Ben stepped off the bus and started walking to Carol's house. He still had an erection, and his asshole was on fire from the rope wound around the crotch of the very tight leotard. This was exactly what he had hoped for; having those two cute girls to watch was a special treat he hadn't counted on. As he approached her house, walking under the ancient, tall trees, he was beside himself with pleasure and anticipation.
He deftly slid his hand into the little space in the lava rock wall where Carol kept a spare door key, discovered one day while weeding the bed next to the front porch. After replacing the key he went straight to Carol's bedroom, as he had done several times a week now for months.
He always felt a tremendous sense of excitement prowling around her house. He knew it was wrong, and to be caught at it would mean big trouble. It wasn't that he might be stealing something, but rather the feeling of intruding into her most private places, indulging in her most intimate secrets. Her house, and especially her bedroom, reeked of femininity. Not the frilly, frou-frou, flowery kind, a harder, more straightforwardly sensual feeling. He felt as if it were a place where sex was paramount, and everything and anything pertaining to sex was elevated.
He hurriedly striped down to the leotard and went to admire himself in front of the panoramic mirrors that covered the big closet doors. He loved the way the black, shiny fabric caught the light, emphasizing all of the curves. The bulge in his crotch was especially apparent. He wished again that he was looking at a girl instead of his own reflection, a partner willing to share in his wild fantasies.
"How would this feel to a girl?", he thought to himself. "Would she like this? Would she get as turned on as I do? The burning ache in my ass, how would it feel if that chunky girl on the bus in the burgundy leotard wrapped her crotch with rope, letting it pull up into her pussy? Surely it would feel good! Would it hurt as much as this? Would that turn her on?"
Ben began stroking his fingertips lightly over his cock and balls, delighting in how much it tickled. He thought of himself back on the bus, watching those girls, imagining that the one in the leotard did have her crotch wrapped. She had used that brown, hairy twine. He knew she was dressed that way, and she knew he knew. He watched her as the bus drove along, bouncing and vibrating, and he could see how uncomfortable she was. The little hairs were scratchy, producing sensations that bordered on tortuous. There she was, out in public, unable to do anything about it.
The scene shifted to an unknown place where he had her tied up, hanging by her wrists, her toes barely touching the floor. She was naked except for the leotard, and he could see the twine covered crotch disappearing into the crack between her legs. He was holding a short length of manilla rope, and was whipping her on the ass. With each stinging stroke she let out a little cry. He was going to whip her until she came.
The little fantasy made him very horny, but he stopped to get on with his plan. He striped off the leotard, relieved to get that rope out of his ass. Then he went to rummage through Carol's laundry basket. This was how he usually started these afternoon sessions. By now he knew he could always find something sexy there.
The first time he had looked there he had found a pair of sheer nylon panties. He had fantasized for several years that women were always turned on by the feel of them, and eagerly tried them on. He had been disappointed that they did not saturate him with erotic pleasure or bring him to orgasm just by wearing them. Once he was over his initial disappointment he did discover that they felt very good to wear. The fabric just felt special, and masturbating in them was far superior to either rubbing his cock through cotton jockey shorts or with his bare hands.
Then one day he had found a slinky nylon dress in the basket, just a slip of a dress in solid yellow jersey. It was shiny, but not like satin, more like the nylon that women's underwear was made of. It felt cold, and was so limp and fluid that it looked like water running through his hands. He knew at once that this felt different from anything he had experienced, and hoped that it was more like what he had in mind. He put it on, telling himself that what he felt is what Carol, or any other woman, would feel. It was a bit too small in the shoulders, so he couldn't zip up the zipper in the back, but he didn't care.
He was amazed and ecstatic. It felt really good. He was sure that any woman wearing such a dress would be turned on by how good it felt. This not only made him horny as hell, it made him feel vindicated. He felt like an explorer finally discovering what they had been looking so long and hard for.
Walking around the bedroom, feeling the cool, sensuous fabric sliding over his bare skin, he realized that what made it work was the movement. Even panties made of this fabric would not feel so good. The fabric had to slide over the skin. The more he wore it, the better it felt. He had a huge erection, and was fighting back the urge to jerk off right then and there just so that he could wear it a bit longer while fully aroused.
When he saw his reflection in the big mirrors he thought he looked ridiculous. Dressing in woman's clothes to look like a woman did not interest him at all. What excited him was discovering how good the things women wore could feel, and enjoying it for himself.
Later he had laid on Carol's big bed and masturbated in the dress, laying face down with his hands in his crotch, grinding away, fascinated by the feeling of the dress sliding over his ass and legs.
After a couple minutes of this he realized that what he really wanted to feel was how it felt sliding over his cock. He stood up, took off the dress, then pulled in back on as if it were a skirt. Then he laid down on his back, slipped his right hand down under the waist, held his cock near the root and started to swirl it around.
The feeling was incredible. Never had anything felt so good. The sensation was so strong that it was almost unbearable. He tried rubbing it left to right, then up and down, then in circles. Fast, slow, every way he could think of. The fabric was very light, and the lack of pressure kept him from coming. On and on he went, wracked with pleasure that bordered on pain.
He kept thinking about how this was actually a dress that Carol had worn, that other women dressed this way too. He wanted them to feel what he was feeling now, to be driven mad with delight from the feel of the fabric.
The tip of his cock was on fire from the feeling of the slippery fabric dragging over it. The thought of it doing the same to a girl's nipples drove him crazy. He thought about tieing a girl up naked and dragging the dress over her nipples, hearing her screaming in delight.
It felt so nice on his legs, gently tickling him as it slid over his skin. He wanted to watch a girl wearing this dress who was very ticklish, so that her every movement kept her awash with delicate tickling sensations. He wanted to reach out and tickle her nipples, brushing them ever so lightly with his fingers. He wanted to tickle her pussy, her sweet flower, and hear her hysterical laughter as she came and came again.
Finally he came, in great, pounding shudders of orgasmic seizures. He grabbed his cock and held it tight, his cum spurting out right through the fabric.
In the interval between his next visit he kept thinking up new fantasies based on that dress. Being out on a date, at a party, the girl very ticklish and being driven crazy by how good it felt. Tieing her up in a standing position, running his fingers up and down the backs of her legs, over her ass, and especially her breasts and cunt.
There was one scenario that he decided to experiment with the next time he had the chance. He wanted the girl to be laying on her back, completely naked, her butt hanging just over the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide and tied to chairs or to ropes going up to the ceiling and her arms tied up over her head. He would drag the dress between her legs, letting it slide over her pussy and the delicate skin of her ass. This position would also allow him to drag the dress over her breasts, which he hoped would feel devastatingly good.
Having her ass hanging over the edge of the bed and her legs pulled up would allow the fabric to fall smoothly down to the floor, while letting it slid over both her cunt and her ass. He wanted this to tickle her while providing just enough sexual stimulation to ultimately bring her to orgasm, but only after a long time. He liked to think that having her legs spread so wide would allow the slinky fabric to dip into the lips of her pussy and slide over her clit, feeling to her like it did sliding over his cock. He wasn't sure how far down a girl's clit was buried, and wasn't sure that this would work.
He thought about this fantasy constantly, dreaming up all sorts of variations. One of his favorites had two young girls playing with each other. Each had a pair of black pants made of that slinky nylon. One was dressed in nothing else, and the other was naked and tied down. The free girl would drag the other's pants between her legs while she stroked her own pussy with her fingernails, not stopping until her friend had an orgasm. Then they would trade places. He had heard that girls could come over and over again, so he imagined that they would take turns doing this for hours. He even made up names for this technique, The Jersey Tickle for dragging nylon and The Jersey Rub for masturbating through the fabric.
Another variation had been spawned as he had passed by a dry cleaners. Just as he was looking in through the window he saw a lovely young Japanese girl operating the mechanical storage rack. The clean laundry was all wrapped in plastic, and the shiny look of the plastic caught his eye. For a moment it looked as though the rack was filled with dresses made of jersey, like Carol's yellow gown. At once he pictured the girl lying on her back, tied to a table, naked, her legs spread wide apart, the table situated directly beneath the revolving rack. Hanging from the rack every few feet was a long jersey gown, and the rack swept them over her body. First they ran up over her crotch, then over her breasts. He held the control switch, and kept the rack revolving for a long time, torturing the girl with the cool, tickling sensation. After an hour or two he would make love to her, and the jersey gowns would drag over his ass. In a fit of practicality he even thought about how impossible it would be to gather together so many slinky dresses, so he substituted lengths of fabric cut from a bolt and clipped to hangars.
It was over a week until he again found the yellow dress in the hamper and could try out his idea. One side of Carol's bed was about two feet from an outside wall, and there was a window with a recessed sill just above the bed. He discovered that he could prop his feet on the sill with his ass hanging out over the edge, a pretty good imitation of how he wanted his victim to be tied up. He lifted his cock up and let the dress slide over his balls and down into the crack of his ass, and it tickled his asshole nicely. He slid it up and down, guiding his cock with his left hand, sometimes holding it out to get the full force of the fabric sliding over it, then pulling it back to focus on the tickling coming from his balls. He kept thinking of his two girls playing with each other, trying to imagine the sound of their laughter as they enjoyed their naughty game. His orgasm was the most intense he had ever had.
Now, his asshole still aching from the relentless attack by the rope bound crotch of the too-tight leotard, he searched through Carol's laundry looking for the yellow dress. Sheer black bikini panties, several leotards, a pair of satin hot pants, a sheer white nightgown, several slips in assorted colors. Then he saw it. Not yellow, but dark blue. Shiny, that look that he recognized immediately as fluid, slinky jersey. He pulled it out, and was surprised to find a skirt instead of a dress. No, it wasn't a skirt, it was a pair of pants with really wide legs. Bell bottoms. He often saw girls in bell bottoms, but they were jeans or some kind of stiff, heavy fabric, not at all sexy.
He stood up and slipped them on. They fit perfectly, and felt incredible. He was as overwhelmed with desire as he had been the first time he slipped into that yellow gown. All the same thoughts and feelings swept through him. He thought, "How can she stand to wear these? It feels so good! Doesn't it drive her crazy?"
He walked back to Carol's bedroom to see how they looked in the mirror. As he walked he noticed how much the flared legs moved, caressing his calves with a cool touch that tickled even more than the yellow gown. Looking in the mirror he was completely turned on seeing his crotch and thighs so tightly covered in his favorite fabric, while the flared bottoms fell in loose gathers around his calves. He tried as always to imagine that he was looking at a girl, a playmate ready and willing to share in his erotic adventures.
He ran his fingernails over his thighs and ass, grinning with satisfaction at how much it tickled, imagining that it would tickle his playmate ever so much more. He imagined her again strung up by her wrists, her feet on the floor but held apart, naked from the waist up as he was. He could drag that nylon dress over her breasts, then run his fingers all over those silky pants. Her cunt would be so much more accessible. He wondered how it would feel to her to have her cunt tickled through these pants.
Turning from the mirror, he pulled them off and got into position on the bed. It was a big surprise to him that the dragging technique did not feel as good as it did with the yellow dress. Although the pants felt terrific sliding over his ass, the fabric was just too rough to feel good on his dick. It actually hurt.
Ben got up, slipped the pants back on, and set out to walk around the house, imagining that he was a girl wearing them at a party. They felt wonderful. The simple act of walking produced a steady stream of sexual arousal and gentle tickling. He just couldn't see how a woman could wear pants like that and not get turned on by the feeling.
He wanted to come, but wasn't sure how. He went back and stood in front of the bedroom mirrors and started to rub his fingers over his dick, which stood out clearly running down his left thigh. He kept thinking about all of the women who had, or would, wear pants like these, even if just to try them on. He wanted them to be as turned on by them as he was. He wished he could be there to watch them, to see the expression on their faces when they pulled them on in the dressing room. He wanted to feel what they felt, each and every one.
How many would buy them? Hundreds? Thousands all over America? How many here in Honolulu, wearing these pants? Lots of women, each beautiful and sensuous, hot and horny, secretly enjoying the wonderful feeling. At parties, out shopping, at the office, walking down a moonlit beach with their lover, looking and feeling as sexy as anything could be.
No underwear, the lips of their pussies constantly tickled by the soft fabric. Yes, it tickled them all over, every place it touched. The hornier they got, the more it tickled. It was just bearable, almost more that they could stand. They wanted to take the pants off but it felt so good and they didn't want it to stop.
They wanted to be tickled even more. To be tied down, to have their pussies tickled, to have their clits tickled, unable to make it stop, loving the feeling even as it tortured them. They would scream with hysterical laughter, begging for mercy, never meaning for it to end. The slightest touch on their jersey covered clit would tickle unbearably while sending shock waves of sexual pleasure through their bodies. Hundreds of beautiful women, each alone with her lover, bound hand and foot, wearing shiny bell bottomed pants like these, blue, black, white, red, brown. Soft, fluid, dripping from their legs like a waterfall, as if their cunt juices were pouring out of their crotch. Tonight, this very night, how many women will do it? It feels so good! It tickles so much!
And he came, standing there watching himself in the mirror, seeing nothing but the pants. It was a long, powerful orgasm that reached deep down into his soul. Even as his body shook in uncontrollable spasms he delighted in how good the pants felt dancing over his calves in a wild frenzy.
He collapsed on the bed, unable to move for several minutes, unwilling to break the spell woven by the marriage of his secret desires and newly acquired first hand knowledge of just how much pleasure he could get from clothes like these. He wanted desperately to share all of this with a girl, to have her feel what he just did.
Finally he got up, fetched a damp wash cloth from the bathroom, wiped as much cum as he could from the pants and returned them to the laundry hamper. After he was sure that there was no sign of his having been there he went off to do his chores, whistling 'Hey Jude' as he walked outside.