Nylon Feet Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  I nodded. I did like it. I liked it a very great deal.

  “And now you’re thinking ‘What would it feel like? What would it feel like to have another woman do that to me?’” she said with a sultry purr.

  I nodded again. In fact, thinking about Kristy between my legs, devouring me with her mouth, soaking me with her tongue, was pretty much all I’d thought about for the last fifteen minutes. It had become mini-obsession. I needed someone to relieve the smouldering heat between my legs and I needed it soon.

  Mistress smiled. “You’re so predictable, girls like you,” she repeated. Her soft face hardened suddenly, eyes narrowing and lips thinning. “But we have business to attend to first, don’t we?”

  “Mistress?”

  “You took your shoes off on work property. You treated this like your own personal flophouse. You sullied the good name of J.Whitman with your dirty, sweaty pantyhose feet, all for your own personal comfort!” Her voice was brimming with anger. She didn’t seem to be playing around. Was it really that bad? Was it really such a crime to remove your shoes at nine o’clock at night?

  With a sinking feeling, I realized that this charade was just a pretext, an elaborate setup for a scenario she wish to engineer, as were most things in the complicated life of Lucy Cummings. My mind flashed back to the images on the laptop hard drive, focusing on a particular photograph of Kristy’s shapely bottom, exposed over the lap of her mistress, a delicate hand resting on the curve of her buttock, preparing for…

  “You need to be punished,” said Mistress, as if reading my mind.

  I felt a sinking feeling, unsure that I could take what was about to happen. Up until now, this curious evening had been all about pleasure. Could I handle the pain?

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said, in a lowered tone.

  She sat forward again, withdrawing her foot from my face, tapping my nose lightly with her big toe, then uncrossing her legs. She straightened her back and patted her knees.

  “Hop up,” she said pleasantly. This Jeckyl and Hyde act of hers was very disarming. One moment she was the embodiment of raging anger, the next she was sweetness and light. The difference was thrilling.

  I fell forward and crawled across to her, then lifted myself up onto her lap, feeling for all the world like a naughty schoolgirl - a feeling that I would come to cherish, in some peculiar way. Slithering forward, I came to rest with my arms folded beneath my breasts on the sofa and my legs on the floor to Mistress’s left. I tried to take some of my weight off Mistress’s legs, but I couldn’t get traction on the carpet with my stockinged feet. Instead, I relaxed and lowered my head, turning to face Kristy.

  My new sister in this strange sorority peered at me with a curiously mixed expression. Her flushed cheeks still burned with the fire of her orgasm, but her eyes hinted at both affection and jealousy. Did she wish she was here on Mistress’s lap instead of me?

  “You’re a good girl really, Sarah,” Mistress purred, lifting her hand to my bottom and gently caressing the curve of my buttock. I felt myself tense, but I also felt a shudder of pleasure ripple up and down my spine. Was it because of her touch? Or was it because she called me a ‘good girl’? “You’re a good girl, but sometimes even good girls need to be trained,” she said. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said, not lying. For some unfathomable reason, I accepted my fate, welcomed it even. At that moment, for reasons I couldn’t articulate if you’d given me a million dollars, I wanted only one thing - to be a good girl for Mistress. To have her praise me, to tell me I was special, to be the structure that my life was lacking.

  My mind wandered to my working life. How familiar these feelings seemed to me. Every time a boss or partner had commended my work, I felt the same. Every time I’d been told I’d done well, I felt the same. Mistress had chosen me well. She’d known me better than I knew myself.

  That soft touch left my bottom, leaving a warm absence and a trembling anticipation. I tensed my body.

  Her hand landed with a swish-crack sound that echoed around the room. Kristy flinched before I did, but the pain soon reached my brain and I cried out. “Ah!” I shouted, lifting my head and screwing my eyes shut.

  Rather than lifting her hand again, Mistress stroked the impacted area of my bottom, soothing it gently, adding confusingly pleasurable sensations to the harsh sting of pain. “Ssh,” she cooed, “there, there.”

  Then she reached forward and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. I yelped and pushed back with my feet, trying to find purchase on the floor, but to no avail. Her hand lifted and before I had chance to ready myself she slapped me again, and again, and again, three quick swats, growing in force.

  I screamed in pain as the electric sting of her hand amplified the agony in my bottom. Every nerve ending felt as though it was on fire now. I should, by rights, have been trying to get away, to prevent any further injury or damage. But my pussy overrode everything, holding me in place with its siren song of pure pleasure. How could I be enjoying this? I thought distantly, blinking away the warm, wet tears that had risen in my eyes.

  “Kristy, your sister is hurting. Attend to her,” said Mistress from far above me, returning her hand to stroke my ass once more.

  Kristy nodded. “Yes, Mistress,” and fell forwards onto all fours, covering the space between us with feline grace. I lifted my head to her and she touched her nose to mine. “It’s okay, Sarah,” she breathed, “it’s for your own good.” I could feel the sweet warmth of her breath on my face, on my cheeks, it was maddeningly compelling. Then she leaned down and touched her lips to mine, kissing me gently.

  The sensation of the kiss overwhelmed me. I inhaled sharply, drinking in the perfume of my new lover, forgetting all about the spanking and the pain in my ass. A thousand thoughts arose from that first, fleeting contact. The softness of her lips, the inevitable comparison with the kiss of a man, the desire for more. Driven by instinct, I returned her kiss, pressing myself against her, allowing my tongue to sneak out between my lips and flick at hers.

  Then Mistress lifted her hand once more and swatted me quickly. I gasped, pausing the kiss for the briefest of instants as the pain soared up my body. But I was ravenous now, and even agony wouldn’t stop me from getting what I wanted. Kristy reached forward and gripped my head, holding me in place while she solidified the kiss. Her tongue darted out to meet mine and danced between my lips, parting my mouth and forcing her way in. I allowed her, surrendering wholesale to her trespass, wanting her taste, her touch, her smell in every way I possible could.

  Swish-crack. Another stroke, harder this time, intense, like lightening. “Ah!” I said.

  The kiss deepened, my tongue pushed out, into Kristy’s mouth, our faces locked together now as if to form some gestalt entity of pure pleasure.

  Swish-crack. More pain, but by now the pain and the pleasure were indivisible, two sensations swirling together in an overloaded sensorium.

  I felt Mistress push between my legs, forcing her hand onto my pussy, pressing me, massaging my aching, throbbing clit through my dripping panyhose. I kissed Kristy harder, trying to conjure up the force I needed to push the growing orgasm over the edge. More pain, more pleasure, more stimulation, an assault from all angles.

  Swish-CRACK. The final stroke made me cry, forcing vicious tears from my eyes, soaking my cheeks. But Kristy was attending me and everything was fine. Moving from my mouth, she licked my face, lapping up the salty liquid of my hot tears. I let her, I wanted her, I wanted this… I was lost and I didn’t even care.

  “Enough pain, now let’s get down to business,” said Mistress. She pulled my head back, forcing my body off her lap to the floor beside her. Kristy sat back, awaiting instruction like a good slave, peering at me with dreamy fascination.

  I felt a tug in my hair and I fell forwards onto all fours, knowing instinctively what was needed of me, following along as Mistress walked me like a puppy on a leash. She marched me over to the low coffee table and pulled me
up, indicating that I should climb onto it. I did as she wanted, hopping up onto the low surface and turning to face her.

  “Lie down, on your back,” she said. Her face was flushed, she seemed out of breath, eager anticipation gripping her with a predatory expression. I rolled over and lay back. The coffee table was wide and square, long enough for my torso, but not my legs or my head. “Good, like that,” she said. Then she pivoted her body and stepped over my head as it hung over the edge of the table. Kristy joined us, crawling over to the table and kneeling beside us.

  “Kristy,” said Mistress, turning to the other girl. “Eat her pussy.”

  I felt a flush of anticipation.

  “Yes, Mistress,” replied Kristy with a nod and a wink. “May I rip her pantyhose?” she added.

  “You may.”

  My pussy sang out and I panted breathlessly. Hurry up. Hurry up.

  I glanced up, realizing that my head was between Mistress’s legs. Standing above me, the older woman was hitching up her skirt, revealing the tan lace of her stocking tops and the creamy flesh beyond. I gasped as I noticed she was wearing no panties and found myself gazing at the pink complexity of her pussy. Unlike Kristy, she wasn’t completely shaved. Instead, a patch of jet black hair was sculpted into a neat strip that rose from the top of her labia. She was soaking wet, I could see easily, tiny jewels of precious moisture twinkled in her pubic hair like morning dew on meadow grass. I wanted to taste that so badly.

  From the other end of the table, Kristy pushed my legs apart, positioning herself between my knees. I felt her hand touch my stomach and stroke down to my pussy. Her touch made me flinch with a reflex self-consciousness that surprised me. I’d had men go down on me before, but it was always a drunken fumble, laced with nervousness on my part and reluctance on theirs. And the result was barely satisfying. Men simply didn’t know how it worked down there, and showed no inclination to learn. I wondered, not for the first time, what a woman could do?

  The thought was interrupted when Mistress reached down and cradled my head in her hands, lowering herself into a squat, bringing my mouth upwards to her pussy. She was so close now, I could feel the heat of her, a damp warmth that made my own pussy rage. Her perfume was intoxicating, a rich cocktail of floral tones and raw desire.

  From far away, I heard a ripping sound and felt a cool draft on the burning ember of my sex.

  I began to feel like a rag doll, a limp mannequin caught between two pleasures, out of control, no longer in command of my destiny. And I loved it.

  Peering down at me, Mistress held me between her legs and studied my expression. Then she pulled upwards, forcing my mouth against her, smothering me in the wet flesh of her dripping sex. It was overwhelming, intense, a moist prison that covered my face and made me gasp in surprise. As if in choreographed unison, Kristy’s tongue began to lap at my pussy, sweeping through my lips from my hole to my clit in one long, drawn-out motion.

  I moaned, my voice muffled by the pussy of my mistress. My instincts kicked in within seconds and I began to probe her with my tongue, applying the quick-won knowledge I’d gained from Kristy’s cunt, minutes before. I was a quick study, eager to please, and Mistress cried out with pleasure at my skilled work.

  Deeper and deeper I plunged, finding her hole and pushing my tongue into it, making her howl and pull my head in tighter. Meanwhile, Kristy continued her sordid work, lifting my legs onto her back, coiling her arms around my thighs, locking her mouth on my sex. We became triplet of connection, a conduit of pleasure flowing from Kristy, through me, to Mistress, and I was the essential link in the chain. I doubled down, pushing her harder and harder, flicking her clit with the tip of my tongue. My body roared, my breasts ached, my nipples felt like bullets. My left hand rose to my chest, grabbing, kneading, massaging; my right hand gripped Mistress’s leg, feeling the soft warmth of her nylons beneath my fingers, the delicate lace of her stocking top and the silky smooth expanse of her bare flesh. I wanted to touch every part of her, I wanted to taste every part of her. I wanted to know Kristy and Kim and Sue, and all of the other secretaries that I knew would eventually be owned by Lucy Cummings. How could they resist? How could they not want this?

  I felt Kristy pull back and lay her fingers on my cunt; felt her stroking up and down with lazy caresses, then she pushed herself into me, a single finger at first, then two, then three. I felt my hole stretch, felt my body respond with waves of rapture. “Yes, yes, yes,” I moaned into Mistress’s slick lips. I sucked her labia into me, hunger driven by desire, fueled by pleasure, guided by instinct. Mistress responded with a low moan and I felt her legs grip my head. She began to ride my face, grinding herself against me, robbing me of agency. I let her use me as she would, let my tongue, my nose and my chin be the tools of her sinful craft. I was soaking, drenched in her wetness, sticky from my neck up to my hair. But I didn’t care. I wanted to drown in her, wanted to become part of her.

  Kristy rammed her hand into me, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, mixing this bold insertion with her eager tongue, lapping at my clitoris. I cried out, unable to control myself. I felt a rising force, a growing presence between my legs. I knew what it was and I wanted it so badly. I beckoned it forwards, spurred on my Kristy’s ministrations.

  Then I felt a change in Mistress, a quickening of motion, a sharp increase in heat. Faster and faster she worked on my face, dragging my tongue through her labia. Again and again her hips followed their rhythmic path, fucking my face until I thought I could take no more.

  “Yes! Yes you bitch! Lick that pussy! Lick your mistress’s cunt!” she cried, utterly unconcerned at the sound of her cries, lost in the rapture of the moment.

  Then, she stopped. Her entire body went tense, her legs felt like rock around my ears, her fingers gripped my hair tighter than ever. She pulled me upwards, closer, into her, almost as though she wished us to merge into one being. She cried out, a lone voice from far away. “Yes!” a single word, then a succession of quick pants.

  But Kristy didn’t falter. She sensed her moment and pressed down hard on my clit, releasing the pent up energy that had gathered there. I felt a momentary panic as the orgasm rose.

  “Mistress!” I cried, mouth still full of her come and her flesh. “May I? May I?” I panted, hoping beyond hope that she could hear me, that she would grant me the satisfaction I so longed for.

  “Yes, you little bitch, yes! Come for me! Come for your Mistress!” she sang as her own orgasm raged.

  I turned inwards and allowed the dam to break, releasing myself into the torrent of white energy that poured forth. It was overwhelming, terrifying. I felt my legs go tense, pulling Kristy down with a primal instinct that surprised me. I needed her on me, needed her in me, needed to share the glorious power of climax with her! I felt myself begin to shake, body spasming as every nerve ending was summoned to sensation.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” a voice sang from far away. I realized it was me.

  My vision went dark as the orgasm roared through me. I began to fear that I might not survive, that I might be overwhelmed by it, extinguished like a candle in the dark.

  Then it ended. Without warning or preamble, the energy left me. I fell back, limp and lifeless. My head rolled, released by Mistress as she fought her own deflation. I glanced over, lifting myself to peer at Kristy. The pretty blonde pantyhose sex slave was resting her chin on my stomach, gazing at me lovingly. Her face was slick with my juices, lipstick smeared and amok, eyes glistening. She looked beautiful in that moment, more beauty than my tired mind could stand. I wanted her, I wanted this.

  “Very good,” said Lucy Cummings, Mistress, breathlessly. She stepped away from me, lowering her skirt and straightening her hair. “Shall we go home?”

  Idly, I wondered where home even was. But it was never in doubt, not really. I was a pantyhose sex slave now. I lived wherever Mistress wanted me to.

  THE END

  Lesbian Pantyhose Gamer Girls

  by Ella Ford
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br />   Foreword

  A relationship is many things. Sex and intimacy, shared goals and mutual needs, heartache and trauma, joy and ecstasy. But a relationship is also a sharing of interests, of passions. The things you bring into a new love go beyond your material possessions, extending to your hobbies, the things you enjoy doing the most. Sometimes, in rare and wonderful cases, your partner will adopt your interests, making them her own, glimpsing some semblance of what you love the most in those often frivolous pastimes.

  In my relationship, my partner has not only adopted my love of rope bandage and my unique obsession with feet, but she has also embraced my love of opera, of fine coffee, of long Sunday mornings reading the papers in the sun room. In turn, I have developed an interest in her passions: her love of Death Cab for Cutie, European cinema and - pertinent to the book you are about to read - videogames.

  Videogames were always a thing that I was aware of, though they never really interested me. But when my partner took the time to show me what she loved about them, I became hooked. We play together now, and I take great pleasure in it. Not only that, but I love to watch her play; sitting cross legged before the TV, wearing nothing but sheer black pantyhose, as utterly transfixed by what is happening on the screen as I am by her.

  And so, this book. For me, mixing gaming and sex, particularly fetishistic sex, was a natural step; and the idea of two girls doing so seemed especially appealing. I hope I’ve got the details of the games correct, I wanted it to be as accurate as possible, creating a tribute to the girl I love the most. My partner has helped out in that regard, but if I missed a trick, I apologize. I know that gamers are as particular about their games as foot fetishists are about their toes!

  I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

  - Ella Ford, August 2017