In the silence of Gina's office, her fingertips whispered up and down the black pantyhose the junior associate was wearing. "You love this, don't you, Mark?" she asked.
As Gina's hand moved from his legs to his cock, Mark breathed in sharply. Sitting in her office chair, wearing only sheer-to-waist, coffee-colored hose and a pair of open-toe heels herself, it pleased Gina to see his young dick strain against the material.
"Yes," he said through the nylon stocking pulled over his head.
The office's blinds were closed. No one on the darkening streets of Arclight would know what went on in one of the town's more prestigious boutique law firms, or be able to see how one of its successful attorneys was using the hired help for her pleasure.
Hard to believe it had only been three weeks since Gina had went into a local store, "The Silken", to get out of the rain. It was then that Cheryl, the young Korean-American woman working there, had given Gina a pair of special pantyhose.
At the time, Gina had thought it simple kindness. After all, the hose that Gina had on had been soaked in the rain, and had a run in them.
It had turned out that Cheryl's gift of the black pantyhose with the gold thread at the seam was the ultimate act of kindness. Those hose changed the wearer female, or as she would learn by playing with Mark, male. They would work by simply wearing them on your legs, if given enough time. But they would work much faster if they were pulled over the victim's head so that the hose's power could more quickly reach the future slave's mind. An orgasm while wearing the special nylon would bind that person to what Gina now knew The Silken: the ever-growing family of pantyhose-encased slaves.
Gina's hand gripped Mark's shaft now through his pantyhose. Mark groaned, and this pleased Gina. She began to run the fingers of her free hand along her hose-covered slit. "You love wearing your nylon mask, too, don't you, Mark?"
"Yes, I do," he said. In the office's dim light, Gina saw pre-cum in his hose.
"I know you do, Mark. You see, wearing a pantyhose mask is a sign of your submission to me."
"Yes, Mistress. I love it."
Gina began fingering herself harder through her nylons. There was just something about being called "Mistress." She was finding that anyone that had enslaved another was that person's master or Mistress. In that way, Cheryl was Gina's Mistress; Cheryl's mother was Cheryl's Mistress.
As near as Gina could tell, Cheryl's mother was the one behind it all, the woman who had created the gold-threaded hose, sold them at her high-end hosiery boutique, and so enslaving (or was it liberating?) one-by-one to the good citizens of Arclight. Cheryl's mother was thus the true Mistress to them all.
Still, while Cheryl's mother may be the one all The Silken worshiped, there was something uniquely intimate in being someone's personal Mistress, hearing them say that powerful word in reference to her. Gina had realized that she wanted to hear her daughter Laura call her "Mistress" as well, just like Cheryl did with her own mother.
The past few weeks had been practice for Laura's seduction. She considered this as she kept stroking Mark's cock.
"Does this cock want to cum, Mark?"
"Yes, Mistress. It wants to cum so bad."
"Not yet, Mark," Gina said, smiling. "You have to be good while I stroke this nice, big, pantyhose-encased dick of yours. I don't want you making a spermy mess in your hose just yet."
There was no gold thread shooting through the nylon seam that covered the dick Gina now toyed with, nor through the pantyhose Mark wore over his face. No need for the special hose now. The handsome, late-twenties attorney had been hers for a while.
* * * *
Gina still remembered Cheryl giving her several pairs of the special hose.
"Do you have any queen-plus sizes?" Gina had asked, looking at the packaging's size labels.
Cheryl had been dressed only in a pair of suntan hose herself, her pussy sobbing wet from Gina licking it mere moments before. Cheryl had asked, "Won't those be a bit big for your daughter? I remember that picture you showed me. She's a younger version of you."
Gina knew how thin and pretty her daughter was, and appreciated the compliment Cheryl had just paid her. "Our relationship has gotten bad since her father died. That's why I want Laura's seduction to be perfect. Practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" Gina had said. "There's a tall, muscled junior associate in my office that I've seen looking at my legs ever since he was hired last year. I think his legs would look wonderful in hose. I know they'd feel wonderful rubbing against mine."
Even through the nylon slave mask she had on, Gina had seen the look of concern on Cheryl's face. "If he's that strong, you may need help getting the hose on him."
"No, I think seducing a man will be easier than taking a woman."
"How?" Cheryl had asked.
"I know he wants to fuck me. I'll just get him hot one night after work, then tell him I'm a pervert and only like being fucked by men in hose. I was married to a wonderful man. I know guys. They'll do anything for sex," Gina had explained.
Gina's heart beat faster seeing Cheryl's smile. "I knew you were going to be a natural at this."
A day later, Gina had asked Mark to stay late at the office. "I need to get ready for a deposition next week, and could use the help," Gina had told him.
"Sure, I'd love to help you with whatever you need," he had said, not even caring about the suggestiveness of his comment. He was an attractive guy, and even if Gina was a little older, she was hot. She had nice legs, a great ass. But they'd worked late nights together before, and nothing had happened then. It reasoned that nothing would happen again, Mark had figured, other than flirting.
She'd contacted him over the office intercom that night only after everyone else had gone home. "Can you come to my office? I'm ready to get started."
"Be right there," Mark had said.
When he had entered her office, Gina had been sitting on her desk, nylon-encased legs coyly crossed. "Hi," she'd said.
Suddenly Mark had started to think that there could be more than flirting on the night's agenda.
He liked the job, or at least the money he it paid, and didn't want to lose it. His sister worked for the firm too, and he didn't want to endanger her job either.
On the other hand, he told himself, how often does one get to fuck the boss? Worse case scenario he had to leave, and she'd have to write a glowing reference to avoid a sexual harassment claim. Best case, they'd start something semi-regular, and he could fuck her at the office from time-to-time.
Either way, it wouldn't be a lifetime commitment. He'd decided to see how far this would go, and closed the door. "Hi, yourself."
"Are you ready to get started on that deposition?"
He looked her straight in the eye. She had been wearing more eyeliner than usual, heightening her exoticism. "I'll do anything you want me to do."
"Soon enough," she'd said. "First, we need to talk about something else: I've been noticing you looking at my legs a lot."
That had embarrassed Mark. Being a lawyer, he'd tried to obfuscate the issue. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean."
"Don't play dumb, Mark. I've seen you looking at me. All the time. I didn't ask you here for a sexual harassment seminar. I just want to know why."
If she'd noticed him looking, he had realized, then she knew the answer. Mark had always been so confident in court, but now felt awkwardly boyish. He was handsome, had slept with a lot of women, but at his core he remembered how he'd been as a kid, getting into his mom's hosiery drawer. He'd still felt shame about it, had spent a lifetime erecting an edifice of cool success to hide the embarrassed child within. "You just have nice legs," he'd said.
