stocking worship

She very graciously deigned to leave them behind after our last liaison; and I am very very aware that they are awaiting me at home, caked in stale urine; to such an extent that the feet of the stockings have turned hard and almost crusty.

This arouses me immensely.

I complete the hour-long journey home in under forty minutes, and this is in rush hour traffic.

I am completely ambivalent and oblivious to other road users and potential hazards.

My every thought relates to Mistress’s discarded, soon-to-be-adored black seamed lingerie.

I arrive home and hastily park my car, I put the key in the door and literally charge up my stairs.

I fetch the ever-so-special items from the drawer they are kept in.

I lie on my bed still fully clothed and drape the formerly piss-saturated silk stocking over my nose and mouth. My Mistress Helena had left.

I inhale deeply and simultaneously I begin to make whimpering noises.

For a moment I imagine the treasured items of clothing are adorning the beautiful feet of my Manchester Mistress.

I am reminded of the occasion when I was forced to gag on the heel of my Governess’s perfect black patent stiletto shoes.

Immediately after dislodging the long, thin heel from my windpipe Manchester Mistress Helena commands me to open my mouth even wider.

She elegantly lets spit fall from her gorgeous mouth into my eager willing one waiting beneath her. I am then instructed to kneel upright, as I duly do so my face is slapped several times very hard by my Manchester Mistress. I am rightly derided as “worthless” and “pathetic” as she does so.

I continue to  gratify myself over Manchester Mistresses Helena soiled seamed nylons.

Oh how I yearn to be back in the presence of my Mistress’s stockings and heels. I so want to Worship her again and her beautiful stockings.

Your Pathetic dirty little piss whore