On Display

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***

Tim's wife was out of town for the week, and he shivered a little in delight while pulling out the control top pantyhose.

He didn't have a large collection of lingerie - half a dozen panties of various styles, one garter belt, and some packages of Hanes and L'eggs. There was an art gallery opening this evening, and the control tops would be just daring enough for him to actually wear in public. Definitely not the panties, there was too much possibility of an errant line showing under his dress slacks.

Having showered and shaved with special attention to his groin, Tim worked the pantyhose up his legs with some difficulty. The things were very snug clinging as a sheath around his legs, and the tops of the thighs stopped just a bit short of where his own legs ended. He bent and smoothed the nylon upward but couldn't get it any higher. Oh well, the control top had plenty of space above that point.

Tim walked from side to side in front of the mirror, admiring the smooth lines. His cock was thickened but not really hard as he sat on the edge of the bed and drew his slacks up. The feeling was ... unusual. He slid his wallet into the back pocket, buttoned up his shirt and tucked the tails in between the control top and the inside of the slacks. Shoes and socks for appearance sake, cell phone and keys, and a jacket tossed over his shoulder made him ready to go mingle amongst the unsuspecting crowd.

The only really strange part about walking and driving in the pantyhose was the sensation in back where his cheeks rubbed together. He had never noticed it when wearing cotton briefs - perhaps the briefs held his backside in place. The parking lot for the gallery was full by the time he arrived, and he had to park in the overflow lot a half block away. There was a sensual feel from the nylon around his feet that worked its way up the insides of his legs. By the time he arrived at the entrance to the gallery, the smile on his face had nothing to do with the art being shown inside.

About twenty minutes into the event, circulating with a glass of champagne, Tim realized that something wasn't right.

The sensations were difficult to decipher, but he realized that the top of the control top wasn't holding. Very slowly, it was slipping down his stomach and back. Well, that was unexpected but not unmanageable. The men's room was only a few paintings further down the wall.

Unfortunately, only one stall with a door was working in the men's room, and there was a line for that. For pete's sake, what did women do in such a situation? Oh yes - they had more private stalls. Well, he'd just have to deal with a bit of discomfort, and headed back into the gallery to circulate.

It was more than a bit of discomfort. The control top rapidly tugged down to the tops of the thighs, leaving his cock brushing against his shirttails and his bottom bare against the back of his slacks. Worse, the bit of material between the two legs was very short and made it difficult for him to walk. His thighs felt sweaty where they rubbed together. There was nothing he could do, he'd just have to say a few good-byes and head to the car.

When he turned that direction, he saw Sharon, his first wife, right between Tim and the door.

Sharon, bless her heart, had been totally civil about their breakup. She wanted society and bright lights, where Tim was content with a quiet back-office job that only got them into middle income. They had agreed on everything, even to the point of using the same lawyer, then hugged and parted ways. He hadn't seen her for - it must have been four years. Sharon, waving her drink for emphasis, was intent on catching up over every day since then.

If she'd only stayed put, Tim could have dealt with it, but Sharon led Tim through the whole gallery, never letting the conversation flag and making his legs ache with the effort of walking normally. The good news was that the top couldn't sag down any farther, the bad news that the material seemed to be getting tighter around and between his chafing thighs. And Sharon, who must have been on her third or fourth drink, kept him moving.

Finally she seemed to be running down, and not a moment too soon for Tim. They agreed that they shouldn't stay out of touch so long, and Tim wished Sharon luck in her new charity work. Success, he thought. Escape, he thought.

And that's when Sharon decided to give Tim a fond hug just like old times, grinding her crotch against his and rubbing her hand over his ass. Even through the fog of alcohol, Sharon's eyes opened wide recognizing something out of the ordinary.

Tim managed to politely break the hug without returning the grope, and chewed the inside of his cheek forcing his stride to look normal as he made it out of the gallery doors and into the concealing night, his gait awkward but increasing as he got farther from other people.

He set a record that night for speed removing pantyhose, and crumpled the offending garment tossing it emphatically into the trash. He was home, and he was safe.

Except for the flashing light on the answering machine with the caller ID indicating it was from Sharon.

/ END /