Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage,alt.butt.harp,alt.sex.stories
Path: andrew.cmu.edu!bb3.andrew.cmu.edu!news.sei.cmu.edu!toads.pgh.pa.us!newsfeed.pitt.edu!nntp.club.cc.cmu.edu!news.mic.ucla.edu!library.ucla.edu!csulb.edu!csus.edu!netcom.com!richh
From: richh@netcom.com (richh)
Subject: RICHH:  PANTY-HOSED
Message-ID: <richhCpA4p9.6EM@netcom.com>
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Keywords: repost
Organization: NETCOM On-line Communication Services (408 241-9760 guest)
Date: Wed, 4 May 1994 13:12:45 GMT
Lines: 333
Xref: bb3.andrew.cmu.edu alt.sex.bondage:37969 alt.butt.harp:481 alt.sex.stories:20152

    Disclaimer:  The following story contains naughty bits.  If
you are under 18, or if this has somehow wandered onto the K12 net,
STOP READING NOW.  Do not, I repeat, do not email it to all your
friends.  And for God's sake do not make a printout of it and
distribute copies all over your school.  I mean sure, it'll be cool
and all, and you'll probably have lots of new friends, and you'll
probably even get lots of dates which will lead to numerous nights
of hot, sticky backseat passion, but like, you could get in big
trouble.  Cause I know a kid who did it and sure, it was cool
for awhile, but all the new friends he made weren't like *real*
friends.  Plus like, it's all fully and legally copyrighted and
if you think you're so tough now, let's see how you feel after a
few months in the joint sharing a cell with a disgruntled former
Kinko's employee with something to prove.  Copyright prison--you
wouldn't last a day.


                          PANTY-HOSED

     It all started when I was walking past University City
Nautilus.  I looked in the window and immediately saw her.  She was
on that machine that works the pecs and shoulders.  Strands of her
light brown hair were matted to her forehead and there was a semi-
circle of sweat on her t-shirt just below her chin.  I really liked
the way she attacked the machine, her face an exquisite contortion
of pain with each rep.  
     The next time I saw her was at a fraternity party.  I'd been
on my way home, heard the noise and wandered in.  She was wearing
a red skirt that came to mid-thigh, black stockings(pantyhose, it
would turn out), a black boobie top, and a red, light cotton
jacket.  What was most striking about her was that she was wearing
four-inch heels, which took her to, I guessed, an even six feet. 
This was a woman who wanted to be noticed.  I saw two fratboys walk
over to her, ask her something, she shook her head "No"--not even
a smile, and they walked away.  She was staring intently at a girl
on the dance floor--a tiny, blonde girl who wore Esprit everything
and--it was clear--never left a party alone.  I grabbed an empty
cup and walked over next to her.
     "Pathetic, huh?" I said.  
     "She's such a little nothing," she said.  
     "Must be the hair."
     "Uggy blondes.  Hate em.  All of em."
     I looked at her hair.  "But--"
     She said, pointedly, "I'm a brunette.  I dye it darker in the
summer, but it's brunette."
     A song came on that I didn't know, but the lead singer's voice
reminded me of an old song. "Remember Romeo Void," I asked.
     "Waitaminut--Oh, yeah yeah yeah.  They had that song--"
     The expression on her face told me that she remembered.
     She put her cup down on a chair and looked at me.  We both
said "Wanna split" at the same.
     "You drive here?"
     "No," I only live a few blocks away."
     "So do I."  I asked her if her place was empty.  No, her
housemate would be there what about mine?  Well I didn't know my
brother and his girlfriend's plans, but I had a feeling they'd said
something to me about going downtown somewhere, to some kind of
poetry reading at a coffeehouse somewhere.  I remember them saying
that "all the ubiquitous people" were going to be there.
     So we went to my place.
     "I'm Rich, by the way."
     "Pam."
     Turned out she helped run a DP department at a hospital here
in town.
     "Know any good blonde jokes," she asked as we walked.
     I tried to think of one that she would like, given what little
I knew about her.
     "Data Processing, eh?  Mainframes?"
     She nodded.  "Mostly, yeah.  We're starting to switch over to
PC's."
     "So how can you tell when a blonde's been at your computer?"
I said.  She shook her head.
     "There's white-out all over the screen."
     She had a great laugh:  deep, throaty, bottomless.
     "Tell me another," she said.
     "And how do you know that another blonde was there after her?"
     "Got me."
     "There's writing on the white out."  That was my last joke
along those lines, but I liked her laugh so much and the
anticipation of holding her was so strong it was easy to improvise.
    "And how do you know that a blonde with a degree was there
next?"
     "Well?"
     "All the spelling mistakes have been corrected.  And how do
you know that the first blonde came back?"
     "Wait, all right, I don't know.  How?"
     "Because now there are smiley faces in all the o's."
     We walked in.  My place was indeed empty.
     "Wow, that tv is *huge*," she said, as everyone does.  "What's
that down below it?"  She threw her jacket on the couch.  Wow. 
What arms.  She had definition in her arms that I envied.  
     "That's a sub-woofer with a dedicated pre-amp," I said, hoping
she'd buy it.  I grabbed a couple of Kronenborg's from the fridge
and clicked on VH-1, hoping for something slow.  Never have I been
so happy to see Mariah Carey.  "Vision of Love" was on VH-1.
     "You know," I said, before she could finish,  "I never got to
dance with you at that party."  I put a hand on her hip and drew
her towards me.  I felt her palms on my back.  Her hair smelled
really good.  Wow, was she ever in shape.
     It was nice, slow-dancing with someone my own height.  The
body parts lined up differently than they normally did, and the
newness was pleasant and intriguing.  The Mariah Carey song was
over.  I was hoping that they would follow it up right away with
another slow one, but it was that damned Rosie O'Donnel woman and
her comedy show.  Fuck.  It was ironic because right after that
stupid opening they cut to a commercial that said "Vh-1.  Videos. 
That's all we are.  That's all we do."  Yeah, right.  I switched to
BET and was rewarded with some Marvin Gaye.  Well all right.      
   "Where do you work out," I whispered, as I felt our hips begin
to grind.
     "University City Nautilus," she said, and added, "So you
noticed?"  
     I let out a laugh and said, "Well if it weren't for these
things right here--"  Before I could finish she'd taken my hand
from her breast and began moving it to various places on her body.
     "Oh yeah?  What about *this*," she said.  And *these*, back
here?"
     "I never said you were hard *everywhere*."
     She placed a hand right over my crotch.  "Well *you* seem to
be."
     We sat on the couch, she near the armrest, I next to her.  She
took a swig of beer and set the bottle down on the coffeetable on
a "Soldier of Fortune" magazine (Where the hell did *that* come
from??!).  I reached my left hand behind her and rested it on a
bare shoulder.  I put my right on her right knee.  We kissed.  Her
lips were very soft, buttery.  And she had a way with a kiss.  Her
tongue became an expert explorer, searching throughout my mouth. 
I especially liked how she ran her tongue between my teeth and
lips.  I got the feeling she was looking for something specific, as
if she had forgotten something.  I couldn't help it--this struck me
as funny, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.  
    "What?" she asked, taken aback.
    I moved my hand up her thigh and kissed her again.  This time
I was the one doing the search.  My right hand became fascinated
with the fabric of her stockings.  
    I moved along, kissing along her jawline to her ear, then down
her neck as she pulled her hair back to expose more of it.
    "Like em," she asked, meaning her stockings.
    "They don't feel like regular stockings."
    "They're not stockings," she said, flipping up the front of her
skirt to show me they were pantyhose and that she wore nothing
underneath. "They're supposed to never run.  We'll see.  Hey,
what's this?" she asked, reaching back with her hand behind her head and
running it along the top of the couch.  She had found a hinged
metal ring that had been attached to the top of the couch.
     "There's one down here, too," I said, directing her attention
to the base of the couch where there were two more, "and there's
one back here too."  I was kissing her shoulder, but I could tell
her interest had shifted to these metal rings.  Luther Vandross was
singing in the next video.
     "What are they for?" she asked, and then answered herself. "To
tie me up?"
     I alternately pinched and smoothed out a nipple and whispered
into her ear "Wanna try some things?"  Her breathing changed
markedly and she whispered, "Say that again and I will."  
     "Wanna try some things?" I repeated, and saw in her eyes that
she was trying to take in every detail of my face, of the room,
every detail of what would surely become:  a lasting memory.
     "Ok," she said, quietly.
     I kissed her on her forehead, got up and said, "Hold on" and
fished around in a closet.
     "What are you *doing*?" she said.  "Come back here."  She was
used to getting her way.  I filed the tone of voice she'd just used
away in my head.  I fished around, making sure she heard metal
clanging.  Finally I found a couple pair of handcuffs.  They
weren't the good kind but they worked.  I also found a plastic bag
and dumped in some alligator clips and a set of jumper cables(just
for show, of course).  An image flashed through my head just then
of my standing there with a horrible grin on, dangling the
handcuffs from a finger.  I felt a little nauseated at how
ridiculous I would look like that so I just walked back and dropped
them on the couch next to her, after grabbing a pair of thick wool
socks(the grey kind with orange at the top) from a drawer in my
room.  
    She picked a set of the handcuffs up and immediately started
examining them. They made clicking noises as she tightened them in
on themselves. "Where does the key go oh I see it's a button--" She
opened and closed one pair a few times and said, "This is *kinky*."
I went into the kitchen and made a couple of stiff kamikazes, glad
that I kept triple-sec around.  I put them on the coffeetable.
She slammed hers down and then drank mine, saying, "I don't even
know you.  What if you're a psycho?"
     "Would a psycho waste the last of his triple-sec?"
     "I don't know--I don't know if I could relax enough--I've
never been-- " 
     "Handcuffed?"
     "*Anything* like this.  I'm usually in control.  But I know
what thinking about it is doing to me."  She took my hand and
placed it between her legs.  She was soaked.
     She finished her beer.  Another replaced it.  She fished a
roach out of a Whitman's Sampler box in her purse and lit it.  I
pulled an alligator clip out of the bag and she squeezed it around
the end of the roach, which disappeared in a drag.  
     "These things are very versatile," I said, opening and closing
one of the clips.  "As you'll see."
     She was playing with one, squeezing it open and closed and
testing its tension on the skin between her thumb and forefinger. 
"W-where do these go?" she asked as I answered her question by
pinching a nipple through her top.  She gasped.
    "Well, just go slow with the weird stuff.  Or else..." She
flexed a bicep.  It was impressive.  I got the message and resumed
kissing her.  Her top found its way off and I kissed my way down to
her nipples, which were already stiff and raisiny.  I ran my teeth
over one and she arched her back. She laughed and shivered slightly
as I rubbed the edge of a beer bottle over one.  When my right hand
finally palmed her bush and was moving the whole mass of softness
as a unit around and around she threw back her right arm in a
dramatic gesture and said, "All right, you got me.  Slap the cuffs
on.  I did it.  I confess."  I unrolled the socks and had her put
a hand in each.  Then I handcuffed each of her hands to one of the
rings on the couch, just tight enough that she would be always
aware of their presence.  I pulled her down on the couch until her
right arm was straight back behind her.  As she was moved down her
skirt rode up until it was completely around her waist.
     Her right leg was draped over the top of the couch and her
toes were running around the ring back there and her left leg was
bent and I could see her big toe inside the ring down there.  Her
legs were long and very strong.  
    I bent my head down into the crotch of her black pantyhose and
drank in the scent.  I began nibbling on her
outer pussy lips right through the fabric.  I also began massaging
from the very bottom of her pussy down to the perineum and back
again in slow, firm circles.  The fabric was slick beneath my
fingers.  I bunched up the fabric as best I could to create some
slack and stabbed my tongue into the very bottom then drew it up
hard across her pubic bone and dragged it along her clit.  She
gasped.  I experimented with the material seeing how far I could
push in a finger.  Every time I did this the material would tighten
over her clit and labia.  "Oh," she said.  "That's unbearable. 
Don't stop." I slipped under her right leg, reached into a drawer
in the table behind her and fished around for some rope.  It was
gone, but there *was* a roll of duct tape.  Better than nothing. 
I moved back and started wrapping her right ankle around the
pantyhose.  She started to say something but then stopped.  She
seemed to shiver at the tearing noise the tape made as it unrolled.
Soon both legs were well-restrained.  I moved up between her legs,
kissed her stomach, her breasts, and her neck.  "So how does it
feel to be, to be so--".
     "Helpless?  Vulnerable?  It's weird.  It's kind of scary,
which is weird for me, I mean, I walk home from parties in West
Philly at 3 in the morning in a miniskirt and I'm not scared, but
this is different.  I feel like, like when you're at a horror movie
and you cover your eyes with your hand only you peek through a
couple of fingers, because you wanna see what's going to happen
next, you know?" 
     I kissed her and squeezed open one of the alligator clips and
closed the toothy jaws around a nipple.  I did the same with the
other.  She winced very slightly.  "Hurt?"
     "Just a little, but--"  I squeezed them both down a bit harder
and she bit her lower lip.  
     "Because if you they don't do it for you," I said, pulling the
jumper cables out of the bag, there's always..."
     She inhaled sharply and said, "Oh God, there's no way--"
     I squeezed open the black end and let it close around the duct
tape on her leg.  I didn't let it close completely, just enough.  
After a few seconds I squeezed it open and removed it from her leg.
Her eyes were wide, following the large jawed end of the jumper
cable.  I rubbed the metal over her ass, her snatch, her abdomen,
and dragged it across her until it touched the underside of a
breast.  She shuddered.  I rubbed the end across an aureole.  "I'll
save these," I said.  "In case we need em." I dropped the cables to
the floor.
     "These hurt?" I said.  She nodded.  "Well they *look* great." 
     I opened up a couple buttons on the fly of my jeans, reached
in and pulled out my cock, which had been hard since that Marvin
Gaye song and had only gotten harder.  I removed a Trojan from the
drawer behind her head, tore it open and unrolled it on my cock,
smoothing it out.  I could see her face soften a bit as I did this.
I guess this finally convinced her I wasn't a psycho. I took my
now-sheathed cock and rubbed it over her outer lips and clit,
shuddering at the excruciating pleasure the fabric produced.  The feeling
reminded me of a Truth or Dare game we had played here not long ago. I aimed
the head of my cock at her opening and pushed in a couple inches before
the material resisted and tightened over her clit, causing her to
gasp and tighten her hands(through the socks) around the rings.  I
repeated this a few times, liking the odd way the material resisted
and pushed me back out like a trampoline.  But this wasn't going to
do.  I leaned down, my head on her stomach and searched with my
right hand under the couch.  Found it.  It was a stiletto my
brother had bought off a street guy on a recent trip into New York.
She looked at it as I held it.  "W-what's that?"  There was fear in
her eyes.  
    I knew that if I opened it right then she would scream so I
said "I'll buy you a new pair of pantyhose, okay?" and started
pulling out the fabric at her crotch so she would know what I had
in mind.  "It's okay," she said.  "I have plenty."  
     I liked that.  Even though she knew it was coming she gasped
as I pressed the sliding button upward on the stiletto and the
blade appeared with a "SHOOOP" noise.  For the first time in a long
time, I imagined, she had just felt that first adrenaline rush of
fear.  I pulled out the material of the hose and began cutting--
around her shins--just above the duct tape. Her fear now blended
with confusion, but her breathing was still quick and shallow. 
When I had cut a full circle around both calves, I began sliding
the pantyhose up her legs, to create the slack I was looking for. 
As I tested the amount of slack there was by sliding the material
into her pussy with a finger, she said "Oh" in a tone that
signalled she saw what I wanted to do.  Soon there was enough.  I
pushed the button the other way on the stiletto.  The blade
disappeared and I set it down on the table.  I lowered myself onto
her.  She gasped at penetration.  As did I.  Even through the
condom, the texture of the material that surrounded it could be
clearly felt.  As I sank in fully I saw that when my pubic bone hit
hers, the material would stretch taut over her clit and would also
give me that trampoline-y feeling and start me moving back out.  I
held her head in my hands as we fell into that most ancient of
rhythms.  She bit her lip.  "Your legs want to close, but they
can't," I said into her ear.  She nodded. I could tell that the
alligator clips hurt her more than she had let on.  "Concentrate,"
I said.  "Concentrate on what's going on between your legs.  Focus
on that."  She closed her eyes.  Before too long she said, "Oh God.
I can't stand it.  I'm gonna come.  I'm gonna scream--"
     I concentrated on the pleasure below, trying to will my own
orgasm to match hers.
     I placed a forefinger over her anus and felt it involuntarily
contract.  My own orgasm began as she shut her eyes tightly and
started to come, then just as suddenly opened them.  Her mouth
opened and she hit a note that even my old pal Mariah would envy.
We were both completely spent, sweaty, satisfied. I pulled out,
reached up and popped open the handcuffs. I also cut her legs free
with the stiletto.
     "Come here," she said, pulling the socks off her hands and
opening her arms to me.  I rested my head on her chest and she
pulled her legs around me and we drifted off like that. 
    We were awakened in a few hours by the giggles of my brother
and his girlfriend.

RICHH