Worship Ms.Nicole

You can’t help it. You love panties, panty hose,  even stockings …

The thought of putting your nose up to the stained crotch of a pair of worn panties or stockings makes you do very silly things, doesn’t it? You fantasize of breathing in that sweet smell, of feeling the soft material on your face, and perhaps even slipping them on, even taking them with you for later “use”. I know you’ve more than just fantasized –I know you’ve actually carried out your panty plans.

How many times have you found yourself sneaking through the soiled laundry of a beautiful woman, perhaps a neighbor, or at a party, or your sister-in-law, or even someone from work? There you are, drawn to her clothes basket, rambling through her things, crouched and hidden behind her bed like a thief, listening for any sounds of activity (like footsteps, or someone coming home) that might betray you, your heart pounding in your chest, hoping you won’t get caught, hoping you’ll find a pair of crumpled undies or hose before someone walks in on you. Yes, it is risky, but you have to have it — you have to have that sniff.

Once you find them, perhaps you feel the crotch to see if they are moist, you put the fabric up to your nose, maybe you let your tongue linger on the sweet spots. Stuffing them in your pocket, you ease back out the room, rushing home to lock yourself away with your treasure.

What do you do with them? You’re a dirty little panty thief, a crotch sniffer, panty sniffer, and sometimes you even slip them on, don’t you? How many times have you crusted up those pretty undies with your own cum, jerking yourself silly and spewing all over the material, then slipping the silky (and now crusty) panties on under your own clothes, wearing them all day, feeling the hardness of your dried up cum in contrast to the softness of the panty material, the constant feel and thought driving you mad and keeping your cock hard all day, driving you to wank yourself into a frenzy of orgasm after orgasm.

The humiliation you would feel at being caught is not enough to stop you from fulfilling your need for panties; nothing can keep you from indulging in your panty fetish.

I’ve heard some of your twisted stories, but I want to hear more.

Call Me on Niteflirt and tell Me about all about your dirty little deeds. Confess your panty secrets …

Don’t have an account at Niteflirt? You can make one for free just by clicking on My button.

Remember, new callers get 3 FREE minutes and billing is always safe and discreet.

After My ultra-relaxing weekend (I got some business out of the way then headed to a spa) in Atlanta, I’m almost ready for Monday to get here so I can have some fun with My submissive callers.

Today is My day, so don’t expect to be able to call Me now — you have to wait until tomorrow.

Make an appointment or email Me so I can work around My regularly scheduled calls on Niteflirt.

I’ve been craving some old-fashioned tease and denial. I love teasing you incessantly horny fuckers and then denying you the one thing you want (besides My attention, of course) — orgasm . Some of you haven’t had the pleasure of My teasing. *ahem* You have to earn it first.

I’m not at all interested in your cocks other than using them as a means of control — cock control, mind control, life control, but not in that order.

I’m too relaxed to write anything else. Entertain yourself with a story or one of My recordings. Later!

What a scary term! It sounds like a horrible disease, doesn’t it?

It’s actually not a disease –it’s a treatment. Read on; don’t Google it yet.

“Hysterical paroxysm” was the recommended treatment for hysteria back in the days when men could be men and women were busy doing needlepoint, suffering from terrible (and terribly-named) maladies, and fainting their way through scary ol’ life. Thank goodness for hysterical paroxysm.

Through this state-of-the-art treatment, women could end their suffering and get on with their passionless lives, continue engaging in sex for reproduction purposes only, and anxiously await their next bout of hysteria.

Reference Link “A prominent physician from the second century, Galen, wrote that hysteria was a disease caused by sexual deprivation in particularly passionate women: Hysteria was noted quite often in virgins, nuns, widows and, occasionally, married women. The prescription in medieval and renaissance medicine was intercourse if married, marriage if single, or vaginal massage by a midwife as a last recourse.”

Are you starting to get the picture? Here’s more:

Reference Link “Rachael P. Maines, author of The Technology of Orgasm: “Hysteria,” the Vibrator, and Women’s Sexual Satisfaction, has observed that such cases were quite profitable for physicians, since the patients were at no risk of death but needed constant treatment. The only problem was that physicians did not enjoy the tedious task of vaginal massage (generally referred to as ‘pelvic massage’ - technically, stimulation of the Graphenberg spot): The technique was difficult for a physician to master and could take hours to achieve “hysterical paroxysm.” Referral to midwives, which had been common practice, meant a loss of business for the physician.^[1]“

They didn’t enjoy it? Poor doctors! :/ Imagine having the daunting job of stimulating countless repressed women into orgasmic frenzy. Yes, people; “hysterical paroxysm” simply means - - - orgasm! Imagine the treatment: Hours and hours of rubbing away at a clitoris and stimulating the G-Spot! Men today would kill to have this job. Or would they? *scratches head* From what I hear, some men today enjoy the task about as much as those doctors did.

Speaking of the doctors, one has to wonder–Did they get better with practice? Did the profession of “doctor” become more popular as this treatment increased in popularity? I wonder if they suffered feelings of inadequacy when the “treatment” failed? I can imagine the influx of frustrated women to midwives seeking this treatment. *Hehe*, women know women’s bodies and all that jazz…

All jokes aside, I can imagine that this may have been very uncomfortable for some of the men of those times. Even though we know many Victorians were freaky , sexuality was something to be repressed. *wink*

And what about the women? It’s easy to imagine them with their skirts over their heads, legs pressed together in shame, trembling helplessly whilst the doctor forced open those timid, virginal legs, working tirelessly on her helpless clit. The thought of that makes me giggle. You see, I have a very different picture. I imagine her legs open, skirt over her purty lil’ head, and a huge Cheshire grin on her face as some unsuspecting schlep sends her into “hysterical paroxysm” over and over again, as evidenced by her trembling, virginal legs. *giggle* Her eyes closed, she carefully plans her next bout of…. “hysteria”.