Tribade Stocking Mesmerism

All the while, she couldn't stop thinking about Paula... the way she looked while staring at the screen and reciting the poetry of garters and stockings and pussy... Paula's hands clawing at her hosiery, outside, inside... the moans as she toyed with her panties and introduced the raw scent within them to the room. And to Irina, who had inhaled deeply and tried hard to keep not-strictly-heterosexual thoughts away. Or to a minimum, anyway. Perhaps enjoying this a little would be okay. When Irina finally lost the will to keep her fingers under control and they tweaked her clitoris, she cried aloud with the release, then relaxed into a puddle on the leather of the driver's seat.

She knew that something was very wrong with this whole situation—that using hypnotism to instill someone else's fetishes into yourself was a seriously co-dependent-ass way to preserve a relationship at best. She knew she needed to stop Paula from doing this. She knew that it was totally messed up to be bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm while thinking about how her best friend looked when she was becoming some kind of lust-driven fucktoy for anyone who brought her a pair of fucking nylons.

And she knew that next time she was going to take video with her phone. Not for Paula to watch, she thought, as shame overwhelmed her and her nipples stiffened again. For me.

* * *

Irina was late for the next session, and didn't bother to knock; she'd been given a key by Paula within weeks of the home's purchase and was at least theoretically welcome to invade at any time. Karl would still be on the trip for another three days, and while there was a part of Irina that had half-expected what she would discover, it was still a shock and a twisted little jolt to her libido to find Paula the way she did.

She was in the basement office, of course, and despite knowing Irina would be arriving any time in the next couple hours was already quite oblivious to the world outside her head, outside of the screen. The straps of her peach, satiny girdle were off her shoulders, allowing her tits to push free and expose most of their nipples to view as she leaned way back in her chair. Paula's legs were propped up on the desk, sensuously gliding against one another with a nylonic sizzle that Irina's clit couldn't help but acknowledge.

One gloved hand was trapped firmly within the embrace of Paula's thighs, the two middle fingers now pistoning in and out, now separating, pussy-slicked, to massage and twist the flesh on both sides of her clitoris. Irina wasn't certain how long her friend had been at it, but her inner thighs were smeared messily with the shiny evidence of her copious fuckjuice, and the darkness of the fabric under her ass implied that the open bottom of the girdle was soaked through with more of the same. Her other hand was plunged to the wrist into the top of her stocking, desperate and rabid, exploring the feel of the flesh there, or the tightness of the sheer hose against fingers and palm... it was hard to be certain which, but it was clear from the rhythms of Paula's masturbation that her points of greatest arousal were directly correlated with what she was doing and feeling with those nylon-limned digits. She was constantly murmuring something, too, but Irina couldn't string together a real sentence with what words she could hear (though "stockings", "pussy", "fuck", and "wet" all played unsurprisingly prominent roles). The trance software's narrative had grown much more explicit in days past or Paula was on filthy-minded autopilot; either way, her filters were pretty much gone.

Confirmed, Irina thought as she heard her best friend moan, "My cunt, my fucking cunt..." The C-word was not and had never been a normal part of their vocabulary, even when alcohol was a factor, though both ladies were aware enough of each other to know that in the bedroom such social rules became detrimental or at the very least irrelevant. Didn't expect her to be talking dirty to me, though. Or around me, anyway.

As Paula edged toward orgasm (and Irina had seen this sort of thing often enough recently to be embarrassingly aware of the signs), her eyes, fixed on the screen, slid shut with apparent finality. This didn't diminish her urgency in any way; perhaps it just helped to focus it. In any case, one final, spasmodic twitch of her masturbating hand seemed to tense every muscle in her body simultaneously. Though it couldn't have lasted more than a couple of seconds, it seemed to Irina like a slow-motion eternity to watch as her friend's expression shifted from excitement and thrill to a beautiful agony... then her frozen-in-place body twisted and wrapped itself around her fingers, thrusting and curling without conscious purpose or even volition. Irina hadn't noticed the brief silence of the past moment until it was shattered by the open-mouthed wordless cry, followed with panting and grunting like an animal thing.

It was by far the most arousing event Irina had ever witnessed, and her underwear was drenched beneath her loose summer skirt. She knew that not all of the pervasive sexual musk in the room belonged to her hypnotized best friend, and it was only through the utmost exercise of willpower that she was not herself masturbating to a suitably strong orgasm herself at this instant.

Willpower, certainly. As well as the fact that she was holding the camera on her phone as steady as she could, to capture every dripping moment.

Paula slowly came down from whatever higher plane she'd been inhabiting, and her eyes opened, refocusing on whatever was left on-screen. Irina dropped her phone into her purse as her friend began what Irina had come to think of as her awakening routine: slow, steady change to normal breathing, posture returning to a comfortable sitting position, countdown from 100 to 1... and sucking her fuckfingers clean of the mess she'd just indulged in. Whoever came up with that part of the entrancement is a sick motherfucker, she thought, but the humid heat in her own panties belied her attempted moralism on that fine point of mesmerist etiquette.

"Wow. That was so... intense. I feel..." Paula trailed off, words unsaid. No amount of denial could let her ignore the aroma of sex pervading the room, or her sweat, or the dampness of her apparel.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"Omigod, what did I...?"

"I... uh... think you had a good time. Maybe several."

Paula put her head in her hands. "Arrrrrrghh! No! You weren't supposed to have to see that!"

A little late to worry about that, dearie. "Yeah, well... no worse than all the times I caught you watching porn on your laptop in our dorm room."

"That was one time. One!"

"One time I mentioned. There were others."

"Liar!"

"Okay, Miss 'Well-Hung-Aces-of-Spades'. And Miss 'D.P.-Shenanigans.'"

Paula had been about to respond but her mouth snapped shut at this and she flushed. "Ulp. Oh, God, you must have thought I was such a whore!"

"You never got paid for it that I knew of."

"That's not... you know what I mean."

"Babe, just because you never caught me didn't mean I wasn't just as bad. I was just better at hiding it than you were." Good old Catholic-schoolgirl methods.

"Well... still. I'm sorry. That's been happening a lot lately after my sessions. I didn't think about during." Really? How the fuck could you not know? It's been going on since, like, the second time. "I really should have guessed that some time you'd... Do you hate me? You don't have to do this for me ever again."

"Yeah, thanks. It was a little..." excruciatingly arousing "... hard to handle."

"I'm so... God, let me get changed and I'll take you out and buy you dinner."

"No, P, I'm kinda tired and I'm gonna head home now."

"Omigod, you are mad, aren't you?!"

No, ultra-fucking-horny. Again. "Kiddo, I promise you, I am not angry at you. I'm just not in the mood for dinner tonight. I will totally take a rain check if your guilt insists on it."

"It does."

"C'mon, walk me out, then." If you can without sloshing. Jesus, you're a swampy mess. "Slut."

"Hey!"

* * *

It was broad daylight this time, and the prospect of getting caught behind the grocery store did not intrigue her, so Irina thought she must be the most dangerous woman on the roads this afternoon. When she got home she threw her keys on the table, made sure the blinds were closed, then hooked her phone into her TV set and proceeded to invade her friend's privacy to an immoral extent while unceremoniously stripping off her clothes.

Is it really a violation if I've already seen it with permission? she rationalized. It's not like I'm publishing it on the 'net or something. All philosophical thoughts left her as the scene of this afternoon's debauchery came onscreen.

It was just as exciting the second time through as it had been live, with the notable improvement of being able to touch herself anywhere and everywhere while taking it all in on the replay. Normally she put a towel under herself if she had a "self-loving" session anywhere outside of bed, but all that was forgotten now; she was sopping and fragrant and too over-the-top to worry about messiness. She often had to tease herself with soft caresses for half an hour to get this lust-crazed, slowly increasing in intensity before she was this stimulated. But now it seemed like every nerve ending from her nipples to her ass was dancing to the beat of Paula's filthy but delicious mind-fucking session. Irina edged herself close to orgasm without going over once... twice... then, guiltily but excitedly, she opened her handbag and withdrew her prize.

Before leaving, on pretext of grabbing her "forgotten" purse, Irina had filched one of the slinky bits from Paula's "used and abused" pile in the closet. She removed it now, draping it across her breasts in order to feel the light silken fabric across her nipples. When she pinched them through the nylon the tingles from her pussy intensified almost unbearably in rhythm with her slow but quickening clitoral circles.

Video-Paula was bucking into her hands, now, and Irina stared at the muscles in her best friend's calves flexing and toes curling beneath their slick transparent coverings. Irina couldn't help but join her in this intense masturbatory rhythm, and while she continued to finger her own slit she slowly moved the pilfered stocking over her nose and mouth. She inhaled the smell of nylon thread and sweat and also

(My fucking cunt! the video cried

and yes, yes! Paula's fucking cunt, I can smell it on the stocking)

inhaled her stocking-slut best friend's sexual desperation and musk and oh, oh God, she was coming, so hard, and again... and so many times after that...

Sated after long, delightful moments of this, her breathing slowed, eventually, and she knew that with the ebbing fire in her loins would return the guilt and shame of what she was thinking, what she had been doing.

Irina hastily searched the web on her phone and clicked a purchase before she could change her mind.

* * *

It was two days and an Amazon Prime delivery later when Paula next invited Irina over for coffee. Two days of surfing stocking porn and "letting her fingers do the walking" while she waited and... maybe, once or twice, watching the phone camera footage of her best friend's entranced masturbation again. Perhaps it was more like three or four times. Five tops. The borrowed wisp of hose had gained several more runs in it from rough usage Irina didn't like to think about or acknowledge in her non-aroused moments. She had planned to return it surreptitiously next time she saw Paula, but she felt like that was almost as messed up as stealing it in the first place, given the things she'd done with it by now.

Karl was there when she arrived, cat-who-ate-the-canary grin plastered all over his face. "Morning, Rina!" He was wearing his hiking boots, t-shirt, and shorts whose fly he'd apparently forgotten to zip. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he dumped the last of the milk from his breakfast cereal into the sink and then walked toward the door, stopping only to kiss Paula deeply on the way out... and to cop a feel at the hem of her housedress, scritching lightly with his nails on the white-tinged hosiery beneath. He rolled his eyes and shuddered, perhaps in mock-climax, then smiled. With a tip of the hat to Irina, he emitted a cheery, "See you ladies at dinner!" before exiting through the garage door.

They moved to the living room sofas. Small talk presented itself, but it wasn't long before Irina let an awkward silence lapse, and Paula cleared her throat to fill it.

"What's up, lady? You seem thrown off, somehow."

I've been using you as porn and can't decide whether to feel guilty or merely demented. "It's nothing. Has everything been going okay?" She inclined her head toward the door Karl had retreated through.

"Never better." She crossed her legs and placed her hand near her knees. Was she even aware she was stroking them in that particular, sensual way? Was it conscious or subconscious? Would I even notice if I were unaware of your recent mindfucking activities? "You have no idea how horny I get now from even the thought of wearing stockings... let alone actually putting them on."

Possibly some idea. "Wow. Paula, do you maybe... ever wonder if maybe this... thing you're doing... is maybe a little out of control?"

"If you say 'maybe' again I'm going to shoot you."

"Ha. Fine. I'm just saying... you seem a little obsessed."

"Best obsession ever! Karl's happy, I'm happy... I'm enjoying sex more than before, and even getting dressed in the morning has become like foreplay for me. What's to dislike?"

"You don't feel like it's changing you?"

"Well of course it's changed me. That was the point. But is it a good change, like quitting smoking, or a bad change, like voting Republican? Definitely the former." Her friend looked at her more closely. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

Hot and bothering, maybe. "No. I mean, yes, at first, but I figured, 'Hey, doesn't seem to be too harmful.' Lately, though..."

"Um hmmm?" There she went, doing that stroking again, this time her calves. Pointing her toes and dangling her bedroom slipper off her foot. Irina lost her train of thought. "Hello?"

"Never mind. I just remembered—" This was the awkward moment she'd half-planned over the past several days and never quite decided whether to actually proceed with or not. "—I've... got a present for you," Irina responded, breathlessly. "I found them online and figured you'd appreciate them, knowing your new... proclivities. And your birthday's in, like, six weeks or so, right?"

Paula's eyes widened as she opened the gift bag, withdrawing the contents, and Irina didn't think she imagined seeing her nostrils flare. "Oh my God, you shouldn't have!"

I know, thought Irina. This could well be definitive proof that I'm even more fucked up than you are.

It was too late to stop things, now, of course. Paula was grinning and staring at the envelope, her hand already fumbling with the seal. "Fully-fashioned, 15 denier, 60 gauge... these must have been expensive..." The packet came open, and Paula ran it under her nose and breathed in deeply.

"They were pricey," Irina admitted as her friend's cheeks blushed a bit in excitement, whether from the aroma of the nylon or in anticipation of what came next. "But that's what you pick for gifts... something you know they'll appreciate but won't buy for themselves."

"Mmmmmm..." Paula replied, nominally listening but questionably hearing as she unwrapped the tissue from the stiff card on which the hosiery was wound. She took part of one stocking between her thumb and fingers and stroked it in a circular motion for a moment, then rubbed it against her cheek. Irina was uncertain why this display was causing her own nipples to stiffen, but Paula's breathing was definitely getting heavier.

"This is... this is so lovely, darling. I'm..." Paula was looking up at her, again, now. "Should I try them on right now?"

Oh, God, don't, she thought, even as her pussy moistened desperately. Stop it, she instructed her offending libido, but the response back was insolent, disobedient... and lubricant.

"Nah, you don't have to. Save them for alone time. I mean, alone with Karl."

"Well, that's not fair," Paula replied. Her voice grew husky. "You should at least get to see me in them. To thank you."

"I—" she continued to object, defying the counterattacking voices from her nether regions, but the other woman took matters out of her hands by sliding her dress up and unclasping all six of the garter clips with practiced fingers. The nylons she was already wearing loosened and drooped slightly, and Paula was careful in removing them the rest of the way. It wasn't until they were both off and draped over the arm of the couch that she glanced away from them to her friend, perhaps a little shyly, but with hooded eyes. With a happy sigh, she turned to the new treat of fine hosiery.

I want to thank the person who gives them to me in the sexiest way possible. And, oh God, was she fulfilling that brainwashed pledge. Paula took the first stocking in hand, holding it up to the light and gazing for an instant at its sheerness before rolling it up with both hands to reach the end. Bending her knee to bring her pointed foot into view, she slid the hose past her toes and rounded the heel, checking that her foot was aligned with the darker reinforcements and that the seam was on track. Satisfied, she slowly and deliberately unfurled the nylon to heel-length, then to mid-calf. With a look on her face that mimicked the one Irina had many times recently seen focused thoughtlessly into the green light of a computer monitor, Paula extended her leg at a diagonal upward through the ring of silken fabric, pausing every few inches to obsess over whether the line up the back was straight. Irina's eyes almost crossed in the eroticism of the moment, and she squeezed her thighs together in a way that strummed her clitoris without (she hoped) being obvious. She had noticed the ceiling fan was on, but it didn't seem to be cooling her off very much.

When the welt unfolded into view, Paula held her leg in place, straight and pointed at shoulder height, as she examined it from several angles. When her work had passed quality inspection, she smiled and lowered it to the floor. The light blue of her dress and whatever undergarments she wore beneath it failed to hide the stiffness of her nipples, and the blush which reached from her ears down her neck was telling. She spent an instant pulling slack here, smoothing wrinkles there before attaching the first silvery garter clasp to the front. The second, on the side, followed soon enough, but for the third she needed to stand up. There was no rational reason she needed to turn her rear end to her best friend while she hitched up her skirt to access the back fastener and mate it with the top of the hosiery... but she nonetheless did so. Irina could see sheer, tight black panties over the top of the straps

always... over the top

and the crack of Paula's ass was clearly visible, framed by the low-slung satin of the garter belt. Paula strained to look over her shoulder, down over her round behind, to verify everything was in order, and winked at Irina, who felt that her gulp must have been way too obvious.