The first time Step-Daddy informed me that he wanted to take a pair of scissors to my stockings, I just laughed. This primal, masculine urge to destroy my clothing seemed ridiculous to me, but the pure absurdity of the idea admittedly made it sound fun. And of course I obliged, as I most often do for his desires, because of the simple pleasure I get from indulging Step-Daddy regardless of the surrounding circumstances.
The first cut is always followed by an involuntary giggle from me. But I gasp as I feel the scissors graze my skin. It begins with my trust in his intentions, desire, a... Show more