Sample room

I set the camel blazer on the chair and stayed in the silk slip and the stockings. A plain pump in my hand, the one I cannot stop fixing. Leo locked the sample room from the inside. I am thirty-two. He is thirty-six. My boyfriend, not a fitting client. I had told him at lunch what I wanted: stockings on, his mouth on my feet through the nylon, then the nylon off one leg only.

He sat where I pointed. I rested my foot in his lap and tapped the pump against my palm. Feel the stocking first, I said. Tell me if the silk at the top is too tight. He ran a thumb under the welt. Not too tight, he said. You look unreal. I smiled. Kiss through the nylon. He did, mouth warm, the weave turning damp. The sensation was duller and meaner than skin. I loved it. My clit pulsed. My cunt ached under the slip, and I already wanted the fuck.

Peel the left one, I said. Slow. He rolled it down my calf, over the heel, off the toes, and held the stocking like it mattered. Then he kissed the bare arch. I made a sound I did not bother to hide. The other stocking stayed up. I like the mismatch. I put the pump down. I did not need a prop anymore. I needed his cock.

I stood, turned, and braced my hands on the sample table. I said, fuck my cunt like this, stocking still on the right. He got the slip up, got his cock in my cunt, and fucked me deep and even, the way I had asked this morning. One bare foot on the floor, the stockinged foot on its toe. He held my bare ankle. I reached back and grabbed his wrist. Harder. He gave it. The table knocked once. I told him not to stop.

I came with my forehead on my arm, saying yes, your cock, my cunt, my foot, do not let go. He held on. He asked, voice wrecked, and I told him to cum in my cunt and keep his cock there while he did. He came, pressed close, kissing my shoulder. After, he rolled the second stocking down and kissed that sole too. I put the blazer on and we went upstairs.