As I stepped into my dimly lit living room, the sultry beat of jazz music enveloped me. I loved nights like these, when the city outside seemed to slow down and the house was all mine. I kicked off my stilettos, letting out a contented sigh as my toes curled into the plush carpet.
I sauntered over to the bar, my vintage red stockings gliding against my thighs. The way the delicate fabric clung to my shapely legs always sent a thrill through me. I poured myself a glass of merlot, admiring the way the light danced across the rich crimson hue.
As I sank into the velvety sofa, the phone buzzed on the coffee table. My lips curved into a coy smile. It was him – the handsome gent I’d been teasing for weeks, his curiosity piqued by my flirtatious messages. Time to put on a show.
I picked up the receiver, my voice a sultry purr. “Hello, darling. I trust you’re enjoying the quiet evening?”
He stammered out an affirmative, and I chuckled, sipping my wine. “Wonderful. I thought perhaps we could…liven things up a bit.” A pause, and then the unmistakable rustle of fabric as he adjusted himself.
Oh, I loved this part. “Go on then, pet. Let me hear you touch yourself. Use your imagination – you’re stroking a pair of unblemished, nylon-clad thighs, silk-smooth and enticingly warm to the touch.”
His breathy moans filled my ear, and I closed my eyes, picturing his hand moving in long, smooth strokes. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. Now, pretend those thighs are mine, and you’re fingering between them, teasing my most intimate places.”
A guttural groan, and I grinned, my fingers dancing across the lace of my garter belt. “Imagine my stockings are soaked, clinging to my skin as you pleasure me, bringing me closer and closer to climax.”
“Fuck, Winnie…” His voice was strained, desperate.
I leaned back, spreading my thighs invitingly as I continued to toy with the delicate fabric. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart. I want to hear you come for me, imagining those stockings wrapped around your cock as you shoot your load.”
With a final, breathy cry, he succumbed to release. I hung up the phone, a satisfied smile on my lips as I slowly unhooked my stockings, peeling them down my legs with deliberate slowness.
Tonight, I’d given him a journey into forbidden fantasies, and he’d come out the other side more obsessed than ever. And I? I’d ended the evening with a delightful buzz of arousal, my secret pleasure hidden behind the innocent facade of a vintage stocking. Until next time, darling.