Lascivious In Lace

'ding dong'

The doorbell goes and I wait several moments before answering it. "Oh, you're early." I say. You're not... you're a few minutes late but I've been ready for what seems like hours. As you come in and click the door shut, you're already lustily pinning me against the wall with a sensual snog.

"My, aren't we eager tonight?" I say, wanting you to at least look at the care I've lavished on looking good for you. I could probably not have bothered, so hot and horny you usually are, and I can feel the ever hard bulge in your trousers poking low on my tum, as your hand sneaks under my skirt and up my thigh. And stop over a hip, plucking at the thin lacy fabric covering it.

"Tights?"

You stand back and seem to see me properly for the first time. A neat thigh-length pleated skirt and dark blouse, unbuttoned low - I'm as eager for you as you are for me but hey, I've made an effort to dress the part. And what you thought were lacy stockings, as you know I almost always wear hold-ups. You tentatively take the skirt hem with each finger and thumb and slowly lift it right up to check. Arms folded I watch as you survey your granted territorial rights, and find them blocked by a thin, lace-patterned barrier of black nylon. Easy access seemingly denied.

"Oh dear," You meet my gaze as I wait for you to stop looking and actually do something... me, hopefully! "What have I done wrong?"

Oooooh, I think, I could play on this for hours, get you worked up and needle myself a few retail treats as revenge but I'm not that heartless or cruel. Mebbe next time. I take one of your hands and guide it up under the skirt to between the top of my thighs, and let your fingers do the rest. Feel them tickle my panties-less fluffiness through the mesh as they paint a picture in your mind. Map the unfamiliar feeling fabric and hints of warm wet skin through it. In return I get fleeting fondlings, tentative titillations of your touch as you seek the suggestion of my sex through the sheerness. It makes me breathless.

Then, you tug on a stretchy fold of fabric, and I part my thighs for your fingers to explore a collar that conceals a covert cavity. One bravely pokes through into the unknown, and finds the familiar folds you've come to know and appreciate.

Your eyes widen, "Mmmmm... crotchless. I can go for that... " you murmur as you hold me close with one arm and snog me senseless, while the still exploring hand stretches the sheer collar of labia-like material, slips through it. A finger caresses my clit, slips softly into the silky sweetness.

I try and peel you off. Much as I want you the hall isn't the most erotic of places. Taking your hand I totter on my heels and try to lead you upstairs but you grab my hips, bend me over the steps, lift my skirt back up for another look. As I try and climb away, up, to the comfier bedroom, you grapple with me stair after stair until I'm sprawled over the top step, leaning on the landing while you hold my thighs apart with a cupped palm. Peering under my arm I see you unzip yourself urgently with your other hand, letting your trousers and boxies fall to reveal your amazingly huge hardness. Then your hands reach up round my waist, seeking the top of my 'tights', only to find they go on, further up, all-encompassing.

"Bodystocking." I grin, upside-down, at you. "Only one way in."

"Oh ho!" I hear your war cry, feel the crotch collar being stretched open, and a roasting rigidity that has risen to the challenge poking its way through, forcing to find my folds through the fabric. And... pop.

OooooOOOOOH!

It feels slightly odd, the almost-but-not-quite skin-on-skin through the gaps in the lace. You're there, fully inside, but the rest of you isn't. It's just your cock I feel, while your body ghosts nearby, not quite tangible apart from the push-me pull-you of your thrusts. Propped on one elbow as you pound me, I unbutton the blouse until it hangs open, then it is tugged off from behind, one awkward arm at a time, by you. I can't see your face but try and imagine your expression as you look at me, hunched there, clad in black lace. Your hands creep over the thin fabric, inch round and under to where my boobs are hammocked in nylon. Fingers tug at the scoop neck, widen it and caress my nipples, take hold while you start thrusting again.

It's almost a vibrator kind of sensation, just something inside and not much else besides the gentle grip of your hands, pretending to be a bra, and the rocking rhythm we have. It lulls me into lust... what was that you said about just being penis while I'm just cunt? Separated from you by the bodystocking, except where our sexes meet, that's almost how it feels. Raw isolated intercourse, partitioned penetration. It's wild and fun, like you taking me quickly and quietly unseen over the bosses' desk at work, but while I enjoy being fucked over the stairs by just your cock, I miss the warm reassuring touch of the rest of you.

With a moaning gasp, you cum fast and furious through the bodystocking, squelching slushily and soaking the stretchy slit. It's nice to be filled but better to be felt. Clenching my thighs together as you withdraw so your rapid release doesn't leak out too much, and hobbling up the last few steps, I finally get you to the bedroom and peel off the slightly-soaked stocking as you lose the rest of your clothes.

"Not keeping it on?" You ask, "I really rather enjoyed that... "

"I know." I purr, pondering your sharp sudden climax, looking at the dribbles of aftersex on the lacy mesh. It had its use but it'll never replace the true touch of you, or me for you I hope. "But let me show you what I really feel like... "

And hopping naked on the bed beside you, I let the limp lacy bodystocking fall to the floor...