Nylon Conquest Ch. 01 - Sex Stories

Nylon Conquest Ch. 01

... messy.

As I've said, at home Larissa loves to dress in gorgeous designer silk and nylon. Silk stockings, garters, silk robes, body stockings. She dresses about the same for her job, but of course she wears skirts, dresses and tops over the nylon. She's a TV weather girl. She's been pushing the limits of her on-set wardrobe for a few months now. From the day she wore her micro-mini black leather skirt with oil-shine stockings, coupled with five-inch shiny black Louboutin's, the network ratings started to soar. As more advertisers began to clamber for air time during the weather report, the ad rates climbed too.

Larissa is the most focused person I know. She knows what she wants and she goes for it, all the way. She is a true force of nature. Don't ever get in her way. She always, and I mean always, gets what she wants. It helps enormously that she one of the sexiest women on the planet. No man that I've ever met has had the power to say no to Larissa (certainly not me). So when she saw the ad rates climb at the station, she negotiated a contract that any pro athlete would be proud of. Thanks to Larissa, we have an expansive, four-bedroom Tribeca apartment, completely paid for.

Frankly, I don't know how I'm married to this goddess. It was kind of a whirlwind. Believe it or not, she picked me up in an uptown bar. We talked for hours. I was almost suspicious of a con when she took me into her bed that night. I guess that must have sealed the deal with her, because we ...

... screwed the whole fucking night and she came six times. Six.

I've always wondered why Larissa picked me up that night. I'm just an average tech worker. I make decent money, nothing extraordinary. I'm no Greek god, that's for sure. I'm pretty fit, I like to play sports, I'm pretty widely read, good education. But with all the wealthy, handsome, successful men she sees every day in the New York television business, why me?

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was sitting along the back wall at Bemelmans Bar. The place was crowded, the piano player was playing, and the mood was upbeat and lively. I saw her immediately as she climbed the steps to the entrance. She was alone. She was wearing a sparkly crimson top cut just enough to reveal her spectacular cleavage. Her hair was loose and unadorned, with massive volume and length. She had the lean hollow cheeks of the super fit. Her eyes sparkled and seemed to glow in the dark. They were adorned with smoky nightshade and thick eyeliner. Her lips were full and blood red - glossy in the lamp-shade light of the classic bar. She wore a dark blue miniskirt cut an incredible twelve inches above her knee with nude pantyhose, but she was so tall she could pull that length off and still look ultra classy. She wore sky-high bumblebee yellow heels; clearly she was not shy about her height. Every man who was able turned to look at her as she entered the room. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, of course.

The thing was, she was staring ...