Christmas Stockings
He looked across at her again, once more she caught him in the act; so much for trying to play it cool. On the other hand, whenever he looked up, she seemed to be looking at him; was it mutual admiration? He'd been in the job for eight months now; most days he'd thought the same thoughts and asked himself the same question.
It was 1979; Adam was twenty-seven years of age, tall and slim with short fair hair. He was married but separated; divorce proceedings were ongoing. His failed marriage was childless, the financial settlement had been agreed upon and the decree absolute would soon come into effect. He'd been married for two years when, in his previous job, he'd got too friendly with a female colleague. His wife had assumed the worst and had slept with an old boyfriend in retaliation. Their marriage fell apart, his wife's parents bought his share of the house and he moved into a small one-bedroomed place on the outskirts of the city.
Vicky, the object of his current infatuation, was also twenty-seven. She was taller than average, slender with long, straight brown hair and gentle eyes. She was quiet and a little shy, but she was also friendly and intelligent. She'd been married for five years, had no children and lived a couple of miles from the office, in the same direction as Adam's house.
They were both leaders of small teams within a section of the local education department. Adam had joined the section at Easter, his desk faced Vicky's desk which was at right angles to his. She was about thirty feet away from him in the open-plan office. He watched her as she got up from her desk to go to a filing cabinet, she wore a woollen jumper and a black, A-line, knee-length skirt.
She always wore barely black hosiery and black court shoes; he loved her legs. He watched her a lot; he fancied her; she had a gentle nature and was quite attractive; but she was married. He'd spoken to her regularly about work matters, but she rarely joined in with office banter; she always listened but rarely spoke.
********************
It was Friday, the last working day before Christmas Day which was on the following Tuesday. It was also the day of the office Christmas lunch and, later on, after lunch, there would be a retirement presentation to a colleague who had been with the Council for forty years.
At around eleven-fifteen, he looked up and saw consternation on her face. She was talking in hushed tones to Maud, another of the team leaders. He wondered what the problem could be, he didn't like to see her looking troubled. Maud, a matronly figure in her late fifties, saw him looking and marched over to his desk; she spoke to him quietly so that no one else could hear.
"Adam, Vicky's forgotten Walter's retirement present."
Vicky had organised the collection and had bought and wrapped the gift but had inadvertently left it at home when she'd hurried for the bus that morning.
"Would you be a sweetheart and give her a lift home now to go and fetch it; do you mind?"
"No, of course not," he replied as he reached for his coat, "We should be able to get there and back by lunchtime."
His heart leapt at the thought of being alone with her. They walked together down to the underground car park; she apologised for inconveniencing him but he told her that he didn't mind and he was pleased to be of assistance. He kept sneaking a look at her legs as he drove her home. Her black A-line skirt fell over her thighs, down to her dainty knees that were just visible beyond the hemline. Her perfect calves, in barely black hosiery, and her high heels, made for a very pleasing sight. He liked to think that she wore stockings, but he had no idea whether she did or not.
They talked about work and colleagues, he asked her about her husband, she said little about him except that he worked long hours in his job as an electrician. To his surprise, when they got to her house, she invited him in. There was a distinct frisson of sexual tension in the air. She went through into the kitchen where she had left the retirement gift. As she did so, she asked him if he'd like a glass of water. He followed her; to his delight and amazement, her lingerie was airing on a clothes pulley suspended from the ceiling, French knickers, bras, a suspender belt and half a dozen pairs of barely black stockings hung in front of his eyes.
His cock began to swell; he got the urge to fuck her there and then; if she'd given him the merest sign, he would have done it. He wondered if she'd deliberately set out to seduce him. He couldn't tear his eyes from the drying underwear, she followed his gaze and her face flushed pink; his nerve failed him and he said that they'd better be getting back. On the way back the sexual tension was palpable. Neither of them mentioned the underwear; she hardly spoke to him; he couldn't decide if it was embarrassed or just her natural reticence.
They got back to the office just in time to join their colleagues for Christmas lunch at a restaurant close by. They stayed close together as though there was an unspoken agreement between them; they knew that they would end up sitting next to each other. From time to time, when she laughed at something he said, she laid her hand on his forearm; he liked it and he was attentive towards her.
When the meal had ended and they were getting ready to head back to the office, he helped her on with her coat. She stepped backwards and accidentally bumped against him; he steadied her by putting his arm around her waist and giving her a squeeze. She caught hold of his arm and held it to her midriff, and then she quickly let go before any of their colleagues noticed their brief coming together. He felt a mild churning in the pit of his stomach and wondered whether his growling attachment to her was as much romantic as it was sexual.
They walked together back to the office; he asked what she was doing after work and how she would be getting home. She said she'd got nothing on and would just be getting the bus home as usual. He offered to give her a lift, and she agreed, but they both knew that there was more on offer than just a lift.
They got back to the office at two o'clock. Little work was done for the rest of the afternoon; staff drank and chatted with one another. He talked to other colleagues but he was always aware of where she was and he felt a warm tingle every time he looked at her.
The retirement presentation took place at three-thirty, afterwards, people started to drift off home. At four o'clock, as they were putting their coats on, Lou, the office joker, held a piece of mistletoe above their heads. Vicky flushed with embarrassment, Adam made light of it and kissed her on her cheek. Maud shouted, "No, not like that; give her a proper kiss." There seemed to be no way out of it so they touched lips together and kissed gently for a couple of seconds. He felt the warmth of her lips against his and wished that they were alone.
Minutes later, in the underground car park, as they got into the car, sexual tension was running high.
"I'm sorry that I kissed you like that, it seemed like the only way to shut them up."
"I didn't mind, you can kiss me again if you like."
He squeezed her thigh and felt a suspender strap; his cock twitched with approval.
"Do you always wear stockings?"
"Yes, do you like them?"
"Yes, does your husband like you in stockings?"
"I don't think he's bothered one way or the other."
"Oh, that's a shame."
"Why?"
"Well, if you were married to me, I'd think I was the luckiest man alive."
"Would you?"
"Yes, I wouldn't be able to resist you. I'd be taking you up to bed the moment we were both home from work."
"I wouldn't object."
His cock was beginning to harden; a car pulled into the dimly lit car park; the glare from its headlights flooded into his car so, rather than attract suspicion, he drove off.
They approached the road where she lived; he wanted her desperately.
"Is your husband at home now?"
"No, he won't be home until after ten, he's doing a double shift because it's extra pay at this time of year."
"Do you have to go home yet; would you like to come back to my place for a drink? I could bring you home later."
"I'd love to."
He squeezed her thigh again, her legs parted slightly. He lived a mile or so further out in a suburb. They drove to his place with his hand on her knee, slowly raising her black A-line skirt up along her thighs until her stocking tops were visible. He was as hard as iron and he wished that she would lay her hand on his cock.
He pulled into the close where he lived, parked on his small driveway and turned off the ignition. She turned her face towards his and they held each other's gaze for several seconds as a precursor to a kiss. The kiss was passionate; his hand moved slowly up her thigh until he felt the bare flesh above her stocking tops. His arousal was intense; he could feel the warmth radiating from her pussy. He was about to stroke it through her satin knickers when a light came on in his next-door neighbour's house.
"We'd better go inside."
He followed her to the front door, unlocked it and let her into the small hallway. They went through into the lounge and she removed her coat; he hung it up with his and poured her a glass of white wine.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.
She didn't answer immediately; she took a sip of wine; she wasn't much of a drinker and she'd had two large glasses at lunchtime. She sat down on the settee feeling uninhibited, began to relax and opened up about herself. He sat down next to her on her right, put his wine down and placed a hand on her knee.
"I want you to make love to me; my husband hasn't been near me for nine months. We never did have much of a sex life but now he seems completely disinterested."
"Is he blind? Look at you; you're hot, your legs are stunning and you wear stockings; what more could he want?"
"Not that apparently."
"Do you wear stockings in the hope of turning him on?"
"That's how it started a couple of years ago, but it didn't seem to make any difference. We only ever had sex if I initiated it and he often couldn't manage it; we resorted to making me come with our fingers, I rubbed my clit and he put his fingers inside me. It was always over very quickly, I think he's verging on a-sexual. I don't think it's just me; he doesn't seem to have any sexual desire at all. I can't live like that; that's why I still wear stockings every day."
