Black Alexis Dominates White Ch. 12

A couple of the pairs were black and another pair was a deeper taupe shade. But, all of them had an unusually and astonishingly larger than average darker reinforced toe on them.

As I searched for the pair she wanted the strong scent of well worn nylon stockings pervaded my senses. Strangely, I then noticed that all the pairs of garter stockings and the pairs of pantyhose had a small yellow tag clipped onto each pair. A number was written on each one of these dime-sized yellow tags, 6, 10, 11, 12, 5, 8, and so on. The miniature plastic clip held the tag in place.

When I found two pairs that closely resembled the mocha-brown shaded pantyhose Alexis had described I pulled them out. One of them had the number 5 hand-written on the tag, while the other was tagged with the number 12. I had no clue as to what these numbers meant at that moment as young Alexis reamined sitting on the edge of the bed right before me.

She had her blouse buttoned and the african gold jewelry she chose almost in place. Her necklace, wrists and fingers were adorned in gold, which was a sharp contrast from her dark mocha brown skin. The pink, fluffy and fuzzy slippers decorated to look like a bunny remained on her bare feet as she bent her head sideways to adjust the earring on her right ear.

"Those." she said, the sharp bronze colored nail of her index finger pointing.

She pointed directly to the coffee-brown pantyhose with the number 12 tag clipped on the waistband.

Alexis was all but ready. She needed only her pantyhose, heels and to slip into her skirt to finish getting dressed. She sat at the end of the bed managing her last earring when she noticed how timidly I was removing the tiny tag and clip from the waistband.

As I searched for a place to disgard the tag off to the side, she began speaking. I imagine she simply decided to explain it's purpose.

"Those are super expensive." she said.

"They're hard to get so be careful with 'em. Got that?" she said.

I knelt there sititng on the backs of my legs kneeling before her as I placed the other pairs back into the large ziploc bag. The pair she decided upon sat on my lap.

"Y-Yes, M-Ma'am." I whispered.

"They're from the U.K., and custom made." she continued to explain.

"Get'em started for me." she directed, referring to the pantyhose she wanted me to assist her getting in to.

Casually, the black teenager slipped off the pink slippers from her bare feet and kicked them off to the side. She placed her right foot onto one of my stockinged thighs as her left foot was raised up closer to my face, just below my chin. She "wiggled" her toes arrogantly, yet in an almost "bratty" manner as if to air them out.

I realized just how sweaty her feet really were at this time. Her tiny size 5 bare feet had been in those thick, fuzzy slippers for so long this morning. I could feel the obvious dampness of one of her feet on my thigh while the other before me was visibly wet with perspiration.

Nervously, I aligned the pair of pantyhose she decided upon in the proper manner before her. I wasn't sure exactly what she wanted me to do, but I reasoned that she would need them where she could pull them on her body with greater ease.

I then peeled the left leg of the hose back to the bottom until I held the stockinged foot area opened with both of my hands, which trembled as the pantyhose was ready to receive her first foot. My hands remained shaking as she continued to explain.

"Yes, it's hard to get them in my size since I'm so small." she voiced so non chalantly, as she pointed her small toes to the stockinged foot area I held before her.

"That's why I never have them washed." she continued.

"Not ever." she stated as I assisted in slipping on the remaining portion of nylon over her already sweat-drenched left foot.

"That's the reason I number them that way." the young black girl continued explaining.

Her blatantly carefree and non chalant attitude was a contradiction to her actions as she casually "wiggled" her foot into the first leg of these pantyhose. The enormous size of the darker shaded reinforced toe part covered more than one third of her tiny young foot, and she twisted her ankle ever so slightly in an attempt to straighten out the silky material over her foot.

I was absolutely awestruck when young Alexis Barron then pulled her stockinged foot upwards and literally "plopped" her left foot right on to my embarrassed face.

Her stockinged toes rudely cupped my entire nose as the ball and heel of her sweaty nyloned foot pressed against my lips and chin. Humiliatingly, she began using my face as some type of brace or foot rest as she straightened the nylon material around her ankle and calf.

Not once did the black girl break her concentration while speaking.

"The number means the number of days I've been able to wear them, ya' know, to see how long they'll last and all." she said, cupping her stockinged toes around my reddened nose firmer.

"I found out awhile ago I can get so much more use out of them when I don't have to wash them." she said.

Her young stockinged toes were dampened by her sweat, and the pungeant aroma from the nearly incomprehensibly well worn nylons was overbearing. Still, the young woman curled and mashed her strong smelling stockinged toes over my face and nose without a care in the world.

"And, well ... I can usually get like 20 or 30 days out of them before they start running." she explained.

Alexis was relentless. On and on, and on again, she continued talking about her expensive nylon stockings and pantyhose, and her reasons for using them in the ways she described.

"Sometimes, even more than that." she stated.

With childlike arrogance, she kept her left foot "planted" over my face while taking an unusually long period of time to smooth out the nylon material around her ankle. I felt demoralized by the powerful scent of her very well worn nylon stockinged toes as she appeared unaware of my suffering.

"I think it's worth it, though." she continued.

Cruelly, she kept her left foot in place as she tapped my hands with her right foot to start putting the next side on. My head and neck were anchored in place by her left foot as I struggled to look down to my hands.

Blindly, I had to peel the other leg of the hose down to the foot area, where I held it open with my hands again, now ready to receive her right foot.

The 18-year-old black woman slipped her right foot into the stench-ridden nyloned hose and began wiggling it into place as she did with the left one.

"They're so silky and really durable. They have to be to get this much use out of them." she elaborated.

Astonished, I watched as she finally removed her left foot from my face and fell flat onto her back on the top of the bed. With what seemed like an acrobatic movement, the flexible former-gymnast shot both of her legs straight up into the air, her toes now pointing to the ceiling, and she gracefully manuevered the pantyhose over her tiny hips and waist.

It was unbelievable to see her petite body contort in such a way. She spent merely seconds getting the pantyhose into place from this position. My mouth hung open in utter disbelief as I watched the impressive display of flexibility, yet I remained demoralized beyond my wildest imagination.

Even more demoralizing was the manner in which she came back down into a sitting position.

As the black girl swiftly glided her pantyhose covered legs downward, she stretched her right leg forward just above my left shoulder as she "smoothed" the silky nylon material of her leg with both hands.

With one smooth, practiced movement the young black woman kicked her leg back up into the air like a Rockette's dancer would, and quickly brought her right foot onto my face. There, she literally planted the reinforced toes of her right foot over my nose and lips.

The movement was so quick and seemingly calculated that it surprised me. My eyes opened wide in shock as she ignored me and simply concentrated on smoothing out the nylon fabric of her streamlined leg.

Still, young Alexis never broke the flow of her explanation.

"Yeah, it really has to be good nylon material. That's why they cost so much." she continued, so matter of factly.

The firmness of her well worn nyloned toes over my nose increased ten fold as I remained in this humiliating position on my knees before her.

"Mmpfh. Mmpfh." I gasped, struggling to breathe through the obnoxiously pungeant scent of her stockinged feet.

"These are so soft. The more I wear'em the softer and more manageable they get." she said.

She continued to squirm, wiggle, press and wriggle her nylon-sheathed toes over my nose with a relentless vigor.

The black teenager was so non chalant and deliberent in smoothing the nylon over her legs in this manner. She took an inordinate amount of time as she used my face as if it were some sort of inanimate object.

"I do like the way they let my toes breathe and all." she continued.

My eyes began to water as the young woman "writhed" and "mashed" her silk covered toes on my face in such a disregardful way.

"And, they really don't get too stinky." she said, clenching her well used nylon toes around my nose and smearing them across my face as she released it.

"Naw, Not really." she continued.

My mind began to drift. The uncanny strong scent of her sweat-soaked, well-worn pantyhosed toes defiled my face to the extreme. I became dizzy and could hardly breathe in enough air to stay alert.

"I mean, it could be worse ya' know. I just think it's worth it to get'em so totally soft and slippery like this." she added.

The onslaught of the stockinged toes of her right foot planted on my face in the most insulting way possible went on for nearly 10 minutes.

The 18-year-old black woman added to the absolute insult by replacing her left foot back onto my face in the same manner.

Defeatedly, I remained sitting on the backs of my legs with my arms submissively down at my sides. The toes of her left nyloned foot now treating me as the same inanimate object to prop her foot upon.

I felt so pathetic and incoherent as the young black dominant "squished" and "squirmed" her stockinged toes over my nose, forcing me to inhale even more of the demoralizing aroma.

She wriggled her little toes over my nose with such youthful arrogance, and with no regard to my suffering, while she continued to feign the smoothing out the calves of her nylon clad legs.

The entire time she continued talking about her nylon stockings and explaining where she got them, and why she wore them for such extended periods of time.

I could not say exactly what the young black girl said from this point on, since I had become dizzier and far less coherent by the minute. My mind was foggy and my eyes teared from the pungeant aroma of her well kept nylon stockinged feet.

It seemed to go on forever.

Her sarcastic and excessively bratty voice was incomprehensible to me as she "mangled" my nose and face into submission with her silken toes. Yet, the thought of this beautiful teenager actually going out of her way to wear the same stockings for 12 days in a row, or more, truly demoralized me. The strange fact that she never washed her stockings was near inconceivable to me.

As I knelt there wavering in my altered state of mind, it felt as every breath I was taking came from her obnoxiously well worn and used pantyhosed feet. The thought weakened me.

Finally, and without warning, Alexis removed her left foot from it's grip of my nose and brought it down to my lap. She returned her right foot back up until it was level with my face. Her toes were pointed like a ballerina inches before me.

"My shoes, please." she ordered, sarcastically.

I just knelt there incoherently, unable to respond verbally or physically. I felt weakened and dizzy from the strong odor and firm manipulation of her toes on my face.

"H-Huh?" I stammered, in a faint whisper.

The young black woman "tapped" the side of my flustered cheek with her pointed toes. She tapped it a second, third and fourth time.

"C'mon. Let's go." she demanded.

Obediently, I reached over to retrieve the young girl's 4 inch high classic Manolo pumps. I placed them onto her feet, one after the the other, in a slow and defeated manner. Alexis Barron simply jumped to her feet and grabbed the tiny black skirt from the bed, slipping it on and zippering the back.

I brought myself to my feet with great care. My head was still foggy and I used the edge of the bed to pull myself up, wobbling and teetering on the 5 inch heels I was wearing.

The absolute arrogance of this young woman was mind-boggling to me. Her inner strength and natural dominance caused me to feel so low and insignificant. I felt as if I were in a drunken stupor as I wavered my way over to the chest of drawers to reapply my makeup.

"No time for that now." Alexis snapped.

"Let's go." she ordered, taking the makeup pad from my listless right hand and tossing it to the side.

"I'll be downstairs. Get my purse, portfolio and lap top and meet me by the front door." she commanded.

Her youthful tone was much more direct now.

"Y-Y-Yes, Ma'am." I replied, meekly.

As young Alexis left the room, I tried desperately to come to my senses. I could barely comprehend what had just happened, and how cruel this young black woman had been by using my face like that.

I was scared and intimidated as I looked around the room for Alexis' purse and portfolio. I noticed the fresh cup of coffee she made me prepare for her sitting on the bed side table. She had not even taken one sip of that coffee, and I felt demeaned by the fact she had me running up and down the stairs like a fool to fetch it. She merely disgarded it.

Worriedly, I scurried down the stairs and began searching for her things. I found them scattered in different areas of the livingroom, and I collected them as quickly as I could.

With my arms full, I made it to the front door and nearly tripped along the way. My clumsiness was attributed to my still foggy and light-headed state, and the devastation the young black woman had just put me through.

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Alexis asked, rather impatiently.

I wasn't sure, yet I answered possitively and obediently.

"Yes, M-Ma'am. I-I th-think so." I stuttered.

My mind barely cleared when I held the front door open for Alexis. The fresh morning air was a relief for the moment and I closed the door behind us and minced my way over to the car.

I was moving as fast as I could in those tall, uncomfortable white heels, yet I could feel the impatience of Alexis Barron hovering around me.

I tossed the items into the back seat of my car and rushed around to the passenger's side to let the young woman in. Then, I rushed back to the driver's side of my car and settled in.

The rushing caused a slight dizziness and I placed my hands onto the steering wheel and paused to catch my breath. Alexis peered over to me with a pecuilar look on her pretty face.

"You sure you're gonna be able to drive?" she asked, again.

Demoralized, I tried to steady myself as I glared straight ahead. I was terrified to respond to the 18-year-old in a negative way.

"Y-Yes, Ma'am. I'm okay." I answered, my face blushing.

"Look at me." Alexis suddenly ordered.

Tentatively, I turned my head in slow motion to meet her eyes. I was nervous thinking about her next words.

"Aren't we forgetting something?" she asked, as she abruptly reached to the back seat to get her purse.

I sat there nervously as she began sifting through her purse. In seconds, she pulled out a lipstick red kitten's collar. It was the same type of red collar she had decided upon as the company's new monocre.

Smoothly, she reached over and clasped it around my neck.

"You don't want to be out of uniform on the first day, do you?" she asked, feticiously.

I meekly nodded a "no" as I hung my head down in utter disgrace.

"Good. Drive!" she ordered.

The moderate drive was tense for me. I hardly could think of anything else except making sure that I concentrated on the road. It was this concentration that brought me to a more alert state of mind, and I was relieved for that.

The black woman smoked 2 of her clove cigarettes along the way.

As we entered the parking lot to where my one story office building was set, Alexis Barron spoke.

"Drop me off by that bench." she commanded, pointing to a stone bench set between 2 small trees.

"Yes, M-Ma'am. Okay." i returned.

The stone bench was set merely 15 feet away from the front door of our office, and the leaves of the small trees hid the bench from the office view.

"Go park and meet me there." she ordered.

Nervously, I did as I was told and managed to find a spot seconds later. As I parked, I noticed my face in the rear view mirror, again.

I swallowed loudly when I noticed my appearance. My face, which was so reddended by the grinding of her panty-clad pussy on from the night before, was now much worse. With my makeup removed, it was even more noticeable.

My nose gleamed a crimson red, and my lips and chin looked as if someone had colored it in with a pink or red highlighter.

"Oh my gawd!" I shouted.

At this point, there was nothing I could do. I knew young Alexis was waiting and I did not have time to manage an application of makeup to my face, not that it would have concealed it anyway.

That is when I noticed the strong smell of the young black woman's well worn pungeant nylon stockinged feet again. I looked around confused, then realized that the odor was actually coming from me.

Degraded, I concluded that it was my face that literally smelled like her excessively worn nylon stockinged toes, which she had spent so much time burying my face with. I could not imagine ever feeling so humilated before. I did not know what I could do, and I frantically rummaged through my purse to find my pocket sized perfume.

Defeatedly, I was unable to.

With no option, I simply grabbed Alexis Barron's purse, her portfolio, her lap top computer and my purse from the back seat. Clumsily, I minced my way over to where she was standing.

Her right hand was on her hip as she held a cell phone up to her left ear. As I drew nearer, I could tell she had been talking to Sarah, the shop owner. Alexis quickly stopped the call as I stood before her.

"Are you finally ready?" she asked.

My head nodded a "yes" in silnce, but I was not ready at all. The thought of entering my own business and reporting the changes to my staff of 7 was not something I would have ever imagined doing. The degradation I felt already caused my knees to shake, uncontrollably.

The young black woman took one small stride towards the office, then stopped abruptly.

"Oh, you were supposed to remind me of something. Weren't you?" she asked in an adolescent tone.

Fearfully, I stood there "towering" above her with a puzzled look upon my already reddened face. It was then that I realized how foolish I must have looked standing near my office building in the short skirt and 5 inch tall heels with a red cat's collar adorning my neck.

My 6'1" statuesque frame rising another 5 inches higher in those ridiculous white heels standing before this 4'11" tall black woman in her more reasonable 4 inch heels embarrassed me. Still, her question confused me and set my mind wandering as I struggled to find an answer.

Mindlessly, I tried to think of what I may have forgotten. I began to panic as I looked down into the black teenager's more serious eyes. I grew more tense and her piercing eyes frightened me. It was as if I were a timid bunny looking into the eyes of an angry panther, except the size of our bodies were quite reversed. Despite being more than twice her petite size, I cowered before her and stood motionless and in fear.