Wait And Touch (Stockings)

I asked, to a free drawing prompt: “How about a gentleman in the process of pulling off a stocking of the leg of an indulgent woman with his mouth, while his arms are bound?”

He waited with his head dipped, about a foot or two from the widest sweep of the door’s path, so it could swing open (unlocked) without running the edge into his bare feet or bashing the corner into him. He was folded over into something resembling a collapsed Z, knees bent, head down, sort of meditating with his back to the door, feeling the uneven hardwood boards, where they had buckled and warped from a few century of tenants, and not seeing much, courtesy of the blindfold.

It was one of those kink shop deals, with the dark leather look, and a careful shape to stop any light to come pouring in around the edges. He owned a hood, much better for sensory deprivation, but this was a gift from her. For now, he was tucked up small, listening fro the noises of the building. In the about thirty minutes since he had parked himself, naked but for undershorts and with his arms held behind his back as if by invisible ropes, he’s gotten familiar with the little creaks and thumps of a weekend afternoon.

Feet in the hall, but in the wrong direction, too heavy to be her. The little vibrations of the fridge, a room away.  The weird tock-tock of a person hanging a picture, a few floors above, that has made him startle and almost break his composure, thinking someone was knocking. He kept his eyes closed under the blindfold and let his tongue tip trace the inside of his teeth. There was a slight irregularity at the top, on the left side.

He thought about her skin, and the little bit of tension when his teeth had sunk deep and left a half ring of dimples in the white, paler, embossing himself into her hand around the first knuckle while she petted his hair, then looked at the prints to match with the shape of his mouth. His cock stirred, remembering the salt of her skin. It had been three days since his last orgasm.

He remembered the tautness of her belly, bra slipped up so the elastic sat above her nipples, back arched, arms curled, flush on her body, and the splatter of semen that had landed on her stomach like the shape of the big dipper, a blot and a tail, cream gloss like glue, on ivory. That white was dusted pink at her cheeks, post orgasmic sleepy eyes, encouraging, mouth just finished exhorting him to come. He’d been on his knees then, as now, but that time poorly balanced in the narrow bed with her.

They had touched three times during the whole process, once her hand had rested, as if anchoring herself to him, on his thigh, as her finger pads of her other hand had slid back and forth across her clit, once, she’d wrapped her hand around the middle of his cock and tugged twice, and finally, after he came, he crouched to let the tip of his tongue take back the semen off her stomach. Then she had gotten out of bed, took a shower and dressed for work.

It wasn’t for lack of desire. She had left that morning, while he was still asleep, though he knew she would press a kiss on his forehead before she slid out of bed, just as he’d slide her into a curl against his body when he climbed into bed with her. Night shift met day shift, he woke up to her, half relaxed and putting aside part of dinner into plastic for his next night’s lunch, and came home to her star fished out in both halves of the bed. Waking and working, most days they touched only at the points where they could make their lives intersect.

But it was the end of the week, and she’d left him to rest while slipping off to the market, telling him what time to expect her back. No earlier than 11:00 AM, no later than 11:30 AM. At fifteen minutes to 11 o’clock, he had already washed the lone mug she had left in the sink, white with a stain off the tea, eroding under the edge of the blue sponge, and found the blindfold, choosing his spot before the door to kneel and taking away his own sight after checking it to leave it unlocked.

The minutes passed, and he let his head dip to touch the floor. There were keys in the hall, the sound of feet. Hers? Yes. The door shifted, swung open, and be heard her, not talking, but sighing, as she stepped out of her shoes, setting down bags with the clunk of glass jars and crinkling plastic. She was quick to close the door, locking the deadbolt, chain clattering against the wall.

She ignored the groceries for now, her footsteps tracking so he could feel she was next to him, and her hand brushed along his spine, while he could feel her leg through her skirt and the shifting as she crouched. One hand slid under him, silently correcting his posture so he was sitting on his heels, spine erect, gave his crotch a playful grope and of course that was erect too.

He heard and felt her walk away, pick up the groceries and the sound of the fridge opening, cupboard doors banging, things being set to rights and tidied away. Water ran against the metal kitchen sink. A glass was set on the counter. He waited and she came back, made a small noise with her mouth and she was touching his arms, pulling them just so, and he felt soft fabric dragging against his wrists, going taut. Her scarf. Soft cotton, she wore it sometimes, tied around her slender neck in green loops and falls.

He guessed, with the stiffness of the fabric he felt, that she was wearing the blue dress, the one that was loose about the hips, and tucked in at the waist into tight lines and straight seams that finished in a boat necked yoke. He knew without seeing, that it was pulled taut over her breasts, the precision of the tailoring pulled out in small stress lines. He liked it on her, especially when she let him touch and stroke along the sides of her body, her high sitting, soft breasts, the hardness of her ribs and the way her waist flared into the broad width of her hips.

When she was content with how she’d tied his arms, only then, did she speak, mouth held inches from his ear, “Don’t look when I take this off.”

Her fingers pulled at the buckle of the blindfold as he dutifully sealed his eyes. There was more light, but only red through the filter of his eyelids. A soft noise told him she’d dropped the blindfold and he shivered as her hand ran along the top of his back, from left shoulder to right.

“Into the bedroom,” he heard her say, feeling the hand and its warmth leave.

He knee walked, guessing by the level of the floor of the right way to go. Then he felt her palm against his cheek, fingers on his jaw, turning his head. Another touch, steering, pulling to turn his neck, and from there, his entire body, so his path shifted a few degrees. The light touch of the smooth painted wood on the door frame told him he had narrowly avoided going straight into a wall.

She made a content noise, and he guessed she was watching his awkward lumber, graceless until he felt the dangling edge of the bed spread brush against him. He stopped, circling his head, but keeping his eyes shut, waiting for her next order.

He heard the sound of her walking around him, settling, “Lean forward and unzip me. Mouth only.”

He leaned forward until he bridged the empty space and found her shoulder blade with his face, nuzzled along the crisp stiffness of the dress until his lips touched the little metal toggle of the dangling zipper. He had to use his teeth to take it, pulling and moving his entire body for the leverage that pulled the dress open from the start of the neck to the band of her garter belt.

“Open your eyes.” She’d brushed him aside and shrugged out of  the sleeves of the dress, widening the open V of the zipper. He could see the double line of the black, un-ornamented bra and the garter, the one with the small beads stitched into the lace. The dress came off, and she wriggled her legs free from it, leaving it on the floor.

Layered over the garter was the simple black cotton of her panties. He watched as she hooked her thumbs into the elastic, twisting so he could watch the curve and cleft of her ass be revealed. He craned forward again, and she planted her hand back on his face and shoved him back, bracing the heel of her her palm against his forehead.

“Uh-uh!” Her finger wagged, and she was grinning. “No touching unless I say. You haven’t earned the right to bury your face in my ass yet.”


“No.” She unclipped her own garters, letting the elastics spring back. Now she was sitting on the floor in front of him, beckoning him,”Take them off.”

The stocking was a slight touch lighter than the leg it covered, plain tops slightly dipped into the soft give of her thigh, on skin so light he could see the vein traces, blue hints at the beat of her pulse. He inched closer towards her, seeing the warm split of her cunt, half covered with honey and amber hair, one or two shades darker than the curls that fell to her shoulders.

It was hard to get the whisper of knit fabric caught in his mouth, and he gave a little satisfied growl as he caught and began to pull, the stocking stretching as he twisted his head.

“Good boy!” She giggled.

He gave an answering contented growl.

“Now the other one…”

He let himself rub his face on the smooth inside of her thighs, close enough to his goal that he could almost taste it.

“No!” She was shoving him away again. “Wait!”

“Ma’am, please! Can I lick you, Ma’am?” He liked that push, felt it more than jut against the skin, but somewhere inside.

“No!” Her legs curls up, wriggling her bare feet. “Come closer! That’s right, stand there.”

He felt her dexterous toes catch in the elastic of his underwear, pulling, freeing his erection so it was no longer held flat to his body. Then her feet were on his cock, rubbing the sides and tugging up and down, legs shimmying.

She giggled again, in erotic delight. When he started to get into it, she pulled her feet back and let the top of her foot brush against his balls, warning, “Spread your legs.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed, but she was gentle and it was only a few little slaps with her foot, more playful than truly sadistic. Then she had him pressed with her soles, back to tugging and teasing.


“What?” She let the question come out lazy, leaning back so she was resting on her lebows with her legs raised. “I want your cock in me.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He tried to fill what she wanted, but without his arms it was a logistic mess, balanced ruined.  He let out a groan.

She laughed, feeling him bump and press against her, changing her mind. “Lick me.”

He had a wide tongue. Pressed against the split of her cunt he lapped up, dividing her labia, tasting the salt and sour of her cunt, pulling his tongue in quick slashes and swirls. She reached, and scrabbled at his scalp.

He knew from the shivers she made and the way her hips were lifting off the ground, that she was going to come if he kept up.

“No, stop! Wait!”

He pulled back, broke their touch, “Ma’am?”

Her belly was quivering, in up down jerks, hips still moving against the air. She shifted again, her back to him, nudging him, getting lined up until she had levered the tip of his cock into her, like she’d first asked, controlling her hips to fuck herself, keeping the connection between them.

“Better,” she grinned over her shoulder and almost through them off. Her fingers found her clit, probed and rubbed out and orgasm so she was making guttural noises of pleasure around his cock.

The afternoon sun pierced the curtain, landed on her bare back, with the loose clasps of the garters dangling and her breasts still bound in the bra, her voice soft and husky. “Yes, yes!”


He didn’t need to specify, she understood the need and barked her permission as a command. “Come!”

He felt the instruction like a switch flipped, bit his lip and let his barely assembled control go. Inside her, touched all around by the wet, tight walls of her cunt. He felt the energy leave him with the hot shot of semen, and let himself relax and press against her, still bound as they nestled.

She smiled. “Worth the wait?”



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