Chapter 1 - "Newlyweds"

The sun filtered softly through sheer linen curtains, casting golden streaks across the pale stone floors of their Chelsea townhouse. It was a quiet Sunday morning, the kind that felt stolen from time, where no one expected anything, and lovers could simply exist.

Caitlin stirred beneath the silk sheets, her long hair tousled, skin still warm from the night before. She stretched lazily, one leg slipping free of the duvet to reveal a sheer black Wolford thigh-high clinging perfectly to her toned calf. It wasn't for him, not really. She just liked how it felt, luxurious, cool, tight in all the right places. But she knew the effect it had on Devon.

He stood at the foot of the bed, bare-chested, holding two steaming mugs of coffee and watching her. He always watched her like that, like she was something rare, something sacred and decadent all at once.

"You wore the Stayup’s to bed," he murmured, stepping closer.

She smirked without opening her eyes. "You noticed."

"I always notice."

He handed her the coffee, then slipped beneath the covers beside her. Her scent hit him, Chanel body oil, vanilla shampoo, and something unmistakably Caitlin. Her leg brushed against his, the stocking's texture a deliberate, teasing contrast to his bare skin.

"So?" she said, sipping. "What's the plan today, Mister Crypto King?"

"Stay in bed, order something absurdly expensive for brunch, and then make love until we forget what day it is."

She chuckled. "You're very persuasive."

"You're very distracting."

She set her cup down and rolled over to face him. Even makeup-free and slightly disheveled, Caitlin looked editorial, those full lips, the high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes inherited from her Filipino mother. He remembered seeing her for the first time in their second year at university. Back then, she'd been decked in torn fishnets, Doc Martens, and matte black lipstick, sipping whiskey from a teacup at a house party. Devon had been smitten immediately.

"Do you miss it?" she asked now, reaching to stroke his chest. "My goth phase?"

"I miss the attitude," he admitted. "But it's still there… under the silk and Saint Laurent."

"Good answer."

She leaned in and kissed him, slow, tasting, curious. The kind of kiss that says: We have nothing to do but this. Devon rolled onto his back as she climbed astride him, her stockinged legs pinning him down like satin restraints.

"You spoil me," she whispered, trailing kisses down his neck. "This house, this life…"

"You spoil me more," he said honestly, hands gripping her thighs.

Caitlin arched slightly, pressing her hips against his. "We're disgusting."

"We're happy."

She slid back, teasing the tip of him through her barely-there thong. "We're filthy, rich, and married. No one wants to hear how good we have it."

He grinned, breath catching as she reached behind her to guide him inside. Her rhythm was slow, deliberate. He watched her move above him, the way the sunlight shimmered on her hosiery, the faint red indent around her thighs where the bands had dug in overnight.

"You know," she said softly, "I sometimes wonder what people would say if they knew what our sex life was like."

"They'd be jealous."

She tilted her head. "Or horrified."

"Or jealous and horrified."

They laughed, but there was a truth beneath it. Their marriage was filled with lust and honesty, things too many people seemed to fear. They'd had other people in their bed, shared drinks with models and artists in Berlin, tried things that even their closest friends wouldn't guess. But Caitlin always came back to Devon, and Devon to her. They were inseparable. Addicted, maybe. But neither was interested in rehab.

Afterward, as they lay tangled and blissful, she propped herself up on one elbow and studied him.

"You looked so hungry watching me earlier," she said. "When you saw my stockings."

"I always get that way when you wear them."

"Why?"

Devon hesitated. A flicker of something crossed his face. She noticed it. She always noticed.

"Just… something about them. I don't know. Legs in stockings are hypnotic."

"Try again," she said, tracing her fingertip along the curve of her thigh. "This is me you're talking to."

He exhaled. "It's hard to explain. There's something about the way they transform you, how they hug your skin, how you move differently when you wear them. They're like… elegance and seduction in a single thread."

Caitlin grinned. "You've been thinking about this."

"For years."

She raised an eyebrow. "Years?"

He hesitated again, then shrugged it off. "Maybe. Since I was a kid. There's something almost magical about them."

Caitlin watched him carefully. Her smile softened. "Do you want to try them on sometime?"

Devon blinked. "What?"

"Stockings. Tights. Whatever you want to call them." She ran a hand down her thigh. "You get turned on by them, I can see it. I'm curious what it would do for you… on you."

Devon flushed but didn't look away. "You're serious?"

"Completely." Her voice dropped into a whisper. "It's only fair. I've got a whole wardrobe full. Might as well share."

He laughed, nervous but aroused. "You'd really be into that?"

Caitlin shrugged. "If it turns you on, it turns me on."

Devon looked at her like she'd just handed him the key to a forbidden door.

And maybe, in a way, she had.

Chapter 1 - Scene 2

Devon sat at the edge of the bed, legs slightly parted, one hand resting on his knee while the other nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Caitlin had disappeared into the walk-in wardrobe, humming something low and melodic as hangers shifted and drawers opened.

The room beyond was quiet, heavy with anticipation. He wasn't sure if he was more terrified or aroused.

When she returned, she held a pair of Wolford Satin Touch 20 tights in classic black, still in the packaging.

"These are fresh," she said simply. "No pressure. I just think… maybe it's time you tried them on somewhere safe."

Devon looked up at her, his throat dry. "You're serious."

"I've never been more turned on by you," she replied, climbing onto the bed behind him. "I've had threesomes, been blindfolded, even wore latex to a yacht party in Cannes. But watching your face just now when you described these…" She held up the package and gave a teasing smirk. "That did something to me."

He turned slightly to face her. "You don't think it's weird?"

"No," she said gently. "I think it's beautiful. Honest. Hot."

She placed the tights in his lap.

"Go on," she said, brushing a kiss against his ear. "I want to see."

Devon hesitated, then slowly stood. He peeled off his boxer briefs and stepped into the sheer fabric, rolling it carefully up one leg, then the other. Caitlin watched silently, lips parted slightly, eyes dark with curiosity and something close to reverence.

By the time he had them up over his hips, his cock was straining beneath the thin fabric.

Caitlin exhaled, sitting back on her heels. "Oh… wow."

Devon looked down at himself, legs elongated and glimmering in the morning light. The sheer black hugged him perfectly, softening every line yet somehow making him feel more exposed.

"I feel ridiculous," he said under his breath.

"I don't," Caitlin replied. "You look… delicious."

She slid forward on the bed and pressed her cheek against his thigh. Her hands ran up and down the length of his legs, caressing the smooth nylon surface. "No one's ever seen you like this, have they?"

He shook his head. "Not since I was sixteen. And even then, it was rushed… secret… shameful."

"Not anymore," she whispered, kissing the inside of his thigh. "This is ours now."

Her hand slid up between his legs, teasing his balls gently through the tights as she kissed him again through the fabric. His knees nearly gave out.

"Lie back," she ordered softly.

He obeyed.

She straddled him again, still in her own hold-ups and silk robe, and began grinding slowly, her Wolfords gliding against his. Devon groaned, overwhelmed by sensation. It was more than just physical. It was the permission. The liberation.

"You've no idea," he whispered, "how long I've imagined this."

Caitlin leaned down and kissed his lips, then whispered into his mouth, "Then stop imagining."

Her hand slipped between them, and she began to stroke him through the fabric, slow and deliberate. His body arched into her touch, hips rocking gently, eyes fluttering closed.

"Look at me," she said, her voice low and commanding.

He opened his eyes.

"I want you to remember this moment. The first time you let me in. The first time you gave yourself permission."

"I do," he gasped. "God, Caitlin…"

They moved together in a rhythm as old as desire, her voice guiding him, her touch setting the tempo. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and brought his forehead to hers.

"Say it," she whispered. "Say you love wearing them while we fuck."

"I love it," he moaned. "I love it. I love how it feels, on me, on you… everything."

When he finally came, it was with a full-bodied shudder, a rush of sensation that left him dazed and trembling. Caitlin stayed close, kissing his jaw, brushing her fingers through his damp hair.

"See?" she said gently. "No shame. Just us."

Devon laughed softly, the sound equal parts relief and disbelief. "I don't know what this means."

"I do," Caitlin said, lying beside him and lacing her fingers through his. "It means we just opened a door we're never closing."

Chapter 1 - Scene 3

The sun had risen higher now, casting the room in soft daylight, but the mood remained intimate, almost suspended in time. Devon lay still beside her, his chest rising and falling, arms stretched behind his head. The Wolford tights still clung to him, slightly twisted from their lovemaking, a faint shimmer tracing the muscles in his thighs.

Caitlin turned on her side and rested her cheek on his shoulder, her hand gliding lazily over his stomach.

"That was different," she said, her voice like silk.

Devon laughed quietly. "That's an understatement."

"Tell me what's going through your head."

He paused. "A mix of terror and absolute euphoria."

She tilted her head and looked at him with warm curiosity. "Still scared?"

"Not of you," he said honestly. "Just… of what this means. If this part of me is real."

Caitlin propped herself up on one elbow. "Of course it's real. You didn't fake that orgasm."

He smiled faintly. "I've spent so long pushing it down. I told myself it was just a kink, something to forget about after."

"And now?"

He turned to face her. "Now I feel like I've been holding my breath for fifteen years."

Caitlin leaned down and kissed his chest, then rested her hand over his heart. "Devon, you're the most grounded man I've ever met. If there's something deeper here, we'll figure it out. Together."

"I wasn't expecting you to react this way."

"Honestly?" She smiled. "Neither was I. But it's like you handed me a thread, and I want to pull it."

He raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"It means," she said, brushing her fingers along the waistband of his tights, "this doesn't feel like the end of something. It feels like the beginning."

Devon exhaled slowly. "I don't even know what to ask for."

"You don't need to. We'll take our time."

She sat up and stretched, her robe slipping from one shoulder. Her legs, still wrapped in her own thigh-highs, crossed elegantly as she stood and padded over to her wardrobe. Devon watched her as if he were watching a painting come to life.

She opened a drawer and pulled out a small satin box. From it, she took a folded pair of pale grey Fatal 15s and turned to him with a wicked glint in her eye.

"These," she said, "are the tights that made a bartender in Vienna ask for my number while I was holding your hand."

Devon grinned. "I remember. He kept staring at your legs like they were a separate entity."

"They were," she said. "They always are. Hosiery changes how men see me. Even how you see me."

He nodded slowly. "It's true."

She approached the bed and placed the tights beside him. "I want you to wear these for me next time."

Devon blinked. "These? They're yours."

"Everything in that drawer is mine. But now", she leaned in and whispered, "some of it is ours."

He swallowed hard.

Caitlin kissed him again, slower this time. "Let it in, Devon. Let this be something we share."

He stared at the grey shimmer beside him. "I can't believe I married someone who… gets this."

She laughed and tossed her robe onto a chair, climbing back into bed fully nude aside from her thigh-highs. "Oh honey," she said, pulling the sheets around them. "You haven't even seen what I really get."

Later, as they lay curled together in the afterglow, Caitlin traced her finger down the back of his thigh, over the taut nylon and faint muscle lines beneath.

"You know," she murmured, "I used to wear tights just because they looked good. Now, they're power."

He glanced sideways at her. "Power?"

She nodded. "Control. Confidence. I see what they do to men, how they make you ache. I love it. But now I also see what they do to you. And that might be even more exciting."

Devon was quiet, the weight of her words settling around them like another layer of silk.

"I don't want to stop," he said finally. "I want to explore this more… whatever this is."

Caitlin smiled, satisfied. She kissed his temple and whispered, "Then we'll explore. Slowly. Deeply. And beautifully."

Outside, the city buzzed on without them. But in their Chelsea sanctuary, the world had already shifted.

A marriage had deepened. A door had opened. And neither of them wanted to close it.

Chapter 2: Echoes of the past

The rain tapped gently against the glass as the city blurred beyond their tall sash windows. Chelsea in the rain always looked romantic, like a film set left in soft focus.

Caitlin sat curled on the velvet chaise by the window, her legs drawn beneath her, wrapped in a cloud-grey cashmere robe. One foot peeked out, flexing lazily. She'd slipped into a pair of deep plum Wolford Velvet de Luxe 66 tights after her shower, claiming she felt "naked without them."

Devon was on the floor in front of her, seated between her knees, his back resting against the chaise. He wore slim joggers and a black T-shirt, though his fingers toyed constantly with the top of her tights, idly, unconsciously, like a man unable to stop reminding himself that she was real and she was his.

"You always touch me more when I wear these," Caitlin said, sipping her espresso.

Devon tilted his head back and smiled up at her. "I touch you all the time."

"But when I'm wearing tights," she said, slowly brushing her foot along his thigh, "you're downright clingy."

"Guilty."

Her fingers found his hair, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. "You know what's funny?" she said. "Back in uni, you used to pretend not to notice when I wore fishnets."

Devon laughed. "I noticed. I was just trying not to stare like a creep."

"You failed," she smirked.

"I was terrified of you. You had that full goth girl thing going, dark lipstick, ripped stockings, boots that looked like they could crush me."

She ran her fingers down the side of his face. "You liked it, though."

He turned and kissed the inside of her thigh, where the tights hugged the curve just right. "I loved it."

They were quiet for a while, the kind of silence only lovers newly married can enjoy, one filled with gentle touches and wordless smiles.

"I was thinking about that first night we met," Caitlin said after a while.

"The party at Emma's house?"

"Mmhmm. I'd just dyed my hair blue-black and was wearing that ridiculous PVC miniskirt."

"You were drinking gin from a chipped teacup."

"And you were the awkward guy in the too-tight Henley trying not to spill beer on your white trainers."

"I wasn't awkward," Devon said, offended.

"You were adorable."

He leaned up to kiss her again, letting his lips linger against her thigh. "And yet somehow I got the goth girl."

"I was drawn to you," she said honestly. "You were quiet but always looking. Watching. Like you saw everything and said nothing."

"I was watching your legs."

"I know, babe," she laughed. "Everyone was."

Devon slid a hand up under her robe, smoothing over her tights, cupping her thigh.

"You wore them even then," he said. "Every time we went out."

"They made me feel… powerful. Feminine. Not girly, dangerous."

"Exactly."

Caitlin looked down at him, her tone softening. "That's what they did for me. And I think, deep down, they did the same for you."

He stilled for a moment. Then nodded.

"Even before I understood it," he murmured. "I just knew that tights, stockings, were more than just something to look at. They were a feeling. A promise."

Caitlin reached down and guided his hand higher up her leg. "You can say it, Dev. We're past pretending."

He swallowed. "They made me feel something I couldn't name. Like I wanted to be close to them. Wrapped in them. Part of them."

She smiled. "God, I love how your mind works."

He turned, resting his cheek against her thigh, eyes closed. "I used to sneak a look at my mum's old catalogues. You know, the ones with lingerie sections. Wolford, Charnos, Fogal. I'd stare at the legs for ages."

Caitlin stroked his hair. "Did you ever try them on?"

A long pause.

"Once. A pair of black tights I found in the laundry basket. I was maybe Sixteen."

"And?"

"I got hard the second they touched me," he admitted quietly. "I didn't know what it meant. I just knew it felt… right. And dirty. And terrifying."

"Oh, love…" Caitlin leaned down and kissed his temple. "No wonder you locked this away for so long."

"I thought I'd buried it. But then I met you."

She blinked. "Me?"

"You wore them like they were armor. Or art. I couldn't stop watching you."

Caitlin cupped his face and tilted his gaze to hers. "So what if we make new memories now? Not ones built on guilt or shame. But pleasure. Exploration."

He nodded, emotion flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. I want that."

"Then we'll start slow. You've already got your own pair now. But maybe…" She trailed a finger down the centre seam of her tights. "Maybe next time I pick what you wear too."

Devon grinned, his arousal obvious again.

"You're dangerously good at this," he said.

"I've barely started," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him in closer.

Outside, London drizzled and shimmered. Inside, a beautiful new tension was forming, one born not just of sex, but trust, curiosity, and the sheer joy of being seen.

Chapter 2 - Scene 2: "Stockings and Secrets"

Caitlin lay sprawled across the bed, her cashmere robe disheveled and bunched beneath her as her legs shone under the dim light, encased in the rich, deep plum of her Wolford Velvet de Luxe 66s. Her toes curled and flexed, her breath hitching into soft whimpers as Devon's tongue worked its magic.

"God, right there," she gasped, her hips bucking eagerly toward his mouth.

Devon's tongue languidly traced her through the moistening nylon, expertly teasing the gusset with deliberate, practiced strokes. The heady combination of warmth, her intoxicating scent, and the gentle resistance of the tights against his tongue was a potent aphrodisiac. Her thighs quivered against his cheeks, the fabric sliding smoothly over her skin, until she shattered into a climax, her voice breaking into a raw, unrestrained cry of pleasure.

She collapsed back, her chest heaving, one hand tangled in his hair while the other lay across her heaving stomach.

"Fucking hell," she breathed, her voice a mix of wonder and satisfaction. "That… should be illegal."

Devon crawled up beside her, his lips glistening, his expression a blend of pride and awe. "You're incredible."

"You're dangerous," she purred in response, her fingers gently framing his face before pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. Her essence tasted sweet on his lips, and the kiss deepened, fueled by a slow, simmering hunger.

When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.

"You know what?" she whispered, voice still breathy. "You're wearing these today."

Devon blinked. "What?"

She sat up with a grin and slowly began peeling the damp tights from her legs, inch by inch, until they hung from her fingertips like a shimmering secret. She dangled them in front of him.

"You did this," she said, pressing them into his hands. "So now you get to feel it."

He held them carefully, reverently, as if they were fragile.

"You're serious?"

"I'm deadly serious," she said, already rising from the bed. "Put them on. I want you wearing them under your jeans."

"And you?"

She turned toward her walk-in wardrobe, already pulling open drawers. "Oh, I'll change into something more… elegant. Nude sheer Wolfords, maybe. I want to look subtle. Polished."

She glanced back over her shoulder, smiling slyly. "You, on the other hand, you'll know exactly what you're wearing. My tights. Soaked with my orgasm. Still warm from my body."

Devon's cock twitched. He didn't need to be told twice.

He stepped into the plum tights, drawing them up his legs with a mixture of awe and arousal. The damp spot pressed snugly against his crotch, the scent of her still fresh. It was wildly erotic. Intimate. Like wearing a memory.

Caitlin emerged from the wardrobe in a high-waisted wool skirt and a cashmere turtleneck, legs sleek in nude Wolfords with a satin sheen. A pair of caramel Louboutins completed the look.

She eyed him approvingly. "You clean up well."

He zipped his jeans up over the tights, but the feeling didn't go away. It clung to him. Delicious and electric.

"Ready for Oxford Street?" she asked, grabbing her handbag.

He nodded, still slightly dazed.

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "And if you're good, I might let you wear a suspender belt next."

Later, Oxford Street - Early Afternoon

The city buzzed with early weekend energy, tourists spilling from department stores, locals sipping espresso in window seats. But inside the cool, minimalist walls of the Wolford boutique, everything was calm. Chic. Luxurious.

Caitlin strolled between displays like a cat in its natural habitat. Her heels clicked softly against polished floors as she held up a pair of Satin Touch 20 Stay-Ups in honey. She tilted her head, then glanced at Devon with a smile.

"These would look perfect on you."

He swallowed. "Shhsss, someone might hear"

"They would. You've got great legs." She looked around, lowering her voice just enough. "You'd be surprised how many men shop here. Quiet ones. Shy ones. Some come in alone. Some with their wives."

She stepped closer and added with a whisper, "And some… with wives who dress them."

Devon flushed. The thought sent a warm shiver down his spine.

A chic sales assistant with sleek dark hair approached them. "Looking for anything in particular today?"

Caitlin didn't miss a beat. "Yes, actually. We're building a small collection. He's recently discovered a love for hosiery."

Devon froze, heart pounding. The assistant blinked, then smiled brightly.

"Well, he's in the right place. Wolford is very addictive."

"I know," Caitlin replied with a soft laugh. "We'll take two pairs of the Satin Touch hold-ups, one black, one honey… and maybe something bolder. I want him to feel a little decadent."

Devon tried to keep his expression neutral, but the assistant glanced at him and gave a subtle, knowing wink.

"I'll get those from the back," she said pleasantly.

Once she walked away, Devon leaned in. "You didn't have to say all that…"

Caitlin gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I know. But I wanted to."

Then, casually, she added, "Next stop, Calzedonia. We'll get you something playful. Maybe sheer polka dots. Or that pair with the little bows up the back."

"Caitlin…"

"Shhh," she whispered, brushing her lips against his ear. "Let me spoil my beautiful boy."

Chapter 2 - Scene 3: "The Calzedonia Game"

Back on the bustling pavement of Oxford Street, Caitlin's arm was looped around Devon's as they strolled like any chic couple out for a bit of retail indulgence. But only one of them was struggling to walk straight.

Devon could feel every step. The silky pressure of Caitlin's tights clinging to his legs. The slight dampness at the gusset from where he'd made her come earlier. It was more than arousing, it was consuming. Every breath seemed to tighten the fabric. Every brush of his thighs made him twitch in his jeans.

Caitlin, of course, was perfectly composed. Effortless. Her nude Wolfords gleamed in the daylight, flashing beneath the hem of her wool skirt with every precise step of her Louboutins. She caught him staring again as they reached the storefront of Calzedonia.

"You've been quiet," she said, feigning innocence.

He looked at her. "You know why."

She turned to face him, pressing her hand to his chest. "That's part of the fun, darling. I want you flushed and fidgeting."

Then she leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Every woman we walk past has no idea what you've got on under there. But I do. I feel it in your body."

Devon exhaled through his nose, jaw tight, half in agony and half in awe.

Caitlin gave a final stroke of his chest and pulled open the door.

Inside, Calzedonia was bright and feminine, packed with walls of colorful displays, sparkly tights, embellished sheers, delicate lace patterns. It smelled faintly of perfume and clean linen.

Caitlin wandered straight to the seasonal stand and picked up a pair of semi-sheer black tights with satin bows trailing up the calves.

"God, these are cute," she said, turning them toward Devon. "You'd look absolutely edible in these."

He cleared his throat. "I think I'm already struggling with edible."

She smirked and stepped in close, her fingers lightly tracing down his arm.

"You're hard, aren't you?"

He nodded, eyes darting around. "Yes."

"And still wearing my tights?"

His breath hitched. "Yes."

She reached down and gave a gentle pat just over his jeans, soft enough to go unnoticed, but firm enough that he gasped.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Now let's find you a pair with a control top. I want to see how tight we can squeeze you."

As she turned to browse, another shop assistant approached. Blonde, mid-twenties, glossy lips and big eyes.

"Need any help?" she asked cheerfully.

Caitlin answered instantly, her tone sweet but wicked. "Actually, yes. We're looking for something a little… daring. My husband's been experimenting."

The girl blinked once, then smiled as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Love that. Something sheer or patterned?"

"Both," Caitlin replied, already plucking a pair of polka dot sheers with a mock-garter effect. "Something playful. Feminine, but not too delicate. He has good legs."

The assistant turned to Devon, eyes raking playfully down his frame. "You're lucky. Not many men could pull it off."

Caitlin leaned against him, sliding her hand down the small of his back. "Oh, he pulls it off very well. And he wears what I tell him to."

The girl giggled and nodded. "That's the best kind of man."

Devon was barely holding it together, a heat crawling up his neck. The tights beneath his jeans felt tighter than ever. The teasing, the attention, the sense of being exposed while still hidden, it was overwhelming in the most delicious way.

They left the store with four new pairs, polka dots, back seams with hearts, bowed back seams, and ultra-sheer shimmer tights in pale pearl.

Outside, Caitlin turned to him with a bright smile and kissed his cheek.

"You've been so good," she said, hand slipping discreetly down to palm him once more. "But I think you've earned a reward."

Devon groaned. "I don't know how much longer I can walk like this."

Caitlin's eyes lit with mischief. "Good. I like when you suffer a little for me."

Then she whispered in his ear, voice like velvet, "Let's go home. I want to see you in every single pair we bought. And maybe, if you beg sweetly enough, I'll even let you wear the bows out to dinner tonight."

Chapter 2 - Scene 4: "Tied Up in Bows"

Back home, the sky had shifted into that soft, smoky gold of early evening, the city humming quietly beneath them. Their townhouse glowed with low lighting and the subtle flicker of a Jo Malone candle burning on the hallway table. The shopping bags lay on the bed like little parcels of temptation.

Caitlin stood at the foot of the bed in a silk wrap dress the color of oxblood, her newly selected pale pearl shimmer tights catching the light as she turned. Her heels were simple and pointed, elegant and sharp, like her tone when she said:

"Undress. Everything but the tights."

Devon swallowed and nodded, obeying instantly.

he picked up the pair with satin bows climbing the calves, semi-sheer, black, and dangerously feminine, and tossed them lightly onto the bed.

"These," she said simply. "Only these. You'll save the rest for when you've earned them."

Devon pulled off his shirt, unzipped his jeans, and stepped out of his clothes. The earlier pair, hers, were carefully peeled away and set aside. When he picked up the new tights, he could already feel the shift in mood. His hands trembled slightly as he rolled them up each leg, watching the bows glide into place behind him in the mirror.

Caitlin stood behind him, arms crossed, watching.

"You have no idea how pretty you look right now," she said softly. "Those bows were made for you."

Devon turned, erection straining beneath the sheer fabric. "I feel… I don't know. Exposed. But…"

"But aroused?" she teased.

He nodded.

"Good," she said, walking slowly toward him, heels clicking against the hardwood. "That's exactly how I want you."

She pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, the wet heat between her legs pressing against his tights-covered erection. She ground her hips down hard, her nipples visibly hardening beneath her dress as she leaned forward.

"Do you know what turns me on the most about this?" she whispered, biting his earlobe. "It's not just how your cock looks straining against that fabric, though God, it's making me drip, it's that you surrender everything to me."

"I need you to use me," he gasped, hips bucking upward.

She kissed him brutally, tongue invading his mouth, then slid down, leaving a trail of saliva down his chest. She took his covered shaft between her lips, the outline of his head visible as she sucked hard through the nylon. Her teeth grazed the sensitive tip while her nails dug into his inner thighs.

Devon's cock throbbed painfully against the constricting fabric, pre-cum darkening the material. The friction of her tongue against his swollen head through the tights sent electric shocks through his groin.

"Caitlin, I'm, fuck, I'm gonna explode, "

She pulled off with a wet pop and squeezed his balls through the tights, making him cry out.

"You'll come when and where I decide," she said, twisting the fabric around his shaft until he whimpered. "And tonight, you're going to sit at dinner with these soaked tights clinging to your aching cock."

He stared at her in disbelief, panting. "Dinner? Like… like this?"

"Exactly like this," she said, standing up and smoothing down her dress. "You'll wear those tights. No socks this time. I want those pretty little bows peeking out when you cross your legs."

"But someone might see, "

"I hope they do."

She leaned down and whispered, "You're mine. All dolled up under the table, legs crossed just so, leaking into your tights while I sip my wine."

He shuddered.

"Put on your trousers," she added, tossing them to him. "And choose shoes without too much coverage. Loafers, maybe."

He obeyed in silence, the faint brush of the bows against his calves making every move feel more vulnerable, more intimate, more erotic.

When he was dressed, Caitlin stepped back to admire her work. "Perfect. You look like a man completely under control, and I love knowing it's mine."

She picked up her handbag and slipped on her coat. "Let's go. I booked us a table somewhere new. Dim lighting. Corner booth. Just enough privacy for me to slide a hand up your leg when the wine kicks in."

Devon exhaled, equal parts anticipation and aching lust.

"God help me," he muttered, following her toward the door.

Caitlin turned and winked. "He can't help you now."

Chapter 3: Under the table

The restaurant was everything Caitlin had promised, dark wood, low lighting, and an air of quiet exclusivity. Tucked into a corner booth behind frosted glass and trailing ivy, it was the kind of place where people whispered over martinis and pretended not to notice each other.

Devon sat beside her, one arm resting lightly along the back of the curved leather seat, his legs crossed just so. He wore slim-cut charcoal trousers, soft Italian loafers, and beneath them, the semi-sheer Calzedonia tights with satin bows that now clung like a secret to his skin. With no socks to hide them, the delicate bows at his ankles were just barely visible, peeking between the hem of his trousers and his shoes.

He shifted uncomfortably, not from displeasure, but from the maddening pressure. The tights, still slightly damp from Caitlin's earlier attentions, gripped him with every breath. She hadn't let him come. He was still hard, trapped, throbbing, and painfully aware of every inch of fabric between him and release.

Across from him, Caitlin looked radiant. Her oxblood wrap dress clung to her in all the right places, cinched tight at the waist and revealing just enough décolletage to make the male server fumble his water jug twice. Her legs were crossed elegantly, her nude Wolfords gleaming beneath the table. She knew precisely the effect she had on the room, and especially on her husband.

She leaned closer, her perfume enveloping him. "You're quiet again."

Devon cleared his throat. "Trying not to embarrass myself."

Caitlin grinned. "Oh, but that's half the fun."

She casually placed a hand on his thigh beneath the table, her manicured nails brushing the edge of his hard length through the tights and trousers. He jolted slightly.

"Careful," he muttered.

"Why? Worried you'll moan?" she teased, her voice low and honeyed.

He looked around. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"I hope so."

She withdrew her hand just as the waitress returned with their starters, artfully plated scallops for Caitlin and beef tartare for Devon. The young woman was polite, maybe mid-twenties, blonde with a subtle nose ring and perfectly glossy lips. She placed the dishes down with practiced elegance, complimented Caitlin's dress, then stepped back.

Caitlin smiled up at her. "Thank you, Could we get another glass of the white?"

"Of course," the waitress said, and turned away.

Caitlin's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You're still hard, aren't you?"

Devon nodded, cheeks faintly pink. "It hasn't gone down since you pushed me out the door."

She gave a soft laugh, picked up her fork, and promptly let it "slip" from her hand.

It landed with a faint metallic clink right next to Devon's foot.

"Oh no," she said sweetly. "Would you mind?"

But before he could move, the waitress had already turned back and crouched gracefully to retrieve it.

She reached beneath the table, her eyes tracking the polished floor, until they landed directly on Devon's foot.

Her hand paused.

Her gaze moved higher. Just an inch. Then another.

Her brow barely lifted. A flicker of something, surprise, amusement, maybe recognition passed across her face. Her eyes darted up to his. And in that tiny moment of tension, Devon knew: She'd seen the bows.

She handed another fork to Caitlin with a polite smile. "Here you go."

"Thank you, darling," Caitlin said warmly.

The waitress nodded and left, just a shade too quickly.

Devon stared at his plate, mortified.

"She saw."

"I know," Caitlin said, utterly unfazed, slicing into a scallop.

"You dropped it on purpose."

"Obviously."

He glanced around. "What if she says something?"

"She won't. Trust me. Women love this kind of thing. She'll probably tell her friends she waited on a guy in tights tonight and they'll swoon."

Devon groaned softly, shifting again in his seat. The tension was unbearable. Delicious.

Caitlin leaned close, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "Did it make you harder? Knowing she saw?"

He didn't answer.

She smirked. "You don't have to say it. I can see it."

Her heel nudged his foot gently beneath the table. Her foot then slid up his calf, slowly tracing the contour of his leg, all the way up to the back of his knee, where the last little bow sat like a wicked signature.

He was breathing harder now. Hands tight in his lap.

"Finish your food," she whispered. "You'll need your strength."

"For what?"

Her grin was slow and predatory. "You'll see."

Chapter 3 - Scene 2: "Shared Secrets"

Devon tried to focus on his food, but every bite felt like an effort. His appetite was drowned by arousal and nerves, his mind replaying that electric moment the waitress had looked him dead in the eye after spotting the bows at his ankles.

Across from him, Caitlin continued her meal with infuriating calm, delicately cutting into her second scallop like nothing had happened. Her legs were crossed, her posture regal, but her eyes sparkled with mischief every time they met his.

"You're doing so well," she murmured, sipping her wine. "You haven't run screaming."

"Barely," Devon muttered.

"That's why you married me," she said with a wink. "You knew I'd always push."

He was about to reply when a second waitress appeared beside their table. Slightly older, brunette, with a bolder presence and red nails. She didn't carry anything, no wine, no check. Just a polished smile and a faint, unmistakable glint in her eye.

"Just checking everything's alright over here," she said, her eyes settling on Caitlin first.

"Wonderful, thank you," Caitlin replied smoothly. "We were just about to skip the mains and order dessert."

The woman's eyes flicked to Devon, scanning him with subtle curiosity. She smiled, but it had a private quality to it, not polite, but intrigued.

Then she crouched, pretending to retrieve a napkin that had fallen onto the floor near his side.

Devon froze.

Her eyes lowered directly toward his foot. There it was: the subtle curve of a black satin bow, visible again now that his trousers had shifted while he adjusted in his seat.

There was a beat. Maybe two.

Then she stood, smiling wider than before.

"I'll let your server know," she said, voice velvet-smooth. "And might I say…" Her eyes lingered on Devon's. "I love attention to detail."

She turned and walked away, hips swaying just a little more than before.

Devon exhaled slowly. "She definitely saw."

Caitlin was grinning ear to ear. "And liked what she saw."

"You're killing me."

She reached across the table and brushed his wrist with her fingers, calming him with a familiar, grounding touch. "No one's laughing. No one's judging. You're a beautiful man in beautiful tights, and they're just… curious."

"I feel exposed."

"You are exposed. That's what makes it hot."

Devon stared at her, still unsure if he should be mortified or thrilled. Probably both.

Caitlin leaned in closer, resting her chin in her hand. Her voice dropped just above a whisper.

"Imagine what they're saying back there. I bet they're wondering if I dress you fully at home. If you wear panties too. Maybe a little silk cami under your shirt."

His breath caught.

"Do you want them to imagine that?"

He swallowed. "Do you?"

She smiled, the kind of slow, wicked smile that made his knees weak. "I already do."

A moment later, their original waitress returned, cheeks slightly flushed, carrying a small plate with a single delicate dessert, vanilla panna cotta with dark berry compote.

"This is on the house," she said. "From us girls."

Caitlin accepted it with a gracious nod. "That's very kind."

The waitress's eyes flicked toward Devon, and this time, she didn't hide her grin. "We think it's lovely when couples… coordinate."

Devon's ears were on fire.

Caitlin reached for a spoon, scooped up a bit of panna cotta, and held it out to Devon across the table.

"Open."

He obeyed.

The cold, creamy dessert hit his tongue, sharp with berry. Sweet. Indulgent.

"Good boy," she whispered.

Chapter 3 - Scene 3: "His and Hers"

The bar was nestled at the far end of the restaurant, softly lit with amber pendant lights and polished brass rails. It had the quiet murmur of post-dinner contentment, clinking glasses, gentle jazz, low conversations. The perfect place for a nightcap.

Caitlin led the way, hips swaying beneath her wrap dress, the shine of her nude Wolfords catching the light with every step. Devon followed, his heart still racing. He could feel the tightness of the bowed Calzedonia tights with each movement, the slick tension around his thighs making it impossible to forget what he was wearing.

The stools were high, deliberately so. Designed to elongate the body and force a certain elegant posture.

Caitlin slid onto one with ease, crossing her legs and adjusting her skirt just enough to offer a subtle glimpse of shimmering nylon. Devon joined her, careful as he climbed up, trying not to draw attention to the bit of ankle, and the unmistakable bow that peeked out above his loafers.

But Caitlin noticed. Of course she did.

She reached over and brushed her hand along his thigh as he settled beside her. "Legs for days," she murmured approvingly.

Devon glanced down. Sitting this high, his trousers rode up even more. The curve of his calves, the soft gleam of the tights, the trailing bows, they were undeniably on display now.

"I swear I can feel the air on my knees," he muttered.

"That's the point," Caitlin replied with a soft laugh. "You look stunning."

A bartender approached to take their order, a crisp gin martini for her, a whisky on the rocks for him. As they waited, Devon tried to keep his composure, but every motion, every subtle shift of his legs, sent little electric jolts through his body.

Then, from the other end of the bar, a familiar voice chimed in.

"Oh my God, I love your outfit."

Devon turned.

It was the same young blonde waitress who'd served them earlier. Her apron was gone, replaced by a casual black shift dress and red lipstick. Off-duty, evidently, but still very much present.

Caitlin smiled warmly. "Thank you, darling."

"Where are your tights from, if you don't mind me asking? They're gorgeous."

Caitlin didn't hesitate. "Mine are Wolford. Fatal 15s."

Then, with a perfectly timed pause and a smile that oozed satisfaction, she gestured toward Devon.

"And his are from Calzedonia."

The girl blinked, just for a second. Then a delighted grin spread across her face.

"I knew it! I told her it looked like bows."

Devon flushed bright pink, gripping his whisky glass a little too tightly.

The waitress leaned a little closer, eyes flicking down to his legs. "They suit you. Honestly. Not many could pull that off."

Caitlin turned to Devon, her tone syrupy. "Say thank you."

He managed it, barely. "Thank you."

The waitress winked. "Anytime."

As she walked away, Caitlin turned to him and gently clinked her martini glass against his.

"To his and hers."

Devon exhaled. "That really just happened."

"Yep," she said, sipping her drink. "And you loved it."

He didn't deny it.

She reached over and rested a hand lightly on his knee. "Your cock's still hard, isn't it?"

"Painfully."

"Good."

Caitlin shifted on her stool, letting her leg slide across his beneath the bar. Tights against tights. Bow against sheen.

She smiled at him over the rim of her glass, voice low and loaded with promise.

"Drink up, baby. You've still got to earn your orgasm."

Chapter 3, Scene 4: "Backseat Confessions"

The Uber pulled up to the curb outside the restaurant, a black Mercedes with tinted windows and a pristine interior that smelled faintly of white musk and leather polish.

Devon opened the door for Caitlin, ever the gentleman despite the aching, pulsing pressure in his trousers. He followed her in, and they slid into the backseat together, the car already warm from the soft hum of the heating. The driver, a woman in her thirties with braided hair and sharp, dark eyes, greeted them politely and confirmed the Chelsea address.

As they pulled into traffic, the city's orange glow slipped across Caitlin's legs. Her skirt had risen just enough to show more of her sheer Wolfords. She crossed her legs slowly and turned to Devon with a lazy smile.

"Did you have fun tonight?" she asked, her voice sweet and low.

Devon nodded. "It was… intense."

"Intense is good," she said, her hand already resting on his thigh. "You were so brave, sitting at that bar with your little bows showing."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I'm surprised I didn't explode."

Her hand drifted a little higher. "You still might."

He inhaled sharply as her fingers found the outline of his cock, still trapped in his trousers, still straining against the taut surface of the Calzedonia tights.

Her strokes were slow. Teasing. Just enough to keep him right on the edge.

"Those waitresses were adorable," she mused, dragging her nails gently along his inner thigh. "The second one practically bent down just to see your legs."

"I noticed."

"And when I told them your tights were from Calzedonia?" She giggled softly, stroking harder now. "The way they looked at you… I swear I saw one of them bite her lip."

Devon groaned, trying to sit still as her fingers continued their relentless torment. The tights made everything more sensitive, every inch of him felt hyperaware, raw, desperate.

In the driver's seat, the woman's eyes flicked up into the rearview mirror.

Caitlin saw it.

She smiled, and didn't stop.

"I wonder if she knows what I'm doing," she whispered, squeezing Devon gently. "I'm sure she hears all sorts of things. But maybe not this."

Her hand moved deliberately now, rubbing him in long, slow motions through the tights. Devon's head fell back against the seat. He knew she could hear the rustling. The breathing. The occasional gasped curse.

"You're so hard," Caitlin purred. "Of course you are. You've been hard for hours."

The driver cleared her throat.

Caitlin didn't flinch. She leaned over and licked Devon's earlobe.

"Think she's curious?" she whispered. "Wondering what kind of wife jerks off her husband in super cute tights on the way home?"

He could barely speak.

"She'd probably be more shocked if you were still wearing my tights from earlier. The ones I came in. The ones you licked through until I couldn't breathe."

"Caitlin, please, " he breathed.

But she didn't let him finish.

"Not yet."

The car slowed as they turned onto their quiet street in Chelsea. Lights from the townhouse windows glowed ahead.

Caitlin straightened her dress and removed her hand like nothing had happened. Her voice turned breezy. "Thank you, love," she said as the car rolled to a gentle stop.

The driver looked back, just once, eyes catching Devon's. Her expression said everything.

She knew.

And she wasn't judging.

She was interested.

"You two have a good night," the driver said, lips twitching in what might've been a smirk.

Caitlin smiled serenely. "Oh, we will."

They stepped out into the crisp night air, Caitlin's heels clicking softly against the pavement.

Devon stood beside her, flushed and breathless, his legs trembling slightly inside the tights.

Caitlin glanced at him, her eyes dark with satisfaction.

"Now we go upstairs," she said, voice silk and steel. "And we decide if you've earned your reward."

Chapter 3 - Scene 5: "What We've Become"

Their townhouse was warm and quiet, lit only by a few low lamps and the soft glow from the hallway sconces. Caitlin slipped her heels off near the door and stretched with a quiet sigh, her dress shifting against her curves as she turned to face him.

"Well," she said, voice light but edged with something deeper, "that was… eventful."

Devon gave a breathless laugh. "I can't believe that actually happened."

"You didn't faint," she said proudly, stepping toward him. "You even flirted back, a little."

"I was terrified."

"You were perfect."

She reached up and cupped his face, kissing him gently, tenderness laced with desire.

They made their way to the bedroom, still tangled in the adrenaline of the evening. Devon sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his belt, fingers trembling slightly. Caitlin stood in front of him, slowly undoing the sash on her wrap dress and letting it fall open.

She wasn't wearing a bra. Just her nude Wolfords, and a delicate black lace thong.

"I've been wet all night," she whispered, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of the thong. "Thinking about you in those tights. Knowing everyone saw my little sissy all dolled up."

Devon's breath hitched.

She removed her Wolford's and slid the thong down slowly, then stepped out of it and held it out to him.

"Put them on."

He didn't hesitate.

They were warm, scented with her arousal, soft with worn lace. He removed his cute Calzedonia tights, and pulled her panties up his legs until the tight gusset was pressing intimately against his cock and balls, still straining, still aching.

"Good boy," she murmured. "Now these."

She handed him a pair of sheer black lace top hold-ups, the kind she wore when she wanted to feel especially cruel and feminine.

Devon slipped into the hold-ups, letting them snap perfectly into place mid-thigh. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself, bare-chested, legs wrapped in sheer nylon, Caitlin's panties stretching snug over his aching cock.

"God," he whispered. "What am I becoming?"

Caitlin's voice floated over from the wardrobe. "Something beautiful. Something honest."

She emerged a moment later, barefoot, her hair tousled and eyes glowing.

And she was wearing a Pearl & Poseidon open-crotch sheer bodystocking.

It clung to her like a second skin, black and sheer, with sheer detailing and dramatic cut-outs. Her breasts were half-exposed beneath the delicate nylon. The fabric shimmered over her arms and legs, and the open crotch left nothing to the imagination.

Devon stared, stunned.

"Like it?" she asked.

"I, Caitlin…"

She sauntered forward, the bodystocking creating a midnight cartography across her skin. When she pressed against him, the collision of textures, her nylon against his hold-ups, created an electric current that raced from his thighs to the base of his spine, each nerve ending suddenly alive and screaming.

"I've ordered more," she whispered, teeth grazing his earlobe. "In every colour for both of us."

His cock twitched violently against the borrowed lace.

"Imagine us," her voice like warm honey, "both encased in the same synthetic skin, your masculine lines and my curves wrapped in identical thread counts. The same fabric that's hugging my nipples right now" she guided his hand to her breast where the nylon created a second areola around her hardened peak,"stretched across your thighs tomorrow."

She sank to her knees with feline grace, her tongue tracing the demarcation line where hold-up met flesh. The wet heat of her mouth created a temperature differential that made him dizzy cool nylon, burning skin, scalding tongue.

"You've been such a good boy," she murmured against his inner thigh, "but I'm going to absolutely devastate you."

She tugged the thong aside just enough to expose the swollen head of his cock while keeping the shaft encased in stretched lace. Her tongue circled the glans with excruciating precision, then she took him fully into her mouth, the contrast between wet heat and constricting fabric creating a dual sensation that made his knees buckle.

"Caitlin, fuck, I can't, " His balls tightened painfully against the lace.

She rose in one fluid motion and pushed him onto the mattress, mounting him with predatory intent.

"We shatter together or not at all."

She impaled herself on him, the reinforced edges of her bodystocking's open crotch scraping deliciously against his shaft with each descent. The sound that escaped him wasn't human, something between a sob and a growl. She established a ruthless rhythm, her pubic bone grinding against his with each downstroke, the mesh of her bodystocking creating friction patterns against his chest that would leave temporary imprints, textile tattoos marking him as hers.

Their limbs tangled in a web of synthetic fibers, the whisper-scratch of nylon against nylon creating its own erotic soundtrack beneath their increasingly desperate moans. The micro-abrasions from the fabric against their most sensitive skin built a pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.

When they came, it wasn't just an orgasm, it was cellular. Devon's entire body convulsed as his cock pulsed inside her, each spurt triggering another aftershock. Caitlin's inner walls clenched around him in violent waves, her body arching backward, the bodystocking stretching taut across her torso like a second skeleton.

They collapsed into a heap of sweat-slicked limbs and rumpled fabric, their combined fluids creating dark stains on the expensive nylon. Devon stared at the ceiling, his consciousness slowly reassembling itself from scattered fragments.

"That wasn't just coming," he whispered hoarsely. "That was fucking transcendent."

"You came like you were free," she whispered, brushing her lips against his. "And that's what we are now."

They lay together in silence, fingers twined, still half-dressed in their second skins.

Then Caitlin smiled.

"We've got so much more to try."

Chapter 4: The errand

The first tendrils of dawn slipped through the gauzy curtains, turning the bedroom into a wash of pale gold and rose. The humid air still throbbed with the mingled musk of sex and sweat, the lingering sweetness of her perfume, and that intimate warmth of nylon pressed against skin all night long.

Caitlin was the first to stir. She nestled herself against Devon's side, their legs entwined, her sheer bodystocking brushing against his sheer hold-ups in a whispered caress of fabric on fabric. She stretched, arching her back so lightly that the delicate nylon of her bodystocking undulated over her curves, outlining her firm nipples beneath a filigree of thread.

Devon lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in even, contented breaths. He still wore her black lace thong, the same one she'd slipped onto him hours before, and the thigh-high hold-ups she'd chosen to match. Even now, his cock stirred into hardness beneath the damp lace, pressing insistently upward as though drawn by its touch.

Caitlin's lips curved into a private smile. Some mornings, she thought, were better than the strongest espresso.

Her hand drifted down his sculpted stomach, fingertips skimming the soft waistband of the thong before slipping beneath it. Devon shivered, a low groan escaping him as his eyes fluttered open to meet hers.

"Good morning," she whispered, brushing her fingers along the length of him through the intricate lace.

"Jesus," he murmured, already slick. "You're insatiable."

She pressed a gentle kiss to his shoulder, then trailed her lips along his collarbone. "You woke up like this," she teased. "I'm simply taking advantage."

He chuckled, breathy and warm. "Not that I mind."

"Better not," she replied, sliding down until her thighs settled atop his hips. The mesh of her bodystocking grazed the tops of his silky hold-ups. She rolled her hips in a slow, deliberate circle, letting him feel every line of her through the sheer nylon that clung to both their bodies.

Devon gasped, his hands clenching the sheets before moving to grip her hips, guiding her motion.

"I want to see it this time," Caitlin purred, her breath ghosting across his collarbone as she leaned close. "I want to feel you everywhere."

Then, without pause, she peeled the thong just enough to free him. She settled back over him, her breasts pressing into his chest beneath the soft fabric of her bodystocking, friction building as their nylons rubbed together.

"I'm gonna, Caitlin, fuck, "

"Do it," she whispered, arching to meet him. "Come on me. Mark me through this."

His eyes flew open, brow lifting in surprise and need. With a guttural moan, he thrust upward, releasing himself in hot spurts that stained the mesh along her inner thighs and splashed across her stomach. The thick white strands seeped into the fabric, glowing pale against the dark material. Caitlin watched, rapt, her eyes wide and damp, a fingertip pressed against her lips as she savored the moment.

When he trembled himself still, she gently rolled off his hips and stretched out beside him, both of them slick and sated. The bodystocking clung to her in damp, shimmering patches.

She glanced down at the mess of lace and sheen, then laughed softly. "Messy boy."

He lay beside her, half-dazed, murmuring, "Sorry."

She shook her head, brushing a damp lock of hair from her face. "Don't be. I love every drop."

They lay there in silence for a moment, the sound of their breathing slowly settling. The morning light caught the web of lace across her body, now streaked with his release, and Devon couldn't look away.

Then Caitlin turned to him, brushing her fingers over his thigh.

"Devon," she said softly, "how do you feel?"

He blinked. "Right now?"

"No," she said gently. "Not just this moment. This whole thing. Wearing tights. Serving me. Being seen. Being teased."

He paused. And then smiled.

"I feel alive."

She raised an eyebrow. "So you're not just… going along with it? For me?"

"No," he said quickly. "Caitlin, I've never been happier. Never felt so wanted, so seen. You didn't just unlock something. You kicked the door down."

She smiled, softer now. "Good. Because I've been thinking…"

"Uh-oh."

She grinned. "I want to take this further. Slowly. But fully. Feminine energy, exploration, dressing together… But only if you trust me to lead."

He stared at her for a long moment.

"Lead me anywhere," he said. "I'm yours."

Caitlin leaned in and kissed him deeply, with the full weight of what they were becoming.

As they pulled apart, she looked down at the mess cooling on her nylon-covered stomach and laughed.

"Let's clean up," she said, sliding off the bed. "I'm meeting Mia for a gym session."