nylonmaniac
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2006
- Messages
- 65
- Points
- 18
The Convention Part 3
By the time Nora slipped her heels back on — still giggling and gently shaking her head at her own foolish bravery — there were at least six more women waiting behind the velvet rope that now bordered Frank’s booth.
A sign, hastily added by someone from the exhibit staff, now read:
“LIVE WORKPLACE DISCIPLINE DEMO – STOCKS & STIMULUS. (NYLONS PROVIDED)”
Frank scanned the growing crowd. “All right,” he said, clapping his hands. “Next volunteer?”
A woman in her early 40s stepped forward, tall and commanding, with a cream-colored blouse tucked into a slim black pencil skirt and a conference tote slung over her shoulder. Her name tag read “Belinda Raye – Team Culture Strategist.”
She gave Frank a confident smirk. “You’ll be pleased to know I came prepared.”
With that, she pointed down to her already nylon-clad feet — a flawless pair of glossy taupe pantyhose disappearing into her patent leather pumps.
“Oh, she’s ready,” Tanya whispered to Lana.
Belinda sat gracefully on the bench and slid her shoes off, revealing perfectly pedicured toes pressing against the sheer nylon. “Let’s not waste time. Tie the toes.”
Frank grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he gently secured her ankles, she relaxed into the bench like it was a spa treatment. “I’ve done sensitivity training,” she said. “But this? This is next level.”
He began the toe ties, separating and looping her toes with expert precision. The nylon gleamed as it stretched, drawing attention to every contour of her arches.
Lana muttered under her breath, “Where is this HR conference every year?”
Once Belinda was fully restrained, Frank picked up a small, stiff-bristled artist’s brush — ideal for precision targeting.
“Ready?” he asked.
Belinda merely nodded, her red lips curling into a defiant smile.
Frank began with tight zigzags along the edge of her left arch, and almost immediately her composure began to fracture. A short, sharp gasp escaped her lips, followed by an involuntary bark of laughter.
“Hhhah! No—no—right there! That spot is criminal!”
Frank expertly adjusted his pressure, dragging the brush downward while simultaneously brushing beneath the tied toes on the other foot.
Belinda dissolved into elegant, unladylike laughter.
“Damn it—Hahaha—who put a nerve ending there?!”
Her legs trembled in the stocks. Her back arched slightly off the bench.
“This is worse than employee surveys!” she cried out.
Frank let the brush do its full tour, switching feet often and teasing the same “hot spots” that had ruined every previous participant. After two minutes, he stopped. Belinda lay there, chest rising and falling, her sleek bun now slightly loosened.
When her ankles were freed, she sat up slowly. “Well,” she said, adjusting her blouse. “That was violently enlightening. Ten out of ten. Would recommend for quarterly reviews.”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Behind her, the next woman stepped forward.
She was younger — mid-20s — with a soft brown bob and an oversized blazer cinched over a pencil skirt. Her heels were tall and classic, but she shifted awkwardly in them.
Her name tag read: “Ivy Navarro – Training Coordinator.”
“I, um… I’m not wearing nylons,” she said softly, biting her lip. “Is it really that different?”
“Would you like to try with a pair on?” Frank asked, already opening the box.
She looked around, suddenly hyperaware of how many of the other women — some still blushing, some still barefoot — were nodding.
Tanya smiled. “Trust me. It’s like night and day.”
Ivy took a breath. “Okay… maybe the nude ones?”
Frank handed her the pair, and she sat down beside the stocks, nervously peeling off her heels.
Her bare feet were petite, soft, and clearly ticklish even without help — her toes curled as the cool air touched them.
As she slowly rolled the nylons up her feet, she gasped. “These feel… really thin. Kinda… tingly?”
“That’s the magic,” Nora said from nearby. “Give it a minute.”
Once both feet were fully sheathed in the glossy nude nylon, Frank guided them into place and secured the cuffs.
“I don’t think I need the toe ties,” Ivy mumbled. “I already feel exposed enough.”
Frank nodded. “We’ll ease into it.”
He selected the feather again, wanting to give her a gentler introduction. But even the first sweep of the feather across her soles made Ivy yelp and jerk.
“Hahaha! Okay okay okay—WAIT—I didn’t think it would work so fast!”
Frank continued, now focusing on the base of her toes, gently flicking the feather where the nylons were stretched the most.
Ivy laughed uncontrollably, hands covering her face. “Oh my god, this is so unfair! I’m gonna get fired from laughing too hard!”
The feather moved slower now, tracing patterns, coaxing more giggles from her as her nylons shifted slightly with each twitch. Even without toe ties, her feet couldn’t move far.
She lasted a minute and a half before waving both hands in the air. “MERCY! Please, mercy! I’m gonna fall off this bench!”
Frank stopped instantly and smiled. “You did great.”
As Ivy peeled herself up from the bench, brushing her skirt back into place, she looked down at her feet and whispered, “Okay… those nylons are staying on the rest of the day.”
The next woman was already stepping forward — tall, lean, confident — with long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail and a sleek navy sheath dress. Her badge read “Dana Quill – Talent Acquisition.”
She was already wearing sheer black pantyhose under her closed-toe flats.
“No need to suit me up,” she said coolly, stepping out of her shoes and flexing her already-nyloned feet. “Just show me what the toe ties are all about.”
The crowd leaned in again.
“No warm-up, no pep talk?” Frank asked.
Dana looked down at him. “I’m in talent acquisition. I watch people lie to me for a living. You think a little tickling scares me?”
Lana let out a low whistle. “Oh, she’s one of those.”
He worked quickly, gently taking one foot at a time. Her nyloned feet were already flawless: long, arched, and framed perfectly in the glimmering black fabric. As Frank began separating her toes and looping the ties around each one, she gave only the slightest twitch.
“These are… snug,” she murmured.
“They’re supposed to be,” Frank said. “You’ll see why in about ten seconds.”
Once both sets of toes were pulled back and tied securely, the nylon stretched to its limit across her soles, lifting the flesh just slightly and exposing the most sensitive parts to open air.
Dana glanced down at her own feet. “It’s weird how confident I felt before this.”
Frank chose a new tool — a small rubber-tipped stylus. It wasn’t feathery or bristled. It was focused.
He touched it to the dead center of her right arch and slowly made a small spiral.
Dana blinked. Her eyes fluttered.
Then she cracked — a sharp, sudden burst of laughter as she instinctively tried to yank her foot back. It didn’t budge.
“Okay—okay! That is—NOOOO!”
Frank moved to the left foot, tracing just under the tied-back toes.
Dana’s head dropped back as the laughter overtook her. “How is that even worse?! That’s not even fluffy! You psycho!”
The other women were loving it.
Nora clapped. “Yes! I wanted someone else to break fast!”
Gina added, “She was so smug two minutes ago.”
Frank now used both styluses in tandem — dancing in little swirls up the taut arches of Dana’s feet, occasionally dipping under the toes, letting the nylon stretch and recoil with every flick.
Dana was gone.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wheezed and gasped, cheeks flushed red. “I hate—I hate this! Hahahaha! I need HR immediately—wait—I am HR!”
He gave her the full two minutes.
When he stopped and untied her toes, Dana collapsed back on the bench, eyes glassy and hair slightly undone.
She pointed at Frank, panting. “If I had to sit through a benefits compliance meeting like that, I’d actually retain information.”
Frank smiled. “That’s the goal.”
Towards the end of the evening:
The overhead lights in the convention hall were dimmed now, casting long shadows across the empty booths. Most attendees had drifted off to cocktail hours or hotel lounges, but Booth 147 still had its lights on, the tickle stocks gleaming faintly under soft lamplight. The crowd was gone. The laughter had faded.
Frank sat on the padded bench near his display, sipping from a lukewarm hotel-branded paper coffee cup. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up. Across from him, a half-circle of chairs had been dragged over from nearby booths — the impromptu “tickle alumni club.”
Tanya was first to return, now barefoot and curled into her chair, nylons still on. “I still can’t believe how intense it was,” she said, laughing softly. “I swear I could feel the tickles for twenty minutes after you let me out.”
“You were thrashing like you were being electrocuted,” Gina said with a grin. She, too, had left her heels off and crossed her taupe-clad legs comfortably. “But same. Those brushes should come with a disclaimer.”
Nora plopped down next, cradling a fresh drink she’d snagged from a nearby vendor’s abandoned cocktail tray. Her nylons were stretched slightly at the toes, and her cheeks were still flushed from earlier. “Okay but real talk,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me why I kinda liked it?”
Lana raised an eyebrow. She’d taken off her blazer and kicked her shoes under her chair. The black nylons she’d donned earlier still shimmered in the low light. “Because it’s a stress purge. Controlled chaos. It’s like getting tackled by laughter.”
Dana appeared last, perfectly composed again, hair back in place. But she gave herself away by removing her flats with an audible sigh and rubbing her feet. “I’m still mad at how effective those toe ties were,” she said flatly. “It’s like they were designed to humiliate professionals.”
“They were,” Frank said without missing a beat.
A ripple of laughter.
Tanya crossed her legs and looked over at him. “Seriously though. What made you start this? Most guys your age are demoing AI sales platforms.”
Frank leaned back, finishing his coffee. “It started as a joke. Some team-building experiment. But once people started asking to try it again — or asking to use it for disciplinary action instead of lectures — I realized how powerful it was.”
Lana gave him a sideways glance. “Powerful is a word.”
Frank shrugged. “You all laughed harder than most people do in a month. And you’re still here. So you tell me.”
No one responded for a moment. Then Nora softly said, “It was kind of… freeing.”
Dana nodded. “We spend all day trying to look sharp, act polished, keep control. This ripped that away. And not in a bad way.”
Gina raised her plastic cup in mock salute. “To corporate chaos.”
They all clinked plastic — a quiet, silly gesture shared by powerful women in crumpled suits and wrinkled pantyhose.
From somewhere beyond the booth, a janitor’s floor buffer hummed softly. The women sat in a loose semicircle, the stocks still front and center like an empty throne.
Tanya leaned over and whispered to Dana, “You realize this is going to end up as a real program, right?”
Dana nodded. “I already emailed my assistant. I’m requesting a quote for one of these. Toe ties included.”
Frank just sat back and let it all sink in — this strange, brilliant fusion of professionalism, play, and therapy-in-disguise.
As the last few laughs trickled into the night, he thought: Discipline never sounded so fun.
By the time Nora slipped her heels back on — still giggling and gently shaking her head at her own foolish bravery — there were at least six more women waiting behind the velvet rope that now bordered Frank’s booth.
A sign, hastily added by someone from the exhibit staff, now read:
“LIVE WORKPLACE DISCIPLINE DEMO – STOCKS & STIMULUS. (NYLONS PROVIDED)”
Frank scanned the growing crowd. “All right,” he said, clapping his hands. “Next volunteer?”
A woman in her early 40s stepped forward, tall and commanding, with a cream-colored blouse tucked into a slim black pencil skirt and a conference tote slung over her shoulder. Her name tag read “Belinda Raye – Team Culture Strategist.”
She gave Frank a confident smirk. “You’ll be pleased to know I came prepared.”
With that, she pointed down to her already nylon-clad feet — a flawless pair of glossy taupe pantyhose disappearing into her patent leather pumps.
“Oh, she’s ready,” Tanya whispered to Lana.
Belinda sat gracefully on the bench and slid her shoes off, revealing perfectly pedicured toes pressing against the sheer nylon. “Let’s not waste time. Tie the toes.”
Frank grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
As he gently secured her ankles, she relaxed into the bench like it was a spa treatment. “I’ve done sensitivity training,” she said. “But this? This is next level.”
He began the toe ties, separating and looping her toes with expert precision. The nylon gleamed as it stretched, drawing attention to every contour of her arches.
Lana muttered under her breath, “Where is this HR conference every year?”
Once Belinda was fully restrained, Frank picked up a small, stiff-bristled artist’s brush — ideal for precision targeting.
“Ready?” he asked.
Belinda merely nodded, her red lips curling into a defiant smile.
Frank began with tight zigzags along the edge of her left arch, and almost immediately her composure began to fracture. A short, sharp gasp escaped her lips, followed by an involuntary bark of laughter.
“Hhhah! No—no—right there! That spot is criminal!”
Frank expertly adjusted his pressure, dragging the brush downward while simultaneously brushing beneath the tied toes on the other foot.
Belinda dissolved into elegant, unladylike laughter.
“Damn it—Hahaha—who put a nerve ending there?!”
Her legs trembled in the stocks. Her back arched slightly off the bench.
“This is worse than employee surveys!” she cried out.
Frank let the brush do its full tour, switching feet often and teasing the same “hot spots” that had ruined every previous participant. After two minutes, he stopped. Belinda lay there, chest rising and falling, her sleek bun now slightly loosened.
When her ankles were freed, she sat up slowly. “Well,” she said, adjusting her blouse. “That was violently enlightening. Ten out of ten. Would recommend for quarterly reviews.”
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Behind her, the next woman stepped forward.
She was younger — mid-20s — with a soft brown bob and an oversized blazer cinched over a pencil skirt. Her heels were tall and classic, but she shifted awkwardly in them.
Her name tag read: “Ivy Navarro – Training Coordinator.”
“I, um… I’m not wearing nylons,” she said softly, biting her lip. “Is it really that different?”
“Would you like to try with a pair on?” Frank asked, already opening the box.
She looked around, suddenly hyperaware of how many of the other women — some still blushing, some still barefoot — were nodding.
Tanya smiled. “Trust me. It’s like night and day.”
Ivy took a breath. “Okay… maybe the nude ones?”
Frank handed her the pair, and she sat down beside the stocks, nervously peeling off her heels.
Her bare feet were petite, soft, and clearly ticklish even without help — her toes curled as the cool air touched them.
As she slowly rolled the nylons up her feet, she gasped. “These feel… really thin. Kinda… tingly?”
“That’s the magic,” Nora said from nearby. “Give it a minute.”
Once both feet were fully sheathed in the glossy nude nylon, Frank guided them into place and secured the cuffs.
“I don’t think I need the toe ties,” Ivy mumbled. “I already feel exposed enough.”
Frank nodded. “We’ll ease into it.”
He selected the feather again, wanting to give her a gentler introduction. But even the first sweep of the feather across her soles made Ivy yelp and jerk.
“Hahaha! Okay okay okay—WAIT—I didn’t think it would work so fast!”
Frank continued, now focusing on the base of her toes, gently flicking the feather where the nylons were stretched the most.
Ivy laughed uncontrollably, hands covering her face. “Oh my god, this is so unfair! I’m gonna get fired from laughing too hard!”
The feather moved slower now, tracing patterns, coaxing more giggles from her as her nylons shifted slightly with each twitch. Even without toe ties, her feet couldn’t move far.
She lasted a minute and a half before waving both hands in the air. “MERCY! Please, mercy! I’m gonna fall off this bench!”
Frank stopped instantly and smiled. “You did great.”
As Ivy peeled herself up from the bench, brushing her skirt back into place, she looked down at her feet and whispered, “Okay… those nylons are staying on the rest of the day.”
The next woman was already stepping forward — tall, lean, confident — with long auburn hair pulled into a ponytail and a sleek navy sheath dress. Her badge read “Dana Quill – Talent Acquisition.”
She was already wearing sheer black pantyhose under her closed-toe flats.
“No need to suit me up,” she said coolly, stepping out of her shoes and flexing her already-nyloned feet. “Just show me what the toe ties are all about.”
The crowd leaned in again.
“No warm-up, no pep talk?” Frank asked.
Dana looked down at him. “I’m in talent acquisition. I watch people lie to me for a living. You think a little tickling scares me?”
Lana let out a low whistle. “Oh, she’s one of those.”
He worked quickly, gently taking one foot at a time. Her nyloned feet were already flawless: long, arched, and framed perfectly in the glimmering black fabric. As Frank began separating her toes and looping the ties around each one, she gave only the slightest twitch.
“These are… snug,” she murmured.
“They’re supposed to be,” Frank said. “You’ll see why in about ten seconds.”
Once both sets of toes were pulled back and tied securely, the nylon stretched to its limit across her soles, lifting the flesh just slightly and exposing the most sensitive parts to open air.
Dana glanced down at her own feet. “It’s weird how confident I felt before this.”
Frank chose a new tool — a small rubber-tipped stylus. It wasn’t feathery or bristled. It was focused.
He touched it to the dead center of her right arch and slowly made a small spiral.
Dana blinked. Her eyes fluttered.
Then she cracked — a sharp, sudden burst of laughter as she instinctively tried to yank her foot back. It didn’t budge.
“Okay—okay! That is—NOOOO!”
Frank moved to the left foot, tracing just under the tied-back toes.
Dana’s head dropped back as the laughter overtook her. “How is that even worse?! That’s not even fluffy! You psycho!”
The other women were loving it.
Nora clapped. “Yes! I wanted someone else to break fast!”
Gina added, “She was so smug two minutes ago.”
Frank now used both styluses in tandem — dancing in little swirls up the taut arches of Dana’s feet, occasionally dipping under the toes, letting the nylon stretch and recoil with every flick.
Dana was gone.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wheezed and gasped, cheeks flushed red. “I hate—I hate this! Hahahaha! I need HR immediately—wait—I am HR!”
He gave her the full two minutes.
When he stopped and untied her toes, Dana collapsed back on the bench, eyes glassy and hair slightly undone.
She pointed at Frank, panting. “If I had to sit through a benefits compliance meeting like that, I’d actually retain information.”
Frank smiled. “That’s the goal.”
Towards the end of the evening:
The overhead lights in the convention hall were dimmed now, casting long shadows across the empty booths. Most attendees had drifted off to cocktail hours or hotel lounges, but Booth 147 still had its lights on, the tickle stocks gleaming faintly under soft lamplight. The crowd was gone. The laughter had faded.
Frank sat on the padded bench near his display, sipping from a lukewarm hotel-branded paper coffee cup. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up. Across from him, a half-circle of chairs had been dragged over from nearby booths — the impromptu “tickle alumni club.”
Tanya was first to return, now barefoot and curled into her chair, nylons still on. “I still can’t believe how intense it was,” she said, laughing softly. “I swear I could feel the tickles for twenty minutes after you let me out.”
“You were thrashing like you were being electrocuted,” Gina said with a grin. She, too, had left her heels off and crossed her taupe-clad legs comfortably. “But same. Those brushes should come with a disclaimer.”
Nora plopped down next, cradling a fresh drink she’d snagged from a nearby vendor’s abandoned cocktail tray. Her nylons were stretched slightly at the toes, and her cheeks were still flushed from earlier. “Okay but real talk,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me why I kinda liked it?”
Lana raised an eyebrow. She’d taken off her blazer and kicked her shoes under her chair. The black nylons she’d donned earlier still shimmered in the low light. “Because it’s a stress purge. Controlled chaos. It’s like getting tackled by laughter.”
Dana appeared last, perfectly composed again, hair back in place. But she gave herself away by removing her flats with an audible sigh and rubbing her feet. “I’m still mad at how effective those toe ties were,” she said flatly. “It’s like they were designed to humiliate professionals.”
“They were,” Frank said without missing a beat.
A ripple of laughter.
Tanya crossed her legs and looked over at him. “Seriously though. What made you start this? Most guys your age are demoing AI sales platforms.”
Frank leaned back, finishing his coffee. “It started as a joke. Some team-building experiment. But once people started asking to try it again — or asking to use it for disciplinary action instead of lectures — I realized how powerful it was.”
Lana gave him a sideways glance. “Powerful is a word.”
Frank shrugged. “You all laughed harder than most people do in a month. And you’re still here. So you tell me.”
No one responded for a moment. Then Nora softly said, “It was kind of… freeing.”
Dana nodded. “We spend all day trying to look sharp, act polished, keep control. This ripped that away. And not in a bad way.”
Gina raised her plastic cup in mock salute. “To corporate chaos.”
They all clinked plastic — a quiet, silly gesture shared by powerful women in crumpled suits and wrinkled pantyhose.
From somewhere beyond the booth, a janitor’s floor buffer hummed softly. The women sat in a loose semicircle, the stocks still front and center like an empty throne.
Tanya leaned over and whispered to Dana, “You realize this is going to end up as a real program, right?”
Dana nodded. “I already emailed my assistant. I’m requesting a quote for one of these. Toe ties included.”
Frank just sat back and let it all sink in — this strange, brilliant fusion of professionalism, play, and therapy-in-disguise.
As the last few laughs trickled into the night, he thought: Discipline never sounded so fun.
