Sapphic Nylon Enthrallment

"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?"

"Viral marketing."

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.

"They are."

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.

Everybody won.

* * *

The phone at the other end of the line rang three times and then clicked an open connection. "Connie?"

"Yes!"

"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?"

"Five minutes."

"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!"

"And often!"

"Bye!"

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.