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Since Mark joined the firm, he and Phyllis have had regular business meetings; every few days; just the two of them. Company things moved quickly between them and so did their friendship.

In only the second meeting, on a Wednesday, Mark said, “I hope you’re not offended by my comment on your stockings, at the selection sessions.”

“No. Not at all. It’s nice to have someone notice,” she replied.

“May I ask something on the same subject?” he ventured with a little break in his speech, as if expecting a rebuff.

“Ask me and I’ll let you know,” she smiled and chuckled.

“Well; how do you keep your stocking in place and looking so good?” was his query.

“I wear a girdle, of course,” she felt able to say, and quite relaxed about it, against her own expectation.

“Will you have dinner with me one evening, or lunch at the weekend?” he asked her, straight out with no hesitation in his voice this time.

“That would be nice,” she agreed and so it was arranged for Saturday lunchtime. They would visit a local country restaurant that she knew already. He would collect her from her house, and he seemed to know her address before she told him.

“Can I call you Phil?” he asked, “or do you prefer your full name?”

“No one has ever called me Phil, but I’m happy for you to do it,” she assured him.

At that moment, for the first time in many years, Phyllis felt coquettish, frisky, alluring and enticing in the presence of a man she liked. She stood up in front of Mark, looked him steadily in the face with a little smile, reached backwards to her left back-suspender and adjusted it under her skirt. First, she unhooked the stocking, moved the welt around a little, and then did up the suspender again. All the time looking straight into his eyes and smiling. Mark couldn’t actually see what she was doing except that he saw her movements and seemed to understand the process. He smiled back at her, stood up as if to leave, took hold of her waist and kissed her gently on her lips. Not a mad passionate sloppy kiss; just a quick brushing of their lips and then he moved away.

“I think you’re lovely and special, and I look forward to Saturday,” he said softly and then left, looking back at her all the time.

On the evening after that conversation, Phyllis was in a turmoil of excitement and apprehension. After all, what did she know about him? Only his age and his liking for her nylons. And maybe her underwear. Hardly enough to risk spending time alone with him so she was relieved that they arranged a public place. After all, she was old enough to be his mother.

She began to plan her outfit for Saturday and got herself into a more relaxed frame of mind.

In bed, later, she slept through the night in her girdle and stockings, but not before she had brought herself to a long slow orgasm with one of her “toys.” This time, thinking of Mark, she allowed herself to wonder what would he be like as a man-with-a-woman. The girdle and nylons were there, reminding her through the night as she awoke from time to time; and the same question came to mind.

On Saturday, Phyllis decided to make a big effort to please herself in her clothes and maybe to please Mark as well. She chose her firmest and most difficult girdle, made by Spirella in the early 1980s, when she was still a young woman. High-waist in style, rigid front panel with bones down the front, at the sides and all the way down the back from top edge to the rear suspenders.

Donning this girdle took over an hour: getting it into place correctly, connecting up the eight hooks over her left hip and ribs, finally sliding the zipper up the whole length and feeling herself totally contained.

Bending round to fasten the tan-coloured fully-fashioned stockings was no easy task but she revelled in it, partly because the movements exaggerated the tightness on her waist but mostly because she always enjoyed the smoothness and the precision of these nylon stockings, with their dark line up her calves and thighs.

On top, she added a midi-bra that settled into her already-gripped waist and a pair of silky satin panties, which met the bottom edge of the bra on her waist.

A long scrutiny in the long mirror convinced her that she was “properly dressed” for this man and this occasion. In fact, she was slightly breathless and she knew it was partly excitement but also a consequence of her firm girdle. And she was elated, with warmth and moisture dikmen escort under the panties.

Over all these delightful underpinnings, she wore a mid-calf shirtwaist dress with long sleeves, buttons all the way down the front; and a wide belt to show off her girdled waist.

At 12.15, Mark drove up in his SUV and she let him into her little house, while she put on her coat. He took it from her when she lifted it out of the closet, and held it for her as she turned her back on him. It fell into place and she was on the point of fastening a button or two, butMark placed his hands on her shoulders and she stopped, standing still, wondering what he would do next.

In her hallway there is an ornamental mirror and she glanced into it to see that he was smiling and looking into her eyes in the reflection. She smiled back, cocked her head to one side a little, and turned towards him, so that his hands left her shoulders and he let them fall to his sides.

Phyllis put her hands up to his shoulders, although not round his neck, and stood back so that there was still a space between them. Looking into each other’s eyes, they both smiled and Mark held out his hands to hold her waist through the coat and all her other clothing.

“Phil, I like you very much. And you must know I’m also attracted to your dress sense and your style,” and he squeezed her waist a little.

She smiled back at him and chuckled again, “You mean you like my girdles and nylons. Is that right?”

“You’re a clever and fascinating woman,” he replied with a big grim across his face, “and yes, you’re right. But more than that.”

He pulled her gently towards him and she leaned forward so that their lips met. Just for a moment; again not a long lingering deep kiss. Just a quick recognition between them, that there was an attraction. And they left for lunch.

During the meal, Phyllis became increasingly excited by Mark’s presence, even though they spoke mostly about work and life. She learned that he was single, having been stood-up during wedding plans ten years before. She heard of his education and career, and his parents, and he began to speak of his desire for happiness. But he stopped short of saying anything that might be interpreted as an invitation to her.

She told him a little about herself but didn’t feel able to expose her life too much at this first meeting. She spoke mainly about her long career with the publishing company.

And yet she noticed one thing about the meal: they both chose light food from the menu. He didn’t gorge himself on steak and potatoes as her previous male acquaintances would have done. And she was careful to choose light items also; salad, poached salmon, white wine, and ending with a sorbet and Earl Grey tea.

For a moment, she wondered why they were eating like this and then she realised. They were both careful not to overfill their stomachs in case there would be physical closeness later in the afternoon. This realisation made her like Mark even more. It made him seem likely to be a careful and caring lover, and that thought excited her so that she could feel again the warmth between her legs, between the suspenders and the back edge of her girdle.

“Shall I take you home now?” Mark asked and she wondered for a moment what he meant. Did he mean, “…take you home and see you at work Monday…” or “…can I come home with you?” or “… shall we go to my place instead?”

She took charge of the conversation and said, “Please come home with me.”

And that’s what they did.

During the short drive, Phyllis was worried that her excitement and moisture would seep through to her dress and onto the car-seat; but it didn’t.

Inside, she took off her coat and hung it in the hall-closet.

As she turned, Mark took hold of her waist again and pulled her towards him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and, this time, the kiss was real and passionate between both of them. It obviously meant something more than kind friendship. And then things developed very quickly and gave Phyllis all the clues she needed about this man.

It started when she whispered after the kiss, “I need to go to the loo – a wee.”

His response was shocking and exciting, “I’ll come with you” and he propelled her gently towards the bathroom door.

Inside, with the door still open and him standing there, she turned with her back to the seat, unbelted and unbuttoned her emek escort dress, and opened it to show her underwear.

She bent forward to push down the satin panties and began to sit down, knowing that he was watching.

He didn’t watch long. As she sat on the seat he moved, almost dashed, forward and knelt in front of her with his right hand stretched out between her legs. She gasped as he cupped her labia and vagina in his palm at the very moment her flow of urine started. He held her warm wet flow in his hand until it overflowed into the toilet, and then kept his hand in place as she emptied her bladder over his fingers and wrist. She noticed he was careful not to allow the urine to flow backwards onto the bottom edge of her tight girdle.

She had never experienced anything so erotic before and yet there had been no sex activity; just herself taking a pee with a man holding her between her legs.

She finished, and they looked into each other’s eyes as he reached over for a hand-towel and smiled broadly with his face only a few inches from hers. As he dried his hand, he leaned forward from his kneeling position and kissed her again. She took hold of his head and kissed him with a passion she didn’t recognise in herself. She knew that she was changing.

She stood, let the panties fall off her feet, and Mark wiped between her legs with the same towel, turned carefully to a dry part; gently and sensuously.

They moved back into her bedroom, with Mark holding her waist and walking backwards. There, next to the bed, he slipped the dress from her shoulders and arms, and laid it on the chair in front of her dressing table. He held her at his arm’s length and looked over her corseted figure.

“You look wonderful. I’ve been dreaming of you all my life and now here you are,” he said hoarsely, as if his excitement and anticipation was affecting his throat and his breathing.

“Mark, no one has ever said this to me before,” she responded and blushed as her own excitement grew every second.

Quickly he undressed and simply threw his clothes into a pile near the mirror, until he was naked and embracing her girdled figure. His erection pressed firmly into her underwear as they kissed again deeply and long.

Mark leaned her towards the bed and she lay down. It was such a long time since she had been in this situation that she was uncertain how to behave. She just lay back with her head on the pillow, her hands reaching out to hold Mark’s arm, and opened her legs a little. Enough for his hand to move there, if he wanted.

But he didn’t do that. Instead he kissed her throat as she bent her head back. He moved his hands all over the front of her body, feeling at her breasts through the long bra, the tightness of her girdle, the firmness of the boning and the long zipper, and lingering over the suspenders. He ran his hands over the tops of her stockings and down her legs to feel the smoothness and the taut nylon as it held her thighs and calves.

He moved his lips to her upper chest and kissed over her bra cups, then down to her waist and over her stomach, and all the way down to the suspenders and the bottom edge of the girdle. Kissing all the time and breathing onto her figure. Phyllis held his head gently as he moved his lips over her girdled figure and revelled in the sensation of a man treating her as she’s always wanted; in her underwear and enjoying it as much she did.

As he was kissing her front left suspender and the top of her stocking, he moved his hand between her legs and probed towards her labia. He probed towards her labia and Phyllis opened her legs a little more. By now she was dripping wet and Mark slipped his middle finger inside her with ease and pleasure for them both. She squirmed and mewed like a kitten although she wasn’t aware of the sound herself; she was now miles away in a world of desire and surrender.

Mark moved his lips down to her mound and then to her clitoris as he pulsed his finger slowly in and out of her. He licked and swirled his tongue around and could tell from her movements and sounds that he was achieving her pleasure. She placed her hands on top of his head as he worked on her and pressed him closer: down into the fold of her thighs and into the tautness of her girdle edge. And then her climax took over and she writhed in pleasure with her eyes wide open staring at the ceiling, and cry clutching in her throat. The best-ever pleasure eryaman escort swept over her and through her, from her lips to her breasts, to her belly and her bladder, to her clitoris and down into her thighs where Mark was still imprisoned under her hands; next to her tight girdle edge.

She relaxed and took her hands from his head, leaning back with her head turned slightly to one side. Mark raised himself with his face wet and flushed from its closeness to her now-tranquil sex. With a smooth movement, he raised himself over her and leaned his legs between hers, forcing them further apart. She raised her knees to make way for him and he entered her with the fullness of his erection. She became aware of the swelling inside her and the movement back and forth; much better than any dildo or vibrator she had. She put her hands on his head again only to find that he was nestling his face onto her bra cups, and holding onto her girdled waist. His hands moved to massage and caress her clothing as he took pleasure from the extra sensation in his fingers and palms. Phyllis was pleased beyond her expectation at his desire and that he took such pleasure from her underwear. Here was the man she’d been waiting for, for all her adult life.

She could feel the pressure of her girdle edge on his erection as he moved, and he needed to move the girdle slightly out of his way at each thrust. Phyllis was delighted and pleased again to feel the effect of her underwear on this man; and she could tell that he was pleased also with the constant tension of the girdle against him.

She expected him to come to climax and to pump his sperms into her. That’s what all men had done before. But he didn’t. Instead, he controlled his movements and slowly lifted himself off her. He motioned her to kneel up in the bed and soon she realised that she was positioned doggy-style. She’d heard of this but never experienced it and wondered how it would feel. Within a few seconds she knew.

Mark took hold of her contained waist and guided his erection up the tunnel of her girdle, between her thighs, and back inside her hot wet vagina. He continued his moving in and out with more vigour and she could tell that his climax was coming. His breathing became ragged. His hands roamed over her waist and her thighs and her bottom and underneath her to feel her taut flat stomach. He was taking pleasure through his hands as much as from his erection inside her.

Phyllis put her forehead on the pillow and reached one hand down to her clitoris, rubbing it furiously in the hope of reaching her orgasm at the same time as Mark. The stimulation of his erection inside her, and with his hands squeezing and moving over her firm underwear, coupled with her own rubbing was sufficient to bring her to orgasm in a few seconds. For a second time that evening, her mind was overwhelmed and her body shuddered with the tension and release that came with her orgasm. Mark’s followed in a few seconds, even as she was enjoying her own shaking and the tingling in her skin. To add to those sensations, she could feel his flood pouring into her and, in her imagination, he was pumping her up with his sex juices. It seemed to her in her semi-conscious state that he was inflating her and making her girdle even tighter.

They collapsed together on the bed and Mark rolled to one side as Phyllis spread out her limbs to relieve the tension and to sense the feel of her firm girdle against the cool sheets. Lying on her tummy, she was aware of Mark’s hands wandering over her body again, feeling at the features of her girdle and bra, and the tightness of her figure. He ran his hands over her thighs and down her stockings to her knees, pressing on the taut nylon and following the distinctive back seam. She slept and he covered her with the thin duvet she used in the summertime.

When Phyllis awoke, half-an-hour later, she glanced to one side and saw Mark propped up on one elbow, watching her and with one hand on her waist. He leaned towards her and breathed into her ear, “You are wonderful. I want to be with you all the time. Please.”

For a moment, she wondered if that was a proposal or a proposition. She didn’t care: this man was treating her as she’d always wanted.

She just murmured, “Mmm. You’re wonderful too,” and then she giggled, “You do realise I’m old enough to be your mother?”

For Phyllis, his reply was perfect again and she liked him even more, “You’re age is only a number. You’re the woman I’ve been looking and waiting for. Now I don’t want to lose you.”

The rest of the evening and night confirmed to both of them the value of their discoveries. And Phyllis knew then that she was on a discovery trip; she would do anything that this nice man wanted of her.

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