nytklee
Registered User
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2025
- Messages
- 11
- Points
- 3
The safety man (2/3) (femdom, nylon, non-con)
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Elise’s muffled cries grew frantic, a high-pitched edge cutting through the gag that snapped Mark out of his trance. Her nylon-clad feet still twitched in his hands, the sheer stockings glistening from her struggles, but the sound of her distress pierced his haze of desire. Guilt flooded him—had he gone too far? His fingers froze, hovering over her trembling soles, the room suddenly too quiet except for her ragged, gagged breaths. “Elise, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with panic. He fumbled with the leather belt binding her knees and ankles, fingers clumsy as he loosened the knots. The glossy nylon catching the light with every subtle shift.
He reached for the red ball gag next, unbuckling it gently, her lips parting with a soft gasp as it came free. The silk blindfold followed, revealing her flushed face, cheeks rosy and eyes glinting with a storm of emotions—anger, amusement, and something unreadable. He pulled out the earplugs last, and Elise blinked, adjusting to the sudden flood of sound and light. Her black dress had ridden up slightly, the plunging neckline askew, and she tugged it down, rubbing her freed wrists where the cuffs had left faint marks. Mark braced for her wrath, his heart sinking. “I thought… I thought you wanted this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Elise’s lips curled into a half-smile, sharp and knowing, as she fixed him with a stare that made his stomach twist. “Wanted this?” she echoed, her voice low, edged with a teasing bite. “Mark, you took advantage of my self-bondage game. This was my thing—my setup, my rules. You were just supposed to be the safety man, here in case I got trapped.” She leaned forward, her stockinged feet brushing the floor. “Instead, you saw me tied up, helpless in these stockings, and decided to play out your little fetish fantasy.”
Mark’s face burned, shame mixing with the lingering heat of desire. “I’m so sorry, Elise. I misread it. I thought you were… teasing me, setting it up for me.” He gestured helplessly at her outfit—the clinging black dress, the sheer nylon, the heels. “You looked like you knew what I’d do.”
She arched an eyebrow, standing slowly, her heels clicking authoritatively as she towered over him. She steped back to the stilettos. The stockings shimmered, slightly creased from her struggles, and she wiggled her toes, the crimson polish flashing through the nylon. “Oh, I know what you like,” she purred, her tone shifting, dangerous and sultry. “You’re obsessed with my feet in these, aren’t you? Couldn’t resist tickling them, feeling that nylon under your fingers.” She stepped closer, her dress hugging every curve, and Mark swallowed hard, caught in her gaze.
“But here’s the thing,” she continued, leaning in until her breath grazed his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “You broke my trust, Mark. So now we’re going to play my way.” Her smile was wicked, promising retribution and something far more intoxicating. “Let’s see how you like being the one tied up, Mark. Bet you’ll love it just as much.” She straightened, her eyes gleaming with mischief, and he felt the air shift—his mistake had flipped the game, and Elise was about to take control.
Elise stood over Mark, her black dress a sinful second skin, the sheer stockings and stilettos a taunting echo of his desires. Her accusation—his betrayal of her self-bondage game, exploiting her vulnerability as the supposed safety man—burned in his ears, but her eyes sparkled with wicked intent. “You thought you could tickle my feet and just walk away, didn’t you?” she purred, her voice like velvet laced with steel. She sauntered to a wardrobe, pulling out a red cocktail dress, its fabric shimmering and scandalously tight, followed by ultra-sheer black pantyhose and strappy black high heels. “Tonight, you’re mine, Mark. Put these on—let’s see how you squirm in my world.”
Mark’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and undeniable heat under her gaze. “Elise, you don’t mean—” he started, but she cut him off, tossing the dress at him. “Oh, I mean it, baby,” she teased, her lips curving. “I want you dolled up, feeling every inch of what I felt. Now strip and dress, or I’ll tie you up naked.” Swallowing hard, he shed his clothes to his boxers, sliding into the pantyhose. The ultra-sheer nylon hugged his legs, a whisper-thin layer that made every nerve sing, teasingly transparent. The red dress followed, clinging like a lover, its low neckline and short hem leaving him exposed, vulnerable. He stepped into the heels, wobbling, the straps biting his ankles, forcing his feet into a seductive arch. “God, look at you,” Elise murmured, circling him, her fingers trailing the dress’s edge. “All sexy and helpless. You like it, don’t you, Mark? Feeling that nylon, those heels?”
“I… I don’t know,” he stammered, but his voice betrayed a tremor of excitement. She laughed, low and sultry. “Liar. You’re already hard just thinking about what’s coming.” She led him to the bedroom, where a four-poster bed waited, its dark sheets promising no escape. “On your back, gorgeous,” she ordered, and Mark obeyed, the dress riding up as he lay down, pantyhose glistening. Elise moved like a predator, heels clicking as she cuffed his wrists to the bedposts, the metal cold, stretching his arms wide. She bound his ankles with soft rope, tying them tightly together before securing them to the footboard, his nylon-clad feet fully exposed, toes twitching in the strappy heels. “Oh, you’re perfect like this,” she said, her voice dripping with delight. “All tied up, dressed to kill, those pretty feet just begging for me.”
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Elise’s muffled cries grew frantic, a high-pitched edge cutting through the gag that snapped Mark out of his trance. Her nylon-clad feet still twitched in his hands, the sheer stockings glistening from her struggles, but the sound of her distress pierced his haze of desire. Guilt flooded him—had he gone too far? His fingers froze, hovering over her trembling soles, the room suddenly too quiet except for her ragged, gagged breaths. “Elise, I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with panic. He fumbled with the leather belt binding her knees and ankles, fingers clumsy as he loosened the knots. The glossy nylon catching the light with every subtle shift.
He reached for the red ball gag next, unbuckling it gently, her lips parting with a soft gasp as it came free. The silk blindfold followed, revealing her flushed face, cheeks rosy and eyes glinting with a storm of emotions—anger, amusement, and something unreadable. He pulled out the earplugs last, and Elise blinked, adjusting to the sudden flood of sound and light. Her black dress had ridden up slightly, the plunging neckline askew, and she tugged it down, rubbing her freed wrists where the cuffs had left faint marks. Mark braced for her wrath, his heart sinking. “I thought… I thought you wanted this,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
Elise’s lips curled into a half-smile, sharp and knowing, as she fixed him with a stare that made his stomach twist. “Wanted this?” she echoed, her voice low, edged with a teasing bite. “Mark, you took advantage of my self-bondage game. This was my thing—my setup, my rules. You were just supposed to be the safety man, here in case I got trapped.” She leaned forward, her stockinged feet brushing the floor. “Instead, you saw me tied up, helpless in these stockings, and decided to play out your little fetish fantasy.”
Mark’s face burned, shame mixing with the lingering heat of desire. “I’m so sorry, Elise. I misread it. I thought you were… teasing me, setting it up for me.” He gestured helplessly at her outfit—the clinging black dress, the sheer nylon, the heels. “You looked like you knew what I’d do.”
She arched an eyebrow, standing slowly, her heels clicking authoritatively as she towered over him. She steped back to the stilettos. The stockings shimmered, slightly creased from her struggles, and she wiggled her toes, the crimson polish flashing through the nylon. “Oh, I know what you like,” she purred, her tone shifting, dangerous and sultry. “You’re obsessed with my feet in these, aren’t you? Couldn’t resist tickling them, feeling that nylon under your fingers.” She stepped closer, her dress hugging every curve, and Mark swallowed hard, caught in her gaze.
“But here’s the thing,” she continued, leaning in until her breath grazed his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “You broke my trust, Mark. So now we’re going to play my way.” Her smile was wicked, promising retribution and something far more intoxicating. “Let’s see how you like being the one tied up, Mark. Bet you’ll love it just as much.” She straightened, her eyes gleaming with mischief, and he felt the air shift—his mistake had flipped the game, and Elise was about to take control.
Elise stood over Mark, her black dress a sinful second skin, the sheer stockings and stilettos a taunting echo of his desires. Her accusation—his betrayal of her self-bondage game, exploiting her vulnerability as the supposed safety man—burned in his ears, but her eyes sparkled with wicked intent. “You thought you could tickle my feet and just walk away, didn’t you?” she purred, her voice like velvet laced with steel. She sauntered to a wardrobe, pulling out a red cocktail dress, its fabric shimmering and scandalously tight, followed by ultra-sheer black pantyhose and strappy black high heels. “Tonight, you’re mine, Mark. Put these on—let’s see how you squirm in my world.”
Mark’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and undeniable heat under her gaze. “Elise, you don’t mean—” he started, but she cut him off, tossing the dress at him. “Oh, I mean it, baby,” she teased, her lips curving. “I want you dolled up, feeling every inch of what I felt. Now strip and dress, or I’ll tie you up naked.” Swallowing hard, he shed his clothes to his boxers, sliding into the pantyhose. The ultra-sheer nylon hugged his legs, a whisper-thin layer that made every nerve sing, teasingly transparent. The red dress followed, clinging like a lover, its low neckline and short hem leaving him exposed, vulnerable. He stepped into the heels, wobbling, the straps biting his ankles, forcing his feet into a seductive arch. “God, look at you,” Elise murmured, circling him, her fingers trailing the dress’s edge. “All sexy and helpless. You like it, don’t you, Mark? Feeling that nylon, those heels?”
“I… I don’t know,” he stammered, but his voice betrayed a tremor of excitement. She laughed, low and sultry. “Liar. You’re already hard just thinking about what’s coming.” She led him to the bedroom, where a four-poster bed waited, its dark sheets promising no escape. “On your back, gorgeous,” she ordered, and Mark obeyed, the dress riding up as he lay down, pantyhose glistening. Elise moved like a predator, heels clicking as she cuffed his wrists to the bedposts, the metal cold, stretching his arms wide. She bound his ankles with soft rope, tying them tightly together before securing them to the footboard, his nylon-clad feet fully exposed, toes twitching in the strappy heels. “Oh, you’re perfect like this,” she said, her voice dripping with delight. “All tied up, dressed to kill, those pretty feet just begging for me.”
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