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Aunt’s Stockings & Mom’s Pantyhose-Part2

Aunt’s Stockings & Mom’s Pantyhose

bysilkstockingslover©

“Then he will really come,” Aunt Cassie replied playing on the word come.

“Oh God?” Mom moaned.

“Now crawl over here and lick your baby sister,” Aunt Cassie ordered.

“Yes, Mistress,” Mom replied.

“Maybe I should just order you to fuck your son,” Aunt Cassie ordered.

“Give me two more weeks, Mistress, I promise I will submit to him by Christmas,” Mom promised.

“You’ll let his candy cane fill your little wreath,” Aunt Cassie playfully asked, drunk enough to think she thought the wreath reference was logical.

Mom laughed, “I am going to fill his Christmas stocking…with me.”

“Good, but first come and get your favourite treat,” Aunt Cassie cooed.

I peeked around the corner and watched amazed. Aunt Cassie had unzipped her black dress and Mom was between her legs licking her younger sister; watching the incest act between my two greatest stroke fantasies was easily the hottest thing I had ever seen.

After a couple of minutes, Aunt Cassie started talking dirty, “That’s it, you little slut, lick my cunt,” and, “Only a dirty fucking slut would fantasize about fucking their son,” and “Beg to taste my cum, slut.”

Mom’s hand was frantically rubbing herself it seemed, although I couldn’t tell from my angle as she answered, “Mistress Sister, will you please come all over your big sister’s slutty face.”

“What do you want your son to do to you, slut?” Aunt Cassie asked.

“I want him to fuck me,” Mom moaned, all the while still licking.

“That’s it, slut? Be more fucking detailed,” Aunt Cassie ordered, pushing Mom’s head away.

Mom, seemingly hungry to continue licking, she rambled, “Oh God, Mistress Sister, I want to suck his cock and feel his cum slide down my throat; I want to feel his cock fuck my long neglected cunt and feel his cum explode in me; I want to feel my ass pounded hard and be made to be his Mommy-whore; I want to obey his every order, become his submissive slave and he my Master.”

Aunt Cassie grabbed Mom’s head and said, “Lick me slut, suck baby sister’s clit.”

Less than a minute later, Aunt Cassie’s moans getting increasingly louder, finally came, “Thaaaaaat’s it, big sister, swallow all my cuuuuuuuunt juice.”

I was about to explode, but quit stroking myself not wanting to come all over the wall.

A moment later, Aunt Cassie let Mom’s head go and said, “Fuck big sister you really went to town tonight.”

“I have always loved eating your cunt,” Mom said.

“Another glass of wine?” Aunt Cassie asked.

“I suppose one more wouldn’t hurt,” Mom shrugged, standing up.

I quickly moved away, scared of being caught and quickly moved back upstairs. I closed my door, grabbed another picture from Dad’s or Mom’s collection of photos and jumped on my bed. I began furiously pumping my cock, replaying the incest scene between Mom and my aunt while looking at another photo of a stranger’s legs and feet in nylons wishing I hadn’t wrecked the one of Mom by coming on it.

Knowing that Mom wanted to fuck me, to be my pet, was surreal and hot and in a few quick strokes, I was coming.

Lying on my bed, covered in my own cum, I began to consider my options. Mom wanted to be my submissive and I was going to make that wish come true.

6. Aunt Cassie First

The next morning, well truthfully it was 12:30 so it was actually afternoon, I came downstairs, my mind a fog of last night. I was pretty hammered last night and even as the memories of last night came flooding back I couldn’t really believe they were real.

That Mom wanted to fuck me.

That Mom was a submissive to Aunt Cassie.

That Mom ate out Aunt Cassie in the kitchen.

That Mom wanted to be my submissive slut.

I walked into the front room and was instantly distracted. First, Aunt Cassie had a candy cane in her mouth which had me flash back to calling my cock a candy cane. Secondly, although she was in a different outfit, she was still wearing her thigh highs and I could see the lace tops.

I stammered distracted, “H-h-how was last night?”

Aunt Cassie yawned, obviously still tired, “It was a pretty good time. How about you?”

“Same old, same old,” I shrugged, the party itself rather dull.

“Really?” Aunt Cassie asked. “I would think last night was anything but same old, same old.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering if she somehow knew I watched last night.

My wondering was instantly answered when she asked, “Did you learn anything about your mother last night?”

“N-n-no,” I stammered.

Aunt Cassie stood up and walked towards me as she asked her tone dripping with naughty innuendo, “Nothing at all?”

Her tone making my cock stiffen, I tried to play it cool, shifting from nervous to confident, I said, “You mean that you and Mom dyke out?”

“Well that too,” Aunt Cassie smiled, before adding, “but that wasn’t the real revelation of the night was it?”

“No, I guess there was a bigger one,” I said, grabbing my cock.

Aunt Cassie, surprised me by moving her hand to my cock, “Hmmmmm, very nice.”

“You are not too bad yourself,” I countered.

“So I hope you are going to take the information you learned last night and use it to your advantage,” Aunt Cassie said.

I was about to cup her voluptuous breasts when I heard footsteps.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, stud,” Aunt Cassie said, giving my cock a firm squeeze before sitting back down just as Mom entered the living room.

All weekend I had pondered the many different ways to fuck my Mom. A dozen times, I went to just take her, yet every time I was in the same room with her I chickened out. I couldn’t cross the invisible line of incest even though I knew she was willing, eager and submissive.

On Monday, I decided to go see Aunt Cassie at her school after dinner recalling she said she was staying after school to decorate her classroom for Christmas. I wanted to discuss with her how to best make Mom my slut…yet as soon as I saw her, another plan popped into my head.

I walked into her classroom, which in a kindergarten class is more of Romper Room than a classroom, closed the door and said, “We need to talk.”

Aunt Cassie turned around, smiled when she saw me, and asked innocently, “About what?”

Her dress would have caused high school students to drool, but her young students had no idea how hot she was or how big her breasts are, particularly in the dress she was wearing.

“The fact that I have decided to make Mom my slut,” I boldly answered.

“Is that so?” she asked coyly.

Going for broke, I added, “But I also plan to make Mom’s slut sister my whore too.”

Her eyes went big briefly, clearly surprised by my declaration, but she recovered quickly, “How do you know your Mom’s slut sister would submit to such an arrangement?”

I walked to her confidently, put my hands on her shoulders, and lowered her to the ground. As expected, she didn’t resist as she looked up at me expectantly.

“You will obey everything your Master tells you to do. And right now, he wants you to suck his thick cock,” I said, looking down at her.

“Hmmmm, Master, I like that,” Aunt Cassie said, before adding, “Just a moment.” She stood up and walked to the door, closed the blind and locked the door, before returning to exactly where she was. “So where was I?”

“You were about to serve your Master,” I answered.

“Riiiiiight,” she purred, fishing my cock out of my pants.

“Mmmmmmmmmm, your mother was right, your cock is big,” Aunt Cassie teased as she stroked my eight inch cock. Opening her mouth wide, she took my mushroom top in and swirled her tongue around it.

“That’s it, slut,” I groaned, thinking of all the stories I had read online about submissive sluts. “Worship your new Master’s cock.”

She moaned on my cock, making my cock vibrate, as she began to slowly take my cock in her mouth. As I watched my cock disappear in my aunt’s mouth in awe at one of my fantasies actually happening.

She bobbed back and forth slowly until she had all eight inches between her lips.

I groaned, “Good slut, now bob back and forth like the slut you are.”

She obeyed, shifting from slow and smooth to fast and hungry, and I knew I had less than a minute before I was going to explode in her mouth. I warned a few seconds later, “Here comes my cum, Aunt Slut, swallow it all.”

She went faster at my announcement and I sprayed a full load of my cum into her eager mouth. She didn’t slow down at all, swallowing every drop of my seed.

A moment later, I pulled my cock out of her mouth and she said, her tone dripping with innuendo, “So does Master want to fuck his slut’s cunt?”

“Yes he does, when Master thinks she has earned it,” I replied.

“W-w-what?” she stammered, surprised by my answer.

“Once you have helped me turn Mom into my slut, you will earn your privilege to have my cock in your cunt,” I answered, before adding, “and ass.”

“You bastard,” she smiled, realizing my intent.

“Your Master,” I corrected, shoving my cock back in her mouth.

I shot another load, this time all over Aunt Cassie’s face, before we chatted about the plan to make both Mom’s and my fantasy of mother-son incest come true.

7. The Chess Game of Lust

The first plan was to simply wake her up by shoving my cock in her mouth; the second plan was to have Mom catch me fucking her sister’s face; the third plan was so much more complex, so much slower and so much more fun. We were going to drive Mom crazy with temptation first, trying to push her to make the first move.

A couple of days later, Mom got home and as she walked into the living room exclaimed, “What a long day.”

I joked, “Actually every day is exactly the same length.”

“Funny, smart guy,” she quipped, collapsing on the couch.

Seeing my opportunity, to start the temptation teasing, I joined her on the couch, lifted her nylon legs up and put them on my lap.

“Does Mom need a foot massage?” I asked, putting my hands on her left foot.

“What?” she asked, surprised by my offer.

“Just relax Mom,” I said, as I began massaging her foot.

“That feels nice,” Mom said a minute later.

“Good, any time you want a foot massage just ask,” I said, my cock stiffening under her legs.

“Be careful what you offer, or you will be massaging my feet every day,” Mom playfully joked.

“Then I will massage your feet every day, Mom. I will do anything to make you happy, you know that, right?” I asked, my cock purposely flinching to imply my intent.

Her face flushed, as she stammered, distracted by my stiff cock, “Of-of-of course, dear.” After a moment of silence, she offered me the same implied deal that meant way more than the usual words from a mother to a son would mean, “You know I would do anything to make you happy too, right?”

“I do, Mom, but it is you who really needs to just go out and get what you want. After all your sacrifices to raise me,” I responded, making my cock flinch on the word ‘raise’, while continuing with so much innuendo it was ridiculous, “you deserve to get whatever makes you happy over and over again.”

Mom’s face was beet red as I switched to her other foot and continued the massage while the silence lingered between us, the invisible line of incest all that kept both of us from ravishing each other.

I massaged her feet for a few more minutes before finishing, standing up and saying, “I need to go do some studying.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, her tone implying disappointment, I assumed she hoped I would take her then and there. But the plan was to tease her relentlessly first…although teasing her was also teasing me.

I went to my room and pulled out a picture of Mom in nylons from Cassie’s high school graduation that Cassie had given me to masturbate to once I told her what I had done to the other picture. It didn’t show a lot of leg as it was a long gown, but it still showed her sexy feet in nylons.

Replaying Mom’s and my naughty conversation in my head, I stared at the picture and masturbated knowing it was going to be pretty soon that I had not one, but two sluts for my personal pleasure.

Not surprisingly, the feel of Mom’s silky nylon feet still lingering, it didn’t take long for me to erupt.

Over the next few days, it was both pure torture and exhilarating fun. Each of us gave hint after hint after hint that we were interested in inappropriate action, yet neither of us crossed that invisible line.

Mom started dressing in shorter skirts, giving me tit crushing hugs every morning and kissing me on the cheek before she left in the morning and again before bed. Each kiss was closer and closer to my lips and yet she wouldn’t kiss my lips. The temptation to grab her, shove her onto her knees and fuck her face was almost impossible to resist, yet I did knowing the end plan was near. Instead, I deposited a load or two or three in Aunt Cassie’s mouth every day to lessen my temptation to take Mom.

On December 23rd, Mom was dressed in an outfit so hot, I barely resisted bending her over the couch and fucking her from behind. Yet, I resisted, immediately driving to Aunt Cassie’s and fucking her face with my cock so hard my balls bounced off her chin.

Meanwhile, I gave Mom foot massages every day, my hand slyly moving to her ankle, her calf and her knee. She always opened her legs enough to meander as I wanted, keeping her eyes closed, seemingly waiting for me to just take her.

Aunt Cassie told me that Mom told her I was driving her nuts with my teasing and she desperately wanted me to just take her and make her my bitch.

On Christmas Eve, Mom suggested we dress up and have a fancy dinner just her and me. I put on dress pants, a nice shirt and a tie and headed downstairs where Mom had created a Christmas wonderland and was dressed in a sexy black dress and black pantyhose. Around the house was mistletoe…everywhere. I walked under one the instant I walked in the room and she kissed my cheek, lingering longer than necessary, her sweet perfume drawing me in.

In the kitchen, she kissed me again when I walked under the mistletoe and again when I opened the fridge that was also under mistletoe. She giggled, “It seems I may be kissing you all night.”

I said back, “If you weren’t my Mom, I would think this was a plan to seduce me.”

Her face flushed, but it seemed to dishearten her….I hadn’t taken the bait. We had dinner, where we talked about Christmas tomorrow, New Year’s Eve party that her work friends were throwing and my final exams that had not gone as well as I would have liked (mostly because I was preoccupied with fucking my mother, but I didn’t tell her that).

After dinner, I turned on Home Alone, our traditional Christmas movie, and turned around to see my Mom posing. Her sultry look telling me she was mine for the taking…all I had to do was take her.

Yet, I instead just joined her on the couch, started the movie and massaged her feet…which I did the whole movie. Massaging each toe individually, the bottom of her soles, her ankles, calf, and even up to her thigh, which had Mom letting out undeniable moans…yet I resisted the temptation to take her. That would be tomorrow.

8. Best Christmas Present Ever…MOM

After midnight, long after Mom was asleep, Aunt Cassie snuck into the house, into my bedroom and swallowed my load. She then slept at the foot of the bed, like a good submissive, as we eagerly waited for tomorrow morning.

I was woken up the same way I went to sleep, a blow job from my sub Aunt Cassie. I deposited a load in her mouth and she whispered, “Merry Christmas, Master.”

“Merry Christmas, slut,” I replied.

“When do I get my big Christmas present?” she asked, stressing the word big.

“After your slut sister does,” I smiled. “Now go down stairs and make some noise so she wakes up.”

After she left, I smiled…it was Christmas Day.

The day that I would make Mom mine.

The day I would give Mom the best Christmas present ever…eight inches of my cock.

The day I would make so many fantasies come true.

I got out of bed and jumped in the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I went downstairs and found Mom and Aunt Cassie having coffee.

“Merry Christmas Mom,” I said, kissing her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Christian,” she returned.

“Merry Christmas, Aunt Cassie,” I greeted, also kissing her cheek.

“Merry Christmas,” she answered back.

We had breakfast and I suggested, “We should get dressed up and take some family pictures today.”

“Great idea,” the sisters said in unison.

My first hint of power, I said, “I expect you both in nylons.”

“Yes, sir,” Aunt Cassie replied in a joking manner.

Mom replied, “Isn’t he just like his father.”

“Only way sexier,” Aunt Cassie replied.

Mom laughed, “Creepy, but true.”

They headed upstairs and I got the camera and tripod ready.

When they came down finally, after over half an hour, I could tell that Mom had had a pussy snack. Her face was shiny and her cheeks were red. She was also dressed in an outfit that I had never seen before.

I asked, “Is that new?”

“Actually, it is an outfit from high school that your aunt thinks still fits me,” Mom said.

“Well, it makes you look a lot younger,” I complimented.

“You know just the right words to say,” Mom said back.

“Is there something on your face, Mom?” I asked.

“P-p-pardon?” Mom stammered, clearly mortified by the question.

“Your face seems shiny,” I explained.

Cassie laughed, “Your face does seem shiny, Annabelle.”

Mom said finally, “It’s a new cream.”

“Well, it makes you look even prettier, Mom, you should use it every day,” I said.

“Oh, I think that is a great idea, don’t you, Annabelle?” Cassie teased.

“Y-y-yes,” Mom agreed sheepishly, embarrassed by the conversation, but I think confident that she had avoided being caught with her sister’s pussy juice on her face.

“Let’s take these,” I said.

We took a few of the three of us and then I suggested we take some of each of us as individuals.

I had Mom pose first, because the next part of the plan was to have slut Cassie show more leg than she should for family pictures.

Mom did a few poses, seeming to enjoy showing a reasonable amount of leg, turning around and giggling like she was a cheerleader in a high school photo shoot.

Cassie said, “Bend over.”

Mom laughed, “What and show my son my pantyhose clad ass?”

When Mom didn’t do it, Cassie sighed, “Fine, it’s my turn.”

All of Cassie’s poses were sexy and teasing, but then she gave the thigh high stockings pose. “Get a good look at this, nylon fetish boy,” Cassie teased.

I acted all upset, “Mom, you told Aunt Cassie?”

Mom protested, “I didn’t, like I said you don’t hide it well.”

“Nor do you hide well the impact checking out your aunt’s legs does to you,” Cassie said, pointing to my fully erect cock.

“Well, why don’t you do something about it slut,” I ordered Cassie, finally going for the kill.

Mom gasped.

Cassie ordered, taking control of the situation, “Slut, your son is talking to you.”

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HOW MY PANTYHOSE FETISH BEGAN Part 1


How my pantyhose fetish began…

I will never forget the first time I tried on an item of hosiery. One day I passed my parent’s bedroom and saw something dropped at the foot of the bed that caught my attention. I entered their room to check it out. What I found was a girdle with the suntan nylons still attached. I had never thought anything about hosiery until that moment. I touched the ultra sheer RHT stockings. The nylon felt cool and silky in my hands and I immediately had the thought that I wanted to know what the stockings would feel like to wear them.

I planned to sneak out of bed while my parents were still up and retrieve the nylons. Once in bed I waited a while before making my attempt to retrieve the stockings. I crept into my parent’s room and snatched up the girdle and stockings. I returned to my room and slipped off my pajama bottoms and stepped into the girdle. I intuitively knew to be careful pulling the stockings up my legs. The nylons were far too long for my legs and I was swimming in the girdle but I didn’t care as I immediately fell in love with the feeling of the sheer nylon against my skin.

I got back into bed and pulled the covers up. I lay in bed reveling in the feel of the silky nylons. After a bit I realized I needed to take them off and return them to my parent’s room. That night began my love affair with hosiery.

I vowed that night that I would wear nylons again as soon as possible. Since my mother was a stay at home Mom she didn’t wear hosiery every day. She always wore on Sunday and when my parents would go out on a Friday or Saturday night. I kept a watch for when she next wore nylons. It was only days later, a Friday night when my parents had plans to go out. I peaked in my parent’s room that Saturday and saw that she had balled up on her dresser the nylons she had worn the night before. I stuffed them down the front of my pants and headed to the bathroom.

I pulled the stockings from my pants and let them unfurl in front of me. This was the first time in daylight that I really had an opportunity to examine the stockings. They were Hanes ultra sheer RHT in the shade quicksilver. (Only once I was older did I actually know the name of the shade.) I was so excited to be holding the stockings. I quickly kicked off my shoes and pulled my socks and pants off. I wanted to give the stockings a thorough inspection as I was so curious about them. I looked them over from the top of the welt where Hanes was screen printed on them, down the length of the stocking to the reinforced heal, then the foot and finally reinforced toe. I liked how the toe, heal and welt were extra silky.

After a few minutes of examining the stockings and noticing no runs or snags I carefully gathered the length of one stocking and placed my foot into it. I slid the stocking up my leg and then proceeded to do the same with the second stocking. Sitting on the toilet, I examined my legs. I was pleased with their appearance and the feel of the cool, sheer nylon enveloping them. Though the nylons were far too large I was enjoying wearing them and knew I wanted to wear them again. Actually, I knew I wanted to wear them all the time. At this time, I had no knowledge of what a run was; I just instinctively knew I had to be gentle with the stockings because they could easily be torn. I carefully ran my hands over my legs beginning at my ankles and working my way up to my thighs. After having the stockings on for approximately 15 minutes I knew it was time to remove them and return them to my mother’s dresser.

I balled the stockings up and placed them on the dresser trying to duplicate the look my mother had created when she placed them there. For some reason I suddenly had the idea to open a dresser drawer and see what other nylons Mom had. When I peeked inside I saw several stockings in different shades of tan, off-black and black, all of which were neatly folded. The drawer was so neat I didn’t dare disturb anything. I closed the drawer and promised myself that I would wear stockings again as soon as possible.

A few days later as I passed my parent’s bedroom I looked in. Just as before, a pair of nylon stockings was at the foot of the bed. I went in to examine them. This time there was no girdle, only the stockings and my mother’s skirt. I picked the stockings up from the bed to look at them. They were a shade commonly referred to in the 60s and early 70s as cinnamon. The stockings were ultra sheer with reinforced toes and nude heels. As I tried to look at them better I realized that my mother had tied them together in the center of their length and the knot was tight in that I could not quickly undo it.


I looked out an upstairs window to check to be sure she was still busy outside and then went back to the nylon stockings. I retreated to my bedroom and sat on the bed with the tied stockings. I gently tried to undo the knot but it would not budge. I came to realize I was going to need something thin to place into the knot to loosen it. The first thing I could think of was my toothbrush. I gently pushed the handle of the brush into the knot, trying to loosen it. It wasn’t working. The knot was too tight and the brush handle too thick. As I searched for something to use on the stockings I wondered why she had tied them together. I was bewildered by it.

I searched the medicine cabinet and noticed a metal nail file. I darted back to my room and pushed the file into the knot and wiggled it back and forth. The knot began to slowly loosen. After a little prodding it loosened to where I could work my fingers in to better loosen it. I made another dash to the window to check on my mother. She was busy and it would be a while before she came inside. I returned to the stockings and finally untied them. I looked each stocking over to see if the file had damaged them. I was relieved to discover that it hadn’t.

I slipped my pants off and began pulling the first stocking on and then the second. Once I had both of them on I lie back on my bed, put my legs in the air and kicked them about as I relished their appearance in the cinnamon stockings. It was at this point that I noticed strange markings on the soles of both feet. I brought my left foot down to my face and took note of a run. I didn’t recall ever seeing one before or know what it was called. I just knew it meant the stocking was damaged. I brought my right foot to my face and again, there was a run. Neither run was a disaster. The runs were thin, only the width of a pencil and went from the back of the heel across the bottom of the foot stopping at the reinforced toe.

“Okay”, I thought, “she is going to throw them out.” I checked the clock and allowed myself another 10 minutes to wear the stockings. When time was up I slipped off the stockings and put my pants on. I went to my parent’s bedroom and lined up the stockings one on the other and then tied them in a knot in the center as Mom had; only I didn’t pull it as tight as she had done. I dropped the stockings on the bed as she had and tip toed out of the room.

I told myself I had to have those nylons, that they would be mine. Trash pickup wasn’t for another two days so I knew I had to keep an eye out for them. That night, before going to bed I looked in to see if the stockings were still on her bed. They were still there. Late morning the next day I looked in. The bed was made and the stockings were not there. I looked around and saw that they had been placed on her dresser. All day I would take a good look at any trash can in the house to see if I could spy the stockings.

The stockings remained on her dresser until the afternoon before trash day. We always put the trash out the night before because they come so early in the morning. My father was the one who put the trash out when we were very young. He had thrown the kitchen trash into the big can in the garage and was beginning to go through the house to empty the wastebaskets. There was one in each bathroom and one in my parent’s room. As he finished the bathrooms and began to empty the wastebasket in his room, Mom shouted for him to throw away her nylons on her dresser. Being in my room I was able to see Dad pick them up from the dresser. He held them for a moment then answered back quizzically “You want me to throw out these nylons on your dresser? Didn’t you just wear them?” Mom replied “yes, throw them out, they have runs in them.” Dad said “okay” and then sighed as he muttered under his breath “you run them the first day you wear them.” As I listened I took note that the damage I had seen in Mom’s nylons was called a run. I intuitively knew to be attuned to hearing either of my parent’s mention runs in my mother’s stockings as it meant stockings with runs would be thrown out and I would have opportunities to obtain them.

I watched from an upstairs window as Dad took the trash to the cans. He had emptied the wastebaskets into a single white trash bag. As far as I knew the last thing to go into the trash bag was the stockings so they should be on top and easy for me to obtain. Late that night my father put the cans out by the curb.

I waited for everyone to go to sleep before I slipped out of my bed. I went down to the kitchen, not turning on any lights. I stood in the dark kitchen, not making a sound for about 10 minutes. I wanted to be sure no one had awakened. I went to the living room and slowly opened the sliding glass door. I knew it was the quietest way to exit the house. Once outside, I looked around to see if lights were on next door. Everyone was asleep. I made a quick dash for the garage. I went to the trashcans and carefully opened one. Fortunately, they were plastic and didn’t make much if any noise. I lucked out; a white trash bag was on top in this can. I quickly tore it open and reached in. The stockings were right on top. I grabbed them in a hurry and shoved them down my briefs. I quickly put the lid back on the can and darted back to the house. I closed the slider and went back to the kitchen.

I figured if I were caught downstairs I had better not have the stockings on me so I balled them up and dropped them behind books in the bookcase. I went to the refrigerator, took a bottle of soda out and opened it. I poured some in a glass, drank it then put the bottle back in the refrigerator while leaving the glass on the counter. I did all of this so if I was caught out of bed I could say I was up getting a drink.

The next day, when no one was in the house I quickly retrieved the stockings. I hid them in my room and wore them nearly daily for quite some time. It was at this point that the run each in each stocking had grown. The length of the run wasn’t the problem, it was the width. The entire sole of each foot was now wiped out by the run and my little feet came out the feet of the stockings. I was disappointed to have to give up the nylons but I knew it would be only a matter of time before I was wearing stockings and with luck have a pair of my own again.

Part 2 coming soon!

 

Auntie’s Stocking Slave Ch. 01

It was 1959 and I was eighteen years old. My mother and father had died over a year ago in a car crash and after spending six months in a foster home my Aunty Jean had taken me in as her ward.

Aunty Jean was forty-five and quite an attractive woman for her age. Her body was a little on the large side but she had large creamy breasts and stunning legs for a woman her age. She worked in an office in the city and her work attire usually consisted of skirt, blouse, heels and hosiery; she dressed sophisticatedly and wore lots of makeup and perfume.

She preferred tight pencil skirts; the hem resting just above her knees, and tight satin or silk blouses. She always wore hosiery and I was occasionally rewarded with a glimpse of stocking-top or welt as it is correctly known. She wore either taupe or grey nylons and, although they had recently gone out of fashion, she preferred fully-fashioned stockings with a back-seam. She also favoured high-heels; either strappy sandals or open-toe pumps.

Aunty Jean’s makeup was always perfect: lashings of black eyeliner, mascara and multi-hued eyeshadow set off her sparkling hazel eyes. Her cheeks were rouged to enhance her high cheek-bones and she wore ruby-red lipstick on her full sensuous lips. She painted her fingernails and toenails with nail polish to match the colour of her lipstick. Her pretty face was framed by a jet-black bob, which some of her friends jealously insisted was dyed. She wore exotic perfume which seemed to envelop her in a cloud wherever she went.

She stood five-foot six-inches tall in her heels and was voluptuous rather than fat.

To me she was stunning.

My mother had worn dowdy shapeless house-dresses, flat shoes and only wore hosiery when going out somewhere special or to church. To my mind, Aunty Jean was very exotic and sensual and I was fascinated by her. She seemed a little aloof and I had overheard her say to a friend that she didn’t really want me staying with her but she felt obliged to help me as I was her sister’s son. It was no secret that once I had finished college she expected me to move out.

Aunty preferred it if I kept to myself and not get under her feet. We saw each other at meals and I was allowed to watch one hour’s television with her on weeknights. On weekends I sometimes accompanied her to church or to a friend’s house for tea. I had a small room upstairs at the back of the house where I spent most of my time studying or reading books. I didn’t have many friends at my new college but I had always been a loner anyway.

Being an eighteen-year-old boy my hormones were seething and my thoughts constantly drifted to sex and I had a semi-permanent erection. My favourite pastime was masturbation and whilst exploring my aunt’s house I had discovered a cache of fashion magazines. The lingerie section of the magazines contained glossy pictures of attractive mature women posing in underwear and they provided me with visual stimuli during my masturbatory sessions.

I would take a magazine from the stack that my aunt kept in a drawer in her bedroom, and once I had exhausted my masturbatory fantasies over the models in that particular edition, I would exchange it for another. It was during this period that I discovered the delights of the laundry basket in the bathroom I shared with Aunty Jean.

During what I refer to as my indoctrination period Aunty Jean explained to me the ‘house-rules’; that is, the rules that I would be required to obey during my stay with her. She explained to me that I was to fold my clothes at the end of the day and place them in the laundry basket each evening prior to retiring. Twice-weekly she would wash and iron our clothes and leave my freshly laundered clothing folded at the foot of my bed.

One evening, not long after I started borrowing my Aunt’s fashion magazines, I was placing my dirty college uniform in the laundry basket when an item sitting on the top of the other soiled clothing caught my attention. It was a pair of black silk panties. I had seen pictures of ladies modelling panties like these in my aunt’s fashion magazines and found them fascinating. I carefully lifted the garment out of the laundry basket and was immediately captivated by the sumptuous feel of the flimsy garment. The delicate material was luxurious; soft and cool to touch, and so transparent that I could see my fingers through the dark silk.

I held up the panties and scrutinized them. The panties were full-cut, the back and front panels delicately sewn together at the sides, which were quite wide, and the gusset was reinforced with a second layer of the dark silken material. A tiny patch of white crust, which I guessed was my Auntie’s vaginal discharge, clung to the gusset.

I lifted the panties to my face and inhaled; traces of my Aunt’s exotic perfume, combined with the underlying scent of her sex, invaded my nostrils. I rubbed the garment across my cheek and I felt an erection begin to grow in my shorts. I freed my turgid member from the confines of my shorts and draped the garment over my shaft and felt the most wondrous sensations flow through my body as the cool silk slid along my shaft and the bulbous glans of my penis. After a few strokes I climaxed, shooting streams of hot ejaculate over the bathroom floor.

I became light-headed with the intensity of my orgasm and I almost passed out. When I recovered from my climax I was horrified to discover that a few tendrils of my semen had soaked into the black silken panties. I did my best to blot up the incriminating fluid before it could dry and then carefully returned them back to the laundry basket, trying to position them just how I had found them. I cleaned up the bathroom floor and vowed never again to commit such a foolish act.

Of course I was making promises that I could not keep; my natural teenage curiosity and constant state of sexual arousal constantly led me back to the laundry basket to discover what silken delights lay therein. I was very careful to return the objects of my obsession exactly as I found them and also tried my hardest to keep my seminal fluids from staining the delicate garments when I used them to stimulate me during masturbation.

The next turn of events occurred one evening when I went to take a shower. As I pulled back the shower-curtain and stepped into the bath one of Auntie’s stockings fluttered down from where it was hanging on the curtain-rail to dry and alighted on my naked body. I shuddered with delight as the slinky nylon slid across my sensitive skin. Cautiously I removed the stocking from my body and examined the delicate piece of hosiery.

The long garment was cut to the shape of the leg it was designed to encase and sewn together with a back-seam. The toe and heel sections of the stocking were reinforced with darker nylon. The majority of the stocking was made of flesh-toned sheer nylon with a darker two-inch band near the top, which I had leaned from the fashion magazines was called a ‘shadow welt’ and above that was the larger reinforced stocking-top, called the welt. This band of reinforced nylon at the top of the stocking was constructed of doubled over nylon with a ‘keyhole’ near the base of the welt. In antique script the word ‘Aristoc’ was printed on the dark nylon welt.

The appearance and texture of the garment was fascinating; I rubbed it against my cheek and, as expected, my member began to thicken. I rubbed the gossamer hosiery over my body until ultimately I slid it over my now fully erect penis. I shuddered with excitement and stroked my erection, now sheathed in the diaphanous stocking, and with my other hand I caressed my scrotum which I had encased in the remainder of the stocking.

Needless to say that in a few seconds a ball of white semen formed in the material of the stocking as I ejaculated into it. After a few seconds of absolute terror when I realised that I had just soiled my Aunt’s stocking with my ejaculate and had probably put a ladder in it too, I stopped panicking and closely inspected the stocking and discovered that other than slightly distending the nylon where I had stretched it over my penis it was not damaged. I carefully rinsed the garment and patted it dry with my towel and hung it up next to its companion.

I scrutinised the stockings hanging on the curtain rail with a critical eye and could not distinguish any dissimilarity between them. I breathed a sigh of relief and made a vow then and there that I would never be so foolish again. I kept the vow for three whole days.

I was becoming acutely aware that my fascination with my Auntie’s lingerie was filling most of my waking hours. At college I daydreamed of mature women dressed in sensuous lingerie and often made excuses to visit the boys-room so I could relieve myself.

At home I would lie on the carpet pretending to watch television whilst peeking at Aunt Jean’s legs. I particularly liked it when she wore her open-toe high-heels and I could look at her red-painted toenail encased in the dark reinforced toe of her stocking or when she kicked off her heels and the aroma of her feet drifted across to my nostrils. I would stare at her hosiery clad legs, following the shape of her legs from her toes up to just above her knees where her magnificent gams disappeared under the hem of her skirt.

Sometimes she would bend down and run her hands along her legs to remove the wrinkles from her stockings and straighten the seams, and my cock would pulse as I pressed it firmly into the carpet.

She once fell asleep curled up on the lounge and her skirt rode up so that I could see the welts of her stockings framed by the edge of her navy-blue skirt. She stirred and a glimpse of her creamy white thighs and the lacy hem of her satin slip came into view. Unconsciously she reached down to pull down the hem of her skirt but in doing so I was rewarded with a peek of nearly transparent white nylon knicker crotch; her dark pubic hair curled against the translucent gusset of her panty.

I raced upstairs and relieved myself while the image was still fresh in my mind.

It was the weekend, and as usual on Sunday morning, my Aunt Jean went to church. She didn’t insist that I attend church with her, although she did invite me to accompany her, more out of courtesy than any particular desire for my company. I politely declined and retired to my room after breakfast.

As soon as I heard Aunty Jean leave the house I stripped off my clothes and lay on my bed; I slipped my hand under the mattress and extracted the well-thumbed copy of one of my Aunt’s fashion mags and opened it to the lingerie section. I slowly improved my growing erection as I stared with fascination at the photographs of the mature women modelling the lingerie.

Images of the heavily made-up and elegantly coiffured women wearing pointy cupped brassieres, satin basques, bustieres, nylon stockings clipped to lacy suspender belts, and satin slips, fueled my masturbatory fantasies as I whiled away the time. I knew that my Aunt would be gone for at least three hours and I was in no rush to climax.

After nearly half an hour of desultory stroking I needed to urinate and I put the magazine aside and walked naked to the bathroom; my slowly deflating erection leading the way. As I urinated into the toilet bowl my curiosity was peaked by an item of clothing in the laundry basket. A pair of nearly transparent knickers was hanging over the edge of the basket. I flicked the last drips of my urine into the bowl and walked over to the basket.

The flimsy white panties looked exactly like the ones I had seen under my Aunt’s skirt a couple of evenings ago. I did some mental math and figured out that it was probably the same pair, as she was not due to wash our laundry until this afternoon; and the last washday had been the day before I was rewarded with the panty-peek.

With trembling hands I removed the garment from the wash-basket and put them to my nose. The scent of my Aunt’s perfume and vaginal juices assaulted my nasal passages and my cock sprang to attention. I recalled my vows to stop playing with my Aunt’s intimates but the temptation was just too much. I looked into the hamper and saw a black satin suspender belt trimmed with red lace, and I carefully removed it, noting its position in the hamper so that I knew where to put it back from where I found it.

Sure enough, two pairs of fully-fashioned stockings hung over the shower-curtain rail to dry. I carefully removed a pair of smoky-grey stockings and added them to my illicit cache. I padded back to my bedroom; my heart thundering in my chest.

I opened the magazine to a page which showed a picture of a woman modelling panties, hose and suspenders and propped it on the pillow. Then I lay the panties out in the middle of the bed and arranged the garter-belt above the panties and threaded the garter-straps through the leg-holes. I carefully clipped the stocking welts to the clips at the bottom of the garter-straps, straightened out the stockings, and admired my handiwork. I had arranged the lingerie on the bed exactly as it was worn by the model in the magazine.

I carefully climbed onto the bed and knelt over the lingerie until my cock was positioned over the front panel of the panties and I slowly lowered my body. I sank down until I was lying on the bed with my cock against the material of the panties and my legs against the material of the nylons.

It felt magnificent; the translucent nylon panties caressed my cock whilst the sheer nylons slid against my legs. I slowly humped the bed whilst alternatively looking at the pictures in the magazine and conjuring up the image of my Auntie’s panty-covered pubis. Whilst this arrangement was satisfactory for a while, my insistent humping soon moved the panties and hose away from my body and I was no longer experiencing the desired effect.

Frustrated with my efforts I decided that the only way I was going to get satisfaction would be to masturbate directly into the lingerie.

Throwing caution to the wind I lay on my bed with my erection pointing up at the ceiling. I slid one of Auntie’s stockings over my cock and lifted her panties to my face. I slowly stroked my penis, exhilarated by the feel of the silky nylon against my cock whilst inhaling the scent of perfume and vaginal discharge that clung to the panties.

I tried turning over so that I could look at the pictures in the magazine while I masturbated put this proved impossible, so I sat on the edge of the bed with Auntie’s stocking wrapped around my cock and her panties over my head so that I could sniff and lick at the crotch and still look at the magazine through the leg-holes of the panties.

I was oblivious to the world as my body reacted to the sensual feel of Auntie’s intimates against my cock and face and the taste and smell of her perfume and her sex. I was slowly stroking my penis, trying to delay my orgasm, when the door to my bedroom suddenly flew open and Aunty Jean walked purposely into the room.


 

 

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How I got started! – Member Submission Story


It was when I was 13. I was home alone for 2 days and I went into my mom’s lingerie drawer. It was full of panties, stockings and pantyhose. I was in heaven. I put on my mom’s panties and stockings attached to a black suspender belt and I started walking around the house. It felt so nice. I could not resist and I took a pair of pantyhose for myself. I would wear them everywhere I go, under my jeans of course. I used to hide them under my pillow until my mom found them while cleaning my room. We had a conversation and she told me that I should have spoken to her about my curiosities. She asked me if I tried on anything else while I was home alone and I told her that I tried on her panties and stockings.

My mom was surprised that I was honest to her and she told me that I shouldn’t wear someone else’s underwear without permission. She also asked me if I liked wearing panties and I told her that I fell in love with them because they were so comfortable. She told me that we will go out shopping tonight. That night we went in town to a lingerie shop (i don’t remember the name of the shop, sorry!) and she told me to pick the panties that I liked the most. I remember choosing some purple hipster panties. I tried them on until I found the right size. The experience was so nice. She ended up buying me panties so I wouldn’t use hers again. The next day she came home from work and she told me that she bought something for me. It was a pair of black pantyhose. I hugged her and then I thanked her. A few weeks later, every time I went shopping with my mom I was asking her if I could get another pair of panties and she never refused me. Best mom ever!