Wanda came to meet Mr. White in his broken-down real estate agency in Greenwich Village right out of college.

It was a fluke. She needed an apartment before she could go job hunting and the sign over Mr. White's office down in the basement of his building on Christopher Street had that kind of romantic enchantment that tugged at the young girl's heart.

Even before she took the cluttered stone steps down to Mr. White's door, she felt a kind of mood passing over her like a fog, which had something magical in it, but which she could not identify.

It was as if her heart had something even greater to sing about than the fact that she'd graduated at the head of her class and that she looked years younger than her age.

Wanda's eyes were lavender. She had long dark hair and perfectly white, silky skin. She had a long nose, but not all that long, sweet full lips, and a chin with a tiny birth mark on it, which she usually covered up with makeup.

Her breasts were simply glorious. They were ripe and swollen, and very sensitive. She adored her breasts. Often she would expose them to friends and strangers alike. She loved it when her tiny pink nipples hardened and became irritated-even raw sometimes-as they rubbed against her sweater or the fabric of a blouse that was rough.

She also teased her nipples a lot. She was years ahead of her time when she snapped clothespins to them, then jumped up and down in front of the mirror to see how the pins danced obscenely on the swollen tips of her breasts.

Wanda wasn't beyond snapping the clothespins to her cunt lips either. She got the idea from a sadomasochistic magazine her brother had found in somebody's garbage.

For years Wanda kept those faded, wrinkled magazine pages with the lurid photographs. She would also search diligently for more recent copies of these exciting magazines, but was unsuccessful. Often she would use the photograph of the girl with the clothespins hanging from her fleshy cunt lips to inspire her in masturbation.

She would lay naked in bed, spread her legs open to the air and hold the photograph aloft with her hand. With her other hand she would massage the outer folds of her cunt while staring at the picture. As her pleasure increased, she would pinch the lips of her cunt, imagining her fingers to be clothespins. She would squeeze her clitoris between her two fingers, her eyes ever on the photograph as the heat spread rapidly through her body. It was not so much the idea of the pain of the woman in the photograph that aroused her. It was the image of herself, which she superimposed in her mind over the woman on the page. She imagined it was herself posing obscenely for the camera, her legs spread wide, her cunt clasped by clothespins. It was not difficult to imagine as she squeezed her clitoris, rubbing it back and forth between her fingers. She could picture it clearly in her mind.

When she was not in the position to be alone with her fantasies, she liked to hide them beneath her skirts in a manner of speaking. One of the things that gave Wanda great pleasure was wearing silk stockings held up by soft, but firm, leather garters. It was particularly pleasurable to wear the garters at the very apex of her thighs, where their tops rubbed against her cunt in certain positions. All she had to do was rub her thighs together, which could be managed in practically every position in which she found herself, sitting or standing, and she would feel the soft, warm leather insinuating itself into her cotton panties, creating the most arousing sensations. This feeling, coupled with the fact that she was in public, often gave her small tremors, which were the beginnings of an orgasm.

As she sat in a dark, rather threatening room, waiting for Mr. White to come out of the living quarters behind his office, she imagined the leather wrapped around the tender flesh of her thighs and pressed her legs together. She could feel the edges of it cutting softly into her cunt. The image of the leather wrapped around her flesh aroused her.

'I'll be right with you, Madam,” he had called out after she had closed the office door with its pleasant tinkling bell behind her.

Wanda wondered how he'd known to address her as “Madam.” Then a concealed reflecting mirror caught her eye.

Mr. White had a pleasant voice. Wanda thought he sounded like an educated, sophisticated, even worldly, middle-aged man. She imagined him to be handsome with aristocratic sideburns, sculpted features and a shock of dark brown curly hair. Perhaps he even had a romantic moustache, she thought.

She smoothed down her skirt and, making sure she wasn't observed, slid one hand up inside her skirt between her parted thighs to readjust the garters. Instead of pulling them down to where they fit more properly around her thighs, she pulled them upwards slightly, so that they moved into her cunt more tightly. Then, glancing around her, she moved the strip of soft but firm leather against her clitoris and rubbed it there.

Crossing her legs, she rocked back and forth slightly in order to feel the garters moving across her cunt. Depending upon her position, the edges either came together as if they were taking hold of her clitoris and pinching it slightly, or the edge of one garter rubbed against her aroused, hard clitoris, while the other cut into her flesh. In her current position, her clitoris was pinched, as she rocked back and forth so that the edges moved against one another like two fingers.

Then Mr. White appeared.

'Oh God,” she exclaimed to herself, half-aloud. But Mr. White heard it-that was for certain.

'Did you say something, Madam?” He was a huge man, a veritable giant with a white beard and hair flowing to his shoulders.

Mr. White wore a wide handlebar moustache and cowboy boots.

'Why no, sir,” Wanda replied.

Mr. White cleared his throat as he sat down behind a huge, cluttered desk.

'Thought I heard you take the name of the Lord thy God in vain,” he said grumpily as he made himself comfortable. “Thought I did.'

'No sir,” she said. She was sorry she'd reacted so violently to his appearance. It was just that she had imagined him so differently. Her garters were still coming together over the surface of her cunt, exciting her.

He placed his hands behind his bull neck, exercising his eyes by opening and closing them, and cleared his throat again.

'So, Madam, what can I do for you this fine summer morning?” He was gruff, with the voice and manner of a giant.

'I'm looking for a two-room apartment in the neighborhood,” Wanda replied sweetly, turning on the charm. She showed her white, even teeth and subtly moved her upper body just enough to give sway to her ample breasts, which began to undulate in a rhythm no eye could miss.

'Ah, so,” he rejoined. “In our little neighborhood here?'

'Yes sir, preferably not far from the subway on Sixth Avenue. You see, I am going to get a job and I will need convenient transportation.” She smiled beautifully, showing a gleam in her lovely soft eyes, “If it's possible, I would like something on this street or the next street. Maybe you have something vacant there?'

'Hmm… you don't have a job?'

'No. But don't you worry, Mr. White. You are Mr. White, aren't you, sir?” He nodded and closed his eyes. She was going to tell him she was independently wealthy.

'You see, sir, I have a lot of money and I always pay my way.” With this, she uncrossed her long, nyloned legs and gave him just a tiny flash of the silky white skin above the expensive stockings she'd bought. She wondered if he'd caught a glimpse of her garters.

Wanda didn't know why she felt the need to wear this clothing to go apartment hunting, but here she was. Her skirt flashed open a bit wider than she had anticipated. Mr. White not only saw the lovely smooth flesh above her stocking top, he saw the inside of her milky white thigh and her pale yellow panties, as well as a dark brown

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