Package

His hands shook as he took the envelope from his second, discrete mailbox at the UPS store. It was a letter-sized flat envelope, with a bulge in it, much like the one in his pants as the small metal door clinked shut and he went back to his car.

He set it down, unopened, on the island in his kitchen, wanting to enjoy just the sensation of knowing it was there. He'd been anxiously awaiting its arrival.

He went through his nightly routine cooking dinner, fastidiously washing the dishes and arranging them carefully in the drying rack before taking his bowl to the living room where he sat on the couch. He brought the envelope with him and stared at it on the coffee table while eating his noodles the way some people might watch television, studying his address and pseudonym written in her handwriting.

When he was full, he took his bowl to the sink then went to the bedroom, package in hand.

He laid it in the exact center of the bed with the corners tucked tightly in military style, not a wrinkle in sight.  

He began to undress himself slowly in the presence of the envelope as if it might be watching him: first loosening his tie, then draping it over the back of the chair in the corner, followed by unbuttoning his shirt, methodically down the middle and then each cuff, and setting it down over the tie. He lifted the white T-shirt he'd worn underneath over his head. He sweated easily and needed that buffer to keep his outer work shirt dry all day.   

As he tightened his belt slightly to unhook the prong of the buckle from the third hole, he felt his arousal begin to stir strongly. He guided the leather around his waist, out of the loops, then added it to his collection.

Now he sat on the chair to remove his shiny black oxfords, untying them and tucking the laces and socks in the warm space his feet had left. He positioned the shoes together under the chair, toes pointed out.

He allowed himself a moment to sit and touch his now firm erection below the fabric, staring at the envelope.

Not taking his eyes off of it, he stood and unbuttoned his pants.  

"May I?" he whispered into the growing evening shadows of the room. The envelope did not reply.

Still, he continued.  

He pinched the clasp of the zipper and slowly lowered it. His cock was pounding now. He didn't let his pants just fall to the ground, but lowered them and stepped out of them carefully before putting them aside with the other clothes.

The last thing to go was his tighty whities. He wondered if she'd approve or wish he'd worn something fancier, something sexier.  

It didn't matter as now they were joining the pile.

Fully naked, he gave all his attention to the package.

He approached the bed and lowered himself to his knees at the side of it, as if about to say his nighttime prayers to God.  

He fondled himself, slowly, methodically, the same way he'd unbuttoned his shirt.

Finally, he reached out and pulled the envelope across the bed to him.  

He turned it over and pulled the little tab across the top to open it, depositing the curled piece of cardboard in a small wicker waste basket next to his bedside table.

Inside was a plastic ziploc that contained a pair of black fishnet stockings.

He felt his whole body pulsing with excitement, into his fingers, which struggled a little as he tried to grasp the two edges of the plastic resealable bag.

He raised the opened bag up to his face and breathed deeply.

His dick began to pound at the sweet, musky aroma of her.

She had written to tell him she'd worn the stockings for two days straight, under her regular work clothes, to be sure to "charge" them properly for him.  

She'd succeeded.

He allowed one hand to lower and stroke his dick while the other suspended the bag in front of his nose.

He was already close to the edge and didn't want to ruin things, so he zipped the bag shut and reverently set it on the bed. He went to take a cold shower.  

He needed to prepare himself so his scent would not disturb hers.

He returned to the bedroom, his skin cool and his dick momentarily calmed. He picked up the bag and this time removed the stockings.

He found the waist of them and gave them a little flick so the legs flayed out. He took them to the full-length mirror and stood, looking in the semi-darkness at his clean naked self holding her worn tights. He didn't turn the lights on.

He believed there are some things that should only be done in the dark.

He watched himself take one leg of the stockings and bunch it up down to the toes. He bent to lift one foot, awkwardly balancing. He could sit on the floor, but he felt like that would be cheating.  

He should have to work for this.

The material was soft but not silky. Maybe next time he'd ask for nylons to feel the sheer material on his skin. But the fishnets, that photo of HER in the fishnets... he'd needed these.

He let his thumbs graze his own skin as he raised the stocking, imagining how it would feel to be dressing her, kissing her toes as he did.  

He repeated on the other side. He carefully centered his almost painful erection as he positioned the top of the hose into place.

He stared at the form of his reflection. "Thank you, Mistress."

She wasn't HIS mistress. He'd never had a mistress. He was much too shy. But he'd worked up the courage to ask her to sell him the stockings.

When he'd had his fill of looking at his reflection, he lay in the middle of the bed. He began to touch his legs through the stockings, imagining they were HER legs. He might have gotten his phone to look at that photo of her again, but it was seared in his mind. Instead, he closed his eyes.

He took his time, caressing his feet, his ankles, his knees. He purposely was ignoring his pounding dick, bringing his excitement to a calculated frenzy by making himself wait. He felt like he could practically orgasm even without touching his swollen cock while wearing her piece of lingerie. He wasn't ready for that yet.

He lay there, petting the fishnets and, by default, himself, until long after darkness had completely swallowed the room.

His dick demanded attention and the sensation of the woven threads sliding over his shaft as he squeezed and stroked it brought him dangerously close.  

The guilt stopped him, as it often did. But it would be okay if SHE gave him permission. But he'd been too shy to ask in real life, to tell her what he wanted to DO with the stockings.  

Of course, she surely knew.

"May I?" he asked out loud, but no one answered.

So when he couldn't stand any more and was certain he would explode and soil them, he peeled them off, balled them up and slid them gently back into the bag, making sure it was tightly sealed to preserve the scent for as long as possible.

He did not sleep well that night.

The next day he had dinner with a client and got home late. He took a shower before entering the bedroom this time, and pulled the envelope with the bag inside it out from under the mattress.  

He lived alone, but he'd felt like a teenager hiding Playboy magazines he'd found in his dad's closet.  

He pulled the stockings over his head so the crotch was right at his nose, her scent intoxicating him. He took the legs and wrapped them around behind his neck and through his teeth, creating a makeshift gag with them. He pulled so tight he couldn't close his mouth all the way, then tied a knot.

He went straight to work on his cock, drowning in the smell of her. He brought himself close, then stopped until the throbbing had subsided. Now he imagined other photos he'd seen of her, with a flogger, a paddle in her hand; a silhouette of her wearing a harness with a small blue dildo attached; her glorious feet.

He edged himself again until the precum generously slickened his hand, until it was painful to not finish.

But he'd purposely gagged himself so he couldn't ask permission. Exhausted, he fell asleep with the stocking hood over his head.  

When he woke in the middle of the night, he freed his mouth. The stocking legs were wet with his saliva, but the crotch had escaped being soiled by his fluids and still maintained the faint odor of her.

He returned them to their place and managed to go back to sleep.

He believed three was a magic number.  

The third night, he skipped dinner and went straight to the bedroom to repeat his methodical undressing. Part of him felt he should deny himself something in exchange for what he was about to allow himself. Plus the faint dull ache in his stomach served to intensify his awareness of his body, something he often ignored or took for granted.

Tonight, he would be completely in his body. HER body.

After the shower, he pulled the package out from under the mattress and removed the tights. The scent was almost all used up. It wouldn't last another night.  

He lay on top of the comforter and touched his cock again, trying to make the sensation last. But he was anxious this time, he'd been waiting. His body's patience was wearing thin.

He gave in and let his hand pump his dick through the netting. Her body had lived in this piece of clothing. He became her in his fantasy, while at the same time imagining her spanking him with the paddle, peppering him with hits from the flogger.  

Then in his mind she was entering him from behind with that little blue dildo.  

He violently ripped the stockings apart, a growl booming from within him as his hand on his dick moved fast, insistently, unstoppable.  

The explosion was so forceful it seemed to propel him from his own body. He was looking down at someone on the bed, writhing in uncontrollable spasms. He was shaking, sobbing, lost somewhere between himself, and her.  

He blacked out, caught in a spider web of dreamless sleep.

When he came back to consciousness, he sat up and finished ripping the stockings off. He shoved them into the envelope in which they'd arrived then hastily threw on a pair of shorts from his dresser.

He hurried out the front door to the side of the house where he kept the large trash bin. He threw the package in and shut the lid with a thud.  

The stockings were ruined and had lost any essence of her. They were just trash now and he didn't want them lingering in his house.

He went back inside to shower yet again, thinking how he shouldn't keep wasting money like that. It was perverted. He was perverted.

He told himself he wouldn't go back to the sensual resale platform again.  

And he didn't, at least, not right away.

He sat in the dark, the light of his laptop illuminating his face.  His hands were still, resting in his lap. The home page of the site stared at him, beckoning.

Slowly he lifted a finger to the mouse pad and clicked "Enter."

There she was, brilliant in silky stockings. His dick was growing, pushing against his tighty whities. But he didn't touch. He'd wait.

It was so much better when she was there with him.