Nylon Feet Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  “You’d better come in,” I said, moving aside and allowing her to step past me. As she entered, I caught a breath of her perfume and a cold fire in my stomach ignited anew.

  We wandered through my apartment together into my living room. I glanced around uncertainly, unsure of myself, caught off guard. Kelly stopped in the center of the room, turning to face me.

  “May I take your coat?” I said, as though Kelly Connor, the eighteen year old girl who’d come to fuck, was a dinner guest or an old friend.

  She nodded shyly and slowly untied the knot at her stomach, then allowed the short coat to fall from her shoulders.

  “I had to come,” she said as the jacket slid down her body and revealed her nakedness beneath. I caught my breath, trying to retain the blank expression of indifference and not reveal the excitement at the core of my being. “I couldn’t wait.”

  With a casual toss, she threw the jacket onto the sofa and stood before me, naked but for her shoes and pantyhose. Her arms hung limply at her sides, flingers curling into fists and uncurling again with a nervous energy. She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak, looking for all the world as though I was about to throw her out into the street.

  I tried to gather myself together, tried to regain some semblance of control when all I wanted to do was to close the gap between us and drag her to my bed. I took a deep breath.

  “It looks as though we’re going to have our next session a little early,” I purred, studying her breasts and the taut nubs of her pink nipples. “If you’ll excuse me, Kelly, I should go and change.”

  She looked at me and nodded.

  As I walked away from her and reached the hallway, I turned and glanced at her again.

  “While you’re waiting for me, I’d like you to kneel, like a good girl. As Mistress taught you, with your arms folded behind your back, head down.”

  She nodded and was already lowering herself down before I’d finished speaking. “Y-yes, Mistress,” she whispered and my pussy roared.

  I returned after ten minutes, wearing my office clothes. Sharp skirt suit and satin blouse, tan stockings and burgundy pumps, my dark hair back in a tight ponytail. I wandered back into the room and stepped past Kelly who was kneeling on the floor, just as I’d asked her to. She didn’t flinch as I passed, though I could feel the heat of her desire rising from her like the rippled air from a baking runway.

  I moved to a side table and carefully placed the coils of rope, the strap-on dildo and the wand vibrator down there, taking care to ensure that Kelly could see. She sighed slowly.

  The ropes and vibrator were a gift from my girlfriends to celebrate my divorce. They’d laughed as they handed me them, along with an assortment of crotchless panties, filthy DVDs and the business card of a male escort agency. “You never know what you might get into, now that you’re free,” my best friend Laura had said with a mocking laugh. I’d laughed along with them, giggling like school girls at the outlandishly futuristic appeal of the wand vibrator, or the plain absurdity of the idea that I would ever use the ropes and other items. After my friends had left, I’d packed the items in a box and forgotten about them. Until now.

  The strap-on dildo, on the other hand, was a recent purchase. Ordered in the last week in a breathless evening of surprise audacity. I’d purchased it with one purpose in mind and one purpose only. And it seemed that I was going to get to play with it a little early.

  “Let’s start the session,” I said, beginning the charade.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Kelly quietly, staring at the pile of items on the low table with wide eyes.

  I worked quickly, taking a silk stocking from the pocket of my skirt. I laid it gently over Kelly’s eyes, then tied it behind her head as a makeshift blindfold. I wanted her as vulnerable as possible. Next, I selected one of the coils of rope and stepped over to where she kneeled, squatting behind her. She was trembling, terrified, and when I touched my fingertips to her naked back, she flinched away and shuddered. “Tell me why you came here tonight,” I said.

  She paused and didn’t turn to face me. “I had the dream again, only it was different this time.”

  “Tell me about the dream, Kelly,” I said, interested. As she spoke, I took her arms and placed her hands together, then began to tie her wrists with the coil of rope, looping it around her slender limbs and tying a tight knot that she couldn’t escape from.

  As the binding was complete, she struggled slightly, testing the limits of her restraint. “The dream was the same as it ever was, only different.”

  “How different?” I asked, stroking the hair from her neck.

  “I was with the woman, but I knew what my place was.”

  “Go on,” I urged. I turned around and took another coil of rope from the table.

  “I was a slave, owned by the woman. She was my Mistress.”

  I threaded the rope through my fingers, forming a double length of it, then reached around Kelly’s body and formed a wide loop over her chest, the twin cords of pristine white rope running above her breasts. Then I circled her again, taking the rope under her breasts this time. As the chest harness took shape, I marvelled at the delightful intimacy of the ritual. How, with every turn of rope, Kelly surrendered more of herself to me, casting off the constraint of her liberty in return for restraint of a different kind.

  “Do you want to be a slave?”

  “Yes.” She spoke without hesitation.

  “Why?”

  “I want to be owned. I want to be secure. I want to be used. I want to be a good girl for my Mistress. I want to be punished and rewarded. I want my body to be Hers. I want pain. I want pleasure. I don’t want to think about anything anymore.”

  Her words shocked me a little. Such a convincing embrace of submission, so surprising. The me of several weeks ago would have looked for a psychological explanation of Kelly’s willingness to surrender her autonomy. Perhaps a history of abuse or neglect, some hidden trauma that left her unable to face the world and all of its unfairness. But Kelly had no such history. She had loving parents, no traumatic events, the mundane suburban life of a popular, intelligent girl.

  At that point, I’d already started to realize that there was something more in play here, something that shocked and appalled me less and less with every passing minute, something that aroused and enthralled me even more so. Kelly, and girls like her, just want to be owned. Submissive archetypes, slave personalities, call it what you will. But what thrilled me even more was the counter-realization to this sordid knowledge.

  For every girl like Kelly, there was a woman like me. A woman who needed someone like Kelly to dominate, to own, to possess, to use. A doll to dress and pose and fuck. A toy.

  I finished tying the rope around her chest and gave it a tug to ensure it was tight. Her arms were bound by the harness, held to her sides, then tied at the wrist behind her.

  I reached down and tapped her bottom, urging her up onto her knees. She lifted without hesitation, swaying uncertainly. Then I slowly inched her shoes from her feet and lifted them to my nose, breathing in the damp odor of her sweat. Her toes curled and I watched them move, watched the skin on her soles wrinkle and smooth beneath her dark pantyhose. How had I missed so much about myself? I thought with a sad melancholy. How had I been so wrong about what I was? All my life I’d lived in humdrum denial, repressing urges and desires, living a sham marriage for the sake of… what? When all the while, beneath the conformity and facade, the real me had lurked, biding her time. This desire for girls, a need to control and dominate, to tie and bind. And this curious love of feet and pantyhose… I reached down and stroked my fingers across the glorious expanse of her sole, relishing the soft, damp warmth and the way she squirmed and wriggled at my touch, pulling at the ropes that held her in place.

  “Do you want me to own you, Kelly?” I said with a serious tone. “Do you want me to be your Mistress?”

  She nodded.

  “I need to hear you say it, honey,” I pu
rred, stroking the naked flesh of her arms.

  “Yes, Mistress, I want you to own me.”

  “Do you realize what that entails? Do you realize what you’ll be giving up? Your life will be mine, your autonomy a memory. I will tell you what to do, when to do it, and you’ll obey without question. You’ll drop out of college and move here, with me. Your friends will think you’ve gone mad, moving in with an older woman, your family will try to ruin me. But they won’t know the truth, they won’t know that you are mine to do with as I please. Is this what you want Kelly?”

  “Oh, yes, Mistress, yes I want that more than anything.” She nodded quickly, causing her pert breasts to bounce up and down. A hot flush rose on her chest and crept up her neck.

  And what about me? I thought to myself as a silent response. Was I ready for my part in all of this? Was I ready to give up my life, my reputation, my career, my friends? All for this sordid fantasy, for the possession of another?

  I realized, without hesitation, that I was. More than anything I’d ever known, more than anything I’d ever wanted.

  “Stand,” I said with a firm tone, lifting up onto my heels and tugging at the harness around her chest. She staggered up on uncertain legs, off balance without her arms and eyes to guide her.

  “Where are we going?” she breathed uncertainly. Was she having second thoughts?

  “To the bedroom,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m going to fuck you there.”

  She sighed and shuddered. “Yes, Mistress.”

  I led her through the rooms of my apartment, from the living area to the short corridor and through to my bedroom. She walked with tiny, nervous steps, stumbling slightly, off balance, while I dragged her by the rope around her chest. She was breathing quickly, tiny pricks of perspiration glistening like jewels on her perfect skin.

  We reached my bed and I turned her round, moving her like a toy, a doll. I pushed her back with a small shove on her chest. She staggered backwards and her lower legs struck the side of my bed and she fell onto her back with a cry, trapping her restrained arms behind her. Wriggling onto the bed, she drew her legs up to her body reflexively, adopting a defensive pose against an unseen threat. She was panting now, moaning. she seemed out of her depth and on the verge of panic. It was delicious. I found myself feeding on her nervous energy, becoming steadily more aroused with every passing second.

  Forcing myself away, I turned and walked back to the living room. Kelly sighed frustratedly behind me, sensing my absence. Barely able to contain myself, I picked up the vibrator and the dildo and walked back to the bedroom, letting the rhythmic tapping of my heels on the floor announce my presence. Then, slowly, deliberately, relishing every single second, I undressed, peeling off my jacket, my blouse, my skirt. Kelly watched me blindly, peering at me from behind the blindfold, trying to determine what I was doing, what I was going to do to her. She looked deliciously vulnerable on the bed, long legs in black pantyhose, contrasting sharply with the neat coils of white rope round her chest and arms. I watched her as I removed my bra and stepped out of my panties, scarcely able to believe what I was doing, scarcely able to think about what I was going to do.

  “Lie back,” I said sharply, “spread your legs.”

  She moved with a slow reluctance, breathing quickly, unwilling to expose herself so readily. But eventually she sat back, relaxing into the soft bed and opening her legs, revealing her encased pussy to me. I felt a wave of warmth spread over me, a desperate and novel hunger that thrilled me.

  I moved to the wall and plugged in the wand vibrator, uncoiling the length of wire that powered it. “I have two rules, Kelly. You do as I say, whatever I say. And you don’t ever, ever come without my permission. Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, Mistress,” she whispered.

  The tension in the room was palpable, a sweaty heat of anticipation that charged the air with an electric energy. Kelly was breathing quickly, skin damp with sweat, writhing around with her hands bound behind her back, her pretty face obscured by my nylon stocking across her eyes. My pussy throbbed at the sight of her, raged at me to take her and take her now.

  I moved to the bed and sat beside her, stroking my fingertips up the inside of her thigh. She shuddered and moaned and curled her toes. For endless seconds, I watched as her feet flex and bend, watched the pantyhose that covered them crease and stretch as she moved. I was transfixed by the subtle movement and what it signified. Then I turned back to her pussy and lifted the wand vibrator between her legs, placing the bulbous head on her damp flesh. She squirmed in anticipation, sighing quickly.

  “Do you want this?” I said quietly, pushing the wand against her.

  “Ah… yes, Mistress yes!”

  “Good girl,” I breathed and flicked the wand on, causing to burst into life on a low setting.

  She reacted instantly, squirming against the vibrator, writhing on the bed and pushing her head back. “Oh shit,” she said under her breath, between long sighs.

  I began to move it around, focusing on her clit but circling around in lazy spirals, lifting and increasing the pressure in a slow rhythm. She became a puppet on my strings, moving in time with my actions, responding to every change with predictable reactions. When I shifted the speed of the vibrator head up a notch, she inhaled sharply, holding her breath until she’d adjusted to this new reality.

  My pussy was aching now, singing out, chanting the song of my desire. All thoughts of immortality, of trusts betrayed, of censure and humiliation, of career and reputation were lost now. All that remained was the glorious heat of possibility encapsulated in my new relationship with this younger girl.

  I flicked the vibrator to high and Kelly screamed out. “Oh god!” Her legs pulled up, knees bending, toes digging into the soft material of the comforter.

  “Don’t come, Kelly. If you come now, you won’t get to eat my pussy.”

  “Oh shit, oh shit,” she chanted. Her face was flushed and screwed up in an expression of utter agony. “Yes, Mistress,” she said.

  Without warning, I pulled the vibrator off her pussy and set it on the bed beside me. She moaned in protest as the sudden absence, but I ignored her pleas and focused on the delicious sight of her encased sex. The soft nylon over her pussy was soaked through, drenched darker than the black pantyhose that covered her legs and I could see the dripping flesh beneath, so tantalizingly close but out of reach under the gossamer thin covering of her hose.

  I’d never tasted a woman before, not there at least, but at that moment in time I wanted nothing more in the whole universe than to devour this girl who was young enough to be my daughter.

  I shifted on the bed, hopping up between her legs. She fell silent as I moved, anticipating something new. Then I plunged my fingers into her dark pantyhose and ripped a wide hole across her pussy, exposing the pink flesh beneath. A waft of warm air reached my nose, an intoxicating breath of utter desire.

  “Oh honey,” I purred, breathless and hot, “you’re beautiful.”

  “Th-thank you Mistress.”

  I trailed my fingertips down from her stomach to the neat patch of blonde hair above her sex and she shuddered under my touch.

  “Have you ever had your pussy licked before, Kelly?” I asked.

  “N-no,” she stammered. There was a nervous trepidation in her tone, a reluctance almost, but also an excitement.

  I lowered my head and swept my hair back, then held myself an inch from the core of her pleasure, feeling the heat radiating from her, the damp smell of her desire. I studied every inch, every fold of young flesh, every crease and every crevice. This new land was mine to conquer, to lay claim to, to call my own, and I intended to savor its discovery to the utmost degree. But there was a nervousness in me too, a debilitating sense of fear that held me back. I’d never done this before, never even wanted to do this before a few weeks ago. What if I did it wrong? What if I lost the girl’s capitulation with my ineptitude or inexperience? She clearly thought that I was a skilled professional
, an expert dominatrix that ate girls like her for breakfast. But I wasn’t, not at all. I was a virgin, to all intents purposes, running on instinct and the drive of desire, improvising my way through the quagmire of my lust.

  I glanced up at Kelly’s face, flushed and eager, creased with a hunger that was out of control, and I realized something. She was lost to reason now, utterly devoted to me, my willing slave. I had all the time in the world to perfect my art, to own her body on my terms. But more than this, that we were both the same. Both women. Both having the same needs, the same drives, other than our roles as Mistress and slave. Her pussy was my pussy and, as such, I already knew what she wanted, because it was what I wanted!

  I plunged forward, sinking my tongue into her, licking her, lapping at her, relishing every subtle taste of her dripping flesh. She tasted rich and musky, a flavor that was more than the sum of its parts and which thrilled me to the core of my being. My own pussy sang out in anticipation and approval, urging me on, driving my mouth to greater depths.

  I found her hole and pushed into her, feeling the resistance of her young pussy, the slightly metallic tang, so different to her labia. She screamed out as I entered her. Her legs lifted onto my back, thighs wrapped around my head, an unconscious reaction to the thrill of stimulation. I worked my way up, savoring every inch of her, finding her clitoris without any problem. I settled there, focusing my attention on that throbbing knot of nerves. She wailed, thrashing her head back and forth, making the bed rock and bang against the back wall of my bedroom. I wondered distantly if anyone downstairs would hear, but realized that I didn’t care. This bed had been quiet enough these long, lonely years. It was time that it made some noise.