Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa, Reluctant, Coercion, Mind Control, Lesbian, BiSexual, Light Bond, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Leg Fetish,
Desc: Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1 - There's something about ClassyLady Special Blend stockings which is turning ordinary women into rabidly horny ones.
Market research is not ordinarily a life-changing endeavor.
Nevertheless, given what happened after, Marnie sometimes lay in bed at night wondering whether it was the biggest mistake of her adult life or the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Then she would reach a sizzling, terrifyingly intense orgasm on the other woman's face and decide on the latter.
It had all started with Management's bright idea to pull all the product ordering information from the database, and to sift through it in various different statistical cuts. Arkady took care of the database portion, and it was left to Marnie to conjure up the ghosts of sophomore stats class and actually turn piles of meaningless financial trivia about skimpy wisps of silk and satin into information. In pursuit of the almighty dollar, of course. LingerieGlance was an up-and-coming web shrine specializing in distributing the fancier sort of ladies' undergarments, and Tyler Rhaspid was its high priest. Or owner, if you insisted; Marnie supposed that made her an acolyte or an altar girl as well as an employee. Marnie was a buyer whose primary supplier had just gone out of business, so she was in between assignments right now, and her supervisor had decided she had the time for this kind of activity.
Of course it made sense to concentrate on your repeat business, if only to determine what you did right so you could apply it to your not-so-repeat business. So that's how Marnie found ClassyLady.
ClassyLady was a "loner" enterprise: a single product was all they sold through LG. That product, however, happened to be the most-reordered item on the site and Marnie wondered what the hell was so special about their Special Blend Full-Fashioned Stockings.
The summary numbers were encouraging, but a look at the raw data was truly illustrative: every single item sold had generated a repeat sale of the same item. Typically seven or eight pairs at a time. She looked deeper.
Only thirteen returns, all unopened, for "size"-- and once exchanged for the proper fit, never another peep of complaint. Just more orders. In some cases LG had sent the wrong size by mistake to a long-standing customer, and the customer hadn't even bothered to return it and had just ordered more.
Marnie shook her head. Anomalous numbers like this needed a further look. She contacted Charlotte in customer service and requested feedback from customers who'd ordered ClassyLady. Charlotte had laughed aloud over the phone, and when Marnie'd asked what was so funny, had replied knowingly with, "You'll see." Then the email attachment with the collected ramblings of over a thousand customers showed up, and Marnie did see. Not so much in the "rate our products/services 1 to 5" results, but in the comments section:
I don't ordinarily send in these silly little surveys, but you have something really special with ClassyLady stockings. The way they feel on my legs is simply electric. My husband likes them as much as any stockings, of course, but I find myself wearing them as often as I can outside the bedroom. I'm buying enough for every day of the week. Does the manufacturer have a website? An address? Anything? I'd like to thank them personally.
Do you have any other nylons like this? I've tried others and these are amazing. I've recommended them to all my girlfriends, and they look and feel sexy too. Do you think I can get a finders fee? ha ha!
Does ClassyLady make this in bodystockings? They feel so good I want to feel them all over thanks. Sometimes I wear them on my arms, too, so make them in bodystockings so I won't feel so stupid, okay? Gloves would be okay, too.
I've never felt sexier than when I'm wearing ClassyLady hose. It's like a thousand tiny dancers in my skin, a massage parlor visit, and an orgasm all in one. Thank you for offering this product. I'm recommending them to all of my friends.
And more of the same, sometimes with an explicit tone she didn't exactly welcome in customer feedback. ClassyLady hosiery evidently looked sexy and felt even better, to the point where women were switching to it pretty much exclusively. Only one negative comment existed, and it was thoroughly bizarre:
You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you and your filthy underwear. My wife ordered your stuff and she spent all her time with herself in that bedroom with her fingers doing horrible things and if that wasn't enough she does stuff with her best girl friend now, too. I should sue you. Expect to hear from my lawyer.
Ahem. The contrast with the overwhelmingly positive comments elsewhere made her think it was a prank, but Marnie checked the ID against the customer list, and Mr. Francis Tennyson of Dayton, Ohio, a long-term customer of four years and about $600, stopped purchasing after that message. Further, a cross-check of the name revealed that a Ms. Eloise Tennyson, also of Dayton, began purchasing a week later, and was up to $1,900 already though her last name had since shifted to "Rafalski". All ClassyLady Special Blend. In two different sizes, now.
On a whim, she checked with Legal, and apparently no lawsuit had ever materialized, so at least that part wasn't true. Or possibly Mr. Tennyson had a hard time convincing a lawyer that an online lingerie distributor contributed to the lesbianism of his wife and the ensuing divorce. Given what she knew of lawyers, that itself was hard to believe.
At any rate, she mentally labeled that feedback "statistical outlier" and went back to her explorations. Sylvia, the buyer in charge of the account, was on vacation, so Marnie looked on the web for other ClassyLady distributors to see if she could find out whether they had similar experience with this or other product lines ... and couldn't find a damned one. Every commercial search for ClassyLady landed her right back in LG's webspace, and other searches just gave her press releases for the company's opening in 2003 by Darlene Feinstein and Felicia Major. In ... ah, that was it. The company was local, so they were probably not big enough to go with larger distributors. Interesting.
She'd been at this awhile, and needed some relief, so she kicked back her chair and strolled over to the warehouse. Might as well find out what all the hubbub was about.
It was six-thirty by the time she'd braved traffic and gotten back to her apartment, and seven by the time dinner had been microwaved and consumed. She hadn't always lived alone, and had once actively sought a roommate to help pay the rent, but the town was small and outside of the summertime months nearly deserted. There were plenty of vacationing fly-by-nights who would have been happy to room with her, but the first couple of attempts didn't go well and Marnie didn't suffer too much from the rent. She grumbled a lot about the place she worked, but really LingerieGlance did pay a decent salary.
After sampling her answering machine messages (her mother, her brother, and a hang-up she felt certain was probably her immature ex-boyfriend, Abram), she fumbled through her purse and found the hosiery from work. With a smirk she headed to her bedroom and its closet.
The company did encourage employees to sample the wares, and backed this policy up with 75% off the sticker price. Marnie knew the Old Man was still making money off his wage-slaves even at those rates, but it was hard to argue with the economy of it all. She had more lacy and satiny things now as a single gal than she'd ever had when she was dating someone simply due to the fact that even the most extravagant undies were now too cheap to pass up. This, and not any inherent preference, was why she now had four garter belts to choose from when trying on the ClassyLady offering. She fastened the white one around her waist because it was heretofore unworn and because she thought it would make her feel pretty.
She sat down on the bed and opened the wrapper. The packaging was plain and uninteresting, containing a cardboard slide around which the coffee-tone hose were wrapped. Removal and unwinding revealed that the fabric was gossamer-thin. Ten denier yarn, she estimated, though it might be as low as seven. The seam was real, an extension of the heel taper, indicating they'd used one of the old-style shaping frames and hadn't gone cheap and fake with a sewn-in seam. It went all the way up to the full-fashioned loop at the top. A classic look, if a bit old-fashioned and probably too fancy for her tastes. She held the garment in her palm, surprised and impressed at how light and soft it felt. Surprised, too, at the way it seemed to stimulate her skin when she touched it ... Nice.
Marnie bunched the stocking up around her fingers and slid it over her foot and ankle before she realized that the tingles weren't illusory. Simply electric, she quoted from memory. The fabric felt like it was possessed by the ambient electrical aura you got off a blanket in the winter time before you'd actually touched it. On the verge of static electricity, but with none of the prickle. Just an enveloping, soothing sensation up and down her calves, knees, and eventually, as she pulled the garments taut with garter clasps, her upper thighs. Especially the thighs; the darker welt seemed to caress her there in exciting ways. Naughty ways. She thought she remembered reading somewhere that a woman's inner thighs alone contained more nerve endings than the rest of the leg combined, and she could believe it, now. The stockings were longer than the typical fare, and she had to shorten the garter straps to keep the fabric from wrinkling.
She'd started the evening on the verge of a bubble bath and straight to bed, but as she looked at herself in the mirror she decided that the night might have other things to offer. The fact that each time she touched any part of the stocking the feeling seemed intensified did not dissuade her, of course: an accidental flick of her nail across the hosed thigh felt like a pleasurable pulse of her muscles, and a stroke of the back of her knees with her fingertips to straighten the seam felt like being caressed by a playful masseur. She started to warm up between her legs from the sensory stimulation, and soon enough one hand crept into her panties while the other continued its pursuit of new and exciting places and methods of touching her encased legs.
Her nipples tightened nicely as her heat dripped out onto her fingers, and though she'd just masturbated fairly vigorously the night before, for some reason right now she was as randy as if she'd been without release for months. It was the intense feeling of the nylon against her flesh that kept tingling her legs, driving her to caress their silky smoothness with her hands and pause to take fervent occupation of her pussy with a finger or two every so often. She was so overstimulated that she barely had to touch her clitoris throughout the rubdown, but when she felt the end approaching she plunged both hands between her thighs, pressing hard against her palm with the tiny bit of flesh, and scissoring her legs together with an audible zzzzzip. That last sensation drove her wild and she hit multiple tiny climaxes for a minute or so before "coming down" again.
Whew! Amazing. She'd heard her girl friends describe "firecracker" orgasms before, but had never experienced the phenomenon ... or any orgasms closer together than five minutes or so, for that matter. But the touch of her legs together, the hosiery rubbing against itself ... she shuddered again, a light sheen of sweat now making itself obvious all over her body. She could understand why these stockings were top sellers; the yummy sensual signals they added to simple acts of friction was simply incredible. Her body seemed to have calmed down, now, and the stockings were no longer so insanely wondrous, so she slowly peeled them off her legs and let the perspiration evaporate. She was almost sad to see them go.
She'd certainly try that again, and soon! And perhaps buy more, before the other ladies in the office figured anything out. Many of the girls were about her size, and the last thing she needed was to have to catfight them all to get a pair.
She grinned, washed up, and got ready for some couchside Biography Channel goodness (Patrick Duffy!) and then bed.
"Did the delivery truck come yet?"
"Nope. I told you, I'll call you."
"Okay. Wasn't sure. Thought you might have gone on break or something."
Paulo hung up on her. Objectively, she knew she couldn't blame him; she knew she must seem annoying as hell to the guys in Receiving. But she just couldn't help it. Her sole remaining pair of ClassyLady Special Blend were on their last legs (so to speak) and had so many runs up and down them that they didn't swish together properly anymore, and their "tingle" level was way down.
And God did she miss it! Masturbation was still effective, and it helped to watch herself in the mirror while wearing the tattered hosiery, but it was not the same as the ecstasy of slowly drawing a fresh new pair up her legs. Admiring what the fabric did to her curves, sensing the nylon tightening like a second skin as she attached the garters ... the tickle which grew to a roar as she smoothed out the wrinkles and aligned the seams between her heels and her ass. She shuddered at just the thought and anticipated a trip to the privacy of the restroom for some self-prescribed, naughty relief.
When she finally had a spare moment, she stood up to get started-- and at that moment the phone rang. It was Receiving.
"Marnie? The delivery truck came through."
"I'll be right down."
She tried not to run, but she knew she looked like she was in a hurry. Fuck appearances, she thought, as long as I get my stockings. She passed Charlotte on the way, and barely acknowledged the other woman's broad smile, but she couldn't help but notice that Char had hosiery of some sort peeking out from underneath her dress. At a quick glance it looked seamed, but Marnie barreled on down the stairs, just hoping she'd be joining that club again soon.
"Hey, Marnie," the heavyset guy replied, smiling a little at her rush. "What can I do for you today?"
"You said the delivery truck was here?"
"Yep. Are you looking for something ... special?" he leered.
"I'm just checking ... for a customer. A very eager customer." My pussy.
"Well, let me know what you're looking for."
She pondered searching herself, but it would be faster to just ask. "ClassyLady Special Blend."
"Ah, the stockings." He was not subtle in looking her up and down at this response, as if he was imagining whether she was wearing some right now. I wish. "Let's check the manifest."
He hummed and buzzed over the pages for a couple of minutes before shrugging. "Huh. Sorry to disappoint you, Marn, but there's nothing here from ClassyLady today."
"What?!? Let me see that!"
"Okay, okay. Here!" He grinned at the frantic way she grasped at the papers. "Looks like your customer's going to have to be disappointed."
She scanned the page, and there was no sign of anything resembling a shipment from ClassyLady. Dammit. She was not in tears, but the "customer" between her thighs wept quite a bit in frustration. She tossed the stapled sheets back to Paulo and shot an insincere thanks back at him as she turned around and headed back to her desk.
Or maybe to a slightly different destination, she thought as she recalled who she'd passed on the way to the dock.
"Hi, Marnie. This is a pleasure. What brings you here, today?"
"Hey, Charlotte." She tried to sound casual, but she was slightly out of breath. She doubted Char was fooled. "Just stopping by to see how you were."
"Really?" Char followed Marnie's gaze down to her own ankles, and smiled a bit as she crossed them with a zzzzip. Looking directly at Marnie's face, she bent over, turned her foot, and adjusted what was very obviously the seam of a full-fashioned stocking. Marnie was positive at that moment what brand they were, and she could tell that Char was aware of how much this mattered to her. And, presumably, why. "I'm doing just fine. Feeling good."
"Charlotte, those are lovely nylons you're wearing."
"Do you like them? They're called ClassyLady Special Blend. Are you familiar with them?"
This was getting nowhere, and Charlotte was evidently enjoying this. "Yeah, I know what they fe-- what they're like. Listen, I was wondering..."
"Out of stock, huh?" She looked sympathetic. Maybe.
"Yes! It's very frustrating. Extremely." She made herself appear calm. "Char, do you have any to spare? I have ... an event ... I want to wear them to."
"There are lots of other full-fashioned stockings out there, Marnie. Gio, Gerbe, Secrets in Lace ... I can make some recommendations!"
This wasn't going well. "That's not the same," she growled at the grinning woman in front of her, "and I think you know it."
Charlotte laughed heartily, her red hair bouncing. "Yes, I do. I think I might have a spare pair, honey."
"Really?" Her frustration turned quickly to hope.
"Sure. Why don't you stop by my house tonight after work and we'll see what we can uncover?"
"Oh, thank you, Char! I really need them. For the event, you know. Thanks so much!"
"Don't thank me until you have them in your greedy little hands, kiddo."
Phone numbers, addresses, and other pleasantries were exchanged, and then Marnie fairly danced back to her desk. She was still horny as hell, but the prospect of getting off in her favorite hosiery later this evening made her decide to save her libido for the more sensational climaxes. That didn't stop her from squirming in her chair or giving her thighs a little squeeze together now and then, but in all she knew the wait would be worth it.
Charlotte lived alone in a small home near the edge of town. Surrounded by farmland-turned-suburb, her house predated recent expansion and had a greater than usual distance betwixt it and adjacent residences.
The doorbell summoned a faint "Just a second!" from within, and it wasn't a moment before the door opened on an embarrassingly underdressed Charlotte. She wore a satin kimono which barely cleared her ... ahem...
"Uh ... I guess I ... I thought tonight..."
"Oh, Marnie, baby, I'm sorry! I forgot you were on your way and was just about to get into the bathtub." In her stockings? "Come on in!"
"Are you sure? I can..." She trailed off as she stared hard at Char's legs and remembered why she was here. She stepped over the threshold and into the living room.
"Here, sit down. Would you like some herbal tea? It's nice and cinnamony!" Charlotte would not take "no" for an answer and soon had Marnie seated in a massive older but still comfortable chair. Char made a comment about Rhaspid and the two women giggled together about the place they worked. The whole time, though, Marnie was taking surreptitious glances in the direction of Charlotte's legs and wondering when the heck the other woman was going to get moving on getting those damned stockings for her. At last Marnie had to proclaim the need to get going and actually stand up in order to subtly hint that it was time to fulfill the purpose of the visit.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Got carried away. It's so fun to have you over that I lost track. Just sit back down and I'll get them right away." Charlotte left the room, and Marnie watched the seams crawl up her thighs to her ass and shift with the muscles beneath, not wanting to wait any longer to feel the same seam owning the back side of her thighs.
In a moment Charlotte returned, humming a tune and grinning, her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes, dear, and I'll give you what you want."
Marnie was in no mood for games, but she was willing to play around just this once in order to get the pussy-warping hosiery. She shut her eyelids and just listened.
"Click." Metal clamped one wrist to the arm of the chair, and her eyes snapped open in surprise just as a cuff closed against the other wrist, too.
"What the... ? Char, what are you doing?" Fear clenched around her innards. How well did she know this woman, anyway?
Charlotte giggled evilly. "Just a precaution, honey."
"Cut this shit out and unlock me right now. This is not fucking funny."
"Don't worry, I promise nothing will happen to you ... well, not unwillingly. I just wanted you to stay and hear what I have to say."
"Unlock me now."
"You're really in no place to argue, Marnie. Listen, I just..."
"When I start screaming, someone's going to call the police." Except that the nearest house was rather far away. Marnie assumed she would probably be terrified if indignation had not already taken the reins.
"Gosh, I hope not. That would spoil the whole plan." She looked at the huffing and puffing "guest" and evidently decided not to let her blow the whole house down. "I can see we'll need an alternative way of going about this." She grabbed a familiar-looking package from the coffee table and tore it open, sliding the ClassyLady hose out with a flourish. "Remember why you're here?"
"Because you're a nutcase?" Despite her bravado, she was a bit distracted when she saw the objects of her desire.
"Mmmm ... possibly. But I don't think," she replied, "that's the entire reason." She slid her hand elbow-deep into one of the brand-new nylons, staring at the way it tinted her palm and fingers. "I think you might have come for this." Charlotte started walking around the chair, careful to stay out of reach of any kicking from Marnie's feet.
"Yes ... And you needed to tie me up to give them to me, why exact--ly?" Marnie's voice had gone from hysteria to softness on the last syllable because the hose-covered hand had made its way across her blouse's neckline and she'd lost focus at the sensation.
"There, see, I knew how to calm you down," came the voice in her ear, and she turned her head to find Char's face far too close to her own. The stroking continued, though, from her collarbone, up her neck, and caressing her chin. She bit down on a sigh. "Now, let's take this nice and slow, kiddo. I'm going to take your shoes off and put these on your legs, okay?"
"Ok-- What?" She had a disturbing feeling what this was about. "Listen, Char, I don't know what kind of person you--"
"Shhhhhhhh..." was the reply, and though Marnie had every opportunity to fight her off the prospect of the stockings on her legs now-- not having to wait any longer for the delight-- made knees loosen and feet lay passive as the other woman kneeled down in front of her and removed her pumps.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the bunched up wisp of cloth in Charlotte's hands touched Marnie's toes, then crossed her heel and continued upward. The fabric limned her flesh as it rose past ankle and caressed calf, and as the slight stretch to it imparted by the slow feminine hands pulled it tight against her skin, all the sensual sparkles she'd missed for weeks reappeared.
Charlotte surprised her by putting her shoe back on at this point, but it kept the nylon taut and the pressure it applied to her soles and heels only brought the tingling down there too. "Mmmmm..." she emitted before she could stifle it. She'd not tried that before with Special Blend. It was different from barefoot; she had not decided yet on "better". She had little time to contemplate it before the hosiery had reached her knee and turned the well-formed bend. Charlotte paused, looked up at her, and began hiking up the offensive skirt in the way of progress.
Despite the nipple-crunching feelings proliferating in her body right now, Marnie was about to object. To offer to do it herself: she wouldn't leave, just please, don't...
The option was taken away from her brain when Charlotte leaned in, her stockinged upper thigh making the barest contact with Marnie's coated knee. "Omigod!" both women moaned in chorus, though it appeared to Marnie that Char was surprised more by the intensity of the sensation than by its presence. From toe to knee, Marnie's leg was engulfed in flames of pleasure, and it felt in the strangest way that she could feel the other woman's leg from thigh on downward as well. Her legs fell askew as she tried to absorb the impact up her spinal cord, and she panted, "What was... ?
"That?" Charlotte recovered and took advantage of the parted thighs to resume easing the stocking upward again. "I have no idea, but I want to feel it again. Don't you?"
"God, yes! I mean..." Charlotte had pulled a rudimentary garter-belt from somewhere behind her and begun to fasten it around Marnie's hips. It wasn't more than a waistband and a couple of dangling straps, really; wasn't lacy or satiny or sexy in any way, and since it was over Marnie's clothes it bunched up her skirt absurdly. But it served the intended purpose: it kept the Special Blend stocking from falling and gave Char the opportunity to run her finger up the nylon seam and smooth the wrinkles. She might as well have been running her fingers up Marnie's pussy seam for the effect it had; her already dampened panties were now hopelessly soggy from this treatment.
It was time for the other leg, now, Marnie expected, and she awaited it with more zeal than she'd had opposition on the first one. Charlotte, however, stood up and put her hands on her hips.
"What?" Marnie whimpered. "You're not finished... ?"
The other woman smiled, her eyes glinting. "That depends."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't give you the stockings without payment."
"Payment?" She chuckled insanely. "Do you take Visa?"
"That's not what I meant," the redhead breathed, and suddenly the passion-blurred events of the last ten minutes came into sharp focus for Marnie.
"Charlotte, I'm flattered, really, and, don't get me wrong, you ... um ... give good leg. But that's-- I mean ... can't we just rub up against each other?" It came out whinier than she'd intended.
The laughter was loud in response, and nearly derisive. "Oh, no you don't, honey! Trying to distract me with the leg-to-leg contact thing's not gonna work. I've been imagining doing this to a girl for weeks, now, and it's going to go my way. Not yours."
"No, baby. The nylons are astounding, and I'll never give them up, but for me to give you the stockings, you'll need to provide the main course. Or devour it, rather. Otherwise..." She reached down to the garter-clip as if to unfasten it.
"Have you ever eaten pussy before?"
"No? Because you seem like you'd be a natural." Charlotte fell into Jimi Hendrix cadences. "Tell me, are you a cuntlicker? Have you ever been a cuntlicker? I have..."
Char switched to McCarthyism as she stepped closer. "Are you or have you ever been a member of a yummyclit party?"
If I eat you out will you stop with the awful quotations? Marnie did not say. Could not bring herself to say, because it sounded too much like concession. And no matter how horny she was, how horny Charlotte had made her, that was a step over the line into a realm Marnie had no interest in being a part of.
As if reading her thoughts, Char responded. "You've already crossed the line, sweetie. You're going to eat my cunt, and you're going to love it. The taste of my pussy is going to turn you on from now on because you're going to remember how I made you do it, and how much you didn't want to, really ... but how you couldn't resist me. Those were my hands putting the nylons on your thighs. And I know how wet that made you, because I can smell you all the way over here. And you smell," she growled, "very, very scrumptious."
It had been a long time since someone ... anyone ... had called her "scrumptious". She felt her resolve weakening, and when Char ran the tips of her nails up the fabric of the stockings and her pussy heated in response she knew she was lost. Now the other woman's hose had made contact with her own once more and her jaw slackened and eyes rolled back. "What ... whatever you want to do to me. Just..."
"Yessss?" she hissed, her breath on Marnie's neck.
"Just, please, put on the other stocking first?"
The second nylon went on fast; Charlotte did not take the relish in her task this time that she had at the first because she had an agenda. Every second spent smoothing nylon meant one in which Marnie's face was not between her thighs, and Marnie was acutely aware of the rush and the reason for it. The aggressor didn't even bother with the handcuffs; she left the positioning intact, placed one high-heeled slipper on each arm of the chair, and lowered her saturated sex down onto the face of her victim.
Had Marnie not been melting into the seat from her own hose-clad sensuality it might have been an awkward position, but by gripping the back of the chair Charlotte was able to get leverage to smear Marnie's nose, chin, and cheeks with enough tangy juice to make the experience a well-lubricated one.
Marnie, for her part, was thrilled enough with the long-missed tingles up and down her legs that she rewarded the fragrant snatch (cinnamony!) with a tonguing that made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in practice. Her own cunt seemed to respond sympathetically to the other woman's obvious pleasure, and it helped immensely that she was scissoring her thighs together in the masturbatory way she'd grown accustomed to in the weeks following her discovery of Special Blend. When Char finally cried out and nearly smothered her in reflexive motion, Marnie was unsure whether it was the lack of oxygen or her own rabid climax which left her light-headed.
She did know that when Char slid down her body and penetrated her girl-soiled mouth with a questing tongue, the only thing which kept her from unconsciousness was the fact that the women's legs now intertwined, and both women jerked and stared into each other's eyes in shock at how it felt. "Uhmagod..." Marnie groaned incoherently and with a barely-functional jaw. "'s two."
"It's four," corrected Charlotte from behind suddenly-lidded eyes. "I can feel yours, too."
"I can't ... I have to..."
"I know. I will." And the women's legs now slid against each other in a riotous dance. Each sought to touch and be touched at all angles, across the entire surface area of calf, knee, thigh ... Each felt the other's sensations. They frequently brushed cunt against cunt, but clitoral stimulation seemed secondary in the face of this sensory onslaught. They came, together, in a jumbled mass of limbs that only untangled once both massive orgasms had faded and sleep had taken them.
When Marnie awoke alone on what she assumed was Charlotte's bed, her wrists had been bandaged where they'd bled into the handcuffs during her exertions. Her face still smelled of woman, but she found she didn't mind at all ... as though neurons had been retasked in some ultra-Pavlovian meld of scent and climax. She relived the experience mentally and, as her new coffee-toned stockings were still on and beautifully intact, she spent the next half-hour sliding them together and squeezing her fist against her clit again at the remembrance.
That's how Charlotte found her when she returned from the store, and it was a mark of forgiveness that Marnie only demanded two orgasms fucking the other woman's face before they progressed to their nylon-serpentined tribadism.