Filed under: Fetish & Erotica | Tags: fem dom, female domination, fetish, fetish 1960's, petticoat discipline, sexual awakening, sexual obsession, stockings and heels
I write in praise of the Danish. No – not the pastry! The Danish au pair!
The La Fong Archives is going to explore the origins of fetish sexuality, because with knowledge, particularly self-knowledge, there comes power, understanding and acceptance. FemDom Fascination, and the other niche sites that will follow on, will have – at its core – a responsibility to share knowledge, and highlight pathways into the velvet darkness.
In each of our lifetimes there are moments of revelation. Epiphanies. Brief encounters that forever mold us, and imprint us. Our Human Sexuality has incredible power. So powerful, in fact, that religions and governments have, over the centuries, sought to contain and make taboo its most intense expressions. But like most things, an expression of great power most often begins in the simplest of ways.
For Carl La Fong, it was the Danish au pair. The time is the early 60′s. Buddy Holly is already dead. Presley has peaked. The Beatles are on their way back to Liverpool from Hamburg. Teenage girls still go on Friday night dates wearing knee-length rock n’roll skirts puffed out with multi-layered petticoats. One particular 19-year-old, recently arrived from Copenhagen, is about to go out on a date. She’s blonde and long-legged. It’s a cold night. Before leaving, she goes into the living room to put some more coals on the fire. There’s a small boy in there – sprawled on his stomach by the fireplace, watching TV. She steps over him to attend to the fire. She doesn’t notice that the small boy turns his gaze from the black and white television to the much more interesting view up her skirt, whose petticoats have bobbed outwards to give him a clear and unrestricted view from her calves all the way to her waist. She wears sheer black stockings. He stares, barely able to swallow. He almost stops breathing as she leans forward and he can see the white plumpness of her thighs, held tight by her stocking tops, the soft flesh pressed inwards by garter straps. As she dutifully rakes the coals and bends further, he can see upwards past the rustling petticoats, to the shiny satin fabric of her black panties. How they stretch so tightly across the mysterious flatness between her soft thighs and arc in a perfect roundness across her bottom. He cannot look away – which is why she catches him as she finishes her work at the fireplace.
She’s flustered. Knowing that this boy has seen the secret places that no-one else has ever seen. And she becomes angry. ‘Were you looking at me?’ she demands, struggling to speak English,’were you looking up my skirt?!’ The boy looks away – and something about his casual shrug makes her angrier still. ‘You’re a disgusting little boy,’ she hisses, ‘you should be punished! You should be spanked – or worse!’
She steps away from him, careful to keep her balance on those heels that are a little too high and delicate. She smoothes down the front of her skirt. Her breathing is heightened by her anger and embarrassment. The boy notices the fullness of her breasts as they rise. All he can think of, as she stands before him, is that she is wearing black satin panties, and her garter belt is cutting into the soft, perfect whiteness of her thighs. And she knows that. She’s blushing now. ‘You must never do that again!’ she says – in such a way that he knows he will do it again. And soon.
‘Disgusting boy!’ she whispers – and leaves the room. It’s a winter evening in the early 1960′s. In front of a fireplace. In a room where a television blinks out commercials for toothpaste and detergent. A moment of innocence that has been suddenly, and unwittingly, flooded with dark knowledge. And a child’s mind has been seeded with a sensuality that is never forgotten and which will, forever after, be explored.
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