The Pantyhose Stalker

The Stalker exploded deep inside Michele's cunt and he growled with delight as his orgasm washed over him. His hands raked her ass and thighs, tearing her pantyhose and leaving little pink scratches on her smooth soft skin.

"Oh yeah baby! Fuck me back! Fuck me back" he howled as he climaxed; Michele pulled his mouth back to hers and pushed herself harder against him; her tongue explored his mouth as their lips crushed together.

Michele felt the man clawing at her buttocks and thighs as his penis quivered and throbbed inside her, depositing stream after stream of hot semen. Her vagina expanded and contracted around the girth of the man's member and she felt wave after wave of sexual excitement ripple along the walls of her sex.

Michele and the Stalker pounded against each other until they were both sated. The man, finally spent, eased his cock out of Michele's soaking twat and watched a little stream of semen leak from her recently pounded pussy. He leaned down and kissed her one last time but she turned her head away from the kiss, ashamed of her actions.

"Post coital regret hey lady? But I bet you'll have plenty of wet dreams about this for the rest of your life," the man said as he pulled up his pants.

"You're a pig and I hope when they catch you I can watch you being sentenced to a long stretch in a prison where they don't treat Stalkers too kindly!" Michele spat.

"Oh come on lady; you loved it. Anyway I gotta fly," the man had the audacity to steal another quick kiss.

He took Michele's black leather bag off the bench and slipped the straps over his shoulder.

"Best you wait at least five minutes before you leave this room bitch or I might think twice about letting you go!" the Stalker threatened.

He then quickly left the filthy workshop and Michele began to sob. Her hair was mussed, her makeup smeared, her skirt torn and her underwear tattered and covered in semen. She pulled her panties back over her puffy vagina aware of the man's secretions oozing from her. She could smell his semen but also her own vaginal secretions; she hoped that during the forthcoming sexually assault kit at the hospital the doctor wouldn't be able to tell she had enjoyed being violated.

The Pantyhose Stalker, as the PD referred to him, had struck nine times. Only four of the victims had made police reports but the police knew if four sexually assaults have been reported then there were at least twice that many sexually assaults committed. He had a particular MO; he always sexually assaulted mature well-dressed women; his attacks were swift and vicious and he wore a stocking over his head to hide his features. He didn't even take the time to strip his victims; in fact the victims reported that he seemed to like raping them fully clothed; not even removing their underwear or their pantyhose.

He didn't take too many chances; he selected his victims and followed them to a secluded place such as a parking station or a park. He was very quick but he usually managed to get himself off at least twice during an attack. The FBI profilers at Quantico described him as having 'remarkable recovery time'.

So far the PD had managed to keep the Pantyhose Stalker a secret from the press but they knew it wouldn't be long before the press found out that a serial stalker was operating. If the press had been informed and Michele had heard or read about a serial stalker lurking in the city she definitely would not have been on the train that night.

The Pantyhose Stalker didn't care that he left his DNA on his victims; he knew he was a type A secretor and would be easy to profile. He knew that he had left plenty of fingerprints and other physical evidence at his crime scenes. He also knew that none of the physical evidence would lead the cops to him. Because he was a cop!

Detective Mike Harris worked as a detective in the PD's Sex Crimes unit; which was quite fitting employment for a stalker he thought. Long ago when he decided to start raping women, he had removed his own DNA and fingerprints from the crime-lab databanks and replaced them with those of an unknown bum who had died long ago. All serving police had their fingerprints and DNA kept on file in the crime-lab so it could be used to eliminate them if a member of the PD accidentally contaminated a crime scene.

Michele lay on the examination table in a quiet room at the local hospital. A female crime scene investigator had taken vaginal swabs and her clothing had been carefully placed in plastic evidence bags. For some reason they had given her pantyhose back to her.

"We don't need these; we have enough secretions on your panties to do the job," the CSI specialist had said rather coldly.

"Your husband and daughter are waiting outside and they've bought you some clothes," she said a little more sympathy in her voice.

"Look I know it's late and you are tired and sore and want to go home but its best if the detectives talk to you while the incident is fresh in your mind," she went on.

"No! Tomorrow! I can't do it tonight!" Michele insisted.

"Ok detectives Harris and Munner will be at your home tomorrow to take your statement Mrs Bouvier," the CSI said.

She opened the door and Michele's husband and daughter burst into the room and they all hugged and sobbed.

Later that evening after a two torrid hours dealing with an outraged husband and son and sympathetic daughter, Michele was lying in bed. Her husband sat on the edge of the bed; angry and frustrated.

"I still don't understand why you didn't scream; someone would surely have heard!" he muttered.

"I've told you a hundred times! The man had a knife!" Michele whispered; her voice hoarse from constantly having to retell the ordeal to her husband.

"But you say you were in the workshop for about a half-hour; how could he keep you there for so long? Why would he keep you there for so long?" he went on.

"He did it to me twice Harold! There! Is that what you wanted to hear!" Michele cried.

Her husband had given her the third degree all evening. Now he was implying that his wife had not fought off her attacker hard enough; had not done enough to prevent her attacker from forcefully taking her.

"Come on Michele; you know I'm not blaming you!" Harold pleaded.

"I'm just saying is all; I'm trying to figure out how a man could hold you hostage for half an hour at a crowded railway station and not get caught," he continued to reproach his wife.

"Oh that's easy Harold! That's because I lay down for him, hiked up my skirt, pulled down my panties, and said please fuck me mister stalker; you might as well because my husband never does!" she spat at him.

"Michele! Jesus! The kids will hear!" her husband pleaded in hushed tones.

"Well stop accusing me!" Michele hissed.

"Fuck you Harold! I'm going to sleep!"

Michele rolled over and closed her eyes but immediately the image that sprang into her brain was one of a wanton women dressed in business suit with her skirt hiked and her legs spread wide as a young man rutted way at her. Not even guilt and shame could stop her pussy from aching with desire. She bit her lips and when her husband finally turned off the light, pulled the covers over himself and began a gentle snore, she slipped a finger inside her panties and began to slowly masturbate. She came quietly; biting her lips, trying not to breathe too hard. She imagined the Stalker's long hard cock spurting inside her when she came. Even then she still couldn't sleep.

Michele lay in bed unable to sleep for hours thinking about what had happened to her in the subway station workshop until eventually she got up, careful not to wake her sleeping husband. She went into the ensuite bathroom and pulled her come-stained tattered pantyhose from the trash where she had thrown them before showering. The musty smell of her Stalker's sperm still clung to the diaphanous garment.

She raised the nylons to her face and inhaled the smell of his semen and licked at it with her tongue as her fingers pulled aside the gusset of her panties and parted her labia.

Detective Mike Harris, known only to himself as the Pantyhose Stalker, was quite amused that he and his partner had caught the Bouvier sexually assault case. Only yesterday they had been informed that they were to be part of a task force assigned to the Pantyhose Stalker investigation.

Mike and his partner, Janine Munner, had been teamed up in the Sex Crimes unit, or SVU as they called it on TV, for nearly six months.

Mike pretended to get along with Janine, who was a sergeant and therefore senior to him, but in fact he thought she was an arrogant lesbian bitch. Janine Munner was in fact a lesbian. But not a trouser-suited, comfortable-shoe wearing, spiky-haired dyke. On the contrary, she was a short-skirt and high-heel wearing, pantyhose clad, elegantly coiffured, lipstick-lezzo!

This just made things worse for Mike. Ever the chauvinist and with a libido that drove him to sexually assault women, to be cooped up with an attractive, well-dressed woman, and one of the few women who still wore nylons on the force these days, but was unattainable to him, was almost a form of torture.

Mike and Janine were in their unmarked police car heading for the Bouvier residence. Mike wore an expensive Hugo Boss suit; when he wasn't raping women he was quiet the clotheshorse. Janine was dressed in a navy blue power-suit; the pencil skirt clung to her legs and the jacket hugged her body emphasising her well-formed breasts. She wore grey pantyhose and the obligatory black spiked high-heels.

A lot of the other detectives derided her for dressing that way but she figured in Sex Crimes it was highly unlikely that she would get involved in a foot chase; and besides the bosses, both male and female, liked her clothes sense. The other women on the force looked up to her as a role model and a lot of the men lusted after her even though she made no secret of the fact that she was a lesbian.

Mike was driving but his eyes kept drifting down to his partner's legs. She was absentmindedly twiddling her long blonde hair as she read the forensic report and her skirt had ridden up showing a significant amount of delectable thigh. Mike could feel a boner coming on and he deliberately dragged his eyes back to the road.

"She refused to be interviewed last night," Sergeant Munner said.

"Some of them are like that; they can't talk about it so soon after it has happened," Mike replied.

"When you say THEM I presume you mean the victim and when you say IT, I presume you mean sexual assault," Janine Munner replied.

"Janine, I've been in Sex Crimes for over two years now; you've been here for six months," Mike said.

"You need to harden up."

"And YOU need to not treat the victims like objects Mike; do you treat all women that way?" Janine asked.

'Only the ones I sexually assault or wanna fuck!' he thought to himself; but he ignored her question.

"Ok Janine, how do you want to play this?" Mike changed the subject.

"I think I should ask the questions and do all the talking; you have more experience than me so you look sympathetic but watch her body-language and the listen to her responses. I want you to get a feel for if you think we're dealing with the Pantyhose Stalker here," Janine laid out their strategy.

Thirty minutes later they sat in two comfortable armchairs in the Bouvier's lounge, facing Michele Bouvier. She had made an effort to dress nicely and wore a mauve dress, hose and heels; her hair had been recently brushed and fresh makeup applied but the strain on her face was obvious. Her husband paced back and forth.

"Can you tell me if there is anything about the man that attacked you that we might be able to use to identify him?" Janine began.

"No, he had a stocking over his head; he was medium build and wore jeans and a Hoodie; that's all I remember," Michele answered.

'He had a nice thick long cock; a lot bigger than my husband's,' she thought but obviously didn't say.

"Ok; his voice?"

"Gruff, but I think he was putting the voice on; it didn't sound natural," Michele said.

Janine glanced briefly at Mike; the other women reported that the Pantyhose Stalker had a similar inflection in his voice. Brusque but forced; like it was artificial.

"And he didn't undress you?"

"Christ! Do you have to go into all the gory details!" Harold Bouvier interrupted.

"Mister Bouvier, we have to get all of the details we can if we are going to catch this man," Janine Munner said forcefully.

Mike Harris had a huge erection that he was hiding under the legal pad he had placed in his lap. Sitting across from the woman he had forced sexual relations with only yesterday evening was a huge turn on. She looked even better in the light of day despite her anxiety. He thought he could see a little twinkle in her eye but he might have been misled. He glanced down and saw her legs were slightly open; the sunlight coming in through the window shimmered on her suntan pantyhose. Her long legs led his eyes up to the dark tunnel created by her slightly parted legs and the material of her dress.

His cock throbbed; he knew what was under that dress, he'd felt it, smelt it and fucked it. God this was a turn on! She was wearing the same perfume as yesterday and it rekindled the memory of her spread legged, skirt torn and panties pulled to one side as he fucked her in the filthy workshop. He focussed his mind on the present.

"No he didn't undress me; he ripped my skirt and tore my pantyhose," Michele said quietly.

Another furtive glance between the detectives; it sounded like their man.

"I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but did he.......................did he masturbate on you?" Janine asked apologetically.

"Oh fucking Jesus Christ! Is this really necessary?" Harold screeched.

"Mister Bouvier; are you sure you want to be here for this? Your wife is being very brave and you are not helping her," detective Munner said exasperated.

"You know what? She told me what he did to her! I don't need to hear it again!" Harold Bouvier growled and stormed out of the room.

"Sorry," Janine said.

"Its ok; I think he can't stand what happened to me. And to be honest, I think he's a little jealous," Michele said.

'A strange response?' Janine thought to herself, her brow knitted and then Michele went on.

"He masturbated over me; he rubbed himself on me and he ejaculated in my underwear."

Mike's cock throbbed again listening to the woman explain what he had done to her. But what neither of the detectives knew was that Michele's vagina was becoming wet. Telling these two strangers what the man had done to her was turning her on.

"He....................well when I was a teenager we called it dry humping," Michele blushed.

"No need to explain Mrs Bouvier; we understand what you mean," Janine was feeling sorry for the woman.

Michele crossed her legs; her stockings hissing in the quiet room immediately caught Mike's attention and he watched her dress snake up her thighs a little. He saw her squishing her thighs together. Was the bitch getting turned on?

Michele's panties were wet and her clitty was tingling; she wanted so much to touch herself down there. She couldn't believe how horny she was feeling; almost constantly now ever since she had been sexually assaulted. Twice last night and once this morning she had bought herself off and now she was ready again!

"And then what happened Mrs Bouvier," Janine got the interview back on track.

"Oh he err...............he entered me; but he turned me around first so he could look at me."

"He forced me to kiss him and he made me open my legs wider so he could put it in me. He didn't take my panties off, he just ripped a hole in my pantyhose and pulled the gusset of my panties aside so he could you know..........do it."

"I'm sorry we have to do this Mrs Bouvier; but the details matter," Janine Munner said, compassion evident in her voice.

Michele Bouvier's panties were now sodden; her clit was engorged and she was scared she was going to orgasm in front of these cops without even touching herself. She kept looking at the handsome young detective and imagined it was he fucking her; taking her right here in the lounge room bent over this very chair. He would bend her over; tear out the crotch of her hose and fuck her! She wriggled a little in her chair and cleared her throat.

"Is that all you need to know?" Michele asked, anxious now for them to leave.

"Nearly done now. Is there anything else that you think may help us identify the man?" Janine said looking earnestly into Michele's eyes.

"Not really; except I could describe his Johnson to you!" Michele cackled.

"Oh I'm so sorry that was so inappropriate!" she blushed.

"Don't worry Mrs Bouvier; it's just shock. You would be surprised what some witnesses say in the heat of the moment," Janine made to leave; rising out of her chair.

Mike Harris stole a quick glance up Janine's skirt as she struggled out of the big armchair. 'Hmm; pink panties today,' he thought. His gaze went back to Michele Bouvier; if he didn't know better he would swear the woman was turned on. Maybe she was? She certainly was yesterday evening when he fucked her.

Michele began to stand too and once again Mike got eyeful of her thick but sexy thighs as she rose; he couldn't quite see up her skirt but he got a great view of her legs.

Mike stood up and as the two women gave each other a quick farewell hug; he was able to conceal his erection in his suit pants.

"I'm so sorry this happened," Janine said.

"Me too," Michele replied; knowing that deep down she was lying.

Just then the door burst open and in rushed a teenaged girl; Michele Bouvier's daughter the detectives deduced.

"Oh God mom I'm so sorry, I just couldn't stay at school today! Not after what you have been through, I want to be home with you. I want to be here for you, for whatever you want me to do to help," the teenaged girl hugged her mother.

"My daughter Nadine," Michele explained to the two detectives.

Nadine Bouvier was a freshman at the Graham Academy; a community college. She had brunette hair just like her mother, worn in a ponytail. She was curvaceous, not stick thin like so many girls her age, and she had her mother's looks too. She was attractive; not schoolgirl pretty. She was currently dressed in a cheerleader outfit; a white pleated skirt riding high on her thighs, a figure-hugging spandex top, white with the letters GA in blue and red emblazoned across her tits. She was wearing heavy makeup, which was slightly smudged from the practice session she had been doing before she came home. Her long well formed legs were encased in sheer flesh-tone tights and she also wore bobby-sox and white gym shoes.

Mike Harris gawped at this younger version of Michele Bouvier; he usually preferred mature women but this girl was perfect! She hugged her mother on tippy-toes and her pleated skirt rode up and exposed her white spandex panties; the flesh-tone tights contrasted beautifully with her white panties.

Janine Munner saw Mike staring and shot him a hateful glare. Mike shrugged his shoulders as if to say, 'she's showing; I'm looking!' and then made to the hallway.

Janine and Michele followed him to the front door.

"Once again Mrs Bouvier thank you for your cooperation and I'm so sorry this has happened to you," Janine said, shaking hands.

"Me too Mrs Bouvier," Mike spoke for the first time.

Michele Bouvier was visibly taken aback. The detective's voice somehow seemed familiar but she couldn't place it. As she shook hands with him Michele looked him directly in the eyes and she wasn't sure but she thought she saw a gleam there. A sexy gleam, an interesting gleam, a devious gleam! Her pussy spasmed and she felt herself moisten again. She was puzzled but intrigued.