A Glimpse of Nylon Stocking Ch. 01

Her fingers instinctively curled around the girth of the man's penis through his trousers. His cock felt spongy and serpentine; she could feel it thicken and begin to throb dully. Impulsively she squeezed it and the man gasped. He rubbed his hands on her knickers and stocking-tops harder and faster, alternatively squeezing her knicker-clad buttocks under her skirt.

Julie was uncomfortably erect inside her knickers. Her testes had descended and her cock lay bloated along her perineum. The man's hand ventured between her legs and inadvertently freed her penis which distended the front of her knickers and she felt the man smile around his kisses.

"You randy bitch!" he whispered but Julie pulled his mouth to hers to shut him up.

She kissed him harder, driving her tongue into his mouth. She didn't want him to speak and ruin the moment or spoil her fantasy.

She gripped his cock and began to stroke it through his trousers but the man slapped her hand away and impatiently unbuttoned his flies. He took Julie's hand and guided it back to his phallus which was now fully erect and poking out of his trousers.

Her instinct was to snatch her hand away but the man put it back even though Julie had begun to struggle. He tried to push her hand onto his cock but she refused to grasp it, her fingers and palm kept brushing against it but she wouldn't take him in hand. Touching his bare flesh was going too far.

That was until the man changed tactics and began to slowly stroke Julie through her satin knickers and waves of pleasure, like butterfly wings caressing her most sensitive places, began to radiate from her groin.

Julie capitulated and allowed the man to press her hand to his bare cock. It felt like an iron bar cloaked in velvet. She could feel the veins enveloping the shaft like vines clinging to a tree trunk. They pulsed and palpitated as the man's blood surged through them and his penis became fully tumescent. With a manicured fingernail she traced a vein from the base of his penis to the spongy glans on the tip and smiled to herself as she expressed a globule of pre-ejaculate.

She worked the precum into his velvety flesh and the man groaned and his cock quivered. Another dribble of slick pre-ejaculate oozed from his glans and Julie collected it and lubricated the man's shaft as she slowly stroked the hard pulsing appendage. The man squeezed Julie through her slinky knickers and she felt herself begin to leak precum too. If the man had not been holding her tight her knees would likely have given way because she felt so weak and overcome with lechery.

Julie knew what she was doing was wrong. She was no better than the trannies who went with punters to the cheap hotel rooms in Soho and got themselves buggered or the tarts who got down on their knees amongst the empty beer barrels out back of the Trunk and Brick and fellated strangers.

But she rationalised her thoughts. She wasn't bent over being buggered by a stranger or sucking on some admirer's dick, she was seeking solace with a handsome young man and they were simply enjoying some foreplay. Julie knew that she was lying to herself. She had been prim and proper all these years, convincing herself that crossdressing had nothing to do with sex. She had discharged that axiom as soon as she let this handsome stranger take her into the ally.

The man began to stroke Julie's hard cock through her knickers and all thoughts, other than how wonderful it felt, disappeared and she kissed the man harder and stroked his cock a little faster, listening to his breathing become laboured as his passion built.

Suddenly the man whipped his hands under Julie's thighs and lifted her off her feet and slammed her back into the brick wall. Julie had no choice but to wrap her legs around the man's waist and put her arms around his shoulders. He didn't even break their kiss and she didn't want him to. He moved his hands under her buttocks and squeezed as his cock came to rest on the front of her knickers pressing the satin fabric onto her phallus.

"You can't fuck me," Julie whispered in the dark and she felt the man smile.

"I'm not going to," The man whispered his reply and began to kiss her again.

He thrust his cock against her, the flimsy knicker fabric the only thing between their flesh.

Julie moaned as she felt the man's throbbing appendage pressing on her own. Then he began to hump her, driving his cock into her knickers, rubbing his manhood on her tingling flesh. The pleasure intensified and within seconds her knickers were wet as they both leaked pre-ejaculate.

The man thrust harder and drove Julie into the wall so hard that her back hurt, his tongue fluttering in her mouth, his lips pressed hard against hers, his fingers digging into her buttocks as he ejaculated.

"Oh dear! Oh my! Goodness gracious!" Julie was caught by surprise when she felt the man's penis judder and suddenly her cock was enveloped in warm, viscous, slippery coagulant which she soon realised was the man's semen.

The musky scent of spunk assailed her nostrils, adding to the all-encompassing sensations she was feeling and she released into her knickers, her semen comingling with the strangers.

She drummed her heels on the man's back and raked her fingernails along his neck as she writhed with pleasure; an orgasm like she had never imagined washed over her like waves breaking on the rocks. Her kisses were fervid as rings of pleasure radiated from her groin, feeling the man's hard flesh pressing on hers as he continued to spurt his issue into her saturated knickers.

The two lovers clung to each other until they were both spent and then the man abruptly dropped his hands away from under Julie's bottom and she fell to the ground, her heels giving way on the cobbles. The man caught her before she suffered the indignity of sitting on her arse on the cold damp cobbled pathway. He hoisted her to her feet then pushed his still bloated phallus inside his trousers and buttoned his flies.

"That were a treat love," the man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out two one pound notes and pressed it into her hand before he hastily fled.

"No! I'm not..." Julie called after the man but she stopped suddenly when she realised that it was late and she was shouting.

Now she had to deal with the reality of the situation. Her knickers were soaked with two loads of semen and she was stranded in an alley around the corner from the tube station. She felt guilty, humiliated and used but she had no time to be maudlin. She dropped her knickers, trying valiantly to keep them away from her skirt and her stockings. She balled them up and wrapped them in tissues and put them in her purse along with the two pounds that the man had thrust into her hand.

She stepped closer to the road so she had some light and was relieved to see that her skirt had only one silvery sliver of drying ejaculate near the hem which she rubbed with the pad of her finger. She couldn't resist putting the finger in her mouth and savouring the sweet muskiness of the man's sperm.

"You harlot!" she whispered to herself.

She had laddered a stocking and her face was a mess but otherwise she showed no outward sign of the indelicate situation she was in. Her penis and scrotum hung between her legs and she realised that she had no choice but to put her knickers back on. She dried them as best she could with tissues and then stepped into the warm, damp, silky delicates.

She made no attempt to tuck; she just pulled her knickers tight so they held everything in place. The damp fabric was uncomfortable and the semen was cooling, making her squidgy knickers feel even more vulgar.

After fixing her makeup she hurried to the station and caught the tube to Oxford Circus, convinced that the few passengers sitting in her carriage were staring at her when of course they were not. Not that she didn't get a favourable glance or two from the man sitting across from her, but he could tell from her body language that she was unapproachable.

Julie let herself into the bookshop and went into her office where she immediately took off her knickers and tossed them in the bin. She had sobered up a little during the sexual encounter in the alley but the alcohol was taking affect again and she was dog tired. She pulled out the little fold-down trundle bed, took off her coat and kicked off her heels and fell on it and was asleep within seconds.

Donald Cooper

Donald Cooper found it difficult to settle down at work. He sat in his office putting the final touches to a brief. It was a motion to dismiss and he was comparing the trail transcript to the eloquent prose in the brief that he would present to the judge in two days' time.

Donald was usually distracted by the pretty office girls as they flitted around the practice in clouds of perfume with their skirts flicking and heels clacking. But today he was distracted by the image of a shapely ankle and calf clad in sheer fully-fashioned stockings that peeked from the cuff of a man's business suit: the shapely calf of Julian Clifford.

Why was he so obsessed with it? Donald had no leanings towards men. It was incongruous that a man would wear nylon stockings under his suit but he'd definitely seen the outline of a garter snap on Julian's thigh. Was Julian wearing knickers too? Donald shook his head to try to clear the image and to take his mind off his obsession he looked at a short-skirted secretary bending over a desk.

At lunchtime he went to a lingerie shop and purchased two pairs of very expensive Italian, fifteen denier, fully-fashioned nylon stockings and a black satin garter belt with red lace trim. Donald knew how to rid himself of thoughts of Julian Clifford's stockinged ankle. Deirdre would have to perform her wifely duties, whether she wanted to or not!

Deirdre Cooper was a good looking woman if a little stout from the good life that she lived. She came from money but her father had squandered his inheritance and Deirdre relied on Donald's income as a barrister to keep her in the manner she believed she was entitled and had become accustomed.

Donald worked long hours, including most weekends and although Deirdre appreciated his income she had started taking him for granted and spent most of her time with her friends: other middle-class housewives who treated chronic boredom with gin and tonics, long lunches, tennis twice a week and shared fantasies of handsome 'Bondesque' men who seduced them despite their protests.

Change came radically for Deirdre when her tennis coach began to pay her more attention than he should. Ten years her junior, tanned, fit and handsome he was everything her fantasies envisioned and everything her husband was not. What started out with the young coach holding her a little tighter than was necessary and touching her intimately whilst correcting her backhand had become a sneaky little kiss in the hallway outside the change rooms of the tennis club, which had become a furtive squeeze of her buttocks through her tennis skirt, which had developed into a quick grope of her bushy quim through her white nylon tennis panties until finally they ended up in bed at The Metropole Hotel where they now met twice a week after tennis.

Deirdre was a realist and knew that the tawdry little fling with the tennis pro was only a passing fancy but it had awakened a yearning in her and she contemplated a life without Donald, living comfortably and possibly taking on a string of younger lovers while she still had her looks. Then perhaps she could marry again to someone more befitting her station and with more money of course and without Donald's obsession with nylon stockings and 'naughty knickers'.

At first she had been flattered when Donald brought her sexy lingerie and fully-fashioned stockings but she soon realised that it was an obsession with him; a fetish. After a while it became tedious and thankfully their love life plateaued and eventually waned as Donald paid more attention to his work than his wife. On the rare occasions that Deirdre wanted Donald to 'give her a good seeing to', as her girlfriends called it, all she had to do was wear a short skirt and nylon stockings and Donald would pounce on her.

Not that much pouncing was taking place currently for which Deirdre was eternally grateful. She had decided that tonight was the night that she would announce her separation and she considered how she could effect the breakup with a modicum of civility as she laid out silverware for what would be their last dinner together.

Donald burst through the front door full of vigour and eager to fuck.

He surprised Deirdre when he dropped his briefcase on the hardwood floor and rushed to her and gathered her into his arms and began to kiss her, his hands going straight to her ample backside, squeezing her buttocks through her skirt. He kissed her passionately, stifling her protests. She could feel his rather prodigious erection pushing against her belly. Donald might not use it on her often but when he did it did the trick.

"I've brought you a present," Donald said when he finally stopped kissing her.

"Donald. We need to talk," Deirdre said in a serious tone.

"Not until I give you my present and you give me one in return," Donald squeezed one of Deirdre's ample buttocks.

Deirdre had dressed to please him. She wanted the separation to be amicable so she had prepared a delicious meal and put on her shortest navy-blue skirt that was a little tight on her now; so tight that the kick pleat in the back of the skirt stayed open showing off her generous thighs. No longer the fresh-faced girl straight out of university that she had been when they had married, Deirdre was still a pretty woman and had long toned legs from playing tennis. Her bottom was rounded and she had a little pot belly which had developed over the years of living the good life.

Donald produced the garter belt and two packages of expensive Italian fully-fashioned stockings from his briefcase, a smug grin on his face.

It was no surprise to Deirdre who had at one time been showered with gifts of stockings, knickers and lingerie which Donald insisted that she wear in bed for him.

"One for you and one for me," Donald grinned handing her the packages of stockings.

Deirdre's distaste and disdain for her husband returned and she frowned at him.

"You know what I mean Dee. You get to keep one pair for wearing out but you wear the other pair for me," Donald's stupid grin widened.

Deirdre hated being called 'Dee' but she swallowed her pride and decided to give Donald one final treat before she dropped the axe.

She grinned at her husband mischievously and lifted one foot onto a wooden a dining table chair and ran her hands up and down her leg, smoothing out the wrinkles in her sheer tights. Donald became erect immediately, his eyes locked on his wife's shapely leg clad in the shimmering hose.

Deirdre took off her high heel and wriggled her pinkies in the reinforced toe of her hosiery. She hiked her skirt slowly up her thigh and then bunched it around her waist and hooked her fingers in the waistband of her tights. Deirdre had taken to wearing control-top pantyhose to help flatten her stomach and the panty part of her pantyhose was a shiny dark coffee colour, contrasting with the sheer, almost transparent taupe on the legs.

She shimmied out of her tights one leg at a time; Donald watching her excitedly. He had taken off his coat and his suit jacket and was working on his shoelaces when Deirdre took off her full-cut, translucent white nylon panties and stepped into the garter belt and jiggled it up her legs, over her expansive arse and bushy mound and cinched it around her waist.

Donald quickly dropped trou and ripped off his shirt and tie and sat on the floor in front of Deirdre dressed only in his underpants, vest and socks. He loved watching his wife put on her stockings and he wondered why he had neglected her for so long. Sure she had padded out a little over the years but she was still a pretty woman with big blue eyes, lush red lips and flowing auburn locks and she had legs to die for. For a millisecond the image of the calf and ankle swathed in delicate sheer fully-fashioned stockings peeking from the trouser cuff of Julian Clifford's business suit sprang into his mind and Donald shook his head to make the image disappear.

Deirdre put on the garter belt and rolled up the stockings, and one at a time inserted her toes into the reinforced foot and carefully rolled them up her legs, clipping the dark welts to the silver garter clips then she stepped into her knickers and slowly pulled them up her legs, the translucent nylon panties contrasting with the dark nylon stockings. Donald was hard as a rock, his cock poking out of the fly hole of his white cotton briefs.

Deirdre saw this and smiled as she stepped back into her high heels.

Donald pounced on Deirdre and shoved her onto the dining room table, scattering the perfectly laid out cutlery, glasses and flatware. Deirdre was about to protest but then Donald pulled aside the gusset of her knickers and plunged his hard rod into her buttery cunt.

Deirdre wrapped her legs around Donald, pushing up his vest so that her stockings rubbed on his tender flesh which she knew he really liked. He rained sloppy kisses on her mouth while he shagged her like a dog humping a bitch, thrusting his cock vigorously in and out of her sloppy minge.

Deirdre wished he would slow down and take his time, he was hitting the right spot deep in her vagina intermittently and his pubis pressed on her clitoris every now and then but not enough to ignite the flame. She bit his earlobe and whispered hoarsely.

"Slow down Donald. Make it last," she sounded exasperated and Donald realised that she was right.

His wife's cunt was no longer the tight tunnel he longed for when they were first married. Although they had no children, years of vigorous fucking and her excess weight had taken their toll on her lady parts but Donald still liked the feel of her slippery minge clutching at his penis.

Donald was big, which helped and now that he had slowed down and was fucking Deirdre with rhythm she was enjoying it almost as much as he was and she waggled her stocking-sheathed legs along his flesh and wriggled her knickered buttocks in appreciation, knowing that Donald would love the feel of her silky nylons and sexy knickers on his sensitive skin.

His pendulous scrotum was slapping against her panty-clad buttocks as he thrust his turgid member in and out of Deirdre's sopping fanny, she was whimpering like a schoolgirl and he smiled because on the rare occasions that he satisfied her that is exactly how she sounded.

He smothered her mouth with his and she returned his kisses and drove her tongue into his mouth. Donald could taste her lipstick and smell her perfume; he could feel her silky legs wrapped around his torso and her satiny knickers on his scrotum as he drove his cock deep inside his wife.

Deirdre was gasping and writhing underneath him, a sure sign that her orgasm was approaching.

Donald thrust his cock in her as far as it would go and gyrated his pubis on her vulva to stimulate her clitoris and unloaded a torrent of spunk deep inside her pulsating vagina. Deirdre clung to him and bucked and writhed beneath him, grinding her pudenda into his pubis, raking her nails down his back, slithering her stocking-sheathed legs on his flesh, kissing him fervently as the last orgasm she would ever experience with her sorry excuse for a husband coursed through her.

Donald moaned and groaned as he felt his wife's saturated knicker gusset press on his sac and her silken-shrouded legs rub on his flanks as he released deep in her vagina.

Then the mind-picture of the stocking-clad, shapely ankle peeking out from the man on the train's trousers formed in Donald's brain and try as he might he couldn't shake the image. Instead he imagined that his cock was ejaculating all over the trim silken-shrouded limb and his semen was soaking into the stocking.