Thigh highs

Hannah Hunter stands in a silent room wearing nothing but black thigh high stockings. She lets her fingers trace the band at the top of each one, feeling the sheer nylon stretch against her skin. One hand drifts lower, brushing between her legs as her breath catches. She watches the way the fabric clings to her thighs, the way it turns each small movement into something deliberate and electric. Her fingers move slower now, slick and sure, while her other hand glides down the length of a stockinged leg. The room stays quiet. Only the soft rustle of nylon and the quiet catch of her breath break the stillness as she takes her time, enjoying the feel of her own touch against smooth fabric and bare skin.