Decorating Her Dainties Ch. 03

We guzzled fish cakes and salad and we opened the second bottle of a fine Albariño. Our conversation came easily and I would have been happy to sit there all night particularly since Sophia continued her custom of discarding her mules and resting her nyloned heels on her seat and displaying her nylon shrouded piggies.

I was thrilled to watch her little nylon toes winking at me and there was the added thrill of playing spot the naughty girl's saucy scanties. When Sophia reached for her glass from the table she would permit me a breathtaking view of her pale pantyhosed thighs and on several occasions, movement of her robe would shift the shadow from her crotch to reveal a little white 'v' behind the unlined gusset of her pantyhose. Brilliant white laundered panties beneath the fine translucent mesh of tan pantyhose, it's just so 'girl next door', so virginal, so innocent.

Sophia offered to do the washing up before she retired to bed. I imagined her standing in her pink mules on tiptoe at the sink revealing her wrinkled nylon soles. She would wear colour-matched pink rubber washing up gloves and the sleeves of her robe would be rolled up and the gown gathered and dumped on her shoulders. I would direct my nosey bullying cock-head to prod her lingerie attired labia whilst I admired the curvature of her beautiful body and fantasised about spraying my mess beyond her pantyhose and halfway up her back.

"No don't worry," I said and reminded her of what I had told her earlier, that I was finished with the last job and was going to take it easy until something worth doing came up. No work for me the following day. I might leave the washing up until then.

"That load will be ready soon," she said referring to the washing machine. I'll sort it in the morning. I'm off to bed. Ta for the supper and all, I'll see you tomorrow night," and she walked off towards her room.

I sat for a bit knowing I was at liberty to have a butcher's at the drying rack. From a distance, it looked pretty tropical in its exuberance, colour and texture. I sat happily to have at last arrived in Sophia's world of lingerie and was excited just to anticipate the following day when I could really get to grips with Sophia's bits and bobs. I resisted borrowing a little bedtime companion. I fell asleep quickly.

I awoke the following morning as soon as I heard Sophia shut the front door. She was gone and whilst the sexy feline creature was away the mouse would play. I opened the door and took a shock avoidance tactic not realising that I had merely encountered a plethora of soft hose in numerous pairs hanging to dry from the loft ladder which rose above my doorway. I needed to pee and made a B line for the bathroom noticing despite my eagerness that Sophia had cleared all her smalls from the drying rack. My cock was already hard and poking out of my pyjamas and it took a little while before I could begin to pea.

I headed back to my room and noticed her Wellingtons at the top of the stair. I peered inside her boots and saw the scrappy bundles of stinky nylon and earmarked them for a rainy day, the day when her laundry basket might be bare. Upon entering Sophia's hareem of mystical scanties I made my way straight to her laundry basket. I had all the time in the world to examine her collection. I was already craving to have her gash smudge on my tongue again. No choice but what a choice, those little white panties accompanied by her nude pantyhose and the bra she'd been wearing the previous evening were waiting for me.

I laid the garments on her bed and was tickled pink by the matching bra and panty set. I chuckled as I held one of the bra cups in my hand musing that she must have had the armoured garment engineered by Swan Hunter. The panties on the other hand (literally) were plain white as dainty as can be, adequate for soaking up spills whilst teasing men's cocks but bereft of any quality of support, little more than a soft cotton gusset with straps for locating it. This tanga design had the farther benefit of accommodating large hips which I proved by slipping them on top of her nude pantyhose. I just fancied the freedom of wearing her intimately soiled laundry, I could work my way up to a full-blown phantasmagorical wank session as the day progressed but for now I was enjoying being abusive and having the thought of being deserving of inviting her severest correction.

Later that day I had retired to my room where I had re-arranged Sophia's white panties over my head, my tongue approving of a copious ribbon of pale yellow, creamy mana in the gusset. I had just finished with my profound snorting and grunting and name calling having violently discharged myself into the soft black pantyhose I had pinched from the sexy neighbour next door sometime before. Just as well that I had not messed up Sophia's stuff because suddenly I froze when I heard her calling from the hallway and announcing that she was home.

She was stepping on the landing when I decided to respond to her. I was speaking through her downy cotton gusset when I told her I was having forty winks. I daren't move, I heard her enter the kitchen and after some time I could faintly hear the water running in the shower.

Sophia was thinking strategically to herself, "Id better give Hen ten minutes to sort himself out I'm sure he's probably having his late afternoon wank. The carrots I've been dangling in front of his nose will lead him to put his neck in a noose, I'll make him my obedient little horsey."

With her delicates in my dressing gown pocket, I stole into her room and sorted her laundry basket, snuck back to my room and some minutes later I heard the soles of her mules slapping against her feet as she crossed the landing and entered her room.

When I caught up with Sophia later in the evening in the kitchen she told me about her day,

"Got to the job and had to start tidying up. Looked like a miniature safari park, a green carpet strewn with animal print panties and the odd ice cream, cupcake, banana, or strawberry, you know those saucy printed knickers that young women are into these days."

"And what's the connection I asked, how do you know them?" I enquired wanting to know more about the worn knickers of a young woman while hoping to encourage Sofia to juice up her story and titillate me. She didn't disappoint.

"My client, Lavvy ran a fetish club up in town until recently. She happens to be Romanian, she heard through the grapevine I was a wizardess decorator and asked me to work on a re-fit a few years ago. I've had loads of work through her and its all been kind of hilarious.

"You've got a client called Lavvy, haven't heard that one before, and does she know what a lavvy is?"

"She does now but she didn't before she arrived here, it was a nickname that her mates called her at school. However, the name took off with the fetish brigade as you might imagine it would and she never looked back. She had a nice place in London and her daughter Ruby has the private penthouse which is what I'm supposed to be sorting it out if I wasn't tidying it up, Sophia informed me.

I was fascinated and didn't know how to respond although I suddenly began to imagine myself on all fours at Sophia's feet and obeying her demand that I should collect her client's daughters discarded panties using my teeth.

I lied about my day and told her I'd been doing my accounts which is a decent plausible thing to do and might go down better than to tell her I had been wearing and sniffing the contents of her laundry basket.

I usually watched through the front window as Sophia made her way downhill to the main road. My cock was always poking through the fly of my pyjamas in anticipation of the attention it was soon to enjoy and it seemed to participate in waving farewell to Sophia, bobbing and skipping with delightful celebration as the girl disappeared from sight. I had to keep my distance inside the window sill so as not to display my steely gleeful knob to those passing by.

Sophia often removed her knickers with her pantyhose and left the tangled bundle on her bedside chair. I'd have a good sniff of the mind-bending aroma of the toes of her discarded hose and then with my cock pointing skyward I would go to the kitchen and enjoy a cup of coffee and a smoke whilst I considered the tantalising question of which of her naughty soiled knickers were hiding in the panty of her stinky sweaty pantyhose. I felt smug knowing I would finally be at liberty to thoroughly examine her creamy knickers, that no one would know and no one could stop me.

Her bed was always unmade and her fragrance was so often fresh in the room that it was easy to imagine that she might be there. I would fantasise that she had caught me sniffing her knickers and she now claimed that my cock belonged to her. When I shot my lot it was always according to the submissive whim I have that she would push me around. That she had in fact, dragged the load out of me whilst I pleaded with her to let me come in her dirty knickers. When I managed to hold out for her reluctant permission to release my lot she would compliment me for being a good panty boy, for having deposited such a big sticky gooey spread in the gusset of her pretty feminine scanties.

I found that I could only get into two pairs of Sophia's knickers, both scanty 'g' strings that could be stretched to accommodate me. The dainty diminutive scrap of cloth forming the front panel sat on my balls, comical in its insufficiency, hardly covering the root of my shaft. Separated by the taught gusset of the 'g' string my balls would resemble museum specimens laid out for the attention of the ornithologist.

However, all her various panties and pantyhose fitted snuggly over my head. I marvelled at their colours, and textures and lace and accessories as I explored the cloth with my lips and tongue. I was forever dreaming some imaginary scheme that would end up with my humiliation at the hands of Sophia. To be a big strong man and yet be controlled by her diminutive form was witness to the power of the sense of smell. I might be staring through the fine soft gossamer mesh of her pantyhose watching my humiliatrix as she rummaged through her laundry basket searching for a pair of her knickers that she remembered she had garnished copiously. My punishment would never exclude her pulling those salty panties above my pantyhosed head making sure my mouth and nostrils shared the complex fragrances of the creamy gusset. Then she would retrieve her phone and make several photographs of me dressed in her dainties and threaten me with sending them to everyone that knew me.

Sophia's first provisional month was nearly up. That Sunday evening she had returned home late from a weekend away. She made cocoa for two and having finished hers, she stood up placed her hands on her hips as she did righteously and announced,

"It's been a long day, I have to go to bed." As she was closing the door behind her she looked at me and said, "I know you've been messing with my stuff you know but I like it."

"Me too," I responded, my brain disengaged. Afterwards, I was relieved I had said the best thing under pressure, better than a guilty denial. How did she know I'd been messing with her stuff? Maybe she took pics of how she left things. It wouldn't be time-consuming, just one snap of her discarded laundry in the basket before she left for work.

Sophia had blown my mind the night before when she seemed to endorse my perverse pungent panty pleasure and now she had left for work. I readied myself for a bumper session of some scratch and sniff with her nifty naughties during the early afternoon when I had celebrated with abandon and took all her bits and bobs from her drawers and laundry basket, arranging them on her bed and allowing my imagination to run riot. I made several costume changes. At the height of the ecstasy of my self-administered aromatherapy, I began to speak out loud to beg the temptress that I was longing to be sniffing and licking.

"Pretty please... pretty please... pretty please..." I uttered.

I imagined I was tethered to her bed, hand and foot with pantyhose and was staring at Sophia's confident smiling face in her paint-splattered spectacles. Her hands were back on her hips. Her white bra struggled with her unruly tits and her favoured panties were white lacy embroidered boy shorts which contrasted with black lace topped stockings. I was watching her through nude pantyhose yarn that she had pulled over my head and grunting through the tired old baggy, creased and snagged, nude nylon ankle socks that lived in her boot but were on vacation in my gob. She had rubbed my cock so intensely and with such accomplishment between her black stocking feet and busied her delicate toes to poke, nag, tickle and drag at my balls hanging free of her 'g' string such that on three occasions she had brought a swollen tear of tribute to my gagging cock tip. She would deny me leaving me agonising and begging for farther humiliating and excruciating nylon toe ministrations.

She removed a stocking and rolled it up to make a little cap with the index finger and thumb of both her delicate hands before plunging it over my cock. Five co-ordinated nylon toes continued to deliver their Mexican wave amongst my testicles whilst Sophia would drag her other nylon away from my cock using both hands to force the maximum friction between my cock head and the soft nylon of her emigrating stocking. In this way, she took complete control of my simmering ejaculate and was eager to exercise her whims.

"You'll be wearing panties for me every day won't you panty boy," she coaxed me.

"Pretty please Mistress, I long to wear silly frilly, girly panties with delicate little bows and frothy lace every day for you. I can only come when I'm wearing your pretty panties Mistress," I responded.

I was imagining that Sophia had begun to drag her stocking off my cock one last time and that filthy vision precipitated my moment of surrender.

My balls were frantically waving farewell, sending soldiers off to war. A deep stuttering groan that resonated with the spasms in my pelvis was followed by my pitiful shameful whining voice, "Pretty please Mistress, I long to taste, lap and sniff your cunt drenched manna."

"Good boy, cum for your Mistress, good boy, that's right empty your balls for your Mistress," I imagined her saying.

"Pretty please Mistress I'm going to cum, pretty please can I cum Mistress,?" I desperately requested.

"I'm gonnaaaah cum."

"Yes, naughty sniff boy, squirt your filthy mess on your Mistress' nylons, yes that's it make a big gooey mess for me. Good boy, oh gosh it's still coming, look at my cum splattered stocking you've ruined it."

Captured within her shining shoulder length black hair her bright excited eyes and red painted mouth expressed her unrestrained joy as time and time again my pulsating cock feverishly gushed yet another viscous ribbon of hot goo onto her thigh still adorned in its salty sandal-toe stocking. How she would giggle in delight.

Sophia's voice would fall away and in post-masturbatory-orgasm reality, I would feel quite ludicrous. Spent, surrounded by my sexy roomie's soiled bits and bobs, slurping at nylon and with a wrist covered in spunk and staring at my own feet. How fantasy can dress up reality. I dragged her pantyhose from my head and the tired old baggy, creased and snagged, nude nylon stinky ankle socks from my mouth and announced,

"Swallow that you fucking dirty little strumpet."

The week ahead would be a tough one for Sophia demanding twelve hours away from the flat each day. When she came home in the evenings she would shower, eat and chill out in her room. I took the opportunity for some early nights myself and on one occasion I'm sure I could hear Sophia in the next room lightly moaning. That wasn't surprising but the voice accompanying her moaning was curiously familiar. I heard it again on another occasion the same week.

Sophia went out to paint the town red the following Friday night. I was left to sort out her still warm panties and hose for her as a favour, in fact, I wouldn't even mention it to her. Not a job for everyone but someone with a faint heart has to do it. With a weekend wash on the cards, Fridays were a good night for a saucy snoop. I was addicted to her sweat, I'd lost interest in food, I wanted her crud. Halfway down in her laundry basket I caught sight of black lace and found myself holding a strappy black suspender belt to which were still attached two genuine seamed tan nylon stockings with reinforced toe and Cuban heel. Lazy cow! I held the toes of the stockings to my face and I noticed for the first time a laptop sitting on the top shelf of her open wardrobe and the screen was pointing towards her bed. If I hadn't been so excited and predisposed to jacking off with her sussie and stockings I might have reflected farther about the laptop but I only had one thing in mind when I took her laundry to my own room.

I was cooking that evening when I heard the front door open. It was clear from the elevated level of noise as Sophia heaved her bosoms up the stairs that she was pretty well oiled, particularly as she was singing Abba's 'Knowing me, knowing you'. She sat down at the kitchen table and insisted that she show me the merry throng with whom she'd spent her evening. I sat down next to her. Not interesting unless you are there, a load of people fiddling with their phones in a pub but suddenly I was there when the next video in sequence played. I stared in horror as I saw myself wanking in her knickers and sniffing salted hose on her bed. Sophia was also looking mortified, she wasn't quite ready to reveal all that she had learned about me and my obsessions. Even more humiliating was the soundtrack:

"Pretty please Mistress, I long to taste, lap and sniff your cunt drenched manna.

Pretty please... pretty please... pretty please..."

I waited aghast for the rest to come.

"Pretty please Mistress, I long to wear silly frilly girly panties with delicate little bows and frothy lace every day for you. I can only come when I'm wearing your pretty panties Mistress."

And yet I knew precisely what I had said.

"Pretty please Mistress, I long to taste and sniff your cunt drenched manna."

And remembering my desperation I repeated ad verbum.

"Pretty please Mistress I'm going to cum, pretty please can I cum Mistress?"

The cat's out the bag, nothing to lose might as well hear it.

"Swallow that you fucking dirty little strumpet."

Sophia's face lit up and she turned to look directly at me through her black-rimmed spectacles and said,

"You're right I am a fucking dirty little strumpet. Do you always say that to the girls when you lose your lot? I take it you like to be submissive, then you can bring me my breakfast in bed tomorrow, toast marmalade and tea, eleven a.m. prompt, I'm off to bed."

The following morning I knocked on Sophia's door at precisely at eleven a.m. as she had requested.

"Come in Pantyboy," I thought I heard her say.

"Put it there," she said pointing to a bedside table, "I've put a bag with some stuff that I want you to wear for me, it's up there next to the laptop, the one that you failed to notice in your eagerness to play pocket poodle with my scanty underthings. You can go and get it."

She was rubbing it in, her triumph of catching me compromised in her knickers, directing me to the laptop which had recorded my crime and betrayed my filthy secret. I reached up avoiding her eyes for shame and retrieved the brown paper bag in which there were several pairs of identical white cotton panties and several packets of pure white pantyhose.

"They are your houseboy foundation you will wear them at all times when you are at home with me, now come on put them on, you know you want to," Sophia insisted.