When I was a teenager, I lived in England with my parents who both worked for an international pharmaceuticals firm. We lived in a village about 20 miles outside of the city where my parents worked and where I was finishing high school. Most days I caught a bus home, but a couple of times a month, when I had an after school activity, I had to go to someone’s house and wait for my parents to pick me up at 6:30 or 7:00. At age 18 I chafed at this restriction, but there wasn’t any way around it. If I caught the later bus, my parents would be home before me.
The people I had to stay with were also Americans living in England. They were about my parents age– in their forties I’d guess. Bob and Laura Walker were friends of my parents and they were certainly nice people, but boring. Bob was some kind of saleman and Laura worked part time at a library. They didn’t have any kids, and their house was empty of anything to amuse me. They had a TV, but there wasn’t much on after school for teenagers. Fortunately I liked to read, and sometimes I had homework that I could do.
Still, I liked them. Bob was a nice guy, but Laura was especially nice to me, maybe because she didn’t have any kids. I liked her because she liked me, but also because in the way of most 18-year-olds, I enjoyed looking at her in sexual terms. I had a girlfriend, but that didn’t stop me from noticng the attributes of almost every other female that I encountered . Laura was one of those women who could best be described as “average.” She was medium height, medium weight, etc., etc. She dressed relatively modestly and was the sort of woman that you wouldn’t glance at twice if you passed her on the street. But, if you were in the same house with her by yourself for two hours…
Sometimes I got to their house before either one of them got home from work, so they showed me where they left the spare key– under a flower pot beside the door. That alone ought to tell you how boring they were. So, it didn’t surprise me when I arrived at their house one day and no one answered the bell. I let myself in, got an apple from the kitchen , and settled down in the living room with a spy novel. About 10 minutes later, I heard someone come in, and I heard Laura’s voice call my name.
“I’m in here, Laura,” I called back.
“You left the key in the door,” she said from the doorway.
“Sorry,” I said. I knew she wasn’t upset– it wasn’t the first time. I heard her set her bag down in the hall and hang up her jacket. The phone rang and I heard her pick it up in the kitchen.
“Bob’s meeting a client this evening,” she said as she came in living room and heaved a sigh. “These heels are killing me.” She sat down in a chair and slipped off her white high-heeled sandals. “I don’t know if it’s worth it,” she remarked, rubboing her feet against each other.
“Well, it makes you look good,” I pointed out.
“Do you really think so?”she asked. “Yes, I suppose so,” she sighted again, “but I wish I could choose who was looking at me.”
I looked at her, but she didn’t seem to mean anything by the remark. She was wearing a dark blue skirt that came to the middle of her knee and a white turtleneck poker oyna that slightly emphasized her 38C breasts. Not exactly sexy, but not bad to look at either.
“Why don’t you let me do that?” I said.
“What?” she responded, looking puzzled.
“Rub your feet,” I replied. Seeing her doubtful look I went on. “We’ve been studying muscle relaxation techniques in Phys. Ed. at school. I now how to give a good foot massage.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she said, “OK, what do you want me to do?”
I wanted to say, “Rip off your clothes, lay down, and spread your legs, so I can fuck you,” but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Lay on the couch and put your feet up on a cushion,” which is what she did.
There was still no hint of anything sexual between us. She lay down with a cushion under her head at one end of the long couch and swung her feet up onto another cushion at the end where I was sitting. I say there was no hint of anything sexual, but I was already starting to get a hard-on and my mind was getting excited as well. I was about to touch a womans nylon-covered feet. ( I think this preference for nylon came from looking up my kindergarten teacher’s skirt at nap time– a feeling I didn’t understand at the time, but nonetheless enjoyed.) Still, I didn’t want to ruin things, so I concealed my thoughts.
I took one her feet in my hands and began rubbing and stroking it. I didn’t really know anything about foot massage, but I thought about what I was doing, making sure to be slow, gentle and thorough. I rubbed from the toes back towards the heel, not too hard, and then I cupped her heel and massaged it in the palm of my hand.
“You’re pretty good at this,” she said in a relaxed voice, and she gave another sigh, this time sounding contented. She shifted slightly, lifting her other foot up a bit.
“I’ve had a little practice,” I lied, hoping she wouldn’t ask me who I had practiced on. I treated her other foot the same way, and then, I rubbed each toe gently through her white hose. By now my hard-on was getting a bit uncomfortable, so I shifted my position as I continued massaging her toes.
“Mmmmmmm, that’s great.” Now her voice not only sounded relaxed, but also contained a note of — of what? I wasn’t sure, but it sounded good to me.
I continued rubbing her feet, but now my strokes were including her ankles which I rotated and massaged between my fingers. It was getting more difficult to keep my mind on giving a massage that she would enjoy because it was running far ahead and picturing her naked with her legs spread. I started stroking her just a little above the ankle bone and I was rewarded with another contented sigh.
When she had lain down she had smoothed her skirt and made sure it still came to the middle of her knee, but now she spread her legs just a couple of inches so I had just a glimpse of the inside of her knee.
“Wearing those heels makes my whole leg sore”, she said.
I took that as an invitation to massage a little higher on the lower part of her calves. “But remember, it gives you a sexy look.” I hadn’t quite intended to say it like that, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I canlı poker oyna like looking sexy but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”
“Believe me, for the men who see you it is.”
“Yeah,” she murmured in a heavy happy voice.
There– we had both said the word “sexy”, so I was positive that I was making progress toward my goal. I couldn’t quite bring myself to articulate that goal– fucking her– but my cock certainly knew what it was.
She mumbled something, then cleared her throat and said it again. “You can keep on.”
Her voice sounded like my girlfriend’s when i rubbed her crotch through her jeans, so I knew that Laura was getting aroused. I slid along the couch towards her, put her feet in my lap, and began massaging her entire calf. She didn’t say anything, she just closed her eyes and smiled a very wicked smile.
My cock was doing weird things inside my pants, partly from the sensation of rubbing a woman’s warm, shapely leg covered by white pantyhose and partly because I knew that this whole incident was going to end up in a very pleasurable way– if I could just keep from coming long enough.
As my hand slid upwards on her calf to just below her knee, she slid her skirt up just a couple of inches and mumbled someting again which must have been something like “keep on,” but which my mind heard as “fuck me.”
Now I was massaging both of her knees, alternating from left to right and front to back. One thing I had learned from groping my girlfriend was that the back of a woman’s knees are often very sensitive, so I tried to ignore the antics of my cock and concentrate on turning Laura on even further by paying special attention to that spot.
By now she was making constant soft little mmm, mmmm sounds and I began rubbng the part of her legs which were exposed above her knees. My fingers were just brushing the edge of her skirt, and soon were sliding about two inches underneath it.
My dream started to come true. She slowly reached down and grasped the edge of her skirt, and raising her ass off the couch, she pulled her skirt up to where I had a clear view of the wide white band around her thighs where her pantyhose changed color to a less transparent, darker shade. This also gave me a glimpse of heaven . I could see a tiny little bit of her crotch– covered by dark blue or black panties and a layer of white nylon.
I wasn’t able to exercise much control anymore. I massaged both of her thighs, using both hands so I was rubbig both front and back, and apparently she began to lose control too, because in a sudden swift movement she pulled her skirt all the way up over belly, exposing the bottom half of her body and pushing her pussy out towards me.
My hands were rubbing and caressing her thighs and hips and pantyhose covered belly now, and I thought desperately about my soccer team’s miserable results over the past month to try and avoid creaming in my pants. This worked for about thirty seconds until Laura reached up, grabbed my head and pulled it down until my face was buried in her crotch which I discovered was soaking wet and smelled wonderful. She wrapped her legs around me and began thrusting her cunt against my face. This was the first time I had ever been so close to real pussy, but I needed no instruction. started pushing back against the wet spot with my tongue. I got my hands under her ass and pulled her into my darting tongue, and between that and her hands on the back of my head, she almost broke my nose.
She started to come , thrusting even faster, and I pressed my chin into her steaming and still pantyhosed pussy. She was making soft cries now and it seemed to go on forever, though it was probably less than two minutes. It goes without saying that my soccer team had disappeared into the biggest orgasm I had as yet experienced in my masturbatory life. This was the real thing– a real live woman coming on my face because of what I had done to her. What a sense of power among the other feelings of ecstasy and contentment.
When we had both stopped shaking, we lay there for a few minutes, her legs still wrapped aruind me, my hands still cupping her ass and my chin on her still occasionally quivering pussy. She gently disengaged herself and kissed my face, licking my cheeks and lips, tasting her own cunt juice. “Your parents will be here soon,” she said a bit sadly, I thought, as ahe stood up.
“Yeah,” I said, genuinely sadly, as I sat up straight.
She stood up, took my hand, and placed it on her wet crotch and she said simply, “thank you.”
Then she said, “wait here”, and she almost ran out of the room and I could here her scrambling up the stairs more like my teenage girlfriend than a forty-something married woman.
She came back down a few minutes later, but I didn’t hear her come into the room right away. My mind was still whirling at the overwhelming sexual experience I had just had. “Here,” she said almost shyly, “these are for you.” She handed me a little plastic baggy in which were a pair of white pantyhose, and it was then that I noticed that she was dressed exactly the same– except her legs were bare.
“Thanks”, I said, which sounded pretty stupid, but I was still semi-stunned. She just gave me that wicked but this time happy smile.
Later, at home, my happiness was mixed with regret and anticipation. Regret that I hadn’t actually fucked her. (It wouldn’t be long, but it wasn’t Laura.) I hadn’t even actually seen her pussy. Regret that I hadn’t sucked or even seen her tits. Anticipation of the next time we would be alone.
It never happened. First, The remaining few times that I went to her house, we weren’t alone, and second, I didn’t realize it, but the gift of her juice-soaked pantyhose (the heavenly smell lasted quite a while) was probably a kind of good-byer gift.
One fnal part of this true story. I bought a pair of white pantyhose in what I hoped would be Laura’s size (I had to lie and say they were for my mom to get my girlfriend to buy them). Then, using a pair of tiny manicure scissors, I cut out the cotton crotch, making sure to stay inside the the seam so they wouldn’t tear or run. I put them back into the plastic egg, and the next time I was at Laura’s house, I managed to sneak them into her bedroom.
She never said anything, but when they came to our house for dinner a few weeks later she was wearing white pantyhose. She caught me alone in the back yard and she simply said “thanks,” and gave me that slow wicked smile.