contribution from candy

Reflections from Subspace

[A daydream contribution by candy]

I don’t know how much, if any of this will make sense to you, as it has taken me years to make sense of the confusion that was my life for so, so long. Thinking back to what was 12yrs ago last August, I married DC after knowing him while growing up. We didn’t really date, you know... like most couples do... it was just, well... like we met as youngsters and were always in each others lives… in some shape, form or fashion, but we were always “connected”... always. I just knew we were meant to be together forever. He asked me to marry him out of the blue and I eagerly accepted his proposal.

Now, I was a bit of wild-child growing up and He had been what my parents had warned me was a “fast mover.” I was no virgin, but I had never lived with a boyfriend nor had any wild and crazy years where my libido was in overdrive, making me want to hump every fella that came along. In college, I had some other girl friends that were big into partying and sleeping around, but, for whatever reason, I had not been blessed with the uncanny ability to have multiple orgasms at the drop of a hat, not back then. In fact, quite the opposite was true.

Based upon my conversations with my college sorority roomies, and their vivid descriptions of their numerous and sometimes bizarre sexcapades, it became blatantly obvious to me that I had never had an orgasm. Intercourse felt good, but it honestly was not something I needed, it just didn’t make me react and respond like it seemed to do for my friends or college boyfriend(s). Maybe I had some sort of chemical imbalance back then, maybe I was lost and struggling to find my path, but when I inherited my fortune from my late grandfather, I found myself pushed me over the edge into a downward spiral of “directionlessness” if there is such a word. My inheritance meant I didn’t need to complete my education and certainly never needed to work a day in my life, but this financial freedom did little to liberate my spirits or give me focus. In fact, without my parents pushing me to obtain an education and become some career-minded drone, I was even more lost and without direction. But all of that changed when DC made me his wife and I found my true purpose... my true calling in life... to be the perfect “pleasure pet” of a wife.

Well, now that I was newly married, having a husband to fondle and enjoy me every night was new and (ahem) “different” to say the least, but hell... I didn’t have any sort of real frame of reference to compare DC to, right? All my other short-term relationships had been doomed to failure and there was no real commitment, certainly nothing as grandiose as marriage. Anyways, being bound and determined not to fail at my wifely duties, I accepted his affection in whatever way, shape or form He delivered it to me. “Anything He wants” was to be my mantra.

On our honeymoon, I was tipsy with champagne as we left the reception and headed to our hotel suite. I was so in love, I wanted to seduce him right there in the car. As He drove, I pulled my dress up a bit and began fidgeting beneath it, tying to unfasten my garter from my pearly white bridal stockings. DC… without ever looking from the road, asked me in a voice I hadn’t heard from him before, deep and guttural

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“What are you doing, my pet.”

I wanted to blow his mind, so I told him I was going to take off my stockings because I didn’t want anything… not even some thin, sheer nylon, to be between us when we made love together tonight, for the first time.

He took his eyes from the road for a moment and locked them onto me… kept them locked to mine for a long moment, but somehow the car never crept from our lane. He asked me in that same deep and deadly serious voice “That’s something you want, yes?”

I nodded my head emphatically and continued reaching beneath my dress to slip out of my hosiery, then He simply stated

.

.

.

.

.

“Then that is why you’ll keep them on.”

I froze, completely puzzled, searching his eyes for some inkling that He was kidding… but there was none. I looked away, then saw that his gaze returned to the road.

He wanted me to wear pearly white stockings that I’d worn during the ceremony, to bed? I hadn’t figured him for a leg or hosiery kind of fetish fella… I mean, I’d heard of such things, but it didn’t fit. It wasn’t clear to me for quite sometime that it was the “denying me things I wanted” that motivated him, not me simply wearing what He told me to. I was a little embarrassed, not so much for him wanting me to wear the hosiery to bed, but for being so aroused that He spoke to me in that way, ordering me to do something. I had never had anyone talk to me like that and I was afraid that I liked it… too much.

I our hotel’s honeymoon suite master bathroom, I undressed in front of the mirror, eyeing my body’s curves and lines… knowing His eyes and hands would be upon me soon. I knew He would be pleased… not because of my mere physical appearance, but because I was His.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Totally, utterly, completely, absolutely His to enjoy.

Wearing the thigh-highs, looking at myself in the mirror, the white nylon sort of gave me a “slutty angel” look. I giggled, enjoying the prospect of being slutty for Him. I rationalized to myself that maybe this kind of little kink was common amongst lovers in the “real world” and I didn’t want to seem weirdly naïve and sheltered, nor a prude, so I threw caution to the wind and, feeling a little tingly inside, and pretty giddy too, I decided, “Anything He wants.”

Our lovemaking was intense… that’s the best way to describe it. I don’t know that we spoke at all for hours. Why speak when there are soooo many other ways to express your feelings, your commitment, your devotion?

We fucked like animals and He felt me from the inside. I orgasmed my first time, then a second time we came together… his eyes looked into mine and his hands held my face so I couldn’t look away as be both spasmed together. I had never seen or felt anything like it before… like it was a promise that we made in that stretched instant, like we saw each others souls and shared something, gave the most important part of ourselves to the other to carry and nurture.

Yes… I kept the stockings on. DC introduced me to anal sex, I kept the stockings on. DC put his cock in my mouth, I kept the stockings on, DC came on my face and in my hair (dammit), I kept the stockings on. In the morning, after waking up in the sticky, wet spot, I went to potty, then to shower, but DC walked in on me and insisted I not undress... so I kept the stockings on. I was surprised and puzzled by his apparent fascination with me in my hosiery, but it was attention and affection, pure and sincere, his love for me… unconditional… so I convinced myself it wasn’t anything too deviant and reminded myself, “Anything He wants.”

In the months following our wedding and honeymoon, there was a constant and ever-growing presence of... what I will call “kinky” elements to DC’s nightly sexual routine with me. The stocking episode on our honeymoon slowly, but steadily progressed to me wearing thigh highs beneath my clothes during the day, it was like hours and hours of foreplay… even while we were apart, then… when He returned home in the evening, He would undress me, removing everything except for the hosiery I was now required to wear for Him, and eagerly touch and caress my legs and feet... rubbing everything from his tongue to his cock on them. The material between us… the thin barrier, made me crave to feel his body upon my bare skin. Made me burn for his flesh to melt against mine. The hosiery between us was a wicked little sort of sensory deprivation that addicted me to His touch, even if it was through hosiery.

I’d heard the term “hand job” before, and knew what playing “footsie” was, but within 6 months of our marriage, I was eagerly getting pantyhosed “foot-fucks”, sliding his erect cock against the soles of my nylon-coated feet, My feet worked Him tirelessly… all the while I was masturbating for Him, then when we came together. We had unlocked the keys to my orgasms, I was a lucky woman. He would cum on my tootsies while I wiggled and curled them in the hosiery during my orgasms, of course. At the time, I certainly did not know what a fetish was, and, while it didn’t feel quite “normal,” to me at first, there was nothing inherently wrong or bad about what He had me doing. He purchased the finest hosiery for me, silk stockings, Wolford pantyhose, I had a Victoria’s Secret platinum card and was not afraid to use it. “Anything He wants.”

I didn’t even raise an eyebrow when He requested me slide on a pair of silk stockings over my Wolford pantyhose... guys think more is better, right? I’m a good girl and follow orders well. Night after night, the layers of hosiery got thicker and thicker... and then it wasn’t just pantyhose, but we progressed to body stockings. “Anything He wants.”

He kept me covered in hosiery for Him… arms and legs, hands and feet, beneath it all… I was on fire for Him. It became more and more difficult for me to feel him against me. I was obsessed with him, enthusiastically stroking him, begging him to remove my gag so I could feel him in my mouth, begging him to allow me to feel Him inside of me, skin in skin. I learned to focus intently, when He touched me, but it was now taking considerable effort to achieve orgasms, due to the decreased sensation from the layers of nylon, but we did it… He was patient with me and, though I was often sore, the little bit of sensation He allowed me beneath those layers was always more than enough to send me over the edge… eventually, sometimes hours of manipulation, but the rewards were sweet… and DC loves sweet candy… of that there is no doubt. He was turning me into His pantyhose-encased plaything and I was wildly aroused by being so used, so pleasured, so loved. “Anything He wants.”

After being married for 1 year, He had me wearing body stockings in our home during the day, so I pretty much no longer left our estate while dressed like that all day. Soon, He began requesting that I pull several pairs of stockings over my head and run up to the bedroom when I heard His convertible returning to the garage at night. Sure I figured I looked like a cat burglar... but “anything He wants,” right?

.

.

Within a short time, DC discovered various internet sites that made custom-fitted full-body stockings. These had attached hoods, some with eye holes, most without out, some with a mouth hole, some with crotch zippers. I suppose He spent a small fortune on me... maybe He had invested in spandex... I don’t know, but trapped beneath those layers and layers of thick, slick lycra, my body was insatiable and, the more lost I became in my total encasement, the more and more time I spent touching and rubbing myself… desperate for Him to return home and help finish me off. I was the perfect wife. I spent hours caressing, petting and massaging myself, waiting for him. I was His perfect lover and we were the perfect couple.

I’ll be honest with you, I had difficulty dressing appropriately for DC, as trying to slip into more than a dozen skin tight body stockings is no easy task. As the layers build, I can barely hear, I am blind as a bat and unable to feel much with my clumsy nylon-coated fingers to even operate the zippers to get in or out of my 2^nd through 12^th skin. Not wanting to disappoint my soul mate by him coming home some evening and me not being dressed appropriately for Him, I voiced as much to DC and, His remedy was simple, He dressed me.

The following morning, he bathed me in a milk and honey bath, washed my hair, brushed and dried it, giving attention to every bit of me from head to toe… I felt shy being naked in front of him, it was like too much of a good thing… sensory overload. I needed him to dress me, encase me in those bodystockings, embrace me with the lycra from head to toe… completely… absolutely. It was nice to be so pampered, to have my loving husband dote over me those mornings, ensuring I was exactly as He wanted me to be. “Anything He wants.”

The first layer of body stockings was a custom suit that had a puffy stuffed plug that goes into my mouth like a spandex cock gag. Then, DC put me in so many layers I literally lost count! Our daily ritual was for him let me enjoy myself all day long, then He would come home and enjoy me. It was that simple… that pure. “Anything He wants.”

Well, DC began to encase me so heavily that I was barely able to move from the bed all day long, to get a drink, remove some layers for fresh air or even eat. The sensation when I touched myself was so slight, that though I tried all day… I was unable to orgasm at all. I was officially flustered and frustrated. When I felt DC return to bed that night, I tried to speak through my soaked gag and tell him, in muffled sobs, that I no longer wanted to be His lycra love doll, that I wanted to feel His skin against mine and for Him to free me immediately!

.

.

THAT’S what I told him I wanted, what I wanted more than anything, to be free and unrestrained.

Silence was all I recall hearing, and for the first time with DC, I was afraid I was failing as a wife and that my selfish hang-ups with performing my wifely responsibilities was going to displease Him so much, that He may no longer want me.

I did not hear or see him move closer to me, but the silence was broken by him hissing into my ear

.

.

.

.

“That’s something you want, yes?”

Beneath the lycra hood, my eyes blinked in their darkness, being taken all the way back to our honeymoon.

.

.

.

.

.

I nodded my head instinctively, thinking I knew exactly what He would say next.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Rather then hearing him speak, I felt Him push me back onto the bed… Hard. Rolling my helpless body over onto my tummy and pulling my wrists together roughly behind my back. I felt pressure on my wrist, pressure pulling or pushing them together tightly, then I felt my legs being grabbed violently. I slipped around on my tummy trying to wriggle away as I felt the same pressure around both of my ankles... felt them being cinched tightly together, then the same pressure around my knees.

Then silence… stillness.

I felt alone now, but wasn’t certain he had left me, wasn’t certain he had gone.

Face down on the bed, with great difficulty, I rolled over onto my back, listened intently, trying to hear any sign that He was still there… maybe watching me squirm and struggle. I tried to scoot over to edge of the bed and sit up.

Suddenly, DC was on me again and this time, after He flipped me back onto my tummy, He pulled my bound ankles up until I felt them contact my hands and He tightly secured my ankles to my wrists. I was hogtied and helpless and utterly disoriented, as DC had never touched me in any manner other than his customary soft, kind, gentle and caring caress.

Now, on the brink of hysteria and being so helpless and man-handled, deep in my tummy there began a tingling sensation, like a faint ember that barely glows, but flickers brighter when I exhale onto it. This ember seemed to kindle a heat in my crotch that I’d never felt before. Though my juices had been flowing earlier from my daily self-pleasure routine,” my pussy began to quiver and moisten and my juices began to soak through the layers of lycra, flowing again. With each squirm and wriggle, that ember began to pulse brighter and hotter, my puss continued to sizzle in it’s own juices! I was afraid I was about to loose control of myself, as I was distinctly aware of thick hot juices leaking from my nylon-covered cunt, but I couldn’t stop gyrating against my bonds. My eyes, having been beneath layers of lycra all day, were beginning to hallucinate, like I was dreaming while I was awake. I could see myself writhing on the bed while my husband looked on lovingly. “Anything He wants!”

.

.

Oh... I was possessed! I could now just barely feel my husbands hands caressing my body through the thick layers of slick material, but I could fell the love and desire in His touch and, in my frenzied state, I committed myself then and there to be His bondage lycra love doll for ever and ever! Mmmm, the instant I came to the realization that I would most likely be bound in various bodystockings for the rest of my life, my pussy began to quiver and my body began to convulse! My breathing came is gasps through the soaked lycra dildo gag that had been stuffed in my mouth for more than 12hours, and my first bondage-induced orgasm poured into and through me like hot honey, filling every inch and spilling out of every orifice of my body, leaving me feeling thick and sticky from head to toe.

.

My mind was reeling as my body went limp. I had visions of my body melting into a warm puddle of molasses, gallons of it, pooling on the center of the bed, atop the satin sheets, in a syrupy pile of nylon body stockings, just waiting to be wrung out and used again by Him… over and over… for ever and ever.

.

.

[shudder]

.

.

Mmmm, that was soooo many years ago, but I still remember it so clearly. As you may imagine, things escalated and evolved, as they should in a relationship. Oh, I still wear hosiery sometimes, but it is only a small part of our current repertoire. It’s amazing what you can get used to, what you can do for love... what you will do with a lover.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Absolutely amazing!

.

.

.

Grins and giggles, candy