I haven’t posted in 4Thoughts or Fiction for a while. I lost a bit of focus as I meandered around my blogging. But through a few clicks while reading TMI Tuesday this week I stumbled across it again. The prompt is “Stockings” and, incidentally, I have been reading some of the contributions as they pop up in my reader. I am a fan of A Man Called Alice. His shoe and lingerie collection is something I wish I could match. While reading the prompt (and maybe perusing some images) this little gem popped into my head.

On the bed a pair of stockings lay, stretched out, sheer black with a shimmer. Against the white sheets they seemed somehow deflated. When he touched them, he could still feel the warmth from her body, but it was fading fast. Fleeting images filled his mind. Her legs encased in the silky sheer fabric. Walking in stilettos down the street. Sitting in her office chair with her ankles crossed. Bending over the filing cabinet teasing anyone watching with the possibility of seeing her knickers.

He lifted them up to his nose, he could still smell her on them. A hint of her perfume, a hint of her musk. The delicate fabric snagged on his stubble as he slid them down towards his chest. Slowly he traced his nipples, shivering at the caress of the fabric causing them to stiffen.  Down towards his aching cock the fabric travelled, raising gooseflesh over his body. The sound of his breath filled his ears as he was lost completely in the sensation.

For a moment he stroked his cock, but he wasn’t ready for that. Today he wanted something else, something forbidden. Looking over his shoulder to make sure he was alone, he sat on the bed, he knew he didn’t have much time before she was back. He slid his feet into the silky fabric stretching the hose out further, filling it with his legs, giving it another life. His cock prodded against his belly as he bent to smooth the stockings against his legs. The bathroom door clicked. His heart raced, he stood at the end of the bed, facing away from the bathroom door. Time seemed to stop as he stood there, waiting, unsure.

He could sense her behind him, although he didn’t hear her approach. She smelled clean and fresh from her shower. The familiar smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils, the heat of her breath on his neck caused the hairs to rise. She was so close to him but still she hadn’t touched him. For a moment he was afraid he would be banished to sleep on the couch, naked, alone and cold.

“Bend over,” There was no hint of emotion in her voice.

He obeyed. His torso rested on the cool, white sheets. His naked arse presented to her, his legs encased in her stockings, spread slightly, exposing his balls. His cock pressed against the bed, harder than ever.

As much as he anticipated it, the first sting of her hand was always so much more. He grunted in pain but knew better than to move.

“What are the rules about wearing my clothes?”

“Not without your permission?” His words were muffled by the duvet.

“Yes,” her words were like a whip, her hand stung his naked butt cheeks.  “Did I give you permission?”

“No.” He braced himself, waiting for more slaps.

But none came. There was a silence as he waited. He heard her moving around the room. A drawer opened. For a moment he wondered if it was THE drawer. But it didn’t seem to be the right sound.

“Stand up,” her voice was still flat and emotionless but as he stood up, he could see the fire in her eyes. He knew that if he put his hands between her thighs, he would feel heat and wetness. He ached for her to sit on the edge of the bed and spread those beautiful thighs. He felt parched and he ached for the command to quench his thirst with her juice.

She indicated some clothing on the bed. Satin underwear, the ones she had been wearing all day. Trousers, his, and a shirt, also his. “We are meeting the Wilsons at George’s Paragon at seven.” Disappointment stabbed through him. Her colleagues, stupid boring people, stupid boring dinner. “I want you to wear that,” she pointed at the clothing on the bed. “And keep my stockings on.”

Obediently he dressed. The smell of her cunt filled his nose as he smoothed the satin over his swollen cock. The trousers slid and gripped his thighs oddly over the satiny tights. His cock was still swollen making the zipper almost impossible to close. She smiled, watching him fumble with the closure.

“If only Tyler Wilson was here now,” she mused. “It would be so hot to watch him suck that cock.”

You can read other prompts featuring stockings at 4Thoughts or Fiction click here or on the image below.