My shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Three days of training, of gruelling sword drills but it wasn’t physical exhaustion 

I felt hollow I felt  like a tired ghost.

The weight of my katana lay discarded on the floor, but my fingers trembled with a different kind of anticipation as they moved towards the box 

Inside, were a pair of silk stockings pure, translucent white, so fine they seemed woven from moonlight 

They shimmered with an  elegance and softness that was utterly alien to my world of blood and blade.

I knew shouldn’t but as I gazed at their exotic feminine elegance the fatigue melted away, replaced by a prickling, feverish desire. I reached out. The silk felt impossibly smooth and as I rolled the first stocking down, gathering it respectfully on my fingers, where it pooled gently, glinting and sparkling temptingly in the flickering candlelight. I felt a wonderful sense of release.

A shiver ran up my spine as I lifted my leg, and began to slowly and respectfully slide the silk over my toes.

The sensation was electric. The fine material clung, a gentle, constant pressure that teased every nerve. I  drew it up over the heel, and the silk whispered against my skin. Every inch was a conscious,  act to be savoured. 

The material moved over the  curve of my calf, the silk tightening, hugging my muscle. It felt like I was being claimed by something… possessed by something… beautiful.

I  paused, savouring the moment,  thigh exposed, my other hand drifting down, fingers tracing the boundary between silk and bare skin. 

The contrast was exquisite—the smooth, cool  silk sheath and my own warm, trembling flesh.

I pulled the stocking higher. Up, over my knee. Up, along my thigh. I  stopped just at the top, letting the silk settle on my newly discovered curves . 

My leg was transformed by the milky silk sheen  . A transformation was taking place.  I felt lighter and liberated. I felt like a lady