A Glimpse of Nylon Stocking Ch. 02

Julian alighted at Oxford circus and Donald exited behind him keeping a matronly woman between him and Julian. As they climbed the steps to exit the station Donald noticed that woman was wearing fully-fashioned stockings and he gave her a silent 'Bravo'.

He followed Julian to the bookshop and watched him fuss around. Taking the books he had brought to work out of his valise and straightening out the displays while the kettle boiled.

Julian was in two minds what to do with The Story of O. The first edition had come to him via an estate sale and the owner had no idea of the book's value. The book was first published in 1954 by French author Anne Desclos under the pen name Pauline Réage and although it had won a literary prize it was banned for many years. He could make a tidy profit selling the book to someone whose tastes ran to the exotic.

But Julie wanted Julian to keep the book. She had become captivated by it when she started reading it and now that Julie was earning money on the side so to speak, their financial difficulties would soon dissipate.

Julian did what any Englishman would do in a crisis. He made a pot of tea. Not using those horrible teabags that the lazy young philistines had made de rigueur, but proper Ceylon tea blended in the colonies, made in a proper china teapot. He sat at the counter drinking his tea absentmindedly stroking his thighs; the feel of the diaphanous hosiery on his legs and genitals was delightfully comforting.

Donald Cooper

Donald retired across the road and sat in a café where he could keep an eye on the bookshop. He drank tea dispensed from a stainless steel tea urn and as expected it tasted insipid. The working class types around him shovelled greasy bacon, sausages, chips and eggs into their mouths; fuelling themselves on the 'Full English'. The sights, sounds and smells of the café nearly made him gag as he choked down his tea and smoked a cigarette.

He left the café and once again wondered what he was doing with his life. For some reason he was obsessed by a trim little bookshop owner, who had a penchant for wearing hosiery to work and manufactured and distributed tart cards. What the fuck was he doing? Was it because Deirdre had left him?

He walked the streets aimlessly and found himself outside his legal practice on The Strand. He went inside, returning the greetings from the secretaries and junior solicitors, knowing that as soon as he passed them by they would begin to gossip about his marriage breakup.

Donald went to his office and closed the door. His caseload had been distributed to the other partners so there were no files on his desk, no depositions or motions to peruse or edit. There was just some personal mail and old newspapers. Donald scanned the mail and threw most of it in the bin and only opened those letters that required his immediate attention. There was a letter from Deirdre's lawyer proposing a divorce settlement and he spent some time reading it.

There was a gentle tap on the door and it opened and Mrs Snodgrass entered the office preceded by a waft of her rather intriguing perfume.

Gillian Snodgrass had been with Cooper, Price and Waterman ever since Donald's father had started the practice. Donald knew that his now deceased father had been a womaniser and a rogue, although his mother tolerated him. He'd once overheard his mother talking to her friends confidentially over sherry after the men had retired to the parlour for port and cigars.

"Oh I know all about his philandering and I don't mind at all. If those pretty young secretaries at Cooper, Price and Waterman are happy to let him mount them; then good luck to him. I've got myself a handsome young man who works at the horse stables where I ride twice a week who takes care of my needs," Cicely Cooper told the small group of matrons who all laughed at her audacity.

Donald, at this time still at university, nearly dropped his port when he heard his mother talking like that. Who would have thought the old dear had it in her? When Donald joined the law practice he had often wondered if Gillian Snodgrass had been one of those 'pretty young secretaries' back in the day.

"How are you Donald?" Gillian closed the door as she stepped into the office.

Gillian's age, the length of her incumbency and her position as senior legal secretary allowed her the privilege of calling the senior partners by their first names. He'd known Gillian since he was a boy and had fancied her back when he was a randy teenager and she was a forty-something spinster.

"I'm not sure. This thing with Deirdre has got me all out of sorts. I'm just not myself," Donald sighed, expecting sympathy from Gillian who had known Deirdre as long as he had.

Gillian was wearing her usual attire of a navy-blue fitted skirt-suit with black high heels and fleshtoned nylons with a discreet backseam. Her red hair, recently coiffed and coloured was worn in a bouffant reminiscent of the fifties. Her makeup was also quite dated: bright red lipstick, black eyeliner and mascara, green eyeshadow. Think Sybil Fawlty from Fawlty Towers.

She approached Donald and looked down at him.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

Donald stood and came around front of his desk and handed her the letter.

"Deirdre's taking no time arranging settlement. She's obviously keen to move on with her life," Gillian handed the letter back to Donald.

If he had expected sympathy from Gillian he wasn't getting any.

"As I said; I'm at a loss as to what to do. I didn't think her leaving me like this would affect me this way," Donald admitted, sounding like a petulant child.

"Nonsense Donald! Get a grip on yourself. Your father would have never blubbered like a spoiled schoolboy. He'd have given me a good rogering and gone home to Cicely and put her in her place," Gillian slapped Donald across the face to bring him out of his reverie.

Donald was not sure what had shocked him most: Gillian slapping him or her admitting that his father used to 'roger' her.

Gillian strode to the door and Donald was certain that she was leaving but she turned the lock and strode back to him.

"Now just this once I'll let you have a go but don't think you can take liberties whenever you fancy, young Donald. This is what the silly young girls in the typing pool call a sympathy fuck I think," Gillian removed her jacket and began to hitch up her tight skirt as if it was the most the most natural thing in the world to do.

Under her skirt Gillian was wearing a black rayon slip, matching camiknickers and a suspender belt clipped to the welts of her sheer, fleshtoned nylon stockings. Donald was stunned and awestruck. He couldn't take his eyes off her long legs and her sexy underwear.

"Come on Donald we don't have all day," Gillian stepped into him and put his hand on her thigh and stood on her tippytoes and kissed him.

She slipped her tongue into his mouth and she tasted of menthol cigarettes, Twining's Earl Grey tea and lipstick; she smelled of perfume, powder and slightly of the toner the firm used in the photocopier.

Donald stroked Gillian's thigh through the silky fabric of her hose, the hem of her slip caressing the backs of his fingers, and then he caressed the smooth pale flesh above the welt of her stocking. Gillian was squeezing his cock through his trousers and Donald was afraid that he was going to climax too soon.

He had dreamed of shagging Gillian Snodgrass but never thought the day would ever come when he would and his head was spinning as he kissed her, feeling her tongue explore his mouth as his hand strayed to her knickers. He slipped his fingers inside Gillian's camiknickers, the slippery material ticking his fingers, and found Gillian's cleft wet and warm, nestled in a mat of trimmed pubic hair.

"Hurry along now; there's a good lad. Can't dally too long otherwise people will become suspicious. Your father was able to get his leg over me during court recesses and no one was the wiser," Gillian said, breaking the kiss.

She turned around and bent over the desk.

Gillian was magnificent sight. She was bent over the desk with her skirt rucked up around her waist, her long legs slightly parted, clad in shimmering stockings, her high heels about a foot apart, her plump derriere clad in black satin camiknickers.

Donald dropped trou and approached, his big thick cock protruding from his underpants. He lifted Gillian's slip out of the way and rubbed his glans on her knickers and delighted in the feel of the soft silky fabric as he pressed his cock against her buttocks.

"No time for dilly-dallying," Gillian tutted and reached behind her.

She took Donald's throbbing member in her hand and guided it inside the leg of her knickers and nestled it into the lips her warm, wet minge. She pushed back as Donald gripped her hips and thrust forward and Donald's cock slipped into Gillian's surprisingly tight vagina.

Gillian emitted a low growl and began to swivel her backside and push back as Donald fucked her, driving his cock all the way inside her so that her delicate glossy knickers tickled his scrotum and his thighs as he thrush himself in and out of her moist vagina.

Gillian boldly took one of Donald's hands from her hip and pushed it between her legs and he took the hint and found that her clitoris had emerged from the clitoral hood and was engorged. He stroked it in a circular fashion as he continued to thrust his cock in and out of Gillian's plump soft buttocks. She sighed and continued to squirm and press back against him and then the absurd rampant sexuality of the situation overwhelmed Donald and he gripped Gillian tight and pushed his cock deep inside her and ejaculated, Gilliam emitted a low growl and her whole body shuddered as she climaxed along with him.

Donald thrummed her clitoris and pulled her plump, knicker-clad buttocks into his pelvis and held her still while his cock juddered and pulsed inside her, filling her cleft with his steaming spunk. Donald bit his lip to supress a roar as his orgasm intensified and then began to subside.

Gillian remained dutifully pressed into the desk, her vagina palpitating, milking every drop of semen from Donald, her body tingling with pleasure at the feel of Donald's big thick cock. She remained that way until she felt Donald let go of her hip and remove his fingers from her intimates.

Donald took a step back and Gillian turned around and took a handful of tissues from the dispenser on his desk and handed them to Donald who wiped the last dribble of spunk and Gillian's vaginal mucus from his cock and put it away and zipped up. Gillian took the tissues from him and took out a few more leaves which she dabbed on her intimate parts. She adjusted her knickers and pulled down her skirt.

"Well that was rather unexpected but quite satisfactory. You're better equipped than your father was. It's a shame we can't make it a regular thing," Gillian said as she smoothed and straightened her skirt.

"Why not?" Donald felt a little embarrassed now that it was all over.

"Oh you silly boy. Deirdre has gone and you're looking for a replacement but you should sew your oats while you have the chance. Besides I'm too old for you. Go out and explore the world. Find something exotic to tickle your fancy before you remarry," Gillian fixed her lipstick, holding up a compact mirror in front of her face as she did so.

"I've got a rather virile West Indian chap who does for me when I need a bit of spice in my life. Go and find something equally extravagant for yourself," Gillian tucked away her compact and put on her jacket.

"Now be a good boy and flush these down the loo will you. Can't put them in the bin can we?" Gillian reached up and kissed his cheek then rubbed away her lipstick.

She unlocked and opened the door and stepped confidently outside as if they had just finished some important business.

Donald looked down and saw that she had pressed the tissues that they had used to clean up in his hand. He suppressed a laugh and made his way to the gentleman's lavatory, took one last sniff of Gillian Snodgrass' pungent fanny, and flushed the tissues away.

Julie Clifford

Julian brought The Story of O home with him and had read more of the tome on the train. He had enjoyed wearing the sheer pantyhose and the full-cut satin knickers under his suit during the day. Once he'd got over his trepidation he was able to enjoy the feel of the garments on his tingling flesh. Julie had flitted in and out of Julian's consciousness throughout the day, especially during the lunch break when he read more of The Story of O and Julie had imagined it was her who surrendered herself to the man she loved.

Once home Julian surrendered the consciousness of his body to Julie who took a quick bath, plucked a few stray hairs from her chin and put on her makeup: it was bold and brazen and whoreish, which is what she was about to become. She'd glanced at the red telephone on her way upstairs and part of her was begging for it ring and another part of her was praying for it not to.

She finished her transformation into a whore: tight black vinyl micro miniskirt, white satin blouse, black seamed nylon stockings, bright red satin knickers with black lace trim, four-inch patent leather black high heels and bouffant wig. Her bra was stuffed with breastforms to enhance her figure. She accessorised with gaudy junk jewellery and studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a cheap whore which was exactly the effect she was looking for. She sprayed perfume all over herself and made her way downstairs.

She had no sooner lit a cigarette and poured herself a drink when the phone rang.

"You the tranny who does hand relief?" the cockney accented voice asked.

"Two quid. A bit of slap and tickle, finishing with hand relief. Spanking and corporal punishment if you want it," Julie replied almost mechanically.

"Two quid's a bit much for a wank luv," the man countered.

"I'm a good looking sort in my thirties with a nice house and a lot better than those slags working the streets. Take it or leave it," Julie tried to sound nonplussed.

"Aright, two quid. Where am I goin'?" the man sounded defeated but also eager.

"Twelve, Black Prince Road, Lambeth," Julie quipped and hung up.

She swallowed her drink and poured another.

The phone rang again and she requested the man call back in half an hour. He was reluctant but Julie told him to look at her picture on the tart card and promised him that was exactly what he would he get. She also promised him there might be something extra if he was presentable and amenable to negotiation. This intrigued the punter and he promised to call back.

The doorbell rang and Julie peeped out to see a man in a boiler suit under a fur-lined work jacket looking anxiously up and down the street.

She let the man inside and her nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of machine oil, grease and smoke.

The man tried to paw her but Julie pushed him away.

"You're not touching me until you've had a wash and brush up!" Julie said curtly and the man bowed his head compliantly and followed her up the stairs.

"Yes mistress," he mumbled and Julie instantly ascertained what this gentleman would need.

"Go in there. Strip. Clean yourself up and present yourself to me when you are presentable," she pointed to the door to her workroom.

She had put a good quality lock on her own bedroom door and kept the spare key hidden under a vase on a side table near her bedroom door where she could get to it easily. She didn't want any of the punters inadvertently entering her bedroom and it was also a sanctuary should anything untoward happen.

Julie heard the water running in the bathroom followed by the sound of bare feet on the hallway runner and the man entered the workroom fully naked carrying his clothes which he dropped on a chair.

The man wasn't handsome but nor was he ugly, he was a little shabby with unkempt brown hair, pale skin and a missing incisor. He was muscled from manual labour and his skin smelled of the cheap soap she'd put out in the spare bathroom for just such an eventuality. The man was erect and appeared eager to begin which suited Julie because she was aware that she had told the other punter to call back and she was beginning to realise that in the prostitution game, time is money. The more punters serviced; the more money she made.

"Have you forgotten something?" Julie picked up the cane off the bed and flicked it.

"Oh shit! The money!" the man ruffled through his jacket and produced two one pound notes from his wallet which he dutifully placed on the bedside table.

He turned to Julie, his long thin cock poking out ahead of him and he stepped into her.

She let him kiss her which he seemed to appreciate judging by the feel of his hard cock on her sheers. He'd managed to slip his cock between her legs and Julie closed then tight so the man could fuck her thighs while she kissed him. Kissing the man was mechanical: she appreciated that the man wanted her and found her attractive and sexy but she had no feelings for the man, it was a business transaction.

"You smell nice," the man broke the kiss and grinned at her.

His cock had come free from between her legs and Julie dutifully took it in hand and began to stroke it. It was warm and pulsing, the skin almost velvet-like. It was not unpleasant and Julie would be lying if she said she didn't like touching it,

"Not too much luv or I'll come," the man hissed, removing Julie's hand from his swollen member.

"What then?" Julie asked impatiently.

The man nodded at the cane and Julie picked it up. The man had positioned himself so that he was bent over, hanging onto the back of the chair, pushing out his bottom.

Without any ceremony Julie brought the cane down on the man's buttocks and watched a red welt form across his pale skin.

"That's perfect luv; no harder and no softer please," the man sighed and Julie cut him six of the best, the man groaning at each stroke.

"Now if you could..." the man pointed at his dripping cock and at first Julie was confused but then she realised what the man wanted her to do.

She stepped into him and grabbed his cock and began to stroke it, using his pre-ejaculate to lubricate the shaft. She kissed the man driving her tongue into his mouth and he put his hands around her waist and pulled her close and then slipped a hand under her skirt and pawed at her knickers.

The man's cock was throbbing and leaking copious amounts of precum which Julie gathered in her fingertips and worked into his veiny hard flesh, lubricating the shaft and glans which felt like a spongy mushroom in her fingers. The man was a good kisser and used his tongue well and Julie couldn't help but respond and she felt her own cock thickening in her knickers.

The man's fingers stroked the lace trim on her panties and then the expanse of her bottom, stroking her buttocks through the lustrous fabric and gently squeezing them. Her cock became a little harder and she felt a bubble of pre-ejaculate leak from the eye. Although it was pleasant being kissed, cuddled and stroked by this man, it was not what she was here to do.

Her job was to fetch him off, preferably as soon as possible and move onto the next punter. More punters equal more money, she kept telling herself.

When he tried to put his hand inside her knickers she batted it away and squeezed his testicles as punishment. It was like pressing the start button on a hydraulic sprayer as the man squealed and ejaculated.

Julie felt the man's cock swell to full tumescence and begin to pulse and judder in her hand, then she felt a warm, wet rope of semen splash on her stocking but she continued to wank him furiously, his semen webbing in her fingers, dripping from her wrist and splashing on her skirt and thighs. The musky scent of spunk filled the air and the man held her close, kissing her passionately, fondling her buttocks until he was spent. Julie was fully erect in her knickers.