(Ivan wrote this story about his early years and Rosemarie edited it for him. Enjoy)
Chapter 1 – Early Days
Miss Penelope Davis was one of the English teachers at my old school. She was around 20 to 25 years my senior and possessed an apparently straight-laced disposition, as did most of the lady teachers. She was a strict disciplinarian with a stentorian voice that penetrated walls with ease. A tongue lashing from PD was a humbling experience and yet I sensed warmth and emotion in her character that made me want to connect with her in a deeper, more personal way. Miss Davis dressed soberly, usually in a two-piece skirt and jacket or otherwise in a frock during the summertime; she was quite tall in stature with a full, matronly figure that gave physical emphasis to her authoritative manner. In common with many of the more mature lady teachers at that time Miss Davis wore seamed stockings that were typically mid-tan in shade and with either the Cuban or point heel variety of reinforcement, usually the latter. I remember clearly how the apex of the heel reinforcements ended a considerable way up her well-proportioned calves, not very far from the hem of her skirt which was always a respectable distance below the knee. I had possessed an awareness of stockings from an early age and with the onset of puberty had become increasingly and passionately turned on to that aspect of ladies’ attire. Normally the seams and heel reinforcements were the most obvious features that attracted one’s attention and I always found it compelling to see so much of that detail in the relatively short distance between shoe and hem of skirt.
With a professional obligation to exemplify respectability Miss Davis always conducted herself modestly, ensuring that her appearance was quite respectable. However I recall one exceptional episode, during a private study period, when an oversight occurred. Private studies were usually taken in the school library under the watchful eye of an otherwise unoccupied teacher; on this particular day Miss Davis was on duty and was marking pupils’ work whilst seated at a table in a bookshelf alcove opposite the one where I was sitting. She had a habit of crossing her legs at the ankles rather than the knees but I noticed that she had placed her feet on the horizontal rail of her table, about six to eight inches above the ground. This was just high enough to cause her skirt to fall away from her knees thereby, accidentally, revealing very much more of her legs than she would have wished. Plainly on view was her beige slip with beautiful, deep lace edging, a lace panel insert up the side and, even more exciting: her stocking tops and a taut, wide, white suspender proudly announced their stunningly erotic presence. The finishing loop at the top of the seam on one leg was just visible and the elasticated bottom of one leg of her white knickers was also in view. I was mesmerised, reading the same page in my book about 17 times during the fifteen minutes that this went on. I prayed that she wouldn’t move or indeed catch on that she had one, very aroused spectator. At the end of the period I shuffled off discreetly to the “little boys’ room” where I paid my tribute in time honoured fashion to the image I had just witnessed and which has remained clearly in my memory to this day.
As I have mentioned, Miss Davis usually wore mid-tan, point heel, full-fashioned stockings; her shoes were typically court style with three inch heels and generally beige or tan in colour: a reasonably pleasant but unremarkable ensemble. On one memorable occasion, a school speech-day was to be graced by the presence of a notable public figure; teachers duly arrived dressed in their finest outfits and best black gowns with all the trimmings. Miss Davis, who happened to live in the same village as me and who often caught the school bus in the mornings, had made a particularly fine effort in presenting herself. I saw her walking towards us at the bus stop and my heart skipped a beat as, in place of the usual seamed stockings, she wore very sheer, black, seam free nylons together with black patent, sling-back strappy shoes with three inch heels. On full view to my young, lust- filled eyes were the luscious and slightly mysterious heel and toe reinforcements of her sheer nylons. The early morning summer sunshine produced a gorgeous, cock-stiffening, lustrous sheen as it reflected provocatively from those few square inches of fabulous toe cleavage. My mind was tussling ambivalently to determine whether the sheer black nylon was intended to conceal the toes or to emphasise their presence. When a woman’s stocking clad toes are exposed by strappy shoes I sense a visual tension created by the delicate nylon fabric as it seems to struggle to constrain the movement of the toes within the general confinement of each shoe. The heel reinforcement with its square corner provides the comforting visual detail that seems to reassure the voyeur that the lady’s foot is in balance and that the fit of the stocking is perfect. The action of walking provides another dimension for lustful appreciation as the foot rotates at the ankle, causing the gossamer sheer black nylon to flex in relation to the lower leg as far as the beautifully curved calf. The nylon fabric creates a teasing display of movement as it alternates teasingly between contact with and detachment from the leg, creating wrinkles and fluting that highlight the silky delicacy that is one of its most desirable characteristics. These qualities of the sheer nylon stocking are so complex and yet, on that particular day, were experienced and absorbed in a split-second by this lover of that erotic art form. When the bus arrived my joy was heightened when Miss Davis sat next to me, her stockinged thigh (concealed to the rest of the world but exposed in my imagination) gently touching mine. The sensation I received was that her legs were lubricated by the sheer nylon and I dared to allow myself to contemplate the sensual stimulation of exploring her nylon clad legs with every fibre of my being. The result was inevitable and when we alighted from the bus at school I employed the convenience of my brief case to mask the activities occurring in my nether regions. Having relieved my tension in the usual way I was later treated to another, full frontal (but quite decent) display of those fabulous, sheer, black nylons when the speech day proceedings took place with Miss Davis sitting centre-stage in the school hall. A memorable day, for all the right reasons.
Chapter 2 – Decoration and Discovery
After a number of years at college I returned to the family home to relax and begin my search for work. I drafted my CV and since Miss Davis still lived in the village I decided to call on her and ask if she would provide me with a reference; she readily agreed and I duly popped a copy of the CV through her letter box. A couple of days later she telephoned me, saying she noticed I had included DIY and painting and decorating under “spare time activities” and wondered if I would be willing to freshen up a couple of her rooms with emulsion. I was happy to do so and arranged to pop down the road to see her and have a chat about it. The following day I knocked on her door and she invited me in and showed me what she would like done. After a while we returned to the downstairs hallway, chatting easily, reminiscing about years gone by… people and events at our old school (she had in the meantime moved on to another teaching post); it was a very pleasant and relaxed conversation and I sensed that she welcomed this opportunity for informal contact. I was on the point of leaving when a huge, black cat came strutting through the hall; it was an absolutely enormous, mean looking creature with a definite attitude.
Miss Davis said: “Ah… allow me to introduce Sooty!” She continued: “I took him in as a stray; he has an unpredictable temperament… some days he is as sweet as a kitten, at other times he is semi-wild and lashes out with his claws so that I have to change into a fresh pair of stockings”.
I was dumbstruck! Here, before me, stood the lady whose stockinged legs I had for so long admired… and she spoke to me of her beautiful, beautiful stockings. My mind was on the verge of erotic anarchy as I fought to concentrate on maintaining a façade of composure. I struggled to prevent my thoughts from dwelling on any of the exciting and erotic images that suddenly blossomed in my fertile imagination. The best I could do was to chuckle politely, bid her farewell and then go home and unravel my thoughts.
A couple of days later I arrived on Miss Davis’ doorstep with decorating paraphernalia to commence work. That morning she was wearing a beige skirt and jacket over a plain, cream blouse buttoned to the neck, an ensemble similar to the ones she had worn so often at school. As she led me indoors I noted that she was wearing seam free nylons in a mid-tan shade; I pondered this for a while as I was expecting to see her in her usual point heel seamed stockings. Nonetheless, I set to work promptly and soon had a coat of emulsion on the ceiling of the narrow hallway; I tidied up and moved upstairs to the spare bedroom. The room was bare save for an upholstered upright chair and a Victorian chest of drawers which I set about moving away from the wall closer to the middle of the room. To make it easier to lift I opened the right hand drawer so that I could get by fingers properly under the top of the piece. What happened next is the stuff of dreams… there in the drawer, folded in a neat pile, were about six pairs of fully fashioned stockings. My jaw nearly hit the floor… I picked up the top most pair, without unfolding them and stroked them. I held them to my face and tried to come to terms with the significance of this discovery. My senses were all competing for attention…. it was emotional chaos. I then considered whether one pair of these beautiful nylons would be missed, but that part of my moral code remained firmly intact: theft was theft. Needless to say my cock was quite stiff and then the wicked thought occurred to me: what would these lovely nylon stockings feel like wrapped around it? I checked that Miss Davis was still busy downstairs in the kitchen… I needed to ensure safety! Satisfied that the coast was clear I returned to the open drawer, my heart pounding as though it were about to burst through my chest. I slid down my jeans and underpants releasing an extremely impressive erection. I replaced the first pair of stockings at the top of the pile and removed the pair from the bottom; I unfolded them very carefully and gently formed a soft bed of nylon that I proceeded to wrap gently around my cock. It was heaven… like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. I was extremely careful not to excite my cock unduly as it was achingly stiff and any agitation would have caused a very messy orgasm and I would have had no option but to steal the stockings to remove the evidence. After a few minutes I could stand the strain no longer; I refolded the stockings exactly as I had found them, placed them at the bottom of the pile and closed the drawer. I then hitched up my jeans and underpants as far as the excitement would allow and shuffled off to the bathroom at the end of the landing. It wasn’t long before I was spurting an incredible amount of loving cum into the wash basin. I rested for a while to re-establish some form of emotional equilibrium and then returned to the bedroom where I started to paint the skirting board which allowed me to kneel in order to relieve the pressure. A short while later Miss Davis appeared at the door with a cup of coffee which she placed on the window sill. She was now wearing seamed nylons, so something had prompted her to change them… I wondered what. The sound of her heels on the bare floorboards was also quite stimulating. She noticed the chest of drawers in the middle of the room:
“I hope these drawers didn’t cause you any difficulty, Ivan” she said.
I gulped and replied: “Oh no, that’s alright thanks, I managed”… if she only knew!!
I finished the skirting on one wall and moved the chest of drawers back to create more space; this time I opened the left hand drawer… Oh God, it was her knickers drawer!! Two piles of knickers: cotton, nylon, rayon… white, light pastel blue, pink and cream. I believe they were mostly of the full-cut variety with elasticated legs but there could have been other styles; I felt I was pushing my luck by being so inquisitive but allowed myself the quick pleasure of lifting out the top pair, stroking them lovingly and finally kissing them before gently replacing them as one would a chick to its nest. I had previously seen Miss Davis’ foundation wear; after washing the garments she would hang them on a line in her garage, where they were just visible from the pavement outside her house if I stood on tip-toe to look over the wall and through an always open window at the side of the garage. Very often on show were open bottom girdles, brassieres (standard and long line), corselettes, slips, petticoats, knickers and of course… nylon stockings. Having gazed on those beautiful, erotic items for so long I now had the satisfaction of knowing that I had touched, fondled, caressed and loved some of them… not bad for the time being.
The afternoon wore on and at teatime I went downstairs to tell Miss Davis that I would return the next day to carry on with the decorating. We said goodbye and I went home to relax and to re-live the exciting, intimate contact I had made with that lovely lady, albeit by proxy through the contents of her underwear drawer. I also speculated on a few things that probably had no significance… and yet, I wondered: Why did Miss Davis specifically mention her stockings when the cat appeared? Why had she changed from seam free stockings to seamed stockings before bringing me my cup of coffee? Was it pure coincidence that the only piece of furniture in the spare room contained her stockings and knickers? Was she leaving a trail of bait? Ridiculous! This was a prim and proper teacher, a respectable pillar of her profession, whose morals were beyond reproach. I went to sleep that night… still wondering.
Chapter 3 – Risk and Revelation
The next day dawned, warm and still. I was alone in the house for a fortnight as the rest of the family were abroad on holiday. I showered and shaved and had a quick breakfast before throwing my cleaned decorating brushes in the bucket and striding off down the lane with a spring in my step. Five minutes later I stood on Miss Davis’ doorstep and rang the bell. The door opened and Miss Davis stood before me wearing a dark brown skirt and white blouse; her skirt was just tight enough to emphasise the curvature of her hips rather attractively and her blouse was transparent enough to reveal the lace trimming to the bust of her white slip as well as its widely positioned ribbon straps, a detail of feminine attire that has always made me tingle.
“Ah, good morning young man” she said, taking a pace backwards and ushering me in, “and how are you this beautiful morning?” Her manner was more fulsome than usual and the expression in her eyes revealed an affability and liveliness that I had not seen before.
“I’m very well thanks, Miss Davis” I said, trying to tune in to her mood and share in her apparent bonhomie.
“Well, you’ll probably want to get on with the decorating”, she said and led me down the hallway to the stairs. I followed in her wake and became aware that she was wearing perfume, a subtle scent that made me appreciate her from a new perspective; never before had I known Miss Davis wear perfume. I also instinctively lowered my eyes and felt a frisson of excitement as I noticed for the first time the dark-chocolate shade of her seamed nylons; this darker than usual shade created an even more eye catching spectacle by virtue of the contrast with the slightly lighter tone of her shoes. I had often been impressed by ladies’ footwear and hosiery displaying reverse contrast, provided that it was done with subtlety; I hated, for example, to see white shoes worn with black stockings. As I followed Miss Davis to the stairs the swish of her stockinged legs brushing against each other fuelled my excitement and a feeling began to build inside me as though I were surrendering to an irresistible magnetism, but I felt quite serene. I began to speculate more extensively, wondering what colour knickers she was wearing, whether she was wearing brief panties or something cut more on the full. I wondered about the kind of suspender belt she could be wearing, perhaps it would be an open bottom girdle… how many suspenders? Four… six… eight? So many delightful details to ponder.
I ascended the stairs with my bucket of brushes and collected the tins of paint from a cupboard on the landing where I had left them the day before. I went into the spare bedroom to continue painting the skirting board and stared at the chest of drawers, knowing what wondrous articles lay within. I didn’t start painting straight away but became rather absorbed in reading some of the articles in the old newspapers that Miss Davis had provided to protect the polished floor boards. I rather lost sense of time and the next thing I knew was hearing Miss Davis’ footsteps on the landing just before she came into the room. I felt a little awkward at not having started work but she said nothing; she took the chair and positioned it adjacent to a built in cupboard on the far side of the room. Above the main cupboard doors were a pair of shallower doors.
“Ivan, would you be a dear and hold the chair steady whilst I climb on to it?” she asked, “I’m looking for some books and I think they might be at the top of the cupboard.” I felt rather chuffed at being referred to as a “dear” and was most willing to assist. However as I walked towards her Miss Davis sat on the chair, crossed one leg over the other and reached down to her shoe.
“I had better remove these or the heels will damage the upholstery” she said, slipping off the shoe and allowing it to drop to the floor. She then uncrossed her legs and repeated the process for the other shoe. The act of uncrossing and re-crossing her legs in rapid succession caused a sudden and wild swish of nylon to nylon contact that could best be summed up as exquisite; even more spectacular was the fact that Miss Davis now sat before me with her stockinged feet exposed. Her feet seemed quite large and therefore, somehow, sexier. My own sexuality responded accordingly and tension began to mount in my underpants; my jeans could maintain a state of decorum for only so long, but what then? So many of my fantasies were suddenly becoming reality but I was quite unprepared for what happened next…
As she stood up Miss Davis said: “Ivan, this skirt is a little tight, perhaps you could help me up on to the chair”. Eager to demonstrate my physical prowess I tensed my muscles, took her right hand in mine and with my left arm around her waist hoisted her onto the chair in one rapid movement.
“Gosh, you are a strong young man, aren’t you?” she gushed.
I mumbled insipidly: “Oh, it’s nothing really” in that rather familiar, self-conscious way but my attention was now held by the hem of her skirt which had ridden up slightly and exposed the lace trim to the bottom of her slip. Miss Davis looked down and noticed what was causing me to be distracted.
“Now now, Ivan, I’m sure you’ve seen a lady’s slip before!” she said firmly as she brushed the hem of her skirt back into place, a knowing smile briefly crossing her lips.
“I’m… I’m sorry… Miss Davis…” I blustered, “I didn’t mean to stare… honestly”. I felt my face redden and didn’t know where to look for relief. When I looked down my vision was filled with the glorious sight of her stockinged feet, those gorgeous dark-chocolate reinforcements around her toes and heels; each of the pointed heels tapering into a narrow, ramrod straight seam tracing a vertical path to…..
“What on earth are you looking at now, Ivan?” Miss Davis’ forthright tones jerked me back to reality and I looked up to face my tormentor, only to discover an expression that seemed to register genuine concern rather than the indignation I thought I had sensed in her voice. The room was hot and my emotions were in utter turmoil; my mind was flickering between control and surrender and I became aware that I was speaking… I suddenly heard myself stammer:
“I… I was looking at… your lovely stockings… they… I mean…” I tailed off, my mind slipping into hibernation as I stood there, mouth opening and closing in complete silence.
As she towered above me, reaching up to close the cupboard door Penelope Davis at that moment resembled the Statue of Liberty, a symbolically appropriate pose under the circumstances.
“Oh, my dear boy…” her voice trembled slightly and was now, sexily, a tone lower, “help me down, would you?”
She held out her hands to grasp mine and I guided her safely down to the floor. We stood for a moment, hand in hand, looking into one another’s eyes inquisitively; then Miss Davis sat on the chair and crossed her legs, clasping her hands around her knee. After a few seconds she had composed herself and spoke:
“Do you like my stockings, Ivan? Tell me what you like about them.” Her voice became steady and I felt comfortable that she was assuming control of the situation. I trusted her and wanted to confess my emotions to her; I drew a deep breath and collected my thoughts in readiness to talk about a subject I had never discussed with anybody.
“I like their silkiness, Miss. I love the way they reflect the light through their delicate and seductive movement on your legs. I love their beautiful dark tone that creates a kind of shadow on the profile of your legs. I adore the heel and toe reinforcements and seams. It excites me so much when I hear your stockings rustle and swish when you walk and when you cross your legs. There is so much that I love about your beautiful stockings.” I was surprised at the lucidity of my declaration. Miss Davis was stroking her hand up and down her fabulous, stockinged leg as she swung it slowly back and forth.
She looked up at me again: “And what about my slip, Ivan? What did you think when you saw the hem of my slip?”
I felt all my inhibitions drain away as this gorgeous lady coaxed me to reveal my inner feelings:
“Oh, Miss Davis” I continued, “I wanted to touch your lovely silky slip, I wanted to slide my hands up and down the sheer nylon, to caress your beautiful thighs in those wonderful sheer nylon stockings.” I was now getting into my stride and all vestiges of self-doubt had evaporated. “Oh Miss… I want to look up your skirt and see your stocking tops and suspenders and… and… your panties, Miss. I want to see your panties!!”
Had I really said all that? Had I really thrown myself on her mercy? There was no turning back now, I had shown my hand. I needn’t have worried, Miss Davis responded by slowly pulling the hem of her skirt up her thighs, revealing the glorious silky sheer nylon of her snow white slip. My erection was now hurting… it had nowhere else to go. Miss Davis spoke again:
“Show me how much you love my nylons, Ivan… show me how much you want my slip and my panties.” She was rubbing her slip against her stocking tops and the outlines of her suspenders were clearly visible. Her eyes were half closed as she seemed to enter a trance-like state, apparently enjoying her underwear as much as I wanted to. I knelt before her and saw my hands reaching out. Everything began to happen in slow motion as I savoured the countdown to the moment of… CONTACT..!! My hands were finally touching Miss Penelope Davis’ beautiful, sheer nylon stockings!!
“Oh Miss Davis… your nylons, your nylons… Oh God I love your nylons!!” My hands were almost a blur on her superb legs… feeling, squeezing, caressing and loving. I held one foot in both hands and slowly raised it to my face; I gently kissed her stockinged toes and tongued the instep. I moved around to the heel and repeated the process on the pointed reinforcement. Miss Davis was murmuring her satisfaction; she reached forward to run her fingers through my hair and stroke my head. She put her hand under my chin and raised my face to look at hers:
“Don’t stop, my darling” she whispered huskily, “show me how much you love my underwear”.
I needed no further persuasion and kissed her thighs through her slip:
“Oh Miss Davis, your slip is so silky and sheer… I love your slip so much”. I rubbed my hands up and down her slip enshrouded thighs and then, slowly… inch by seductive inch… I raised her slip to reveal her beautiful silky, dark brown stocking tops in all their exotic glory. This was it… the Holy Grail!! Miss Penelope Davis’ stocking tops were now before me, surrendering to my every desire. I kissed each one lingeringly and lovingly, stroking them, resting the side of my face on them… adoring them. I then felt Miss Davis’ hands grasp my head and manoeuvre it further up her thighs. This could mean only one thing: she wanted me to become intimately acquainted with her knickers. As if to confirm my thoughts, she panted:
“Kiss my knickers, Ivan… kiss my cunt through my lovely knickers, my darling!!”
I did as she demanded… you don’t argue with a teacher when her thighs are wrapped around your head!! I nuzzled the gusset of her silky-white knickers, breathing in her sexy, musky scent and marvelling at the dampness of her knickers… was I really the cause of her arousal? It made me feel so good and I wanted to give her so much pleasure. I fondled the gentle elastic of her knicker-legs with my fingers and gradually eased my hands inside her knickers and gently caressed her smooth hips, slowly moving my fingers onto her cunt mound. She responded by raising her bottom from the chair and expressing her desires bluntly:
“Pull my knickers down, you horny bastard!!” was the terse imperative that spurted from the tongue of my former English teacher; a bit of a change from “47%, could do better”, I mused. I slowly slid those damp, nylon knickers down her silky, stockinged thighs then further down her legs and, finally, clear of her stockinged feet. I paid a further visit to her silky toe reinforcements and stocking seams, feeling those narrow lines as they stood proud from her calves and thighs. Miss Davis then raised the stakes by fingering her liberated cunt and clitty, creating a glorious, prick-hardening slurping sound. I was momentarily transfixed as she gazed at me, her fingers almost a blur as they worked their magic on her engorged cunt lips. I was gripped by an impulse to do something outrageous… I leant over her and kissed her fully on the mouth, then I placed her wet knickers over her mouth and kissed her through them again with a passion that took me by surprise. I was then aware that trembling hands were loosening the belt of my jeans and undoing the front stud; there was no time to waste and I quickly pulled off the jeans and underpants, kicked them away and faced Miss Davis with an erection to die for. I think she felt the same way about it as, in a flash, her mouth was on my cock… sucking, licking, kissing, nuzzling.
“Lovely cock, lovely cock… I want your hard cock” she gasped, in between mouthfuls. She used every sense at her disposal to appreciate and experience my throbbing, stiff cock. She was ravenous and would have swallowed it, given the chance. Just as I was expecting that she would bring me to an orgasm in her mouth she withdrew my prick and, taking her damp knickers, proceeded to wrap them around it and start stroking. The sensation of moist nylon on my prick dome was indescribable and I simply abandoned myself to the moment. Miss Davis was conducting events to my utter satisfaction:
“Do you enjoy the feel of my silky nylon knickers on your cock, Ivan, my darling? Isn’t this what you have fantasised about for so long?” Her rasping, passionate voice was an unexpected bonus that nearly brought me to the brink. She continued wanking my prick vigorously and expertly, making me wonder how she had acquired the skill. Before long I felt that unmistakable tension in my balls and at the base of my cock shaft… I was at the point of no return:
“Oh Miss Davis… Miss Davis!! Your nylon knickers feel so good on my cock… your slip and stocking tops are so beautiful… I love you in your sheer nylon underwear, Miss Davis… Oh my God!! … Miss Davis… MISS DAVIS!! I’m-m-m CUMming… OH, I LOVE YOU… Oh God, I love you… Oh… Ahhhhhh………
Voluminous spurts of hot, creamy spunk filled her knickers. She almost purred with satisfaction, like the cat that got the cream and the look of joy on her face, as she removed the knickers and kissed my twitching cock, was immensely satisfying. We looked at each other and started giggling at the naughtiness of what we had just done. We felt irredeemably wicked and wonderful, just like a couple of kids.
“Oh, my darling, you do love my beautiful nylon underwear don’t you?” she giggled and then, lovingly and tenderly, dabbed my sensitive prick with the dry bits of her knickers. She then stood up, announced that she was going to freshen up and would see me downstairs when I had recovered. Meanwhile I sat on the damp chair, staring into space and thinking: “I never even got to see her brassiere!”
A little later, having dressed and tidied up, I went downstairs and found Miss Davis in the parlour, wearing an expression as if butter wouldn’t melt. She looked radiant… I was dazed! She had made a pot of tea which we enjoyed with a few biscuits.
“You look a little tired, Ivan” she smirked. “Perhaps you had better go home and rest. Pop back and see me tomorrow. I think your work upstairs is incomplete”.
