nytklee
Registered User
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2025
- Messages
- 11
- Points
- 3
The safety man (1/3) (m/f, nylon, non-con)
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Mark’s pulse thundered in his ears as he eased his car into Elise’s driveway, the woman who’d haunted his thoughts for years. Their flirty texts, laced with unspoken promises, had built to this night—an agreement etched in his mind: arrive at her house at 8 p.m. sharp. He glanced at his watch: 7:58. The porch light cast a warm glow, and his hands trembled as he approached the front door, left tantalizingly ajar. A rush of anticipation tightened his chest. What was waiting inside?
He stepped into the living room, time seemed to pause. There was Elise, a vision that stole his breath and ignited every nerve. She was bound, vulnerable, yet radiated a commanding allure. Her body was draped in a black dress that clung to her curves like a lover’s touch—sleeveless, with a plunging neckline that teased the swell of her breasts, the hem riding high to reveal the tops of her thighs. The fabric shimmered, catching the dim lamplight, accentuating her hourglass figure as if designed to unravel him.
But it was her legs that drew his gaze, ensconced in sheer black stockings that gleamed with every subtle shift. The nylon hugged her calves and thighs, a glossy second skin that whispered of forbidden delights. The stockings’ delicate weave sparkled faintly, drawing his eyes downward to her feet, where open toe black high heels perched like provocative sculptures. The heels—sky-high stilettos—forced her arches into a seductive curve, the inch wide thick leather straps crisscrossing her ankles, framing her nylon-clad feet like a gift begging to be unwrapped. Her toes, painted a deep crimson, peeked through the sheer fabric, flexing slightly, the stockings stretched taut over them.
Her wrists were cuffed behind her back, the metal glinting faintly, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize the dress’s low cut. A leather belt cinched her knees and ankles together, the bindings forcing her legs into a graceful, helpless line, her stockinged feet pressed close, heels clicking softly against each other as she shifted. A silk blindfold masked her eyes, its deep indigo contrasting her flushed cheeks, and a red ball gag nestled between her lips, muffling her breath into soft, rhythmic sighs. Earplugs, barely visible, sealed her in a private world, her head tilting slightly as if sensing a presence she couldn’t confirm.
Mark’s throat tightened, his nylon foot tickle fetish roaring to life. Those stockings, those heels—God, she was perfection, every inch of her a deliberate tease. “Elise,” he whispered, voice hoarse with longing, “you’re… unreal.” She didn’t hear him, her earplugged silence amplifying her vulnerability, but her body seemed to respond, a slight squirm that made the dress ride higher, the stockings catching the light. His fingers itched to touch, to trace the nylon, to test the sensitivity of those perfect soles. She was a fantasy made flesh, and he was standing on the edge of something dangerous, irresistible, and entirely hers.
Mark’s eyes were locked on Elise’s nylon-clad feet, the sheer black stockings shimmering like a siren’s call in the soft lamplight. Bound by the leather belt, her ankles pressed together, her open toe high heels hanging on the tip of the toes, accentuated the delicate arches that haunted his fantasies. The glossy nylon stretched taut over her toes, crimson polish glowing faintly beneath, and he could almost feel the texture under his fingertips. His pulse raced—he was certain she’d orchestrated this, knowing his fetish, daring him to lose control. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he murmured, kneeling beside her, his breath catching. “You knew what these stockings would do to me.”
His restraint wavered as he extended a single finger, hovering over her sole before grazing the nylon along her arch, light as a whisper. Elise’s reaction was immediate—her body jolted, a sharp, muffled yelp muffled by the red ball gag. Her feet twitched within the belt’s tight embrace, toes curling inward, the stockings wrinkling slightly as she tried to pull away. The falling heels clacked against the floor, a desperate little tap that sent a thrill through Mark. “Sensitive, huh?” he said, voice low, emboldened by her response. He traced another slow line, and Elise squirmed, her bound legs straining against the leather, a high-pitched whimper escaping the gag. Heels removed, nyloned soles exposed.
Unable to resist, Mark let both hands join the dance, fingers skimming over her nylon soles with deliberate, teasing strokes. Elise’s reaction intensified—her body arched, the black dress riding up her thighs as she writhed, the cuffs behind her back clinking softly. Her gagged laughter erupted, a chaotic blend of giggles and muffled protests, her head tossing side to side, the blindfold shifting slightly but staying in place. “Mmmph!” she cried, the sound garbled, desperate, yet edged with something raw and unguarded. Her toes splayed, then curled tight, the stockings stretching and relaxing with each frantic movement, amplifying every sensation.
Mark’s fingers grew bolder, fluttering along the balls of her feet, then digging lightly into the arches. Elise thrashed harder, her muffled squeals rising in pitch, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps around the gag. The nylon made her soles slick, his fingers gliding effortlessly, tickling relentlessly as she bucked against the bindings. Her laughter morphed into something wild—a mix of torment and involuntary delight, her body trembling with the overload. “God, you’re killing me,” Mark groaned, captivated by her nylon-clad feet jerking in his hands, the way her struggles made the stockings shimmer.
Elise’s reactions were a symphony of helpless intensity—her muffled screams vibrated with frustration, yet her squirming held a sensual edge, as if the tickling tapped into something deeper. Her chest heaved, the dress’s neckline slipping lower, and her bound legs quivered, unable to escape the relentless assault on her sensitive soles. The blindfold hid her eyes, but her flushed cheeks and parted, gagged lips told Mark everything—her body was caught in a storm of sensation, the nylon stockings turning every touch into torture and temptation. “Mmmph!” she cried. He was lost in her reactions, each twitch and muffled cry pulling him deeper, unaware of how far he’d pushed her.
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Mark’s pulse thundered in his ears as he eased his car into Elise’s driveway, the woman who’d haunted his thoughts for years. Their flirty texts, laced with unspoken promises, had built to this night—an agreement etched in his mind: arrive at her house at 8 p.m. sharp. He glanced at his watch: 7:58. The porch light cast a warm glow, and his hands trembled as he approached the front door, left tantalizingly ajar. A rush of anticipation tightened his chest. What was waiting inside?
He stepped into the living room, time seemed to pause. There was Elise, a vision that stole his breath and ignited every nerve. She was bound, vulnerable, yet radiated a commanding allure. Her body was draped in a black dress that clung to her curves like a lover’s touch—sleeveless, with a plunging neckline that teased the swell of her breasts, the hem riding high to reveal the tops of her thighs. The fabric shimmered, catching the dim lamplight, accentuating her hourglass figure as if designed to unravel him.
But it was her legs that drew his gaze, ensconced in sheer black stockings that gleamed with every subtle shift. The nylon hugged her calves and thighs, a glossy second skin that whispered of forbidden delights. The stockings’ delicate weave sparkled faintly, drawing his eyes downward to her feet, where open toe black high heels perched like provocative sculptures. The heels—sky-high stilettos—forced her arches into a seductive curve, the inch wide thick leather straps crisscrossing her ankles, framing her nylon-clad feet like a gift begging to be unwrapped. Her toes, painted a deep crimson, peeked through the sheer fabric, flexing slightly, the stockings stretched taut over them.
Her wrists were cuffed behind her back, the metal glinting faintly, pulling her shoulders back to emphasize the dress’s low cut. A leather belt cinched her knees and ankles together, the bindings forcing her legs into a graceful, helpless line, her stockinged feet pressed close, heels clicking softly against each other as she shifted. A silk blindfold masked her eyes, its deep indigo contrasting her flushed cheeks, and a red ball gag nestled between her lips, muffling her breath into soft, rhythmic sighs. Earplugs, barely visible, sealed her in a private world, her head tilting slightly as if sensing a presence she couldn’t confirm.
Mark’s throat tightened, his nylon foot tickle fetish roaring to life. Those stockings, those heels—God, she was perfection, every inch of her a deliberate tease. “Elise,” he whispered, voice hoarse with longing, “you’re… unreal.” She didn’t hear him, her earplugged silence amplifying her vulnerability, but her body seemed to respond, a slight squirm that made the dress ride higher, the stockings catching the light. His fingers itched to touch, to trace the nylon, to test the sensitivity of those perfect soles. She was a fantasy made flesh, and he was standing on the edge of something dangerous, irresistible, and entirely hers.
Mark’s eyes were locked on Elise’s nylon-clad feet, the sheer black stockings shimmering like a siren’s call in the soft lamplight. Bound by the leather belt, her ankles pressed together, her open toe high heels hanging on the tip of the toes, accentuated the delicate arches that haunted his fantasies. The glossy nylon stretched taut over her toes, crimson polish glowing faintly beneath, and he could almost feel the texture under his fingertips. His pulse raced—he was certain she’d orchestrated this, knowing his fetish, daring him to lose control. “You planned this, didn’t you?” he murmured, kneeling beside her, his breath catching. “You knew what these stockings would do to me.”
His restraint wavered as he extended a single finger, hovering over her sole before grazing the nylon along her arch, light as a whisper. Elise’s reaction was immediate—her body jolted, a sharp, muffled yelp muffled by the red ball gag. Her feet twitched within the belt’s tight embrace, toes curling inward, the stockings wrinkling slightly as she tried to pull away. The falling heels clacked against the floor, a desperate little tap that sent a thrill through Mark. “Sensitive, huh?” he said, voice low, emboldened by her response. He traced another slow line, and Elise squirmed, her bound legs straining against the leather, a high-pitched whimper escaping the gag. Heels removed, nyloned soles exposed.
Unable to resist, Mark let both hands join the dance, fingers skimming over her nylon soles with deliberate, teasing strokes. Elise’s reaction intensified—her body arched, the black dress riding up her thighs as she writhed, the cuffs behind her back clinking softly. Her gagged laughter erupted, a chaotic blend of giggles and muffled protests, her head tossing side to side, the blindfold shifting slightly but staying in place. “Mmmph!” she cried, the sound garbled, desperate, yet edged with something raw and unguarded. Her toes splayed, then curled tight, the stockings stretching and relaxing with each frantic movement, amplifying every sensation.
Mark’s fingers grew bolder, fluttering along the balls of her feet, then digging lightly into the arches. Elise thrashed harder, her muffled squeals rising in pitch, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps around the gag. The nylon made her soles slick, his fingers gliding effortlessly, tickling relentlessly as she bucked against the bindings. Her laughter morphed into something wild—a mix of torment and involuntary delight, her body trembling with the overload. “God, you’re killing me,” Mark groaned, captivated by her nylon-clad feet jerking in his hands, the way her struggles made the stockings shimmer.
Elise’s reactions were a symphony of helpless intensity—her muffled screams vibrated with frustration, yet her squirming held a sensual edge, as if the tickling tapped into something deeper. Her chest heaved, the dress’s neckline slipping lower, and her bound legs quivered, unable to escape the relentless assault on her sensitive soles. The blindfold hid her eyes, but her flushed cheeks and parted, gagged lips told Mark everything—her body was caught in a storm of sensation, the nylon stockings turning every touch into torture and temptation. “Mmmph!” she cried. He was lost in her reactions, each twitch and muffled cry pulling him deeper, unaware of how far he’d pushed her.
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