panty

“And just where do you think you’re going?”



I didn’t get time to answer as the housemistress flipped a silky stocking around my ankles and yanked me off my feet. Fortunately, a heavily padded leather couch broke my fall, but left my ankles exposed. Before I could try to roll off of the couch, the housemistress’s hands deftly wound and tied the soft yet unyielding fabric in place, hobbling me.



I glanced back up at her as she stood over me in her black French maid’s uniform trimmed in delicate white lace, her ample bosoms and wide hips shaping the silky fabric in very pleasant curves. Auburn hair framed a cheerful face that held sparkling green eyes and full red lips.



A black satin choker adorned her neck, its silver and pearl bauble twinkling in the afternoon light.



Her legs were shrouded in shiny sheer stockings the color of smoke, with black elastic straps from her garter belt peeking out from below the hemline. Her feet were mounted on polished black patent leather high-heel pumps.



Even without the heels, she was a tall woman. Voluptuous as she was, she was still perfectly proportioned for her height, standing at least six inches taller than me. She looked down at me with an expression of mirthful exasperation.



“I did not give you permission to leave,” she said as she drew out another shimmering stocking from her half-apron pocket. “But then,” she added with a sly smile, “you know I never will.”



I tried to rise, to escape, but the housemistress was just too fast. A loop of the stocking found my right wrist while her hand found my left and dragged it back to join it behind my back. She straddled my thighs and buttocks, pinning me there on the sofa as she wound the stocking several times around my wrists before tying it off.



I struggled for a moment against my bonds, but I’d been in this position too many times before. Those knots would hold until she undid them.



“Housemistress,” I pleaded, “you don’t have to – MMMPH!”



A wad of silky panties was forced past my lips and immediately followed by an overwrap of another panty stretched taut to make a muzzle. Another quick knotting of the two ends behind my head locked it in place. The housemistress then quickly threaded another stocking through the leg openings at the crotch of the panty and drew them up under my chin, tying them off behind the crown of my skull.



The nylon tricot of the panty seemed to mold to my lower face, making expelling the gag impossible. I moaned and whimpered through the fabric, helpless and humiliated, again.



“You may as well accept that you’re going to be a prisoner of my boudoir,” she said. “You belong to me now, and I’m not letting you go.”



She got off of me for a moment, dragging me to feet by my bound wrists. But this was only long enough for her to take a seat on the sofa in front of me. As soon as she was seated, she pulled me down across her lap, turning me over one of her silk-shrouded knees. She wrapped the other sensuous leg over the back of my legs, gripping them tightly.



“How many times is it going to take before you realize that you cannot escape me?” she asked. “How many times will you endure this abject humiliation at my hands?”



She pulled my arms away from my back with one hand and began spanking my exposed buttocks with her free hand. I squirmed and struggled as the blows fell, stinging and tingling, but I felt my manhood respond unnaturally to the situation.



Caught as I was in a cat’s cradle of warm flesh shrouded in soft, silky fabric, the feeling of complete helplessness and the humiliation of my position seemed to be more erotic each second. I couldn’t escape and I increasingly felt I didn’t really want to. My manhood stiffened against her thigh, each blow to my buttocks like a caress, rubbing it pleasurably against her stocking – as if she had intended it all along.



The spanking had stopped. She released my arms and ran her hands over my burning buttocks, caressing my thighs as she rhythmically tightened and loosened her grip on me with her legs. My manhood surged at this change in treatment and I moaned in wanton pleasure through the gag.



“Since my silky things bring you such pleasure,” she said slowly, “You will wear them.”



I struggled in her grip, the throes of pleasure becoming more urgent as she spoke. I felt her pull something else from her apron pocket, something large. “Stand up,” she said as she heaved me up from her lap. I tottered on bound legs, waving my bound arms behind me, just barely managing to remain standing.



I heard her stoop behind me and then she loosened the stocking around my ankles. She pulled something from her apron pocket and slipped it over and past each ankle, lifting each of my feet in turn to accomplish it. The new item had a soft, sensuous feel on my calves. She then wound the stocking back around my ankles tying it securely.



She slowly drew the item around my legs upward and I saw that it was a beige nylon tricot panty brief. I moaned softly as she worked, the wanton pleasure of the act betraying my perversity.



“Oh?” she mocked, “You like that?” I nodded and moaned again as she settled the panty into place around my hips and buttocks. “Well, enjoy it,” she replied, “because you’re never going to wear men’s underwear again.”



She turned me around to face her, pulling me toward her. She buried my face between her ample breasts, smothering me in the silken fabric of her maid’s uniform. There was a wondrous perfume there as she held my head in place in a prison of blood-warm silk. My manhood strained against its cocoon of nylon at this treatment – there was something about that perfume that was intoxicating, enhancing every touch and sensation.



Her arms encircled me as she gently caressed my bound legs with the silky contours of one of hers. My moan was smothered in the silk of her cleavage as my manhood fought to escape its fabric prison.



“My poor, pathetic little boy,” she sighed, “What is it like being so turned on and being utterly unable to do anything about it?” She then released me slightly, allowing me to draw a breath of air through my nose. I looked up to meet her gaze and she smiled down at me. The feeling of her silken prison was so delicious I moaned wantonly through the gag, pleading her with my eyes.



“You want to cum now, don’t you?” she said softly. Shamefully, I nodded. She pulled me to her bosom once again and laughed gently at my distress as she smothered me in her cleavage. The intoxicating perfume took affect as she dragged me down to the couch on top of her, wrapping her long, strong legs and arms around me.



“My panties have imprisoned your manhood and silenced your voice,” she said softly, “while my stockings have immobilized your limbs. You are not a man – just a helpless slave in my power.”



I tried to struggle but my bonds and her limbs held me fast. Her perfume filled my head and suddenly, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to cum. I managed to crane my head up enough to catch her gaze again. Her green eyes blazed with desire and triumph.



I felt her fingers find the waistband of my panties and pull the dainties down, exposing my throbbing manhood. Her soft warm fingers encircled it and slowly stroked it, and it took all I had not to erupt in her hand. My hips rose with each pleasurable touch as she gently fondled me, my voice a pathetic, pleading whine through the panty gag as she urged me ever closer to the final climax.



Just when I thought I could take no more, she stopped. My manhood stood fully erect, twitching in anticipation, perfectly synchronized with the desperate pulse of my pounding heart. Her hand found my brow and I opened my eyes to look into hers again. “Now,” she said with a feral smile, “you are ready to please me.”



She peeled off her panties and cast them aside with a single motion, then straddled me, impaling herself upon my aching shaft. Feeling her clit surround my manhood with its delightful hot wetness, my hips responded immediately, rising up against her to force my cock as far into her as possible.



She threw her head back and arched her back as she rose with me, only to force me back down and urge me up for another. She rode me like that, as I desperately tried to hold back the overwhelming tide of my passion long enough to savor those delicious sensations.



The housemistress gasped for breath, her moans of delight sang a chorus pleasure as she rose and fell faster and faster upon me, each gyration pulling my straining cock deeper within her. “Now, slave!” she cried suddenly, “Cum for your mistress now!”



My hips bucked and heaved in the embrace of her thighs as my passion surged within her, the hot stickiness filling her as my pent up lust spilled forth. She cried out in release, sobbing for breath as she rocked wildly above me, her hair shrouding her face.



My body shuddered against hers in the prison of her making, helplessly trapped in nylon and flesh. Eventually, I sagged, utterly drained – my breath wheezing through my nostrils beneath the panties she had used for my gag.



“There is no escape from me,” she said quietly. Still within her bonds and embrace, I nodded slowly in affirmation. Her hand found the back of my head and lifted it until I met her gaze.



“But,” she added with a smile, “don’t ever stop trying.”



Behind the gag, I smiled too.

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