You can order just about anything online these days, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when my wife joined a “stocking of the month” club. Tammi has always been into vintage clothing. She claims they look so much sexier than today’s styles, and I have to admit I agree with her. Of course, it helps that Tammi has such an incredible figure. She’s tall and leggy, and her weekly sessions at the gym have made her body sleek and toned. When she gets dolled up in one of her old-fashioned outfits, she looks like a movie star from the ’40s. I’m not going to lie; it’s hard to keep my hands off her.

Still, when that first fat envelope arrived in our mailbox from the “club,” I was a bit taken aback. I had no problem with her making a special effort to adorn her gorgeous gams, but surely she could use any old pair of nylons she picked up at the drugstore. Right? After all, what difference could it make?

“These are vintage stockings,” Tammi explained, tearing into the envelope with a gleam in her eye. “Real antiques. They’re silk, not nylon. They breathe better, and they’re so sexy. Wait until you see them on me!”

Just a few moments later, she was modeling them, pointing her toes and showing off from different angles. I had to admit there was something about the way the silk clung to her legs that made my mouth water. The stockings were a deeper shade than Tammi’s already tanned skin, with darker patches on the heels and toes. I loved the simple contrast between the tones.

“That’s for reinforcement,” Tammi purred, slipping her silky foot into my lap for my inspection. “I agree with you, it looks as sexy as hell, but the intention was practical. Hard-working girls in the ’40s couldn’t afford to buy new stockings every time their naughty little toes wiggled the wrong way and broke through.”

I smiled as I stroked her piggies, loving the way her breath caught at my touch. I’d always had something of a foot fetish, but up until that moment I’d preferred Tammi’s strong, beautiful feet to be bare. But seeing them sheathed in those stockings gave me a whole new thrill. Tammi breathed just a touch quicker as I explored the ticklish sole of her foot, my fingers taking in the subtle difference between the reinforced heel and the delicate ridges of her silk-sheathed arches.

“You think the reinforcements are sexy? Check this out.”

With that, she lifted her leg high in the air with her toes pointed straight at the ceiling. She touched a delicate seam that trailed all the way down her leg from her heel to the top of the stocking. As her finger traced the line, she shuddered again, as though she were pleasuring herself in some sensual private ritual.

“I always loved the way those seams looked on women’s legs in old movies,” she murmured. “You know, back during the war, women couldn’t always get real stockings. So they’d color their legs with makeup and then paint the seam on with eyeliner. Sometimes they’d even pay another girl to do it. Isn’t that hot?”

Hot indeed. What a luscious fantasy that conjured for me! I imagined Tammi in her best vintage getup, relaxing while another girl tended to her incredible legs with downcast, submissive eyes. Of course, Tammi would have paid a price for such luxury, squirming and biting back giggles as a tiny brush teased her ticklish skin. In case you can’t tell, I was definitely starting to get into this new world my wife had introduced me to!

“Are you sure this seam wasn’t painted on?” I asked, pulling her leg down so I could run my hands hungrily over it. “Maybe I should lick it and see.”

“I thought we could go out instead,” Tammi said with a smile. “You know that new nightclub downtown? It’s classic jazz night tonight. It’d be the perfect place to show off my new silks.”

“Not sure I can wait that long,” I told her. “How about a little taste first?”

“One kiss,” Tammi told me, licking her lips as she lifted her foot to my mouth. “Just one, now. Then maybe if you show your gal a good time, she might give you a better taste. Maybe even more than that.”

I pressed my lips firmly against her silk- clad toes, shutting my eyes and feeling as they wriggled teasingly into my kiss.

“Let me go take a shower, then,” I said. “The night’s not getting any younger.”

We both got ready in record time for our evening out. When we arrived at the club, it was smoky and dark. I’d never been a big fan of cigarette smoke, especially in clubs, but that night it seemed somehow appropriate. It was like we were walking into another time. Tammi’s incredible outfit added to that impression; in addition to her new stockings, her feet were clad in her favorite pair of stiletto-heeled pumps, which were open-toed to reveal a glimpse of her cherry-red nail polish. She was wearing a slinky evening gown and held a matching clutch tucked under one arm. She wore her luxurious blonde hair long, with a lock hanging over one eye. She got more than a few glances as we made our way to our table, from both men and women.

The music was provided by a live band, not a DJ. They were good, too. After a lengthy jam session, during which we each put away a couple of cocktails, the performers slipped into a slower number. Tammi and I took to the dance floor, holding on to each other like a couple of horny teenagers. Speaking of horny, my dick gave me reason to be glad of the dim lights. Otherwise I would have needed some serious maneuvering to keep my erection obscured. The more I danced with my incredible, sexy wife, the more I wanted her — and she knew it. I could read it in the smoldering glances she gave me. Finally, her lust reached a point where she couldn’t wait any longer.

“I gotta go to the little girl’s room,” she said, nipping lightly at my ear. “Then, how’s about we split this joint and make this a night to remember?”

“Sounds good,” I practically gasped. I went back to our table to settle up our tab, then decided to make a pit stop of my own. I was just washing my hands at the men’s room sink when I felt two arms slide around my waist.

“Well, well, well,” Tammi purred. “I thought I’d find you in here.”

“Hey, I think you’re in the wrong room,” I said. “Besides, I thought we were going home first?” I kept my voice teasing, but putting off our “night to remember” seemed as unthinkable to her as it was to me.

“Can’t a dame stalk her guy without bothering to read every stupid sign in the room?” She laughed, nuzzling my shoulder. “And as far as waiting goes, sue me. I can’t wait any longer. Sit down, baby. I’ve got something for you.”

“What?” I asked, allowing my wife to guide me into a stall and shut the door behind us. The sheer audacity of what we were doing was exciting to me. The prospect of being caught getting naughty in a public toilet was delicious.

“Just a little somethin’ somethin’,” she said, sliding a foot out of one pump. “Some of the other gals are saying you’re one of them kinky guys. Is that right? Hmm?”

“It might be,” I answered breathlessly, watching her flex her toes. I heard a tiny cracking noise as the joints in her toes popped, and the sound almost stopped my heart. It was irresistible.

“So you like this?” she asked, lifting her leg high and depositing her foot on my straining crotch. “You like that little foot?”

“You know I do,” I whispered, reaching up and running my hands over her leg. “Every inch of it. And everything that’s attached to it.”

“Then get some,” she told me.

I did. I unzipped and worked my cock out of my fly, then I sighed as Tammi’s warm, silk-covered sole pressed down on my shaft, moving slowly back and forth. The sensation was incredible, as was the intimate scent of her just-unshod foot. The closeness of the toilet stall made it feel like the whole world was locked out; we might as well have been in our own bedroom. I found myself moving in rhythm with her foot, all the while sighing and stroking her leg. It was like my wife was the world’s biggest sex toy. I couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t get enough of her scent and her skin. I wanted all of her.

“Come on,” Tammi whispered, leaning forward slightly. “Get some. Get that foot. Get that leg. I want you to get me wet for real.”

I strained my middle upward, rubbing my cock against the sole of my wife’s foot. It felt incredible, nearly as good as broaching her tight pussy. I quickly got to a point where I couldn’t control myself and was literally humping Tammi’s foot. At the same time, I wrapped my arms around her leg and lavished kisses on her knee, pouring out my desire on her skin.

Tammi was breathing heavily, pressing back against me as I brought myself closer and closer to climax. In just a few seconds more I was there, spilling out what felt like the biggest load of my life. Tammi fell back against the stall door, her foot dangling just off the floor. Her stocking was soaked, my come dripping from her toes.

“Wow,” she said. “Just … wow.” As I watched, she slid her pump back on, slowly and deliberately, so I could hear my load squelching between her foot and her shoe. She shuddered delicately.

“Dirty boy,” she told me. “That’s gonna have to be washed now, you know.”

“Sorry,” I said, slowly zipping myself up. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh I know you will. I’m thinking I need another of those little come shots, but in another place. Somewhere warm and wet. You know what I mean?”

“I think I can figure it out,” I answered, getting slowly to my feet. “How about we go home and work on that?”

Suffice it to say, the rest of our evening was just as memorable as the first part. I’ll tell you something else, too: The “stocking of the month club” gained not one, but two devoted fans that night. I understand next month’s selection will be imported directly from China. Tammi tells me it’s supposed to make American silks seem like sandpaper.

I can’t wait to feel it for myself!