Black nylons

I'm fixing to head out when the damn run decides to show up on my right thigh. Classic. I peel those black nylons down slow, stockings puddling around my ankles, cool air hitting bare skin. The sheer stuff feels silky between my fingers, so I twist it tight in one hand and drag the scrap across my nipples till they stiffen. A little giggle slips out. I loop the torn nylon around my wrist and tug it snug, then slide my other hand down my belly, pressing those crumpled shreds right between my legs. The fabric snags on stubble and sticky wetness; I rock my hips, rubbing harder, breath hitching every time the edge catches my clit. Pretty sure I’m leaving a wet spot, but hey, the night’s young and the fresh pair can wait.