Pantyhose Play: A Teacher Pet

"Crotchless," she blurted out.

"Oh, that does sound sexy," I said, my hand smoothly working over her silky sheer foot.

"I have no reason to wear them anymore," she sighed, obviously still hurting because of her divorce.

"I wear mine for me," I pointed out, focusing on pressure points for relaxation... my own pussy getting a little wet from touching my sexy brunette teacher.

"That's exactly why... in the end... I decided to wear these today," she said before adding, "I was trying to reclaim myself."

"You need to do that," I agreed and added, "all women need to do that."

"Agreed," she said.

"Still crazy expensive," I said, although the Pretty Pollys I bought weren't much cheaper than that, even though I bought them on eBay.

"I buy them in bulk to save on shipping," she said, as she began getting visibly relaxed by my massage. Yet I didn't want her to go into a complete hypnotic state this soon, as I wanted her to be aware of the transformation in our relationship.

"I'll definitely give you some money for a pair," I said, "I'm kind of a pantyhose connoisseur. I have pantyhose from dozens of companies."

"I'll give you a pair," she offered as I moved my fingers to massage each toe individually.

"That's sweet of you," I said, already planning to implant a suggestion for her do just that.

"Did you know in England they call pantyhose tights?" she said slightly off the subject, as she struggled to keep her eyes open, but was still trying to teach me things.

"That explains something for me," I said. I had considered ordering some Wolfords on eBay (where I got much of my hosiery) having heard they were the best, but they were all called tights, and I hate tights.

"And thigh highs over there are called hold ups," she added.

"Interesting," I nodded soothingly, as I went from toe to toe.

"He never did my toes," she said softly.

"Ridiculous," I said, "there are so many nice nerve endings in the toes."

"It feels very nice," she said.

"There's nothing better than a nylon foot job," I said

"I know," she agreed, as I went to her other foot, and she was unaware I meant my rubbing her pussy with my foot until she came, or vice versa.

After a moment as I massaged her right foot, I said point blank, "I want to help you get over him, Jasmine," using her first name to enhance the trust already built.

"Twenty years is a long time," she said, again in a hollow tone that told me although she was being brave, she was also shattered.

"May I ask why it ended?" I asked, probing deeper.

A heavy sigh. Yet with the trust already built, she answered, "He cheated on me. It turned out he'd been doing it for years."

"No... that asshole," I said a little angrily, accidentally breaking out of my soft, hypnotic tone.

"I guess I wasn't good enough," she said, believing she was to blame for his cheating. I knew then that the first focus would be to get her to accept it wasn't her fault. I hated how women blamed themselves for their men's infidelity. She needed to move on. It was time to put her under.

"Just relax," I said, as I took her left foot into my hands.

"Okay," she repeated, already barely holding on, and completely in trust mode.

I repeated a few times over the next minute, "Just relax. Enjoy the tender relaxation of the massage."

"Yes," she moaned ever so softly.

"Good, Jasmine," I said, as she slipped into her subconscious. "Now repeat after me. I am a beautiful woman."

"I am a beautiful woman," she repeated verbatim.

"It isn't my fault my husband left," I planted in her head.

"It isn't my fault my husband left."

"I deserve to be worshipped," I continued, already hungry to do just that for her.

"I deserve to be worshipped."

"Now answer some questions honestly for me, Jasmine," I said, probing deeper into her soul.

"Okay," she agreed, by now completely at my whim.

"What is your favourite sexual fantasy?" I asked, as I moved her foot to my mouth and sucked on a pantyhose-clad toe. Now this was a brazen move. In truth, I wasn't sure where I was going to take this hypnosis as I did it. Mrs. Walker was my first lesbian crush... the beginning of my own self-acceptance that I was a lesbian. Boys did absolutely nothing for me... other than disgust me.

But something about Mrs. Walker had drawn me in from the start. Perhaps it was her mild demeanour mixed with a silent confidence... two qualities I saw in myself. Perhaps it was that she too wore pantyhose every day and had thus become unbeknownst to herself my kindred spirit... an adult version of how I saw myself.

I have by now explored my sexuality somewhat, and discovered I love the tenderness of kissing another girl, I love the intimacy that can come from being with another girl, and I love the taste of pussy.

I've also discovered the pure pleasure of pantyhose play (a rather sweet alliteration if I say so myself). I found Candace, who also wore pantyhose, although not every day like I, at a debate competition a couple hours away. We became friends, then at a later meet we made out, and at an even later meet we ended up in my hotel room, as my roommate was getting fucked by some nerd in another room, where we spent a couple hours playing with each other in our pantyhose: massaging, rubbing, sucking on toes, and rubbing each other's pussies to orgasm with our nylon-clad feet. Sucking your own cunt cum from another person's nylon-clad feet is amazingly cathartic.

Unfortunately we didn't get to see each other much, as she lived three hours away from me, although we chatted online and had the odd online playtime (which simply isn't as satisfying once you've done it face to face).

This past summer I met a cute MILF at a coffee shop, and I ended up at her place where we spent hours worshipping each other in pantyhose... where I discovered the power of a strap-on. She asked me to fuck her with it, so I ripped her pantyhose at the crotch and found a new rush. I liked being in control. I liked being dominant. Since she lived locally, we began meeting weekly, and she's inviting one of her friends to join us next time when we meet this Saturday, while her husband does what he does every Saturday, goes golfing while leaving his wife alone for a few hours of pantyhose play. And then to his great excitement, she tells him all about it once he returns home, leaving out any names.

Apparently Jasmine wasn't completely under my spell, as her eyes fluttered open and she asked, "What are you doing, Courtney?"

"Just relax, Jasmine," I replied softly, even as I kept sucking on her toes, still not sure how far I planned to take this, "you need this. To be worshipped. To be treated like a queen."

"Yes, I think you're right," she moaned, this time obviously getting stimulated by my touch. "But you're a student."

"Perhaps, but right now I wish you to imagine I am just what you need," I said. "That can't be wrong, can it?"

I again used the hypnotic power word 'imagine' to get her thinking the way I wanted her to, and I asked her a question phrased to make it difficult for her to say no, because then she would be disagreeing with me, which in her current state of compliance, she was unlikely to do.

"I guess not," she said, confused by what was happening.

I instructed, "Just pay attention to how good this makes you feel," as I sucked on her toes, while now also massaging her calf.

"It does feel good," she agreed, in that beautiful somnolent state between consciousness and unconsciousness.

"I can have no true sense of how you're feeling during this turbulent time," I began, building trust upon trust, "but I'm guessing what you need most is to know that someone cares about you."

"Yes," she agreed.

"That someone sees you for the beautiful woman you are," I continued.

"Yes," she repeated, falling pretty deep into the trance.

As I slid my tongue up the sole of her foot, always liking the natural salty sweat of a foot through hosiery, I asked, "Does this feel good?" I asked.

"Yes," she admitted, "but it feels a little wrong."

"A little?" I asked, smiling that she didn't just say wrong.

"I can't explain it," she said, a little flustered as she tried to process what was happening. Why was she allowing this familiarity? Why did it feel good? Why wasn't I stopping? These were all questions undoubtedly spinning in her head.

"Yes, you can Jasmine," I said soothingly, as I returned to her left foot. "Just relax and tell me what you're feeling."

"I'm feeling..." she paused, and tried again as I sucked her pinky toe into my mouth, "I'm feeling..." But again she stopped.

"Tell me what you're feeling, Jasmine," I ordered, softly, "just let go of your filters and speak your inner truth."

"I'm feeling horny," she blurted out and then gasped, "I can't believe I said that!"

Taking this as an opportunity to push her further, I repositioned myself and said, "Perhaps your massaging my feet as well, will help you to relax completely," as I moved my nylon-clad foot towards her and ordered her, although in my soothing voice she wouldn't process it as one, but a logical next step. "Now massage my nylon-clad foot, Jasmine."

She mindlessly took it in her hand and began massaging it even as she said, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Doing what?" I asked, as I sucked on another toe.

"Massaging a student's feet," she said.

"Are you enjoying rubbing my nylon-clad feet, Jasmine?" I asked, as I moved to another toe.

"Yes," she whispered, her tone one of amazement, but also slight shame.

"You needn't feel shame, Jasmine," I instructed her soothingly, "you're only doing what feels natural, what feels good."

"It does feel good," she agreed.

"Have you ever felt another woman's nylon-clad feet?" I asked.

"No."

"Have you ever fantasized about touching another woman's nylon-clad feet?" I continued digging deeper into her subconscious.

"Yes," she admitted, her cheeks going red at admitting that, as she moved her hands to my other foot.

"There's no shame in wanting to worship another woman's nylon-clad feet and legs," I stressed. "There is nothing more beautiful than a woman's legs and feet in nylons, is there, Jasmine?"

"No, there isn't," she agreed, giving me the answer I'd expected.

"Were you checking out my nylon-clad feet earlier today, Jasmine?" I asked, continually using the descriptive term 'nylon-clad' to reinforce the image in her head.

"Yes," she admitted, before apologizing, "I'm so sorry."

"Never feel sorry for sharing your internal truth," I instructed, bathing the sole of her foot with my tongue.

"But it's wrong," she said, even as she massaged my foot.

"Nothing is wrong if it brings you and someone else pleasure," I said, as if I were a professional teenaged sex therapist.

"Are you even eighteen?" she asked, the barrier in her subconscious holding her back being a generic age that some men chose to define as when a girl should be legally allowed to have sex with anyone.

"By a couple of months," I answered, erasing the one issue that likely would be problematic... was I legal? Truth was, in most places sixteen was legal, fifteen in France, and as low as fourteen in Germany and Italy. And a bigger issue for her was that I was a student and she was a teacher... so whether she realized it or not, she was already internally willing to explore where this was going.

"That's good," she said, as she massaged my feet with tender care.

"What is your fantasy, Jasmine?" I asked.

"It's naughty," she said, hearing her use the word 'naughty' somehow sexy as fuck.

"We're all naughty beneath our exterior personas," I said, which was one of the greatest truths in the world. Either you were naughty or you fantasized about being naughty... it was one or the other, with no middle ground.

"I'm a lot naughtier than I look," she said, as she moved forward and surprised me by sucking on my toes without a command. It had been the next one I planned to give her, but not for a bit yet.

"What's the naughtiest thing you've fantasized?" I asked.

"I've imagined far too many to list," she confessed in a soft tone.

"Imagine you could live them out," I said, "imagine you were free of society's barbaric expectations of propriety for women, a double standard that doesn't exist for men; imagine just letting go and doing whatever you fantasized without consequence."

"That would be awesome," she moaned somewhat loudly.

"What would you do first if you were given the opportunity to be free?" I asked.

She paused for a moment... a long moment... or at least it seemed to me like a long moment... before she answered, "Very high on the list is being seduced by a student."

"Male or female?" I asked, thinking she was already living her fantasy without processing it was happening.

"Female," she answered without hesitation.

"You want to be told what to do by a girl, don't you Jasmine?" I asked.

"Yessssssss," she admitted with a moan, as I moved my left foot under her dress and directly to her very wet panty and pantyhose-clad crotch.

"You want to be my submissive pet, don't you, Jasmine?" I continued, reeling her in, as I slowly moved my foot in a circular motion.

"Yes, yes, oh God," she moaned, as the pressure had her a muddled mess.

"Tell me your naughtiest secret," I ordered, still in a soft voice, as she was still completely under my control.

"I write erotica," she answered.

Really?! I never saw that one coming! I asked, "What kind of erotica?"

"Lots. Lesbian, BBC, gangbang, Domme/sub, gay, and even incest," she revealed with soft moans as I gently pleased her pantyhose clad pussy, so far under she didn't realize she was revealing her most shocking secret, and fuck! it was shocking.

"Oh my," I said, as she sucked on my toes, while I pleasured her pussy with my foot. Suddenly a lightbulb went on.

No way.

It wasn't possible.

My favourite writer of erotica was silkstockingslover.

She was a teacher.

She loved nylons.

She fantasized about being seduced by teen girls.

She was submissive.

She wrote about all the topics just listed.

I asked, "Are most of your stories about submissive women?"

"Yes," she answered, her tongue now rolling down the sole of my foot.

I continued my surprise investigation, "Do most of your stories include pantyhose or stockings?"

"Almost exclusively," she answered in a daze, still pleasing me as I pleased her, she added, "mostly thigh high stockings."

"Why thigh high stockings?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer, based on having read pretty much every story she'd ever written... which was over 400 hot, taboo, nylon-focused stories... it was actually her story 'Hypnotic Hosiery' that had me beginning to realize hypnosis and pantyhose could go hand in hand, or perhaps foot in hand, or foot in foot.

"Easy access," she answered.

"Easy access to what?" I asked, wanting her to say it, as I tapped on her pussy with my foot.

She trembled, completely under, so answering the question came naturally, "To my pussy."

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"Yes," she moaned.

"For teen pussy?" I asked, as I pressed my foot firmly on her pussy and she began to grind on it.

"Yes," she repeated.

"Crawl between my legs, Jasmine," I ordered.

She answered, like her submissive characters so often did in her stories, like she had likely fantasized for years saying to various students in her classroom, "Yes, Mistress."

"Good pet," I said, using a term she herself had used in likely over half of her stories, as I spread my legs to reveal not only my pantyhose-clad shaved pussy not hindered by any panties, but also a massive wet spot in my crotch.

She moved around and between my legs and stared at my pussy. A little bit of her teacher persona still existed as she stammered, as she stared at my perfectly framed peach, "I-I-I shouldn't do this."

"Pay attention to the perfect peach before you," I said seductively. "Isn't this what you crave?"

"Yes, but..." she began, even as she couldn't tear her gaze away from my inviting cunt.

"No buts, Jasmine," I controlled her soothingly, again using words from her own stories, "you were born to please. Your purpose in life is to be a good pet for pussy. Say it."

"I-I-I," she struggled, her last whisper of internal will power fading away, as her true core, her natural submissiveness, her secret desire to please, her unbridled fantasies that had been entered into Word documents for years, was finally coming to the fore.

"Say it, Jasmine," I calmly repeated. "Say your purpose in life is to be a good pet for pussy."

"My purpose in life is to be a good pet for pussy," she repeated, at long last becoming the perfect pussy pet she'd imagined and written about so vividly for years, captivating her readers, fulfilling other people's fantasies... held back only by a husband who didn't love her as he should, and a society that tried to keep a woman's true sexuality locked away inside her.

"Do you want to taste mine?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Do you want to be my pet?"

"Yes."

"Will you obey my every order?"

"Yes."

"Go ahead, Jasmine, suck on my pussy through my pantyhose," I ordered.

"Yes, Mistress," she said, leaning forward, her soulful blue eyes surprisingly wide, as she sucked my pussy through the pantyhose. "So yummy," she said after a few seconds.

"Isn't teen cunt delicious?"

"To die for," she agreed as she sucked my slit through the pantyhose... which was preventing her from diving in as deeply as she wanted to. She'd resisted the temptation for years, living vicariously through the characters she created, and now that fantasy had become reality, she was all in.

"Rip my pantyhose apart and eat my cunt, Jasmine," I instructed. "Show me how badly you want to be my pussy pet."

"Yes, Mistress," she replied eagerly, as she urgently moved her hands claw-like to my crotch and ripped it open... helped by the excessive wetness that had already leaked from my pussy, since my own fantasy was also coming true.

"Good girl," I said, as she was about to dive back in.

"Call me names," she requested in a cute, sweet voice, since she was still under my spell.

"You like being called a... slut?" I asked, as her tongue parted my pussy lips.

"God, yes," she answered, as she looked like a child on Christmas morning.

"A slut for teen pussy?"

"Yes, I love this teen pussy," she replied, her tongue exploring my pussy like she was searching in there for the lost temple of doom.

"You look so beautiful with your face buried in my cunt," I moaned, trying to implant images in her head that would last long after this encounter.

"So good," she said mindlessly, so focused on licking my pussy... making up for lost years of fake heterosexuality.

"Yes, Jasmine, you'll always crave this position," I continued, "between a teen's legs, between a woman's legs, pleasing a pussy, doing what you were born to do."

"To be a cunt-licking bimbo slave," she said from her hypnotic state, having created her own persona without my direction at all.

"Yes, yes," I moaned, her tongue impressive for a first timer, my orgasm building quickly, partly because the lengthy seduction had stimulated me and my own subconscious as well.

"Come on my face," she begged, as she licked and licked.

"You want my cunt cum smeared all over your face, slut teacher?" I asked.

"Yes, baptise me as your pet," she answered, before she attacked my swollen clit... baptism by cunt cum something else that quite a few of her lesbian stories had included at some point.

"Don't stop, slut," I moaned, as I began to buck my ass up and down.

She kept licking, and in a few more precious, beautiful seconds I came all over her face. "Here you go, Jasmine," I moaned, no more name calling, just the joy of my orgasm... sweet and pure.