I’m just old enough to remember the days when pantyhose were a required item of clothing for women — at least, for professional women. I remember how stunned I was when my first girlfriend told me she’d been sent home from her secretarial job for going to work in high-heeled sandals sans pantyhose. Supposedly, the idea was that girls “showing skin” in the office was just too provocative. It seemed so petty — and yet, in a different way, I could understand making a connection between sexuality and nylons. After all, I’ve been doing it my whole life. But I was well into my third serious relationship before I got a chance to act on this fascination of mine.

My third serious love was Chloe — or is Chloe, to be more accurate. I’ve never actually gotten to a fourth, nor have I ever wanted to. She’s very cute, on the petite side, with curly brown hair and an intoxicating giggle. She’s about ten years younger than me, but she looks about 20. She’s very accommodating of my fetish. She’s been fixated on it ever since I worked up the courage to tell her my secret one night over dinner during the early days of our relationship.

“Really? Nylons? Like these?” Chloe slipped off her shoe and lifted her foot onto the empty seat next to hers. I peered over. She was wearing slacks, so I had no way of seeing how the hose complemented her shapely legs. But they made her foot look smooth and sleek, glowing with a bronzed sheen. I could see her red toenails gleaming through the nylon, and when she wiggled her piggies playfully, I felt a wicked surge of desire like nothing I’d ever experienced.

To think I’d been terrified that she might be weirded out by my predilections and storm out the door in a huff! I should have known I had nothing to worry about on that score. If there was ever a girl who’d welcome a boyfriend’s kinks with open-armed delight, it’d be my ever-adventurous Chloe.

“Just like those,” I confirmed, swallowing hard.

I should mention we were in a restaurant at the time, a fairly swanky place with prosperous Madison Avenue types at every table. At least two snooty gals were stealing disapproving glances at Chloe’s unshod tootsie propped on the chair. At that stage in my life, I was still fairly self-conscious — not just about my fetish, but about how others saw me. Normally, I would’ve expected to get seriously uncomfortable by our scenario. But something within me changed in that moment. I didn’t even flinch when Chloe shifted her foot, moving it under the small table and resting it in my lap.

“Why don’t you undo that old zipper?” she whispered. “So’s I can warm up my foot?”

I did just that, without hesitation, even though I knew it was perfectly obvious to the folks at the neighboring tables what I was doing.

I briefly shut my eyes when Chloe pressed her nylon-sheathed toes through my gaping fly to knead my hard dick. I spent most of the evening reeling from her naughty caress, struggling to finish my entrée while Chloe gleefully gobbled up hers. And no, I didn’t come, but by the time we finally exited the restaurant, I felt like I had in an odd way. Unfortunately, Chloe had an early morning ahead of her, so our date was just for dinner. I dropped her off at her place immediately afterward.

We shared two more dates before Chloe and I fell into bed together, but I still consider that night in the restaurant as the first time we had sex.

It certainly wasn’t the last of our leg lust. I discovered her gorgeous gams were exactly the kind that work best with lovely nylons: sleek and nicely muscled, smooth and soft to the touch but nicely firm when wholly encased.

As soon as it became evident to both of us that we were going to see a lot more of each other, she went on a pantyhose spending spree. She shopped at local ladies boutiques and online companies peddling specially made stockings and hose. She loved to show them off to me, pointing out the different colors and materials.

We would walk together down the city streets, holding hands and talking about this and that like any couple. Then without warning, she would press up against me and tell me about the pair of pantyhose she was wearing at that very moment, how they felt against her skin and how she couldn’t wait to get somewhere private, so I could run my hands over her legs.

In so many ways, she was exactly what I had longed for throughout the whole of my adult life. But there was another step to be taken before I could say I’d made the most of it. I’d gotten a preview, but not the full deal. That was something we had yet to fully discuss.

I wanted to feel my cock rubbing against Chloe’s sleek pantyhosed legs and feet. You might be thinking I’d already experienced that at the restaurant, and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. We’d had plenty of vanilla sex, and she definitely allowed my fingers to do the walking over her silk-sheathed legs. But what I was longing for was the absolute abandon of a foot job, lying back and baptizing her pantyhose-clad pins with my hot cream.

My hesitation was kind of silly, really. Chloe had made it clear she didn’t have a problem with my fetish and actually loved it. I was like a toy made especially for her. But I think most fetishists would understand what I was going through. Even with all the encouragement in the world, I was still afraid of rejection.

One night, after Chloe and I had spent the day gallivanting around town, we decided to stay in with a movie and some takeout. She shed her shoes and hose and headed to the shower, while I relaxed on the bed, checking out the offerings on our streaming services. As I clicked through the screens, I found it difficult to ignore her nylons. They were bunched up inside her shoes on the floor. Tamping down my guilt, I retrieved them and held them up to the light. They were a new pair. But without Chloe to fill them up, they seemed kind of sad and empty, like wrinkled skins of nothingness. Still, they gave off an irresistible scent that spoke of Chloe’s feet. Before I really knew what I was doing, I had buried my face in the hose, inhaling that glorious fragrance.

I found it incredibly erotic. It was like having Chloe right there beside me. I slowly brought the handful of fabric to my bulging crotch. Pulling down my boxers, I stroked the hose against my erect dick. The sensation was incredible; it sent a shock of pleasure vibrating through my entire being. I clenched my cock like a joystick, squeezing the material tight around my rod, and began moving my hand up and down. The friction of the stockings against my cock made me gasp and arch my back. I was glorying in a kind of self-pleasure that I rarely got to enjoy. Every stroke brought me closer to delicious fulfillment.

And then my eyes happened to glance to one side. There was Chloe, standing naked in the doorway, smiling at me.

“What’cha doin’?” she chirped. I froze, but I wasn’t truly embarrassed. It wasn’t as though Chloe had cried out in disgust and run away in tears. I read serious excitement in her expression, sensed a certain rising heat in her glittering eyes. When she sauntered into the room and sat down on the bed next to me, I let my hand start moving again, slowly rubbing my rod with her stockings. Chloe’s smile got steadily wider as she watched. At last, she reached out and put her hand on mine, guiding it and encouraging it to go faster.

“You like that?” she whispered. “You like the way that feels?”

“Oh yeah,” I said.

“I bet I could make it feel even better,” she said.

With that, she plucked the nylons from my hand. Turning slightly, she slid them carefully up her legs, smoothing them out and arranging them around her waist and butt. They were still rather wrinkled, but I didn’t mind. In fact, the lived-in look they had was unbearably sexy to me.

Chloe leaned back on the bed and lifted her legs, pushing me gently down with her stockinged feet. Then she dragged her soles across my chest and belly, guiding her tootsies down to my hugely erect cock. Before I knew it, Chloe was making my most secret and luscious dream come true. She had my dick caught firmly between her feet and was working it like a champ, gradually increasing her speed. I humped my hips upward, pushing into her embrace. I was accepting the kiss of the pantyhose with an almost indecent eagerness.

Having someone jerk me off can make it surprisingly difficult to reach an orgasmic-inducing rhythm, and it seemed like the hornier I got, the harder it became. No pun intended. The texture of Chloe’s hose was just a bit on the rough side. I didn’t want them to move too quickly on my meat. I’d had a bit of a bad experience during one of my first solo experiments with a girl’s nylons. I came, but it was at the price of a mild brush burn. So, I found myself slowing my motions — or at least trying to.

Chloe, however, was having none of it. The slower I went, the faster her feet moved — and the wider the grin on her lovely face became. Pretty soon it was like having my cock enveloped in a haze of warmth, which caused the scent of her feet to become more pronounced in the air around us.

I was ready to follow Chloe’s lead and throw caution to the wind. I fucked those beautiful stocking feet hard, losing myself in a combination of every fetish fantasy I’d ever had about women’s pantyhose. I no longer worried about the hot burn of silky nylons on my cockskin.

Slowly, my cream began to rise. My balls felt heavy and itched ever so slightly. The prospect of a truly scrumptious climax was looming on my horizon. I pushed on, conjuring up a mental slideshow of every pair of stocking-clad legs and feet that had ever excited me. I saw a lovely Asian girl from my college years, who always seemed to be showing off her silky, shoeless soles in the campus library. I remembered a stripper with maroon-varnished toenails gleaming through her metallic hose — feet which captured my attention even more than her boobs. And I remembered that first night back at the restaurant when Chloe let me know I wasn’t a freak, and that I was, in fact, the luckiest guy on Earth.

That’s when I exploded.

“Wow!” Chloe marveled breathlessly, lifting her feet high, so I could see my seed dripping from her sheathed toes. “That was pretty hot, mister.” A moment later, wearing that impish grin I’d grown to love so well, she said, “You think you might be up for another round?”

With one look at her luscious pussy through its nylon veil, I felt my cock stir and assured her I’d be up for whatever she had in mind.