by Ella Ford
I felt myself sigh and my head begin to swim. I felt so hot and wet, so utterly aroused. I wanted this woman like nothing else in the world, and it seemed as though she wanted the same. I stood up and slowly stepped across the room, admiring the tall, dark-haired beauty before me. She looked suddenly very powerful and controlling, even stripped of the height of her heels. I glanced down at her feet, her toes still slick and wet from my attention. I stopped before her and she reached forward and touched her fingertips to my blouse, barely a caress.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she breathed, and I was suddenly struck with the idea that she might be lying. Something about her tone, the cadence of her voice. I shuffled forwards until my body was against hers, wrapping my arms around her thin waist and pulling her towards me. I felt her leg hook around mine, felt the softness of her foot sliding up and down my calf muscle, heard a soft sigh as our pantyhose rubbed together. Then I leaned forwards and pushed my lips against hers, trapping her against the desk with my kiss, not giving her the option of escape.
She responded instantly, sliding her mouth against mine, flicking her tongue out to lick my lips. Her hand lifted to my face and she gripped my cheek with her hot palm, curling her fingers around my ear and plunging them into my hair. Suddenly, I was the one that was trapped. Her other hand gripped my hip, then slid around my body and snaked under my blouse, flesh meeting flesh and causing sparks of electricity to ripple between our eager bodies.
I felt myself being turned around, manipulated by the taller woman, until I was against the desk. It seemed like an unimportant and distant detail, something way down my list of priorities compared to the intensely passionate kiss and the roaming exploration of her hand on my midriff. Suddenly, she pushed me back, causing me to hop up onto the desk, perched on the hard surface with my bottom on the edge. Then she pushed me again, this time forcing me back onto my elbows.
Before I could respond, Ms. Danvers reached down and grabbed my right ankle, lifting my leg until my foot was inches from her face. The older woman breathed out and peered down the length of my limb, casually stroking her fingers down my tan pantyhose covered thigh. She appeared wild eyed and predatory, breathing heavily in quick, short pants.
“Is this what you like?” she purred, resting my foot on her shoulder and gazing at me with a hungry expression of utter longing. I nodded, following the motion of her hand as it brushed against my leg. Every time her fingers reached the hemline of my skirt, she pushed it up a little, revealing more of my thigh. I wondered idly where she would stop. Or if she would.
She reached down and lifted my other leg, raising it up to join the other one until she was gazing at me through the inverted ‘V’ of my raised limbs. I felt a flush of helplessness and total arousal. How had this situation changed so rapidly? I’d felt so in control just minutes before, so powerful and sensual. And now I was on my back, legs raised in the air, at the mercy of an older woman who seemed way more experienced than she was letting on.
Gripping my ankles, she lifted both my legs together and held them in place with a single, slender hand. Then she slowly teased my black stiletto pumps off my feet, dropping them to the floor without a second thought. I wiggled my toes, mirroring Ms. Danvers actions from before.
“Oh my,” said the raven haired woman, “they smell exquisite.” Then she leaned her head forwards and buried her face in my soles, breathing deeply. She emerged, flushed and blinking, peering at me around my raised legs. “I’ve never been into feet, not really my thing. Maybe I was wrong? Who knows?” she said. “I always preferred pussy,” she added, matter-of-factly, dropping her hand to my ass and pressing her thumb between my legs. “Nice and wet,” she added with a sultry smirk.
I closed my eyes and moaned, feeling suddenly very helpless as I lay there on the desk, caught in the unexpected trap of this obviously experienced older woman. The pressure of her hand on my pussy sent ripples of nervous energy through my body, and I found myself suddenly longing for the touch of her lips on my sex. She gazed at me, towering over my prone body, then she turned her head and swept her tongue along the length of my left foot, drawing it from the ball of my heel to the tip of my big toe. She closed her eyes as she did so, savoring the taste of me, lost in the bliss of female worship. She reached my toes and curled her neck around my legs showering my foot in hot, wet kisses, flicking her tongue out to lap and lick. Then she turned to me, eyes narrow and mouth set in a sultry smirk.
“You taste so good,” she purred, teasing her hand down the back of my leg, sending shivers up and down my spine. “But I think we should get you out of those pantyhose,” she added, rubbing her cheek against my soft, wriggling feet.
Without another word, she rested my feet on her shoulder and dropped her hands to my waist, hooking her fingers into the elasticated waistband of my hose. Then she slowly pulled the delicate hosiery over my ass and up my legs, gathering the thin material into a tan ball. As the pantyhose slipped off my feet, she took them and held them to her face, breathing deeply with her eyes held firmly shut. “Oh god, that smells so good.” She turned to me and her face adopted a sultry look of pristine innocence. “Would you like to smell them?”
I nodded, unsure of anything other than a strong need to obey this perplexing woman.
She pursed her lips and frowned. “Oh wait, there’s something I’ve forgotten,” she said, touching her palm to my ass and slipping a slender finger into my black lace panties. I lifted my hips in anticipation and she quickly slid my underwear over my legs and feet, then bunched them up into a tiny parcel.
“Sit up,” she commanded and I reacted instantly, unable to resist her controlling tone. I pushed myself up on my elbows and slid forward to the edge of the desk, aware of my skirt hitched up around my waist and the cold, hard surface pressed onto my pussy lips. “Open wide,” she said, holding the panties up before my face. I felt a mounting sense of unease, a curious feeling that I was in over my head. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d been with domineering women before, and loved to be used like a living plaything, but there was something curiously disturbing about Jamie Danvers’ sudden flip from nervous reluctance to seductive vixen. Did she do this a lot? I wondered to myself as I opened my mouth. Was this the secret lesbian subculture that I’d tried in vain to seek out in this company?
“Good girl,” she purred and rested her hand on my bare thigh. Then she lifted the panties to my waiting mouth and popped them inside, touching her index finger to my chin until I bit down on the cloying lace fabric. At once, my mouth was filled with the rich taste of my arousal, an intoxicating musk that drenched the underwear. I felt a shudder of anticipation, a hot jolt of uncertainty and excitement. I had no idea what was going to happen next.
Ms. Danvers reached down to the desk again and picked up my pantyhose, unravelling the bunch of tan material and stretching it into a nylon rope.
“You see, my dear, when I realized that my ex-husband, Eric, was rather - shall we say? - lacking in the sex department, I had to find new ways to excite myself. And it turns out that owning a PR company provides a person with a ready supply of young girls who are oh so eager to please. Girls like yourself.” She reached forward and lay the stretched pantyhose across my mouth, holding the panties in place with the nylon gag. “Lean forward,” she said and I bowed my head down onto her shoulder.
Ms. Danvers reached behind me and tied the pantyhose into a tight knot. Then she pushed my shoulders back and had me sit up straight, holding me at arm’s length and studying her handiwork.
“Perfect,” she beamed, then reached up and touched her fingers to my cheek. “One of the first things I discovered when I started to fully utilize the skills of my employees, was that I really liked the taste of pussy. Especially young pussy.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “I’m guessing that you’re no stranger to the thrill yourself - though maybe you prefer feet?” I made a muffled sound through the pantyhose gag. “I see,” she purred, stroking down my cheek
with a single fingernail. “The second thing I discovered was that young girls really like to scream out when they’re climaxing. Do you find that? Especially the straight girls, the virgins who have never known a woman’s touch before.”
I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant.
“So, you see, the need for the gag. I hope you don’t mind. The sounds coming from my performance review meetings were turning Christine’s hair white, poor thing!” I shook my head.
Then, without warning, she dropped her hand from my face down to my chest and roughly pushed me until I was lying back on the desk. I felt a surge of warmth leap up from my pussy, a feeling of utter helplessness, of being completely controlled by another. She reached down and grabbed my knees, lifting my legs and pushing me back onto the desk. I allowed myself to be manipulated, lifting my hands above my head and gripping my fingers together to signal my capitulation.
Ms. Danvers’ face was locked in an animalistic expression of hungry longing as she arranged my body to her needs. Her hands pawed at me, gripping my inner thighs and kneading the firm flesh there, then snapping my legs apart, revealing my pussy. She gazed down, tongue flicking out over her pink lips, eyes wide with hot desire. Then she calmly turned and gripped the wooden chair beside the desk and pulled it over by the straight back, taking her time, drawing out the moment of pleasurable release to an intolerable epoch. Never once did she take her eyes off my dripping sex, never once did her face lose that smouldering look of arousal and longing. Like a restaurant goer joining friends to eat, she casually placed the chair before me, positioning herself between my spread legs, then seated herself, studying the meal before her with hungry eyes.
I lifted my head, peering back at her with wide eyes, mutely pleading with her for the sweet gift of satisfaction. I was breathing quickly through my nose, stifled by my own underwear, the heady aroma of my arousal thrilling my senses in ways that I’d never dreamed possible. I reached down and dropped a hand between my legs, using my fingers to part my dripping wet labia, revealing the pink feast to my insatiable boss.
Ms. Danvers reached down suddenly and grabbed my hand, pulling it out of my pussy, then lifted my fingers to her mouth and sucked on my fingertips, lapping at the slick wetness and moaning. “You naughty girl!” she snapped with a sultry tone of stern disapproval. “No playing with my food!” she added, narrowing her eyes and flicking her tongue across my fingers.
Her eyes fell to my pussy and a flame arose in her gaze. She reached down and gently touched her finger to my clitoris, tenderly pressing down on the throbbing nub. I squirmed at her touch, hands reaching back behind me to grip the far edge of the desk. “Mmph,” I moaned, begging for more through the pantyhose gag.
“Do you like this?” she asked, sweeping her fingers through my sex, smearing hot wetness from my tight hole to my aching clit. I nodded urgently, pleading with my eyes. “What about this?” she purred, idly squeezing my clit between her index and middle fingers. I cried out as a jolt of pleasure rippled out from my pussy, forcing my eyes shut and pushing back with my head. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she added.
She paused and withdrew her fingers, sitting back in the chair. She began to nibble her lower lip, lowering her eyes like a virgin cheerleader. “If you’d like,” she breathed, “I could use my mouth?” I realized that she was imitating my clumsy seduction from earlier, mocking me as I lay there, exposed for her pleasure. I didn’t care. I wanted only to feel her wicked tongue on my sex. I nodded frantically, body writhing on the hard surface. She leaned forwards and lowered her head, gripping my legs with her hands. Then she slowly, deliberately, touched her mouth to my pussy, laying a tender kiss on my burning lips. She lifted her eyes and peered at me over my breasts. “Like that?” she drawled in a childish voice. “Or like this?” she growled, casting aside the persona of innocence and flipping instantly into sex vixen mode.
She plunged forward without a second of hesitation, burying her tongue in my cunt and lapping at me furiously. She was like a wet whirlwind, a flurry of attention that didn’t settle on a single point, flicking between my clit, my lips, my slick entrance. My pussy exploded with the frantic thrill of sensation, sending electric pulses out into my body, energizing my nerve endings and firing every synapse. I pushed my head back, arching my spine as the intense energy spread through my body. My voice rose in a low moan, curtailed by the pantyhose gag and the suffocating underwear in my mouth, but audible nonetheless. I felt my hands clamp down on the desk’s edge, knuckles made white by the intolerable tension in my body. And still she worked - devouring my dripping pussy, sucking my lips into her mouth, pressing on my clit with a skilful tongue, never settling into a single rhythm, never letting up the maelstrom of attention.
Suddenly, I felt myself being penetrated. An insistent push into my pussy hole, light at first, a single finger, but quickly joined by more. She began to drive her hand into me. Two fingers, then three, then four, each maddening addition stretching me open and filling me deeply. Every thrusting drive of her wrist sunk her hand further into my slick hole, causing my body to quake with each violent entry. And all the while, her tongue darted across my clit, moving in quick, tight spirals, continuing her assault on two fronts until I could bear it no longer.
From deep inside me, a familiar presence rose. Looming out from my midriff, a runaway train of pure energy. As my pussy was violated and pounded, I sensed the presence picking up speed, gathering pace until it rode at my consciousness with unstoppable velocity. I tried to turn it away, tried to ride the moment for as long as I could, not yet willing give up the intoxicating feelings that were rushing through me. I screamed, a muffled moan through dripping wet pantyhose. I thrashed my head from side to side, something, anything to avoid the embrace of my approaching climax. But it was too late, the pulsating bullet of my orgasm penetrated my mind and triggered a chain reaction of sensation, a blossoming fireball of pure white light.
My body rose off the desk, arms thrashing out to the side. I became distantly aware of a crashing sound, stationery and papers being knocked off to the floor as my orgasm gripped me. I didn’t care, couldn’t care, my mind was only capable of comprehending the irresistible force of pleasure that had overtaken me. I fell back, slamming my palms on the desk, arms and legs spasming and twitching as phantom forces animated my muscles. “Mmph, mmph!” I cried out, desperate to release some of the hot, molten energy that gripped me.
And then it was over. The train disappeared over the horizon of my consciousness. As the orgasm faded, my body collapsed down onto the table, legs splayed out to the side, exposed pussy cooling like a fading campfire. I snorted through my nose, sucking cool air into my lungs and struggling to regain my composure.
I glanced between my legs. Ms. Danvers was gazing at me, casually wiping her smeared lips with her fingers, removing the slick wetness that coated her chin and cheeks. She looked at me and smiled, beaming at me with viperous intent.
“I’ve decided to keep you around, Rebecca. You seem to be overcoming your social awkwardness and introversion.” I nodded, not understanding what she was talking about at first, then realizing that she was referring to my performance review. Everything seemed unimportant and distant compared to the fading memory of my orgasm. “And one more thing,” she added, standing up and moving the chair back to its former position. “I’m going to give you a client account of your own to manage. It’s a difficult client, but one I think you, in particular, will appreciate.”
Then she tittered to herself and wandered back to the comfortable chairs in the corner, collecting her papers and picking up her shoes, continuing her business as though having a gagged intern with an exposed pussy on her desk was the most normal thing in the world.
Maybe for the Jamie Danvers of the world, it was.
Business Lunch
April, 2015
“Look around you Rebecca, what do you see?”
I glanced around the crowded bistro. We were on the outdoor patio, a pretty, manic
ured retreat, enclosed by lush, creeping vines on tastefully arranged trellises. Here and there were small wrought iron tables and chairs, populated by small groups of serious looking people with crisp looking clothes, engaged in serious looking conversations about things that were way above my pay grade.
I turned back to our table and the woman sitting opposite me. We were off to the side, tucked away in a corner of the patio, partially hidden by a sprawling fern. “I’m not sure, ma’am,” I said honestly.
“Please, call me Abi,” smiled the older woman, pausing to take a sip of her coffee. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, barely able to believe where I was.
The woman I was sharing a casual afternoon coffee with was Abigail Hausman, CEO and founder of Endless Legs Hosiery Inc., leading manufacturer of fine pantyhose, tights and stockings for the whole of the US. But for all their leading position in the market, Endless Legs was an organization in deep trouble.
“Let me give you a clue,” continued Abi Hausman, turning her head and taking in the assembled groups of men and women. “I want you to focus on the women.”
I followed her gaze, wondering what she was getting at. I found myself staring at a pair of women, seated at a similar small table to the one were sitting at, alternating sips of coffee with quiet whispers and smiles between friends. I tried to focus on the detail of what I was seeing. The women looked superficially similar, expensive haircuts and makeup that must have taken hours to apply. They looked like real estate agents perhaps, where a house sale was strangely dependent on the pristine appearance of the person hawking it. I followed the line of their bodies, their crisp, pressed business suits, matching blazers and skirts and high heeled shoes. Middle-aged blouses that were somehow sexy and conservative. Muted pastel shades, an attempt at femininity in an essential bold and masculine outfit. Long, tanned, toned, bare legs…
