Erotica College student is drawn into the world of sexual submission.

Respect All, Trust few!!!

This story is about, How a College student is drawn into the world of sexual submission.

Note for readers: This is a fetish story focusing on a few visual kinks: stockings, lips, painted toenails and feet.
Respect All, Trust few!!!
Update -1
"Stocking Tales": Boss's Pet
In my fourth year of college, I had an interview at the most prestigious accounting firm in the city and was super excited about it.

I spent hours deciding what to wear. I didn't want to dress too professional and look like a nerd, but I also didn't want to dress too casual and not look like I was serious about the job. I had been to a few interviews and was in awe with how skanky some of the girls dressed; that said, I hadn't yet got a job so I wondered if dressing sexier was what I would have to do. Yet, it just wasn't me to pretend to be something I'm not. I wanted to get the job because of my qualifications and not superficial sexual assets that fade or sag over time.

So, I researched online, chatted with friends and ended up choosing a rather conservative, but professional, look. I wore a white blouse, a long blue skirt that allowed only my ankles to show, and flats (I was kind of clumsy and was worried about falling in heels).

The outfit didn't flatter my body at all, as I wanted to be taken seriously as someone they would want to hire and not another college coed with a nice body. For the record, I do have a pretty great body. I am 5'3, 105lbs, firm but small 34B breasts, with a tight ass and toned legs from hours of martial arts and yoga.

Although my outer attire has always been conservative, I did like to dress up for the bedroom for whoever I was dating and I owned a fair amount of sexy lingerie. Although, truth be told, I hadn't gotten to wear it much as I hadn't been dating for a while, the last year of college being rather intense.

My best assets: my legs, my outgoing personality (almost all my friends are older than me and I have always been attracted to older men) and my lips...the first compliment I receive from many men and tons of women are my lips.

I should note that my heritage, a mixture of Spanish and Irish, made me not only outgoing, but also rather blunt...something that many people either loved or hated about me.

Anyways, I went to the job interview after hours of practicing the answers to questions I may get...yet completely unprepared for the questions I did receive.

I showed up half an hour early and got to see that I was indeed the most conservatively dressed candidate. At first that made me happy, but then I again realized that if the person interviewing me was a male, which it likely was, I could very well be ignored because of my lack of showcasing my assets.

Like I already mentioned, I wanted to get the job because of who I was, not what I looked like, so I pushed away the inner demons of 'sex sells' and waited for my interview, confident in my abilities and personality.

I was thankful when it was finally my turn when to learn that the person interviewing me was a woman, a very pretty woman, in her early forties I guessed, who was dressed very professionally as well, although her skirt was just above her knees, making mine look incredibly conservative.

"Sorry for the long wait, Ms. Lovex," she greeted, walking to me and offering her hand.

"No problem," I replied," it gave me time to think." As soon as I said it I wished I could take it back, the answer sounding stupid.

She said, without any sense of emotion, "Well, you already have an advantage over the other applicants."

"I do?" I asked.

"Everyone else dressed trying to use their body for influence, obviously assuming they were being interviewed by a man," she continued.

Confidence quickly brimming inside me, I nodded, "I want to be seen for my abilities and what I can do for this company."

"Good answer," she nodded, before pointing to a chair in front of her desk, "Please take a seat."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied, never sure what the proper name is for someone in charge in such a situation.

"It's Mrs. Parks," she corrected warmly.

"Okay," I nodded as I sat down, surprised to see her pantyhose had a black seam going up the back of her leg.

Once she sat down, she asked, "What is your best asset?"

The question surprised me, but I answered truthfully, "I can get along with everyone."

"How so?" She asked.

"I'm a very social person and enjoy meeting new people," I explained.

"Is that a great asset for an accounting firm?"' she questioned.

I realized that I was already killing my chances. Accounting is about numbers, not people. After a brief pause, I explained, "I'm a closer. I am the person you send in to close a deal with a potential client."

"Go on," she nodded, seemingly liking my answer.

"Well it's a dog eat dog world and clients are way more fickle than they used to be; so it's important to be aggressive to get and keep the big clients and my personality is perfect for attracting these clients," I explained.

"How so?" She asked again, going much deeper than the usual superficial questions. She was obviously able to see through bull shit.

"By making accounting about people," I answered.

"Interesting," she nodded, writing something down. After a pause, she asked, "So how do you close a deal?"

"By convincing them of all we have to offer," I answered.

"No, no," she shook her head. "Pretend I am the client and you are trying to close the deal."

I asked, "What type of company are you?"

"Why does that matter?" She asked.

"Different closings based on different needs," I answered.

"Good call," she nodded. "I'm a lawyer's office."

"Hmmmm," I paused. I won't bore you with the details of my pitch, but once done with the lengthy spiel, I nervously waited for a verdict.

Mrs. Parks showed no emotion. I couldn't tell if she was impressed by my pitch or ready to kick me out of the office. Finally, after a few seconds, which seemed like an eternity, she nodded, shocking me, "You're hired."

"P-p-pardon," I stammered.

"You're hired," she repeated, this time standing up and walking to me.

I stood up in stunned shock at the reality that I got the job without really doing an interview.

Reaching me, she explained, "I have done a plethora of interviews over the years and I know when someone is authentic and someone is full of shit."

"Thank you," I awkwardly replied, assuming she thought I was authentic.

"But we will have to do something about this wardrobe," she said, looking at my attire.

I admitted, "I spent hours deciding what to wear and what not to wear."

"Always go with your instincts," she recommended, "like you did with your pitch. You didn't have time to think and rethink, you just had to do."

"Ok, usually I'm very good on my feet," I said.

Her next words were strange. "In today's business world a woman needs to be good both on her feet and off them."

I joked, although I wasn't sure where she was going with this, "That's what my ex-boyfriend always said."

"So you're single?" She asked.

"I have been for a while," I admitted.

"Good," she nodded. "I have decided that you will be my personal assistant for the next few months, working under me."

She stressed the last three words, which I thought strange, but I was too excited to be working with the head of the company to really worry about any implications of words.

"I'm honoured," I said, glowing with excitement,

"As you should be," she said, always firm in her demeanour, "this is an amazing opportunity."

"I know," I nodded, "I can't thank you enough."

"Oh trust me, you will find many ways to show your thanks," she said, again her tone implying more than business. I instantly wondered if she was a lesbian, yet the fact that she was married shattered that theory.

"I'll do anything," I promised.

"I know you will," she nodded, smiling slightly for the first time this whole meeting.

I added, "Mrs. Parks, I can only work afternoons for the next two months though, until my degree is finished."

"I know, but I will expect you to be able to work some nights and weekends," she nodded, then added, "And have a travel bag ready for last minute excursions."

"Okay," I nodded, slightly overwhelmed by her expectations, but too excited about the opportunity to share that with her.

"But back to your attire. I expect my underlings to dress both sexy and professional."

I was surprised by her expectations after her earlier criticism of the other candidates. Yet, I agreed, "Of course."

"Of course, Mrs. Parks," she corrected.

"S-s-sorry," I stammered, before correcting, "of course, Mrs. Parks."

"Good girl," she said, her word choice odd and her tone sounding as if she were my mother.

"Thank you, Mrs. Parks," I nodded, feeling strangely like a little girl.

"I have a theory that has worked for me since I was your age," she continued, as she lifted up her leg and placed her four inch heel on my leg, "Your exterior dress should show no nonsense, with just a hint of sexiness."

I recalled her seamed stocking and nodded, "Thus the seamed pantyhose."

"Good eye," she nodded. "It's good to notice all the little details."

"I couldn't agree more," I smiled, feeling she really understood me.

"Feel my nylon-clad leg," she ordered.

It was a bizarre order, yet I felt compelled to obey for two reasons. One, she had just hired me; two, there was just something compelling and alluring about I physically felt compelled to obey.

I put my hand on her leg and let out a gasp. I had never felt nylons so soft.

"Forty-five dollars a pair," she explained, "and worth every damn penny."

"I imagine so," I mindlessly nodded, as I continued to pet my new boss's leg.

"So as I was explaining, outer attire is business with some allure. It may be your breasts, although for you that isn't your best asset," she said, looking at my chest. "On the other hand, the right push up bra can do wonders."

"So I've heard," I said, always self-conscious of my smaller than average breasts.

She continued, "No, I imagine your best asset is your legs."

I don't know why I said it, but I added, "I've been told my lips are my best asset."

"I bet you have," she replied, implying I probably sucked a lot of cock.

I stammered, trying to clarify my last statement, "Not like that."

"I don't judge," she shrugged. "but in today's world a woman has got to have the mind to impress and the body to please."

"I suppose," I said, the conversation taking another odd turn, especially considering her earlier criticism of the other applicants for the job.

"No suppose," she corrected, as she put her hand on my shoulder and slid her foot out of her heel. "What do you see?"

I knew her foot wasn't the right answer, as I was supposed to be able to see the small things. I analyzed her whole foot before answering, "Your toenails and fingernails match."

"Why?" She asked. "My heels are closed toe."

"Part of the allure," I answered, oddly wanting to massage her stocking-clad foot.

"Exactly," she nodded. "Never know when the heels will come off...or the skirt and blouse."

"Understood," I nodded, drawn in completely by this firm, sophisticated, complex, intoxicating woman.

She slipped her foot back into her shoe and moved her leg back down. For some unexplained reason, I was disappointed at no longer being able to see her perfectly manicured painted toes. She ordered, "Stand up."

I obeyed instantly, knowing this was a woman who expects quick obedience.

"Take off one of your flats," she ordered, before adding very firmly, "You will never wear flats to work. Ten year olds wear flats, women wear heels."

Although I was being scolded, ridiculed for my footwear, I nodded, as I slipped my foot out of my practical, but not remotely sexy, flat, "Yes, Mrs. Parks."

"As expected," she sighed, "your toenails are not painted to match your fingers."

"Sorry, Mrs. Parks," I apologized, which was absurd, but I felt guilty for disappointing this important woman.

"You will correct this for when you start on Monday," she said.

I was in awe that she was definitely hiring me, and that I was starting on Monday, realizing I had a lot of shopping to do this weekend. I again replied subserviently, "Of course, Mrs. Parks."

"You may put your shoe back on," she instructed.

"Thank you, Mrs. Parks," I nodded, slipping my foot back into my shoe.

"You will start on Monday at one," she informed me.

"Thank you, Mrs. Parks," I repeated, like a parrot. Usually, I was very comfortable in all situations and never nervous; yet, at this moment I was feeling overwhelmed by the job offer, the strange conversation and the odd butterflies in my stomach (which I usually got when I found an older man attractive). Instantly I wondered, did I find Mrs. Parks attractive?

"Now this is going to sound unorthodox, but lift up your skirt to your thigh," she ordered.

Usually I would have balked at such an aggressive demand, yet I instantly obeyed, lifting up my skirt, compelled to do whatever she instructed.

"As expected," she said disapprovingly. She lifted up her skirt and showed me she was wearing thigh high stockings. "This, my dear, is how a woman should dress. How I expect my underlings to dress."

I wanted to ask why, but I just nodded, even as I pondered her word choice of 'underlings', "Of course, Mrs. Parks."

She allowed her skirt to fall back down and said, as she walked back to her desk, "I'll see you at one o'clock Monday afternoon."

"Yes, Mrs. Parks and, again, thank you so much," I thanked.

She didn't even look up as she said, her tone again ominous, "Oh don't worry, you will have plenty of time to thank me."

That weekend, I bought a whole new wardrobe, following the theory of professional with a touch of sexiness on the outside and sexy and buxom underneath. In reality, I was giddy with excitement. For one, I loved dressing up and loved wearing lingerie; for two, I really wanted to impress Mrs. Parks.


On Monday, I wore a patterned sweater that I thought was super cute, a polka dot skirt that was just barely above the knees and beige thigh highs that I had purchased on the weekend...way silkier than the generic ones I had usually bought at Walmart.

I thought this balanced the professional and sexy as she described very well. I wanted to meet her expectations, yet I also wanted to look respectable and classy to my fellow co-workers. I chose comfortable one inch heels because while she hated my practical flats, I still wanted something easy to walk in.

I went to work and was surprised that I spent the whole afternoon with Elizabeth, a third year accountant. She was very nice and gave me a tour of the office, introduced me to everyone and showed me the ropes of the program I would be using. Oddly, all afternoon I looked forward to seeing Mrs. Parks, although I couldn't explain why.

It wasn't until four that Elizabeth's phone rang and she told me that Mrs. Parks wanted to see me.

I thanked Elizabeth for all her help and headed off to see Mrs. Parks.

That said, I was nervous. The tour and meeting the staff made it clear my one inch heels were not going to be acceptable as every woman here was in at least three inch heels. I also had one of the longest, if not the longest, skirts of all the women I saw today. All sexy, but always business appropriate.

I entered her office and she instructed, "Close the door, Lily."

"Yes, Mrs. Parks," I replied, closing the door, for some unexplainable reason incredibly nervous, an undeniably giddy excitement, like when trying to please a man, coursing through me . I am usually a very confident woman, so this feeling was new and I didn't like it.

As I closed the door and turned around, I saw Mrs. Parks get up and walk towards me.

"Tell me, Lily," she began, her tone dripping with disapproval, "what is wrong with your attire?"

"It's not sexy enough," I answered, putting my head down.

"Why?" She asked.

"The skirt is too long," I admitted.

"Cute," she nodded, "but definitely slightly too long. What else?"

"Apparently everyone else here wears three inch heels," I answered, feeling like a child who has disappointed her mother.

"Or higher," she corrected. "I'm wearing five inch heels."

My head down, I was staring at her black five inch heels wondering how she didn't kill herself in them.

"I'm uncomfortable in heels, Mrs. Parks," I explained, finally looking up at her, before adding, trying to bring humour to this situation, "I almost killed myself at my high school grad when I wore three inch heels."

"Practice makes perfect," she shrugged. "I expect better tomorrow."

"Yes, Mrs. Parks," I nodded, determined to indeed do better tomorrow.

"Also, although your sweater is cute, it completely hides any evidence that you have breasts," she continued.

"Oh, okay," I nodded. I never wore outfits that showcased my breasts because they were rather small.

"Thigh highs?" she asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Parks," I nodded, lifting up my skirt enough to showcase the top of my lace top stocking. Feeling sexy, I posed like a model, wanting to get her attention, wanting to please her.

"Very nice," she nodded in approval, "I see you spent the extra money and purchased a quality pair."

"Yes, they are so much silkier than the ones I have worn in the past," I agreed, still holding the pose for some reason.

"With legs like yours, Lily, you should always be wearing such silky nylons, they are definitely one of your strongest assets," she complimented, giving my legs the once over.

"Thank you," I nodded, finally allowing my skirt to drop back down, "I really didn't realize the impact a pair of stockings could have on both the look of the legs and the confidence it brings me wearing them."

"All part of the complete package," she agreed.

"So I'm learning," I said, feeling such a rush of excitement that went directly to my pussy. I was really struggling to understand both my need for her approval and the undeniable impact her words had on me. I wasn't a lesbian, but I was beginning to think I'd be one for her. As soon as the thought popped into my head, I shook it out, thinking I needed to focus on the real reason I was get a full time job at the most prestigious firm in the city.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Um, yes, fine," I said, pulling myself back to reality.

"Let's see your foot, Lily," she ordered.

'Damn', I thought to myself. I had forgotten to paint my toenails over the weekend.

I slipped my foot out of my right heel and revealed my forgetfulness.

She looked down at my foot, said, "You may go," and waved me off as she returned to her desk.

"Yes, Mrs. Parks," I said, slipping my foot back into my one inch black heel.

A rush of disappointment hit me as I walked out of her office, all the positives and approval shattered in one careless second.

I left feeling dismissed and insignificant, a feeling I wasn't used to. I was confident in my abilities, confident in my looks and confident in my personality, yet in front of Mrs. Parks all three of those seemed to be lacking. It was so strange to not be in control of a situation or my feelings.