the deal with stockings

I go through stockings at a ridiculous rate. I don't know if it's the shoes I wear, the way I walk or something else, but no matter how much I trim my toenails and keep my feet soft and moisturised, I can't wear a pair of stockings without them becoming laddered by the time I take them off. D. used to enjoy buying me seamed, fully-fashioned stockings, but after years of none of them lasting the night unscathed, both of us have kind of giving up on wearing them for fun. We still love them, but it's an expensive habit to maintain.

These days, unless I have an excuse like a film shoot or a black tie ball, I tend to buy cheap and cheerful stockings from pharmacies and newsagents. In my experience, they last longer than the posh ones, even if they don't look as good. (Right now, I'm wearing a pair of nude stockings I bought for a session with Zoe Montana last week and never wore. They don't really go with the black suspender belt. I need new suspender belts. Now those are worthwhile investments: they tend to last.)

For months after I moved into my current flat, however, I couldn't find anywhere local to buy stockings in a hurry. I need stockings in a hurry more times than not: when I'm hearing out for a date with one of my Doms, or for a shoot, and have forgotten to stock up in advance (i.e. every time). There's a big supermarket down the road with a clothing section, but the few times I tried it I could only find tights and knee-highs.

The next time D. asked me to wear stockings for him, I complained that I didn't have any unladdered ones, and that there wasn't anywhere en route to his where I could pick some up. "What about the supermarket?" he asked. I explained the inferior nature of their lingerie department. "Rubbish," he said. "They definitely sell stockings. I've seen them."

"They don't. I've checked."

"They certainly do." We glared at each other, only half-serious, but each convinced we were right. Eventually D. broke the impasse. "Look. Next time we're there together, we will check, okay? And I'll make you a deal. If I'm right and you're wrong, then we buy some stockings and you get spanked in them."

I considered. "What if I'm right?"

"Then we don't buy stockings, you get to feel smug, and you get spanked anyway. Deal?"

Well, you can't say fairer than that: "Deal."

The egalitarian nature of our bargain makes the end of this story a little obvious, but a single element of mystery remains. Did I get spanked while wearing stockings, or with legs bared?

Take a look for yourself:



Yup. He was right. So much for all those frustrated stocking-less evenings: they were available on my doorstep, all along.

The only consolation to my wounded pride is that these supermarket stockings were of a decidedly inferior quality, snagged before they were even out of the packet. Fortunately, the quality of the spanking more than made up for it.