by Ella Ford
She finally found what she was looking for and pointed at the icon, making a maddeningly cute “pew pew” sound under her breath. She turned to me while the game loaded. Her nipples were rock hard, her cheeks were flushed and rosy, I could see a faint trace of glimmering wetness between her legs. “Come!” she demanded. After a short moment of confusion, I realized what she meant. I lifted myself from the couch again and moved to the space before the TV, standing beside her, still clutching the white “dildo” in my hand.
On the screen, several simplistic characters frolicked around. I noticed that one of them looked a little like Lana… and one of them looked a little like me. “Are they...?”
She nodded. “I made you one!”
She pointed at the screen and selected an option. A green field appeared. Lana’s likeness stood off in the distance and my character stood closest to us. Realization dawned. My gamer instincts suddenly understood what the white object I was holding was for.
Lana turned to me and smirked. “It’s tennis,” she said, stating the obvious. “I want us to play together, I’ve missed playing together.” She paused and touched her white remote to her lips. “And later, when we’re good and sweaty, I want to fuck your brains out.”
I gasped and nodded. Lana’s ability to transition between girly princess and depraved bitch seemed unchanged in the time we’d been apart.
We started to play, prancing in front of the screen like children. Every time I moved my arm, the little Abby on the screen moved in unison. It was difficult at first, hard to gauge the timing, but I soon got the hang of it. Every point scored, by either of us, was met with gentle goading, a friendly and familiar competitiveness that had been the hallmark of most of our games nights when we were together; every teasing interaction heightened the tension between us. Most of all, it felt right, it felt normal, it felt like slipping on an old and well loved pair of shoes. Lana and me, mixing gaming and sex, bringing our two most cherished obsessions together in a gloriously elaborate foreplay.
At one point, I glanced around, catching sight of our faint reflection in the large picture window. Two bodies together, hot forms in tight nylon, unconcerned or unashamed, moving like poetry, dancing like song, the majestic curve of her bottom, my flushed breasts, her perfect painted feet. We occupied two bodies, but we made one whole. Each complementing the other, filling out the character sheet of our existence with our merged properties. Oh god, it felt so good.
We played like this for an hour, growing in skill, gaining in speed, each evenly matched with the other. And then, a final match, a final tense battle of flailing limbs and aching muscles. The deciding point went long, a frantic battle of attrition, multiple close shots that could have ended it, but which were deftly recovered. I swung my arm in a backhand motion, hoping to catch her off guard. She returned with a lunge, and almost caught me napping but I quickly recovered. Back and forth, back and forth, then Lana hit a long ball to the corner of the court and I moved quickly to my right, crashing into her. We became tangled, a sprawling mess of arms and legs. We stumbled to side, collapsing onto the long sofa, rolling as we landed. The two white remotes fell from our hands to the floor below and I ended up lying on Lana’s pinned body, gazing at her, faces inches apart.
“I concede,” I breathed.
“Call it a draw,” she added with a sigh.
She felt warm beneath me, her skin slick with perspiration. Our legs slid together, nylon on nylon, gentle swishing sounds telling the tale of that enticing friction. I held off for as long as I could manage, wanting to prolong this sweet capitulation for as long as I could. She gazed up at me, willing me to do it, willing me to end the long and terrible years of separation with a kiss. I could feel her breath on my lips, warm and urgent. My pussy raged, demanding action, demanding motion. But I held off, feeling her chest heaving beneath me, feeling her nipples rubbing against mine. The weight of sensation was intolerable, intoxicating, I never wanted it to end. This moment, this glorious moment, the moment I’d dreamed about for three long years.
Then we kissed. Just like that, our mouths came together, lips touching briefly at first, barely any contact, but returning quickly to lock in place. I pushed out my tongue, hungry for her, desperate to taste her, to regain what I’d once held so dear. She met me between us, dancing between our lips, vying for advantage as we’d battled in the tennis game minutes before. We rolled over, slick bodies sliding together, Lana on top of me now. She grabbed my breast, squeezing me, inflaming the heightened sensation of my aching nipples. I plunged my fingers into her hair, holding her head in place, shifting the kiss to probe her deeper. She tasted like summer, like Christmas, like night and like day. Every possible sensation was encapsulated in the sense of her and she consumed me utterly.
I felt her hand push between my legs, an urgent clawing, forcing my thighs apart, fingers on my pantyhose, pressing down on my clit. I moaned and closed my eyes.
She pulled back, panting quickly. Her face was glowing red, the lines of her lips smeared and blurred. She looked like desire, like passion, an avatar of need.
“Foot,” she breathed and I knew instantly what she meant, because I wanted it too. First came games, then came feet, then came… Oh god, it felt good to be home.
We came apart briefly, hands trailing over glowing skin. She pivoted, turning herself so that her bottom was facing me, pushing out her ass and pussy. I could see the puffy bulge of her labia between her legs, framed in the tan nylon of her pantyhose like a portrait. She was glistening wet, damp with desire, and my own sex ached at the sight of her. She turned over and positioned her head at my feet, peering at my twitching toes with endless fascination.
I parted my legs and she rearranged again, lying on her back, sliding her right leg between my thighs until we interlocked like scissors. Then she gripped my ankle and moved my foot to her face, peering at me over my dark crimson toenails. I mirrored her action, taking her heel in my hand, shifting down until her sole was close to my nose. We looked at each other for an eternity of seconds, neither of us daring to breathe, the tense calm before the storm.
“I missed you so much, Abby,” she said, closing her eyes. “There was nobody else that… well, this,” she added, touching her nose to my toes.
I nodded. “I know,” I whispered. And in that moment, perhaps more than at any time in the past, I realized that were made for each other. This strange fetish, this peculiar fascination, this mutual desire acted out in our own little ritual. This was us, we were this, and nothing could come between us again.
An unspoken signal flashed between us, a permission granted, a contract signed. I pulled her towards me, burying my nose in her foot, breathing her in like a drowning woman. Her aroma filled my nose, sweat and perfume and rich soap. It was intoxicating, a dizzying cocktail of pure Lana. I felt my thoughts blur, felt my vision collapse to this flexing delight before me. I touched her to my cheek, relishing the damp warmth of her, the gentle prod of her toes on my face, then I kissed her, allowing my lips the gift of her taste, salty and musky and wonderful. My lips closed around her toes, nibbling at her, plucking her nylon hose with my teeth, feeling her squirm at my touch.
I forced myself to open my eyes as I worshipped her, gazing down the length of my body at Lana. She was lost in my feet, her pretty face peeking out from behind my toes, smelling me, tasting me, licking me. For an instant, she opened her eyes and we locked together, hot lust flashing between in a millisecond, a statement of intent, a confirmation of capitulation. Then I turned back to her foot and continued my feast.
With every lick or lap or playful nibble, our bodies came closer together. The interlocking mechanism of our nylon covered legs clicking into place, instincts of desire causing us to pull closer, needing the intimate touch of contact. Finally, I felt a slow friction between my legs as her pussy slid against mine. I glanced up to find her hips grinding, intensifying the pressure of her presence with the gentle scissoring motion. I reached down, needing to feel the
satisfaction of flesh on flesh. I clawed at my pantyhose with my nails, forgetting the expensive cost of the sheer garment, opening a wide rip from thigh to thigh, silently relieved at my bold decision to not wear panties. Then she was on me, without warning or hesitation, her slick pussy against mine, the merging of wetness in the motion of the grind.
I cried out, holding her toes against my lips, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Intense waves of pleasure roared out from between my legs with every rhythmic movement of her body. I wrapped my arms around her leg, pulling her towards me, tightening the link between us. She did the same and we became an inseparable being with one body, a being that existed for one purpose only: pleasure.
Again and again the throbbing nub of her clit rolled against mine, lubricated by the mingling wetness of our pussies, each brief contact pushing down on my aching sex and making me cry out in utter ecstasy. Faster and faster our bodies began to move, a perfectly tuned machine, the industrialization of sapphic togetherness. The weight of sensation was unbearable. Her mouth on my toes, her hand on my leg, her pussy on my pussy. The boiling warmth between my legs raged and rolled, sending hot ribbons of molten lava through my veins, pricking at every tortured nerve ending, ever building, ever growing, a looming presence that couldn’t be ignored.
I glanced at Lana and she glanced back, an unspoken instruction passed between us, the intuition of lovers. I pulled myself away from her, ignoring the aching moan from my pussy as her warm flesh slid away. I turned around and swung my leg over her, positioning myself above her body with my head over her pussy and my pussy over her head. She reached up and grabbed my hips, pulling me down onto her with an urgency that could not be resisted. We came together in a tight clinch, her mouth between my legs, my mouth between hers. A compelling symmetry, a never-ending ring of hot, sweaty pleasure.
Without a moment of hesitation, I plunged my tongue into her and she did the same to me. I felt the taste of her sex flooding my senses, the unique thrill of my own flavor mingling with hers. I lapped at her, probing her familiar folds with my eager mouth. I felt her return the favor, halting at first, enjoying this glorious reunion like a meeting of two old friends. But we soon quickened the pace, pulling our bodies closer together, moving our tongues faster and faster in perfect harmony.
I shifted back, focusing on the bulge of her clit, feeling her body respond beneath me, pushing her hips up to me. I wrapped my arms around her thighs, locking myself in place, relishing the velvet softness of her pantyhose. My tongue moved in quick circles, tracing urgent arcs over her most sensitive spot, re-learning rusty techniques that I’d never really forgotten.
Faster and faster with every passing second, bodies moving as one, tongues dancing a familiar dance. The presence between my legs grew, a pulsating warmth, a white heat that ached and rolled. I tried to push it away at first, tried to ignore it, but it demanded attention and in the end I capitulated, allowing it to build and grow unchecked.
I sensed Lana’s body tense beneath me, instinctively knowing that her orgasm was near, needing to feel her climax beneath me like nothing I’ve ever wanted before. I pushed down on her, grinding her clit, probing her tight little hole. She did the same to me, chasing the same end.
“Ah, ah, ah,” we both cried, a chorus of mutual pleasure, singing out into the wide room.
Lana went first, but I was close behind. Her body became suddenly hard, muscles pulling tight in one glorious release of energy. She wrapped her thighs around my head, gripping me tightly, pushing me over the edge of my own approaching precipice.
My pussy exploded like a supernova. Intense waves of pure pleasure roared out and ignited every tortured nerve ending. I felt myself spasm, as if given an electric current, my legs pulled together, a desperate attempt to end the debilitating sensations between my legs. I cried out, lifting my head up and back, away from Lana’s spasming pussy. I heard her voice join mine, but the detail seemed distant and unimportant. My thoughts became dislocated, concentrating only on sensation. I felt myself becoming dizzy and dim, my entire being consumed by the raging wind of the climax as it raced through my body.
Without thinking, I reached out and gripped Lana’s nylon covered foot, feeling her flinch at my touch, feeling her toes bending backwards as she fought the intensity of her own climax.
Then it ended. The energy left me like a departing storm, leaving only devastation in its wake. I collapsed to the side, rolling off Lana to lie beside her, still gripping her twitching foot in my hand. Our bodies lay like that for endless minutes, muscles twitching, breath quick and labored, skin glistening wet with perspiration, bathed in the cold glow of the TV screen.
In time I turned and lay beside my lover, bodies coming together like spoons, my breasts against her back, arms cradling her like a child.
“I’ve missed this,” I whispered, breathing into her ear.
“Me too,” she replied and I could imagine her smile though I couldn’t see her expression.
“I love you Lana,” I said. “I never stopped loving you.”
“I love you too Abby,” she replied, gripping my arm, pulling me closer. “But we really have to talk about your Warcraft addiction!”
THE END
Lesbian Pantyhose Therapy
by Ella Ford
Prologue
The pretty girl kneels before me, naked and still. Her head is lowered, eyes down, gazing at a point equidistant between her body and my feet. Her arms are folded neatly behind her back, pushing her body forward provocatively. Her breathing is long and measured, a rhythmic cadence of inhale and exhale, causing her chest to rise and fall with metronomic precision. I look on, as captivated by the sight of her as I was the first time, so many months ago.
I fixate on her breasts, as I always do. Perfect orbs of creamy flesh, unblemished, nipples pulled taut and rigid, though it is not cold. There is a slight flush on her skin, a pink glow that lights her neck, framing the black leather collar that she wears with a ruddy hue. I can almost feel the hunger radiating off her in pulsing waves. I know beyond certainty how much she longs to lift her eyes from the floor and gaze at my feet.
I shift in my seat, momentarily stirred by the familiar revelation of her desire. I uncross my legs and recross them in the opposite direction. The motion creates an almost imperceptible sound, the soft swish of nylon on nylon as my thighs brush together. The girl sighs. I know that this sound excites her more than anything. I know this because she has told me. She has told me this and so much more; halting confessions teased out with skill and patience, tokens of trust exchanged for words of reassurance, encouragement.
“Mistress,” says the girl. I am old enough to be the girl’s mother, and then some. It doesn’t seem to bother her.
“Yes, Kelly, honey,” I purr, enjoying the familiar fit of the fantasy.
“Mistress, I had the dream again last night.”
“Tell me about the dream, Kelly,” I reply, sitting back in my seat, resting my chin on my upturned palm. The entry point to this scene is the same every time we play it, an echo of that first conversation back in the lives we used to live. But the end point is always different. I wonder which way Kelly would take it this time.
“I’d been a bad girl, Mistress,” she says, pushing forward her lower lip with petulant disdain. The word “bad” is drawn out and labored, a girlish intonation that makes me shudder with warm anticipation.
“What had you done, honey?” I say, fishing for details in that familiar way.
“I...” she begins then pauses and glances up at me, eyes wide with credulous innocence. Her honey blonde hair is held up in two rough bunches with pretty pink ribbons that brush against the soft skin of her bare shoulders. “In the dream,” she corrects herself, “I got caught looking in your secret drawer, Mistress, the one with your toys in.”
I raise my eyebrows. Kelly uses these confessions to communicate her desires to me. I wonder what sinful need her body cries out for today.
“You know you�
�re not supposed to look in that drawer, Kelly,” I scold her. “That is Mistress’s special place.”
“I know, Mistress,” she replies lowering her head and looking heartbroken. I want to fuck her face so badly at that instant. A flush of familiar guilt rises in my body.
“And what punishment did you receive?” I add, knowing that the sordid act that Kelly described will be what I do to her over the coming hours. Such is the pattern of the fantasy.
“Mistress…” she says, then trails off, glancing to the side as though unable to decide on a meal to order for dinner. “Mistress made me worship her feet,” she says, her usual opening gambit. “Then she spanked me, then we played tie-up, then she… then she put the toys inside of me. In my… in my private place.” Her voice is low and secretive, as though confessing a childish crime.
The girl is breathing quickly now, unburdened of her desires, the therapeutic request for satisfaction offered and accepted. I peer at her with hungry eyes, feeling the glowing heat of my desire boiling between my legs.
Kelly acts like a young girl and she called me “Mistress”. Does that shock you? Does it shock you that we play these roles to fulfill needs and cravings that each of us possessed in equal measure? Does it shock you that our mutual fantasy is that of an abuse of power, the misuse of trust? Does it shock you, then, that I first found my way into the life of this eighteen year old beauty through such an abuse of power? Does it shock you that she was my patient and I was her doctor? Does it shock you, or does it thrill you? Do you condemn my thoughts and actions, or do you envy them? That I would take advantage of the trust she placed in me, that her family placed in me?
It shocks me, if I am perfectly honest with you. It shocks and disgusts me, what I did, what I continue to do and how it makes me feel.
I lift my foot and flex my toes back, causing my expensive shoe to slide off my heel and dangle in the air between us. Kelly looks up with a sigh and gazes at the swinging shoe with wide eyes and parted lips. The silver ring that hangs from her leather collar catches the late evening light and twinkles in the amber glow. She looks radiant, she looks ready, and all of the thoughts of regret and guilt and disgust are swept away without a second thought.
