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It was 1959 and I was eighteen years old. My mother and father had died over a year ago in a car crash and after spending six months in a foster home my Aunty Jean had taken me in as her ward.
Aunty Jean was forty-five and quite an attractive woman for her age. Her body was a little on the large side but she had large creamy breasts and stunning legs for a woman her age. She worked in an office in the city and her work attire usually consisted of skirt, blouse, heels and hosiery; she dressed sophisticatedly and wore lots of makeup and perfume.
She preferred tight pencil skirts; the hem resting just above her knees, and tight satin or silk blouses. She always wore hosiery and I was occasionally rewarded with a glimpse of stocking-top or welt as it is correctly known. She wore either taupe or grey nylons and, although they had recently gone out of fashion, she preferred fully-fashioned stockings with a back-seam. She also favoured high-heels; either strappy sandals or open-toe pumps.
Aunty Jean’s makeup was always perfect: lashings of black eyeliner, mascara and multi-hued eyeshadow set off her sparkling hazel eyes. Her cheeks were rouged to enhance her high cheek-bones and she wore ruby-red lipstick on her full sensuous lips. She painted her fingernails and toenails with nailpolish to match the colour of her lipstick. Her pretty face was framed by a jet-black bob, which some of her friends jealously insisted was dyed. She wore exotic perfume which seemed to envelop her in a cloud wherever she went.
She stood five-foot six-inches tall in her heels and was voluptuous rather than fat.
To me she was stunning.
My mother had worn dowdy shapeless house-dresses, flat shoes and only wore hosiery when going out somewhere special or to church. To my mind, Aunty Jean was very exotic and sensual and I was fascinated by her. She seemed a little aloof and I had overheard her say to a friend that she didn’t really want me staying with her but she felt obliged to help me as I was her sister’s son. It was no secret that once I had finished college she expected me to move out.
Aunty preferred it if I kept to myself and not get under her feet. We saw each other at meals and I was allowed to watch one hour’s television with her on weeknights. On weekends I sometimes accompanied her to church or to a friend’s house for tea. I had a small room upstairs at the back of the house where I spent most of my time studying or reading books. I didn’t have many friends at my new college but I had always been a loner anyway.
Being an eighteen-year-old boy my hormones were seething and my thoughts constantly drifted to sex and I had a semi-permanent erection. My favourite pastime was masturbation and whilst exploring my aunt’s house I had discovered a cache of fashion magazines. The lingerie section of the magazines contained glossy pictures of attractive mature women posing in underwear and they provided me with visual stimuli during my masturbatory sessions.
I would take a magazine from the stack that my aunt kept in a drawer in her bedroom, and once I had exhausted my masturbatory fantasies over the models in that particular edition, I would exchange it for another. It was during this period that I discovered the delights of the laundry basket in the bathroom I shared with Aunty Jean.
During what I refer to as my indoctrination period Aunty Jean explained to me the ‘house-rules’; that is, the rules that I would be required to obey during my stay with her. She explained to me that I was to fold my clothes at the end of the day and place them in the laundry basket each evening prior to retiring. Twice-weekly she would wash and iron our clothes and leave my freshly laundered clothing folded at the foot of my bed.
One evening, not long after I started borrowing my Aunt’s fashion magazines, I was placing my dirty college uniform in the laundry basket when an item sitting on the top of the other soiled clothing caught my attention. It was a pair of black silk panties. I had seen pictures of ladies modelling panties like these in my aunt’s fashion magazines and found them fascinating. I carefully lifted the garment out of the laundry basket and was immediately captivated by the sumptuous feel of the flimsy garment. The delicate material was luxurious; soft and cool to touch, and so transparent that I could see my fingers through the dark silk.
I held up the panties and scrutinised them. The panties were full-cut, the back and front panels delicately sewn together at the sides, which were quite wide, and the gusset was reinforced with a second layer of the dark silken material. A tiny patch of white crust, which I guessed was my Auntie’s vaginal discharge, clung to the gusset.
I lifted the panties to my face and inhaled; traces of my Aunt’s exotic perfume, combined with the underlying scent of her sex, invaded my nostrils. I rubbed the garment across my cheek and I felt an erection begin to grow in my shorts. I freed my turgid casino şirketleri member from the confines of my shorts and draped the garment over my shaft and felt the most wondrous sensations flow through my body as the cool silk slid along my shaft and the bulbous glans of my penis. After a few strokes I climaxed, shooting streams of hot ejaculate over the bathroom floor.
I became light-headed with the intensity of my orgasm and I almost passed out. When I recovered from my climax I was horrified to discover that a few tendrils of my semen had soaked into the black silken panties. I did my best to blot up the incriminating fluid before it could dry and then carefully returned them back to the laundry basket, trying to position them just how I had found them. I cleaned up the bathroom floor and vowed never again to commit such a foolish act.
Of course I was making promises that I could not keep; my natural teenage curiosity and constant state of sexual arousal constantly led me back to the laundry basket to discover what silken delights lay therein. I was very careful to return the objects of my obsession exactly as I found them and also tried my hardest to keep my seminal fluids from staining the delicate garments when I used them to stimulate me during masturbation.
The next turn of events occurred one evening when I went to take a shower. As I pulled back the shower-curtain and stepped into the bath one of Auntie’s stockings fluttered down from where it was hanging on the curtain-rail to dry and alighted on my naked body. I shuddered with delight as the slinky nylon slid across my sensitive skin. Cautiously I removed the stocking from my body and examined the delicate piece of hosiery.
The long garment was cut to the shape of the leg it was designed to encase and sewn together with a back-seam. The toe and heel sections of the stocking were reinforced with darker nylon. The majority of the stocking was made of flesh-toned sheer nylon with a darker two-inch band near the top, which I had leaned from the fashion magazines was called a ‘shadow welt’ and above that was the larger reinforced stocking-top, called the welt. This band of reinforced nylon at the top of the stocking was constructed of doubled over nylon with a ‘keyhole’ near the base of the welt. In antique script the word ‘Aristoc’ was printed on the dark nylon welt.
The appearance and texture of the garment was fascinating; I rubbed it against my cheek and, as expected, my member began to thicken. I rubbed the gossamer hosiery over my body until ultimately I slid it over my now fully erect penis. I shuddered with excitement and stroked my erection, now sheathed in the diaphanous stocking, and with my other hand I caressed my scrotum which I had encased in the remainder of the stocking.
Needless to say that in a few seconds a ball of white semen formed in the material of the stocking as I ejaculated into it. After a few seconds of absolute terror when I realised that I had just soiled my Aunt’s stocking with my ejaculate and had probably put a ladder in it too, I stopped panicking and closely inspected the stocking and discovered that other than slightly distending the nylon where I had stretched it over my penis it was not damaged. I carefully rinsed the garment and patted it dry with my towel and hung it up next to its companion.
I scrutinised the stockings hanging on the curtain rail with a critical eye and could not distinguish any dissimilarity between them. I breathed a sigh of relief and made a vow then and there that I would never be so foolish again. I kept the vow for three whole days.
I was becoming acutely aware that my fascination with my Auntie’s lingerie was filling most of my waking hours. At college I daydreamed of mature women dressed in sensuous lingerie and often made excuses to visit the boys-room so I could relieve myself.
At home I would lie on the carpet pretending to watch television whilst peeking at Aunt Jean’s legs. I particularly liked it when she wore her open-toe high-heels and I could look at her red-painted toenail encased in the dark reinforced toe of her stocking or when she kicked off her heels and the aroma of her feet drifted across to my nostrils. I would stare at her hosiery clad legs, following the shape of her legs from her toes up to just above her knees where her magnificent gams disappeared under the hem of her skirt.
Sometimes she would bend down and run her hands along her legs to remove the wrinkles from her stockings and straighten the seams, and my cock would pulse as I pressed it firmly into the carpet.
She once fell asleep curled up on the lounge and her skirt rode up so that I could see the welts of her stockings framed by the edge of her navy-blue skirt. She stirred and a glimpse of her creamy white thighs and the lacy hem of her satin slip came into view. Unconsciously she reached down to pull down the hem of her skirt but in doing so I was rewarded with a peek of nearly transparent casino firmaları white nylon knicker crotch; her dark pubic hair curled against the translucent gusset of her panty.
I raced upstairs and relieved myself while the image was still fresh in my mind.
It was the weekend, and as usual on Sunday morning, my Aunt Jean went to church. She didn’t insist that I attend church with her, although she did invite me to accompany her, more out of courtesy than any particular desire for my company. I politely declined and retired to my room after breakfast.
As soon as I heard Aunty Jean leave the house I stripped off my clothes and lay on my bed; I slipped my hand under the mattress and extracted the well-thumbed copy of one of my Aunt’s fashion mags and opened it to the lingerie section. I slowly improved my growing erection as I stared with fascination at the photographs of the mature women modelling the lingerie.
Images of the heavily made-up and elegantly coiffured women wearing pointy cupped brassieres, satin basques, bustieres, nylon stockings clipped to lacy suspender belts, and satin slips, fuelled my masturbatory fantasies as I whiled away the time. I knew that my Aunt would be gone for at least three hours and I was in no rush to climax.
After nearly half an hour of desultory stroking I needed to urinate and I put the magazine aside and walked naked to the bathroom; my slowly deflating erection leading the way. As I urinated into the toilet bowl my curiosity was peaked by an item of clothing in the laundry basket. A pair of nearly transparent knickers was hanging over the edge of the basket. I flicked the last drips of my urine into the bowl and walked over to the basket.
The flimsy white panties looked exactly like the ones I had seen under my Aunt’s skirt a couple of evenings ago. I did some mental math and figured out that it was probably the same pair, as she was not due to wash our laundry until this afternoon; and the last washday had been the day before I was rewarded with the panty-peek.
With trembling hands I removed the garment from the wash-basket and put them to my nose. The scent of my Aunt’s perfume and vaginal juices assaulted my nasal passages and my cock sprang to attention. I recalled my vows to stop playing with my Aunt’s intimates but the temptation was just too much. I looked into the hamper and saw a black satin suspender belt trimmed with red lace, and I carefully removed it, noting its position in the hamper so that I knew where to put it back from where I found it.
Sure enough, two pairs of fully-fashioned stockings hung over the shower-curtain rail to dry. I carefully removed a pair of smoky-grey stockings and added them to my illicit cache. I padded back to my bedroom; my heart thundering in my chest.
I opened the magazine to a page which showed a picture of a woman modelling panties, hose and suspenders and propped it on the pillow. Then I lay the panties out in the middle of the bed and arranged the garter-belt above the panties and threaded the garter-straps through the leg-holes. I carefully clipped the stocking welts to the clips at the bottom of the garter-straps, straightened out the stockings, and admired my handiwork. I had arranged the lingerie on the bed exactly as it was worn by the model in the magazine.
I carefully climbed onto the bed and knelt over the lingerie until my cock was positioned over the front panel of the panties and I slowly lowered my body. I sank down until I was lying on the bed with my cock against the material of the panties and my legs against the material of the nylons.
It felt magnificent; the translucent nylon panties caressed my cock whilst the sheer nylons slid against my legs. I slowly humped the bed whilst alternatively looking at the pictures in the magazine and conjuring up the image of my Auntie’s panty-covered pubis. Whilst this arrangement was satisfactory for a while, my insistent humping soon moved the panties and hose away from my body and I was no longer experiencing the desired effect.
Frustrated with my efforts I decided that the only way I was going to get satisfaction would be to masturbate directly into the lingerie.
Throwing caution to the wind I lay on my bed with my erection pointing up at the ceiling. I slid one of Auntie’s stockings over my cock and lifted her panties to my face. I slowly stroked my penis, exhilarated by the feel of the silky nylon against my cock whilst inhaling the scent of perfume and vaginal discharge that clung to the panties.
I tried turning over so that I could look at the pictures in the magazine while I masturbated put this proved impossible, so I sat on the edge of the bed with Auntie’s stocking wrapped around my cock and her panties over my head so that I could sniff and lick at the crotch and still look at the magazine through the leg-holes of the panties.
I was oblivious to the world as my body reacted to the sensual feel of Auntie’s intimates against güvenilir casino my cock and face and the taste and smell of her perfume and her sex. I was slowly stroking my penis, trying to delay my orgasm, when the door to my bedroom suddenly flew open and Aunty Jean walked purposely into the room.
I looked up to see her seething with anger; her legs apart and her hands on her hips; her stance representative of her incensed rage.
“You dirty little boy!!!” she hissed.
I nearly jumped out of my skin and my heart flew into my mouth as I ripped her panties from my face and flung them on the bed. I sat there red-faced with embarrassment and shame as my penis slowly deflated inside her stocking.
“I guessed you were responsible for the disgusting stains that I’ve been finding in my underwear; I suppose you are the culprit who’s been stealing my fashion magazines too!” she scalded.
I nodded meekly; my head bowed so that I wouldn’t have to look her in the eye.
“Look at me boy! Answer me!” she demanded.
I looked up and nodded at her submissively. I was acutely aware of my nakedness and of the items of her intimate apparel scattered on my bed and I thought I would die with embarrassment.
I stared at my Aunt standing there tapping her foot in fury; and took in her appearance. She was wearing a navy-blue suit; the hem of her pencil skirt resting just above her knees and the jacket open to reveal a lilac satin blouse. Her legs were as far apart as the skirt would allow, and one foot was placed slightly in front of the other. The hem of her of her skirt was stretched taut just above her knees as she impatiently tapped her foot.
Her legs were encased in taupe nylons which glittered in the morning sun peeking through my bedroom window and her feet were shod in black high-heeled sandals; her painted toenails just perceptible through the dark reinforced toes of her stockings.
Because her hands were placed defiantly on her hips; her jacket was pulled open and the buttons on her satin blouse strained around her heavy breasts; the red lace of her bra peeked through open buttons of her blouse. Her long elegant neck was graced by a gold necklace and she wore gold drop-earrings to match. On her fingers, gold rings set with precious stones drew attention to her long red fingernails.
Auntie’s face was elegantly framed by her black bob. Her eyes glittered with anger, highlighted by her black eyeliner and mascara, and her pink and green eyeshadow. Her rouged cheeks were further reddened with indignation and her ruby-red lipsticked lips were pulled back from her teeth in a sneer.
Despite the mortification I felt at my current predicament, I thought she looked sumptuous.
“I should throw you out into the street you little pervert!’ she snarled and strutted purposely into the room, her heels clacking on the wooden floorboards; a cloud of exotic perfume preceding her.
She stood in front of me seething with rage and then she lashed out and slapped me across the face; the smack echoed across the room; my face stung and my ears began to ring.
“Look at this mess; you’ve ruined a pair of my best sheers and I don’t know if I will ever be able to wear those knickers again; knowing what you’ve been doing with them!”
“You just make me so angry; you ungrateful little wretch!” she said; stopping to take a breath.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my head lowered.
“Sorry! Sorry! You little twerp; I’ll show you sorry.”
With that she my grabbed me by the scalp and pulled me up off the bed; the stocking that had been draped over my now limp penis fluttered down to the floor. Aunty sat down on the edge of the bed and growled.
“Get yourself over my knees young man!”
“If your behaviour does not warrant a good spanking; then I don’t know what does!” she said.
“Aunty; you can’t be serious?” I whined.
“I’m eighteen years old, for God’s sake!”
“Don’t blaspheme in my house you little bastard! You should be ashamed of yourself,” she snapped.
“I take you in because no one else wants you; and this how you reward me. You defile my underwear and steal my magazines!”
“Get yourself over my knees and take your punishment, you naughty boy!”
I now felt not only humiliated; I also felt dejected. My Aunt had always inferred that she was doing me a favour by taking me as her ward, but to say that no one else wanted me! I felt rejected and unloved.
I resigned myself to accepting my punishment; what else could I do?
I lay across my Auntie’s lap feeling vulnerable and shamed. Aunty Jean roughly re-positioned me so that my bottom was where she could effectively spank it; without any hesitation she struck my bare buttocks with the palm of her hand. The slap echoed through the tiny bedroom and I cried out in pain.
My buttocks burned and I could feel them redden.
“This is what happens to naughty little boys!” Aunty Jean said and bought her hand back down on my bare buttocks again.
She began to spank me in earnest and my buttocks began to sting as each blow intensified the pain. I wriggled in her lap; trying to move my buttocks away from her hand before she could strike me again.
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