giambotte

She had been a family friend once.

The one I called aunt even though there was no real relation.

And she had been the one willing to discipline, to be strict.

It wasn't lost on her that when she got that way, others would get angry, but I would gravitate towards her, trying to please her.

And as I got older, I couldn't help but notice her choices of attire, always in nylons and boots.

She noticed that, too.

One day, she had me come over. Well, ordered me to.

Alone.

I was nervous, not knowing what she wanted. Her voice had that quality to it where I couldn't quite tell if she was upset with me.

I arrived to find her on the couch. My eyes flitted down to her legs, her nylons, her boots.

She immediately called me on it.

Asked me if I thought it was appropriate to look at her that way.

I was flustered. I stumbled over my words. Tried to apologize.

Before I could finish, she asked me how it made me feel.

Demanded an immediate answer.

I told her the truth. That she made me feel weak. By how she dressed. By the strength of her personality. By the power she exuded.

Weak... and aroused, and embarrassed.

"I know," was all she said in answer as I stood there. My face was red with embarrassment, but... I could also feel my body reacting. I couldn't help it, and there was no way to hide it.

Her eyes traveled down my body to my midsection, and for a moment, her expression changed. She looked approvingly at my obvious arousal, and that just made me react even more.

Throb a little.

I couldn't help it.

She looked back up at me.

She asked what I wanted.

I didn't understand at first.

She tsked. "I don't mean right this moment," she said. "That's fairly obvious." Her tone softened. "What do you want?" she asked again. "What do you really want?"

I couldn't find the words. Without really thinking about it, I got down on my knees and looked up at her. I was glad I couldn't see my own face. I'm sure it had a desperate look of need on it to go with the embarrassment.

She nodded her approval, sending shivers of joy across my body. She beckoned me to her. It didn't occur to me to get back up.

I crawled to her.

Her look of approval grew.

I shuddered with pleasure.

She gently ran her fingers through my hair and said, "You're mine, now."

I whimpered a little.

"Yours," I repeated.

She leaned forward, slowly lowering my face to her boot tips.

"Show me," was all she said.

It was enough.

I started with her boot tips. I worshipped every inch of them, determined not to miss any part of them. Her encouraging words drove me on.

By the time she allowed me to worship her nylon clad legs, the old me was already gone.

I was hers.

Inch by Inch

My advice is to take a little at a time until you get used to it.