crucifix before a vampire’s advance. Yet this talisman, I knew in my deepest heart, would not ward off the approaching evil, quite the opposite in fact.

  Reading my mind, Lucy reached down and took the shoes from me and peered at them. “So pretty,” she said distractedly, then threw them down to the floor beside her. She turned back to me, towering above me like a colossus. I felt tiny before her, robbed of the power of my heels, a little girl before a feared teacher. Would she punish me? I asked myself with a mix of fear and longing.

  “To clear up any misunderstandings. Yes, you can be a slave; yes, you can be owned; yes, Kristy is a slave, owned by myself.” She paused and s
tudied me. “And yes, to answer your inevitable next question, this whole elaborate plan was for your benefit.”

  “But… I’m not…” I tried to protest.

  She reached forward and touched her index finger to my lips, stopping me in mid-sentence. A thousand sensations gripped me: the warm softness of her finger, the feeling of being controlled against my will, the strong scent of her perfume, dangerous and erotic.

  “You’re not what, Sarah dear? Not a lesbian? Kristy didn’t think she was either, isn’t that right, Kristy?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Kristy from a thousand miles away.

  “And now?”

  “I’m whatever Mistress wants me to be,” said Kristy with a melodic certainty that shook me.

  “Good girl,” said Lucy with a smile. She turned back to me and her face softened. “Come now, Sarah, you can’t be this dense?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The secretarial team, the team I recruited. Didn’t it ever strike you as odd?”

  “Wh-what?”

  “That it was so youthful and feminine. Each and every one of you a deeply attractive girl in her own right, young and with a particular personality type.”

  I glanced to the side and struggled to make sense of what she was saying. I thought of the girls I worked with - of Sue and Lisa and Rebecca, of Kim and Sarah and Marie-Anne. All fresh out of college, all new to the big city. All high achievers in their own right, as I was, but all unsure of ourselves, all looking for something that we couldn’t explain. I thought of the tales of dating that each girl told, the ones that were dating at least. Bad boys with big bikes or muscle cars, endless tales of woe and mistreatment, the looks of repeated disappointment on each girl’s face as she relayed yet another betrayal, yet another infidelity. But we each went back for more, hoping that the next one would be the one that gave us what we needed but didn’t dare admit: control, discipline, security. How could I have missed this?

  “How many....?” I began, and the question asked itself.