Chapter 2: Jeannie meets Vanessa.
The next morning, I awoke in my own bed to my mother calling me for breakfast. I had dreamed the craziest shit…then I shifted in the bed and became immediately aware of the welts on my bum and the itching of my shaved pussy and realized that it had been no dream! I hit the toilet then quickly pulled on some shorts and a top and slipped into house slippers and went down to eat. Dad had headed out early to go fishing, so my mother was in the kitchen by herself. She inquired about the evening with Jack and I told her we spent some time talking about our future.
“That Jack, he is such a thoughtful young man and seems so focused on the future!” she beamed. “I’m so glad you guys are together. Have you begun to talk about a date yet?”
“No, Mom, you know we are planning to wait until we both graduate, so that’s at least another year and a half. Jack doesn’t want to get married until he is fully able to support us.” I answered.
She beamed again. “That’s just what I am talking about, he is so responsible. And even after you get married, you don’t need to rush into having children. You two are so young to be tied down like that, have some fun first.”
“You’re right, Mom, I don’t think he wants me to be tied down like that either.” I responded, squirming around to find a comfortable seating position. He has other plans for tying me down, I thought to myself.
“Are you seeing him again today?” she continued.
I almost blew a mouthful of cereal out of my nose. “Yes!” I sputtered, looking at the kitchen clock. “I didn’t realize how late it was. He’s coming over in…Jesus Christ…twenty minutes!” I jumped up from the table, recognizing as I did she was frowning at my language. “Sorry, Mom, I was just surprised. I need to take a shower!”
I certainly did. And that’s not all I needed to do. I had gone to the bathroom when I got up and my pussy was no longer “baby-smooth” like it had been at the end of the previous evening. Holy crap, was I going to have to do this every day? Well, dodo, you have to shave your legs and your armpits before you go out, right? So add this to the list. And what was I wearing? What about Jack’s new rules? Was I supposed to obey the rules immediately or did I have some kind of grace period? Then I remembered what we were planning to do today…he had told me we were going shopping.
Just then I heard the phone in the hall ringing, and a moment later my mom called, “Jeannie, it’s Jack!”
I rushed out to take it. I took the instrument and pulled the long cord into my bedroom, God only knew what Jack was going to say to me.
“Good morning, sweetheart!” his cheerful voice emerged from the receiver. “Sleep well I hope?”
I cupped the mouthpiece for as much privacy as I could get. “I did, actually, but I got up late and, well, I’ve got a little preparing to do I guess.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that, darling. I thought I would call you and ease your mind a little. Shaving, yes, you’ve got to do that, but wear a skirt, hose, and panties, like you normally would. That will change by the end of the day, but I can’t expect you to wear things you don’t have, can I? But, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, don’t wear too short a skirt, if you know what I mean?” he added.
I knew exactly what he meant…although I didn’t know much about garter belts, I knew that most had a minimum length you could shorten the garters to, and some of my shorter skirts would likely be too short to hide the reinforced welt at the top of the stockings. How the heck did he know that? But, I was glad he did, and glad he was allowing me to wear pantyhose. Just listen to me!!! He was allowing me to wear pantyhose. Well, fuck it, I thought, I really did mean what I said last night, kneeling at his feet.
“I will do exactly that. Can you give me forty-five minutes so I can wash my hair?” I pleaded, thinking about the extra shaving duty.
“Of course, darling, no problem. Oh, and wear the new heels. I’ll see you then. Bye dear.”
“Goodbye, my love,” I responded, hanging up the phone.
So, just under half an hour later, freshly showered, (and shaved), I was standing in front of the mirror finishing up my makeup. I leaned in a little to do my lips and stared at person in the mirror. Here we go, I thought to myself. Stepping off the deep end. Where are you taking me? I asked the reflection. The reflection had no answer.
A few minutes later, coiffed and dressed in a white button-up blouse and full skirt that ended just above my knees, I walked carefully in the new heels beside my (boyfriend? fiance’? Dom?…Master?) to the car. He opened my door and helped me in, just like any normal boyfriend would. I was really going to have to get over this multiple question-mark thinking process. I knew we needed to do some more talking, ‘cause I still had plenty of unanswered questions. One of the questions got answered pretty quickly, when we pulled over at the entrance to a park.
“Lift up your skirt.” He said without any particular emphasis.
I grabbed the hem of my skirt and began to pull it up, but at the same time I protested “You said I could wear panties and pantyhose today!”
“I most certainly did, and I expect that is what you have on.” he replied. “That’s not what I’m checking.” He reached up under my skirt to the waistband of my pantyhose and panties together, pulled them away from my waist with one hand, slipped his other hand inside, and stroked my bare pussy. “That’s what I’m checking. Good job!” he praised.
Where he had touched me tingled like electricity. That would probably have been true before he had shaved it for me but it was definitely true now!
“And,” he continued, “the fact that you lifted your skirt without hesitation is also good.”
“I want you to obey me,” he went on, “and I want you to be submissive to me. But there will be times when we need to act normally, and other times when I need you to act the way I know you want to act, and the way I want you to act, which is as a submissive slut. So I’ve decided that we need a couple of code words. When I want to remind you to be totally submissive in behavior and clothing, I’ll call you “Vanessa.” If I need you to act more like the girl I took to dinner last night,” he grinned, “I’ll make a point of addressing you as Jeannie.
“There will also be times when, for whatever reason, you cannot or will not do what I ask. You will need to explain yourself at some point, but in the immediate moment, I will stop doing whatever I am doing to you or demanding of you. Maybe you’re feeling ill, or starting your period, or something. You need to have a way to signal me that you “just can’t do it right now.” People in relationships like ours call this a “safe” word. You should choose a word that you wouldn’t likely use in conversation, but that wouldn’t sound too odd if you did use it. Think about it for a moment, and see what you come up with.”
First off, I was hung up on the “relationships like ours” part. Where did he keep coming up with this knowledge? Oh well, I guess that was one reason why he was on “top.” I refocused my thoughts on the question at hand.
“Crawdad,” I said after a moment. “Dad brought home some crawdads after a fishing trip one time, but I couldn’t eat any. They grossed me out.”
Jack chuckled. “OK, that works. So if I ask you to do something, or if I’m doing something to you, and you absolutely cannot bring yourself to comply or participate, you use the word “crawdad” in a sentence and it will stop. You will have to explain your reasons, and they’ll need to be good ones, or you could find yourself punished.”
“Punished?” I asked.
“Yep.” he replied without explanation.
“OK, I won’t go further down that road right now. I do have a question, though.” I looked at him quizzically. “Why ‘Vanessa’?”
Jack looked over at me and said, “Well, mostly it’s because I like the name. It has an origin in sex; in the 1700’s the writer Jonathan Swift made it up out of the first and last name of a lover and used it in a love poem. Later, it was used to describe a genus of butterflies. So it’s like you, in a way. You’ve been inside a shell, and now you’re emerging more beautiful and desirable than ever.”
That sounded pretty good, but it led immediately to another one of my questions, “I know you are pretty smart, and you read a lot. But you seem to know an awful lot about dominants and submissives, and ass-fucking, and hair removal, and women’s garter belts for God’s sake, how does all of that come about? I mean, I know you weren’t completely innocent when I met you, but that’s a much broader range of knowledge than I had come to expect given where we both seemed to be sexually when we met.”
“You’re right, I read a lot. I read Story of O and lots of other similar books, when I can find them, I read Penthouse Letters and, as you know, my college has a medical school, so I can get access to all manner of medical texts.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, “they don’t let just anybody in the medical library there.”
“No they don’t. You have to be…or know…a medical student.”
“And you know one? Would that one happen to be female?” I was treading on dangerous ground here, I knew Jack had been with other girls and I really didn’t want to know too much more but my mouth had outrun my brain.
“As a matter of fact, yes. What would you think if I told you her name was Vanessa?” Ooh. I think he saw the fire light up in my eyes so he quickly added, “It’s not. It’s Dierdre, although she goes by DeeDee. I told her I was engaged, and that I wanted to know as much as I could about female physiology and psychology so I could be a better husband.
He continued wistfully, “You’d be amazed at the variety of material they have in that library about women and both normal and abnormal psychology. I’ve found it very useful. But let me point out something to you, Vanessa,” emphasizing the name, and continuing on before I had a chance to say anything, “you’re not going to win any points by being jealous. I’m the dominant in this relationship. You accepted it, and that’s going to be the way it is, unless you want to talk about small crustaceans resembling lobsters all the time.”
I lowered my eyes. He was right, of course. I could still remember the feeling of being chained on that bed, and then being on my knees at his feet. I still wanted to be there. I wanted to say something that would show him that’s how I felt. So I said the first thing that came into my head. “Yes, Master.”
He lifted my chin and kissed me hard, hard enough to curl my pantyhose-encased toes. I giggled. He drew back and looked at me curiously. “I was thinking of the joke where the guy was making love to a girl and her toes kept curling up every time he pushed in….because he had forgotten to take her pantyhose off!” We both finished that line of the joke together, laughing. “You’re planning to solve that problem permanently, aren’t you?” I said.
“That I am, my darling, that I am.” And with that, we were off shopping.
Our town was not a huge metropolitan complex, but it was big enough where you could find almost anything you needed, and it was also big enough where you could find those things in places where you weren’t likely to see anyone you knew. Jack obviously knew where he was going, and we found a lingerie specialty store, Visions in Lace, in a commercial district I had never visited before on the other side of town. A tall older woman, strikingly beautiful and with a long, raven-colored braid, met us just inside the door. She seemed to recognize Jack (of course! I thought. His level of knowledge and preparation continued to amaze me).
Although she didn’t address him by name, she quickly sized me up and said, in what I thought sounded like a German accent, “So this is the girl you are marrying, yes? She is so beautiful!”
I actually blushed. I didn’t think “beautiful” was the word I would have used to describe me, particularly next to her, but hey who’s arguing?
“And you need some wedding items, young lady, and some other things. I will help you.”
And help me she did. I found out that the older woman, who I judged to be in her late 30’s, was the owner of the store and that her name was Marguerite (she had to spell it for me). She was actually from East Germany, which I found fascinating. I told her my name was Jeannie. With very little prompting or guidance from Jack (or me), she measured me all over, including some ways that aroused my curiosity, and then proceeded to equip me with black, white, and beige-colored garter belts, a white bustier with garters, four scandalous push-up bras (one each to match the garter belts, including a white one designed to lift the breasts but leave the nipples bare) and several pairs of stockings, including both a black and taupe pair with back seams. I thought those were a little old-fashioned, but I wasn’t choosing or buying. I was pretty petite at 5’ 4” and 115 pounds, but Marguerite was an expert and everything fit perfectly. I wanted to model the new lingerie for Jack, but I didn’t think it was appropriate under the circumstances.
Imagine my surprise when Marguerite invited him back into the dressing area, which was the classic “bridal” style with mirrors all around a little stage. I was pretty sure I had been able to successfully shield both my shaven mound and my whipped ass from her view by quickly pulling panties up each time I tried anything on, and I had usually kept my blouse on, although unbuttoned, as I tried on the sexy bras. So there I was, standing in the open cup bra with the matching white garter belt and taupe stockings, in my high heels, with my open blouse on partially covering my top and my panties pulled up over the garters.
He walked in behind her without a word. He sat down in a chair and said, without preamble, “I’d like to see you in just the new things, please.” I looked him dead in the eye and he looked right back at me. There seemed to be a little tension in the air when he added, with no particular emphasis, “Vanessa.”
I remembered the moment when the hand had gripped my neck so tightly in the dark…I had wanted to prove I could do anything he demanded. So I slowly pushed my panties down to my ankles and stepped delicately out of them, and dropped my blouse on the floor. Marguerite was giving me an odd, almost appraising look when I stole a glance at her. I knew my reflection was all around me, and there was nowhere to hide. I wasn’t completely sure if she saw the welts on my ass, since they might have faded a little, but she could definitely see the bare pussy. Jack didn’t say anything for a long moment, and looked, well, kind of stunned.
Finally he found his voice, and hoarsely said, “Very nice. Absolutely lovely.”
I stood there for a moment, with both of them looking at my naked shaved pussy and my exposed nipples, which were rapidly stiffening (the room must have been colder than I thought). I suddenly realized that, other than last night, chained to the bed in the tatters of my pantyhose, this was the first time Jack had really seen my pussy in all its glistening, baby-smooth glory. He had certainly seen my boobs before, although perhaps not pushed up with nipples on display like this. Apparently, he was pleased with the results.
“Put all the new items in a box and her old underthings in a bag, please.” Jack said quietly to Marguerite.
Marguerite nodded and proceeded to ring everything up and sort the items per Jack’s instructions. She also wrote out something (I assumed it was the receipt) and gave it directly to Jack in a little envelope. It was clear to me that I was going out the door in a the outfit I was wearing (plus my outer garments). Once I had my blouse and skirt back on, that’s exactly what happened. Jack held me close as we walked back to the car, and I practically welded myself under his arm.
Suddenly it struck me…I had told Marguerite my name was Jeannie, and Jack had quite plainly addressed me as “Vanessa” when I had hesitated in front of them. No wonder she gave me an odd look, I thought. I suspected, given my obvious relative ignorance of so much that Jack had already taught me about my new state, that the sophisticated European proprietress likely had an idea of what that other name meant. I hugged him closer. Even in the presence of the beautiful and sexy Marguerite, he had eyes only for me. And I smiled to myself. I was loved, I was cherished, I was….possessed. I was deliriously happy. And I was getting horny again.
We got back in the car, and Jack, with what seemed to me to be Herculean effort, kept his mind on driving us without incident to our next stop. Nothing much was said during the drive, as Jack seemed to be laser-focused on getting us there. We headed into the city park by the river.
As we pulled into the parking lot, Jack answered my unspoken question. “No more shopping today, let’s just spend a little time together here in the park.”
That was fine with me; as much as I enjoyed shopping for new clothes, the recent experience had been a little stressful. As we got out of the car, Jack opened the trunk, where he had placed the boxes containing our purchases and the bag with my “old underthings,” and emerged holding that bag. We walked in silence for a few minutes, and finally sat down on a bench near the riverside. I was grateful for that – it was getting windy, and I was having a little trouble controlling my full skirt in the breeze.
We had only been seated for a moment, however, when Jack handed me the little bag, and said “Take this to the trash can over by the concession stand and put it in.”
I was surprised and a little resistant for a moment, these were perfectly good panties and one of my best pairs of pantyhose! And then I realized that Jack was making two points here. One, I had agreed to obey him. Two, I apparently wasn’t going to need pantyhose or panties very much in the future. I got up and headed for the concession stand, which, I noticed, was a good deal farther away than the nearest available trash can. As I walked, I could feel the wind tugging at my skirt. The concession stand was on a little platform that actually looked out over the river, so it was even breezier there. Despite my best efforts, the wind flipped my skirt completely up more than once.
Fortunately, there were only a handful of people walking around, and only one older man, walking his dog, seemed to get a real eyeful. He actually tipped his hat and smiled at me and said, “Ah, to be young again!”
I turned beet-red. I quickly put the bag into the trash can, symbolically trashing my old life, and walked briskly back to where Jack sat with an enormous shit-eating grin on his face. I burrowed into his arms again.
“I was so eff-ing embarrassed!” I hissed.
“That’s OK, you’ll get used to it.” He responded with equanimity. I didn’t think I ever would, in that moment.
“You are going to have to do that when you get home.” He continued.
“What, parade around my house half-naked???” I hissed again.
“No. I mean get rid of some things.” He responded calmly. “You need to keep two pairs of panties and two pairs of pantyhose, because there will be occasions where you will need to wear them. Donate or discard the rest. Keep anything that’s particularly made for cold weather, like tights. We’ll have to find some alternatives, but I don’t want you to freeze in the meantime. Understand?”
“Yes,” I replied more evenly, “and thank you for thinking of cold weather.”
“Well,” he answered with a smile, “I wouldn’t want you freezing anything important off, I might want it sometime. In fact,” he continued, “I want it right now.”
“Now??? Here??? Are you crazy? We’ll get arrested!” I protested.
He said nothing for a moment, just looked intensely at me. I could tell what was about to happen, I was going to get the “V” word again. I decided to capitulate first. I was learning!
“I’m sorry, Jack. You know I will do whatever you want. You have but to say the word.”
He smiled, then, and said, “Let’s take a walk.”
We headed deeper into the park, away from the relatively more populated (and breezier!) riverside. We found a bench, secluded by shrubbery that reached almost to my head on one side and a thick grove of trees on the other. Jack bent me over the back of the bench, lifted up my skirt and without so much as a how-do-you-do slid his stiff cock inside my pussy from behind. He went in more easily than I expected; with no panties on, I hadn’t been as aware of how wet my pussy had gotten, probably from walking around half-naked and being displayed to gorgeous European sophisticates and dirty old men, I thought.
I had to admit, though, it had been kind of sexy to be displayed to Jack and Marguerite, and even kind of fun to inadvertently flash the old gentleman, who I shouldn’t call a dirty old man simply because he enjoyed a brief glance of a young girl’s shaved pussy framed by a garter belt and stockings. And he had been quite the gentleman, I remembered. He had tipped his hat and greeted me in a charming way. I guess it wasn’t so bad.
From Jack’s reaction in the lingerie shop, I must look pretty sexy myself, although I realized he saw me through love-colored glasses.
About this time, Jack reached up and began to pinch my exposed nipples through the thin material of the blouse. Rational thought ceased at that moment, and Vanessa came out with a vengeance.
Heedless of any passers by, I began to urge Jack to greater effort. “Fuck me, fuck me harder. I’m your slut, your little bitch, slam it into my shaved pussy, FUCK ME!” I screamed.
Jack complied with my demands and soon….despite the poor location of the female clitoris for this “approach” to sex….the familiar waves began to beat upon the shore once more. Jack cannoned into me and exploded just as I did. I’m afraid I got really loud at that point, and I don’t remember exactly what I said. But I do remember hands clapping and a little cheering from behind the shrubbery. Fuck it, I thought. I AM his slut.
For once, thank goodness, I didn’t pass out. I found one distinct advantage of my current form of dress was that the moment Jack let me up, I was ready to walk away. A little unsteadily, perhaps, and dripping something down the inside of my stocking-encased legs, but walking. We left the bench arm-in-arm, heads held high. As we exited the little enclosure, I avoided looking to where there was plainly a small group of people standing – our unintended audience. Once again, we received a rousing ovation for our performance.
Fortunately, there was a public restroom nearby, and I was able to get some tissue paper and a little water and clean up. After I emerged, we clutched each other and ran giggling like school kids to where Jack’s car was parked.
Inside the car, I barely had the door locked when he grabbed me and passionately kissed me. I thought we were never going to come up for air! But it was wonderful. He made me so hot! I finally pulled away and literally tore open his pants and began to suck on his softened cock, amazed again how that wrinkled little thing could swell in my hands or mouth into the huge veiny monster I knew so very well. But, all praise and glory to the youthful pecker, it did.
Soon I was licking and sucking his stiff cock, and tasting my own juices on him, which only made me feel even sluttier. I remembered the oral assault from last night, and did my best to relax my throat and take him all the way in, but we were just at the wrong angle for that. He lifted my skirt and stroked the welts on my cheeks and tut-tutted sympathetically (Had he forgotten that he had put them there???).
Then he put his hands in my hair and began to fuck my mouth gently, then more urgently, and soon he had produced another delicious gift for me to swallow. When I raised my head, I was genuinely concerned that we would have drawn another crowd to our passionate performance, this time sitting in a car that could easily be traced or recognized. But whatever angels watch over slutty little girls and their masters were in full control – we were alone.
Jack sat back and looked at me for a moment. “I think I’ve created a monster!” he said with a smile.
I grinned wickedly and replied “Well, you are fully responsible for your creation. Now, I think your creation needs a meal. One that we BOTH can share.” I continued, cleaning off my chin with my finger and sucking the last of his cum into my mouth with a loud smack.
I had just realized that I hadn’t eaten since my interrupted breakfast that morning. I was ravenous! I fixed my lipstick and makeup in the car mirror and then we headed over to TGI Fridays for a quick dinner. We behaved ourselves in the restaurant and then we thought it best to head to my house. I was going to have to resort to a little trickery to comply with his demands that I discard a lot of my underthings, and I needed to get my new items into the house without any questions. Since I was heading back to school the following day, I would be able to put them in my suitcase and then they would be out of the house and out of view.
The next day was Sunday, and although my folks weren’t insistent about it, they really liked for me to go to church when I was home. Jack often went with us.
When I queried him about tomorrow, he responded “Of course! I wouldn’t miss a chance to see you squirm in your bareness in church.”
Ooh, I hadn’t thought of that, but of course I would need to be “naked below” with him in church. This should be interesting!
The following morning, I had set an alarm to make sure I had time to do all the “extra” preparation that was now required of me. The shaving went well, and after I fumbled with the stockings and garter belt for ten minutes or so finally got all that together. How I missed Marguerite’s expert and beautifully manicured fingers! After the mock kidnapping on Friday night and the fumble in the jungle the previous afternoon my sole pair of high heels (that met Jack’s standards) was getting a little dirty so I had to brush them off pretty carefully. I would have to ask Jack to move purchase of some more heels up on the priority list, although I feared (as I thought about it a little more) that they were likely to be even less comfortable than these. Ah well, love…or lust…conquers all.
I rode with my parents to church and Jack met us outside. Dad had a good day fishing so most of the ride had been consumed with his stories of angling adventure. We walked down the central aisle a short distance and took seats about halfway back from the altar. Jack was next to the outer aisle, I was next to him, then Mom, then Dad.
Jack looked down at my thigh and placed his hand right on the little bump the garter made in my thin skirt, which he promptly caressed. He also gently stroked the area above the bump, which he knew was covering the bare flesh of my upper thigh. The outfit I was wearing was a typical suit of the time…padded shoulders, nipped waist, and slim pencil skirt. The jacket was dark-brown with a beige satiny blouse and the skirt was a pale tan color. It was by no means skin tight – I mean we were in church! But it hugged my thighs pretty well. I actually liked the way it looked on me.
I guess what I’m trying to get at is, I had only worn garter stockings for one day, part of a day really, and I didn’t realize just how visible the “garter bump” would be in a fairly snug, light-colored skirt. My mother, of course, had worn that sort of thing for years and so knew exactly what they looked like. I saw her look down at the “bump” on my right leg (the one Jack’s hand was not resting on), then look over at where his hand was, and then look at me. When she realized I was looking at her, she quickly looked away.
Now, we were college students, and engaged, but we were just beginning to emerge from our nests, so you have to try to get your head back into the mid-80’s to understand what immediately went on in mine. Holy crap! I’d been made!! What was I going to do? What was I going to say if she asked me about them? I was freaking out but I had to appear absolutely unaffected. To say I got very little out of the service would be an understatement. It’s a wonder I was even able to stand up at the right time for the hymns. Jack must have thought I was off my rocker or something. It was so bad that as we walked down the aisle after church it seemed like EVERYBODY was glancing down at my thighs, EVEN THE MINISTER. I thought I was going to melt into the floor.
At lunch at home, with Jack sitting next to me, I was really wired. I know he must have thought I was crazy. He kept trying to rub my leg under the table, and I kept pushing him away. I finally asked my Dad if he had caught any crawdads on his trip yesterday.
He looked at me strangely, and answered, “No, but it’s funny you should ask about that. I thought you couldn’t stand the little critters?”
“No, I can’t. I was just curious.”
The harassment from Jack instantly ceased, although from the look he gave me I knew I would have to answer for it later. Jack actually didn’t stay very long; he was headed back to school that afternoon himself, and he had some things to do before he left. He gave me a perfunctory kiss going out the door, and I promised to explain as soon as I could. It killed me for him to leave that way, but I just couldn’t talk with everyone around.
I went back to my room to pack. I had just started getting out of my clothes when my mother tapped on the door. Here it comes, I thought, I’m about to get my butt chewed. She came in very quietly and sat on the end of the bed.
“How long have you been wearing a garter belt and stockings, Jeannie?” she asked without preamble.
“Just since yesterday, Mom. I’m sorry….” She held her hand up.
“Are you comfortable in them yet?” she continued.
“Not really.” I replied, wondering where this was going.
“Well, I thought I might show you some ideas about what works and what doesn’t, what to wear with them, how to hide the bumps a little, that sort of thing.” She answered with a conspiratorial smile. “They are really great for some things, but they can be inconvenient at times. I wore them for quite a while, particularly when I was your age, before pantyhose, so I thought I might be able to share a little of my experience with you.”
You could have knocked me down with a feather. I wasn’t about to get chewed out, or receive a talking-to about being loose, I was going to get some free how-to from my mom!
“Just a sec, Mom, let me go to the bathroom, and I’ll be all ears!” I answered.
I managed to grab a set of panties from the open drawer of my dresser without (I hoped) her seeing, and slipped them on in the bathroom. Garter belts and stockings might not shock her, but shaved pussy and welts on the behind might be pushing the whole mom & daughter bonding thing a bit TOO far.
For the next hour, we talked about how to choose clothes, wearing slips (I hadn’t really worn them in a while, but she convinced me of their utility) how to adjust the garter belt and attach/re-attach the stockings easily, and a dozen other things.
After she left, I thought about it a lot. I realized that she had been young once, also. She wasn’t really old even now, just in her late 40’s. I knew the mores had shifted since she was dating, and I know they’ve shifted even more since the 80’s, but I think she had finally accepted that her baby girl was now a woman, and was going to do the things that women in love had always done. She was happy that Jack and I had found each other, and although I certainly hoped she didn’t know everything about “the new me,” she figured I was going to do what I was going to do. And if that included giving up the comfort and convenience of pantyhose to return to the complicated, messy (but way sexier) stockings and garter belts of yesteryear, so be it.
I immediately got on the phone and called Jack. I explained why I was acting so uptight in the church and crazy at home, and what had happened with mom. We shared a good laugh. He told me that was an excellent use of the “safe word,” and that I shouldn’t worry about any punishment. Hmm, that word again. Made me REALLY curious, but I was hoping it would be a while before I learned what it actually meant.
Jack and I returned to our respective schools on Sunday afternoon, and so further developments in the case had to wait. That didn’t stop us from the occasional hot phone call, but you’ve got to remember long distance phone calls were expensive in those days, AND the only phone was the one on the wall in the hallway of the girls’ dorm, AND you had to put coins in the slot unless you had a calling card. The same was true for Jack, only he wasn’t calling from the girls’ dorm (I hoped!). Can’t remember that far? Can’t imagine what it was like? Tough tittie said the kitty. It was different.
