I fasten the straps slowly, feeling how they pull the stockings into place — tight, smooth, right against my thighs. Every little tug sends a shiver through me. I know how they look… how they feel. They stay close as I move, softly brushing under my dress, stretching with each step. And while I walk, sit, shift — they’re warming up with me. Holding on to my scent. My heat. I wear them just long enough for them to carry something of me. So that when they reach you, you won’t just be holding fabric. You’ll be holding the trace of every moment they spent on my skin.