Body stockings

She slips into the catsuit and feels every inch of it hug her skin like a secret only they share. Her boyfriend watches the way the sheer fabric stretches over her full breasts, how it clings to the curve of her hips, and something shifts in his eyes. She likes the power that gives her. She sinks to her knees without a word, leans in, and takes his cock into her warm mouth, wrapping her tongue around the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes. The bodysuit makes every movement feel intimate, like a second skin she chose just for him. He hardens quickly under her attention, and she takes him deeper, lips tight, saliva shining at the corners of her mouth. She doesn’t rush. She works him steady, breathing through her nose, letting her throat relax around him. When she finally pulls back, a string of spit clings between her lips and the tip. She smiles, climbs onto the bed, and spreads her legs. The fabric is thin enough that he can see everything—the way she’s already wet, the way she wants him inside. He moves over her, and she guides him in. The first thrust pushes the material aside just enough, and he sinks into her heat. She wraps her legs around his back, the catsuit whispering against his skin with every thrust. He fucks her slow, deep, building until he can’t hold back. When he comes, he stays buried, filling her. She feels the pulse of him inside, the warmth spreading. Only then does she let herself sigh, satisfied, her fingers tracing the sheen of sweat on his shoulder through the fine mesh.