My fetish, if you can call it that, is stocking tops.  I like to wank off, or be wanked, onto stocking tops.  Stockings with legs in them of course.  Not very kinky by the standards of what I read on your pages, but it makes me happy.

It started many years ago when I was in my early thirties.  I was married with two kids.  Happily married I suppose,  but bored.  Thoughts of playing away from home were just thoughts, something to think about while I wanked.  After my wife gave birth to the twins, she had little interest in sex.  We fucked occasionally, but there was little passion and no adventure.

My bosses secretary/assistant left and was replaced by a temp.  Shirley was the very essence of a sexy secretary, horn-rimmed glasses, tight pencil skirts, even tighter blouses, stilletto heels and best of all, seamed stockings.  At least everybody assumed they were stockings.  But I know that seamed tights are available as well.  She also wore a wedding ring.

She was perfectly aware of the effect that she had on the men in the office, but ignored all attempts to chat her up.  I never tried and this seemed to interest her.  As she moved between desks handing out documents, she would stay a little longer at mine.  I was teased mercilessly by my colleagues, who were convinced that I was;  'In there mate.' She eventually started to, not actually sit on my desk, but sort of park one bum cheek on it as she spoke to me.  I convinced myself that I could just detect the button of the suspender strap.

One winter Friday, I arrived home to find that I had left my briefcase in the office.  Not normally a problem, except that in it were tickets for a pantomime the following evening.  Early next morning, I went to retreive it.  The building was normally closed at weekends,  but there was always security staff there.  He was not in a good mood,  a real jobsworth, nobody had told him that I was coming.  Eventually he relented and let me in.

The building, normally buzzing with activity, was eerily silent, but when I got to my office, Shirley was hard at work in hers,  pounding away at her keyboard.  She let out a little squeal when I opened her door to say hello.  I found my briefcase and looked in again to say goodbye, she said;

"Have you got time for a coffee?  I was about to take a break, keep me company."

I went to the machine for coffee.  I sat in the visitors chair, she turned hers to face me and crossed her legs.  For the first time, I was treated to a glimpse of stocking top.  She caught me looking.

"I know what you're thinking," she teased.  "Tights or stockings?"

I admitted my guilt, adding;

"Not just me, you've got all the blokes wondering."

"I suppose if I tell you, you will tell them."

"Yes."

"Then it will just have to remain my secret."

I was crestfallen.  So close but…

"What if I promise not to tell?"

I stammered.  She smiled and put down her coffee, stood up and inch by tantalising inch, pulled up the hem of her skirt.  Revealing first the stocking tops, then the suspenders, then her thighs.  But she didn't stop there, she pulled the skirt up around her waist, revealing all.  Her knickers were white, as was her suspender belt.  Not especially brief, but very sheer, I could clearly see her neatly trimmed pubes.

As her skirt had risen so had my cock.  It was now tenting my trousers.  It had not escaped her attention.  She sat down again, still wearing her skirt as a belt, and crossed her legs.

"Like what you see?"

She said sweetly.  I reached out a hand to touch her  but she stopped me, saying tersely;

"Whoa Tiger, eyes only, I didn't say you could touch."

I sat back, chastened.  Then she said;

"You can touch yourself though."

"What?"

"I've shown you mine, now show me yours.  Get it out."

Was I dreaming?  I stood and unfastened my belt, unzipped and fished out my best erection for weeks.

"Nice one," she said.  "Your wife's a lucky woman.  Go on then, wank it."

Still disbeleiving, I wrapped my fist around it.  Her eyes were now sparkling, her tits heaving inside the plain white blouse.  Her voice was a full octave lower.

"I like to watch a man wank, my husband does it just for me.  Show me how you do it."

I began to wank for her.  She undid the buttons on her blouse,  revealing a lacy bra matching the other underwear.  She scooped one perfect tit from the bra and rested it on the folded under bra-cup.  The nipple was as rigid as my cock.  As I increased my stroke rate, she slipped her right hand down the front of her knickers, I could see her fingers moving as she pleasured herself.

I had a massive orgasm.  I don't think I have ever shot so much spunk, before or since.  It covered her lower belly and thighs with thick white streaks, triggering her own orgasm.

"Oh shit fuck"

She shouted as the reached her tipping point.  Her free arm swept across the desk, sending the half empty coffee cup flying.

She reached into a desk drawer and brought out a box of tissues.  She mopped up my spunk, I mopped up the coffee, kneeling on the floor with my pants round my knees.  We adjusted our clothing in silence, then she said;

"Now fuck off, I've got work to do.  And remember, this is our little secret."

It never developed into anything, there was no repeat and yes, I kept her secret, even after she was replaced by a permanent assistant, who was less distracting to the male staff.  But it has fueled my wank fantasies ever since, I scour the web for stocking top porn and I occasionally pay a professional to play Shirley's part.

Sometimes I wank myself, but sometimes...