Suck, Simon, Suck!

I'd seen Simon many times before he ever said a word to me. A tall, gangly guy somewhere in his mid thirties, he was always hanging around the city centre with a fancy camera, taking pictures of women as they passed by.

To be honest, I thought he was more than a bit creepy..

His long black mac didn't help, of course! He seemed to pay particular attention to young, buxom blondes. Every now and then he'd try talking to one, but more often than not they told him where to go.

Which I figured most probably served him right!

When he spoke to me I was somewhat taken aback. As a tall, thin brunette of more or less his age, I hardly seemed his type. And though I pass readily enough, I'd have expected anyone looking carefully through a large zoom lens to clock me -- especially a photographer!

Yet speak to me he did..

"Hi!" he said, breathlessly handing me a card, "My name's Simon and I work for a catalogue advertising firm, and I wonder if you've ever considered doing any modelling?"

I smiled cynically. 'Modelling?' I thought, 'Yeah, sure!'

He must have read my mind, cos he frowned and tried to look really serious..

"I promise you it's all above board," he swore solemnly, "Look, here are my credentials.."

He waved something in my face, which I glanced at just to get rid of him, but found myself unintentionally impressed. It was an ID card issued by a major catalogue firm, and looked the real McCoy.

"Okay," I said, "So you're a proper photographer -- what do you want with ME? I'm not exactly Gisele!"

"Well no, you're not!" he agreed, "But you have great legs, and I'm looking for someone to model hosiery."

I'd been about to move on, but hesitated. You see I DO have great legs, and have always loved to see them clad in nylon. And I always could do with a little extra cash.

"How much does it pay?" I asked coyly.

"Come for a test shoot and you'll get £50," he explained, "and after that if I want you back, you'll get £200 a day."

£200 a day! Even if I hadn't been flattered, I could hardly have afforded to refuse! And so an appointment was made for what he called a test shoot the following afternoon..

Back in those days, my town was a bit of a dump. It's even worse now, but that's progress for you! Anyway, Simon's studio was right in that part of the town centre where every other shop was boarded up and covered in graffiti.

A lot of drunks hung around there, along with a few hookers, so I tended to give it a wide berth. The studio was through a shabby side door, up some stairs above an empty store that had once been a sex shop.

That's how bad it was -- even the sex shops had gone bust!

I was buzzed in, climbed the stairs and found Simon surrounded by big, fancy lights, fiddling with a large camera on a tripod.

"Right on time!" he chuckled, "Now then, let's see what we can try on you.."

He sat me down at a coffee table, and brought over a large box full of high-end stockings and tights.

He took a few pairs out and looked closely at the packaging. Soon, he seemed hopelessly lost in thought, and I noticed his hands were trembling and he was sweating copiously about the jowls.

"Are you alright?" I asked.

He blinked and jumped a little, as though he'd suddenly remembered where he was.

"Y-yes, I'm fine!" he stammered, "L-let's start with these, shall we?"

Saying which, he handed me a pair of black, zebra-patterned tights.

"Okay," I said, "Where shall I put them on?"

"Over there," he said, pointing to a dressing-screen in a dimly lit, far corner. I shrugged, took the tights from him and walked behind the screen.

Let me explain what I was wearing, and why. I'd never done any modelling before, but had heard loads of nightmare stories about so-called photographers, which bearing in mind my first impressions of Simon, had put me on high alert.

So I'd worn a black, sleeveless minidress, with a lacy black bra underneath and a pair of tight tanga panties that squashed my tiny boy-bits out of sight. I was also bare-legged and wearing mule stilettos, the idea being I could put on tights and stockings without needing to take anything off.

So once behind the screen, I simply kicked off my mules, put on the tights -- which were divine, by the way! - and strolled back over to Simon.

"Right," I said, "Where do you want me?"

He frowned and shook his head..

"Sorry," he said, "But that's not gonna work! See, I need the whole of the garment in the shot, including the panty!"

"Okay!" I exclaimed. Although what he'd said made perfect sense, I was sceptical as to his motives. But nevertheless I went back behind the screen and slipped out of my dress.

But when I came back with nothing much on besides his tights and my black, lacy bra, I still found him frowning..

"We're getting there," he sighed impatiently, "But those panties are gonna have to go. They conflict with the pattern, see?"

I sighed, unable to see how my skimpy tangas could possibly conflict with anything, and beginning to sense a hidden agenda.

"I can promise you," I grumbled, "that when I take them off there'll be something else that conflicts with the fucking pattern!"

"No, it won't!" he insisted, "Cos I'm gonna Photoshop it."

"Okay, well, you know best!" I grumbled.

In something of a strop, I stormed back behind the screen, whipped the tights off, lost my tangas then pulled the tights back on. As best as I could, I buried my boy-bits under the gusset, then waltzed out again.

"Mmm, that's good!" he enthused, staring intensely at my crotch, "Now we just need to make a little adjustment -- may I?"

Saying which, he placed a hand upon my boy-bits..

"N-no! I stammered, stepping hurriedly away from him, "I'll d-do it!"

"Oh, very well!" he moaned, sounding exasperated, "Place your cock at the front of the panty, pointing skywards -- and keep it as straight as possible!"

Feeling thoroughly humiliated, I reluctantly did as he'd asked, placing my tiny cock flush with my belly and pointing towards my chin, whilst carefully checking to see it followed the seam of the tights.

Grunting his approval, Simon fiddled with a few lights then grabbed a big camera and began furiously taking photos.

"That's nice!" he said, "Yeah, that's real nice!"

As he snapped away he crept ever closer, focusing, it seemed, on nothing but my boy-bits!

He was soon so close that the lens was almost touching nylon..

Then, without warning, he began to cry!

"I can't stand it any more!" he wailed, "There is no catalogue job -- I'm just desperate to do THIS!"

Saying which, he dropped the camera and buried his face deep into my nylon-clad crotch..

I tried to push him away and succeeded in prising his face off my boy-bits, but he had my legs in a bear hug, and clung on for dear life.

"W-what do you want to do?" I stammered.

"Suck you off through the nylon! Oh, please let me -- I'll pay anything!"

"Really? So you'll pay £250 just for that?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes! Anything! Only I've got to do it now!"

"Okay," I said, "Get the money first and I'll let you."

Sheepishly, Simon got up and went over to his desk, coming back with a wodge. I counted it and, quite satisfied, stuffed it into my bra.

Then I opened my legs and beckoned him do his worst..

Looking like the cat that got the cream, he knelt eagerly before my crotch and began sucking my little cherry through the tights.

His coarse, wet tongue on the nylon sent spasms through me, and my legs nearly buckled, forcing me to lean heavily on his head and shoulders. In response, he placed his hands firmly on my butt-cheeks and began to furiously massage them, at the same time burying his face ever more aggressively into my groin.

His tongue was now hard at work, running manically up and down the nylon encased outline of my little stem from balls to cherry, licking so furiously it began to feel like sandpaper.

I found myself unable to resist ululating, and began working my hips at quite a pace, at the same time pushing him onto the studio floor so that I could kneel above his head and help work his tongue along my full four inches of quivering meat as he lapped away like a giant, lunatic cat.

Further spasms shot rapidly through my thighs, and I realised that not all the wet soaking my gusset came from Simon's tongue! I was leaking cream into the nylon panty, and Simon gurgled ecstatically as he eagerly sucked up every last drop.

Having at last slurped the last of my cum down his throat, Simon rolled over and lay exhausted on the studio floor. I stood up, keen to dress and be on my way without further ado.

Simon looked at me anxiously..

"Oh, please!" he begged, "Before you take off the tights, give me your foot.."

As he spoke he pulled down his trousers, releasing six inches of fat, throbbing meat from cruel captivity. He lay prostrate, his legs apart and knees raised, and I knew what he wanted and was happy to oblige.

Placing my nylon-clad foot firmly onto his manhood, I began to massage him with my toes.

"Harder!" he cried.

I dug my heel into his scrotum, then ran the sole of my foot forcefully up and down his bulging pipe, twisting it this way and that while he groaned blissfully with an acute mixture of pain and pleasure.

He began to pant, then convulsed violently. Sensing the end was nigh, I jammed his wet, pulsating cherry into the gap between my big and second toes and jerked it violently up and down.

"Oh, Christ!" he wailed, then let out a protracted cry as spurts of cream came fast and furious, bathing my nylon-encrusted toes in warm, sticky cum.

As he panted for post-coital breath, I found myself smiling with satisfaction as I remembered how humiliated I'd felt when he'd first wanted to touch my boy-bits, and how far the tables had since been turned!

Taking my sodden foot out of his groin, I dangled the dripping, nylon-clad toes above his panting lips.

"Clean them up!" I commanded.

Obediently, he took my toes in his mouth and meticulously sucked off every last drop of his own salty cum, which was sweetened no doubt by my sweat, then filtered through high-end, 15 denier nylon.

When at last he'd finished, I chuckled blithely, took off the tights and got dressed.

"C-can I please see you again?" he begged, crawling across the floor as I strolled out of the studio.

"If you're a really good boy," I replied, "then I might just think about it!"