MRS TAYLOR’S STOCKINGS
I was just approaching by twentieth birthday when Dad died. And, it has to be admitted, by his own hand, although he wasn’t being reckless at all. He’d made one of those minor misjudgements that normally one gets away with nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of one thousand, but tragically this was that one thousandth time. And as his death was officially attributed to his own error, Mum never received any pay out of any real magnitude.
So, she sold the family home, downsizing to a much smaller dwelling, which at least meant that she could clear the mortgage and buy the new home outright. Considerably reducing her monthly outgoings, but it did require some adjustment to suit our new, tiny in comparison, home, but we coped.
One of major dis-advantages I far as I was concerned was the extra distance to my employment that this move entailed. At our previous address it had been feasible to walk to work, but that was clearly now impossible, the longer journey involved meant I had to travel to work by car. Fortunately, my apprenticeship had successfully come to a conclusion, with a large increase in salary resulting in me becoming fully qualified, as an engineer. Although not specifically in automation technology, in other words cars, my general machinery knowledge and skill level meant I possessed a major advantage over ‘Joe Average,’ regarding car maintenance, able to perform many tasks myself that others would have to engage a professional mechanic to do for them. And naturally have to pay them for.
Anyway, one Saturday morning I was working upon my motor, lying on my back half underneath it, when one of our new neighbours, Mrs Helen Taylor popped around to meet, primarily Mum, I guess. As she passed by, I caught a perfect glimpse of her stocking covered legs, in fact I had managed to, quite unintentional of course, I believe the expression is ‘upskirt’ her. As I say, quite by pure accident, and I thought that she hadn’t noticed at all. But she had!
She knocked upon our front door, answered by Mum, and they introduced themselves. And this was not the moment that she revealed that had noticed me ‘clocking’ her as it were, so leading me to fully believe that I’d got away with my indiscretion. Mum invited her in, and she stayed for several minutes, as they shared a cup of tea, and no doubt, had a good chat. Mum is a very sociable and friendly person by nature, and I assumed that Mrs Taylor was too. I was just finishing up when she left to return to her own home, having also issued her greetings to me.
Now despite being roughly the same age, fast approaching fifty years old, there was a vast difference in Mum and Helen Taylor’s general appearance. Mum had never been a ‘looker’ for instance and recently she’d let herself go to some degree; the famous ‘middle age’ spread had fully taken hold of her. She’d never, well to my knowledge anyway, dressed herself sexually, indeed my own existence being the only actual evidence I had that Dad and her had ever partaken in the activity. She had never been one for lingerie for example, and my accidental glimpse of Mrs Taylor’s stockings had been first view of such items ‘in situ’ as it were.
Completely different from Helen Taylor. She was simply stunning, had really taken care of her appearance, and dressed accordingly. Ok, she was no spring chicken, and age had robbed her of some of her natural beauty, but there still plenty more to go around. She could, with full justification, be described as sexy, somewhat older, yes, but she’d still ‘got it.’ be in no doubt of that fact. As my brief view of her legs had confirmed.
And then there was me. Obviously, I’d lived quite a sheltered life when it came to the ‘pleasures of the flesh.’ And I was naturally low in self-confidence when it came to women, with very little experience in-between the sheets as it were. Although not an ugly bugger, I was certainly no ‘stud,’ and girls were definitely not queuing up to go out with me. With sex being so low key as far as my parents were concerned, it was quite near the bottom of my list of priorities.
However, sexual action was very near the other end of the scale when it came to the predatory Helen Taylor. Like Mum she was a widow, but one who wasn’t averse to liaisons with Gentlemen who were considerable younger than herself, me for example. And, from catching me in the act of that very brief glimpse I’d enjoyed of her nylon coated legs, this extremely astute lady had made two deductions that I probably wasn’t even aware of myself. That I simply adored sheer nylon stockings and when it came to sex, I was quite submissive, fully ready for a dominant woman to control and mould her way. Somebody like Helen Taylor, for instance. How would she make her move, though?
Her chosen route was through my knowledge of cars. During that chat with Mum the subject had arisen, and she gleamed all that she needed to know. Towards the end of that week, Mum asked me if I would be willing to pop around Mrs Taylor’s, which is how Mum referred her to as, house on the following Saturday morning and have a look at her car. Which apparently wasn’t running well, and there was no rush, she wasn’t needing to use it on the Friday. I told Mum I’d be delighted, looking forward to seeing her, although I’d being seeing a lot more of her than I’d bargained for!
Of course, what I didn’t know that Helen was no mug herself when it came to cars, and had deliberately fitted a dodgy spark plug to her engine, meaning it was running on only three out the four cylinders. Now I didn’t report to her place, just down the road from Mum’s, until late in the morning, like most working males of my age, I consumed several beers down the nearest pub, another dis-advantage of the move was that I’d needed to find a different ‘local,’ to drink in. But it didn’t take long to find her apparent ‘fault,’ so I fixed it quickly.
As I went inside of the house to give her the news, totally unaware that she was putting the next part of her plan into action, although she had no intention of getting me into her bed just yet. Because she was simply wearing a ‘T’ shirt on her top half, with no bra moulding her shapely breast and some skimpy panties, satin, which were very minimal. Now if that sounds feasible, and would appear to back up her claims that I’d taken a lot less time than she’d expected and had ‘caught her by surprise,’ remember she’d introduced the ‘fault’ herself, then how does one explain the presence of very sheer stockings upon her legs together with a beautiful and lacy suspender belt holding them up? No, she was dressed exactly like this by design and believe me, she achieved her desired result.
Firstly, she had completely fooled the utterly naïve me, and I totally accepted her explanation of her state of dress, or maybe that should be undress. Almost open-mouthed at her appearance, although she made no comment about that. I was struggling to make my ‘report’ as to what I’d found in regard to her car. But having done so, and declining politely any offer of payment, I quickly retired to the privacy of my own bedroom, after washing my hands naturally, and indulged in a very vigorous ‘five knuckled shuffle.’ Such was the effect of the sight of the very scantily clad Helen Taylor had on me, especially her shapely legs covered in sheer nylon. Yes, just as she’d planned and hoped for, of course.
Thus, for possibly the first time in my life I really began to see a woman, any woman, in a sexual sense, beginning to have real desires, and Helen’s aims for me were due to receive a large slice of good fortune.
For on the weekend after the immediate one following, Mum was due to spend it away, with a good friend of hers. Meaning that I was alone in the house from early on the Saturday morning. Offering to cook me a ‘thank you’ meal on the Saturday evening as I had declined her offer of monetary payment, she even came around to make the offer in person, directly asking me herself. Adorned in a beautiful leather suit, with a skirt just long enough to conceal the fact that the sheer nylon upon her legs was in the form of stockings, not that I ever doubted it, I knew enough about her by now, complete with a sexy satin royal blue blouse underneath the matching jacket. Very much dressing to impress, an aim that she totally achieved, believe me. As you can all imagine, I was only too pleased to accept, and during the time the followed until that Saturday evening I began to, possibly for the first real time in my life, harbour carnal thoughts and desires about a woman, in particular Helen Taylor. Beginning to obtain my first inklings that those desires weren’t necessarily travelling within a one-way street. And after all, if she was willing to totally ignore our respective age difference, then who was I to argue?
When that evening eventually arrived and believe me the excitement had ramped up inside of me by then, Helen was dressed in exactly the same manner, although she swiftly removed the jacket, claiming with some justification it must be said, the high ambient temperature in her kitchen pushed her into doing so. And if she was taking me to her bed, which by now I fervently hoped for, she planned to make me wait until after we’d eaten the meal she was presently cooking!
Well, she proved to be as skilled in the kitchen as I hoped she’d be in the bedroom for the home-made lasagne was cooked to perfection. Washed down by a beautiful bottle of chianti red wine, Italian to match the excellent food. It was almost worth her making me wait. Because Helen had already determined that she was going to end up in bed with me, but at this stage I didn’t yet KNOW that!
She however did, and she wasted very little time after we had finished eating when I found out that it was my destiny to end up in her boudoir. As I assisted her to move the crockery and cutlery to the kitchen side top, her stocking leg brushed, deliberately I’m now certain of, against mine, suddenly I felt my lips being attacked, yes, I believe that is the right word, by her own. A kiss that was full of passion and intensity, making her intentions for me crystal clear!
And when she finally broke the kiss? “Best get those jeans off if you really want to feel how good the nylon on my legs feels! Because you’ve wanted to ever since you saw them that time when you were working on your car, the first time I called at your Mum’s house!†So, she HAD clocked me then? “Yes, I did see that look upon your face, but don’t be ashamed, without that we wouldn’t about to ascend my stairs up to my bed. Because yes Darling, THAT is where we’re now going!â€
After backing off a little to give herself some room, Helen undid the belt of her skirt, and boy, did she make a show of wriggling out of it or what? As if I wasn’t turned on enough? She then stood still for a few seconds, in just her blouse, with her legs encased in nylon, and the suspenders that held them up on full view. It was almost a dis-appointment when the blouse, like most of her gear manufactured in shimming satin, came off, as it hugged and simply emphasised her stunning figure. Mind you, the utterly provocative manner in which she did remove it made it all worth-while after all, this lady was putting on a REAL show, she knew exactly how to increase my excitement levels to be almost unbearable!
The removal of my own clothing was conducted in nowhere near the same stylish manner, but it was completed however, as it needed to be. Soon I was completely naked, and she was just suspender clad, the black satin bra and very skimpy panties removed. We were ready!
Taking my hand in her own, Helen Taylor almost pulled me up her stairs, although I wasn’t unwilling at all. But when we reached the top, she suggested that we visit her bathroom first, after all we had eaten, and her words made sense. Being a ‘Gentleman’ I allowed her to go first, proceeding straight to her bedroom afterwards where she was waiting for me.
Grabbing hold of my head, initiating another passionate kiss, during which Helen almost pulled me onto her bed, and the serious sex began. It became quite obvious that that I possessed very little in the way of both knowledge or experience, but this was more than made up by my partner’s abilities, and I, very sensibly allowed her to set the pace as it were.
Now THAT was a very smart move, because Helen used all of that experience, and let’s face it, skill, to ensure that a good night was had by all. Yes, she treated me to an outstanding time, bringing me to several exciting and thoroughly enjoyable climaxes, whilst helping herself to a good few too. But there was more to come, she had a secret desire to see wanted to enact, she wanted to take away my freedom and tie me to her bed. Although she didn’t attempt to action this dream of hers that night, as we agreed to stop, with exhaustion rapidly replacing exhilaration and excitement for both of us, she dropped a real hint. Grabbing my arms and holding then above my head, and with herself now lying on top of my form, she looked me straight into my eyes, and gently said, “tomorrow, Darling, I’m going to tie you securely to this bed. So, I’ll be able to do anything I like to you, and there’ll be NOTHING you can do to stop me! Up for it?â€
Love to be tied-up 