Tribade Stocking Mesmerism

"Well," Irina gasped. "That was..." disturbingly, maddeningly exciting? "... impressive."

"And that was just the first one. Rina, dear, I think I'll need help with the second."

"Wh—what?"

"You heard me." She dangled the second stocking in front of the other woman. "Take it and help me out. Pretty please?" Her tone was that of a seven year-old, but the look on her face was worldly, knowing, and near-predatory.

Irina shook her head at that look; no one should guess her thoughts on this, let alone take advantage of them. This was not right. She didn't want this, not really, not... it was all just weird, even if a little sexy, and...

"You know you want to," Paula purred.

And she did, she honest-to-God did. Why else had she bought those damned stockings? And fucked herself silly to mental scenes at least superficially resembling this one, even if the face of her friend had been mercifully blurred out by her internal censors? This was insane and wrong and dreadfully hot.

She fell to her knees and removed the stocking from her best friend's hand. "All right," she breathed.

The vantage was different, now, but certainly no less arousing for all that. She felt the luxurious fabric between her fingers as she started it up Paula's foot and leg. She'd not bothered to bunch it first, so it was askew and jumbled, and the other woman giggled at the sight of her inexpert attempt. Irina didn't retract the hose, she just made do, fitting the end of the nylon to the toes and shifting them into place. These weren't like pantyhose, she could feel. The filmy material was softer, less stretchy, and sewn to fit the foot that wore it; she adjusted the heel treatment and smoothed the wrinkles upward to where the nylon was starting to tighten around the ankle. The seams were hopelessly wrecked from her earlier carelessness, so she spent the next moment sliding the overlapping parts around to correct for that. Calf and knee felt extremely warm through the silken mist, and when Irina looked up at her face she saw that Paula's eyes, half-closed, had rolled up beneath their lids, her jaw slackening with relaxed abandon. Irina wanted to join her, there; she wasn't consciously applying pressure to her own pussy any more with her upper legs, but it was evident that her subconscious was doing a decent job of quasi-masturbating her regardless.

The whole of the stocking was more orderly, now, and she moved it up Paula's thigh, stretching the now-darker section toward the first dangling strap. She discovered that this necessitated removing some of the wrinkles that had accumulated on her journey, and Irina used both hands, starting at the ankle and continuing all the way up Paula's leg, to smooth out the offenses, eliciting a sigh of pleasure from the other woman's lips. Then the first strap was clamped into place, pulling the top of the stocking into a taut, rounded chevron that for some reason made her want to nibble it. Reaching her hand up Paula's dress to attach the second gave her pause, but she diligently moved the skirt out of the way to do so. For the third... She cleared her throat.

Paula's eyes fell open again, glazed with emotion. She saw the problem, licked her lips rapidly and probably unconsciously, then slowly but surely raised her leg up from the sofa to expose the third strap dangling from her backside. And placed her foot on Irina's shoulder. For balance, surely.

Irina leaned in to assist her hands' shift from slippery, silken stocking to heated thigh, pinching the back of the welt in the last metal clasp, and as she did so she inhaled the strong upskirt aroma of turned-on girl. The reasons for this did not escape her, as her own libido was on overdrive, but she still felt bizarrely torn between considering herself a voyeur or an active participant despite her obvious... activity.

Paula refused to let this self-deception maintain its foothold. "Rina," she asked, "will you... straighten my seams?" A note of urgency entered her voice, and her ankle moved to stroke Irina's cheek with its texture. "Please?"

Rina's assent was wordless. She held the ankle with a pair of fingers from each hand, feeling the seam between them, following it up to the cup at the back of the knee. There the sewn line became visible from her angle, and she could see that it was slightly off kilter as she switched to her thumbs. The sound as her manicured nails lightly scraped the nylon wrought goosebumps up her back and across her chest—as did the sensation of her palms on lightly coated flesh, if she was being honest with herself—and when she reached the circular finishing loop at the top, she fondled it a bit... repeatedly circling it lightly but insistently with a fingertip. Paula's gasp indicated she got the message from that, loud and clear, and she closed her eyes, whispering, "Yes."

Irina, already past the mental point of no-return, slid her hands to the uncovered upper thigh... and beyond. The lace underwear concealed little, from this angle and distance, and exuded a moist air that felt like summer. In stroking there she found this dampness and its accompanying bouquet turning to slippery wetness and thick musk, and the toes on her shoulder curled in reaction. Irina was caught up in the crazed arousal of the moment and started kissing and licking her way up the stocking to its end. Another leg joined its fellow, on the opposite side of her neck, and her fingers moved aside the thin lace before her as her face sank into thighs, into cunt, into lust-driven, hungry oblivion.

She moaned into her best friend as the scent and taste enveloped her, and as the stocking-clad legs tightened around her head, muffling what she could hear of Paula's extremely vocal but nonverbal reaction. She had no need for clarity in the latter, though: she could tell by the reactive thrusts to her mouth and by the fingers coiled in her hair precisely what she was doing to the other woman, and how well it was appreciated. This was new to her, and different... but not so different she couldn't divine her way through intuition. Every woman had her own need for variation, she expected, but the near-universality of rhythmic strokes and small circles around the clit from her personal experience on the other end of the mouth served her well.

Not that the target of her oral ministrations seemed inclined to be picky, at this point. In her state of heightened sensual awareness, under the influence of the mind-altering suggestions she'd been pouring into her own head for weeks, Paula was likely a hair trigger away from bliss just from having this luxury hosiery on at all, let alone the further stimulation of being eaten out by the allegedly-straight best friend who had gifted it to her. Irina herself, not subject to the hypnotic commands, was already in the throes of orgasm without even touching her pussy, from the sheer eroticism of the situation and some barely-voluntary thigh squeezing. She shrieked her climax into the other woman's cunt, and though less audible through wet flesh than it might have been, Paula's reaction to the muted sounds implied that the mere thought of her friend getting off just from licking her was enough to push her, too, over the edge... How many times she could not judge, but Irina kept up the tender kisses, slurps, and intimate cunnilingual massage for moments more, until the hands on the back of her head slackened and the nylon-slick heels on her back relaxed their tension and slid to the floor.

"C'mere," came the lazy call from above, and Irina made her way through a couple layers of disarrayed skirt to surface, face a glistening mess from the nose down. Paula was not deterred, though, and she pulled the other woman up by her shoulders to sit, nose-to-nose, in her lap. Her eyes were wide, fascinated, and possibly in shock, but she nuzzled Irina and tentatively offered a kiss. "Wow."

Irina was, for her part, embarrassed—at her own impulsive, wanton behavior as well as by the knowledge that she smelled like a whorehouse. But she was still immensely aroused, and returned the kiss eagerly, despite her misgivings. She broke off a bit, looking in the other woman's eyes, searchingly. Paula returned the curious gaze, then tried to respond to the unasked questions she apparently found there. "That was... intense. I don't know what came over... What you did to me... I know it was me, I made you, but I..."

Irina shook her head. "You didn't make me. I knew what I was doing the whole time. Well, most of the time. I... enjoyed it."

Paula laughed at that. "You enjoyed it? I came so hard I thought I was going to die!"

"I... wanted that. I don't know why. I really don't. But I've been watching you for weeks and your stocking fetish... it really got to me. You should see what you're like when you're hypnotized. I... um... was going to show you the video."

Paula arched an eyebrow at her, but her lips quirked in bemusement rather than offense. "I'll have to take you up on that sometime." She sighed, finally relaxed, and held Irina's pretty, flushed cheek to her bosom; Irina, however, was anything but relaxed, and her friend could tell. "What's up, honey? You're fidgety."

"I'm okay. I just need... to relieve some tension, is all. I'll go to the ladies room for a minute. Be right ba—"

She held Irina firmly in her lap. "Wait, I thought you..."

"Um, just the once. It's okay, I'll—"

"Oh." Paula looked conflicted, but resolute. "Sweetie, stay. Let me see what I can do for you. I don't know if I'm ready to... do what you did to me. But we can do other stuff, if you want."

"Other stuff?"

"The old bump-and-grind?"

Irina dimpled. "My God, are we virgins back in high school, now?"

"Hey, I was a lesbian virgin until a couple minutes ago."

"Still are, when it comes to the fun stuff."

"Really? That good, huh?"

"Let's just say I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed it."

"Well, I'll... try it sometime. I promise. Just, for now..."

"I'll wear stockings..." came a singsong reply.

Paula's eyes widened and she sucked in a breath. Women in stockings are so seductive and sexy. They always get what they want. "Grrr..." She kissed the woman in her lap deeply, and her right hand swatted aimlessly at the sofa arm, where the hosiery she'd removed still lurked. When she finally had it in her grasp, she pushed it into Irina's hand and broke away from a lip-lock that seemed to be—impossibly—getting her riled up again.

"You get started," she panted. "I'll fetch you something to hold them up."

"Hurry back," came the hoarse reply, and Irina chuckled as her friend stumbled off toward the bedroom, the light summer dress sticking to her awkwardly in damp patches. Though Irina was not in a rush, the other woman was gone long enough on the errand that the left stocking was past her knee and thighward-bound by the time Paula returned, accompanied by a black and red lace hip-hugging suspender belt.

"This is a little loose on me, but I think it will fit you just..." Seeing her friend with one leg already limned in nylon made her trail off. "Uh... here."

Irina smiled at the other woman's obvious distraction, and put the belt around her waist; it was a decent fit, though her hips were so wide that she had to put the hooks in the furthest-out eye loops to keep comfortable. It didn't exactly match her other underwear, but she doubted she was being graded on the highest fashion criteria right now. Paula watched her raptly as she hooked the nylon to the suspenders. She was awkward at it, not having much practice, but the fumbling merely appeared to tantalize her observer so she didn't rush. In fact, she took a much longer time on the second stocking, just to tease, but with another emitted growl Paula got down on her knees, knocked Irina's hands aside, and took care of the matter herself with practiced hands.

When she finished, she rocked back on her heels, taking in the view of her handiwork, and Irina could see her flushed again, biting her lip. Their hands gravitated together, and once fingers entangled the ladies were pulled together by mutual, unspoken agreement.

Paula straddled Irina on the couch, entwining their legs together with a hiss of nylon friction, felt as much as heard, and sending chills up both their spines. Paula had taken the time to remove her panties when she'd fetched the lingerie for Irina, and Irina herself... hadn't actually worn any to begin with, the other had discovered while applying hosiery to upper thigh. She gave a coo of delight as their respective sexes kissed with warm, wet fervor. The friction was gentle, at first, with their scissored legs taking up much of the action, but soon enough Paula recognized Irina's gasping reactions every time her cunt was touched, even slightly, in their sliding motions, and felt how the other woman's hips desperately bucked upward toward her own. This, along with her own parallel sensations, made her aggressively grind down on her new lover; the glide of smooth expanses of thigh was replaced by slick folds which provided extra-stimulating ripples for clitorises to respond to. Both women had already come to orgasm in their earlier play, but Paula more strongly and extravagantly, and it seemed to give her some libidinal distance that allowed her to focus on bringing off Irina. Surely the way she circled Irina's clit with her own nether lips caused the woman on the bottom to sigh and, soon enough, pant. The tightness of their interlocked thighs continued to build the tension in Irina's loins, and just before it crashed over her she grabbed her best friend's ass and waist for leverage and thrust upward at her, hard and repeatedly. This final motion released a hot wave of bliss which poured from the crown of her head all the way down to her stockinged toes and the multiple aftershocks came just as Paula wrapped her nyloned calves around Irina's in delighted involuntary convulsions of her own.

They sank into the couch cushions in a melted mass of overheated girlflesh and waited for their breathing to slow to normal levels. Paula pillowed the side of her face on Irina's breasts and closed her eyes, seeming ready to drift off, but the latter's mild motion beneath her caused their legs to rub together, and Paula was too heavily hypno-conditioned to have a chance at ignoring that sensation in favor of something as paltry as sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and she lifted up on her forearms, peeking not-very-surreptitiously over her shoulder at the intermingled limbs and their oh-so-exciting coatings. Paula's eyes, staring down at this, looked as hypnotized as Irina had ever seen them. Irina unexpectedly felt her partner moving downward on her body, perhaps to get a closer look at the way the tops of her stockings hit her thighs, and then gasped in surprise when she felt Paula's mouth... there.

"Paula, baby..." she panted. "I appreciate it, I do, but I can't— I can't come again. I just had like a zillion orgasms. You don't have to—"

"Hush, Irina. I want to feel your stockings on my cheeks. I want to taste you. I want you to fuck my mouth. If you orgasm, that's just a bonus for me. Now just lie back and open your legs."

She did. And then Paula did... that.

And it turned out that a zillion-and-one was not entirely out of reach after all.

* * *

So now here she was, a month later. She'd googled enough hypno-porn stories in the last few weeks to suspect she should be wondering whether somehow she'd accidentally been affected by being present during Paula's frequent trips to the shadowy, silken side of her mind but, realistically, she didn't think so. She definitely had a serious stocking fetish going herself, as evinced by the most recent sessions with her best friend, but it seemed to Irina that she'd come by it "honestly"—that it was not born of some internet guy with a pocket watch but instead from the sheer eroticism of watching her best friend exhibit more and more seductive and sensuous behaviors around her new choice of legwear. And while Irina did encase her legs in those same tight, filmy morsels of nylon whenever possible, she wore them for the mind-warping, panty-soaking reaction it obtained from Paula, not out of any personal satisfaction from the feel of the nylons herself. Ergo, she concluded, I'm not affected.

Though, admittedly, vintage-style "foundation garments" were getting to be an obsession with her. Go figure. She even knew what a waspie was, now.

That said, it was after her third climax tonight from her old-friend-and-new-lover's tongue that she wondered how it would feel to be like Paula was about the stockings, the shapewear. To be an utter slave to the texture of diaphanous fabric on her legs and hands, to get off on the sensations and the thoughts of what she was wearing. To look at herself in the mirror and be as excited as she was now when she looked at Paula, legs wrapped in silken, tinted hosiery and rapt with wanton need. She wondered, darkly, if she should start watching the trance website, too.

And because Irina had always prided herself on being a very introspective person, in the afterglow of rubbing and licking herself and her girlfriend into sexual exhaustion she spent a moment of self-analysis. Thinking back on the events of tonight, she was forced to concede that the disturbing thoughts about joining her friend in mesmerized stocking lust hadn't really occurred after, or even during, her orgasm.

No, she admitted to herself with a secret, very wrong thrill.

Those thoughts had, in fact, caused it.