Hypnotic Nylons

Summary: A Student hypnotizes her Professor for an A.

Note 1: This is a fetish story. It uses mind control and the scent and look of nylon-clad toes to seduce a Professor and make her into a mindless lesbian sex slave. The story includes extensive foot worship, and it was inspired by a great Star Nine video, one of my favourites, called Mesmerizing Toes (although mine has a lot more sex).

Note 2: Thanks to Tex Beethoven for editing this story as always.

Hypnotic Nylons

I was just finishing up grading this semester's final projects, when Kennedy sauntered into my office. I sighed. Unlike all the other students in my Psychology 101 class, she hadn't handed in her final project, and thus she was very likely to fail the course. "What can I do for you, Kennedy?" I asked, my tone deliberately conveying my annoyance with her... expecting she was here so she could beg me to allow her to hand in her final project late. But this wasn't high school, so I was under no pressure from my higher ups for all of my students to pass my courses. And especially in her case... since she hadn't turned in any assignments at all during the semester, I wasn't in the mood to be at all sympathetic to whatever sob story she was about to hand me.

"Good afternoon, Professor Britton, I need to talk to you," she said, as I placed some papers into my bag so I could take them home and enter the final grades online while I watched a little television and enjoyed a leisurely glass or two of wine... since teaching freshmen will encourage any Professor to drink at least somewhat.

"Okay, what about?" I asked faux innocently, knowing exactly what she was about to ask me for... or at least I thought I did.

"May I please sit down?" she asked politely.

"Certainly," I responded. I leaned back against the front of my desk and crossed my arms, assuming a posture of authority that left little doubt about how unimpressed I was to be having a conversation with her.

Kennedy seated herself on the wooden chair in front of my desk and crossed her nylon-clad legs. She was one of only a few students I'd ever seen wearing pantyhose to class... which sadly, was a dying fashion piece. When I was first hired by the college twenty years ago, pantyhose were included in a female Professor's mandated dress code... although that requirement and practice had fallen to the wayside years ago, and often one couldn't tell the difference between a Professor and a student by their apparel, which I considered an egregious lack of professionalism in my colleagues.

"So. What may I do for you, Ms. Cheevers?" I asked frostily... still not remotely trying to conceal my annoyance with her.

"We need to talk about my grade," she said.

"Oh?" I asked, and then pointed out, "but for us to do that, you would need to have either handed in your final research paper, or shown me your project."

"Understood, So how about I show you my final project right here and now?" she asked, casually dangling one of her heels from her toes. "Then you can give me an A for the course, and we'll both be happy."

"An A? For the course?" I scoffed, which was a tad unprofessional of me, but although I knew Kennedy was a bright girl... her placement tests said as much... and she would likely have passed the course if she'd done well on the final, but at this point the best she'd earn was a C, and then if and only if she received an A on her final project.

"Yes, absolutely. I do deserve it after all," she insisted, ignoring my chilly demeanor and sarcasm.

"Unlikely," I said. "At the moment you're looking at a D if you're lucky, since you didn't hand in your final project when it was due, and you haven't handed in any assignments for the entire semester," I pointed out. "All you have going for you in this class is your consistent high scores on the weekly quizzes."

"Nevertheless, I still want an A," she said, not taking any notice of anything I was telling her.

"You haven't remotely earned an A," I argued, summarising what I'd already said and getting a little annoyed, while she uncrossed and recrossed her legs. I need to mention at this point that I'm straight... I'm happily married... I've never been seriously attracted to a woman... although like most women, I casually notice whether someone is pretty or not... and Kennedy was very pretty... but for some reason, her uncrossing and recrossing her legs and the subsequent heel dangling from one foot or the other, was getting a bit distracting.

"Semantics," she shrugged, her heel once again dangling from her right toes. I don't know why I found this distracting, but I did. I shoved it away the same way as when I'm sitting near my husband and he's twiddling his thumbs... if something is in my peripheral and moving, I find it distracting.

"This isn't even close to semantics, it's a preponderance of evidence! I'm not giving you an A just because you show up in my office and ask for one," I said, very close to being furious about her attitude. Kids these days always act so entitled. No one works for their grades anymore. I'd thought Covid would have made things better, since kids and families must have begun to appreciate the chance to attend school after needing to quarantine themselves away from them so much... but against all logic, the post-Covid entitlement issue somehow kept getting worse.

"I think my quiz scores demonstrate that I understand the content of this class," she said.

"Okay, I'll give you that," I agreed, "but parroting back the theoretical content of this course is only part of the journey I require from my students. You also need to demonstrate to me that you can put theory into practice with your fieldwork projects. Can you take what you've learned in this class and show me some real-life experiments or analyses to prove your alleged comprehension?"

"I can do that," she said confidently.

"Even if that's true, it's too late," I said, "the grades have to be posted before finals by 9am tomorrow morning, which means I have to upload them tonight from home. You're out of time."

"So..." she asked, her heel swinging and suddenly just a slight scent was in my nostrils, "is there anything I can do to convince you to award me the A I deserve?"

"Deserve?" I scoffed, no longer giving her even the vaguest pretense I was considering the possibility. I stressed again, "I've been perfectly clear all semester... and it's even in the syllabus... that I do not accept assignments after their deadlines, and I don't consider extra credit," I stressed.

"You sure? My parents will be furious if I don't keep getting straight A's," she warned.

"Not my problem. You should have considered that before failing to hand in your assignments this semester," I said dismissively.

"Except that you're my final stop in catching up. I've already convinced Professor Peters, Professor Walker, Professor Jamieson, and Professor Hamilton to give me A's in their classes," she said, still distracting me with her swinging heel.

"Did you hand in your assignments for their classes?" I asked, finding it hard to believe that any of those Professors would give this girl an A unless she'd earned it... they were all very well-respected, and all my good friends.

"Nope," she shook her head. "But nevertheless, each of them agreed that I had an excellent grasp of the material, and gave me an A."

"I find that very hard to believe," I said, "but in any case, I'm not giving you an A. An A is earned. An A is only awarded for someone's excellent academic performance. There's no way, I'm going to, um... going to, um..."

As her heel thunked onto the floor, I was suddenly staring at her red painted toenails, which were nestled sexily behind her sheer black nylons. While I've always worn pantyhose or stockings (the latter for special occasions) and found they really accentuated my legs... they'd never before been distracting to me when other women wore them... and definitely never on a student's legs and feet. Yet suddenly I was so confused I couldn't finish my sentence. It was like a San Francisco fog had appeared out of nowhere to cloud my head and my judgment.

"I'm certain we can work something out, Professor Britton," she said, wiggling her toes. "Especially since all my other Professors were so accommodating."

"Kennedy... I... this is just ridiculous," I said in total confusion, tearing my eyes away from her toes.

"Do you see my toes, Professor, my pretty little toes?" she crooned softly, almost breathlessly, continuing to wiggle them while she straightened her knee, thus lifting her right foot so its underside was facing me. "And my sole, my silky sheer sole?"

Her pantyhose-clad foot was on display right in front of my enraptured eyes... just about a foot separating them. "Kennedy... um... I...." I couldn't focus... an aroma like one from an essential oil diffuser was permeating my senses... and relaxing me.

"Maybe there is something we can work out?" she asked.

"No, Kennedy," I said firmly, even though I was confusingly distracted... unable to rip my eyes away from her nylon-clad foot. I felt very much like the prey hypnotised by that mythical snake.

"Okay," she sighed, and she removed her foot from my view and slid it back into her three-inch heel.

And I felt like my normal self again... mostly... the unique scent had left me a little light-headed... and, for reasons I couldn't remotely explain, I felt a little wetness in my panties. Although curiously I felt a little disappointed no longer to be seeing her nylon-clad sole and toes, I was regaining control of myself after that brief period of overwhelming confusion, and I was able to reiterate, "If you wish to achieve a reasonable grade, you'll need to ace the final."

"Will that give me an A for the course?"

"Heavens no," I scoffed again, stunned that this stupid girl hadn't yet absorbed the blunt words and tone I'd been handing her ever since the beginning of this conversation, "you can hope for a C, at best."

"That isn't good enough," she said, strangely looking not at all worried. If anything, she still appeared surreally confident.

"I'm not sure what you think you might accomplish here," I continued, now getting annoyed with this girl, "you simply didn't earn an A, you didn't earn a B, and you'll be lucky to earn a C. And there's no way I can give you extra credit for whatever you might come up with, when you didn't even complete the assigned course work."

Yet she continued to appear oblivious to my growing annoyance. "I didn't wish to give you extra work, so I didn't turn in any of the assignments."

"You didn't hand in any assignments so I'd have less grading to do?" I asked incredulously. "Which is my job?"

"Exactly," she agreed, her heel once again dangling from her right foot.

"So you just want me to give you an A because you're asking for it, and because you were so thoughtful as to refrain from putting me through the effort of grading your assignments?" I asked, my sarcasm dripping so obviously that even a complete bimbo would catch it. I couldn't believe we were even still engaged in this conversation. It was likely my glass of wine tonight had become a full bottle!

"Yes. That would be easiest," she explained, as if I was the one being stupid, as her heel once again dropped to the floor.

"Easiest?" I echoed, once again becoming transfixed with her toes encased in the hosiery, the moment they returned to my view.

"Yes, that way we'll both get what we want without any extra fuss and bother," she explained patiently, as if her point was obvious.

"What you want... and what I want?" I asked, as I stared at her red toenails... looking so pretty within the sheer black pantyhose.

"Yes, of course what you want as well," she repeated, her tone shifting back to soft, and a bit sensual. "We wouldn't want to leave that out of the equation."

"And what...what... just what p-p-pray tell, do I want?" I stammered, trying to snatch my stare away from her foot, yet unable to do so.

"Well, going back to basics, I want to receive an A in this course," she reiterated as she raised her right foot again close to my face... her sole looking so pretty and sensual. I had never once in my life considered the sole of anyone's foot to be sexy or sensual, although my husband had fucked my feet while I was wearing nylons on a few occasions, even coming on them a few times... but even though he'd found that episode exciting enough to make him come, it hadn't done anything for me.

"Yes, we've firmly established that's what you want," I said, that captivating scent now stronger, with her foot so close to me. Was it actually coming from her foot? It was such an exotic scent that it didn't seem likely... yet it was very noticeably drifting into my nostrils and making me feel all... all... all... I don't even know what... relaxed, I guess.

"So just give me the A, I'll get out of your hair, and you can return to your mundane married life."

"My life isn't remotely mundane," I said annoyedly, even though that was true only because I was still completely transfixed by her foot.

"Oh, with just a little suggestion, I could make that statement become true," she claimed as she wiggled her entire foot back and forth... her toes again within my view, and then her sole... back and forth... back and forth... that mysterious scent getting stronger and stronger. "Just give me my A, and I'll transform your life."

"I am... I um... I'm not... I'm not... I'm not..." I struggled, now unable to formulate a complete sentence, not feeling at all like myself. That earlier fog was once again compromising my consciousness. "I'm not allowed to give you what you're asking for."

"But it's your class," she pointed out. "I'm sure you're at liberty to make exceptions to the rules, whenever they're warranted."

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what's coming over me," I said, waving my hand in front of my face, trying for some fresh air.

"So, is that a yes?"

"I don't know. I'm feeling strange... very strange," I said, my head light, my pussy inexplicably on fire. So much so that I wanted to touch myself.

"That makes perfect sense to me."

"It does?"

"Yes. So I'll give you one final chance to do this the easy way," she said. "Will you give me my A?"

"No," I said, "I can't. I really mustn't."

"Okay, then we'll move on to plan B," she said. "you Professors always choose the hard way, although Professor Walker thanked me effusively after everything was said and done."

"Plan B," I repeated... although not as a question like I'd intended, but just parroting her words in a dazed monotone.

"Yes," she said, as she adjusted her foot so I was staring at her toes again. As she wiggled them again, she asked, "Do you smell that?"

"I can smell something; what is it?" I asked.

"Why don't you just admire my pretty toes?" she continued, ignoring my question, which was a response to her question. "Are they not so wonderfully sensual?"

Her soft voice seemed to be hypnotizing me while I attempted to focus on my role as her Professor. "Kennedy, I don't know what you're doing, but..."

"See? Are they not so incredibly pretty? So intoxicating? So sensual?" she listed in a voice that was irresistibly drawing me in. "Tell me, Professor, are my toes pretty?"

"Um, I, yeah, they are," I agreed. At the moment they were the prettiest... prettiest... anything I'd ever seen.

"Almost everything about me, but especially my right toes, have been magically imbued with the power of seduction," she explained.

"That's just ridiculous," I said, even though I couldn't stop staring at them... that aroma so strong by now... enveloping me completely and rendering me unable to think straight. I even let out a little moan, which really confused me.

"If you're correct... if what I'm telling you is so ridiculous," she said, wiggling her toes so lasciviously... and whoever heard of lascivious toes?... but nevertheless they were... the red nails and the black pantyhose working symbiotically together to create their own sensual ambiance. "Try to look away from them. Try to look at anything except my pretty, pretty toes inside my sexy, silky, sheer stockings."

I tried to do it.

I really did.

I tried and I tried... but I couldn't look away.

"Go ahead and just look away, Professor, look away from my pretty, pretty toes in my sexy, silky, sheer, stockings," she repeated... speaking slowly in a sensual voice.

"I... I... I... can't," I stammered, although it took me a good fifteen seconds, maybe longer... to utter that two-word sentence. I was completely mesmerized by her toes. Her toes with those red nails. Within her nylons. Her black nylons. And that aroma. That intoxicating scent!

"No?" Kennedy chuckled softly, and even that chuckle was sensuous. "But why not?"

"I... I... I... don't know," I said, wanting... no, longing to kiss her feet... longing to suck on her toes... longing to lick the soles of her feet.... Yet even while I longed for these things, I was mortified by my urgings. I was married. She was a student. Yet I couldn't stop myself from thinking those thoughts... I couldn't stop staring at her toes... and at the sole of her right foot.

"These pretty, pretty toes are mesmerizing, aren't they, Professor?" she asked. "Especially in their sexy, silky, sheer stocking."

"Yes..." I answered, completely captivated by them, "...they are."

"So mesmerizing," she said softly.

"Absolutely mesmerizing," I agreed, now completely and literally entranced... unable to think for myself... unsure if I even wanted to think for myself. I only wanted to touch her foot. To kiss those toes. To lick her pantyhose.

Reading my mind, she asked, her voice continuing in that soft-spoken sensual fashion, "They look utterly delicious, don't they?"

"So... yes, delicious is the perfect word for them," I agreed, although not of my own volition, since by this point, I was totally unable to think for myself.

"In fact," she said, as she let me admire the sole of her foot again for a moment, which had a lovely shine to it, before she again offered me a great look at her toes, "Now that I planted the idea in your head, you really do think they'll be utterly delicious, don't you?"

"I was... I was... already thinking that," I said, wanting, for reasons I couldn't explain, to let her know I was already imagining tasting her toes.

"You were, were you?" she asked, and she extended her leg totally straight, so her sole was only a few inches from my face.

"Yes," I said, resisting licking that sole with all of my willpower... what little of it I had left.

"Well, now that the idea is engrained in your head, forever growing there for the rest of your life," she continued, as she took her foot away and crossed her leg across her other one again, "I'll bet you want nothing more than to slide your warm... wet... hungry... lips all over my delicious pretty toes."

"I...I...I..." I stammered, as I leaned forward away from my desk, still standing.

As she continued wiggling her perfectly manicured pretty toes, she said, "Come on, Professor. We both know you're longing to suck on my sensual, stocking-clad toes."

"I am," I admitted, staring hungrily down at them.

"Then kneel, Professor. Kneel for me," she ordered.

"I really shouldn't," I demurred, except my body was paying as little attention to my conscious intentions as Kennedy was, and I felt myself sinking down to my knees before the seated coed.