Margaritacrush - POV: Stepping on You in Pantyhose and Skirt

Margaritacrush - POV: Stepping on You in Pantyhose and Skirt

Margaritacrush - POV: Stepping on You in Pantyhose and Skirt

Ah! Those were the days. I can still remember them like yesterday; the feeling of your warm, soft body squirming beneath me as I effortlessly crushed you with my size. It was an intoxicating power trip that I could never get enough of. And the way those pink pantyhose and that short denim skirt hugged your curves just added to the sight and sensation of it all.

I vividly recall the first time I stumbled upon you. You were busy sunbathing in your backyard, oblivious to my presence. I watched from behind a tree as you lay there, soaking up the rays, your body glistening with sweat and reflecting the sunlight like a beacon. I had to have you.

I waited until darkness had fallen before making my move. I quietly snuck around to the back of your house and peeked in through a window. There you were, relaxing on the couch, watching TV. I couldn't believe my luck. I quickly scaled the latticework of your decking and silently climbed through an open window.

The moment you turned around and saw me, your eyes went wide with terror. I couldn't help but chuckle as you scrambled to get up off the couch. I took my time approaching you, savoring the way your breath quickened and your heart raced. By the time I was standing right before you, you were shaking with fear.

I slowly reached down to touch the hem of your skirt, and as I did so, I let out a deep sigh. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun," I whispered softly to myself. Then, without warning, I grasped the fabric in both hands and yanked it upwards with all my might.

Your legs sprang apart in surprise as the skirt rose up over your butt and slipped off your hips. I could feel the warmth of your bare skin against my palms as I continued to heft the material higher and higher, revealing more and more of that perfect little denim-clad butt.

Finally, with a triumphant flourish, I hoisted the skirt up over your head and threw it to the side. You stood before me, clad only in your lacy pink pantyhose and your pink polka-dot bikini bottom. I took a step forward, bringing my face level with your crotch, and inhaled deeply. The sweet, musky scent of your female arousal filled my nostrils, making my mouth water with anticipation.

I reached down with both hands and grabbed the sides of your hips, lifting you effortlessly off the ground. Your feet dangled helplessly in the air as I looked deep into your terrified eyes. "Now, baby," I purred, "time for some quality time with Mommy."

And with that, I took a step forward, pushing my full weight down onto the balls of my feet. You gasped as you felt the pressure building up in your pelvis; the familiar ache that signaled an oncoming orgasm. I smiled cruelly as I watched the desperation and arousal mix and morph in your expression.

I started to step backward, keeping the full weight of my massive frame on your crotch. You moaned in agony and ecstasy as the pleasure-pain built up inside you. With each step I took, the pressure increased, and you were powerless to resist the growing sensation.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I came to a stop. You were pressed up against the wall now, your pantyhose-clad legs trembling at the knees from the strain. I leaned in close, my mouth inches from your ear, and whispered softly, "Tell me, baby... do you like being stepped on by Mommy?" I asked, and then I pushed, sending you tumbling over backward onto the floor in a heap.

As you lay there, gasping for air, I reached down and began to systematically remove the scraps of fabric that remained. First, the pantyhose, which I rolled down over your heels and tossed aside. Then, the bikini top, which I untied and pulled off. Finally, I worked on the bikini bottom, using my fingers to slip it off your legs and toss it aside.

You lay there, naked and exposed, as I knelt over you and hovered my hand just above your chest. "Now, baby," I said, my voice filled with malice, "time to worship your Mommy's perfect feet." And with that, I lowered my hand slowly, letting my toes brush against your soft, warm skin.