Fetish - lingerie, pantyhose, stockings

Claire glanced at the clock for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. She had been eagerly planning tonight for weeks. Just another half-hour to wait, it seemed like an eternity. She was already trembling with anticipation. Sebastian would be there soon. He had been away for three days and would be returning tonight.

She had spent all day in preparation. First, she had gone to the florist and picked up a bouquet of roses. Then she had gone to the market to pick up a few things. Last, she had gone to the local vintner to pick up a couple bottles of Sebastian’s favorite wine.
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I met Caitlin in a night club when we were both aged nineteen. We quickly fell madly in love with each other and within three months we had set up our first home together. Life was great to start with; we were young, in love and could not get enough of each other.

However as we shared our lives together we slowly began to have our differences, and our relationship deteriated from the perfect start to one where after eighteen months together we came to the mutual decision that it was best to break up and go our separate ways. I suppose that one of the main causes of our relationship deteriating was our sex life. To start with we made love all the time, enjoying each others bodies and experiencing new and different things together. However it soon became apparent that Caitlin had very prudish and different attitudes towards sex than I did.
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I’m going to be all alone later tonight, and I really don’t mind. It’s going to be cold later, and it’s already started to snow, so I’m going to get a fire started in the woodstove and devote some time to the thoughts of you that I’ve been unable to get out of my mind all week long.

The wood for the fire is dry and it doesn’t take long for it to get blazing hot, too hot in fact to wear much of anything. I sink into a comfortable chair and watch the fire, and as the coals glow redder and redder, I find it too warm for the long pants and flannel shirt I’ve had on all day. I strip, shedding my clothes in a pile and wrap up in a warm crocheted afghan that hangs over the back of the chair. There’s something so sensual and sexy to me about being naked and wrapped in a soft blanket.
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It was about 3 am when you opened our bedroom door. The light from the hallway woke me up. You looked so beautiful standing there. Your short black dress, dark silky nylons and black strapped high heels was a perfect match. Your gold ankle bracelet glistened in the light.

Laying there naked beneath the thin sheet, I was getting so aroused just looking at you. I asked you if you had a good time. You just smiled and nodded yes.

You came over to the bed and pulled the sheet back. I could feel your eyes inspecting me. I was shaved smooth, just the way you like me. Your soft hands were between my legs, caressing my balls and slowly stroking my cock. In my excitement I blurted out questions like, Where have you been? Who were you with? You calmly looked down at me and said, Hush now, that’s enough! You know that you’re not allowed to ask me any questions about my dates. With down cast eyes, Sorry Mistress, was all I said. Your fingers were dripping with precum as you gently brought them to my mouth. One by one I sucked them clean. Casually strolling from the bedroom you ordered me to fix you a drink, and join you in the living room.
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I only knew her by her screen name. I only communicated with her via e-mail. But the e-mails were so intense and detailed, I felt like we knew everything about each other, at least everything that we wanted the other to know. The communication had reached a point when a rendezvous as inevitable. The scrip had been written through months of back and forth fetish exchanges. This is my story:

I’ve never seen you. I’ve never even spoken to you. But I know it’s you. You stride up confidently, right on schedule. Your looks are exotic and your hair is enchanting. Your high heels make you look a little taller than 5′3″, as your profile says. And as you reach the door I can see that your nails are long, square tipped and pink, as I requested.
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I sat at home on this particular Friday night. My wife, Susan, had called earlier from work to let me know, that she planned to stop off at a bar with some co-workers for a drink or two. This was fine, as it had been a long day and a night of television alone sounded really inviting. About 8:15 the phone rang, it was Susan. It seems everyone went their separate ways after one drink, but she was not ready to call it a night. She asked me to please come join her. Well the thought of being in a bar with my wife, knowing that the drunker she got, the wilder she became, got me instantly excited. I agreed, hung up the phone, grabbed my jacket and was out the door. As I drove to the bar, my thoughts were filled with visions of Susan. I knew that once she was drinking, she would indulge my smoking fetish. Thoughts of her smoking Virginia Slim 120’s, blowing the smoke at me and teasing me were enough to give me a massive erection. I arrived at the bar, parked the car and headed inside with great anticipation of what the night would offer.
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(Author’s note: Love feedback, and can appreciate constructive criticism, but if you don’t like the idea of a man masturbating with anal toys, or with another man in the room, you’ll probably want to skip this story. Thank you.)

Amazing the things one finds when on their significant other’s computer.

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Sometimes I like to give myself a treat, y’know, give myself a break from all the hustle and bustle of college life. I call it Me Time, and time is the operative word, because I give myself all the time I need.

When I decide to pamper myself, I make sure my schedule is clear, and the phone is off the hook. The last thing I want is to be interupted - it kills the mood.

I will start out by taking a long, hot, steamy shower…the kind that leaves me lobster red. I spend lots of time shampooing, even more time conditioning, and I pay extra special attention to myself with my loofah.
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I have been at the cabin for three days now cleaning out the remains of Old Man Winter and the creatures that make it their winter’s heaven. I decide that I need to stroll down to the lake and refresh my soul with a dip. Packing some herbal shampoo, ivory soap and pulling the grey terrycloth off the back of the old brown chair, I follow the worn footpath, that keeps the secrets of years gone by, toward the lake. Quickly the lake comes into view as the cabin sits only a few hundred meters from shore. This morning the sun has not quite reached its peak. Gazing across the still water, I can see the fog gently lifting toward the bright blue sky.
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It was pouring with rain. Not exactly the type of weather one would normally expect for mid-June, but this was England and one never knew quite what to expect there, and not only that it was cold. How Cathy missed the nice warm days that she was used to. True, it used to rain hard in Kenya but it was soon over and the sun usually soon dried everything up, but over here? Less said the better. She was not unhappy being in England, she had what she wanted, her husband, but it would have been nice to be warm now and then, but no doubt she would get used to it. Also it would been nice to have had a job, but having only been in the country a short while she was still finding her feet and getting used to everything.
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