Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/Ma, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Blackmail, TransGender, CrossDressing, Fiction, Historical, Incest, Aunt, Nephew, Rough, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Foot Fetish, Leg Fetish, Body Modification, Transformation, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - It's 1959 and women still wear real stockings. Brian Macklin is a stocking fetish who has his dream job selling hosiery door to door. Michele is a closet transvestite who can't seem to get her hands on quality hosiery. When Brian comes calling the sparks ignite a fire in both of them. This story contains graphic consensual sex.

In 1959 Brian Macklin was in his mid forties and was making just enough money to get along; his dreams of affluence were ruined when his marriage failed. He used to be a sales executive for an affluent London based firm but all of that came to an end when his wife left him; his father-in-law owned the firm where he worked; say no more. To make matters worse his father-in-law was a vengeful bastard and poisoned the well; none of the high profile London firms would touch him with a bargepole. I suppose fucking his sister-in-law in the billiard room at the family's country house wasn't the smartest thing Brian had ever done.

He had fond memories of lifting his plump but pretty sister-in-law up onto the billiard table, hiking up her skirt, pulling aside her knickers and ploughing her like a spring field while her silk stocking encased legs rubbed against him. It would have been the perfect end to a boring family weekend get-together; if his pratt of a mother-in-law hadn't come into the billiard room unexpectedly and started screaming her tits off.

It's not like his sister-in-law was any sort of chastity figure; word around The Club was that she had had more pricks in her than a second hand dart board; but that didn't help Brian at all when it came to his wife's family's family retribution. His sister-in-law had claimed that Brian had forced himself on her, even though she had been trying to seduce Brian for six months: asking him if her seams were straight; if she had any snags or ladders; or if he would clip a loose garter strap onto a stocking welt. She'd figured out Brian's weakness for stockings as soon as she had met him and used his fetish to seduce him; she always got what she wanted. Another story going around The Club was that when she was a young girl; she'd show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple.

So, Brian's weakness for stockings had finally bought him undone. He'd been forced to move to the midlands where the best he could do was to land a job as a door to door hosiery salesman. He rented a small bed-sit in Birmingham and made the rounds of local firms offering his sales executive credentials, but nobody wanted him; a salesman job was the best he could do. At first the wages were crap, the hours long and the rewards few. The only reward was that he got to sell his favourite fetish item: stockings. He went door to door lugging his sample case. He sold some socks and those horrible winter tights too; but this was an era before pantyhose, which would not be invented until 1965 when miniskirts became the fashion, and most women wore nylon stockings. He sold nylon stockings, silk stockings, seamed stockings, fully-fashioned stockings, seamless stockings, black stockings, white stockings, flesh-toned stockings, translucent stockings and fishnet stockings. If there was a style of stocking on the market he sold it.

Brian loved stockings; his earliest memory of his fetish was the touch and feel of his mother's stocking encased legs when he was a young boy. There was nothing sexual about it at first; it might just have been an innocent brush against his mother's leg as she hugged him or the feel of her legs when he sat or lay in her lap being cuddled and kissed. He also had memories of watching his mother getting dressed in her lingerie and hosiery when she was getting ready for work or dressing to go out for the evening. The sheen of her stockings fascinated him.

Brian became sexually aroused by nylons when he entered puberty and he had stolen some of his mother's hosiery as an aid to masturbation. This practice ceased abruptly when his mother asked him about some suspicious stains that had mysteriously appeared on a pair of stockings that she had hung up in bathroom to dry overnight. She didn't actually accuse him of masturbating in them but the implication was clear; and after that day he noticed that she never left her hosiery or lingerie in the bathroom at all; not even in the dirty laundry basket. It was an unspoken secret between them that his mother knew of his fetish.

Brian turned to snowdropping, the practice of stealing clothing off the neighbours washing lines. At first he stole only nylon stockings but progressed to stealing knickers and occasionally brassieres if they took his fancy. A few of the neighbours complained to his mother, which bought another lecture from her; again there was no direct accusation, but there was a tacit agreement that he would cease snowdropping. Brian noticed that after this discussion his mother began to openly leave her discarded hosiery in the kitchen tidy, whereas previously he had no idea how she discarded her laddered nylons; he had searched the rubbish for them on numerous occasions but he never found them. The first time he discovered a pair of his mother's discarded stockings, he saw a silken reinforced foot dangling from the kitchen tidy like to attract a lure to a predator. Was this a mother's tacit ruse to prevent her son's fetish getting him into more trouble?

In 1959 Mike was in his late forties; a widower who had never remarried after his wife died almost ten years earlier leaving him childless. He made a modest living as an accountant working from his two bedroom semidetached house in Moseley, just outside of Birmingham. As he ran his business from home he could vary the hours he worked to suit himself. Once a week he collected the accounts from several small businesses in the area and then returned them to the firms when he had completed working on them.

This was a very satisfactory arrangement for Mike who lived alone, had few friends and had deliberately declined to engage socially with his neighbours. They thought he was stuck-up and were happy to avoid the snotty recluse who lived at the bottom of the cul-de-sac at 162 Sovereign Way. Mike's only sister lived all the way down in Plymouth and she seldom visited him. Mike kept to himself and valued his privacy.

Mike did have one interest outside of the house though; he volunteered as a clothing sorter at the local Oxfam twice a week. People donated their used clothing to Oxfam and sometimes businesses would donate excess or out of date clothing stock or factory seconds and it was Mike's job was to sort through it and separate the clothing into various categories. Firstly men's and ladies clothing were separated and then the clothing was further sorted by type, such as: shoes, trousers, shirts, hats, underwear and so forth. But Mike didn't like to sort men's clothing; he made it a point to work on the tables where the ladies' clothing was sorted.

Mike was a secret transvestite and he acquired all of his women's clothing, shoes, cosmetics and wigs from Oxfam. Everyone that worked there knocked off some of the good stuff from the sorting tables; it was an unacknowledged perk of the job, the supervisors even knew about it. There was really nothing they could do about it anyway, because it was hard to get volunteers to work there during the week, so they turned a blind eye. Mike liked to work there on Mondays and Fridays when very few volunteers turned up and he could often work alone picking over the piles of clothing and other donations that the donors dropped off. He once managed to get a complete cosmetics kit that had hardly been touched; he was also quite surprised how many women threw out their old wigs.

Mike soon had quite an extensive wardrobe at home full of women's clothing as well as a large collection of shoes, lingerie, wigs and cosmetics; all provided courtesy of Oxfam. He would gladly have paid for all of it, but in 1959 middle-aged men didn't go shopping for women's clothing; it was almost unheard of. The most difficult item of feminine apparel for Mike to source was good quality stockings. The rule at Oxfam was that donated second-hand underwear was to be disposed of for sanitary reasons, or it was to be thrown in the rag bag; but Mike had stolen some lovely second-hand lingerie from the sorting tables.

The problem was that women never threw out their stockings until they were laddered or holed beyond wearing. On the very rare occasions that hosiery made it onto the sorting tables at Oxfam they were usually inferior high denier 'old lady' stockings or those horrible ribbed tights that women wore during winter. No! Mike's biggest challenge was getting his hands on good quality hosiery.

Mike had had a fetish for wearing women's clothes for as long as he could remember. As a teenager he had tried on various items of his sister's and mother's clothing on the rare occasions that he was left at home on his own. He loved the feel of their lingerie against his body and the smell and taste of their cosmetics. After nearly getting caught dressed in his sister's suspender belt, stockings, knickers, full-slip and heels; his face garishly painted with makeup, he decided he would stop giving into his obsession. He ran and locked himself in the bathroom; scrubbing the makeup from his face and changing out of his sister's clothes and into his own, whilst she knocked incessantly on the door complaining that she had to use the toilet. He realised how close he had come to having his secret discovered just because his sister had returned home early from her friend's house in Acock's Green.

He had to hide the clothing that he had stolen from his sister and then hurriedly sneak it back into her room whilst she was downstairs having dinner that night. Later that night Mike's sister complained to their mother that her best sheers had a ladder in them and accused her mother of borrowing them without asking permission; which their mother of course denied. Mike's sister looked at him quizzically for a few days after this incident but she never said anything to him; however the whole episode scared Mike from ever crossdressing again; besides only homos and noncers would want to wear women's clothing, he rationalised.

Mike was still attracted to women who dressed attractively though; and paid particular attention to girls who wore nylons, high heels and makeup as part of their daily dress convention. He had had a particularly satisfying sex life with his late wife who had shared his penchant for lingerie, quality hosiery and high heels. She would let him play with her legs for hours whilst they cuddled on the lounge as a precursor to sex and she was quite prepared to leave on her makeup and lingerie during sex provided that Mike was willing to keep replacing her stockings when they laddered. Mike had fond memories of wearing lingerie when he was younger; but he never got up the nerve to ask his wife if she would mind if he wore some of her intimate apparel. He thought that she would either laugh at him or leave him, or probably both.

After his wife died things changed for Mike. He moved to the small detached house in Sovereign Way and became more and more reclusive. Reliant on masturbation for sexual gratification it didn't take him long to start fantasising about wearing women's clothing; especially now that he had an opportunity to do so with little chance of being caught. He completely shaved off his body hair and started wearing some of the clothing that his widow had left behind, but most of it was too small. His wife had been petite and Mike was an average built male of about five nine and one sixty-five pounds. The only things that his wife had left him that he could really use was her jewellery (in the nineteen fifties clip-on earrings were still quite popular) her perfumes and her cosmetics. He dieted until he was as thin as he could get at one fifty-five pounds but he soon realised that he would need to get his own collection of women's clothing if he wanted to crossdress properly.

He solved this problem by getting the volunteer job at Oxfam. After a year of crossdressing he was quite adept at adopting a female persona; he mastered the intricacies of makeup and had even developed a husky feminine voice and a sexy walk. When he was dressed he called himself Michele and spent many a long afternoon and evening dressed as Michele, slowly arousing himself until he couldn't take any more simulation and the need to relieve himself became overwhelming. The one thing that eluded him was how to acquire good quality stockings. He'd bought some from a local lingerie shop; but he had nearly died of embarrassment when one of his neighbours walked in and asked him who he was buying them for. He spluttered something unconvincing; like they were a present for his sister, or some such rubbish. In 1959 men rarely bought lingerie for their wives; so why would he be buying stockings for his sister?

Mike tried using mail-order after getting his hands on a hosiery catalogue, but the Royal Mail derailed his plans; packages from retailers required a return address and the contents of the package had to be listed on the collection slip. Mike spent the most uncomfortable fifteen minutes of his life with an over-inquisitive female mailroom clerk discussing why he was ordering nylon stockings through the mail.

Mike's crossdressing fantasies were also becoming increasingly vivid. He imagined himself as Michele, held in the arms of a faceless but undoubtedly handsome stranger who romanced, kissed and caressed her. He didn't allow the fantasy to progress any further than that but he was developing an uncontrollable urge to be in the company of a man whilst he was dressed as Michele. He doubted that he would ever be able to do so because there was no safe and discrete way of doing so.

He was aware that there were some clubs in London where transvestites solicited male partners but there was no way he could do that. The logistics of it alone made it impossible; he would have to find a hotel in Soho where could transform into Michele and then he would have to brave walking the streets dressed as a woman just to get to the club. My god; if he got caught dressed as a woman or even worse, charged with soliciting, his life would not be worth living; no, that idea was far too dangerous. He'd also seen discreet advertisements placed by transvestites in some of the local newspapers and their calling cards posted in telephone call boxes; but there was no way he was going to publicly publish his telephone number. Mike resigned himself to the fact that he would just have to live with his fantasies and leave it at that.

Brian's first sexual encounter involved his Aunty Betty. Brian used to go around to see his Aunty Betty on the weekends and help her around the house and yard. She gave him a shilling pocket money for his efforts and if he worked late into the afternoon he would stay the night rather than take the long bus ride home after dark. Brian loved his Aunty Betty; she was a widow in her forties, a little plump; but attractive and gregarious. She always wore full makeup, her hair was always styled and she wore nice clothes; twin-sets, suits or tight skirts and blouses. But what Brian liked most of all about his Aunty Betty was that she always wore stockings and high heels. He'd overheard his mother talking to one of her friends saying that Betty dressed like a trollop; but Brian put it down to jealousy.

When Brian stayed over, Betty usually went out for the night and he had often heard stifled giggling and hushed conversations coming from her bedroom in the early hours of the morning when she snuck a boyfriend home for the night. The boyfriend was always gone by the next morning, but Aunty Betty had spoken to Brian about keeping it their little secret and she would give him an extra tanner to keep him quiet.

But sometime she would stay at home and they would watch the telly. TV was pretty boring in those days with only the two BBC channels and one commercial channel broadcasting in black and white. Aunty Betty would pour them both a glass of beer and they would sit in the darkened lounge and watch the telly or she would sit and read the newspaper, but Betty often fell asleep on the couch. Brian liked it when Betty stayed at home with him because she always dressed attractively and she would often give him a very nice leg show, especially if she lay down on the couch after falling asleep.

Brian would pretend to watch TV but he spent most of the time surreptitiously staring at his auntie's legs. Brian's Aunty Betty was a shoe dangler; when she sat on the couch and read the newspaper she kept one foot on the floor and would cross her right leg over her left and rock her foot slowly dislodging her shoe from her heel. As she rocked her foot she let her shoe slowly slide down her instep and swing from her toes. Brian would watch intently as she did this. He admired the sheen of her stockings, and those gorgeous little 'creases' that occurred at the bend of her knee and ankle.

One evening Brian became very bold and decided to try to do a little more that just look at his auntie's legs; he wanted to touch them. Thinking she was engrossed in the newspaper, Brian stretched his legs out in front of him, and interlocked his fingers and placed his hands together over his hardening penis, he tried to rub it surreptitiously so as not to attract his auntie's attention or to appear too blatant. Aunty Betty's dangling shoe had fallen off when she uncrossed her legs and she rubbed her stocking foot up and down her other leg and then she slipped off her other shoe and rubbed her stocking feet together. Brian decided to make his move.

"Would you like me to that?" he asked.

"What's that hun?" Betty replied.

"Rub your feet Auntie; would you like a foot massage?"

"Ok Brian but be careful not to ladder my stockings," she smiled.

Brian shifted over to the couch and put his auntie's feet in his lap. He rubbed the soles of her feet and massaged her cute painted toes through the reinforced toes of her nylons. Auntie Betty relaxed and eventually fell asleep. Brian got bolder now that his auntie was sleeping and lowered his head down and pressed his face into the bottoms of her gossamer encased feet her feet and slid his face up and down them. He was enamoured by the feel of her diaphanous nylons and faint smell of her sweaty feet.

He surreptitiously reached down and opened the buttons of his fly and freed his growing erection. Brian took both her nylon-covered feet in his hands and raised both her feet to his face and inhaled her scent. He sighed with pleasure as he kissed the soles of her feet, one after the other then, throwing caution to the wind, he opened his mouth took his auntie's stockinged foot into it. After sucking on her nyloned toes for a minute or two he could contain himself no more and brought her feet down to his groin.

Brian firmly gripped her smooth ankles and pressed both her feet around his cock. He slowly slipped back and forth between them, enjoying the most exquisite sensations that he had ever felt in his life. He let go of one of his auntie's ankles and ran his hand up and down her stockinged legs, tracing the seams with his fingers and caressing the dark material of the welt, the dark band at the top of her stockings. He could contain himself no longer and climaxed; his semen gushed all over his auntie's moist nylons, soaking the material, causing it to appear much darker than it really was. He clasped the tip of his penis to her toes, watching as his semen dampened the reinforced nylon.

Aunty Betty woke with a start and yanked her feet out of Brian's lap and he realised that he had gone too far.

"Brian! What on earth do you think you're doing!" she scolded.

"Oh I'm so sorry aunty; please don't tell mom. I'm so sorry!" Brian pleaded and ran from the room.

He bolted upstairs to the guest bedroom where he stayed when he slept over and slammed the door closed. Throwing his clothes in heap on the floor he jumped into bed and pulled the covers over his head shaking and crying with humiliation. He was absolutely appalled that he had allowed his stocking fetish to get him in this untenable situation. He didn't know how he was ever going to look his Aunty Betty in the face ever again and he was sure that his mother would disown him.

Brian heard the bedroom door open and the click his Aunty Betty's high heels as she approached the bed. Then he felt the bed sag when she sat down on the edge of bed and the whisper of her nylons as Aunty Betty crossed her legs.

"Brian?" she whispered tentatively.

"Go away!" he cried from under the blankets.

"Brian; I'm sorry sweetie," his Aunty Betty cooed.

"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong; I did!" he sniffled.

"Well honey I've been watching you watching me and I knew that you had a thing for stockings because your mother told me; so I shouldn't have teased and tempted you," Aunty Betty said.

"You knew?" Brian moaned, "Now I'm even more embarrassed."

"Never mind honey; let me make it up to you just this once and then we'll never talk about it again ok?" she said.

"What do you mean; make it up to me?" Brian asked inquisitively lifting his head outside of the blankets.

"Best I just show you sweetie; I used to do this for you uncle sometimes," his aunt smiled mischievously.

To Brian's amazement his Aunty Betty pulled down the blankets down to his groin and exposed his naked body. She looked at his engorged penis and smiled.

"Lovely," she said; almost to herself.

Then she did something that Brian would never forget for the rest of his life. She took a silk stocking out of her pocket and placed the warm diaphanous garment over Brian's now rampant penis.

"Oh Auntie!" he groaned.

She tentatively took hold of Brian's cock and he closed his eyes in pleasure and tilted his head back.

"Look at it Brian," Aunty Betty whispered.

Then he opened his eyes and watched as her red nailpolished fingers slid along Brian's silken encased member and slowly stroked his cock. She gripped him tighter, pulling his foreskin up over the purple glans, then back down to expose it in the dim light of the reading lamp. Then she moved her hand ever so slightly faster, sliding up and down the skin of Brian's cock. She twirled her hand back and forth over the taught stocking, slightly at first and then in greater degrees, as she slowly masturbated her nephew. Brian's hips moved to an involuntarily in tempo with his auntie's ministrations as Betty tightly stroked his penis.

"Oh Auntie; this so naughty, but it's so lovely," Brian moaned.

"Shhh honey, just enjoy it; it's only ever happening this once," she said.

Brian could feel his orgasm approaching quickly and he become bolder and took his enjoyment one step further. He reached out and grabbed his auntie's nyloned thigh and slid his hands up and down her ultra sheer stockings. Her nylons were smooth and slick above her knees and thighs because of the garters pulling the stocking tops so taunt. He got to her stocking tops, and stroked the dark shiny bands of the welts and then felt across the garter tabs hooked to the nylon and up the length of one of the garter straps. His hand slid off the garter strap and stroked her smooth, soft, bare skin just under her knickers. Then his hand brushed against his auntie's nylon knickers.

Aunty Betty gently eased Brian's hand away from her knickers and placed it back on her stockinged thigh.

"No higher up my leg than there Brian, you naughty boy," she instructed him.

Betty's hand was sliding up and down her nephew's silk stocking encased penis. Brian was in heaven just to be holding and feeling her beautiful stocking legs. He moaned and gasped at the feel of his sensitive glans being caressed by her silk stocking as his auntie rubbed his cock slowly up and down and he stroked her nylon encased legs.

Brian looked down at his stocking sheathed penis and saw that the silk around his glans was soaked with pre-seminal fluid. He felt his orgasm erupt through his body; the most intense orgasm he had ever felt. His whole body shuddered and his penis quivered as Aunty Betty, sensing her nephew's climax, gripped his manhood and rapidly pumped it. A glob of milky white semen extruded through the silk stocking; this quickly became a flood as Brian spurted jet after jet of hot seed, it ran down his silken encased shaft and onto his auntie's fingers. She continued to vigorously stroke his shaft, squeezing and milking him until his orgasm subsided.

Brian lay there gasping, his erection slowly subsiding, the stocking flooded with semen wrinkled around his cock. His Aunty Betty removed the semen splattered stocking from his cock and wiped him clean and then pulled up the covers.

"Ok Brian; you've had your reward for apologising for what you did earlier; but this is the last time this is ever going to happen," Betty said quite sternly.

"We will never talk about this ever again and I think I will no longer need you to stay over on the weekends ok?" she said.

Brian nodded and watched as his auntie stood up, adjusted her skirt, and then clattered out of the room on her high heels.

And they never did. Brian never bought up what had happened that evening and neither did his auntie. They sometimes exchanged knowing glances, especially if Aunty Betty caught Brain looking at a woman's legs, and his mother gave him one of her knowingly quizzical looks when he told her he wouldn't be staying at his auntie's on the weekends any longer; but the incident was never spoken of.

Of course Brian replayed the incident over and over in his head and it was his favourite masturbation fantasy. The incident reinforced his nylons fetish and eventually led him to marrying his wife who wore hosiery every day and dressed very similar to his auntie. His auntie had even given him a knowing smirk as stood at the altar on his wedding day.

But that was all ancient history; he was now a lowly door to door hosiery salesman doing the rounds of the suburbs of Birmingham.

Mike planned to have Tuesday afternoon free from the drudgery of books and accounting and to dress as Michele and have some girly fun. He washed himself and shaved very closely. Then he began to make preparations for the transformation. He took two old laddered and unwearable stockings and filled them with rice doubling and tripling the stockings over on themselves and then tied and cut them off to make himself a pair of false breasts.

He sat down at his dresser and applied lashings of foundation and finishing powder to his pale face and then black eyeliner and mascara and finally blue eyeshadow. He rouged his cheeks and applied another coat of finishing powder. He then carefully painted his lips with bright red lipstick, extending the lip-line to make his lips appear fuller. He smacked his lips together, pursed them, and then bit down on a tissue with his lips to set the lipstick and remove the excess.

Mike lit a Woodbine, poured himself a glass of sherry and then sat down to paint his toe and fingernails with plum red nailpolish; it was then that he made the mental transformation from Mike to Michele. Michele looked at the small collection of wigs that she had knocked off from Oxfam and selected a shoulder-length brunette bob and pulled it on, fussing with it until she had it positioned just right with the fringe level with her eyebrows.

She looked quite attractive for her age she thought as she rummaged through her lingerie and selected a white Jacquard knit, two-way stretch, body-shaping bustiere with lace floral motif; it was high waist fronted, with flat sewn seams with attached suspender straps. She loved the way this garment shaped her body. She decided to wear white satin full-cut knickers with the bustiere. She went to her wardrobe and selected a navy blue double-breasted suit; the pencil skirt had a kick pleat and the jacket was very tight at the waist. Finally she picked out a white silk blouse and black high-heeled courts.

Now for the depressing part as she opened her hosiery drawer. There were only a few laddered and holed pairs of stockings in drawer and one unopened packet of smoke-grey, fifteen denier, fully-fashioned stockings. She lamented her dearth of hosiery; she had all the clothes, cosmetics, lingerie, shoes and wigs that she wanted, but she just couldn't get quality hosiery. She pulled on a pair of fine cotton gloves and opened up her last packet of stockings and laid them out carefully on the bed.

Michele removed the gloves and stepped into the bustiere and struggled to get it over her hips and then her chest. It firmed and flattened her stomach and cinched her waist; the inbuilt brassiere cups pointed straight out from her chest like limp cones until she stuffed her homemade breastforms into them. She pulled on the full-cut satin knickers and a little shiver of pleasure ran through her body as the satin whispered against her skin, snug tight around her buttocks and penis. She looked down at the smoke-grey stockings lying on the bed waiting to be carefully donned and reached for the hosiery gloves and then suddenly changed her mind. They were her last pair of pristine stockings and she wanted to save them. She put on the cotton gloves and carefully put them back in the packaging and put them away.

She rummaged through her hosiery drawer and found her next best pair of stockings; black fully-fashioned with a Cuban heel. One stocking had a fine ladder running from the welt to the ankle and the other had a hole the size of a threepenny bit at the knee; the hole had been prevented from spreading by the judicious application of clear nail varnish. Michele sighed and pulled on the dilapidated stockings carefully fitting them to the garter clips. She pulled off the gloves and smoothed the wrinkles out of her stockings and straightened her seams. Another sliver of delight ran through her as the sensual stockings rubbed against her shaven legs.

She pulled on the pencil skirt, fastening the waist and adjusting the hem so it sat just above her knees. The tight pencil skirt hugged her thighs and restricted her gait when she walked. She buttoned the white silk blouse and tucked it into the skirt and then walked back to the dressing table vanity mirror on stockinged feet. She loved the way her pencil skirt forced her to take foreshortened strides which emphasised her legs and buttocks and the way the skirt was stretched tight around her thighs. She clipped on some silver earrings, a matching necklace and bangles on both wrists. Then she liberally sprayed herself with perfume including a spray under her skirt; she had seen her late wife do this and although there wouldn't be anyone to enjoy her scented thighs, she liked the idea of it.

Michele walked back to the bed and sat down to pull on the black high-heeled court shoes and then put on her jacket and buttoned it. She stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror and inspected herself. Lovely, she thought. She went back to the dresser and made some adjustments to her wig and touched up her makeup and then went down the staircase to the lounge to get another packet of cigarettes and a bottle of wine. She would spend the afternoon and evening smoking and drinking and having solitary fun. When she couldn't stand the stimulation any longer she would surrender and masturbate herself to orgasm. Some days she would do this three or four times during the afternoon and into the evening. Other than her own reflection in the mirror, the only other form of stimulation she had was a few fashion magazines and her imagination.

Michele was rummaging around in the hallstand drawer looking for cigarettes when there was a brief knocking at the door and then it suddenly flew open. Standing there was a man in his forties dressed in a suit and topcoat carrying what appeared to be a sample case. He smiled and stepped over the doorway before Michele could say anything.

"Hello Missus. I'm Brian Macklin and I hope I can be of service," he smiled.

Brian Macklin was nothing if not dedicated when it came to his job. As a top sales executive working for his father-in-law he had made thousands of pounds for the firm by studying sales and marketing trends and ensuring that profits were maximised.

Even though the only job available to him now was as a door to door hosiery salesman he applied the same level of dedication and decided to learn all he could about his products. He knew that sheer nylons fascinated men and women because of their luxuriousness, sensuality and because they greatly improved the appearance of the average English woman's lily-white bare legs, but practical knowledge of hosiery? He had none. So he began his education by visiting a hosiery manufacturer.

First he learned about denier: this is the thickness of one thread of nylon used in making hosiery. The lower the number in denier, the lighter and finer the yarn, and thus the sheerer the stocking. A hair from the average human head is about fifty denier. The lowest denier nylon ever produced for stockings was six denier, which was exhibited at the Nylon fair in London in 1956. Most quality stockings are fifteen denier and below.

Stockings were made with reinforced heel and toes using a 'reticulating heel' machine. This machine actually knits the heel pocket into the stockings using a device that knits the foot first, then the heel pocket and finally the leg and welt; this creates the "V" in the heel. Heels and toes are reinforced in fully-fashioned stockings and this gives the consumer the assurance that sharp nails or rough shoes will not cause the stockings to run. After manufacture each stocking is seamed, one at a time. The hole at the top of the seam; called the 'finishing loop', or 'keyhole back', cannot be eliminated, as the seaming machinist has to finish the seam turning the stocking top, otherwise known as the welt, inside out.

Armed with this knowledge he set forth in the suburbs of Birmingham going door to door with his sample case. His easy smile, good looks and disarming personality soon made him an invaluable asset to the company and he began to make a tidy wage considering the humble nature of his employment. The job had the added advantage that some of the women insisted on trying on the samples to see how they looked on their legs. Most of his customers would retire to the privacy of their bedroom to do this, but some of them would come back out and ask him his opinion of how they looked. One or two of the cheeky ones would notice the bulge in his trousers and tease him a little with a leg show. One particularly mischievous woman who had to be at least sixty but still had magnificent legs actually asked him to straighten her seams. He nearly came in his trousers as he smoothed the luscious nylons up her long legs. She invited him to come back in a month and slipped him a wink as he went out the door. He would definitely be going back there!

But mostly the job was boring and women bought his wares relying on the pictures in the catalogues he carried or simply asked for a particular brand and size that they always wore. The other problem was that constantly making sales meant moving further and further out into the suburbs to find new customers. One Tuesday afternoon he found himself walking down a cul-de-sac called Sovereign Way in the suburb of Moseley. He'd not made a sale all afternoon when he knocked on the door of 162.

There was no answer so he knocked again and waited patiently for a minute or two lighting up a Park Drive and enjoying the taste of the tobacco as he waited on the stoop in the afternoon sun. He was about to leave when he heard the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking on a wooden staircase. Brian looked through the sheer net curtains and was impressed with what he saw. An attractive, well-dressed matron in her forties was just stepping off the last rung of the staircase. She wore a navy blue suit cinched at waist with a tight pencil skirt with a hem that came just above her knees. Her white silk blouse, black high heels, silver accessories and heavy makeup finished the ensemble. Her she wore a shoulder-length brunette bob that caresses her shoulders.

Brian purred to himself; she was a big girl but well proportioned. Then he noticed the flaw in her appearance; one stocking was laddered and the other had a hole near the knee. This breach of style in what was an otherwise elegant ensemble was glaring. Brian smiled; he'd definitely make a good sale here he thought. During his short career as a salesman he had learned that getting through the door was half the battle when it came to door to door salesmanship; haggling with a potential customer through the doorway was tantamount to defeat, but once inside a house a sale was pretty much guaranteed. He watched the woman until she approached the hallstand and began rummaging through the drawer and then applied a technique he had devised over the last few months.

He knocked briefly on the door and turned the doorknob at the same time. The door opened easily and he quickly stepped into the hallway and introduced himself before the woman could say anything.

"Hello Missus. I'm Brian Macklin and I hope I can be of service," he smiled.

Michele was shocked! She quickly realised a number of facts simultaneously: the man was a complete stranger, the man didn't realise she was a transvestite, the man was some sort of door to door salesman and the man was quite handsome. She took a deep breath and spoke.

"What do you want?" Michele murmured in her husky feminine voice, hoping that she didn't sound at all masculine.

"I can help you Missus; I can see you have need of my wares," Brian beamed his winning smile.

The woman had a deep smoky voice and was large but well proportioned, Brian thought to himself. He wouldn't mind getting to know her a little better; she was just his type.

"I sell stockings Missus, and if you don't mind me saying so, it looks like you could use some good quality hosiery," Brian nodded down at Michele's laddered nylons.

Michele was very nervous, on one hand she was flattered that this salesman mistook her for a real woman, but on the other, she was scared that he would soon she through her ruse. She desperately needed stockings though, and this could be the opportunity she had been hoping for. Besides, the salesman was quite a dish, she thought.

Brian boldly stepped further inside the house and made his way to the lounge and began to open his sample case. Michele closed the door and followed him into the lounge.

"I suppose I could use some new hosiery," she said.

Brian sat on the couch and mooched around in his sample case which he had placed on the coffee table. He produced a catalogue and patted the vacant space on the couch beside him. Michele nervously sat down beside him. This is the closest she had ever been to another person and she was worried that close up he might see through her disguise. Then she decided 'what the hell!' she was in her own home and she would do as she pleased; if the salesman was putt off by her, he could leave any time it suited him!

"Here Missus; have a look through this and see if you see anything you like," Brian smiled at Michele and handed her the catalogue.

Michele's painted fingernail brushed against Bran's fingers as she took the catalogue from him and a little spark of electricity flew between them. Their eyes locked briefly and then Michele opened the book and began to flick though the pages as Brian nervously cleared his throat and then began to rummage in through his sample case, very aware of the proximity of the sexy woman sitting beside him. Her perfume was delightful and he stole a glance down at her legs to see that her skirt had ridden up considerably when she had sat down and the beginning of her stocking welts was just visible.

Brian felt himself hardening and lifted the sample case onto his lap to cover his growing erection. Michele was also aware of the presence of the man sitting beside her and she could smell a faint whiff of aftershave and tobacco. She smiled inwardly as she saw him sneak a peek at her legs and she adjusted the hem of her skirt to cover her stocking welts. She was becoming quite aroused by the proximity of the salesman and she enjoyed the little mind games they were playing with each other. When he reached for the sample case she was shocked but delighted to see that he had an erection. Her own penis hardened slightly in her satin knickers.

"Size twelve or a D?" Brian asked, clearing his throat again nervously.

"I'm pretty sure; yes," Michele answered.

"You've never been properly sized then?" Brian replied; surprised that this elegantly dressed woman was unsure of her hosiery size.

Brain looked down at Michele's legs and feet and noticed that she had big feet but that her legs were quite shapely and the black high-heeled court shoes she wore looked very nice on her. Her laddered stockings still had a nice sheen to them and he had to force himself to pull his eyes away from her legs and look her in the eye. She was heavily made up and her red lipsticked lips, mascaraed and shadowed eyes were particularly to his taste. He found himself becoming attracted to this generously proportioned, smoky voiced woman.

"No I've never been professionally sized," Michele smiled at the salesman.

She was openly flirting with him now and crossed one leg over the other and swung her foot seductively. Brian felt his erection throb in his underwear as his eyes locked on the legshow that this woman was putting on for him. Was she coming on to him?

Michele grew bolder as she gained confidence.

"Maybe you can size me?" she said seductively.

"My pleasure," Brian eagerly replied.

He rummaged around in his sample case and produced a pair of fine cotton hosiery gloves and put them on and then selected a pair of black, fifteen denier, fully-fashioned, Cuban heeled stockings.

"Shall we try these?" Brian held up one of the diaphanous nylons for Michele to see.

"Let's," Michele responded with a throaty growl.

Brian put the sample case back on the table and stood up, openly displaying the growing erection outlined by the material of his trousers. He was about to intimately touch this woman's feet and legs so she might as well be under no illusion of the effect that she was having on him. If she didn't like what she saw; now was the time her to tell him to get out of her house.

Michele looked at the bulge in the salesman's trousers and then looked him directly in the eyes and gave him a little smile. She knew that she was treading on dangerous ground here; but she was overcome by her feelings of sensuality and was seduced by the raw sexual power that she had over this stranger.

Brian knelt at Michele's feet and gently took one her feet in his hands and removed her shoes. The aroma of her nyloned feet mingled with her perfume and his cock spasmed. He ran his hands up her leg until he came to the hem of her skirt and then he looked quizzically at Michele for permission to proceed. She nodded back at him, her smile evident of her consent.

Brian's hands were shaking as he gently eased the hem of her skirt up her thighs and exposed the garter straps; he was unable to take his eyes off her nylon encased legs that were just inches from him.

Michele lowered her hands to her thighs and began to let her fingers fiddle with one of her garter tabs where the stocking was fastened; playing with the small rubber tab covered in sheer nylon between her fingers, lightly pulling and tugging on it. Letting her fingers go from the garter tab and run across her slick stocking welt in a smoothing motion; her red fingernails contrasting with the smooth dark nylon.

"Let me help you," Brian whispered breathlessly.

Brian unclasped the garter tabs and eased the laddered stocking down Michele's legs delighting in the feel of the nylon on her warm milky white legs. Michele shuddered and a small groan escaped her lips. There was now no pretence of what was happening between them and Brian unclipped the stocking on her other leg and slid it down to her ankle and then pulled the sheer garment over her painted toes.

"Now let's see if these fit shall we?" Brian smiled up at Michele from where he knelt on the carpet before her.

He opened the top of one stocking with his gloved hands and Michele pointed her painted toes and allowed him to ease it over her foot and then to gently smooth the stocking up her calf and thigh until the welt was snug and tight at the top of her thigh, an inch below her knickers. She shuddered with pleasure as the salesman smoothed silken garment along her leg.

"Let me adjust these tabs Missus; these stockings are longer than the ones I took off you," Brian said.

"Of course," Michele whispered her compliance.

Brian fidgeted with garter tabs until he had shortened all four of them and then he carefully snapped them back in place. He then adjusted the garter straps on her other leg and was rewarded with a glimpse of white satin knicker. He wondered briefly if she was married and what would happen if her husband came home and found him kneeling before her with her skirt hiked up and a strange man lipping on her stockings. The thought quickly went away as he slid the other stocking up her leg and fastened it in place. He took hold of Michele's high heels and gently placed them on her feet.

"There; now stand up so I can straighten you seams," Brian said, removing his hosiery gloves.

Both he and Michele were aware that he should leave the gloves on so that he wouldn't snag or ladder her nylons but they also both knew why he had discarded them. He wanted to feel Michele's stocking encased legs with his bare fingers and revel in the sensations of the gossamer nylons on her flesh. Michele stood up in front of Brian and the hem of her skirt fell to her knees causing a gust of perfume to invade Brian's nostrils. Stood in front of his kneeling form; her legs slightly apart.

Brian slid his hands up each of Michele's legs straightening the seams of her stockings. His cock was rock hard in his trousers as he delighted in the feel of the translucent stockings. Michele was visibly shaking with pleasure as the salesman massaged her nylon encased legs as he straightened her seams. Little shocks of pleasure ran up her legs and her penis twinged, uncomfortably trapped in her tight knickers.

"There; all done Missus," Brian sighed with satisfaction.

Michele sat back down on the couch; her skirt riding up again. Brain swallowed hard and extended a shaking hand and took hold of Michele's stocking foot and patent leather pump. Michele placed her stocking encased foot in Brian's lap and watched him begin to squirm and moan. She was enthralled in the power she was exerting over this salesman who had such an obvious fetish for his own wares.

"Oh my!" Brian moaned.

Michele's dark reinforced nylon toes now rubbed against the salesman's hard penis clearly contoured by the material of his trousers. Brain was losing control now and he removed Michele's shoe and began rubbing Michele's other nylon encased foot all over his face. Michele heard his muffled moans.

"Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening! Your foot smells and feels

so good!" Brian sighed

Michele pressed and rubbed her stockinged foot against his erection while Brian worshiped the other foot pressed firmly over his nose and mouth; inhaling her foot odour and licking at her nylon imprisoned toes. Brian stroked his hand over the stocking foot that was pressing on his hard cock. He continued to moan; licking and sucking on Michele's reinforced stocking covered toes, sliding his other hand farther up and down Michele's sleek nyloned leg.

"Take it out," Michele whispered seductively.

Brian fumbled at his lap and unbuttoned his fly and released his engorged penis. Michele worked her stocking foot all around his erect bare cock. Michele focussed on the under side of his shaft, just below his glans. After few strokes from Michele's gauzy reinforced nylon toe, Brian was squirming and groaning. A clear filament of pre-seminal fluid oozed from the tip of Brian's penis stuck to Michele's toes and wet her nylon. Brian ran his hand up and down the full length of Michele's stocking sheathed leg from the tips of her toes to the tops of her hose. Brian moaned with pleasure at the feel of Michele's nylon rubbing against his phallus.

Michele pulled her other foot away from Brian's face and dropped it into his lap. She placed each of her feet together and arched her soles, trapping Brian's engorged manhood between them. She moved her feet back and forth masturbating Brian's cock with her nylon sheathed feet.

Brian's cock was swollen, the glans bright red and almost ready to shoot its load onto Michele's foot. Pre-seminal fluid was flowing freely from the eye of his penis, and the sensation of the wet scratchy-slick nylon sliding up and down his shaft was exquisite. Michele's stockings became soaked with Brian's pre-seminal fluid.

Brian looked down at his lap again and watched as Michele's large but shapely feet slid wetly up and down his straining penis, milking him with her diaphanous encased appendages. The nylon over her toes glistened with pre-seminal fluid and Brian ran his hands up and down Michele's stockinged legs all the way up her thighs to the welt and garter straps. He bucked back and forth fucking Michele's feet and he could sense his orgasm approaching.

Suddenly a giant dollop of sperm erupted from Brain's cock and splashed against Michele's leg, soaking into her stocking and darkening the nylon. Michele gasped but she managed to put a toe over the glans of Brian's penis so that she could massage some of the subsequent spurts into his penis. Brian's cock began to spasm and shoot rope after rope of his hot cum all over her black nylons, leaving the soles of her feet dripping with pearly white puddles of semen. Brain, breathing hard, was wide-eyed as he watched Michele milk his cock with her heavily sperm coated nylon foot.

Michele was experiencing intense feelings of pleasure as she miked Brian with her feet and his hands madly stroked and fondled her stockinged legs. When he orgasmed he gripped her thighs and dug his fingers into the white sensitive skin above her stocking welt and she could feel her panties becoming wet with her own pre-seminal juices. Brian hooked a finger into the keyhole back of her stocking welt and pulled at the nylon tight around her thigh as he gasped and spluttered in the throes of orgasm.

Slowly Brian came down from the high of his climax and he released the tight grip on Michele's thighs. He unhooked one of her stockings and rolled it down her leg, slipping the wispy garment off her foot. He dabbed at the cooling semen on her other foot and then wiped himself dry and pushed his deflating penis back into his flies.

Michele sat demurely on the couch letting Brain clean her feet and legs with the stocking.

"Let me go and get a damp cloth from the kitchen Missus and then I'll clean your feet for you. After that I'll fit you into another pair of nice stockings ok?" Brian said getting to his feet.

"Lovely," Michele replied.

"Help yourself to whatever you want from my sample case in the meantime," Brian said as he strode out of the room.

Michele poked around in the salesman's sample case and selected six pairs of good quality nylon stockings in her size. She placed the treasured items on the lounge beside her as Brain returned with a warm damp cloth with which he cleaned her toes, feet and legs. He then donned the hosiery gloves and unwrapped a package of brown seamless stockings, he carefully rolled them and slipped them up Michele's legs, clipping them to the garters and smoothing them up her legs to remove the wrinkles. Then he slipped her shoes back on her feet.

Brian stood up and closed his sample case and Michele rose from the couch and walked with him down the hallway towards the front door. As he reached for the doorknob Michele put her had on the door and stopped him.

"What? No kiss goodbye?" She teased.

Brain took her in arms and kissed her passionately, squeezing her buttocks and crushing her lips with his whilst slipping his tongue deep into her mouth. Michele pressed against him and felt him begin to stiffen again through the layers of their clothing; his cock hard against her leg. He pushed her gently away and breathed deeply.

"I've got to go Missus; but I would to drop around again," Brian smiled.

"Next Tuesday then?" Michele smiled back.

"You bet; maybe we can spend a little more time getting to know each other better," Brian winked at her cheekily.

"Maybe," Michele smiled back and opened the door and gently manoeuvred him out the door.

"Anyway, like I said you can call me Brian," he said with a grin.

"And you can call me Michele," she smiled.

Michele closed the door and wondered to herself how she was going to break the news to Brian that she was a transvestite.

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