Silk Stockings & Secret Desire

The rain hammered against the tinted windows of the Grand Ballroom, each drop a tiny percussion against the opulent backdrop of twinkling lights and overflowing champagne fountains. It was the annual Sterling Industries Christmas party, a glittering affair designed to showcase the company’s success and, judging by the atmosphere, indulge in a little bit of debauchery. Twenty-two years of marriage with my wife, Evelyn, had taught me the art of navigating these events, knowing when to blend into the background and when to seize the moment. And tonight, I had a very specific moment in mind.

Evelyn, a sharp, elegant woman who still held onto the vestiges of her corporate past, was a creature of habit and comfort. She’d always known about my particular proclivity for pantyhose – a secret obsession that had simmered beneath the surface of our long, passionate relationship. It wasn’t about dominance or control; it was a primal urge, a visceral thrill that had been building since our first stolen kiss. Seeing her in those sheer, clinging fabrics, devoid of the usual support of a pair of panties, was an experience that sent shivers down my spine.

The company Christmas party had always been a significant event, but this year, I’d orchestrated something truly special. I’d convinced Evelyn to wear seamless black pantyhose, the kind that clung to her curves like a second skin, with a shimmering emerald green dress that showcased her figure perfectly. The anticipation had been building all evening, a delicious tension that had finally come to a head as we'd navigated the crowded dance floor, the scent of expensive perfume and desperation hanging heavy in the air.

As we strolled through the venue, admiring the towering Christmas trees adorned with tinsel and baubles, I felt the familiar surge of desire building within me. The rain outside intensified, mirroring the heat that was now consuming me. I leaned in close, whispering against her ear, "You look absolutely stunning in those pantyhose, darling. They feel incredible against your skin."

Her breath hitched slightly, and I could feel the subtle tremor in her body. "They do feel good," she confessed, her voice a husky murmur, "almost too good. It's like wearing a second layer of silk against my pussy. It’s so exciting." She paused, her eyes locking onto mine, and the unspoken invitation hung in the air between us. "I think I'm about to have an orgasm."

We continued our slow, deliberate walk, each step punctuated by the rhythmic thump of my heart against my ribs. As we turned a corner, hidden away from the prying eyes of colleagues and executives, she abruptly stopped, her hand gripping my arm with surprising strength. "Just had it," she whispered, her voice breathless, "I need to see you now." The urgency in her tone was palpable, a desperate plea that ignited my own lustful desires.

Without a word, we made our way out to the waiting mini-van, the chill of the winter air a welcome contrast to the heat that was building within me. The moment the doors slammed shut, she moved with a swift, predatory grace, pulling me towards the driver’s seat. Her hands explored my shoulders, her fingers tracing the contours of my muscles as she leaned into me, her body pressing against mine.

It wasn't long before she was on top of me, her weight pressing down, her hips circling my waist. With a decisive movement, she pulled my pants down, revealing my exposed cock. The sensation of her cool skin against my heated flesh sent a jolt of pleasure through my veins. Simultaneously, she began to grind her soaking wet, nylon-covered pussy against my leg, the friction sending sparks of heat through my body. The sheer texture of the pantyhose against her sensitive flesh was both a source of pleasure and a reminder of the forbidden thrill of her nakedness.

Her trembling intensified as she reached her climax, her body convulsing with each wave of sensation. I could feel her arousal radiating outwards, the scent of her sweat mingling with the scent of the nylon, creating a heady, intoxicating aroma. As she recovered from her orgasm, she leaned back against me, her eyes closed in contentment.

Instinctively, I knelt down and began to lick her wet, sexy pussy through the clinging fabric of the pantyhose, savoring the taste of her arousal. The nylon provided a strange kind of protection, a barrier that heightened the intensity of the experience. It was a sensual dance, a delicate balance between pleasure and restraint.

“Take me,” she demanded, her voice barely a whisper, “but pull my pantyhose down first, and don't rip them.” Her words were laced with a playful challenge, a silent dare that sent another wave of heat through me. Without hesitation, I complied, gently pulling her pantyhose down, mindful of her delicate skin. As my cock slid inside her, I could feel her pussy reacting immediately, its sensitivity amplified by the clinging nylon. After a few minutes of deep, rhythmic thrusts, I exploded inside of her, showering her with a deluge of semen that soaked into the fabric of her pantyhose.

Her body quivered with each wave of pleasure, her breathing becoming ragged and shallow. When I withdrew, she pulled her pantyhose back up, her expression a mixture of satisfaction and longing. "I want to feel your cum in the pantyhose rubbing against my pussy," she said, her voice laced with a desperate plea.

For the remainder of the night, she continued to revel in the sensation, demanding that I take her repeatedly, each time pulling down her pantyhose to allow my cum to pool within the nylon, clinging to her sensitive flesh. The rain continued to fall outside, a constant reminder of the cold, harsh world beyond the walls of the Grand Ballroom, but inside, we were lost in a world of lust, desire, and exquisite pleasure. The seamless black pantyhose had become a symbol of our shared indulgence, a testament to the power of our forbidden love. As we finally pulled into our driveway, exhausted but exhilarated, I knew that this company Christmas party would be forever etched in our memories, a night of unparalleled pleasure and a potent reminder of the primal connection that bound us together. From that day forward, Evelyn would always insist on wearing seamless pantyhose with her skirts and dresses, and never again would she wear panties beneath them. The memory of that night, of the sensation of my cum clinging to her pussy through the nylon, would forever fuel our passion, a constant reminder of the delicious transgression we had shared.

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