The Whisper of Nylon
April 1, 2006
Category: Erotica
It was a treat to ourselves: a night away in the bustling capital, and tickets to a West End performance.
As we dressed in our hotel room, I glanced up to see MW rolling a new pair of honey-brown hold-up stockings onto her legs while she sat on the edge of the double bed. She felt my attention, looked up, and raised an enquiring eyebrow at my expression.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Sometimes I enjoy feeling dressed up,” she answered after a few seconds. “Is that a problem?”
“Are you kidding?” I continued to watch intently as she completed her ensemble with the pale pink brassiere and panties I’d bought her for Christmas. The bra was a half-cup design, and MW’s bountiful breasts looked in acute peril of overspill. The dusky crests of her nipples were scarcely concealed behind the lace. I felt myself stirring.
“Am I supposed to look like this?” she mused, repeatedly adjusting her appearance in the three-quarter length wall mirror.
“I think so,” I said, not certain that an answer was actually required. “I approve, if that counts for anything.” I took another step towards her, my reflection appearing over MW’s shoulder. My expression looked better suited to a ten-year old boy who’d found the key to the local Toys R Us abandoned on a pavement.
“Keep your distance,” MW said with mock severity. “We have a tube to catch.”
As we journeyed underground to the heart of London, my thoughts and my gaze flitted around. I couldn’t keep my mind from the image of MW in her stockings, of the narrow band of creamy naked flesh framed between the tan nylon and the pink lace of her panties. Warm, naked flesh, lying in wait beneath the heavy cotton of her long skirt.
And as I toyed with the images - as the images toyed with me - my eyes tracked around the female travellers in our tube carriage, and I tried to decide which among them might be attired like my wife. It was the end of the working day, and the majority of our fellow travellers looked like commuters. Despite the biting cold winds traversing the streets above, a good many women were dressed in classic office garb, with black or charcoal grey skirts of varying lengths pulled down over their hose. As my gaze floated over them, never lingering more than a few seconds on each, I considered their faces and the language of their bodies, and tried to answer that one simple question.
Stockings or tights?
It is truly a delicious question to conjure with. My burgeoning erection made me glad of the cover of my heavy wool overcoat.
Throughout the performance, I struggled against the urge to slip a hand onto MW’s thigh. I wanted to feel the thick bands of her stocking tops through her skirt. Better still would have been the chance to slide my hand beneath her skirt, to let my fingertips run across the smooth nylon until they found that naked flesh I yearned for. But the lights weren’t all that low, and I felt conspicuously overlooked. In the end, I waited until the interval, and then revealed to her in a whisper where my attentions were really focused.
A sly smile crept upon my wife’s face.
I leant towards her again. “Why don’t you go to the ladies, take off your panties and then bring them back so you can slip them into my pocket?”
“Do you have any idea how cold it is out there in a skirt *with* your knickers on?”
I shrugged. “Well, if you’re not willing to suffer a little for your husband…”
“I draw the line at vaginal frostbite.”
I’d only been teasing, but something in MW’s tone made me fear that my humour had overstepped the mark. Sensual mood squashed, my thoughts of stockings and the soft flesh they guarded slipped to the back of my mind.
It was close to freezing outside the theatre when we exited. I glanced at my watch, stifling a yawn. MW looked as tired as I felt. It had been a long day, and we decided to eschew the still hectic bars and restaurants for the calm comforts of the hotel. We hailed a passing black cab, and sat back to watch the bright lights slipping by. Ordinarily, I would have tried to generate a little sexual tension; riding in a black cab with a desirable woman normally never fails to rouse my libido. But my compressed mood had followed me outside, so I settled for the view.
MW had first dibs on the bathroom. I stripped naked, flicked off the lights and slipped between the cool, crisp sheets. I lay on my side, facing the window, listening to the buzz of the traffic outside. The sound of flowing water slowed to a trickle, then stopped. There was a burst of light as the bathroom door opened, and then the room plunged back into almost total darkness. A moment later, MW slipped into bed. She slid up close behind me, pressing herself against the back of my body.
“I’m naked,” she whispered huskily. “Except for my stockings. Can you think of a way to keep me warm?”
“Perhaps.”
“I’ll return the favour,” she said softly. She pulled me towards her, rolling me onto my back. Her hand trailed over the muscles of my chest, across my belly and onto my nascent cock. “I’m going to slip your cock inside one of my stockings and stroke you until you come.”
She kissed me, softly, then with growing passion. Her lips tracked down the side of my throat, across my chest, stopping so that her tongue could tease one of my nipples. At the same time, she began to stroke my cock; an artful, fluid motion that suggested experience and desire. I became hard very quickly, in part because of her touch, in part because of her promise. I reached up to cup her full left breast, gently squeezing the hardened peak between my thumb and forefinger. She gasped, then gasped again as her fingers slipped over my smoothly shaven balls.
And then she stopped to remove her stocking. There was an electric moment as the flimsy nylon brushed against my cock and my balls, and then she was rolling it over my length. It was warm inside, soft, electric. The stocking whispered to me with every upstroke, every downstroke. There was a loss of sensitivity from not having her skin directly in contact with mine, but the stimulus of her invention was ample compensation.
“I can feel your precum leaking through my stocking.”
I kissed her deeply, excitedly, thrusting my way into her greedy grasp. I felt like a teenager, like a boy being wanked for the very first time. I turned my body further towards her, my hand slipping over her mound, finding its way between her thighs. Her lips were swollen, parted, the soft flesh within already moist. I stirred the entrance to her sex with two fingertips, then transferred a little of her secret oil to her clitoris. I circled the throbbing bud slowly, deliberately, my wife gasping a little more deeply with each orbit. Then I eased the same two digits inside her, curled them upwards to find the sensitive spot on the front wall of her delicious cunt.
“Suck my nipples,” she begged. I bent my head to her breast, drawing one lust-swollen nipple between my lips. “Harder,” she breathed. “Harder. Yes, that’s it. Oh yes. Oh yes.”
And with my mouth suckled to her flesh, I fingered her to a shuddering climax as her voice - “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” - floated across the musky darkness.
All the time I was still thrusting into her stocking. I wanted to come in the way she’d described, to spurt my seed into the warm nylon; I wanted my semen to ooze through the stocking’s pores, coating her fingers, her palm. But it was dry inside, very dry, and there was friction, and my cock desperately wanted to find its way into wet flesh.
I eased MW onto her back, manoeuvring myself between her thighs.
“I know what you want,” she whispered.
I half-smiled in shame. “I just can’t resist your sweet cunt.”
She eased the stocking from my cock, and within seconds I was easing my cock inside her sex. She was hot and wet and welcoming, just as I’d anticipated. She curled her legs up, and I reached beneath her so that I could cradle her buttocks, raising her to meet my thrusts. The contrast between the aridness of her stocking and the succulence of her cunt was day and night, ice and flame.
MW drew the stocking to her face and inhaled deeply. “I can smell you,” she said. “Mmmmmmm.”
I kept my strokes long and slow, savouring everything; the velvet clasp of her sex, the hushed sounds of her pleasure, the scent of our fucking.
“The Blonde should be here with us now,” I growled. “Lowering her pussy against your face so that you can lick her to orgasm while I’m fucking you.”
The veracity of MW’s groans of pleasure increased.
“I want to fuck her, you know. Fuck her just like I’m fucking you now. I want you to kneel behind me so that you can watch my cock sliding into her, so that you can lick my balls while I’m inside her.”
“God, yes!”
“Would you like that? To lick my balls while I’m fucking her?”
“Yes, yes. I’d lick your balls and your cock and her cunt all at once.”
“I won’t wear a condom. I want my naked cock inside her, so that when I come, I come deep inside her, and then you can go down on her, licking her to another orgasm, licking my seed from her trembling cunt.”
“God, yes!”
“Do you want that?”
“Yes! Yes, I want it!”
“Do you really want that? Would it give you great pleasure?”
“Oh fuck, yes it would!”
Drawn to a peak by my fantasies, sharpened by MW’s reaction to them, my excitement overflowed. The throbbing in my belly, in my balls, along the underside of my shaft was explosive, primal. I surrendered, groaning, spending myself deep inside my wife with delicious satisfaction.
As we lay side by side in the darkness, MW whispered to me, “Didn’t you find the stocking arousing?”
“It was extremely arousing. I just enjoy your cunt more.”
“Too much.”
“Quite possibly.”
She laughed gently. “I’ll have you coming in my stocking yet.”
“I’ve no doubt of that,” I said. “No doubt at all.”
Tags: Fetish, Going Commando, London, Stockings
23 Comments
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What a night’s entertainment… a show, a taxi and then the evening performance.
Wonderfully evocative. And so arousing. As usual, EA. Lovely!
Mmmm…
Thank you kindly, Minx…
~EA
EA, I have a weakness for stockings and this erotic encounter made me very horny.
You would be able to tell if I was wearing stockings, my smile gives it away. They make me feel very naughty.
I’m glad you found it arousing, Suze. And I think I’d likely spend most of my days hoping to catch you wearing that naughty smile…
~EA
Sometimes I miss working in the corporate world. What great fun it was to walk around the office halls, heels clicking on the tiles, knowing you had a silk secret under your skirt. Days when I was feeling particular randy, the panties would be nixed. And I know there were at least a couple of mailroom clerks whose lives were made more interesting by my refusing to bend at the waist when I bent over to pick up computer paper.
Ever kill anyone, OC? Because I bet you could tease a man to death without half trying. But please, don’t stop trying…
~EA
Very sexy writing EA - I was enthralled and with my vivid imagination…well, I was almost there watching - completely delicious! Stockings are very good, there should be more stockings…
Can I just say that it would have been a absolute pleasure to have had you there watching - though neither MW or I would have been content with you retaining such a passive role for long. And you’re right: there really ought to be more stockings.
Thank you for the showcase for this post on your own site, Ell. I’m humbled.
~EA
Ha. I could think of worse ways to die. And as far as being a tease, it takes one to know one Mr. I’m-going-to-take-these-excruciatingly-sexy-pictures-of-me-all-wet-and-
fuckable-in-the-shower-but-sorry-you-can’t-touch-me man.
I agree: there would be worse ways to die. As for me being a tease … I’m shocked at the suggestion.
( BTW, when have I ever said “sorry-you-can’t-touch-me”?
)
~EA
Your wife is a lucky woman!
Lovely of you to say so, Ellie…
~EA
I’ve always prefered stockings to tights and fourhanded dentistry was never the same once my nurse descovered the use of a suspender belt
Hardly surprising, John…
~EA
nylons and garter belts drive me crazy, i sure like them when they wear them in bed. i am 60 years old and they still drive me crazy, if i could only get my wife to wear them more then just for my birthday. i need to find some one my age who likes to wear them all the time, she would drive me crazy
Welcome Russ. Thanks for the comment, and good luck with realising your fantasy…
~EA
STOCKINGS! Ahhhhhhh, they are my ultimate fantasy and fetish for me. Nothing beats them (except seeing them on a toned pair of legs that are topped off with a sexy pair of 5 inch heels). I long to find a woman that enjoys wearing them more than just once in a while when I ask for them. The feel of the silky fabric drives me completely wild. Anymore stories of nylons that you’d like to offer EA? Maybe your wife wouldn’t mind sharing one from her perspective? What do you think?
I’m sure other stocking-related stories will come up at some point, JT. After all, I’ve a penchant for the things myself. As to MW sharing a tale from her perspective … I’ll put your suggestion to her, and see what she says…
~EA
I have been reading the issues of women wearing Stockings and Garter Belts.
I enjoy reading different reviews on this subject that is sometimes scarce to say the least.
My take on this matter is that I like when women dress in their nylons and wear a garter belt, it sets the mood quite right for me and my desire to make love to them wearing stockings is ever so strong.
I will continue to enjoy this topic as it is a turn on for me. Alan James..
I’m glad to have been able to provide a topic of interest for you, Alan. Stick around - you never know what’s around the next corner…
~EA
Fantastic. I can relate to every word! Nothing else compares to a sexy woman in stockings, except for a sexy woman in stocking and high heels, as my wife well knows!
Glad you enjoyed it, stocking lover….
~EA
This one is quite delightful, EA. I love wearing stockings and heels… They never fail to make me feel sexy.
I love the way you write about the lust-enhancing extras. You give them the significance they deserve.
Merci,
Elyse
I accept that my fascination with such accessories is somewhat predictable - but there is something incredibly primal about the way they inflame my desire and heighten my senses. I’d be devastated if they didn’t exist…
~EA