Diary of a Panty Lover’s Wife Ch. 03
Ara 31, 2020 // By:analsex // No Comment
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Last September, my husband got called away on another business trip. He didn’t often leave the states, but this time he had to go to London. He had been there three or four times in the past, but I was never able to go with him. I knew he liked London because he would always come home and tell me about it. Mostly the nylons. Apparently, most women in London still wear them. Every time he returned, I would have to listen for at least a few days about how women in the US don’t seem to care anymore, but women in Europe–especially England and Spain–still put effort into how they looked. He loved to ride the subway and walk the streets of London during the day while all the professional women made their way about the city in their business attire, which typically consisted of a knee-length dress, pantyhose, pumps, and–in the colder months–a very classy trench coat or something similar. Stockings are quite common as well, and he would fondly recount the times on the tube when he could get a good view of the lacy stocking tops of some lady sitting across from him. I did find it interesting that this didn’t really seem to be a big deal over there. Here in the states, seeing the tops of some lady’s stockings on public transportation would be weird. Nobody dresses that way here, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be riding around on a bus or a subway. But in England, it is so common place that nobody gives it a second thought. And that’s why he loves England.
This time, however, my schedule worked out that I could go with him. I could witness first-hand this fabled Eden of classy women in their elegant nylons. Or I figured I could at least see Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. He was happy to hear it and we went online to look for an airline ticket. His travel was booked by his company and had him flying to Boston and then catching British Airways for a six or seven hour all-nighter to London Heathrow. I had family in Boston that I hadn’t seen in a while so I told him I was going to leave a couple days early and rendezvous with him there for our flight to London. That left me only four days to plan some airplane adventures.
You see, I wasn’t going to spend my entire week in London watching my husband ogle the legs of all the English girls while he endlessly lectured on how much better their culture is for insisting that women be kept in their outdated, nylon prisons. Nope. I was going to make it a point to screw him as soon as we got there. Once he gets THAT out of his system, I won’t have to indulge his fetish by wearing ridiculous underwear all week. I’ll still bring some for him. He’ll be happy. So that was my plan: start this vacation off right with a good screw the morning we arrive. Well, if I know my husband (and I do), if I want a good fuck in a week, the build-up starts now.
“Hey, ” I said, “Stay out of my underwear and keep your hands off of yourself this week! I’m planning a surprise for the trip.” That’s all he needed to know. He’ll behave himself if he knows there’s a reward coming. It had already been several days since he had “relieved” himself, so the timing was perfect. He’d spend the next week wondering with anticipation what I had in store.
The day came for me to head to Boston. As I kissed him goodbye at the airport, he asked if he needed to pack anything special for the trip. “Special” could mean anything–lingerie for me, lingerie for him, sex toys, you name it. “No,” I told him. “I brought everything we need with me.” Then I stopped and gave him that you-better-listen-to-me look. “Two things,” I told him. “One: You don’t need to pack any underwear. I got you covered.” With that, his dick immediately sprang to life. He knew what that meant. I had a suitcase full of satin panties and assorted other treats that I would be doling out to him as the week went on. “Two: There are three small packages in your carry-on backpack. Leave them alone. Don’t touch them. Don’t open them.”
“Ummm… Isn’t there some sort of rule against carrying unknown packages through airport security?” he smirked, thinking he was clever.
“Trust me. There’s nothing in there you’ll get arrested for. Stop screwing around. I have to catch my flight.” I reached down and gave his member a gentle squeeze. Mmmm. Nice and plump from the thought of whatever I had in store for him. “I’ll see you in a couple days!”
My husband travels plenty enough that I know what he wears on the flights. He is embarrassed at what some people wear on airplanes. “This is not a Greyhound bus, people,” he often says quietly to himself. “Seriously. Pajama bottoms? You’re a grown woman. Have some self respect!” In this case, I actually agree with him. Maybe women in this country HAVE let themselves go. Not that he wears a suit and tie on the airplane, but he feels a nice, clean pair of jeans or khakis with a collared shirt or a light sweater are appropriate. He usually looks fairly nice. But when he gets stuck on the all-night flights, he’ll actually relax his standards a little and wear some comfortable, black running pants. They are a loose-fitting, woven material with an elastic waist and, at a glance, actually look bahis firmaları like slacks. With a polo shirt and a nice pair of tennis shoes, he actually looks like some sort of college sports team coach. He just needs a clipboard and a headset and he’d fit right in on the sidelines.
This is what he would likely be wearing.
The day came for him to fly to Boston to join me. I texted him that afternoon and told him to let me know when he got to the airport. Around 5:30, my phone buzzed.
I texted back, “Checked in OK?”
A thumbs-up emoji was the reply.
“Got my packages?” I had stuck three brown lunch bags in his backpack. All neatly folded and taped shut. They were numbered one through three.
“I do. Am I transporting anything illegal? :-)”
to the bathroom and put on what’s inside.”
“I see,” he smiled to himself. “This must be the surprise.” He dug the package marked ‘1’ out of his backpack. It was folded up pretty small. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was yet, but he had a pretty good idea it was satin and that it was picked out specifically with his enjoyment in mind. He clutched it excitedly as he headed to the bathroom. There were a few other people in there, but the stalls were empty. He found a clean one and latched the door behind him. He eagerly untaped and opened the bag. Inside was a pair of string bikini panties. The white satin shone brilliantly under the glare of the bathroom lights. He was not unfamiliar with these panties. The deep blue floral pattern was always a turn-on. I knew he loved these. Around the hips and connecting the front and back of the panties was a thin string of satin, attached to some elastic with wide, zig-zag stitching that bunched up into almost ruffles when it was relaxed. That same zig-zag stitched elastic ran down either side of the gusset and added to the panties’ delicate femininity. One leg at a time (to avoid being seen under the stall door), he removed his shoe, pulled his leg out of his pants and boxers, slid it into the panties, and then back into his pants and shoe. Once both legs were in, he slid the panties up over his erection. They were just roomy enough in the front to keep him contained and the satin hugged his ass nicely. Accenting the front of the panties were two small, satin rose buds, one on each hip, and a little bow right in the center.
He lightly ran his hand on the outside of the material down the length of his shaft. His dick twitched with excitement. These looked and felt great! They were loose enough to allow his member to move around inside, but the elastic was tight enough to keep him in and to pull the panties’ gusset up firmly against his crotch, cradling his balls. Since summer was now over, he had just begun keeping himself shaved. He did this every year once the shorts and swim trunks were put away for the winter. Legs, butt, chest, balls–bald as could be, except for one small, neatly-trimmed patch right at the base of his shaft. Now, looking down at the delicate satin side-strings stretching over his baby smooth hips, he reached back and felt his ass through the satin. Briefly, he entertained the thought that he’d really like to just jerk off right now. I say briefly because right then, the phone in his pants pocket buzzed. Snapping back into reality, he pulled up his pants, fished out his phone, and looked at the text I had just sent him.
“Are you done yet?”
His response came a few seconds later. “yes. very nice. xoxo”
“Good. Put your boxers in the bag and throw them away. You won’t be needing them.”
I knew he was starting to get excited now. I would have my way with him in the morning, but this night was devoted to making him crazy with desire. He felt the front of his pants and slid his hand down his erection again. He was turned on at the idea of his soft running pants covering his smoothly shaved legs, with nothing else underneath but a small piece of satin hugging his cock and ass. The polyester material of the pants was a loose weave so that the pants could breathe. If you were to hold them up to the light you would just be able to see through them, but once you actually put them on, they would safely keep all of your secrets. The one exception was the mesh pockets. If he opened his pockets up wide enough to dig out his wallet or his phone, he would be able to look in and see his smooth skin and the shiny floral print that lay beneath. “That will keep his mind occupied for a while,” I thought. He stuffed his old underwear into the empty bag, exited the stall, and tossed the bag into a garbage receptacle. He walked toward the door, holding his backpack to the front to hide the pup tent formed by the loose fitting pants. He glanced at the full length wall of mirrors as he walked by to make sure nothing was obvious. Panty-lines were barely visible as his pants slid back and forth across his ass. Not too bad, though. Those could easily be hi-cut men’s briefs. He headed to security.
He was hoping his erection would have subsided by the time he got to security, but he was not so fortunate. Glimpsing kaçak iddaa his panties when he pulled his ID out of his pocket for the TSA agent didn’t help either. He removed his shoes and threw his bag onto the conveyer belt. As the bag disappeared into the x-ray machine, the thought occurred to him that he had absolutely no idea what else I had put in there. If it was anything that looked questionable, they might have to do additional screening. He’s been subjected to that before. It was all very professional, and they always had two agents for accountability, but one thing they do is reach in and run their fingers around the inside of your waistband to make sure you’re not hiding anything. This was definitely not something he wanted to have happen right now.
He looked across to the other side of the security checkpoint and saw an attractive, but quite serious looking female agent. That’s who would be doing the additional screening if they notice anything in his bag that needed explaining. The idea of her discovering his underwear in the screening room made his dick continue to swell. He was in a bit of a fix as he approached the metal detector. He no longer had a bag to cover himself, and you can’t just say, “Please excuse me. I’m going to wait right here for my boner to die down.” He was trying to work out how to best cover his bulge as he stepped forward toward the detector. The female agent shook her head and politely motioned toward the full body scanner.
“Shit!” That’s the one where you turn sideways and stand spread eagle holding your hands over your head while the scanner zips around you. “This is not going well.” There was no way for him to adjust himself at this point without being obvious. Nothing he could do but just walk into that scanner and put his hands in the air. As he did, he felt his polo shirt pull up a little. There was no chance to check before getting in the scanner, but he hoped like hell the bikini strings weren’t showing above the waistband of his pants when his shirt came up. He just stood there–helpless and on display, waiting for the scanner to finish doing its thing. In reality, his hard-on was visible if you were looking at it, but it wasn’t like you could see it from the next terminal or anything. And I doubt anyone was paying much attention anyway. But I suppose if you’re the one standing there, hands over your head, legs spread, being told to hold that pose and not move, I’m sure it feels like the entire airport is staring at your junk.
He made it through without setting off any alarms. The agent smiled and said he was good to go. He wasn’t sure what all the smile meant, but he quickly gathered up his bag and left the area.
I looked at my watch. I wanted him to enjoy the panties for a while, but I also wanted to give him the next package before he boarded his flight, which would be soon. I texted him, “Through security?”
“Are they boarding yet?”
and text me”
If he was at all embarrassed from the security checkpoint, the thought of opening another package flushed all that from his mind. He quickly dug out the second package and went to the nearby bathroom. This bathroom was quite a bit busier than the last since everyone was doing their last minute business before boarding their flight. He waited a minute or so for a stall to become available and he went in. His hands were starting to tremble as he latched the door shut. He wanted to know what was in that bag. Finally, he untaped it with the same care as before and stuck his hand in. He could feel the nylon material. His favorite! He pulled the pantyhose out and held them up to see what style they were. Off black. Sheer-to-waist. Perfect. The sheer-to-waist are good when I want to give his dick a little room to move around. Unlike control tops, they’re loose enough to allow him to slide around inside. He also loves the visual. Instead of the entire top section being darker, there’s just one dark stripe in the middle leading from the waistband, between his legs, and up the back.
But putting these on in a crowded bathroom was a little trickier than the panties had been. He still did one leg at a time as best he could, but it proved to be more difficult and definitely took longer. With an entire leg out of his pants and wearing a pair of panties, he felt pretty exposed. He was worried that people walking by might see over the top of the stall or under the door. He eventually got both legs in and his pants back on up to his knees. He stood up straight and began pulling everything up. I know how much he loves the look and feel of pantyhose over his shaved legs and now he would be savoring the experience of stretching the nylon over his thighs and up his stomach. I knew he wouldn’t be rushing this. He was going to spend a minute or two in the bathroom admiring the view. And what a view it was! Smooth skin glowing under the dark nylon. Delicate bikini strings pressed into his hips. Satin floral pattern of his panties taking on another, deeper level of shine. Dark band of the sheer pantyhose outlining his cock and disappearing between kaçak bahis his legs. He appreciated his situation for another few seconds, then pulled up his pants. Now, with the pantyhose pulled up, he had to be a lot more careful about his shirt staying down. He made his way back to the boarding area as his legs and ass freely slid around inside his pants. Heaven.
He texted me, “done”
“Good. Lose the socks.”
“Toss your socks. You don’t need them.”
He of course had been wearing socks. But now it was time for them to go. First, I knew that he would enjoy the idea that a tiny bit of his secret fetish might flash into public view as he walked. Nobody would get a long enough look to ascertain what they were, but he would know that people could still see. A small part of his pantyhosed body would be visible to the world. This would excite him.
But secondly, I knew most of his stories from high school. I knew many of those seemingly insignificant events that had shaped his sexual fantasies. And I’ve heard him tell the story of how, back when he was in high school, the cheerleaders still wore tights–which basically amounted to pantyhose–under their slightly-above-the-knee skirts. Depending on the team colors, these tights might be white, nude, or dark like the ones he was currently wearing. One thing he loved was the cute, little white Keds they wore. When they would come out during a basketball game to do a cheer, clapping their hands and stomping their small feet, he would be paying particular attention to their shiny legs, extending down to their nylon-covered ankles, and disappearing into their adorable, little white tennis shoes. That’s a vision that stuck. I figured he might enjoy it.
He looked around for a less-crowded area. Finding a quiet corner, he sat down and removed his shoes. He strategically placed his backpack on the floor next to his feet, which provided a little bit of cover in case someone came walking by. Looking around one last time, he pulled off his socks and shoved each pantyhose-encased foot into its respective shoe. They slid right in. He looked at his lower calves. He looked at his exposed ankles. He looked at his tennis shoes and felt his feet wiggle around inside them. His mind flashed back to the cheerleaders. I was right. He did enjoy this. He tossed his socks in the nearest garbage can and walked back to the main boarding area. Every so many steps, his pant legs would move just right and expose just a sliver of shiny, dark material around his ankle. Nobody would be able to tell what they were seeing, but every time it happened, his dick got harder. At least the pantyhose helped with the trouser tent situation.
Finally, his row was called and he boarded the airplane. He sat down in his assigned seat, ignoring the passengers next to him, and quietly enjoying the sensations that nobody knew he was feeling. He stretched his legs out in front of him and barely caught a glimpse of nylon at the tops of his shoes. His dick twitched again. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and relaxed into his seat. “This is going to be a nice flight,” he thought to himself.
His phone buzzed again. I wanted to text him before it was too late.
for the flight. I want pics.”
Sometimes if I sent him to work wearing something sexy, I would text him during the day and make him send me a picture. I never received a picture that included a limp dick, so I always assumed he enjoyed it.
“ok. c u in a bit. xoxo,” he replied.
He couldn’t just reach down and touch himself with someone sitting right next to him, but he took the opportunity to enjoy the airplane’s movements as he subtly slid around inside his pants. The vibration from the engines when they started, the airplane bouncing along the uneven surface as they taxied to the runway, the rumble as the pilots pushed the throttles forward for takeoff, definitely the pantyhosed flight attendants that kept coming by checking seatbelts and making sure the airplane was ready to go–all of this added to his pleasure. He couldn’t wait to reach cruising altitude so that the captain would turn off the seatbelt sign and he could dart back to the bathroom with the last of his surprise packages. In the meantime, his imagination was running through all the possibilities of what could be in there. When the time finally came, he grabbed bag
and headed back.
He locked the door and slipped his shoes and pants off, assuming that was required for whatever was in the package. He ripped the paper open and held up its contents for inspection. A simple, white nylon slip. I knew him well. He held up the slip with one hand a rubbed his cock through his nylons with the other. A small, wet spot was forming through the pantyhose. He was becoming desperate in his desire to get off, but knew he’d be in trouble if he did. Too much excitement, though, and it might happen whether he wanted it to or not. “Calm down,” he told himself. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. This was the first time he had a chance to do so since he started opening the packages. In the mirror, he could see all the detail of his cock clearly outlined in the panties. He followed the side strings around as he turned to check out his ass. Beautiful! He removed his shirt in order to put the slip on.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32