Sissy's Janitor Begs for Her Sheer Stocking Cock

The soft hum of the fluorescent lights was the only sound left on the twenty-third floor after eight o’clock. Sissy sat at the wide mahogany desk in the corner office, legs crossed, the tight charcoal pencil skirt hugging her hips and thighs like a second skin. Her sheer black stockings shimmered under the lamplight with every subtle shift, the delicate nylon catching faint reflections that made her long legs look almost liquid. Glossy patent six-inch heels dangled from her toes as she typed the final quarterly report, red nails clicking across the keyboard.

The door clicked open.

Marcus stepped in pushing his cleaning cart, mop handle rattling softly. The twenty-two-year-old janitor froze the moment he saw her. His gaze dropped immediately to those sheer stockings, tracing the delicate seam that ran up the back of her calf and disappeared beneath the hem of her skirt. He had been watching her for months—stealing glances in the elevator, lingering outside conference rooms, jerking off in the supply closet to the memory of her legs. Tonight his control finally snapped.

Sissy felt his stare like a physical touch. She slowly uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again the other way. The sheer nylon whispered, a soft, silky shhhick that cut through the quiet like a moan.

Marcus’s breath hitched audibly. The mop slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Without thinking, he sank to his knees right there in the doorway, eyes wide and desperate.

“Please…” His voice cracked. “Miss Sissy… I can’t… I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been dying for months. Just… let me worship you. Let me worship your legs… your cock… please.”

Sissy leaned back in the leather chair, one perfectly arched brow lifting. A slow, wicked smile curved her crimson lips. She didn’t speak at first. Instead she recrossed her legs again, deliberately dragging one stocking-clad calf over the other so the nylon hissed louder this time. Marcus whimpered.

“Confess,” she said, voice low and velvet-smooth. “Tell me every filthy little fantasy you’ve had about me, janitor boy. Be specific. If you want my sheer stocking cock, you’re going to beg properly.”

Marcus’s hands trembled as they rested on his thighs. His cock strained painfully against his work pants.