Sissy's Delivery Driver Demands Her Stocking Tease

I never meant for it to go this far, but the moment I slipped into that sheer black pair of thigh-high stockings, I knew exactly what I was doing. At twenty-two, slim-hipped and smooth, I had perfected the art of working from home in full femme. Today was no different. A tiny pleated skirt that barely covered the lace tops of my garters, a cropped cashmere sweater, full makeup, and those glossy stockings that made my legs look endless. The mirror told me I looked like a slutty little secretary who’d forgotten her panties on purpose. Perfect.

Marcus had been delivering to me every Wednesday for almost two months. The first time he saw me dressed like this he did a visible double-take, but he stayed professional. That changed when I started teasing him on purpose.

It began innocently enough—leaning against the doorframe with one stockinged leg bent, letting the hem of my skirt ride up while I signed for my packages. Then it became deliberate. I’d cross my legs slowly while standing there, letting the silky whisper of nylon fill the silence between us. I’d run my fingertips along the seam at the back of my calf, pretending to adjust the garter strap while his eyes followed every movement. Each week the air grew thicker. Each week the bulge in his brown delivery uniform grew more obvious. By the fourth visit we weren’t even pretending anymore. He would stare at my legs like a starving man, and I would smile up at him with glossy lips, heart hammering, pussy clenching with need.

Last week he’d lingered so long that the tablet nearly slipped from his big hands. I’d crossed my legs at the ankle, pointed my toes, and let the light catch the sheen along my shin. When his cock twitched visibly against his thigh I almost moaned out loud. That night I came three times just replaying the memory, fingers buried inside myself while I whispered his name.

This Wednesday I dressed to break him.

The doorbell rang at 11:17. I took a slow breath, checked my reflection one last time—lips painted a dangerous red, lashes long and dark—then opened the door with my usual shy smile.

Marcus filled the frame. Six-three, broad shoulders, thick forearms corded with muscle, short beard framing a strong jaw. His uniform stretched across his chest like it was one deep breath away from giving up. The moment his dark eyes dropped to my legs, something shifted in his expression. Hunger. Raw, undisguised hunger.

“Morning, Sissy,” he said, voice lower than usual. His gaze traveled up the glossy black stockings, over the delicate lace bands biting into my soft thighs, then to the tiny skirt that did almost nothing to hide the fact I was already half-hard beneath it.

“Morning, Marcus.” I turned slightly, letting him see the back seam running perfectly up my calves. “Same place as usual?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he stepped closer, close enough that I could smell his clean sweat and faint cologne. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

My pulse spiked. I tilted my head, playing innocent even as my clit throbbed. “I’m just signing for my package.”

“Bullshit.” The word came out rough. He glanced down the hallway, then back at me. “Those fucking stockings. Every week you tease me with them. Crossing your legs. Sliding one foot against the other. You think I don’t see how wet you get when I stare?”

I bit my lip. My knees felt weak.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “They’re driving me fucking crazy, Sissy. I’m hard the entire route knowing I’m coming here next. I jerk off in my truck after I leave you, thinking about wrapping those glossy legs around my head.”

Heat flooded my face and between my thighs. I was breathing faster now. So was he.

I stepped back, heart racing. “Would you… like to come inside for a drink? It’s hot out.”

Marcus didn’t hesitate. He stepped across the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him, and set the package on the floor without looking at it. The click of the lock sounded final. Delicious.

I walked ahead of him into the living room, deliberately slow, letting my hips sway. I could feel his eyes on my ass, on the flash of stocking tops every time the skirt moved. When I reached the couch I turned, sat down, and crossed my legs high, letting the skirt ride all the way up so the garter straps and the smooth bare skin above the stockings were completely on display.

Marcus stood over me like a storm about to break.

“Keep going,” he ordered softly.

I slid one stocking foot up his leg, slowly, from ankle to knee, then higher, until my toes brushed the massive bulge straining against his uniform pants. The nylon whispered against the fabric. His cock jumped under my touch.

“Fuck,” he growled.

I circled my foot over the thick length, feeling it throb. “Is this what you wanted, Marcus? My slutty stocking feet teasing your big dick?”

His control snapped.

In one motion he grabbed both my ankles, yanked my legs apart, and dropped to his knees between them. “If you keep teasing me like a little sissy slut, I’m going to use you like one.”

The words sent a lightning bolt straight to my core. “Yes,” I breathed. “Please.”

He didn’t waste time. Marcus flipped me over the back of the couch so fast my skirt flew up. Cool air kissed my bare ass as he ripped my tiny lace panties to the side. Then his mouth was on me—hot, wet, filthy. His tongue dragged over my tight little hole with long, greedy strokes, growling into my ass like he’d been dying to taste it for weeks. I moaned like a whore, pushing back against his face, stockings stretched tight as I spread my legs wider for him.

“God, you taste good,” he muttered, spearing his tongue inside me. “Such a pretty sissy hole.”

I was leaking all over the inside of my skirt, cock trapped against the couch, rubbing against the silky lining. When he stood up I heard his belt, the rasp of his zipper, then the heavy slap of his thick cock against my ass. Eight inches, veined, flushed dark, already glistening at the tip.

He didn’t ask. He simply pushed forward, stretching me open in one long, relentless stroke until his hips met my ass and his balls rested against my own. The burn was perfect. I cried out, fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “Gonna ruin this little sissy pussy.”

Then he started to move—deep, powerful thrusts that rocked me forward. Every stroke dragged over my prostate and made my cock drool onto the stockings below. I reached down and wrapped my hand around myself through the sheer nylon, stroking in time with his pounding. The silk felt incredible against my sensitive skin.

Marcus grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled my head back. “That’s it. Stroke that pretty clit while I fuck you.”

He railed me like that for long minutes, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room along with my shameless moans. Then he pulled out, spun me around, and lifted my legs high. I landed on my back on the couch, stockings gleaming under the sunlight streaming through the window. Marcus hooked my knees over his shoulders, leaned in, and slid back inside me in one smooth thrust.

This time he could watch my face. He stared down at me while he fucked me, one big hand running up and down my stocking-covered thigh, thumb stroking the seam. The look in his eyes was pure possession.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “All dressed up for me. Legs spread like a good little delivery slut.”

I whimpered, stroking myself faster, the nylon growing slick with my precum. He fucked me harder, bending me nearly in half, sweat dripping from his brow onto my sweater. When he felt me start to flutter around him he pulled out again.

“On top. Now. Reverse. I want to watch that ass bounce while those stockings stay on.”

I scrambled to obey, shaking with need. Straddling him backward, I reached back, guided his cock to my stretched hole, and sank down until every inch was buried inside me. The new angle made me gasp. Marcus’s hands immediately gripped my ass, spreading me open so he could watch himself disappear between my cheeks.

“Ride me, Sissy. Keep those fucking stockings on. I want to feel them against my thighs while you fuck yourself on my cock.”

I started moving, rising and falling, the wet sounds obscene. Every time I dropped down, his heavy balls slapped against me. His big palms cracked across my ass in sharp, stinging slaps that made me clench tighter around him. I leaned forward, giving him the perfect view of his cock stretching me and my own smooth balls drawn up tight beneath the ruined panties.

“Harder,” he demanded, voice rough. “Show me what a desperate little stocking tease you are.”

I rode him like my life depended on it, thighs burning, moans turning into broken cries. One of his hands slid around to wrap around my cock through the stockings, stroking me firmly while I bounced. The dual sensation—his thick cock battering my prostate and his calloused hand jerking me through slippery nylon—pushed me right to the edge.

“I’m gonna cum,” I gasped.

“Not yet. You cum when I fill this slutty hole.”

He started thrusting up to meet me, brutal and perfect. The room spun. My stockings were laddered at the knees now from how hard I was gripping the couch. I didn’t care. I just needed him deeper.

When Marcus finally growled and slammed up into me one last time, I felt the first hot pulse of his cum flooding my insides. Rope after thick rope painted my walls as he held me down on his cock, groaning my name like a prayer. The feeling of being so completely claimed sent me over. I came hard, untouched except for the silk, shooting long streaks of cum across my own stocking tops and the front of my skirt.

For a long moment we stayed like that, panting, locked together.

Finally he lifted me off him. I stayed on all fours, ass up, feeling his load beginning to leak out of my well-fucked hole. Marcus watched with dark, satisfied eyes as thick white cum dripped onto the ruined black stockings, soaking the sheer fabric and turning it glossy in a whole new way.

He stood, still half-hard, and used the cum-soaked top of one stocking to wipe his cock clean, streaking my own mess up and down my thigh in the process. Then he leaned down, cupped my jaw, and kissed me—deep, possessive, claiming. When he pulled back he looked me dead in the eyes.

“I’ll be adding special deliveries to your route from now on.”

I smiled up at him, already wondering what I’ll wear for tomorrow’s package.