3 comments/ 181556 views/ 7 favorites Laura's Pantyhose By: flimbim When I was a teenager, I lived in England with my parents who both worked for an international pharmaceuticals firm. We lived in a village about 20 miles outside of the city where my parents worked and where I was finishing high school. Most days I caught a bus home, but a couple of times a month, when I had an after school activity, I had to go to someone's house and wait for my parents to pick me up at 6:30 or 7:00. At age 18 I chafed at this restriction, but there wasn't any way around it. If I caught the later bus, my parents would be home before me. The people I had to stay with were also Americans living in England. They were about my parents age-- in their forties I'd guess. Bob and Laura Walker were friends of my parents and they were certainly nice people, but boring. Bob was some kind of saleman and Laura worked part time at a library. They didn't have any kids, and their house was empty of anything to amuse me. They had a TV, but there wasn't much on after school for teenagers. Fortunately I liked to read, and sometimes I had homework that I could do. Still, I liked them. Bob was a nice guy, but Laura was especially nice to me, maybe because she didn't have any kids. I liked her because she liked me, but also because in the way of most 18-year-olds, I enjoyed looking at her in sexual terms. I had a girlfriend, but that didn't stop me from noticng the attributes of almost every other female that I encountered . Laura was one of those women who could best be described as "average." She was medium height, medium weight, etc., etc. She dressed relatively modestly and was the sort of woman that you wouldn't glance at twice if you passed her on the street. But, if you were in the same house with her by yourself for two hours... Sometimes I got to their house before either one of them got home from work, so they showed me where they left the spare key-- under a flower pot beside the door. That alone ought to tell you how boring they were. So, it didn't surprise me when I arrived at their house one day and no one answered the bell. I let myself in, got an apple from the kitchen , and settled down in the living room with a spy novel. About 10 minutes later, I heard someone come in, and I heard Laura's voice call my name. "I'm in here, Laura," I called back. "You left the key in the door," she said from the doorway. "Sorry," I said. I knew she wasn't upset-- it wasn't the first time. I heard her set her bag down in the hall and hang up her jacket. The phone rang and I heard her pick it up in the kitchen. "Bob's meeting a client this evening," she said as she came in living room and heaved a sigh. "These heels are killing me." She sat down in a chair and slipped off her white high-heeled sandals. "I don't know if it's worth it," she remarked, rubboing her feet against each other. "Well, it makes you look good," I pointed out. "Do you really think so?"she asked. "Yes, I suppose so," she sighted again, "but I wish I could choose who was looking at me." I looked at her, but she didn't seem to mean anything by the remark. She was wearing a dark blue skirt that came to the middle of her knee and a white turtleneck that slightly emphasized her 38C breasts. Not exactly sexy, but not bad to look at either. "Why don't you let me do that?" I said. "What?" she responded, looking puzzled. "Rub your feet," I replied. Seeing her doubtful look I went on. "We've been studying muscle relaxation techniques in Phys. Ed. at school. I now how to give a good foot massage." She didn't look entirely convinced, but she said, "OK, what do you want me to do?" I wanted to say, "Rip off your clothes, lay down, and spread your legs, so I can fuck you," but I didn't. Instead I said, "Lay on the couch and put your feet up on a cushion," which is what she did. There was still no hint of anything sexual between us. She lay down with a cushion under her head at one end of the long couch and swung her feet up onto another cushion at the end where I was sitting. I say there was no hint of anything sexual, but I was already starting to get a hard-on and my mind was getting excited as well. I was about to touch a womans nylon-covered feet. ( I think this preference for nylon came from looking up my kindergarten teacher's skirt at nap time-- a feeling I didn't understand at the time, but nonetheless enjoyed.) Still, I didn't want to ruin things, so I concealed my thoughts. I took one her feet in my hands and began rubbing and stroking it. I didn't really know anything about foot massage, but I thought about what I was doing, making sure to be slow, gentle and thorough. I rubbed from the toes back towards the heel, not too hard, and then I cupped her heel and massaged it in the palm of my hand. "You're pretty good at this," she said in a relaxed voice, and she gave another sigh, this time sounding contented. She shifted slightly, lifting her other foot up a bit. "I've had a little practice," I lied, hoping she wouldn't ask me who I had practiced on. I treated her other foot the same way, and then, I rubbed each toe gently through her white hose. By now my hard-on was getting a bit uncomfortable, so I shifted my position as I continued massaging her toes. "Mmmmmmm, that's great." Now her voice not only sounded relaxed, but also contained a note of -- of what? I wasn't sure, but it sounded good to me. I continued rubbing her feet, but now my strokes were including her ankles which I rotated and massaged between my fingers. It was getting more difficult to keep my mind on giving a massage that she would enjoy because it was running far ahead and picturing her naked with her legs spread. I started stroking her just a little above the ankle bone and I was rewarded with another contented sigh. When she had lain down she had smoothed her skirt and made sure it still came to the middle of her knee, but now she spread her legs just a couple of inches so I had just a glimpse of the inside of her knee. "Wearing those heels makes my whole leg sore", she said. I took that as an invitation to massage a little higher on the lower part of her calves. "But remember, it gives you a sexy look." I hadn't quite intended to say it like that, but she didn't seem to mind. "I like looking sexy but sometimes I wonder if it's worth it." "Believe me, for the men who see you it is." "Yeah," she murmured in a heavy happy voice. There-- we had both said the word "sexy", so I was positive that I was making progress toward my goal. I couldn't quite bring myself to articulate that goal-- fucking her-- but my cock certainly knew what it was. She mumbled something, then cleared her throat and said it again. "You can keep on." Her voice sounded like my girlfriend's when i rubbed her crotch through her jeans, so I knew that Laura was getting aroused. I slid along the couch towards her, put her feet in my lap, and began massaging her entire calf. She didn't say anything, she just closed her eyes and smiled a very wicked smile. My cock was doing weird things inside my pants, partly from the sensation of rubbing a woman's warm, shapely leg covered by white pantyhose and partly because I knew that this whole incident was going to end up in a very pleasurable way-- if I could just keep from coming long enough. As my hand slid upwards on her calf to just below her knee, she slid her skirt up just a couple of inches and mumbled someting again which must have been something like "keep on," but which my mind heard as "fuck me." Now I was massaging both of her knees, alternating from left to right and front to back. One thing I had learned from groping my girlfriend was that the back of a woman's knees are often very sensitive, so I tried to ignore the antics of my cock and concentrate on turning Laura on even further by paying special attention to that spot. By now she was making constant soft little mmm, mmmm sounds and I began rubbng the part of her legs which were exposed above her knees. My fingers were just brushing the edge of her skirt, and soon were sliding about two inches underneath it. My dream started to come true. She slowly reached down and grasped the edge of her skirt, and raising her ass off the couch, she pulled her skirt up to where I had a clear view of the wide white band around her thighs where her pantyhose changed color to a less transparent, darker shade. This also gave me a glimpse of heaven . I could see a tiny little bit of her crotch-- covered by dark blue or black panties and a layer of white nylon. I wasn't able to exercise much control anymore. I massaged both of her thighs, using both hands so I was rubbig both front and back, and apparently she began to lose control too, because in a sudden swift movement she pulled her skirt all the way up over belly, exposing the bottom half of her body and pushing her pussy out towards me. My hands were rubbing and caressing her thighs and hips and pantyhose covered belly now, and I thought desperately about my soccer team's miserable results over the past month to try and avoid creaming in my pants. This worked for about thirty seconds until Laura reached up, grabbed my head and pulled it down until my face was buried in her crotch which I discovered was soaking wet and smelled wonderful. She wrapped her legs around me and began thrusting her cunt against my face. This was the first time I had ever been so close to real pussy, but I needed no instruction. started pushing back against the wet spot with my tongue. I got my hands under her ass and pulled her into my darting tongue, and between that and her hands on the back of my head, she almost broke my nose. She started to come , thrusting even faster, and I pressed my chin into her steaming and still pantyhosed pussy. She was making soft cries now and it seemed to go on forever, though it was probably less than two minutes. It goes without saying that my soccer team had disappeared into the biggest orgasm I had as yet experienced in my masturbatory life. This was the real thing-- a real live woman coming on my face because of what I had done to her. What a sense of power among the other feelings of ecstasy and contentment. When we had both stopped shaking, we lay there for a few minutes, her legs still wrapped aruind me, my hands still cupping her ass and my chin on her still occasionally quivering pussy. She gently disengaged herself and kissed my face, licking my cheeks and lips, tasting her own cunt juice. "Your parents will be here soon," she said a bit sadly, I thought, as ahe stood up. "Yeah," I said, genuinely sadly, as I sat up straight. She stood up, took my hand, and placed it on her wet crotch and she said simply, "thank you." Then she said, "wait here", and she almost ran out of the room and I could here her scrambling up the stairs more like my teenage girlfriend than a forty-something married woman. She came back down a few minutes later, but I didn't hear her come into the room right away. My mind was still whirling at the overwhelming sexual experience I had just had. "Here," she said almost shyly, "these are for you." She handed me a little plastic baggy in which were a pair of white pantyhose, and it was then that I noticed that she was dressed exactly the same-- except her legs were bare. "Thanks", I said, which sounded pretty stupid, but I was still semi-stunned. She just gave me that wicked but this time happy smile. Later, at home, my happiness was mixed with regret and anticipation. Regret that I hadn't actually fucked her. (It wouldn't be long, but it wasn't Laura.) I hadn't even actually seen her pussy. Regret that I hadn't sucked or even seen her tits. Anticipation of the next time we would be alone. It never happened. First, The remaining few times that I went to her house, we weren't alone, and second, I didn't realize it, but the gift of her juice-soaked pantyhose (the heavenly smell lasted quite a while) was probably a kind of good-byer gift. One fnal part of this true story. I bought a pair of white pantyhose in what I hoped would be Laura's size (I had to lie and say they were for my mom to get my girlfriend to buy them). Then, using a pair of tiny manicure scissors, I cut out the cotton crotch, making sure to stay inside the the seam so they wouldn't tear or run. I put them back into the plastic egg, and the next time I was at Laura's house, I managed to sneak them into her bedroom. She never said anything, but when they came to our house for dinner a few weeks later she was wearing white pantyhose. She caught me alone in the back yard and she simply said "thanks," and gave me that slow wicked smile. Laura's Pantyhose When I was 18 my family lived in the English Midlands. My parents both worked for a pharmaceutical firm and they were working at its English subsidiary. We lived in a small village about 20 miles outside of Birmingham. Because both my parents worked they could afford to send me to a public school—which in England means a private school. The school was in the city, and I would ride in with parents every morning and ride back home again every evening. This pissed me off. I had turned 18 two months ago and I wanted a motor scooter so I could go to school by myself That would increase my "cool" factor significantly. On Wednesdays we had a half day, so I would have lunch at the school cafeteria and then take a bus to the house of an American couple who were about my parents' age and whom they knew. Paul worked as some kind of sales rep for the same drugs company that my parents worked for and Laura, his wife, worked part time at the local library. If she wasn't there when I arrived there was a key under the flower pot and I was to let myself in and do my homework or watch TV or whatever. A lot of times she was there when I arrived and we got along well—she was easy to talk to and treated more like a real person than someone still in school.. One day I arrived around 1:30 and there was nobody home. I let myself in and made myself comfortable in the living room, listening to some of the records stacked on top of the stereo. About half an hour later I heard Laura come in. "Hi Scott," she said, "How are you?" "I'm fine Laura, what about you?" Even though she let me call her by her first name instead of "Mrs. Vaughn" I was still polite and respectful. My parents had trained me that way. "I'm fine, just a little stressed out." She plopped down on the other end of the couch. "We had a couple of people come from the council today to look at the library before approving our budget request for the year and I got the job of showing them around. I dressed a little nicer than usual to make a good impression, but it was a mistake to wear these heels—I was on my feet for about two hours without a break and I'm not used to it. They look good, but I'm not sure it was worth it. Don't they?" It took me a minute to figure out that she had just asked me a question. "Well they certainly do make your feet and legs look their best," I replied, a little embarrassed. "Hmmmm, do they?" And she held one foot out and turned it this way and that, looking at it. She was dressed conservatively in a white l blouse and dark blue skirt which came to just above her knees . She had on white hose and white open–toed sandals with about a three inch heel. She normally wore heels that were lower, and it was true, these higher heels gave her legs a taut sexy look. Or rather sexier. Laura had good legs, at least in my judgment which I considered quite developed, because I looked at the legs of every female I saw between 12 and 80. The rest of her was only average—rather wide hips, a rounded but unremarkable ass, and boobs that while big were not particularly well emphasized or prominent. I guessed that they were a bit saggy and that she should wear a bra with underwiring. She had short blonde hair and a face that could be called almost cute, but it always looked a little tired. She was a little heavier than my ideal woman, but her legs were always a sight that could turn me on. Too bad she wore trousers so often. Still, for someone pushing forty she was pretty good looking. "Well , yeah, I mean yes, you really do look special when you're dressed like that." I surprised myself by how daring my comment was. "Dressed like what," she asked. "I'm not wearing anything special." It was true—she wasn't dressed in any way out of the normal—except for those extra high heels. "Well, I just meant—I uh,-- I oh, nothing." I was too embarrassed to go on . "Well you must have meant something. What were you going to say?" "I meant that those high heels you're wearing with the white stockings—they make you look "—and here I mumbled inaudibly—"extra sexy." I knew my face was turning red. "Extra sexy? Is that what you said?" I nodded, my eyes down. "Well that's the nicest compliment that anyone's given me in a long time. Thank you Scott." She said, "If it won't spoil your appreciation of my 'extra sexiness' I'm going to take them off." And she proceeded to undo the ankle straps and kick off her heels. "By the way, it's pantyhose, not stockings." She had embarrassed me again; but she didn't seem to be embarrassed at all, talking about stockings and pantyhose with a 18-year-old boy. I was trying to keep my mind off her legs and pantyhose because I felt a boner coming on and I didn't want to have to conceal that from her. Somehow though, the image wouldn't go away. She crossed one ankle on to her knee and began to rub her foot. "That feels better," she said with a sigh. I don't know what had gotten into me, but I figured if I had said the words "extra sexy " to Laura I couldn't do much more to embarrass myself. "Would you like me to do that for you," I asked in a strange sounding voice. "I can if you want me to." "What, rub my feet? Why I think that would be wonderful, Scott. It always feels so good when someone else does it—not that I know much about that, but yes, I would like that if you don't mind." "OK," I croaked. My voice was dong weird things, my mind was up under her skirt, and my cock was getting harder. She leaned back against the arm of the couch, put a cushion behind her head, and wiggled her self into a comfortable position. Then she lowered her feet right into my lap. I was sure she could feel my hard-on with her feet, but if she didn't mention it I certainly wasn't going to. I took one foot in my hands and started gently massaging it, trying to remember what we had learned in phys.ed. class last month about massage and the circulatory system and all that textbook stuff that I'd never had a chance to practice – until now. I figured that the safest thing was just to be gentle and thorough and watch for indicators from her as to what she liked best. She got a contented smile on her face and let out some "mmmmmmmmm" sounds so I took that as a good sign. My mind had crawled back our from under her skirt and was now concentrated on the reality I had in my hands. (But of course that didn't stop my cock from getting even harder.) Her foot was rather dainty and well-formed. I was turned on by the warmth of her skin through the silkiness of the nylon pantyhose that covered her foot. I rubbed each toe and then the sole, then the instep. Next I cupped her heel in my hand and squeezed, applying a little more pressure. Then finally I used my thumbs on the ball of her foot. "Ooh, that feels so good," she said. Suddenly some of that science stuff came back to me. "Yes, the weight of the person is concentrated on the ball of the foot when they walk, and wearing high heels like yours puts even more pressure on it," I said in what I hoped was a normal voice. "The second pressure point is the ankle," I said, as I lightly massaged her ankle. "Mmmmmmmm," she said, "do the other one now." I put her foot gently back into my lap where I was sure she could feel my hard-on. But I took the other foot in my hands and started the same process of gently massaging each part of the foot, taking my time and making it as sensual as possible. I made sure to rub each toe separately and Laura really seemed to enjoy that because she nestled down into the couch a bit more and said, "oh yeah." I finished up some minutes later with her ankle, and I began massaging her lower leg just above the ankle bone. "Wearing high heels can also put undue stress on the lower leg above the ankle bone," I said in my most serious voice, as if I were presenting an anatomy documentary. As I said this, I continued to rub her leg a little way above the ankle bone. "How do you know that?," she asked in a light-hearted tone. "Read it in a book about human anatomy ," I said, matching her tone. "That feels wonderful—do the other side now." I switched back to the other leg, massaging it above the ankle, as I had the first one, but daring to make my hands go a little higher until I was massaging her pantyhose covered calf. I was very gentle and sensual and I was sure that she was starting to get aroused because her eyes were closed and she had a dreamy smile on her lips which she licked occasionally. She was also sighing and breathing heavy and starting to look a little flushed. I switched legs again, massaging her other calf as I had the first one,; slowly working my hands higher up her leg toward her knee over the smooth white nylon of her pantyhose. Even thinking the word—pantyhose made me want to cum. I finally went just about as far as I dared. I reached the part of her leg just below the knee and I wasn't experienced or brave enough with women to touch her knee. I wasn't experienced at all with women—the most I had done was some heavy petting with girls of my own age or younger. "Scott—don't stop," she whispered in a breathless voice. "The knee is the third point of pressure when wearing high heels," I said in my science teacher voice, but it came out sounding thick and lustful , even to me. It didn't matter because my hands were already caressing her knee, cupping it and then sliding on the slick nylon around behind it, the sides, the top of it again, and then my hand was a few inches above her knee, brushing the edge of her skirt. She gave no sign that she was conscious of what I was doing except to let out a long "mmmmmmmmm" sound that was definitely sexual. I knew I was getting her turned on. I continued to massage both of her legs above the knee, just brushing the edge of her skirt, but it was getting difficult for my hands to reach that far, sitting as I was with her feet in my lap. Also, my hard-on had become painfully cramped. "Laura, I'm going to move a little bit so I can finish your massage a little easier." "Finish? Oh no, it feels so good, you have to keep on." She said this in a voice that sounded thick and a bit strangled. "You have to do more." And to make her point she slid her skirt up about 6 inches. "I mean, aren't the thighs under stress from wearing high heels?" "Yes, they certainly are," I managed to reply. My eyes were glued to her white silky thighs as I gently lightly shifted her feet off of my boner, got up, and kneeled on the couch with her legs between mine, my crotch right over her knees. But I didn't dare lower myself—I stayed on my knees—not the most comfortable position—and began massaging her thighs where she had pulled her skirt up. I was a little uncomfortable but at least it had removed the pressure on my cock and it was free to keep swelling in relative freedom inside my trousers. Now Laura was licking her lips frequently and starting to pant a little. One of her hands went to her forehead and the other was moving slowly around in circle on her throat and over the top button o f her blouse. Every 10 seconds or so she would let out a deep "mmmmmmmmm" sound which then changed to an "aaahhh". Every so often she would suck in her breath suddenly. I knew these were the sounds an aroused woman makes-- I had heard the same sounds a few weeks earlier when I had slipped my hands inside the panties of one of the girls at my school that I was fooling around with. I was massaging the back of Laura's thighs now and she raise d her knees just a little until they came in contact with my crotch. This caused her skirt to slide up another inch or two and I thought I was gong to cream in my shorts, but I didn't. I tried to control myself, making sure to rub gently and thoroughly every inch of her luscious legs. Laura had a grimace on her face now—her mouth was open and her features were all squinched up—and again I recognized this as a sign of sexual pleasure because I had seen it on the face of the girl at school when I rubbed my finger over her pussy. I decided that the time had come for boldness. I pushed Laura's skirt all the way up, exposing the band of darker nylon at the top of her pantyhose, all the way up to where the waistband of her panty hose made a pink mark on the whiteness of her belly. All the way, so I could see the light blue bikini panties under her pantyhose and the seam to the cotton oval that covered her pussy. She said one word, the sweetest word I had ever heard up to that point in my life. "Yessssss…" My hands were now caressing her thighs all the way up to her crotch, rubbing the darker bands at the top of her panty hose, squeezing her plump inner thighs. I wasn't thinking about being gentle and thorough any more . I was thinking about ice cubes, about taking out the trash, about soccer scores , about anything that would keep me from cumming while I filled my hands with the loveliest thing I had ever felt in my entire life, the pantyhose covered thighs of a woman in heat… Laura reached up and put her hands on either side of my face and literally pulled me down so my mouth was pressed onto her mound and then she moved my face down over the slickness of her pantyhose until my mouth was directly over that small oval of cotton which by now was soaking wet and the she pressed down hard, pressing my face into her cunt and began to buck her hips up into my face, almost breaking my nose and crying out "yes, yes, yes, oh god, yes…" I couldn't take it anymore and I lowered my crotch , pressing her knees down until I was sitting on them where I exploded a huge splash of cum into my shorts. After I had stopped shivering and she had stopped quivering we lay still, my face still buried in her nylon covered pussy. I could feel how slick and slippery her panty hose had become, soaked as they were with her cunt juice and I smelled what has always been my favorite perfume— wet pussy—and I felt the little shakes of pleasure against my cheek that she gave as her orgasm slowly ebbed away and left her satisfied and with a delicious smile on her face. Eventually we moved and I climbed off her knees and sat on the couch and she sat up and put her feet on the floor, though she didn't pull her skirt down. "Look at me, " she said, I'm soaking wet." That was the best massage I've ever had, but now I have to go change my pantyhose and panties—we don't want anyone to notice anything , now do we?" I didn't want to see her go—I wanted her to stay where she was with her skirt up around her waist and a big wet stain over her cunt and a silly , happy, sleepy, contented grin on her face and a lustful light in her eyes—but I could see her point. It wouldn't do to have my parents arrive and find us like this. She disappeared up the stairs and I went to the downstairs bath room to try and clean up a bit. I didn't want to wash the smell of pussy juice off my face but I figured I had to. Laura didn't come back down until my parents rang the bell to take me home. But that's not the end of the story. During the week I went to a pharmacy in Birmingham and bought a pair of black pantyhose in what I guessed was Laura's size. They came in one of those silver plastic eggs, and I carefully removed the egg from the cardboard holder, took out the tights, and with tiny sewing scissors, cut out the oval of cotton in the crotch. Then I put the pantyhose back in the egg, put the egg back in the cardboard holder, and put it in my school bag. The next Wednesday when I went to the Vaughn's house, Laura wasn't there. She had left a note though, which said, "Scott, I have to work late today. I won't be home before you leave." And sure enough she didn't come back before my parents picked me up. I desperately wanted to see her, however that gave me a chance to do what I wanted to do . I went upstairs to her bedroom, went in , and walked over to her dresser. I opened the top drawer, and there they were—half a dozen bras in various colors and materials, about twice as many panties , most of them in a satiny light blue, though there were one or two old-fashioned white cotton pair and a lacy black thong kind of thing. It made m jealous to think of her wearing that for anyone—not jealous of her, but jealous of anybody else who knew she was wearing it. How could I be jealous of her? I was in love with her – you know how a young man can become infatuated with an older woman. And then I saw what I was looking for. Stockings and panty hose—several styles and colors. I almost took one and put it in my pocket—a light tan sheer-to-waist pair—but I didn't want to do anything to make her mad at me. (From experience I've learned that she probably would have been flattered if I had stolen it.) I took the silver egg and nestled it on top of the pile of heavenly objects. Several weeks went by and Laura was always out when I was there. I understood that she was avoiding me, but I wasn't sure why. Did it mean that she didn't want to see me? Did it mean that she wanted to see me too much?. I was pretty sure it wasn't because she was mad at me or too embarrassed. But I just didn't know. Then, on e week she was there—but so was her husband. I spent the afternoon playing chess with Paul. Laura was in and out of the living room, but she never gave any sign that anything had ever happened between us. I was pretty miserable during the day, thinking about Laura. I still did all the making out that I could at school, but when I was feeling up some girl I was imagining it to be Laura. Every night I masturbated to the imagined smell of her wet pussy. The Vaughn's were leaving England. Now I would never have a chance to tell Laura how much I loved her. How much I wanted to fuck her. At my age I couldn't see any difference between the two. I couldn't think beyond the fact that we should be together somehow. Pure fantasy. I deeply regretted the fact that I hadn't actually got into her panties, I hadn't actually touched her cunt, and I hadn't actually put my dick in her. I hadn't even fondled her tits. I hadn't even really eaten her pussy—she just pressed my face against her cunt as she was cumming. Oh well, that provided unlimited masturbatory fantasies. My parents invited them over for dinner a few nights before they were to leave. I was in state of sexual excitement all day—by now I knew that Laura and I would never be together, but I was still happy to know that I would be seeing her and I could refresh my image of her for masturbation purposes. They arrived and I kept out of the way, more or less , though I observed Laura very closely. She was wearing a light blue sweater and a dark blue skirt that came about midway down her legs—not much to look at really , though I already had a good idea of what her legs looked like. Black stockings—pantyhose?—and black high heels. Even higher than the white ones she had had on the day we had our little encounter. They made her feet look delicious and gave an extra lift to her slightly heavy ass that made her a gorgeous thing when she walked. After dinner when everyone was sitting at the table finishing their coffee and dessert Laura said, "Oh, I almost forgot—we brought a couple of boxes of books that you guys might want. They're out in the back seat. Scott, could you come out and help me carry them in?" I thought if I said anything I would sound like a frog croaking, so I simply nodded and stood up. We went out the door, a few yards down the drove, and as we got out of earshot of the others she said, "Thank you for the gift, Scott. That means a lot to me. And I have a gift for you too." I expected her to hand me something – a pair of pantyhose or something like that. But no. Laura's Pantyhose When we reached the car , she opened the door and sat on the seat with her feet on the ground. She pulled her skirt all the way up, exposing her long luscious legs in black panty hose—pantyhose that had a tiny oval of cotton cut out. She didn't expose just her legs to me – she exposed her pussy lips. The light was dim, but I could see that they were dark red and surrounded by a fringe of curly dark brown hair. "Kneel down, quick!," she whispered urgently. I did as I was told.. She again took my face in her hands and guided me towards her cunt. More gently this time she pushed my face into her crotch and I got the full scent of a woman's hot cunt. And taste, because she whispered "lick me!". For about 15 seconds I was in heaven, pushing my tongue into her most intimate place, tasting directly for the first time the sweet nectar of a woman's cunt. She gently pushed my head away and said "thank you," in a sincere voice. Then she said in a normal voice, "The books are in these two boxes." We picked up the boxes and walked back to the house. All the way I was struggling to fix the scent and taste of Laura's pussy in my mind forever and trying not to cream in my shorts again. And that is pretty much the end of the story. My little interlude with Laura gave me many nights of masturbatory pleasure. A second more lasting effect (probably because it was my first real sexual encounter with an older woman) was that it made me a lover of pantyhose and stockings and made me prefer to go down on a woman rather than have hr go down on me. I'm not a fetishist—I don't have to have pantyhose to get off— and I certainly don't object to having a woman suck my cock. But given the choice, I'd rather kneel down in front of a woman, push her skirt up,, caress her nylon-covered legs and poke my tongue into her cunt than just about anything else.