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Barely noticing my employee's lingering gaze on my nylon-clad feet, I continued working, feeling the heat of his stare through my stockings. Caught in the act, he stammered an apology, but I silenced him with a knowing look. I lifted my feet onto my desk, allowing him a closer inspection. His breath hitched as I wiggled my toes, the nylon rustling softly. Unable to resist, he leaned in, tentatively stroking my feet through the sheer fabric. I let him continue, his touch growing bolder, until he reached the brink, his release coating my nylon feet in warm, sticky gratitude.