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Garters, stockings, or knee highs....

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LillianDevereux said:
Well Mr. Thom….My personal pictures here should further the subject (or the story matter) and about me dressing in all of these three wonderful choices and so much more. That is of course based on what my lover is dictating for me to wear for our session at hand. And what personality I should be assuming for pleasing his visual hunger and D/s delight!

KNEE-HIGHS OR ANKLE SOCKS: Based on the attached picture, he called me his 'poupée brisée', his 'broken doll'; he especially liked me to apply a very heavy ivory foundation, with overpainted eyes and lips, pale-just slightly rouged-cheeks, and to dress for him in an aging schoolgirl girl fashion. I would drown in his fantasy; suffocate in the intensity of his perverse desires and he relishing my high-heeled walk hips and tits. My thoughts: “Stroke me. Coax the melody from my taut body. I want to vibrate beneath your fingers…go taste my whorish red painted nails. Red nails that stroked my cunt lips so you can taste my passion on them; I lust for my excitement just as I prey on your excitement.”

STOCKINGS AND GARTERS: Yes my perfume; my clothes; gloves; heels; seamed hose, all spoke to his needs and wants! He always watched me, slowly smoothing black stockings over my freshly moisturized legs; attaching the hose to the garters. His eyes catching the sheen of my black corset and noticing the intricate detailing in the fabric. He was my voyeur, caressing my long theatrical lashes with his hungry eyes and then moving down to the full redness of my lips; the way in which they were carefully outlined with a darker lip pencil. Then his eyes following the movements of my hands as they played over my body and as I began to excite myself, softly undulating in front of the mirror and getting hot; hotter. He wanted to collect every moment: and my transformation to the embodiment of his fantasy desires. There are very few moments in my life that are as delicious as this very time and me feeling my heart stop dead. I die a thousand small deaths watching him, and with my legs then crossed on the stool, my ass balanced primly on the red vinyl. But for that very day…it was winter. It was Paris. He is Thierry. What more could I possibly want?

SIMPLY AN ASIDE: Of course masks and hoods have always been it for me. Masks are freedom--outlaw freedom. The Lone Ranger, Batman and Robin, Zorro, the Riddler, Venetian Carnivals and Masquerade Ball Masks: these are all characters beyond the constraints of society. Whether you pull on a mask or paint on a mask with cosmetics, the effect is the same; i.e. you acquire the freedom to step beyond the confines of your social strata, your moral milieu, ones catholic upbringing. Thierry my former lover understood the concept of masks as freedom and he encourages me to explore different personae through the judicious use of extreme makeovers, wigs and wardrobe. "Freedom and freedom denied." I am what he desires in those moments when he whispered his succulent fantasies into my ready ear. Then of course I always knew that with my lifelong D/s leanings, I am living in a world of my own creation, a world of paint and glamour and the wanton swirl of sexual fantasies gone awry. It is a world of extremes indulged simply because their indulgence is possible. Best…lilly!

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You are absolutely stunning
 
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