Black Silk Stockings Novels & Stories

All she was wearing now was a high-rise lace thong and those damn silky stockings. “Stand still,” he said, his gaze raking over her. His fingers touched the stockings, smooth and warm against her legs. He proceeded slowly. The hint of firm flesh beneath that silken barrier was enticing. He could feel her legs trembling as his hands snaked over her thighs, past her knees, down to her calves. A shaft of desire shot straight into his groin as the silk beneath his fingers turned to lace and then, an inch later, to warm bare skin. Suddenly, Thea’s fingers clutched his head, gripping his hair. He sucked in a breath.

She was braless; her nipples were clearly outlined in the think cotton fabric. Anna was slightly more "conservative." She was in black from head to toe starting with an ultra-sheer black nylon bodystocking, all the way to gloves with individual fingers. The bodystocking was adorned with complex black pattern stitching around the bodice, just enough to hide her nipples, but not much else. Her enormous breasts were fully outlined in the skin-tight nylon. Her tiny athletic waist rippled under the sheer mesh. She wore a transparent nylon wrap over her shoulders. She had layered over the bodystocking a pair of glossy black Cervin 7-denier seamless Capri nylons, their welts barely hidden above the

Chapter 3 The penthouse was bathed in the amber glow of a dozen recessed lights, the city skyline shimmering like a field of fallen diamonds beyond the glass. Silas stood before the mirror, adjusting the cufflinks of his tuxedo. The fabric was a midnight blue, almost black, fitting his broad shoulders with surgical precision.

Calista threw in a comment only to have me blushing even harder. "I highly doubt it." I chuckled awkwardly. But then it seemed to me that I was the only one feeling uncomfortable in a way. "This is a hundred percent made of Mulberry silk. It is the finest and most expensive silk in the world, Miss. Have a look." Calista handed me one of the dresses anyways and a look of embarrassment crossed my face. I did not understand how these dresses could be categorized as sleepwear when clearly, you would not be getting any rest from wearing them.

‘How much, on a scale of one to ten? ‘Well …’ She pretended to think about it. ‘How about seven?’ ‘Seven?’ ‘Eight, then. Nine! Theodore! Okay—ten!’ ‘You’re wearing stockings,’ he breathed in disbelief. ‘Well, you’ve nagged me often enough about my tights.’ ‘With good reason. Let me see.’ He lifted up her skirt and expelled a small appraising sigh. The tops of the dark silk stockings had been embroidered with deep turquoise and green, so that it looked as if some peacock had wrapped its feathers enticingly around her thighs and left them there. ‘You know that there are consequences to dressing like that?’ he questioned unsteadily.

From the bottom of the bag, Grace removes a separately wrapped pair of simple, thick-heeled pumps, dyed to match the dress and decorated over the toe with the same orange blossoms. “What’s this?” Setting the shoes on the floor and reaching back inside, she pulls out a translucent mesh drawstring bag. Opening it, Grace draws out a square card with folded fabric wrapped carefully around it. “Oh my gosh.” She looks up at me, her face awash in wonder. “They’re pearl beaded silk stockings.” What I’m about to do is entirely wrong, and I’m going to do it anyway because obviously, finding the dress is no longer an issue. And frankly, I have my own agenda her mentioning the word ‘stockings’ has edged

Very high heels,’ she said. ‘Very shiny?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Tights or stockings?' His voice was thin and reedy. ‘Stockings, of course.’ ‘What sort?’ ‘Fifteen denier, Very sheer. Very glossy. Midnight blue, with thick tops, very thick and dark.’ ‘Skirt or dress?’ ‘Skirt. A short skirt. Too short really. Too short for stockings. One of those stretchy ones. Clings to my bum.’ She heard a sharp intake of breath.

Amara’s suite felt like a different world, a quiet sanctuary before the storm. The dress, a floor-length gown of liquid black silk, lay across her bed like a promise. It was simple in its elegance, cut in a sleek column that would hug her curves with quiet power. The back plunged into a deep V, edged with delicate silver embroidery that shimmered like starlight, a celestial touch on a dark night. The train was subtle—not long or dramatic, but present, a whisper of power trailing behind her. She ran her fingers over the fabric, the silk cool and smooth against her skin, and she knew instinctively that this wasn’t a choice from a stylist. It was a choice from him.

I unzipped it slowly and opened it. Inside was a little black dress. But not just any dress. This one was made of silk and hugged the body with effortless grace. It had thin straps, a plunging neckline, and a slit that ran dangerously high up the thigh. Beneath it, folded neatly, was matching underwear. A delicate black lace thong and a matching bra that was both elegant and seductive. There were also sheer stockings, the kind that shimmered under light, and a black leather harness with gold buckles, very elegant cuffs for the wrists and ankles. Horse-like. Symbolic. Erotic. Storm’s style.

Elena's POV The dress slid from my shoulders like liquid silk, whispering promises of sin as it pooled at my feet in a crimson heap. I stood there, utterly exposed in the vast expanse of Alexander's penthouse, clad only in thigh-high stockings that clung to my legs like a lover's grasp and black stilettos that made my calves ache with every subtle shift of weight. The cool, conditioned air of the room kissed my overheated skin, sending shivers racing across my flesh, tightening my nipples into hard, aching peaks that begged for attention. His gaze—oh, God, his gaze—was a tangible force, raking over me with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey. It tightened those peaks even more, ma