Market research is not ordinarily a life-changing endeavor.
Nevertheless, given what happened after, Marnie sometimes lay in bed at night wondering whether it was the biggest mistake of her adult life or the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Then she would reach a sizzling, terrifyingly intense orgasm on the other woman's face and decide on the latter.
* * *
It had all started with Management's bright idea to pull all the product ordering information from the database, and to sift through it in various different statistical cuts. Arkady took care of the database portion, and it was left to Marnie to conjure up the ghosts of sophomore stats class and actually turn piles of meaningless financial trivia about skimpy wisps of silk and satin into information. In pursuit of the almighty dollar, of course. LingerieGlance was an up-and-coming web shrine specializing in distributing the fancier sort of ladies' undergarments, and Tyler Rhaspid was its high priest. Or owner, if you insisted; Marnie supposed that made her an acolyte or an altar girl as well as an employee. Marnie was a buyer whose primary supplier had just gone out of business, so she was in between assignments right now, and her supervisor had decided she had the time for this kind of activity.
Of course it made sense to concentrate on your repeat business, if only to determine what you did right so you could apply it to your not-so-repeat business. So that's how Marnie found ClassyLady.
ClassyLady was a "loner" enterprise: a single product was all they sold through LG. That product, however, happened to be the most-reordered item on the site and Marnie wondered what the hell was so special about their Special Blend Full-Fashioned Stockings.
The summary numbers were encouraging, but a look at the raw data was truly illustrative: every single item sold had generated a repeat sale of the same item. Typically seven or eight pairs at a time. She looked deeper.
Only thirteen returns, all unopened, for "size"-- and once exchanged for the proper fit, never another peep of complaint. Just more orders. In some cases LG had sent the wrong size by mistake to a long-standing customer, and the customer hadn't even bothered to return it and had just ordered more.
Marnie shook her head. Anomalous numbers like this needed a further look. She contacted Charlotte in customer service and requested feedback from customers who'd ordered ClassyLady. Charlotte had laughed aloud over the phone, and when Marnie'd asked what was so funny, had replied knowingly with, "You'll see." Then the email attachment with the collected ramblings of over a thousand customers showed up, and Marnie did see. Not so much in the "rate our products/services 1 to 5" results, but in the comments section:
I don't ordinarily send in these silly little surveys, but you have something really special with ClassyLady stockings. The way they feel on my legs is simply electric. My husband likes them as much as any stockings, of course, but I find myself wearing them as often as I can outside the bedroom. I'm buying enough for every day of the week. Does the manufacturer have a website? An address? Anything? I'd like to thank them personally.
Do you have any other nylons like this? I've tried others and these are amazing. I've recommended them to all my girlfriends, and they look and feel sexy too. Do you think I can get a finders fee? ha ha!
Does ClassyLady make this in bodystockings? They feel so good I want to feel them all over thanks. Sometimes I wear them on my arms, too, so make them in bodystockings so I won't feel so stupid, okay? Gloves would be okay, too.
I've never felt sexier than when I'm wearing ClassyLady hose. It's like a thousand tiny dancers in my skin, a massage parlor visit, and an orgasm all in one. Thank you for offering this product. I'm recommending them to all of my friends.
And more of the same, sometimes with an explicit tone she didn't exactly welcome in customer feedback. ClassyLady hosiery evidently looked sexy and felt even better, to the point where women were switching to it pretty much exclusively. Only one negative comment existed, and it was thoroughly bizarre:
You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you and your filthy underwear. My wife ordered your stuff and she spent all her time with herself in that bedroom with her fingers doing horrible things and if that wasn't enough she does stuff with her best girl friend now, too. I should sue you. Expect to hear from my lawyer.
Ahem. The contrast with the overwhelmingly positive comments elsewhere made her think it was a prank, but Marnie checked the ID against the customer list, and Mr. Francis Tennyson of Dayton, Ohio, a long-term customer of four years and about $600, stopped purchasing after that message. Further, a cross-check of the name revealed that a Ms. Eloise Tennyson, also of Dayton, began purchasing a week later, and was up to $1,900 already though her last name had since shifted to "Rafalski". All ClassyLady Special Blend. In two different sizes, now.
On a whim, she checked with Legal, and apparently no lawsuit had ever materialized, so at least that part wasn't true. Or possibly Mr. Tennyson had a hard time convincing a lawyer that an online lingerie distributor contributed to the lesbianism of his wife and the ensuing divorce. Given what she knew of lawyers, that itself was hard to believe.
At any rate, she mentally labeled that feedback "statistical outlier" and went back to her explorations. Sylvia, the buyer in charge of the account, was on vacation, so Marnie looked on the web for other ClassyLady distributors to see if she could find out whether they had similar experience with this or other product lines... and couldn't find a damned one. Every commercial search for ClassyLady landed her right back in LG's webspace, and other searches just gave her press releases for the company's opening in 2003 by Darlene Feinstein and Felicia Major. In... ah, that was it. The company was local, so they were probably not big enough to go with larger distributors. Interesting.
She'd been at this awhile, and needed some relief, so she kicked back her chair and strolled over to the warehouse. Might as well find out what all the hubbub was about.
* * *
It was six-thirty by the time she'd braved traffic and gotten back to her apartment, and seven by the time dinner had been microwaved and consumed. She hadn't always lived alone, and had once actively sought a roommate to help pay the rent, but the town was small and outside of the summertime months nearly deserted. There were plenty of vacationing fly-by-nights who would have been happy to room with her, but the first couple of attempts didn't go well and Marnie didn't suffer too much from the rent. She grumbled a lot about the place she worked, but really LingerieGlance did pay a decent salary.
After sampling her answering machine messages (her mother, her brother, and a hang-up she felt certain was probably her immature ex-boyfriend, Abram), she fumbled through her purse and found the hosiery from work. With a smirk she headed to her bedroom and its closet.
The company did encourage employees to sample the wares, and backed this policy up with 75% off the sticker price. Marnie knew the Old Man was still making money off his wage-slaves even at those rates, but it was hard to argue with the economy of it all. She had more lacy and satiny things now as a single gal than she'd ever had when she was dating someone simply due to the fact that even the most extravagant undies were now too cheap to pass up. This, and not any inherent preference, was why she now had four garter belts to choose from when trying on the ClassyLady offering. She fastened the white one around her waist because it was heretofore unworn and because she thought it would make her feel pretty.
She sat down on the bed and opened the wrapper. The packaging was plain and uninteresting, containing a cardboard slide around which the coffee-tone hose were wrapped. Removal and unwinding revealed that the fabric was gossamer-thin. Ten denier yarn, she estimated, though it might be as low as seven. The seam was real, an extension of the heel taper, indicating they'd used one of the old-style shaping frames and hadn't gone cheap and fake with a sewn-in seam. It went all the way up to the full-fashioned loop at the top. A classic look, if a bit old-fashioned and probably too fancy for her tastes. She held the garment in her palm, surprised and impressed at how light and soft it felt. Surprised, too, at the way it seemed to stimulate her skin when she touched it... Nice.
Marnie bunched the stocking up around her fingers and slid it over her foot and ankle before she realized that the tingles weren't illusory. Simply electric, she quoted from memory. The fabric felt like it was possessed by the ambient electrical aura you got off a blanket in the winter time before you'd actually touched it. On the verge of static electricity, but with none of the prickle. Just an enveloping, soothing sensation up and down her calves, knees, and eventually, as she pulled the garments taut with garter clasps, her upper thighs. Especially the thighs; the darker welt seemed to caress her there in exciting ways. Naughty ways. She thought she remembered reading somewhere that a woman's inner thighs alone contained more nerve endings than the rest of the leg combined, and she could believe it, now. The stockings were longer than the typical fare, and she had to shorten the garter straps to keep the fabric from wrinkling.
She'd started the evening on the verge of a bubble bath and straight to bed, but as she looked at herself in the mirror she decided that the night might have other things to offer. The fact that each time she touched any part of the stocking the feeling seemed intensified did not dissuade her, of course: an accidental flick of her nail across the hosed thigh felt like a pleasurable pulse of her muscles, and a stroke of the back of her knees with her fingertips to straighten the seam felt like being caressed by a playful masseur. She started to warm up between her legs from the sensory stimulation, and soon enough one hand crept into her panties while the other continued its pursuit of new and exciting places and methods of touching her encased legs.
Her nipples tightened nicely as her heat dripped out onto her fingers, and though she'd just masturbated fairly vigorously the night before, for some reason right now she was as randy as if she'd been without release for months. It was the intense feeling of the nylon against her flesh that kept tingling her legs, driving her to caress their silky smoothness with her hands and pause to take fervent occupation of her pussy with a finger or two every so often. She was so overstimulated that she barely had to touch her clitoris throughout the rubdown, but when she felt the end approaching she plunged both hands between her thighs, pressing hard against her palm with the tiny bit of flesh, and scissoring her legs together with an audible zzzzzip. That last sensation drove her wild and she hit multiple tiny climaxes for a minute or so before "coming down" again.
Whew! Amazing. She'd heard her girl friends describe "firecracker" orgasms before, but had never experienced the phenomenon... or any orgasms closer together than five minutes or so, for that matter. But the touch of her legs together, the hosiery rubbing against itself... she shuddered again, a light sheen of sweat now making itself obvious all over her body. She could understand why these stockings were top sellers; the yummy sensual signals they added to simple acts of friction was simply incredible. Her body seemed to have calmed down, now, and the stockings were no longer so insanely wondrous, so she slowly peeled them off her legs and let the perspiration evaporate. She was almost sad to see them go.
She'd certainly try that again, and soon! And perhaps buy more, before the other ladies in the office figured anything out. Many of the girls were about her size, and the last thing she needed was to have to catfight them all to get a pair.
She grinned, washed up, and got ready for some couchside Biography Channel goodness (Patrick Duffy!) and then bed.
* * *
"Did the delivery truck come yet?"
"Nope. I told you, I'll call you."
"Okay. Wasn't sure. Thought you might have gone on break or something."
Paulo hung up on her. Objectively, she knew she couldn't blame him; she knew she must seem annoying as hell to the guys in Receiving. But she just couldn't help it. Her sole remaining pair of ClassyLady Special Blend were on their last legs (so to speak) and had so many runs up and down them that they didn't swish together properly anymore, and their "tingle" level was way down.
And God did she miss it! Masturbation was still effective, and it helped to watch herself in the mirror while wearing the tattered hosiery, but it was not the same as the ecstasy of slowly drawing a fresh new pair up her legs. Admiring what the fabric did to her curves, sensing the nylon tightening like a second skin as she attached the garters... the tickle which grew to a roar as she smoothed out the wrinkles and aligned the seams between her heels and her ass. She shuddered at just the thought and anticipated a trip to the privacy of the restroom for some self-prescribed, naughty relief.
When she finally had a spare moment, she stood up to get started-- and at that moment the phone rang. It was Receiving.
"Marnie? The delivery truck came through."
"I'll be right down."
She tried not to run, but she knew she looked like she was in a hurry. Fuck appearances, she thought, as long as I get my stockings. She passed Charlotte on the way, and barely acknowledged the other woman's broad smile, but she couldn't help but notice that Char had hosiery of some sort peeking out from underneath her dress. At a quick glance it looked seamed, but Marnie barreled on down the stairs, just hoping she'd be joining that club again soon.
"Hey, Marnie," the heavyset guy replied, smiling a little at her rush. "What can I do for you today?"
"You said the delivery truck was here?"
"Yep. Are you looking for something... special?" he leered.
"I'm just checking... for a customer. A very eager customer." My pussy.
"Well, let me know what you're looking for."
She pondered searching herself, but it would be faster to just ask. "ClassyLady Special Blend."
"Ah, the stockings." He was not subtle in looking her up and down at this response, as if he was imagining whether she was wearing some right now. I wish. "Let's check the manifest."
He hummed and buzzed over the pages for a couple of minutes before shrugging. "Huh. Sorry to disappoint you, Marn, but there's nothing here from ClassyLady today."
"What?!? Let me see that!"
"Okay, okay. Here!" He grinned at the frantic way she grasped at the papers. "Looks like your customer's going to have to be disappointed."
She scanned the page, and there was no sign of anything resembling a shipment from ClassyLady. Dammit. She was not in tears, but the "customer" between her thighs wept quite a bit in frustration. She tossed the stapled sheets back to Paulo and shot an insincere thanks back at him as she turned around and headed back to her desk.
Or maybe to a slightly different destination, she thought as she recalled who she'd passed on the way to the dock.
* * *
"Hi, Marnie. This is a pleasure. What brings you here, today?"
"Hey, Charlotte." She tried to sound casual, but she was slightly out of breath. She doubted Char was fooled. "Just stopping by to see how you were."
"Really?" Char followed Marnie's gaze down to her own ankles, and smiled a bit as she crossed them with a zzzzip. Looking directly at Marnie's face, she bent over, turned her foot, and adjusted what was very obviously the seam of a full-fashioned stocking. Marnie was positive at that moment what brand they were, and she could tell that Char was aware of how much this mattered to her. And, presumably, why. "I'm doing just fine. Feeling good."
"Charlotte, those are lovely nylons you're wearing."
"Do you like them? They're called ClassyLady Special Blend. Are you familiar with them?"
This was getting nowhere, and Charlotte was evidently enjoying this. "Yeah, I know what they fe-- what they're like. Listen, I was wondering..."
"Out of stock, huh?" She looked sympathetic. Maybe.
"Yes! It's very frustrating. Extremely." She made herself appear calm. "Char, do you have any to spare? I have... an event... I want to wear them to."
"There are lots of other full-fashioned stockings out there, Marnie. Gio, Gerbe, Secrets in Lace... I can make some recommendations!"
This wasn't going well. "That's not the same," she growled at the grinning woman in front of her, "and I think you know it."
Charlotte laughed heartily, her red hair bouncing. "Yes, I do. I think I might have a spare pair, honey."
"Really?" Her frustration turned quickly to hope.
"Sure. Why don't you stop by my house tonight after work and we'll see what we can uncover?"
"Oh, thank you, Char! I really need them. For the event, you know. Thanks so much!"
"Don't thank me until you have them in your greedy little hands, kiddo."
Phone numbers, addresses, and other pleasantries were exchanged, and then Marnie fairly danced back to her desk. She was still horny as hell, but the prospect of getting off in her favorite hosiery later this evening made her decide to save her libido for the more sensational climaxes. That didn't stop her from squirming in her chair or giving her thighs a little squeeze together now and then, but in all she knew the wait would be worth it.
* * *
Charlotte lived alone in a small home near the edge of town. Surrounded by farmland-turned-suburb, her house predated recent expansion and had a greater than usual distance betwixt it and adjacent residences.
The doorbell summoned a faint "Just a second!" from within, and it wasn't a moment before the door opened on an embarrassingly underdressed Charlotte. She wore a satin kimono which barely cleared her... ahem...
"Uh... I guess I... I thought tonight..."
"Oh, Marnie, baby, I'm sorry! I forgot you were on your way and was just about to get into the bathtub." In her stockings? "Come on in!"
"Are you sure? I can..." She trailed off as she stared hard at Char's legs and remembered why she was here. She stepped over the threshold and into the living room.
"Here, sit down. Would you like some herbal tea? It's nice and cinnamony!" Charlotte would not take "no" for an answer and soon had Marnie seated in a massive older but still comfortable chair. Char made a comment about Rhaspid and the two women giggled together about the place they worked. The whole time, though, Marnie was taking surreptitious glances in the direction of Charlotte's legs and wondering when the heck the other woman was going to get moving on getting those damned stockings for her. At last Marnie had to proclaim the need to get going and actually stand up in order to subtly hint that it was time to fulfill the purpose of the visit.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. Got carried away. It's so fun to have you over that I lost track. Just sit back down and I'll get them right away." Charlotte left the room, and Marnie watched the seams crawl up her thighs to her ass and shift with the muscles beneath, not wanting to wait any longer to feel the same seam owning the back side of her thighs.
In a moment Charlotte returned, humming a tune and grinning, her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes, dear, and I'll give you what you want."
Marnie was in no mood for games, but she was willing to play around just this once in order to get the pussy-warping hosiery. She shut her eyelids and just listened.
"Click." Metal clamped one wrist to the arm of the chair, and her eyes snapped open in surprise just as a cuff closed against the other wrist, too.
"What the...? Char, what are you doing?" Fear clenched around her innards. How well did she know this woman, anyway?
Charlotte giggled evilly. "Just a precaution, honey."
"Cut this shit out and unlock me right now. This is not fucking funny."
"Don't worry, I promise nothing will happen to you... well, not unwillingly. I just wanted you to stay and hear what I have to say."
"Unlock me now."
"You're really in no place to argue, Marnie. Listen, I just..."
"When I start screaming, someone's going to call the police." Except that the nearest house was rather far away. Marnie assumed she would probably be terrified if indignation had not already taken the reins.
"Gosh, I hope not. That would spoil the whole plan." She looked at the huffing and puffing "guest" and evidently decided not to let her blow the whole house down. "I can see we'll need an alternative way of going about this." She grabbed a familiar-looking package from the coffee table and tore it open, sliding the ClassyLady hose out with a flourish. "Remember why you're here?"
"Because you're a nutcase?" Despite her bravado, she was a bit distracted when she saw the objects of her desire.
"Mmmm... possibly. But I don't think," she replied, "that's the entire reason." She slid her hand elbow-deep into one of the brand-new nylons, staring at the way it tinted her palm and fingers. "I think you might have come for this." Charlotte started walking around the chair, careful to stay out of reach of any kicking from Marnie's feet.
"Yes... And you needed to tie me up to give them to me, why exact--ly?" Marnie's voice had gone from hysteria to softness on the last syllable because the hose-covered hand had made its way across her blouse's neckline and she'd lost focus at the sensation.
"There, see, I knew how to calm you down," came the voice in her ear, and she turned her head to find Char's face far too close to her own. The stroking continued, though, from her collarbone, up her neck, and caressing her chin. She bit down on a sigh. "Now, let's take this nice and slow, kiddo. I'm going to take your shoes off and put these on your legs, okay?"
"Ok-- What?" She had a disturbing feeling what this was about. "Listen, Char, I don't know what kind of person you--"
"Shhhhhhhh..." was the reply, and though Marnie had every opportunity to fight her off the prospect of the stockings on her legs now-- not having to wait any longer for the delight-- made knees loosen and feet lay passive as the other woman kneeled down in front of her and removed her pumps.
There was a sharp intake of breath as the bunched up wisp of cloth in Charlotte's hands touched Marnie's toes, then crossed her heel and continued upward. The fabric limned her flesh as it rose past ankle and caressed calf, and as the slight stretch to it imparted by the slow feminine hands pulled it tight against her skin, all the sensual sparkles she'd missed for weeks reappeared.
Charlotte surprised her by putting her shoe back on at this point, but it kept the nylon taut and the pressure it applied to her soles and heels only brought the tingling down there too. "Mmmmm..." she emitted before she could stifle it. She'd not tried that before with Special Blend. It was different from barefoot; she had not decided yet on "better". She had little time to contemplate it before the hosiery had reached her knee and turned the well-formed bend. Charlotte paused, looked up at her, and began hiking up the offensive skirt in the way of progress.
Despite the nipple-crunching feelings proliferating in her body right now, Marnie was about to object. To offer to do it herself: she wouldn't leave, just please, don't...
The option was taken away from her brain when Charlotte leaned in, her stockinged upper thigh making the barest contact with Marnie's coated knee. "Omigod!" both women moaned in chorus, though it appeared to Marnie that Char was surprised more by the intensity of the sensation than by its presence. From toe to knee, Marnie's leg was engulfed in flames of pleasure, and it felt in the strangest way that she could feel the other woman's leg from thigh on downward as well. Her legs fell askew as she tried to absorb the impact up her spinal cord, and she panted, "What was...?
"That?" Charlotte recovered and took advantage of the parted thighs to resume easing the stocking upward again. "I have no idea, but I want to feel it again. Don't you?"
"God, yes! I mean..." Charlotte had pulled a rudimentary garter-belt from somewhere behind her and begun to fasten it around Marnie's hips. It wasn't more than a waistband and a couple of dangling straps, really; wasn't lacy or satiny or sexy in any way, and since it was over Marnie's clothes it bunched up her skirt absurdly. But it served the intended purpose: it kept the Special Blend stocking from falling and gave Char the opportunity to run her finger up the nylon seam and smooth the wrinkles. She might as well have been running her fingers up Marnie's pussy seam for the effect it had; her already dampened panties were now hopelessly soggy from this treatment.
It was time for the other leg, now, Marnie expected, and she awaited it with more zeal than she'd had opposition on the first one. Charlotte, however, stood up and put her hands on her hips.
"What?" Marnie whimpered. "You're not finished...?"
The other woman smiled, her eyes glinting. "That depends."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't give you the stockings without payment."
"Payment?" She chuckled insanely. "Do you take Visa?"
"That's not what I meant," the redhead breathed, and suddenly the passion-blurred events of the last ten minutes came into sharp focus for Marnie.
"Charlotte, I'm flattered, really, and, don't get me wrong, you... um... give good leg. But that's-- I mean... can't we just rub up against each other?" It came out whinier than she'd intended.
The laughter was loud in response, and nearly derisive. "Oh, no you don't, honey! Trying to distract me with the leg-to-leg contact thing's not gonna work. I've been imagining doing this to a girl for weeks, now, and it's going to go my way. Not yours."
"No, baby. The nylons are astounding, and I'll never give them up, but for me to give you the stockings, you'll need to provide the main course. Or devour it, rather. Otherwise..." She reached down to the garter-clip as if to unfasten it.
"Have you ever eaten pussy before?"
"No? Because you seem like you'd be a natural." Charlotte fell into Jimi Hendrix cadences. "Tell me, are you a cuntlicker? Have you ever been a cuntlicker? I have..."
Char switched to McCarthyism as she stepped closer. "Are you or have you ever been a member of a yummyclit party?"
If I eat you out will you stop with the awful quotations? Marnie did not say. Could not bring herself to say, because it sounded too much like concession. And no matter how horny she was, how horny Charlotte had made her, that was a step over the line into a realm Marnie had no interest in being a part of.
As if reading her thoughts, Char responded. "You've already crossed the line, sweetie. You're going to eat my cunt, and you're going to love it. The taste of my pussy is going to turn you on from now on because you're going to remember how I made you do it, and how much you didn't want to, really... but how you couldn't resist me. Those were my hands putting the nylons on your thighs. And I know how wet that made you, because I can smell you all the way over here. And you smell," she growled, "very, very scrumptious."
It had been a long time since someone... anyone... had called her "scrumptious". She felt her resolve weakening, and when Char ran the tips of her nails up the fabric of the stockings and her pussy heated in response she knew she was lost. Now the other woman's hose had made contact with her own once more and her jaw slackened and eyes rolled back. "What... whatever you want to do to me. Just..."
"Yessss?" she hissed, her breath on Marnie's neck.
"Just, please, put on the other stocking first?"
The second nylon went on fast; Charlotte did not take the relish in her task this time that she had at the first because she had an agenda. Every second spent smoothing nylon meant one in which Marnie's face was not between her thighs, and Marnie was acutely aware of the rush and the reason for it. The aggressor didn't even bother with the handcuffs; she left the positioning intact, placed one high-heeled slipper on each arm of the chair, and lowered her saturated sex down onto the face of her victim.
Had Marnie not been melting into the seat from her own hose-clad sensuality it might have been an awkward position, but by gripping the back of the chair Charlotte was able to get leverage to smear Marnie's nose, chin, and cheeks with enough tangy juice to make the experience a well-lubricated one.
Marnie, for her part, was thrilled enough with the long-missed tingles up and down her legs that she rewarded the fragrant snatch (cinnamony!) with a tonguing that made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in practice. Her own cunt seemed to respond sympathetically to the other woman's obvious pleasure, and it helped immensely that she was scissoring her thighs together in the masturbatory way she'd grown accustomed to in the weeks following her discovery of Special Blend. When Char finally cried out and nearly smothered her in reflexive motion, Marnie was unsure whether it was the lack of oxygen or her own rabid climax which left her light-headed.
She did know that when Char slid down her body and penetrated her girl-soiled mouth with a questing tongue, the only thing which kept her from unconsciousness was the fact that the women's legs now intertwined, and both women jerked and stared into each other's eyes in shock at how it felt. "Uhmagod..." Marnie groaned incoherently and with a barely-functional jaw. "'s two."
"It's four," corrected Charlotte from behind suddenly-lidded eyes. "I can feel yours, too."
"I can't... I have to..."
"I know. I will." And the women's legs now slid against each other in a riotous dance. Each sought to touch and be touched at all angles, across the entire surface area of calf, knee, thigh... Each felt the other's sensations. They frequently brushed cunt against cunt, but clitoral stimulation seemed secondary in the face of this sensory onslaught. They came, together, in a jumbled mass of limbs that only untangled once both massive orgasms had faded and sleep had taken them.
When Marnie awoke alone on what she assumed was Charlotte's bed, her wrists had been bandaged where they'd bled into the handcuffs during her exertions. Her face still smelled of woman, but she found she didn't mind at all... as though neurons had been retasked in some ultra-Pavlovian meld of scent and climax. She relived the experience mentally and, as her new coffee-toned stockings were still on and beautifully intact, she spent the next half-hour sliding them together and squeezing her fist against her clit again at the remembrance.
That's how Charlotte found her when she returned from the store, and it was a mark of forgiveness that Marnie only demanded two orgasms fucking the other woman's face before they progressed to their nylon-serpentined tribadism.
* * *
It had been a dry month. Or a very wet month, depending on how you looked at it.
At the beginning, some of the other women were still wearing, just in longer skirts to conceal any runs. But they weren't fooling anyone: aside from the gals who'd moved to boots, any briefly-revealed ankle demonstrated with its Cuban heel and stitching exactly what they were coated with. And what feelings must be prancing their way up from toe-tip to thigh (and beyond). Marnie seethed; catfighting them all to get another pair was sounding more and more enticing all the time (and if her slit was becoming more and more slippery at that particular imagery, that was her own personal, private business).
Even Charlotte, who always seemed to have a secret stockpile, was eventually out, and no amount of licking her snatch was impelling her to reveal a hidden stash. Marnie believed her claims, as she knew Char would have invited her over for another "payment" session. Wearing them was intensely pleasurable, but in that absence merely running her own body over another woman wearing them was a close substitute. She could tell Charlotte got more out of it than she did when Marnie ran her hands, thighs, and tits up and down the other woman's nylon-clad legs before burying her face in cunt, but she couldn't resist the opportunity.
But even that was denied her, and Charlotte was starting to look as desperate as the rest of them. Customers were freaking out at the shortage-- sending emails and phoning customer support with hysterical (and often non-financial) offers if somehow new Special Blend could be obtained. Tyler, witnessing this activity, doubled the price and negated the employee discount on that particular item, but the laws of supply and demand were not in effect in this matter. There were rumors he was going to raise the price further, and perhaps even ban employee purchase altogether during the shortage in order to retain customers; he likely didn't realize how close his female employees were to mutiny and how that would affect his prospects for escaping the premises in one piece. Something had to give.
Paulo and the other guys at Receiving wore expressions which were a combination of bemusement and frustration at the dolled-up ladies lined up at the docks waiting impatiently for the delivery trucks to arrive.
The teamsters unloaded what looked to be an immense wooden box from the latest truck, and when the manifest was handed to Paulo to sign off, he glanced unconsciously up at the line of women who appeared for all the world to be passing judgment on his competence, his manliness, and even his expected lifespan based solely on the contents of that piece of paper. Freddy the Forklifter (as he was affectionately known), moved the crate to the staging area nearby, and a couple of the other guys brought forth the requisite crowbars.
Charlotte put on a hard hat and tore the manifest from a sputtering Paulo's fist. She ignored his protests and, apparently finding what she wanted, ran over to the staging area. The other women, believing what they so desperately wanted to believe, followed her closely en masse as the men present looked on in wonderment.
"Oh, dear God," exclaimed Arkady as she opened the crate, and Marnie elbowed her way to the front of the group to see what the girl's fascinated horror implied.
Hundreds of packages of ClassyLady Special Blend lay in neatly ordered stacks, but atop them lay something else. A slightly different sized package, with contents that Marnie at first imagined were hosiery as well. Surely there was the same diaphanous silken veil of the ultra-thin nylon, and the seams traversing the... But wait a moment. The seam passed through twice, and formed an unmistakable outline-- and the length implied the elbow would be left far behind in favor of a tight fit at mid-bicep...
"Oh, dear God," Marnie echoed, her nipples already tightening into little buds and her knees slackening. "There are gloves, now."
* * *
ClassyLady was headquartered in a nondescript building in the small industrial section of town. A front office with a receptionist yielded the check of a list to see if Ms. Marnie Kandler had an appointment. And she did, in fact; once this was established, she was guided back to the proper office.
On her way, she caught a glimpse of a handful of office workers clustered around the water cooler. All women. All wearing. She wondered if there was a man in the entire premises... and if there was, what in the world he thought about this place. The receptionist introduced her to Penny, the CEO's personal secretary, and then went back to sit in the entry foyer.
"She's with Felicia right now, but their meeting should be done any moment. You can sit there and wait, dear." Penny only spoke like she was in her fifties. In actuality, she couldn't have been more than thirty-five. "Would you like a lemon drop or a jujube?"
"No, thanks," Marnie replied, and as the secretary went back to her typing, Marnie reviewed the completely blank page which was her "notes" for the meeting. The questions she needed to ask were too obvious to be written down, and the questions she wanted to ask she didn't dare. Before she could renew that old argument in her head, the door opened and out strode someone Marnie vaguely recalled from old newspaper photos she'd researched seemingly-ages back: Felicia Major. Co-founder, and chief scientist.
The company's Director of Research and Development had pretty features, but she exuded "ice maiden" like a perfume. Her hair was collected in a bun which emulated the stereotypical librarian, and the horn-rimmed glasses poised on her nose did nothing to dissipate this imagery. She wore a laboratory smock over her street clothes, but Marnie could see that her calves were unfettered by trousers, though certainly covered with the corporation's star product. Even ice maidens were not immune, evidently, and Felicia returned Marnie's brief visual evaluation with one of her own. Her eyes may or may not have traced the curves of Marnie's legs from ankles to knees, but either way Marnie pretended not to notice.
"Nice to meet you, Felicia. I'm Marnie Kandler, and I'm the new Commodity Specialist for the ClassyLady line at LingerieGlance."
The severe blonde did not shake her hand. "I liked Sylvia."
Sigh. Both Charlotte and Sylvia had been let go and had moved to Seattle. If she forced herself to be objective, Marnie couldn't fault Management: Tyler had opened the door of one of the meeting rooms and been struck by a wall of musk and the sight of both women caressing each other's legs with glove-coated hands. Which was admittedly unprofessional and crude but still might have been forgivable in this liberal day and age if it hadn't been for the fact that the women were inverted and had their heads buried in each other's skirts.
Some said Tyler had fired them, not for their indiscretions, but because they had refused to let him join in... but Marnie was of the opinion that unless they had twenty-dollar bills plastered all over their bodies the Old Man would fail to get aroused, even at an enticing sight like that. Certainly the going away party for both ladies, held privately, had been much more indiscreet, but there had been no men at all, let alone Tyler Rhaspid, on the invitation list.
"I'm sorry you feel that way. I liked Sylvia, too." A lot. She could do amazing things with her tongue that even the enthusiastic Charlotte had never properly emulated.
"I'm sure that's why you have her job, now."
"If you liked her so much, why didn't you hire her?"
"I tried, but she offended Darlene." Felicia walked away, three-inch heels clacking on the tile; Marnie had been dismissed. Bitch.
"How does one do that?"
Penny had pointedly ignored the entire exchange, but realized she was being spoken to, now. "Hmmmm?"
"What do I do in order to avoid offending Darlene?"
Penny looked around furtively, as if she were under observation for attempting to give away corporate secrets. "Always dress nice, dear, that's the key. And do not use the word 'addiction' to describe the allure of any of our products. Not even as a joke."
"Is that what Sylvia did?"
Penny didn't look like she was going to answer, but in any case a light chime peeped forth from her phone, and she answered it with efficiency. "Yes... The new ClassyLady rep is here to see you... Okay, I'll send her right in." Penny smiled in a motherly way and waved Marnie toward the door, possibly checking out her ass as she passed. It made Marnie feel dirty and vaguely incestuous.
"Welcome to ClassyLady... Marnie, isn't it?"
This question erupted from the direction of the vast mahogany desk which filled one end of the room. Coming to her feet now was a thirty-something woman dressed in clothes whose stylings were sixty-something. Darlene Feinstein's apparel would have been at home in a Sears catalog during the Second World War, though here in the twenty-first century it looked dressy to the point of being prim.
Marnie nodded and took Darlene's hand briefly; it was warm and possessed of delicately-manicured fingernails that looked expensive. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Feinstein."
"Oh, it's 'Darlene', darling, 'Darlene'. 'Ms. Feinstein' is my mother, and she's so dreary to contemplate..." She trailed off and gestured for the guest to take a seat.
Marnie was supposed to leap into a discussion of how pleased everyone would be if LingerieGlance could just get more Special Blend stockings and gloves. How LG was so gung-ho about the sheer wonders that they were willing to help ClassyLady improve their capacity by investing in a higher volume factory floor for them (for a small share of the company, of course). The higher prices LG was willing to pay-- and the still-higher prices Marnie was supposed to put forward in case the first offer was rebuffed.
Instead she asked why Darlene had started the business.
"Do you want the answers I give the newspapers, or the truth?" The executive offered her a lemon drop from a twin of the bowl on Penny's desk.
Marnie declined the bribe. "The truth."
"Good! I like your style, my dear. And that goes for more than just what you're wearing, though that is certainly stylish enough. You don't go overt, and I like that. Women today have confused 'blatant' with 'intriguing' in their clothing styles, and it's been such a loss I weep to see it.
"It's where ClassyLady fits into the big scheme of things, actually. We hail from an older time, when a woman put care into her appearance in a way utterly unlike the haphazard norm today. 'Foundation garments', so the phrase went, were worn as a matter of course, and love them or hate them they provided a firm structure to build on. And what is art without structure?"
Marnie didn't answer so obviously rhetorical a question, and Darlene went on like this for several moments. It was interesting to hear the way the woman thought-- she was obviously quite intelligent and had an interesting philosophical angle on the topic of fashion-- but it had been an entire morning since Marnie had played with her legs and pussy and she was getting a bit antsy. She needed to stop this barrage of the metaphysics and aesthetics of nylon stockings before she ran out of the room screaming or started pawing at herself right in this chair. Her chance was forthcoming.
"Marnie, dear, the world of women desperately needs our elegance, it needs our class. It needs less of the overtly sexual and more of the hidden treasure. A ClassyLady product is designed to be sensual."
"It's not sensual." It was that, of course, but there was something more. And from out of nowhere, a thought sprang from hindbrain to lips without pausing for evaluation first. It came out like an accusation, which perhaps it was: "It's medical."
Unpunctuated silence reigned for several hour-long seconds.
"You know, my dear, I have to hand it to you: you're the first non-employee who has drawn that conclusion. It's very refreshing. And exciting." Her eyes glowed. "Let me show you something." She touched a button and a projector lit as the lights dimmed slightly. Darlene fiddled with her mouse for a moment and a presentation appeared on the wall.
The initial slide was the ClassyLady logo superimposed on a stylized picture of a shapely woman of indeterminate age who was wrapped from ankle to thigh and from fingertip to bicep in translucent seamed black elegance. Though it was the last thing she wanted during this visit, her clit responded to the suggestive pose and the effect she knew the imaginary woman would be experiencing in that outfit.
The second slide showed financial information since the company's inception. The first three years were red ink, but after that profits began to roll in... and still did. "As you can see, we're not paupers here. We have gone from negative to strongly positive profits in the last five years, and we've cycled the cash back into R&D."
Darlene showed Marnie the next slide and couldn't keep the smile from her voice. "This is an electromicrograph." She paused to look at her guest's blank reaction, and thought it worthwhile to elaborate. "A picture taken with an electron microscope. You can see the weave of the fabric here. Notice anything?"
Marnie did, though it had been years since she'd thought in detailed terms about textiles. "The weft is normal, but the warp..." Was there something funny in the yarn?
"Good eyes, my dear. It looks like two-ply nylon, but there's a tiny third ply wrapped around the other two. Large-radius fullerene strands, with lots of carboxyl bearings to make it more flexible. And the nodes..." Darlene had a self-satisfied smirk, now. "Well, the results don't show up well on the 'scope. I'll just show you an artist's rendering."
A computer-generated image showed up on screen. It was a long tube made of miniature interlocking hexagons, and every so often the tube was punctuated by spherical joints. The overall effect was a long string with a bunch of knots in it. Only the knots each had something sticking out of them, perpendicular to the string run. Tiny, almost invisible somethings.
"You see it. Nanotubes. Long ones, though the scale is skewed on that diagram. Electrically sensitive in both directions. And they semiconduct randomly."
Marnie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Darlene, but I haven't a clue what this all means. I'm a buyer for a web store, not a scientist. I only know how it makes m--" A little too revealing, there. "How it makes my customers feel."
Darlene adjusted her position in the massive leather chair, her knee rising into view as she crossed her legs. A hose-covered knee. Marnie began to salivate. "I see. And how do you-- ahem, your customers feel when wearing our products?"
Damn the bitch, she knew. She fumbled for the least revealing but most accurate phrasing. "Sensitive."
The smirk was back again, and Marnie wanted to strike it off her. Or possibly remove it with a grinding, smearing motion, marring the elaborate lipstick job with her juices-- Calm. Focus. Get through this and promise yourself an entire night of nylon-coated bliss, okay? "Yes. Perhaps overly sensitive."
"You've had complaints?"
"Yes." From husbands and boyfriends.
"And the nature of the complaints?"
The women are becoming lesbian stocking sluts. "Some people have experienced discomfort."
"And the nature of this discomfort?"
"Undesired sexual arousal." There.
Darlene raised an eyebrow. "That's it? Our products are making women-- forgive the crude term-- horny, and that's a problem?"
Marnie reddened but returned fire. "Yes, when it's unasked-for! When it's incredibly distracting throughout the day, in meetings and when the kids are in the room, and when you start noticing other--"
Darlene paused to let her finish, but when she didn't the question spilled forth anyway: "Noticing other what?"
"Noticing other women. Their legs, their hosiery..." Darlene leaned back in her seat and put her feet up on the desk, crossing her legs at the ankles. Even in the imperfect lighting, it was apparent from the glimpse of seams that she was wearing her own product. Marnie's own legs slid together in sympathy, panties going soggy. She sighed and gave up, letting it all come out. "Wondering if they're wearing ClassyLady, too..." Sensation sang like a chorus of sparks up and down her inner thighs as they slipped over one another. She stared at Darlene's glistening calves...
"Yes, that's the effect we were going for. Ha!" Darlene stood up and walked around the desk. Marnie attempted to stand, too, but Darlene pushed down on her shoulders. Marnie was actually the larger woman of the two and began to struggle... but then the entire effort was made obsolete when Darlene pushed her legs against Marnie's. As calf touched inner calf, Marnie gasped and parted her thighs to admit her welcome assailant. There was no arguing, now, with the way her pussy made her feel.
"Yes, my dear," drawled Darlene, "I suspected you were wearing them. Our studies show that very few women are able to resist putting them on again once they've tried them." She hiked up her skirt to reveal the full extent of her thighs. And her lack of panties.
"I... don't... unngh... dammit, why does it have to feel so good?" Marnie pulled Darlene in close with her arms so she could entwine the other woman's lower body with the entire length of her limbs.
"It's an external nerve network. The nanotubes are thin enough to slip between your upper layer of cells, and they are shaped to make contact with any nerve endings in the skin. Not any of the pain or thermally sensitive nerves, of course. We've found protein markers on those nerves which allow us to shape the end of the nanotube to only target..." Her mouth was stopped in its exposition when Marnie covered it with her own.
The feeling of the hose as the two women's limbs swished against one another had the expected effect, and Marnie emitted a sensual moan around Darlene's invading tongue. Mmmm... Lemony. The president, despite the fact that she had been the initiator, seemed no less smitten by the nylonic... nanotubular... semicon-whatever effect, and Marnie got the distinct impression the other woman was on overdrive and barely in control of her own actions by now. This she could understand. Entirely.
* * *
Quitting her job at LingerieGlance had been easy; while Tyler griped about losing "some of my best talent to a supplier", he was too pleased by Darlene's guarantee of a 30% drop in Special Blend costs to protest overmuch.
The pay at ClassyLady was not much better-- though the stockings were complimentary-- but the title "Director of Internet Sales and Marketing" suited her just fine, and the position reported directly to Darlene. She had long since given up hope of using her marketing degree as anything other than resume-padding, so it was with great pleasure (and quite a few orgasms) that she accepted the job.
With unlimited access to the pussy-drenching nylons, she was wearing Special Blend all the time now, including while sleeping-- which made for delicious dreams and she rarely woke up without her fingers inside herself. When she slept alone, that is; when she slept with a lover, she got next to no sleep at all because minor shifts in leg position were as likely as not to incur stocking-to-stocking contact... and no woman was able to sleep through that temptation.
She threw herself into the work with reckless abandon, and made it her business to know all she could about the product-- even down to how it was made. She met with Darlene frequently, and sometimes they actually discussed business before pleasure. This was rare though, and Marnie was determined not to retain her position by merely being the CEO's toy. Sometimes she feigned a headache or fatigue and went home to masturbate feverishly; it was a measure of loyalty, if not exactly love, that the female nylon-encased forms she imagined as she fucked her pussy with both hands all had Darlene's delicately sculpted features.
Learning how Special Blend was made put her repeatedly in close contact with Felicity Major. There was still no love lost between them since their first meeting, but they had settled into what could be considered an armistice. Close contact with any other woman wearing Special Blend-- and of course everyone working at ClassyLady fit that bill-- caused elevated arousal levels but both women, by some silent mutual agreement, always concluded their business before it manifested itself as lust. And if, once in a while, fantasy-Darlene moved aside toward one thigh a bit and made room for Felicity's face... well, no one needed to know that except Marnie.
After a few weeks of this training period, Darlene scheduled a conference with the new recruit. Felicity was present as well, and Marnie was on her guard immediately.
"Hey, Darlene. You wanted to see me?"
Darlene, following her glance, smiled warmly. "Yes, dear, I thought I'd call this impromptu conference so we could discuss your progress. Or is it too soon?"
Marnie pointedly ignored Felicity's smirk.
Yes! "No, I have some ideas already. But first I have some questions. Some are technical, so it's good you're here, Felicity." She hoped the implication that Felicity wasn't necessarily useful for more than that was coming through.
If Darlene caught it, she gave no sign. "Go ahead, dear."
"I've noticed that after a little while ClassyLadys lose their... excitement. The thrill comes back if I wait long enough, but... why?"
"Yes, when you perspire, the thin layer of liquid has enough surface tension to keep most of the nanotubes from making neural contact. Even the ones which do make it to nerves get shorted out. Ineffective in moist areas. A pity, really, given the specifics of female anatomy." Darlene looked wistful about where the really good nerves were located.
"Ah..." Much was now clear. Trying to shower in them had been a hot idea, but she could see why it had been doomed to failure. Ah, well, Charlotte had still made it worthwhile. She'd looked so good, kneeling on the porcelain with her hair wet and her stockings soaked...
"Which I guess answers my next question: why not Special Blend pantyhose? I get it. Sweat."
"Indeed. Stockings are more effective in letting your body breathe, and don't trap the moisture as much as having your entire lower body coated."
"Panties, then. Crotchless," she added.
"Work for a short while, but there are electrical discontinuities which make them less effective very rapidly."
"Oh. Asses are sweaty."
"Marnie, dear, the language!"
"Forgiven, this time. We have done the research, and our new Special Blend garter-belts have proven effective in transmitting the sensations higher on the body without suffering much from the... effect you so eloquently described. The seam transmits the impulses to the welt, and the garter-clips are metal and do the rest. We are exploring bustiers, but sizing is tricky. Corsets have more promise since tighter is better for the nanotube-to-neuron contact."
"Hmmm... higher on the body... any plans for bodystockings?"
"I'm afraid that's out of the question."
"Why not? If Special Blend feels this good on just my legs and arms, wouldn't it feel better all over?"
"How many times have you worn a bodystocking, Marnie? Remember: sweat is bad. Bodystockings are dreadfully hot; it's the same as the pantyhose rationale, except writ larger. No, it wouldn't work. Not long term."
Felicia rolled her eyes. "Just tell her."
Darlene remained silent and grim.
"She needs to know eventually. Now is a good time."
"Yes. Well. Some of the girls in one of the labs doused themselves with antiperspirant and used the bodystockings on each other. Stupid and tragic." She looked sad. "They probably thought they were being clever. They almost died of hyperthermia, and the other effects on them were not pretty." She didn't go on.
Felicia took over. "The overstimulation, sustained over several hours time, caused higher cerebral functions to shut down. They haven't recovered. They're essentially animals now. Sex-crazed animals with no inhibitions. Our clinicians are still hopeful we can eventually cure all three, but it will be years at best."
Marnie was shocked. "So they're... what? Chained up in the basement?"
Felicia looked annoyed. "They're receiving proper care in the clinic."
"The clinic's in the basement."
Darlene held up a hand to silence Felicia's impending outburst. "They're as comfortable as possible. They're well-fed and taken care of. We even let them wear the bodystockings. It seems to calm them down." Sad this situation might make her, but from her lidded eyes and flared nostrils, there were other, darker emotions at play, here. "You can meet them, if you like. Most of the women here visit them from time to time."
Marnie imagined herself being ravished by three insatiable and mindless nymphs in the full-body, taut translucent fabric and felt her pulse race and cunt moisten. Yes, she was sure the women here visited them. As often as possible! From Felicia's flushed look, she had many guesses at what "proper care" referred to. How hard were the clinicians actually trying? "Okay, well, thank you for that... illustrative discussion of the perils. So bodystockings are out, for now."
"For customers, yes. We still have prototypes here you can try out. Under strictly-monitored conditions, you understand." Felicia licked her lips, seemingly subconsciously. "The fishnet bodystockings, on the other hand, are on the product roadmap for next year. The lower density of neural connections should avoid the... overstimulation effect, even if customers latch onto the antiperspirant concept, but the 'net is still an effective sexual stimulant. And 'net is cooler, too, for climates like the American Southwest, where widespread adoption of ClassyLady is proving problematic due to the summer heat. Our studies show that even with the lowest-denier sheers, the average frequency and length of perspiration is too much to induce sufficient--"
"The girls sweat too much to become extraordinarily aroused, let alone go lesbian."
"That's what I was saying."
"I know, dear, but it was taking too long."
Felicia did not glare, exactly. "At any rate, fishnet doesn't have as great an effect, and really is just to tantalize. We expect wearers to move up to our regular offerings once they discover how enjoyable the fishnets are. Unfortunately, while air conditioning mitigates the perspiration effects, somewhat, we're assuming that cooler climates will be more effective, and thus a better use of our marketing dollars. In fact, we're moving our corporate offices to Minnesota to take advantage of more customers... to take advantage of the proximity to more of our customer base." She grinned at her Freudian slip. "So we're focusing on the East Coast, the Midwest, and the Pacific Northwest until we can influence the fashion industry to re-adopt fishnet. And even with the regular stockings they're proving... annoying."
"They're all gay men."
"Yes, mostly, and not cross-dressers, either. Damn them."
"Well, we've got operatives with Donna Karan, already, and Betsey Johnson will be next. It will be slow-going, but product placement in the media is progressing very well."
"Julianne Moore and Angelina were easy to convince. Expect to see Jennifers Aniston and Lopez wearing next year."
"And Sarah Jessica Parker. Some of the usual suspects in the twenty-something bracket whose names I always forget but who make the talk show circuit."
"But not Paris Hilton."
Darlene shuddered. "No. That was a narrow escape, but we convinced her fashion consultant that bare legs were sexier."
"I still say there's a sizable chunk of the populace we're neglecting by excluding her."
"Trash wearing elegant stockings and having sex with other women is still trash. Need I remind you we are ClassyLady?"
"There's more to hosiery fashion than Victoria's Secret, Darlene."
"Yes, well, when the board boots that tiresome old man and appoints one of our girls CEO there this summer, we'll see about that. At any rate, Marnie, this is an old disagreement and you must forgive Felicia for being tedious. What are your plans for the internet front?"
Both of the other two women looked blank, so Marnie pressed on. "It's word of mouth that gets picked up by others at an astounding rate. For instance, you link your product to a hip video snippet that gets forwarded in everyone's email. We just have to create the video snippet and disseminate it to a couple of key sites. I've already identified six blogs with an influential social network, and the key will be finding those women in real life and introducing them to ClassyLady."
They both looked skeptical. "Marnie, I don't know... does that sort of thing really work?"
"Darlene, trust me on this. The internet isn't traditional. I can give you case files on how and why this will produce results. At any rate, LingerieGlance will still carry the entire line, and we've got a deal with Amazon to use LG as a sub-vendor."
The president looked thoughtful. "We do need to build slowly and carefully. If this blows up into a phenomenon before we've got people placed in high authority to control it, some jerk from the FDA or the BATF is going to come down on us hard."
"Or the PTA."
"No, Felicia, we'll not be marketing to children, even teenagers." The word "yet" did not cross her lips.
"I was referring to the faculty and staff."
"Oh. Well... yes, of course. At any rate, subtlety will suit us well. All right, Marnie, proceed with your innovative marketing technique. That's what we're paying you for."
"I thought it was my charm and good looks."
"No, dear, that's what we're having sex with you for. All right, ladies, final item on the agenda... and it's a doozy. The 'M' word: 'Men'. What the hell are we going to do about them?"
"Transvestism." Felicia was firmly convinced.
"I can't possibly sell that," replied Marnie. "Not this decade. If this were the 70s, when male rock stars were prancing around in lace and silk..."
"Wearing spandex was quite popular in the 80s."
"Yes, but you still have the problem of the hair interfering with the direct neural contact. No... 'repeat business'." Marnie had been about to say "addictive potential", but saved herself in time from making Sylvia's error with Darlene. Seemed like a lot of self-deception to her, but, hey, she wasn't the boss.
"I'm still not firm that anything needs to be done."
"Yes, we know that, Darlene, but you never had any use for men to begin with. Marnie and I still have our preferences."
For once Marnie agreed with the cast-iron bitch. She missed dick and she missed it badly, but she knew no man could compete with the powerful orgasms she could achieve while sliding her Special Blend nylon against that of another woman. She knew some of the ClassyLady staff went out at night in pairs to seduce men for threesomes, and she was planning to try it some time, but from what she'd been told it just wasn't the same. You still only experienced the woman with you, and barely felt the cock because your nerve endings were under assault with girl sensations the whole time.
"It would take years to de-macho the culture. If not decades... and it risks being seen as a fad and generating backlash before it even gets off the ground." Marnie chewed her cuticles, absently. She couldn't wait decades, and a strap-on from the "labs" was not doing it for her. "It's not like with women: we don't have an entire demographic of shaved men just ripe for the picking. We can try with swimmers and skydivers and bodybuilders, but it's definitely a problem."
She didn't fancy getting pounded by a sissy boy or even a normal guy, shaven: she liked manly men, and even preferred beards. But it was getting to the point where she was ready to call a truce with Felicia in exchange for a peek at the woman's not-so-secret list of local cross-dressing male prostitutes. She could give up her pride and her preferences... but she couldn't give up Special Blend while getting fucked. She harbored half-planned out fantasies of kidnapping a guy, handcuffing and shaving him, then forcing him to wear stockings while she used him as a fucktoy. She was certain he'd come around soon enough and the restraints would no longer be required. (Her pussy told her they might still be fun, though.) Her eyes were half-way to crossing before she remembered she was in the middle of a presentation.
"It's not just the sex, as important as that may seem right now." She'd already bought the handcuffs. "Sooner or later someone else is going to put Special Blend under an electron microscope and the game will be blown. I can't even predict what would happen then, societally speaking. Probably an outright ban, but if it's far enough along..." What? Elaborate dress codes for women so it could be certain they were not wearing tight nylon of any sort? The mind boggled.
Darlene brushed it aside. "Table this for now. It's too big. We'll discuss it again in our retreat next month."
"You said that last year, too."
"Felicia, we'll take care of it. You've both given me a lot to think about." She gazed speculatively at the hem of Marnie's skirt, and it was evident what she was thinking a lot about was that the business part of this meeting was concluded. Marnie, for her part, began breathing more heavily once this was apparent. As did Felicia, though she hid it better. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like both of you to help me run some more tests on these new gloves we've developed." She began drawing on a pair of the sheer, elbow-length garments.
"Those are the GC-72 blend?" Felicity's nostrils flared slightly and she began to slowly edge toward Darlene. A bit too slowly to be casual.
Marnie had no clue what that meant, but it was obvious to her from the context that yanking up her barely-there skirt and crawling over the desk to get to Darlene was warranted. Whoever got there first would get more delicious touching before the slipping and sliding and face-fucking commenced.
It was a tie.
* * *
The phone at the other end of the line rang three times and then clicked an open connection. "Connie?"
"It's Peggy! Is he gone to work, yet?"
"Yes. I'm already in the car and on the way over."
"Do you have some? Really?"
"Really. Got them from... I don't want to say."
"Oh, come on! Who would I tell?"
"All I know is Pauline got arrested last month, and I'm not going there. They don't allow hosiery of any sort in prison."
"Connie... Baby, it's okay..."
"Nuh uh. Next thing I know you'll outbid me with the dealer and I'll be left with nothing but a pair of ratty old gloves while you're slip-sliding Catharine."
"I would never do that. Besides, Catharine's married to a cop. Too risky."
"Yeah, but she's got the longest legs I've ever seen. I'd do it."
"Anyway... when will you get here?"
"Are they... are they good?"
"I didn't put them on yet, but I rubbed them on my tits. They're the real deal. Amsterdam, 60 gauge, I was told. Fifteen denier, so turn down the air conditioning."
"Mmmmmmm... the best! I'll go shave."
"You'd better. If you run these I will have to kill you."
"Just as long as you fuck me first."
"Don't worry. You couldn't lick me out if you were dead."
"Door's unlocked, baby. You don't need to knock, just meet me outside the shower."
"I'll be wearing."
"Oh! I'm wet already just thinking about it. Come soon!"
Peggy rushed upstairs. They'd have at most six hours before she had to pick up the kids from school, but she'd cajole and lick and suck and penetrate and somehow convince Connie to let her keep a pair of the stockings for her own personal use. There were places she could stash them that Brent would never suspect. Sometimes she felt guilty when she imagined her kids digging around in ther closet and finding the nylon contraband... she didn't want her daughters to turn out as whorish and sinful as she had. Someday soon she would renounce the silky strands of material entirely, but for now...
She didn't bother to finger her pussy in the shower-- its needs would soon be taken care of-- but with a careful application of her razor blade, she made certain nothing would come between her and her stockings.