“It’s the contrast” he said taking another sip of his wine
“The stocking and suspenders. It’s the contrast between them and the skin that makes my cock hard. It just looks like an invitation”
He has asked me to wear them to dinner and I had happily obliged. Regardless of what they did for him wearing them always made me feel sexy and I would have worn them anyway. The way they looked, they way the felt, just worked for me and I loved knowing that hiding beneath my skirt or dress or whatever else I had on this sexy little secret about me.
“What kind of invitation?” I managed to say it with a straight face but it took all my concentration not to grin at him.
“To look, to touch, to lick, to fuck” he replied looking directly into my face.
I made a small noise in response, a cross between a squeak and sigh. “Damn it Grace, not cool” I admonished myself in my head.
For a moment there was silence. He sipped his wine again, I reached for mine, nearly knocking it over in the process but finally managing to get it to my lips.
“Take now, for instance. I really want to run my hand up your skirt and find that little bit of exposed skin at the top of your thigh.”
“Be. Cool. Grace.” hissed silently through my brain.
“Maybe you should” I finally replied, placing my wine glass carefully back on the table.
His eyes never left mine as his hand slowly ran up the outside of my leg, pushing past the hem of my dress and finally crossed over the lace tops of the stockings onto the bare flesh. His fingers tips felt oddly cool against the warmth of my skin and a little shiver ran through me. I didn’t need to look down to know that my nipples are harden beneath the soft fabric of my dress.
I expected him to carry on up over my thigh and between my legs. I even shifted slightly in my seat to allow him access but his fingers stayed where they were, tracing little circles on my flesh.
“And now what?” I asked.
“Now? Now I would like to take you home, bend you over the bed, pull up your skirt and admire the view, with my fingers and then my tongue and when I have touched every part of your exposed flesh I want to slide my cock into you and fuck you with your dress scrunched up around your waist and the lace of your stockings rubbing up against my thighs and the lines of the suspenders running across your arse like invitations to pleasure.”
“Well that sounds…umm” my brain couldn’t quote find the next word but it should have been “fucking hot”.
“And how about you Grace, what would you like to do? Maybe order some dessert?”
“Dessert? I suppose we could…”
He sipped his wine again and seemed to be watching my over the rim of the glass. Was he enjoying wrong footing me? The thought gave me courage.
“If you really want dessert then we can get some but quite frankly I would be happy to pay the bill and leave”
“Excellent” he replied, placing his glass down he beckoned to the waitress to bring the bill.
“After all” I continued, “wearing stocking and suspenders makes me want to fuck way more than I want to eat dessert.”