Ste Letto
01-05-2003, 6:33 AM
Hi guys and gals if any are reading,
here is part 8 of my ongoing tale about Lynsey and Jennifer.
Poreolight school part 8
Lynsey smiled wickedly to herself, looking forward to getting up to mischief at some poor male's expense. She was well aware of the admiring looks and thoughts she was receiving. Some of the images that were being created in response to her presence made her laugh or gasp in amazement. She saw herself in a variety of situations, some dominant, some not so. One man was having quite nasty thoughts about her and a whole bunch of women. Lynsey made him want to go to the toilet. She followed him there with her mind. Once he was in a cubicle, out of sight, she snatched him, body and soul, out of there. After a moments pause, she turned him into her panty shield. The man found himself suddenly in darkness, not knowing he was now stuck firmly into the crotch of this beautiful girl's little white cotton panties. She wanted him to know and understand exactly what was happening to him so she spoke to him very slowly and carefully.
"Bet you're feeling a bit confused, ehhh nasty man?" The fellow was too stunned and shocked to reply. "The silent type eh?" she mocked. "Well, just so you know, I didn't like the way you were thinking about me," she replayed some of his thoughts back to him,. "I didn't like that at all." The man looked around him, seeing very little in the gloom. He tried to move but felt paralysed. He inhaled and got the strongest smell of a woman's sex he'd ever had. His head swam. He sniffed again, inhaling for all he was worth. He became aware of the sharp hairs of her crotch rubbing against his entire body, head to toe. Slowly, he started to catch on to his situation.
"I've decided to teach you a lesson." Lynsey giggled. "Right now your serving as my panty shield. I may come up with other uses for you later on." She carried on walking, monitoring the man's thoughts occasionally, but largely oblivious to his distress. The man grew uncomfortable. Her hairs irritated him. Her scent became overpowering. It seemed to fill him and surround him. Moisture, a mix of her sweat and her mild arousal, ran onto his body. It burned his eyes, his nose and his mouth. It made him feel sick. He realised that she needed a pee as traces of sour urine began to seep down, running into his nose and mouth. She was walking more quickly now, and he guessed she was heading for the toilet. His body was twisted sharply left and right, and her thighs bumped and bashed him.
Lynsey found her way to the toilet and smiled. She took the man's essence from her panty shield and put it into the toilet. His face became the seat. His body the porcelain bowl and base. His tongue became the interior of the bowl. The man felt immediately sick. Hideous tastes and odours suffused his senses. He was looking up at Lynsey's magnificent rear, up under her denim miniskirt. He saw that skirt raise, revealing the backs of her thighs and her perfect little butt cheeks. He saw the panties he had been inside. He saw Lynsey grasp the waistband of her underwear, saw her panties being lowered. He saw her bared cheeks, and ached to touch them, then shuddered as he realised they would soon be touching him. He watched, helpless, paralysed, shocked; as those cheeks came down. Lower and lower they came, toward his helpless face. Lynsey's bared arse cheeks loomed larger and larger, blocking out all the light, bringing darkness, then warm, cushiony, softness. They were pressed firmly onto the seat, his face, and he surrendered to their dominance.
Lynsey sat casually, comfortably on the loo seat as she had done millions of times before. She laughed to think of the nasty man, as she called him, suffering in this degrading and ultimately humiliating way. She felt pressure in her bladder. She sighed as she let go her stream, which tinkled into the water with playful sounds. That the nasty man was taking it, tasting it, drinking it helplessly, gave her mild amusement and pleasure. When she was done she wiped herself, then dropped that paper in as well. She stood and raised her panties, then dropped her skirt. She reached out her little hand and depressed the flush, then smiled at the prisoner before her. "What shall I do with you?" she said into his mind, "take you with me or leave you here?" She received a powerful plea for going with her. "You want to go with me?" she asked, teasingly, and again she received a powerful yes, "very well then, though I may not keep you forever." She popped him back into her panty shield.
She stepped out of the toilets and headed for the shoe shops. A young girl caught her eye. Smiling she watched as Erin, a college girl, tried on a variety of training shoes. The shoes Erin had come to the mall in looked battered and well worn. Lynsey smiled. Erin looked to be no more than 19 years of age. She had straight, dirty blonde hair, a slightly chubby face and figure, a tight white blouse, a short tartan miniskirt, with pleats, white kneesocks and short but slightly broad feet. She looked like she would wear any pair of shoes until they fell apart.
Lynsey knew what she was going to do. She used a spell to put nasty man into Erin's shoes. Whatever shoes Erin wore, he would be them. His back, and the back of his legs, would be the tread. His face and chest and groin would be the insole. The rest of him would be the uppers, wrapping around her foot, clinging to it in a desperate, unbreakable embrace. When Erin wore no shoes, he would be the last pair she had worn, until such time as she put any pair on. Lynsey grinned. This would be the man's life. He would never go back to normal. He would never be a man again. His lifeforce would burn out in 20 years maximum. He would serve all that time as a shoe on a young girl's foot. A girl who didn't even know he was there. A girl who ran her shoes into the ground and battered them into submission. A big girl. A heavy girl. A girl with hot feet, who would wear the same socks for days, even sleep in them, and only washed her feet on special occasions. Nasty man was in for a high old time.
Lynsey laughed into the man's mind as she detailed his fate. His screams were sweet music to her ears. Lynsey watched as Erin chose an inexpensive pair of trainers exactly like the one's she had worn to the shop. She watched as the girl squeezed her big foot into her straining shoe, before tightly tying the laces. She heard the man protest. The girl's foot was gonna tear him apart. He felt like he was going to burst from the inside. Her foot was hot, like an oven, and moist, clammy with sweat. Her socks were hard and rough on the underneath, scratching and ripping at his delicate innards. His muscles, unable to flex, ached and complained. Her heel crunched and crushed his cock and balls, sending sickening pain through him. The ball of her foot threatened to break his ribs. Her toes invaded his eyes, his nose and mouth, banging and brusing them rudely. He tasted lint, sweat and unknowable things. He was in hell. Time has a way of slowing down under such circumstances. Lynsey knew that while twenty years passed for the girl, it would feel more like a hundred to her shoe slave. She giggled as she told him this, and smiled to hear him scream again. Lynsey put an endurance spell on the trainers Erin had purchased, that way they would last longer, taking more punishment and absorbing more dirt and sweat. That done, she withdrew her mind, and left the man to his torturous fate.
here is part 8 of my ongoing tale about Lynsey and Jennifer.
Poreolight school part 8
Lynsey smiled wickedly to herself, looking forward to getting up to mischief at some poor male's expense. She was well aware of the admiring looks and thoughts she was receiving. Some of the images that were being created in response to her presence made her laugh or gasp in amazement. She saw herself in a variety of situations, some dominant, some not so. One man was having quite nasty thoughts about her and a whole bunch of women. Lynsey made him want to go to the toilet. She followed him there with her mind. Once he was in a cubicle, out of sight, she snatched him, body and soul, out of there. After a moments pause, she turned him into her panty shield. The man found himself suddenly in darkness, not knowing he was now stuck firmly into the crotch of this beautiful girl's little white cotton panties. She wanted him to know and understand exactly what was happening to him so she spoke to him very slowly and carefully.
"Bet you're feeling a bit confused, ehhh nasty man?" The fellow was too stunned and shocked to reply. "The silent type eh?" she mocked. "Well, just so you know, I didn't like the way you were thinking about me," she replayed some of his thoughts back to him,. "I didn't like that at all." The man looked around him, seeing very little in the gloom. He tried to move but felt paralysed. He inhaled and got the strongest smell of a woman's sex he'd ever had. His head swam. He sniffed again, inhaling for all he was worth. He became aware of the sharp hairs of her crotch rubbing against his entire body, head to toe. Slowly, he started to catch on to his situation.
"I've decided to teach you a lesson." Lynsey giggled. "Right now your serving as my panty shield. I may come up with other uses for you later on." She carried on walking, monitoring the man's thoughts occasionally, but largely oblivious to his distress. The man grew uncomfortable. Her hairs irritated him. Her scent became overpowering. It seemed to fill him and surround him. Moisture, a mix of her sweat and her mild arousal, ran onto his body. It burned his eyes, his nose and his mouth. It made him feel sick. He realised that she needed a pee as traces of sour urine began to seep down, running into his nose and mouth. She was walking more quickly now, and he guessed she was heading for the toilet. His body was twisted sharply left and right, and her thighs bumped and bashed him.
Lynsey found her way to the toilet and smiled. She took the man's essence from her panty shield and put it into the toilet. His face became the seat. His body the porcelain bowl and base. His tongue became the interior of the bowl. The man felt immediately sick. Hideous tastes and odours suffused his senses. He was looking up at Lynsey's magnificent rear, up under her denim miniskirt. He saw that skirt raise, revealing the backs of her thighs and her perfect little butt cheeks. He saw the panties he had been inside. He saw Lynsey grasp the waistband of her underwear, saw her panties being lowered. He saw her bared cheeks, and ached to touch them, then shuddered as he realised they would soon be touching him. He watched, helpless, paralysed, shocked; as those cheeks came down. Lower and lower they came, toward his helpless face. Lynsey's bared arse cheeks loomed larger and larger, blocking out all the light, bringing darkness, then warm, cushiony, softness. They were pressed firmly onto the seat, his face, and he surrendered to their dominance.
Lynsey sat casually, comfortably on the loo seat as she had done millions of times before. She laughed to think of the nasty man, as she called him, suffering in this degrading and ultimately humiliating way. She felt pressure in her bladder. She sighed as she let go her stream, which tinkled into the water with playful sounds. That the nasty man was taking it, tasting it, drinking it helplessly, gave her mild amusement and pleasure. When she was done she wiped herself, then dropped that paper in as well. She stood and raised her panties, then dropped her skirt. She reached out her little hand and depressed the flush, then smiled at the prisoner before her. "What shall I do with you?" she said into his mind, "take you with me or leave you here?" She received a powerful plea for going with her. "You want to go with me?" she asked, teasingly, and again she received a powerful yes, "very well then, though I may not keep you forever." She popped him back into her panty shield.
She stepped out of the toilets and headed for the shoe shops. A young girl caught her eye. Smiling she watched as Erin, a college girl, tried on a variety of training shoes. The shoes Erin had come to the mall in looked battered and well worn. Lynsey smiled. Erin looked to be no more than 19 years of age. She had straight, dirty blonde hair, a slightly chubby face and figure, a tight white blouse, a short tartan miniskirt, with pleats, white kneesocks and short but slightly broad feet. She looked like she would wear any pair of shoes until they fell apart.
Lynsey knew what she was going to do. She used a spell to put nasty man into Erin's shoes. Whatever shoes Erin wore, he would be them. His back, and the back of his legs, would be the tread. His face and chest and groin would be the insole. The rest of him would be the uppers, wrapping around her foot, clinging to it in a desperate, unbreakable embrace. When Erin wore no shoes, he would be the last pair she had worn, until such time as she put any pair on. Lynsey grinned. This would be the man's life. He would never go back to normal. He would never be a man again. His lifeforce would burn out in 20 years maximum. He would serve all that time as a shoe on a young girl's foot. A girl who didn't even know he was there. A girl who ran her shoes into the ground and battered them into submission. A big girl. A heavy girl. A girl with hot feet, who would wear the same socks for days, even sleep in them, and only washed her feet on special occasions. Nasty man was in for a high old time.
Lynsey laughed into the man's mind as she detailed his fate. His screams were sweet music to her ears. Lynsey watched as Erin chose an inexpensive pair of trainers exactly like the one's she had worn to the shop. She watched as the girl squeezed her big foot into her straining shoe, before tightly tying the laces. She heard the man protest. The girl's foot was gonna tear him apart. He felt like he was going to burst from the inside. Her foot was hot, like an oven, and moist, clammy with sweat. Her socks were hard and rough on the underneath, scratching and ripping at his delicate innards. His muscles, unable to flex, ached and complained. Her heel crunched and crushed his cock and balls, sending sickening pain through him. The ball of her foot threatened to break his ribs. Her toes invaded his eyes, his nose and mouth, banging and brusing them rudely. He tasted lint, sweat and unknowable things. He was in hell. Time has a way of slowing down under such circumstances. Lynsey knew that while twenty years passed for the girl, it would feel more like a hundred to her shoe slave. She giggled as she told him this, and smiled to hear him scream again. Lynsey put an endurance spell on the trainers Erin had purchased, that way they would last longer, taking more punishment and absorbing more dirt and sweat. That done, she withdrew her mind, and left the man to his torturous fate.