Friday Femdom Fiction – Hypnosis and Stockings

woman on couch uses watch to hypnotise non binary masc, she has stockings visible
Art commissioned from: Izzy of @dikedig  (insta: @dikedig )

Imagine two people seated on a couch in a small sunny apartment on a Sunday afternoon: Marianne and Charlie are not quite a couple, but they have started to weave an intimacy through Charlie’s ever willingness to submit. Marianne has given them permission to call her Ma’am, and is starting to weigh her feelings between ‘Mistress’ and ‘Domina’.

This occasion is already planned, the terms and activities decided before Charlie arrived. They know they will be hypnotized, and that Marianne will make them worship her feet.

And whether this happens before, during or after, Charlie knows those feet already have them completely captivated.

Her leg swung back and forth, shoe half off, hanging on her curled foot. She had her skirt in a disarray in her lap, hem crumpled above the band where her stockings met the bare softness of her thigh. Marianne could feel both the attention on her, and her own joy, as warm as the sun beaming through the window. Dominance was a rising sensation and an openness that made her aware of everything, as if her control could extend well beyond her body

In this moment, the room was an extension of herself: the curb salvage furniture, the warm but battered golden wood floors and scarves tacked to the walls to bring in a degree of coziness. Marianne had, knowing the acts she was going to do, swept and mopped twice, and then twenty minutes before Charlie was due to arrive, ran her bare hand over the surface, contenting herself there was no dust or grit.

When she was in the moment the boundaries of self blurred, pouring into the room like light, and moving her partner, making them react as easily as moving her own limbs.

Charlie waited on her, hands wrapped around a cup of tea that they were mostly not drinking. Their attention slid between her face and back to that dangling shoe and the foot that teased with it. Marianne knew this was their fetish, knew the thin nylon stocking, stretched over skin a shade paler than the soft buff of the knit, was a powerful lure itself. For her part she liked the sensation of the hanging black leather pump, held only by the way her toes spread. Its weight was a pleasing tug.

“Charlie, are you ready?” Marianne’s voice was deliberately patterned to be smooth, easy, softer than the tone for ‘customer service’ but no less constructed to put the mind in a calm place. Marianne made it playful and welcoming without being childish. “I will need your full attention.”

Charlie’s eyes pulled from her foot and they set aside the tea. Their posture both straightened to attention, even as their shoulders relaxed, a tell of their familiarity with past trances. Experience made things easier.

“Ok, I want you to take a deep breath for me, in.” Marianne mimicked the puff of air to demonstrate. “Hold. Ok, now, out.”

As she spoke Marianne watched their face and then their chest. She had asked Charlie to wear something they felt attractive in, and they’d chosen a collared shirt and a tie. 

“Another breath, if you please.” She made the instructions easy to follow and pleasant, the tick of association and pattern building. Obedience would be pleasure to Charlie, and further, as she built out the patter, habituate them to where to put their thoughts.

So, first she sent Charlie’s mind within themself, watching their eyes unfocus as they became aware of their sensations. To Marianne, it felt as if that enveloping control she had on the room now fully penetrated their body.

“Ok, now I am going to ask you some questions. You can answer those honestly for me, right?”

She liked this trick, a series of obvious queries, each with a “Yes, Ma’am”, until agreement became thoughtless and instant. First the easy, that they wanted this, and that they would obey her. Then, more teasing, probing, that they were aroused.

“And I arouse you, don’t I?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” There was a slight skip in Charlie’s breathing, telling her that even as the trance had relaxed them, the eagerness was building.

“But you have a particular craving, don’t you?” She savoured the power of knowing this, and knowing for what.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You like my stockings, don’t you?” Charlie’s affirmation followed again, and she continued. “And these black leather heels?”

The reply was a little stronger on the second question. For emphasis, she curled her foot towards herself so the shoe shifted on its precarious perch. “You want to worship them, don’t you?”

The affirmation included a nod and the greater tell, as Charlie’s tongue shifted in their mouth and their posture perked up, with a slight jut of their hips forward. Marianne felt her own arousal, and a satisfaction. It was like she had folded a crane from a square of paper, and held its fragile  shape in her palm, shaped to her will, but just as easy to crumple. She knew her own posture was leaning forward, just as eager as her subject, basking in her own control.

“But you want to do it properly.” Marianne grinned, put it out as a statement. She had a particular plan next, a trick as close to magic as she ever saw possible. Through a few more nudges to their own awareness, Marianne got Charlie to focus on each sense in turn: touch, scent, taste and sight. She left them tingling and almost overwhelmed by their sudden sensory rush.

Only then did she command Charlie to kneel on the floor and begin.

Reverently, Charlie took the loose hanging the shoe and held it, feeling the ghost warmth of her body heat. At Marianne’s gentle urging, they made it the totality of their focus. The leather was glossy and buffed, with the sheen of something polished many times. There was a slight nick in the heel of the left shoe where the leather had been gouged but mended. At some time the heel caps had been replaced as they were only slightly worn. Inside there had been a legend in stamped metallic ink sharing the style, but that was only a sparkle, as distant as the small traces of stars in the sky over the city.

Marianne made them feel everything, watching with a cat like, rapt attention.

“Kiss them,” Marianne’s mouth and tone were smiling. “Again, with the same reverence as if I was wearing them.”

Close to Charlie’s nose, they had an imbuement of her scent, not aggressively pungent but still present enough to pull at some animal want. They wondered to the taste, and the taste of her stocking clad feet. The thought of licking the inside was tempting, but discarded for now.

Instead they placed the first shoe aside and reached for her other foot, which she indulgently raised. They put a kiss on the toe, a rounded almond shape and further let themself catch that scent. A second kiss was bolder, just above the crescent where the shoe exposed stocking clad skin.

“Yes.” Marianne enjoyed stockings and wearing them, but Charlie’s fixation was a revelation that fed back into the control she craved. She let Charlie slide off the other shoe, repeating the same examination as the first. And then, with their eyes first meeting hers to be sure the gesture was deliberate, they pressed their face to the rubber sole.

Charlie saw her smile enough to show teeth and persisted, letting her see them lick, now.

Marianne, for her part, kept a certain delighted awareness. It did not detract from the moment that she had carefully removed any  trace of street dirt before Charlie had arrived. Another time, she decided, she just might not, to test them. She suspected that wouldn’t stop them.

Only after it was given the proper care did Charlie set the second shoe aside, and gently lift both her feet with their hands. More kisses, light as a caress, followed. Marianne pulled her legs up and closer to her body to draw them closer. She ran her fingers through Charlie’s short hair.

Charlie’s lips traced along the nylon that circled her foot. It was a strange sort of softness, not like velvet or butter, but a consistent texture that seemed to interact in a tingling way. Had they stroked their hand, Charlie knew that even the relatively burr free surface of their palm and fingers might catch slightly on invisible imperfections in themself on the fragile fibers.

Charlie began to massage her, using their thumb and fingers to squeeze and stroke, one foot in each hand. They wanted to make Marianne feel as good as she was making them feel.

She relaxed into the pressure, letting worship turn to service. Each step had been an increase in this connection, first coffee and talk in a cafe, then feet dropped into a lap for a massage at a party. Last time Charlie came over to buff and polish every single one of her shoes and boots. Now she was able to let herself rest back against the couch and trust Charlie’s service.

They took little training. Charlie said they just needed to pay attention to her reactions, when she sighed, when her eyes closed or how she changed her face keeping the pressure just as Marianne wanted. They knew that she liked a firm squeeze and the tug that pulled their toes, drawing a faint pop from the joints. 

Charlie let their hands slide up further, stroke, then squeeze, feeling the nap of the nylon under their palms. Her legs were warm, contrasts of tight and soft where ankle transitioned to calf, and very alive. Visually the stocking was an underlining contrast, dark where she tapered and lighter where the flesh stretched the material with the fullness 

Eventually, a gentle push at Charlie’s head told them Marianne was satisfied. They paused and she had that half curled smile she seemed to save only when she was particularly pleased.

Marianne felt the lightness and the release in their legs, saw the anticipation in Charlie’s face and jerked her head lightly back to the floor. “More worship. You’re not done.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Charlie sank back down to the floor, shoulders near the parquet, pressing their face into her soles. Their intake of breath reminded her of the one they took as she had first tranced them down.

The kiss followed by rolling their cheek against the slim taper of her ankle, brushing up. More kisses, absolute attention fixed on the sensations they could offer. The closeness, under her power, was almost overwhelming to Charlie.

She parted her legs, skirt hiking higher, revealing the soft sprigged almost abstract cotton pastel of her panties, crinkled at the hems with gathered elastic. The colour was a gentle bone-and-buff, a glimpse more than a full display.

Between Marianne’s legs, now Charlie explored as high as her thighs. The stocking band held to her flesh without a clip, simple lace, an open petaled full flower pair in leaf sprigs, just slightly darker than the thin knit itself.

She had not permitted them to go higher than her stocking, so there Charlie stopped, kissing and nuzzling. They let themself be just in the limits of what she allowed, revelling in the restriction and what it meant with more, sincere kisses, at the lace and just below.

Presently Marianne pushed them away again, still smiling as she smoothed her skirt back over her lap.

Charlie pulled away, looking back at her with hazy eyes. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“No.” She put up a hand and shook her head. “Thank you, Mistress.”

The correction felt right, and ready as she said it. It sounded even more right when Charlie echoed it back to her. 

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