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<blockquote data-quote="Mistress Legs" data-source="post: 115333" data-attributes="member: 20331"><p>It always seemed like her boldest decisions involved upgrading to the latest version of QuickBooks. Monica from accounting, quiet, with her hair always tied up in a bun and a stern gaze over her glasses. We chatted by the water cooler, occasionally had lunch together, and I'd come up with excuses to visit her office ten times a day just to steal glances at her legs in elegant pumps and thin, almost invisible stockings. It was my sweet, secret, and utterly hopeless weakness.</p><p></p><p>The picnic idea emerged spontaneously on Thursday. By Saturday, a group of six had formed, but come morning, everyone had "suddenly" backed out – someone's cat fell ill, others had urgent tax appointments. Just the two of us were left. A bit awkward, but... Monica smiled, "Well, I guess it'll be more fun just the two of us."</p><p></p><p>She met me at the car not in her usual strict suit, but in a short pleated skirt, a bulky hoodie, and... blue tights. Thick ones, with a subtle sheen, hugging every line of her long legs, leaving me breathless. During the entire drive to the beach, I struggled not to stare at her feet, lazily swaying to the music.</p><p></p><p>We found a secluded cove. Seagulls cried, waves crashed. We spread out a blanket, ate sandwiches, and chatted about work, movies, anything. She was as kind and carefree as ever. When I stood up to gather trash, her voice changed – softer, yet firmer:</p><p>"Where do you think you're going?"</p><p></p><p>I turned around. She slipped off her ballet flats and slowly, as if dancing, lifted her legs clad in those stunning blue tights. Her feet – well-groomed, with a high arch – hovered just inches from my face.</p><p></p><p>"Like what you see?" A cunning smile played on her lips. "After all, you've been pretending so hard not to notice."</p><p></p><p>I froze, unable to utter a word.</p><p></p><p>"Did you really think I accidentally dropped pencils only when you walked by?" She wiggled her toes mischievously, and the nylon rustled. "Or that my shoe 'accidentally' fell off its heel whenever you were nearby?"</p><p></p><p>My head spun from her revelations. Months... She knew. She'd been playing with me.</p><p></p><p>"And today... all those sudden excuses from our colleagues – that was your doing too, wasn't it?"</p><p></p><p>She laughed, confirmation enough.</p><p></p><p>"I've been waiting for the perfect moment to isolate you, where no one could interrupt. And where you'd finally stop pretending."</p><p></p><p>Her eyes hardened, sharp as knives.</p><p></p><p>"Now... kneel. And bury your face in my soles. You've wanted this, haven't you?"</p><p></p><p>My body obeyed instinctively. I sank to the sand, her feet touching my face – warm, supple, radiating the scent of salt air, skin, and sweet nylon. I licked the rough surface, earning an approving sigh.</p><p></p><p>"Good," she whispered, tracing my cheek with her foot. "You know, the best part? Our picnic is just getting started..."</p><p></p><p>And then, she pulled out a thin bondage rope and a narrow leather collar from her bag.</p><p></p><p>"Today, dear colleague, you'll learn what it means to work not for a boss, but for me."</p><p></p><p>Looking into her radiant, authoritative eyes, I realized – this will be the happiest day of my life.</p><p></p><p>[ATTACH=full]765415[/ATTACH]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mistress Legs, post: 115333, member: 20331"] It always seemed like her boldest decisions involved upgrading to the latest version of QuickBooks. Monica from accounting, quiet, with her hair always tied up in a bun and a stern gaze over her glasses. We chatted by the water cooler, occasionally had lunch together, and I'd come up with excuses to visit her office ten times a day just to steal glances at her legs in elegant pumps and thin, almost invisible stockings. It was my sweet, secret, and utterly hopeless weakness. The picnic idea emerged spontaneously on Thursday. By Saturday, a group of six had formed, but come morning, everyone had "suddenly" backed out – someone's cat fell ill, others had urgent tax appointments. Just the two of us were left. A bit awkward, but... Monica smiled, "Well, I guess it'll be more fun just the two of us." She met me at the car not in her usual strict suit, but in a short pleated skirt, a bulky hoodie, and... blue tights. Thick ones, with a subtle sheen, hugging every line of her long legs, leaving me breathless. During the entire drive to the beach, I struggled not to stare at her feet, lazily swaying to the music. We found a secluded cove. Seagulls cried, waves crashed. We spread out a blanket, ate sandwiches, and chatted about work, movies, anything. She was as kind and carefree as ever. When I stood up to gather trash, her voice changed – softer, yet firmer: "Where do you think you're going?" I turned around. She slipped off her ballet flats and slowly, as if dancing, lifted her legs clad in those stunning blue tights. Her feet – well-groomed, with a high arch – hovered just inches from my face. "Like what you see?" A cunning smile played on her lips. "After all, you've been pretending so hard not to notice." I froze, unable to utter a word. "Did you really think I accidentally dropped pencils only when you walked by?" She wiggled her toes mischievously, and the nylon rustled. "Or that my shoe 'accidentally' fell off its heel whenever you were nearby?" My head spun from her revelations. Months... She knew. She'd been playing with me. "And today... all those sudden excuses from our colleagues – that was your doing too, wasn't it?" She laughed, confirmation enough. "I've been waiting for the perfect moment to isolate you, where no one could interrupt. And where you'd finally stop pretending." Her eyes hardened, sharp as knives. "Now... kneel. And bury your face in my soles. You've wanted this, haven't you?" My body obeyed instinctively. I sank to the sand, her feet touching my face – warm, supple, radiating the scent of salt air, skin, and sweet nylon. I licked the rough surface, earning an approving sigh. "Good," she whispered, tracing my cheek with her foot. "You know, the best part? Our picnic is just getting started..." And then, she pulled out a thin bondage rope and a narrow leather collar from her bag. "Today, dear colleague, you'll learn what it means to work not for a boss, but for me." Looking into her radiant, authoritative eyes, I realized – this will be the happiest day of my life. [ATTACH type="full"]765415[/ATTACH] [/QUOTE]
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