At three o'clock Carol decided it was time to head for the bar to meet Steve. She gave some instructions to Mary for the evening crew and left for home to change.
Like so many bar hostesses, most of the women who worked in her bar lived in apartments or condos in Honolulu, usually sharing with girlfriends who were in the same line of work. Those who were good at it lived quite well.
Carol had moved up, to a modest old house on the hillsides of Tantalus. The house was set back from the road some fifty yards, on a craggy outcropping which eliminated close neighbors on three sides. The side of the property opposite the road was bordered by a cliff about thirty feet high, and the house above was set back from the edge so that it was not visible from hers. Thus, Carol lived in virtual isolation, and could carry on as loud and late as she chose without worry of notice by the neighbors. She often did.
On her way home she thought about what to wear, taking into account the fact that she would be meeting Steve. Recalling her encounter with Ginger that morning, she remembered that she had a pair of the same kind of pants Ginger had gone for, a size eight sample a salesman had left with her.
The vendors the salesman who had left them rep'ed specialized in the kind of exotic fashions her store carried, and that she loved to wear, the kind of clothes that make men's heads turn and their pants bulge. Lots of shiny, slinky fabrics and wild styling.
The pants had been hanging on the sample rack in her office for weeks, and when she finally brought them home she had dumped them in her laundry basket without ever trying them on. She guessed that they would only require a quick hand wash and a spin in the dryer to be wearable.
As soon as she got home, Carol went straight to her laundry hamper and started digging through the mess in search of the pants. She never seemed to find the time the keep up with the laundry, and often just washed what she wanted to wear.
"Funny," she thought to herself, "I'm willing to pay for a gardener, but resist having a maid. Well, maids can learn too much."
Flinging clothes around frantically, she finally spotted a glimmering dark blue piece of fabric and extricated them from the tangled mass. She held the pants by the waist in her left hand and ran her right hand down one of the legs, pulling out the hem at the bottom to marvel again at how wide they were.
They were made from a heavy double knit jersey, something fashion pundits called crepe maricaine. They were cut very tight from the waist to the knee, then flared out to a very wide bell bottom at least two feet across. Each leg was seamed in front and back as well as at the sides and inseam.
Just a few days before the salesman had brought them by she had seen something similar in another store's window. The next day, one of her regular customers had stopped in wearing a pair. They looked outrageously sexy, especially the way they grabbed her ass. When the salesman had pulled this pair out of his sample case she had been struck with a feeling of déjà vu, and she knew at once that if she brought them in they would fly out the door. There was no doubt that he had wanted to see her in them, but she had been too tired and busy to accommodate him. Instead she had asked Mary to model them, just to watch him squirm.
"Not too bad!" she said to herself out loud. Then she added silently, "I can't wait for Steve to see me in these. His dick will get so big he'll split the crotch of those tight pants he always wears!" Then she noticed that one of the legs was a little damp, but guessed that she had dumped a wet towel in on top of them and thought nothing more about it.
"Now, what to wear on top? I want to be horny all night!"
She went to her closet and picked out a blouse of shiny black lace, loose and baggy on top but gathered at the bottom by a tight fitting elastic band. The long sleeves were snug from shoulder to elbow, then fanned out to a wide hem at the wrist. The look would complement the bell bottom pants nicely. She knew from experience that, worn without a bra, the lace would scratch and rub her nipples constantly, making them hard, red, and a little bit sore.
She laid the blouse out on her bed, rinsed out the pants in the bathroom sink, then plopped the clingy mass into the dryer knowing that even on gentle heat the nylon would dry in no time.
While the pants were drying she went for a shower, even washing her long black hair. The bath was sensual, stimulating, her first real tactile pleasure of the day.
Her thoughts drifted back to her play with Nancy, which had left her so turned on. A lot of that excitement returned, so much that every drop of water from the shower head made her quiver. She was tempted to finger her clit, to have an orgasm right there in the shower, but she did not want to take the edge off of her excitement and spoil what she hoped would be a very good evening.
Using a large towel to dry herself, she almost succumbed. She ran it between her legs, pulling up hard and rubbing it back and forth over her clit. The pressure made her clit pop out of its sheath, allowing hundreds of little terry cloth hairs to flick it. The sensation shot through her body like a bolt of electricity, causing her to cry out in anguish. She continued for several seconds, thinking of Nancy's punishment session, sure that it was as unbearably pleasant as this. Summoning a deep reserve of will power she stopped, breathless, her cunt pulsing in thwarted anticipation.
She fetched her pants from the dryer. They were dry, but still warm. She went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, holding the pants out with one hand to cool while teasing her clit with the other, her lust inflamed in anticipation of the wild time that lay ahead at the club. A few minutes later, completely naked and teetering on the edge of orgasm, she shut the door and pulled on the pants.
"Oh my!" she said out loud.
The towel had been strong, hard, and rasping. Her moist fingertip had been less intense, but even so, her entire body was awake to sensual input. The pants felt incredibly good. Cool, teasingly soft and delicate. Every inch of her legs was being caressed. The smooth, supple nylon was tight on her thighs, firmly cupping her buttocks and planting lingering kisses on her cunt. She walked to her bedroom to see herself in the big mirrors on the closet doors. As she walked she felt her calves being stroked as if by countless icy cold feathers. Watching her reflection, she was fascinated by the way the super wide bell bottoms fluttered around her legs as she moved. Even when she stood still the loose folds of nylon swayed to and fro as if driven by a gentle current of air.
Seeing herself in the mirror, she realized that the pants looked at least as good as they felt, an image of dripping wet sex. Every curve of her ass and thighs was accented by the sheen of the fabric and the lines made by the seams. The soft drape of the lower leg added more curves. The billowing flared bottoms combined with the skin tight upper half to point like an arrow at that little patch of shiny fabric between her legs where the crotch seam made a slight crease, suggesting with such sweet poetry the ravenously hungry pussy underneath.
Carol's bare tits were lifted high, nipples at attention. She ran a long, bright red fingernail along that beckoning seam between her legs. Her whole body quivered, and her cunt tingled as if charged with some mysterious, unknown force. Her knees jerked convulsively, causing the cool fabric to be drawn up her thighs and to flutter around her calves.
The sensation of all that heavy nylon caressing such sensitive areas of her body simultaneously produced a very new and different type of pleasure for her, and she spent several minutes exploring it. The sensation was a firm yet gentle urging, without the sharply pointed focus produced by directly rubbing her clit or having a dick pounding in her cunt. It was all over her legs, and snug between them, whereas a qiana dress did not reach into her crotch. And there would be no problem with having to wear stockings.
It frustrated her to have to wear nylons under a slinky gown, and often went without at the risk of looking under dressed because the fabric felt so good on her bare skin. How odd it is, she thought, that stockings can make your legs look so good and feel nice to touch, yet cut off the wearer from so much tactile input. Not to mention that, at least in Hawaii, they were uncomfortably hot, and keeping a supply was like feeding a drug habit.
She watched herself in the mirror with abandon while her nails continued their cyclic journey, entranced by the way the flowing pant legs swung and fluttered when her body jerked, and at how the shifting patterns of light shimmering across the dark blue accented every movement.
She pulled up on the elastic waistband with her left hand, forcing the seam deeper into the lips of her vagina. The nails of her right hand slid easily over the smooth fabric, and the tightness of it against her pussy made the touch of her nails tickle in a way that made her think at once of Steve.
She lingered that way for several minutes, at the threshold of orgasm, occasionally moving her hand up to run a nail hard over her clit, so noticeable through the supple fabric. Each time she did a series of convulsions raced through her body, making her squat a bit at the knees, which in turn caused the heavy nylon jersey to slide up and down over her thighs. The sensation added to the waves of pleasure flowing through her body, amplifying their intensity, adding new layers of feeling, like echoes of a ringing bell being bounced back by neighboring mountains.
When she could bear it no longer she moved her hands up, folded her arms across her chest, and grasped her nipples. She shut her eyes and squeezed, very hard. Her body vibrated, knees locked. The sensations were so strong that for a moment she stood on her toes. Gradually she withdrew from the edge of oblivion, but as she shuddered the nylon pants continued to sweep across her body's raw nerve endings, causing the pleasure to be drawn out unmercifully. She enjoyed the feeling so much that she purposely swung her ass around to keep the fabric moving over her skin.
When she had calmed down enough she started taking a few steps around the room, reveling still at the feel of the fluid nylon on her skin and in the way she looked in the mirrors.
"Later," she though to herself. "Later, I will come, over and over, later tonight. Until then I want to tingle."
She was afraid that to be so aroused for so long and naked underneath such tight pants may lead to an embarrassing wet spot. She considered the fact that because the pants already had that "wet look" and her bar was fairly dark such a development might go unnoticed. Then she considered how she had carefully arranged the lighting so that, while the booths were dark and private, there were pools of light in the isles so that the men could see and appreciate the sexy clothes her girls wore. A wet spot would never do.
She pulled off her latest favorites and selected a g-string from her extensive collection, one that she had made herself. Simple, small, and very tight, a shiny, narrow slip of black satin that just covered her pussy and ran up between the cheeks of her ass. The elastic waistband was not one of those wimpy string things, but instead was wide enough to keep the satin pulling firmly up into her crotch. A pattern of pea sized glass beads was sewn on the inside, strategically placed over her clit and asshole. The combination produced a constant state of sexual arousal that was maddening to have to endure for any length of time, and tonight she hoped it would be hours before she could take it off.
She fixed her makeup, brushed her long hair, pulled on the pants and lace top, and was ready to go. Shoes. Yes, she needed shoes. She selected a pair of metallic silver platform slippers a good two inches high at the toe, with big, sturdy heels that seemed as high as the Empire State building.
As she walked to the car her pulse started to rise again as she felt the pants swaying against her calves, the delightfully scratchy lace flicking over her nipples, and the tight g-string pulling up between her legs. The high platform shoes gave her a swaying gait that added even more to the sexy look and feel of the outfit. As she walked, the beads over her asshole began to produce a very strong and pleasing sensation. Her nipples were already screaming to be removed from contact with the lace, and she smiled at the thought that it would continue this way for hours.
Loud noises and movement over in the far corner of her lot caught her attention. Some of the bamboo there was waving around strangely, and she headed over to see what was causing the commotion. Halfway there she could make out Ben, down on his knees, whacking away at the encroaching bamboo with a machete. She called out to him, and when he turned and saw her he froze, his jaw hanging down to his waist.
His reaction made her feel good. She loved to see men react that way to how she looked. She had always thought of Ben as a boy, and never really considered the possibility that he would notice such things. That he did reminded her that he was not so young anymore, something she had begun to realized from the talks they had enjoyed recently.
"Hi Ben! I was just on my way out. I'm hosting a special party at the club tonight, and was just on my way there. If you'd like to knock off a little early I'll give you a ride down the hill."
He continued to stare at her without so much as blinking. Just as she was about to repeat her offer he snapped awake and replied, "Uh, no thanks, Carol. I want to get as much of this out as I can, and I've got some time left before the sun goes down."
"Sure thing. I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Say hi to your mom for me, won't you?"
"I sure will. Uh, say, uh," he stammered, his eyes glancing down at the ground then back, "You look great! Really nice outfit."
"Why thank you, Ben," she replied, in the kindest tone she could muster. It was obvious from his manner that the way she looked had struck a nerve. What pleased her the most was his willingness to tell her.
Just as she reached her Mercedes a strong gust of wind sighed through the Norfolk pines, causing her pants to whip around like a flag. She felt the air go right through the fabric, and just at that moment her clit made contact with the beads on her g-string. Hot and cold shudders wracked her body as she stumbled to get into the car. Driving away, she imagined herself standing there in the yard dressed as she was and having orgasm after orgasm as the wind blew the silky fabric caressingly over her skin.
"Later," she promised herself as she drove down the winding road to Honolulu.
A few minutes after Carol's 450SL had disappeared, Ben gathered up his tools and walked back to the house. His head was still reeling from the sight of Carol in the pants that had felt so good to wear, the pants that he had shot come all over less than an hour ago. Her offer of a ride home had been thoughtful, but when he realized that he had the house to himself for the evening, he couldn't resist the temptation. He couldn't wait to ransack her closet and spend a long, long time remembering exactly how she had looked and thinking about what he wanted to do to her.