A sardonic smile spreads across my lips as you approach from the other side of the bar. Took you long enough. A full twenty minutes of furtive glances at my legs, my dangling heel and finally you worked up the courage to slip off your wedding band and approach me. I brush off your pathetic pick up line and allow you to kneel before me. I circle my nylon foot in your face, wiggling my toes seductively as you slowly replace my shoe. I promise that you won't forget the view for the rest of your life.
Slowly you awake. My nylon foot circles in your face as before, but something is different. Was that elegant anklet with the key attached there before? I begin to laugh as you slowly come to your senses. Entranced by my feet, you haven't yet noticed your position. Your nudity. The bondage. The tiny biting plastic chastity device. My well worn pantyhose stuffed in your mouth.
I gloat over my power, my natural female supremacy as you lie before me, the teeth of the chastity device biting into your little shrimp dick.
You begin to think of the hour, to think of the trouble you're in. You desperately eye the key dangling from my anklet. As if I can read you mind, I ask if you really want it. What you would give me in return. I scoff at your offer & counter with my own. You desperately accept. I untie your hands and have you sign a contract. I give you the little key you're so desperate for. Your shaking hands guide it into the lock - where it breaks off! You gaze up at me, wounded, confused. I spread my legs, giving you a glimpse of your actual key, safely tucked away near my wet pussy, visible through my sheer, gusset-less pantyhose.
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Pantyhose/Stockings,
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Chastity,
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I've tightly gagged you and tied you to a chair. I walk away with the cash stuffed bag in hand. You're distracted from the severity of the situation by my assets. I taunt you with my curves & tease you about the visible bulge in your pants.
Suddenly there's a noise. I freeze and my eyes dart towards the door. You begin to call for help, moaning through your gag. I hiss at you, do I need to shut you up?
I retrieve a plastic bag from my duffel and deftly pull it down over your head. You'll quickly learn not to make any loud noises, any unnecessarily deep inhalations. How long do you think you can last with that bag over your head before suffocating to death?
I turn to leave, pick up my things. I turn back and glance down. I smirk. Your cock is still hard.
Does the thought of suffocating to death for me really turn you on that much? I suppose with the way you've
been staring at me this whole time I shouldn't be surprised. You've probably memorized every inch of my body by now haven't you? Big
mistake. Now I have to make sure you won't make it out of here alive. I remove a roll of tape from the duffel and tape the bag shut securely around your neck.
Now you're certain to suffocate and die before they find you. I tease you a bit, talking about your sweat, your breath, the look in your eyes. I should probably get going.
I glance down at your still hard cock, grab it through your pants, turn and sit on it. I grind and moan. It would be fun to stay, torment you, speed up your demise, considering how much trouble you're
having controlling your breathing with me on your lap. Unfortunately I have to leave - getting caught in a room with a corpse is bad for business.
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It's my first day on the job, you call me into your office. There's a problem with my wardrobe, a dress code violation. I'm not wearing pantyhose.
Actually, I am. I slowly dangle my heels and allow them to fall to the ground exposing my nylon feet.
I explain how my legs have gotten me in trouble in the past . . . I've had to do so much extra work with my male bosses reduced to drooling beasts at the sight of my legs. I thought I could turn over a new leaf, no more late nights & weekends spent catching up on projects.
If I show you that I'm wearing pantyhose, will you promise that there won't be any late nights at the office?
I slowly teases my pant leg up as you stares at my nylon feet. My calves. You're hard already. Embarrassingly hard. Obvious. I sigh.
See this is exactly what I'm talking about - if I walk around in a skirt over my pantyhose instead of pants, no one will be able to get any work done!
Oh, I see. Right. It comes from corporate, you have no choice.
I suppose I should head home and put a skirt on then.
Unless . . . what would you give to see the rest of my pantyhose, right now?
Anything, right? Don't pretend. It's obvious how hard you are.
How about a promotion? It's obvious you won't be able to get any work done with me around . . . I think the only way you'll be able to keep your promise about no late nights at the office is if I'm not working under you . . .
Mmmm good boy. I'm sure that comes with a hefty raise too, a corporate credit card.
I strip out of my pants, show off my legs, the curve of my ass.
See, I wasn't kidding. There's no way you're going to be able to think of anything but my legs as long as I'm around. Get a good look?
Good - I'll leave you alone now to "draft up the paperwork"
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You beg to be truly owned, to experience real, 24/7 submission, to be my permanent slave.
Of course you think you want that. You don't understand what that would really mean.
If I truly owned you, it wouldn't be all worship & tributes - I would own all that you currently possess, you would have nothing left to give. You would be my property, to do with as I please . . . I could do anything to you. Rent your holes, beat you to within an inch of your life. Turn you into a toilet. Castrate you. Kill you.
You still beg.
I remove my silver sandals & taunt you with my wrinkled soles. Say goodbye to my perfect feet. Once you are truly owned, there will be no more self serving "worship" sessions . . .
Men make the worst slaves. Always begging for attention. What is it that you think you have left to give? I already have all your money. You don't really want to be owned. You wouldn't be bothering me, wasting my time, if you were truly, selflessly serving me.
I offer to release you, back into the wild. Penniless.
You beg for a chance to better.
There's only one way. Only one way to truly serve me, without always putting your desires first - begging for attention, wanting to worship in ways you enjoy. We have to remove the source of your base desire.
Beg me to take your balls. Only as a true eunuch will your desire cease to be a distraction, your service be true and unselfish.
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You aren't paying as much attention to the disk I'm waving in your face as I had hoped. You seem completely uninterested in it's contents, actually. Instead you're staring at my nylon feet peaking out under my slacks. I can't say I'm surprised, I'm sure you've stroked it to me a thousand times. You should really be more concerned about keeping your job.
I can see I'm not getting through to you. I was trying to make it easy for you. I was going to let you just walk into HR and resign, take yourself out of the competition for my new position.
I dangle and drop my heels, tease my pant leg up, revealing my perfect nylon calves. You know, I don't wear pants because I'm a feminist. I find them quite restrictive, actually. No, the reason I wear pants, is that I took one look at you when I came to this company, and knew that if I didn't I would never get any work done.
I place my phone on the couch, it's filming you now. You don't notice.
I stand and drop my slacks, revealing your sheer to waist, gusset-less nylon fantasy. I bet you want to cum on my pantyhose, don't you? I invite you to stroke it as I pose for you, showing you my nylon ass, my perfect legs.
You cum and I have what I need. Your cum on my pantyhose. This video of you exposing yourself to me in your office. I suggest you brush up your resume. Save face by pretending you have a better offer.
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