stockings
12:00 a.m.<>2002-08-27
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lauren was the first woman i ever knew who wore silk stockings. not panty hose, but real stockings, black, silken, sheer, with a suspender belt and little chrome clasps. i found out she wore them the first time we had sex, after returning to her apartment from a visit to the national gallery. my hands were deep under her black skirt, traveling up the smooth, silk-covered expanse of her legs, when suddenly i felt the soft, warm, even silkier flesh of her thighs, just below her panties.
my response to this discovery, the burst of arousal that went off deep within my belly, surprised me. i knew that a lot of guys got off on women in stockings, but i had never been one of them. the pictures i associated with the image were drawn from furtive peeks at girlie mags when i was a teenager. the women were always airbrushed and overdone, with big hair and fake breasts and a look of bored anxiety showing through from beneath their forced expressions of lust. so i was unprepared for the sudden flush of excitement that brought color to my face and made it difficult for me to swallow.
we had just walked through the front door, and we hadn’t even taken off our coats before we started greedily kissing. all afternoon at the museum, we had been hot and hungry for each other. standing in the galleries amid quiet footfalls and murmured conversations, lauren kept putting her lips against my ear and whispering to me wetly about all the things she wanted to do to me. it began when we were looking at a vermeer. with a slight smile, she leaned in close as if to comment on the painting, and hissed, “i’m wet for you”, and with that i was immediately hard. unable to do anything but close my eyes and moan silently, i walked over to another painting. she waited for a few seconds before coming up behind me and encircling my waist with her arms. “my nipples are hard for you,” she whispered. “i wouldn’t be surprised if you can feel them pressing into your back. they need your mouth on them.
and so it went for the better part of the afternoon. she delighted in teasing me, tormenting me, arousing me to the point that i was forced to hold the museum map discreetly in front of my crotch, in case anyone noticed the bulge in my khaki trousers. when i suggested, in a strained voice, that we go back to her apartment, she demurred with a sly grin, saying that she hadn’t finished touring the galleries. i followed her with ears and cheeks flaming, wanting nothing more than to rip off her black velvet jacket and take her right there on the marble floor of the museum, in front of hundreds of scandalized tourists. i envisioned the subjects of all those dutch and flemish paintings looking down upon us from their canvasses as we writhed and groaned beneath them, her fingernails on my back, my hand grabbing hold of her long, chestnut-brown hair.
when we finally got back to her place, i felt as if a dam had burst. we attacked each other, our lips assaulting each other’s face and neck. i pressed her against the door, rummaging beneath her skirt as i covered the tops of her white, freckled breasts with kisses. she explored the interior of my mouth with her tongue, taking my bottom lip between her teeth and pulling until i grunted in pain. the pale gray light of dusk washed through her apartment as she stepped away from me and yanked off her clothes, shivering in the chilly air. when she went to remove her underwear i stopped her wordlessly, putting my hand over hers. i feasted my eyes on her petite, lithe body, the tops of her thighs above her stockings, her flat stomach, her pebble-hard nipples jutting out through the sheer black fabric of her bra.
we sank back onto her futon and drew the down comforter over us. i slipped beneath the covering, my tongue weaving a wet, serpentine path across lauren’s collarbones, down her chest, into the valley of her cleavage. my lips landed gently on her ribs, the plane of her belly, and finally her legs. i was sweating in the close, warm air beneath the comforter. my nose was filled with seawater scent emanating from between her legs. pushing aside the sodden fabric of her panties with my finger, i bowed my head and began to lick.
lauren made no noise when, after a few minutes, she came. her legs stiffened, her stomach tensed, her breathing became rapid and heavy, but she did not moan or cry out. i stayed beneath her legs for a few moments after her orgasm, savoring the salty tang of her juices on my lips and cheeks. i was raging with desire as she drew me on top of her, taut as a bowstring. hot in more ways than one, we impatiently kicked off the comforter, eager for what was to come. kneeling above her, i took in the sight of her slim white body spread out in front of me like a banquet of flesh and wet heat. her legs, still in their stockings, were splayed open invitingly, wantonly. she smiled as i moved the material of her panties aside once again and sank down on top of her. her blue eyes were locked on mine, and only fluttered shut for a moment when i entered her. gathering her left leg in the crook of my elbow, i began to push. her movements matched mine, and soon we were bucking against each other wildly, locked together in a fierce embrace. as before when i was eating her, lauren made no sound as we pounded against each other. her head twisted her head from side to side on the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut. she opened her legs even wider, silently urging me deeper into her. my palm wrapped around the sole of her stockinged foot as i lost myself in the harsh, insistent rhythm of our lovemaking, feeling myself explode just as i heard her give a muffled yelp of pleasure.
we lay there in the gathering darkness for a few minutes, listening to the traffic passing below her window. after a while she rolled over and kissed me, smiling, and padded into the bathroom to take a shower. we hadn't exchanged a single word since the moment we walked through the door.
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