by Ella Ford
And then something triggered inside me and all hell broke loose. Wave after wave of molten pleasure exploded from my pussy, washing over me in a deluge of pure ecstasy. I screamed out, unable to contain the tension in my body, expressing the energy of the orgasm in the only way I knew. My body began to shake, newly animated muscles rocking and jolting, limbs becoming tense and hard. I pulled back, unable to take the sensation of touch on my burning pussy any longer. The two girls rode my pleasure, turning on each other and kissing wildly, tongues lapping at each other to sample the exquisite taste of my lustful juices. The sight of them cavorting before me and the continuing eruption of my orgasm was too much and I felt myself starting to blackout, unable to stand the continuing escalation of sensation, unable to accommodate the endless song of my womanly desire.
But the orgasm ended before I lost my tenuous grip on this reality and I felt my body released from its intense grip. I collapsed down onto the sofa, legs splayed to the side, muscles twitching and firing with phantom aftershocks. I felt my skin erupt in a light sheen of perspiration, felt my eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Kat and Ashley turned to me and smiled demurely, arms wrapped around each other, hands pawing at each other’s bodies. For long minutes, they granted me the courtesy of respite. Then Kat spoke first.
“Now, you do us,” she purred with a sultry wink.
Oh boy, I thought, I love my job.
Epilogue
And it was completely true. I really did love my job. After all, what was there to not love? My boss, Ms. Danvers, was a wild dominatrix, a power hungry vixen who liked nothing more than to dominate her underlings, including myself. And after I introduced her to the intoxicating pleasures of foot love, I found myself invited to more and more meetings with her, and frequently asked to stay behind after hours, worshipping her pantyhose legs and being drilled over the desk by the irresistible minx while my colleagues slept in bed at home.
Meanwhile, my favorite client, Abigail Hausman and Endless Legs Hosiery, went from strength to strength. Spurred on by the injection of youthful vitality and intriguingly ambiguous sexuality that I’d given them sales of pantyhose went through the roof in the next six months. More and more I would see women of every age and shape going about their everyday lives, legs shimmering in the midday sun, pretty painted toes beneath soft nylon material, plainly visible in open-toed sandals. It caused quite a stir in the stuffy fashion magazines, let me tell you! For her part, Abigail Hausman continued her sexual awakening, inviting me to her plush mansion for a long weekend of hot sapphic exploration under the guise of discussing next year’s campaign. Well, I guess we were, kinda.
And what of Kat and Ashley? Well, the sensual pair of aspiring actresses became hot lovers, becoming the talk of the town after several extraordinary shows of public affection and mutual appreciation for soft pantyhose. But their relationship was strong enough to entertain the notion of a threesome every now and again, and I often found myself receiving a text message in the dead of night:
Now, you do us! A&K x
So the working world didn’t turn out too badly after all. But as winter turned to spring and spring turned to the early bloom of summer, I found myself thinking further afield. I needed to get away for a while, and I had a month of vacation time banked and days owed for all of the overtime I did in the Endless Legs campaign.
Maybe it was time to pack my bag and head off to see this fine, horny country of ours? Maybe it was time to take a pantyhose roadtrip!
THE END
Pantyhose Road Trip
by Ella Ford
Prologue
The satin blindfold brushed against the end of my nose, causing a distant urge to sneeze. I scrunched my face, trying in vain to reposition the silky material so that it wasn’t so damnably distracting, but it wouldn’t move. I tried again to reach my head with my hands, but the restraints around my wrists held me in place, securing my arms above my head against the cold surface of the coffee table. I relaxed and tried to ignore the tickling and the feeling of helpless exposure that being tied down was causing.
Suddenly, from between my legs, a humming presence whirred into life. I moaned, a brief protest that was quickly curtailed as the intolerable waves of sensation rose from my pussy.
The wand vibrator had been strapped to the inside of my thigh and tightened in place so that the bulbous head was pressed up against my sex. With my ankles bound to the far corner of the low coffee table with leather straps, I was locked in a position that held the throbbing toy against my clit. Any attempt to move my legs succeeded only in massaging the vibrator over my pussy and intensifying the sensation. So I tried to keep still.
This was the eighth time the wand had activated and my body was beginning to feel the effects. I so desperately wanted to come, wanted to feel the sweet release of orgasm. My skin was slick with perspiration and glowing hot to touch; my muscles were tense with the growing reservoir of energy that rippled through my aching limbs. I squeezed my eyes shut beneath the satin blindfold, tried to clear my mind of everything except the hint of climax that I could plainly feel. I wanted it so badly, wanted to feel my body explode in its sordid grip. And I could feel it growing, pushed on by every hot pulse of the wand vibrator, sliding over my slick pussy at one hundred revolutions per second. Closer and closer, with every passing second the orgasm loomed larger. I could feel it on me, could anticipate the overwhelming white-noise of release. If only I could get there, if only I could let it take me. Closer! Closer! Yes! Yes!
Then the wand vibrator shut off, falling back into inanimate lifelessness, becoming little more than a plastic object strapped to my leg. I panted and moaned in tangible frustration, feeling the orgasm sink and recede into the lower reaches of my consciousness. I shuddered as the drying sweat on my skin evaporated and removed the heat from my body. I tugged against the restraints, knowing it was useless but needing to do something, anything to release the tension in my body. The only thing that stopped me from losing control and forcing my way out of the padded restraints was the sure fire knowledge that in ten minutes the vibrator would pulse back into life once more and the whole tantalizing, frustrating torture would be repeated. And maybe next time I would reach the sweet embrace of release. But only if she wanted it.
I felt myself begin to relax, sinking back onto the coffee table’s surface. This was a hell of a way to end a road trip, I thought to myself with an inward smile.
I flexed my toes and felt the soft material of my black pantyhose stretch. They felt so soft and silky, a feeling I knew only too well. It was my pantyhose that had gotten me into this sordid mess in the first place, how I’d been introduced to Mistress Tasha, how she’d brought me to her suburban home and dominated me like her good little foot slut.
I shuddered again, half in anticipation and half in recollection. I felt my mind wandering, roaming back over my trip, reliving the sensual encounters I’d had along the way. Back to the beginning, back to the dusty desert highway and the shimmering mirage by the side of the road up ahead. Back to Willow...
The Hitchhiker
June 16th, 2016
The dusty desert highway stretched out before me like a pristine razor’s edge, disappearing over the distant horizon in a haze of orange and dappled pink. The long light of early evening cast sharp shadows from sparse trees by the side of the road as the rich azure sky faded to deeper tones. It was an eerie and serene scene, quite breathtaking.
My road trip had taken me from verdant, rolling foothills, through high mountain passes, down barren, endless scrub and into the glorious desolation of the high desert in the space of just a few days. I felt free and alive, emboldened and energized by the solidarity and the expanse that I found myself in. With nothing else on the road before or behind me, I floored the gas pedal on my rented Prius, feeling the vehicle purr with a quiet power and push my body back into the comfortable, moulded seat with a gentle shove. With every notch gained on the speedometer I felt the pressures of my life sl
ip away from me, replaced by the a unique sense of freedom and possibility. I was alone, free, and the country stretched out before me, a carpet of potential.
In the near distance, several miles up ahead, I caught sight of a curious anomaly. A dark, upright shape by the side of the road, shimmering in the desert heat. I craned my neck forwards to see better, struggling to make out what it was, intrigued by this out of place apparition. The car slowed as I eased my foot off the gas.
After half a mile, the form coalesced somewhat, solidifying into a recognizable shape that possessed identifiable features but no fine detail. It was a person, with a single outstretched arm in the classic hitchhiker stance. Distantly, I pondered what a person was doing this far out. The last town I’d passed was tens of miles behind us and the infrequent, battered signposts reminded me that the next one was many horizons ahead.
Another half a mile and I began to discern details. The hitchhiker was a girl; tall and lithe with long limbs and a chestnut mop of curly hair tied back on her head in a lazy bun. She was wearing a simple white vest that contrasted against the tanned skin of her outstretched arm. On her back, she carried a small backpack and wore large aviator sunglasses on her almond face. But it was her long legs that attracted my attention. Her denim shorts were cut off high on her shapely thighs, drawing attention to the long sweep of her limbs, clad in thick black pantyhose. As I watched, she took a single step forward, resting on her left foot, dusty walking boots kicking up a light puff of desert dust and presenting me with a tantalizing view of her coltish leg. Even here? I thought to myself with a frantic thought that was half exasperation and half excitement.
The distance between us melted away and I felt myself wrestling with indecision. Did I stop? Every rational instinct told me to keep driving. But over the last few years, my rational instincts seldom won out in internal debates against my desires. The hitchhiker waved her thumb up and down and flashed me a pristine smile, white and beaming against the dusty tan of her face, and my mind was made up.
I slowed the car to a crawl and pulled up beside her, rolling the passenger side window down.
“Hi!” I said cheerily. “Need a lift?”
“Oh boy, do I ever,” said the girl, her accent a misplaced southern drawl that suited her lazy, desert-worn appearance perfectly. “Where ya heading sugar?”
I turned and looked down the road before us, then shrugged. “Vegas. Eventually. Tonight, I was just going to stop when I couldn’t go any more.”
The girl smiled, a warm, infectious grin that made me shudder. “My kinda gal,” she nodded, exaggerating her accent purposefully. I felt myself relax, sensing that the hitchhiker was good people, confident that I’d at least have an interesting travelling companion to while away the long hours. “Mind if I join you?” she said, gesturing at the car door.
“Sure,” I replied, “throw your pack in the trunk. I’m Becky, by the way.”
“Hey! I’m Willow,” she said with a captivating flourish, turning on her heel and disappearing around the back of the car.
I gripped with steering wheel and took a deep breath. Today had taken a very unexpected turn.
---
“So what are you doing out here?” I asked, making small talk, but fueled by genuine interest. We were back on the road, heading on down the endlessly straight desert highway, fleeing from the sinking sun to our backs.
Willow looked at me, her sunglasses now resting on her mop of chestnut hair, revealing large, green eyes that twinkled in the fading light of dusk. She blinked, then screwed up her nose. “Bad choices honey, bad choices,” she said with a knowing smile. The girl seemed about my age, but her speech and mannerisms suggested someone much more worldly.
I nodded and smiled, allowing her time to tell her tale.
“I picked up a ride back in Sinosa Pines,” she said, referring to a dusty, two street town fifty miles back. “Some jerk truck driver with bad ideas,” she added, narrowing her eyes and shuddering. “Sometimes, being fifty miles from the nearest town in the middle of the desert seems like a better idea, you know?”
I nodded again. “Yeah, I know.”
“What about you? What’s a city gal like you doing driving the desert backroads?”
I bristled slightly at the casual way she’d identified my origins. I’d thought I was dressed in the free-spirited style of a carefree traveller. But compared to Willow, my pristine khaki shorts and perfectly pressed white t-shirt made me look like a catalogue caricature of an adventuresome spirit. Not to mention the Prius I was driving.
“I guess I just needed to get away from things for a while,” I replied sullenly.
“A guy?” she said narrowing her mouth in sympathy.
I shook my head and snorted. “No, not a guy. My job.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in marketing. I, uh, help people sell things.” My mind flashed back to Abigail Hausman and her newly awakened lesbian desires, the endless sweep of her legs, clad in exquisitely sheer pantyhose. In truth, I’d taken this trip to escape from the insatiable attentions of Abi and those of my vampish boss, Jamie Danvers. The two older women were sensual and inquisitive, but oh so demanding. After spending six months working on a commercial campaign to save Abi Hausman’s ailing hosiery company, I felt drained. The campaign was a huge success, but I’d laid out my sexuality and my desires, exposing myself to scrutiny and judgement. I just had to get away to recharge. “It’s a very stressful life,” I added with a smile, closing off the recollection and hopefully ending this line of questioning.
Willow nodded and turned away to look at the road ahead, taking the hint and falling into a comfortable silence. After five minutes, she spoke again. “Say, I’ve been on my feet all afternoon. Must’ve covered near ten miles. You mind if I take off my boots?” she asked in that sing-song accent of hers.
I felt a twinge of excitement. “Sure, go ahead.”
The hitchhiker leaned forwards and began to remove her beige desert boots. I glanced to my side and caught a flash of bare skin as her white vest rode up her back, revealing an expansive, stylised tattoo on her lower back. It seemed to point downwards to her ass. I shuddered slightly, not sure what to make of this unexpected opportunity.
After several seconds, Willow sat back and sighed. “Oh boy,” she drawled, “my dogs are barking!” Then she bent her legs and lifted her feet, placing her heels on the dashboard before her and wiggling her toes, pulling at the black material of her pantyhose. “D’ya mind?” she asked, realizing that she was perhaps taking one liberty too far.
I wondered briefly if she’d done this in her previous ride, then shook my head. Of course I didn’t mind!
We settled back into a heavy silence and I tried to concentrate on driving and not gazing at Willow’s pretty feet, settling for sly glances when I thought I could get away with it. But I needn’t have worried too much. Willow was gazing out of the passenger side window at the barren scrubland beyond, lost in her thoughts. I took the opportunity to study her feet, feeling my heartbeat quicken as I took in every detail that I could.
Willow was slowly rubbing her feet together, an unconscious motion that was lazy and fluid. I studied her soles as they brushed together, straining to discern the detail of her foot under the thick material. Her toes were painted, I could see that much. An unusual turquoise color that was muted beneath her pantyhose, but which I fancied would complement her green eyes perfectly when revealed. I flicked a quick look back to the road, then returned to her feet, confident that the endless miles of straight road weren’t ending soon. She shifted in her seat, moving her left foot above her right, and I caught sight of a new detail, a delicate bracelet around her slender ankle. The thin chain was strung with tiny silver hearts and the whole piece was frozen in place beneath the tight material of her pantyhose. I found myself wondering what the significance of the jewelry was, or whether it was just a tantalizing detail, designed to catch the eye. Then she shifted again and pressed her toes against th
e windshield, curling them back until her pantyhose bunched in dark creases on top of her foot. I sighed at the captivating display, pushing back the faint feelings of voyeuristic guilt that threatened to flood my mind.
“Is something wrong?” said a sudden voice.
I jumped in fright and snapped my head back to the road, swerving the wheel slightly and causing the car to brush against the rough ground by the side of the highway.
“I… what?” I said, unsure what to say.
“You were staring at my feet,” said Willow with a hint of accusation.
“No, I…” I stammered, feeling a hot, red flush creeping up my neck. “I like your ankle bracelet,” I added, improvising quickly.
Willow stroked down her shin and touched her fingers to her lower leg. I noticed that her fingernails were painted the same shade as her toes, that captivating blue-green shade. “This old thing?” she said distantly. “It was a gift from my childhood sweetheart,” she drawled sarcastically with a snort, “never could bring myself to throw it away.”
She slowly drew her fingers up her leg, stroking the soft material of her pantyhose.
“What happened to him?” I asked. “Your ‘childhood sweetheart’,”
Willow wrapped her hands around her knees, bending them so that her toes were barely resting against the dashboard and her thighs were pulled up against her body. “Same as happens to all men,” she said with a note of disgust.
