On Wednesday, I again wore a pair of thigh highs, this time white, again something new, as ck was my go to colour, with suntan my second choice. At home I also had a pair of red thigh highs I’d bought with a sexy red lingerie outfit for a Valentine’s Day surprise, but that was five years ago.


    I was sitting on top of my desk reading the newspaper, legs crossed just enough to showcase that I wasn’t wearing pantyhose but rather thigh highs, when Jake came in.


    He asked, “Miss me yesterday?”


    “Immensely,” I responded, in a sarcastic tone. “I had no one toment on my attire.”


    “Well, I do like the white; it says something different from the ck or beige you usually wear,” he said, noticing my thigh highs. I considered that if anyone asked Emery what I normally wore, he would be hard pressed to answer.


    “They’re actually suntan or mocha,” I corrected, before teasing, “I thought you knew your hosiery.”


    Heughed, as he nced to my legs, “I’m a man. I only know a few basics, but I can sure tell when a woman with nice legs is wearing thigh highs.”


    “I like to mix it up,” I shrugged, dangling my shoe from the tip of my toes.


    “I’m beginning to think you’re wearing them for me,” he said, as my shoe dropped to the floor.


    “Aren’t you full of yourself?” I teased yfully, as he reached down and retrieved my heel.


    “I’m confident with what The Lord gifted me,” he said, “andfortable with what He didn’t.” As he put my shoe back on, his left hand slyly caressed my nylon d ankle.


    “And what were you blessed with?” I asked, feeling like Cindere as he put my shoe back on, although I was definitely wondering whether something else would fit me perfectly.


    “Sheer nylons, nice,” he approved, ignoring my pointed question, as he stood back up.


    “I only wear the best,” I bragged.


    “You should always have only the best,” he responded, his implication obvious.


    “I couldn’t agree more,” I nodded, ncing at the bulge in his crotch.


    “We should go out for drinks to celebrate your birthday,” he offered.


    Suddenly all the flirting hade to a head. It was one thing to flirt, to imply I’d love to have his big ck cock pounding me, but it would be quite another to cross the line and actually do it.


    I stammered, suddenly unsure of myself, “I-I-I um already have ns.”


    “Change them,” he said. “I promise you won’t regret it.”


    Iughed softly as I said, “Oh, I may really enjoy it, but afterwards I would certainly regret it.”


    He shrugged, “Think about it, Connie. A life full of regrets is a life not lived.”


    “I will,” I nodded, giving him hope when I should have shut it down right then and there.


    That afternoon he walked in during a recess and handed me a Milky Way.


    I looked at him, perplexed.N?velD(ram)a.?rg owns this content.


    He exined with a grin, “Delicious chocte on the outside, creamy filling on the inside.”


    “Oh my,” I replied, feeling my cheeks flushing at the incredibly direct innuendo.


    “That’s what they all usually say,” he smiled.


    “Then followed by ‘Oh God’?” I followed up, drawn into the naughty word y like a moth to a me, even as I recalled Mom’s revtionsst week.


    “That, usually apanied by an expletive or two,” heughed.


    I stepped close to him and whispered in his ear, “Is it sometimes, ‘Oh God, it fills me up so fucking much?''”


    For the first time he lost his cool and stammered, “Y-y-yeah, something like that.”


    I unwrapped the bar, slowly put part of it in my mouth and took a bite, doing it as sexily as someone can eat a chocte bar… at least I hoped it was sexy. I then said, “God, I love this mixture: dark, yet creamy.”


    “You should try one homemade,” he countered wittily, his eyes lost in mine just as the bell rang.


    “Everything is better homemade,” I nodded, bing more and more tempted to take the metaphor and make it real… thankfully the children who came into the room stopped my naughty thoughts… well they didn’t stop them, they inadvertently stopped our banter from going further into forbidden zones.


    Or not… Jake kept going, “And nothing is better than homemade one-of-a-kind chocte cream.”


    My panties dampened as I imagined it as I added, “I often like ying with my food.”


    Before he could reply all my kids had returned from recess, halting our conversation. I hinted at how hungry I was for some chocte by sliding the entire Milky Way slowly into my mouth.


    He stared in awe.


    After I took my leisurely time chewing and swallowing, I smacked my lips audibly and smiled, “Now that was delicious.”


    “What’s delicious?” little Amy asked.


    “Chocte sticks,” I answered her, looking at Jake as I did.


    Jake shook his head as I nced down and saw that our conversation and/or my act had made his not-so-little soldier secretly salute me… before he turned and walked out rather stiffly.


    I knew that Jake was leading the debate club across the street at the high school after school on Wednesdays, not because I’m a stalker but because earlier he’d asked if I was interested in assisting him in coaching. I was a state debate champion a long time ago, and he was still a reigning state champion from a few years ago. I’d said no as I didn’t have time, but I now wondered if he’d had an ulterior motive.


    Wednesday night, Mom called to confirm she would be meeting me at Gwen’s Spa at four. She asked, “Had any chocte this week?”


    I told the truth, “Does a Milky Way count?”


    “You’re running out of time with the dipshit gone,” she said.


    “You’re the worst mother ever,” I teased.


    “Or the best,” she countered, not missing a beat, before we chatted for a few minutes about generic crap.


    That night, I got myself off imagining my birthday present being ten inches of ck cock… to be exact, Jake’s ck cock, as I watched the Piper porn scene again.


    …..


    I arrived at school and was surprised to see a gift-wrapped package on my desk. I briefly wondered if it was from Jake as I picked it up… I LOVE presents.


    I unwrapped the box, opened it and saw a pair of Wolford thigh high stockings and an unsigned, typed note.


    You deserve the best.


    I assumed they were from Jake, but couldn’t be sure. These stockings were expensive and had to be imports.