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Just Asking. Free fetish story.
I’ve been going out with Karen for many years, and we decided to live together a few years ago. She’s very kind and very sweet, and has a killer body. She mostly dress with middle of the crowd fashion. Although she knows I love women in tight jeans, the tightest she wore was snug fitting. It was what she liked, and I respected that.
Then one day, we were sitting outside that coffee shop, slowly sipping our espresso, when my eyes catch a woman on the other side of the street. She was climbing the exterior stairs to get to an apartment on the second floor. She was evidently wearing extremely tight jeans and very high spiky heels shoes. She was struggling to raise her feet to get to the higher step, as her jeans were so tight that the leg just wasn’t going high enough, so she had to pull using the handrails of the forged steel stairs.
I asked Karen, inviting her to look at the woman in question.
“Tell me honey, you know that I love to see a woman in tight jeans, and that even you find it sexy. But tell me, why on earth a woman would go to all this trouble just to wear jeans that are perhaps too tight? You know… just asking.” I said, making a discrete move to place my leg a so there was some room for my expanding cock.
“Pleasure.” She answered right on.
“Really?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “You mean that what we read in those fetish stories is actually true? Then, why don’t more women wears them, and…” I was getting to my point of interest “… why don’t you do it?”
“Well… actually, I don’t know. I answered that to please you. I don’t have a clue why they do it.”
“Oh, I see. Then in that case, why don’t you try it? So you will be able to give me the right answer.” I said with a devilish smile.
“But I do have tight jeans,” She said, trying to get out of the dangerous slope I was leading her “and I never felt… excited wearing them.”
“Yeah, but they’re stretch jeans, and as for tightness, you can’t deny that they’re very far from those.” I said, pointing at the woman who finally reached the door and was knocking, presenting her butt, with her legs firmly held together, making the buns appears bigger. The jeans were so tight that there wasn’t any bulges at all.”
“We already discussed that, Pete, and you know…”
“Okay, you win. Forget it.” I said, concentrating my attention back to my espresso. Well trying to, because there was no answer to the door and the woman was starting to walk down the stairs.
She reached the sidewalk and crossed the street toward us. She got to the sidewalk just behind my position and started to walk toward me. She pass our table, and I couldn’t resist following that amazing sight: two tightly squeezed buns, getting squished with every steps, the high heels clicking on the concrete, her hips twisting to move the leg forward and the finely defined crease the back leg was doing with each step. I could clearly see the crotch seam biting into her. As I followed her, I inevitably ended up facing Karen who quickly catch the drooling on the corner of my mouth before I wiped it.
I didn’t say a word, nor did she. After keeping silent for a few minutes, we started back about the new colors we wanted to choose for our apartment. Tight jeans was not brought up again.
A few days later, we were preparing for our daily evening walk in the neighbourhood. I was ready, but couldn’t find Karen.
“I’m ready honey. Where are you?”
“I’ll be right there, I’m changing.” She said.
A few minutes later, she came out of the bedroom. She was wearing a white sweatshirt and baggy jeans. There was nothing new, but something seems odd. I couldn’t point my finger on it.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
“Yes, fine. It’s just the new sneakers I bought. Not used to them.” She said.
I bought that and we went. Usually, Karen walks very fast, and I have to struggle to keep up with her, but that evening, I had to slow down so not to end up too much ahead of her. I noticed that she was making smaller steps than usual. And there was something else, in her stance or in her way of walking. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. That puzzled me.
“It’s your new shoes again?” I asked. “If your feet hurt, we better go back.” I said.
“Huh? No, I’m fine.” She said, picking up the pace.
Now that was the Karen I knew, although there still not quite fitting the picture. We walked about two hundred feet when she suddenly slow down, almost stopping. I quickly approached her and grabbed her arm.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I asked, concerned.
She looked at me, her face as red as a tomatoe.
“More than you can imagine.” She said. Then she grabbed my arm and dragged me behind a bush on one property.
“What are you doing? Why hiding?” I said.
Without a word, she undid her pants and let them drop. I was about to my shirt off to cover her privates when I saw that there was no need to. They were covered. Very tightly covered in fact, by one of the tightest pair of jeans I ever saw. And more, she was standing on high heels sneakers, the kind with a thick platform, but this one was hiding a four inches heel height.
“So, that’s what was going on!” I said. “But why hide it?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t feel ready to go in public like that, it’s so… sexy.” She said.
“That I understand, but what happened a few minutes ago?”
“I… I came.” She said, whispering.
I picked up her baggy jeans and grabbed her by the arm.
“Come, I think we better go back home.” I said, grabbing her. Once in the street she pulled on me.
“It’s quicker this way.” She said pointing the opposite direction I was dragging her.
“Who said I was in a hurry?” I said with a smile. “Go on, I’m giving you a head start.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t. Instead she started to walk in her direction, meaning the shortest distance to the house.
Once inside, she collapsed on the sofa, both hands at her wet crotch.
“Gee! I never believed it would have that effect!” She said, panting, rubbing a wet patch on the jeans.
“Tell me Karen,” I said, sitting besides her, and putting my hand on her thigh to feel how tense the thick denim was, and believe me, it was ready to rip apart. “What came up to your mind?”
“Well, I saw in your eyes that it was a really strong fantasy you had when you followed that woman the other day at the coffee shop. It happens that the woman living where she knocked works with me at the shop. So, when I had a chance, I talked to her about that woman in very tight jeans. Turned out it’s her cousin. She gave me her phone number and invited me to contact her, that she would be glad to talk about her tight jeans fetish. So I did.”
“You called her to ask about her tight jeans?”
“M… More than that, we setup a meeting where Lynda, that’s her name, explained everything to me, and she even helped me chose those.” She said, rubbing her thighs. “She even helped with the high heels sneakers. She’s very sweet.” She said.
“Wow. I’m impressed.” I said, pretty much speechless. “Did she said that they were to have that effect on you?” I said point at the damped crotch.
“She warned me. If I was receptive for it, it would happen. I never thought it would be that quick and that… powerful.” She said, a spark in her eyes, smiling widely.
“She said that she learned to control it.” Karen continued. “that she has numerous orgasms while walking and it doesn’t show.”
“Although difficult to believe, I can accept that explanation, but she’s not wetting her pants?”
“She said the best solution she found was to wear latex underwear.”
“So now, what?” I asked
“Now?” she said climbing on me, “Now we head for the bedroom where you will help me get out of them and you will… try… to satisfy me burning desires.”
“Ooo.” I said, gently rubbing the extremely tense denim on her buttocks, “and tomorrow?”
“I’m gonna go buy some latex underwear.” She said, biting my ear at the same time. “I guess I will wear this outfit more often.”
“Is this real or just a dream?” I said, following her, looking at her twisting tightly encased butt and legs, balancing on her high heels sneakers.
She turned around and pinched me.
“Ouch!” I said.
“Then real it is.” She said, strolling in the bedroom and taking the sexiest pose I ever saw.
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