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Back at work in the new year, I was missing Sophia’s horny body. A sight for sore eyes amongst the chaotic views of site work.

She turned up all overalls and paint rags one lunchtime at the end of the first week. I was mortified when she took her bag of used nylons away with her. I had missed her naughty little body and her cheeky ways but to have a little clandestine rummage in that bag now and again and marvel at the weave and the soft comforting texture as I slid my hand until the toes of her hose was a small perverse consolation gone.

Then a week later she appeared again. She was wearing a black puffa jacket with blue cut off denim shorts and opaque black pantyhose that disappeared into bright floral Wellington boots and her hair was hanging loose. Her hands were on her hips and she was playing bossy and making fun of the disorder in the mess room no longer under her strict auspice.

“Keep your ears open for a place I’ve got to get out of mine at the end of the month, the owners are returning,” she informed us biting her bottom lip as she often did as her dark eyes darted in their sockets as was customary with her when she was cooking something up.

I was busy fantasising over the details of the panties that she might have chosen to wear that morning, oh so many exciting possibilities. I longed to sample the embryonic aromas that would be gathering in her soft cotton panty gusset and those developing between her toes sweltering in her hose and rubber boots. I longed to give her and her personal possessions a place to stay.

The lounge at my place was vacant and could easily function both as Sophia’s bolt hole and a panty pervert’s private playroom when she was out of doors, it was just lacking the magic of a woman’s silky touch.

“Lounge at my place is available if you need it, sweetheart,” I informed her and I imagined my clothes drying rack heaving under the weight of a myriad of frothy panties and diaphanous stockings and pantyhose.

“Really mate, do you mean it,” responded Sophia enthusiastically and was thinking, “He’s after my toe sweat, I knew it. I’ll give him a great deal more than he’s bargained for. Ten to one if he likes toe sweat he won’t turn his nose up at a creamy, crusty gusset or two. A creamy gusset gag to the tongue, some saucy soiled little thong fitted neatly over his nostrils while the application of a fresh sticky wet gusset wrapped around his shaft would render him helpless, willing to do anything I might request.”

“If you want to, come and take a look, you can, whenever you like,” I responded with calculated nonchalance, to appear indifferent and not betray my chronic desire to have my nose buried in her stinky stockings and her silky, soiled and discarded panties wrapped tightly around my shaft.

It was pissing down with rain when Sophia came around to view my place that evening. I opened the front door for her and followed her legs from her floral Wellingtons to the top of her thighs where they disappeared into her denim shorts. “Oh my this could work out just cosy,” I thought as I imagined my nose investigating the aroma of the gusset and toes of her soft opaque black nylon hose. How I longed to be staring at her arse and locating my nose between her buttocks dressed in some full-cut lacy panties beneath her scented elastic hosiery.

Things got off to a wonderful start. Sophia came inside and supporting herself against the hall wall she respectfully pulled off a dripping Wellington boot to reveal a tired old baggy, creased and snagged, nude nylon ankle sock hanging from her heel which she tugged from her toes and dumped inside her boot.

“Hang onto that for a mo’,” she requested passing the boot to me. She was thinking to herself, “It may be the first time I offer you my clothing but it certainly won’t be the last, if I have my way. I like a man with a feminine side and I love the idea of him sniffing through my bits and bobs, better still if he wants to wear it. I hope there is room for me up there, I can’t wait to tease him and bait him with my naughty knickers.”

My eyes came to rest on her neat paired nyloned feet before Sophia broke my fascination as she collected the first boot from my grasp and holding the pair she asked,

“Okay if I warm them up by the radiator?” Sophia requested.

We entered the back of the house and Sophia found the radiator and stood her Wellingtons upon it. I made us a cup of tea and despite having prepared tea for her at work many times before I had to ask her how she liked it.

“Two lumps and a good squirt of milk, please,” she responded.

“You’re a dirty little cow you, aren’t you,” I thought and I saw her lying beneath me with her powerful stocking-shrouded legs wrapped around my waist dragging me and controlling my thrusting as my burgeoned shaft slid two and fro between the cleavage of her own two generous lumps. She would routinely gather her saliva and spit on my bell-end and alternately hang her tongue from her open mouth as she encouraged me to squirt my creamy canlı bahis milk into that gaping hungry orifice.

We took our tea to the front of the house, identifying my bedroom adjoining the lounge on the way.

“There are beds in the loft you can use, I informed her, and there’s loads of cupboard space for all your stuff, I just need to move some stuff a bit”

“It’s a lovely room, really cosy, I would love to stay here. What do I have to do?”

The lecherous, salivating, panty grovelling, foot sniffer was at it again thinking about how she might pay with her perspiration. “Let’s go in there and finish our tea,” I said and I led her back to the kitchen and we sat down facing one another.

Maybe it was her way of striking a favourable negotiation, placing her stocking heels on her seat. She was wriggling her delicious little toes with crimson red toenails just visible behind her black pantyhose merely inches from my cock. The rent money was just a token that I hardly needed. I named a price thinking that if I’d allowed her a free stay she might have suspected I had a perverse ulterior motive.

“Rentable value is four hundred quid, you can pay half that,” I said. When she did not immediately respond then just to clinch the deal, to secure a much-needed nylon negotiation I put some icing on the cake when I announced, “You can stay for free for a provisional month and pay after that if you decide to stay until you find a more permanent home.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Sophia proposed and we chinked our teacups together to affirm the deal.

“End of the month is a weekend, move in then if you want?” I told her.

“Perfect. I must use your loo,” she called.

She disappeared through the toilet door and I heard the door bolt slide and soon I could hear the loud echo of her piddle squirting into the pan. I stood up as though in automated slow motion and reached into first one floral Wellington and then the other and brought the tired old baggy, creased and snagged, nude nylon ankle socks to my nose and dragged pungent air deeply through my nostrils filling my chest. Her pea was shooting curiously in spasms into the pan and whilst that sound continued I helped myself to repeated snorts of the heavily castigated socks. She seemed to be peeing for an eternity but eventually, her squirting subsided and I shoved the nylons back into her boots and staggered backwards, knees buckling into my chair, momentarily stoned by the potent fermented musk of her feminine foot fragrance and the terror of being found out. I forced my rigid shaft down the leg of my pants.

Sophia was sitting on the pan when she noticed my shadow pass across the frosted glass of the toilet door whilst she mused. “I think I know what he’s up to, couldn’t resist, could he. I wish he knew that those stinky little socklettes are in fact my sisters that I borrowed from her jogging shoes last time I was around hers.” She wanted to laugh out loud and began to chew her lower lip to muffle a giggle. It occurred to her that by now she was delivering urine to the pan spasmodically as she tried to keep a grip on her chortling and when she thought she could hide her amusement no more she lifted the lid from the laundry basket and took a ‘t’ shirt and held it tightly to her mouth.

“Not a good idea,” she thought as she began to become delirious with man smell in the arm-pit of the shirt. She looked down into the silky pink panties around her ankles and noticed the creamy coloured skid she had deposited in the gusset.

Sophia was leaning forward and peeling her pantyhose from her toes in order to get her knickers off.

“I don’t suppose he’ll mind me moving some of my stuff in here prior to my arrival,” she chuckled to herself and with that, she slipped the pink nylon bikini panties from her toes and lifted the laundry basket lid. She pulled out some of the contents of the basket and then spotting a pair of underpants she hid her soiled panties within them, dumped the other laundry back on top and replaced the lid. “I’m a naughty girl and I deserve a good spanking,” she decided.

“I wish I could see his face when he finds those little dainties,” she mused as she wiped her cunny, replaced her pantyhose and stood to wash her hands.

Finally, Sophia drew the bolt on the door and appeared from the toilet looking rather amused. I watched as she slipped on her threadbare, tortured socks and pointed her toes to fit into her Wellingtons. She seemed to be making quite a meal of putting them back on, lifting and pointing her toes and smoothing the anklets above her opaque black hose.

“Stay in touch,” I said and she kissed me on the cheek.

Then she was gone leaving the flat tinged with the aroma of her perfume.

Back at work, the following week was rather tiresome and dull. The two remaining decorators Ned and Barney and I were weary of snagging and cleaning but we persevered knowing that the client was moving into their property at the weekend.

Sophia had originally been recommended to help bahis siteleri out on site as a friend of Ned and Barney and I ended up having a couple of pints with them on Friday evening after the job had been signed, sealed and delivered. Ned was telling me about when he’d seen Sophia at the decorator’s merchants and how she had the store guy twisting around her little finger.

“She may be small but she knows how to use it,” said Ned.

“Very capable, knows how to look after herself,” said Barney and started chortling.

“Did you hear about the fireman who was inaugurated twice?” Ned asked me with a broad smile written across his face.

I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about and I said so.

Barney continued, “She was working up in London at some canalside gallery with two of her women decorator friends and there was this older geezer, a fireman working there between shifts at the station. When he wasn’t condescending and rubbishing their work he was being sexist and at times just plain lewd.”

Ned continued the story with some difficulty as he was now highly amused and chortling. “One night the girls had to paint the ceilings and had the wheeled platform staging to get them up there. The fireman was at it again ogling the women as they ascended the staging and going on about giving the Missus one over the trestle. Generally being overtly macho.”

Barney interjected, “He was painting the wall in front of him when the girls just happened to routinely wheel the platform staging behind him trapping him against the wall and it seems he ended up secured hand and foot to the end of the tubular staging with cable clips.”

Ned continued, “They rolled him and the staging up to the doorway, visible to anyone that peered through the glass and then they rang the fire brigade and fucked off home.”

“So how come he was the fireman who was inaugurated twice then?” I asked.

“Well when he first joined the brigade he’d been tied to a bed frame at the station and had his balls tarred, so that was the first time, it was something that he had thought worth sharing with the women during one tea break, Ned added. And the second time…”

“Was when the fire brigade cut the lock off the gallery door and discovered their colleague,” Barny interrupted gleefully.

“He was wearing a pale violet pair of frilly nylon knickers above his paper overall, Ned chirped, and not only that but he was staring pitifully through a pair of pantyhose that adorned his head. He was gagged and grunting and his head secured to the staging by the legs of the hosiery.”

Barny laughed heartily and added, “There was a bespoke and beautifully calligraphic sign hanging around his neck, a speciality of one of the women which read, ‘I Know Best’. My brother knows a member of the brigade who turned up there to answer the call, apparently, the silly get had another two pairs of knickers stuffed in his gob. The picture’s up there on social media somewhere for all to see.”

“Anyway, that was his second inauguration and he didn’t bother to show up again after that, job done, don’t mess with Sophia,” said Ned now unable to contain his raucous laughter.

I certainly wouldn’t want to be discovered by a bunch of guys but if Sophia and her mates had had me in the same predicament they could have dragged a stiff dick out of my overalls and used it as a clothes peg and hung their knickers from it. I couldn’t get Sophia out of my head after they told me that story and I was longing to be her victim and bound and gagged and pantied up.

The following day, Saturday, I had planned to do some housework. Clean up before Sophia arrived the following day and do my washing so everything would be tickety-boo for her arrival. Between the boring chores, I had to do I smoked some nice marijuana I had scored during the week and finally near bedtime all was spick and span. Sophia’s room was expecting her, her bed and pillows ready for her linen and numerous cupboards and drawers emptied and cleared for the plethora of gear that a woman usually brings in tow.

All that was left to do was to do my washing. I collected the laundry basket from the bathroom and shoved the entire contents indiscriminately into the machine when something pink and unidentifiable caught my eye as I was closing the door. I pulled the garment carefully from the machine and in disbelief saw that it was a skimpy pair of scanties that I realised could only belong to Sophia. I laid the gusset across my palm and was quite literally overwhelmed to see a creamy pale yellow snail-trail glaring at me.

The priority was to hold it to my nostrils and moreover touch the secretion with the tip of my tongue. I resisted and instead unfolded the garment and arranged it between my hands to see the naughty knickers in their full glory. They were minuscule and of transparent pink nylon mesh. Two ‘v’ shaped panels joined by a slender waist string of elastic, at the front sufficient material to hide her pubes and to the back a brand label and just enough bahis şirketleri mesh to land my cock head on in a preamble to shooting up the small of her back. My knees went weak.

I adjusted my spectacles and read the fine writing on the label informing me that they were one hundred per cent polyamide, made in China and confirming that they were size 8. I took hold of the label between my teeth and fled to my bedroom.

I awoke early Sunday morning, thoughts of Sophia’s later arrival firmly in my mind. I reached for her pink panties that I had shoved beneath my pillow the night before. I recollected the unforgettable stoned wank that I had had with them pulled over my head just a sleep ago. The creamy gusset against my mouth and nostrils and how my cock had been painfully fit to burst in response to her stink and tangy taste. The tether, the cut leg of tan pantyhose that I had had away from Sophia’s work’s hose stash, that I had used to cordon off my balls from my shaft had intensified the sensation of my eruption as my spunk fled the last epileptic length of my urethra. I had grunted uncontrollably and begged Sophia’s forgiveness for messing with her frillies. I had imagined her there with me forcing me to sniff her knickers and pulling me off with both of her little hands wrapped tightly around my shaft.

Sure I had had my lungs full of her fragrance the night before as I frantically jerked at my shaft but I had been economical with my licking. Her tacky tush trail still lay intact in the gusset and it was my plan to make the most of it before I must inevitably wash her dainties and place them with my own clothes on the drying rack.

“Oh, I found these I would say to her later on, I think they must be yours,” as I directed her to her pink panties that were drying with my own clothes. “They dropped out of the bundle when I was hanging them to dry.”

“Yer mate, sure. You gave them a biological pre-wash didn’t you? What you think, tasty or what?” Sophia might see fit to ask.

My plan was that I would prop myself up against my pillows and sleeve my cock in the cut tube of Sophia hose, give it all a good helping of lube and then warm myself up as I slurped the trail in Sophia’s pink panty gusset and thoroughly extract all of the darling girl. “They had to be washed, ha, ha, ha, ha” I repeated to myself. Then what better opportunity to open my account decorating her dainties. The gusset to be precise, in all it’s soft downy pink-cotton-ness.

I love the sight of wrinkled nylon around the ankles or behind the knees of a sexy woman, something just sublimely erotic and debauched about it, like the label in a pair of scanties gives me the same feeling. No less seeing Sophia’s wrinkled nylon shrouding my shaft in the goopy lubricant.

“Oh, you fucking dirty girl, you fucking saucy little bitch, fucking leaving your sniffy knickers, you dirty cow,” and finally “ooh, fuck me, fuck you,” as I shot a broad stream of thick gelatinous spunk right across the downy gusset of her knickers. Then I photographed them for posterity and put them to one side to wash after brekky.

I was just wringing Sophia’s hand-washed panties inside a bath towel when the intercom sounded and it was Sophia arriving in good time. I hung her damp panties on the corner of the drying wrack and then opened the door for her.

“I’ll come down and help,” I offered.

“No need it’s sorted, I’m coming up,” she shouted and arrived on the landing. She was wearing the same outfit as before but with her hair now arranged in two buns, or horns, or handles depending upon how you looked at them. She proffered a beautiful happy smile her eyes gleaming with joy and she took up a position on the landing behind the bannister. Soon she was receiving her bags courtesy of who knows what guy who was puffing and panting up the stairs.

It didn’t take long before the load was parked in her room and she handed the bloke a tenner.

“Was that the taxi driver?” I asked incredulously, “They’ll never do ought for me.”

“He said he didn’t mind at all, all part of the job,” and she joined me in the back, smiling like a Cheshire cat and admitted how happy she was to have arrived and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m going to sort my stuff immediately, there isn’t much, get it out of the way, put some washing on and she turned and went to her room.

I slipped off down to the supermarket to get some celebratory nosh and vino and when I came back Sophia was in her bathrobe and the washing machine was running. Sophia stayed in her bathrobe for the rest of the day accessorised by a pair of pink fluffy toe-less slippers. When she later sat down for dinner that night she had added a pair of nude-toned nylon pantyhose and a grey woollen cardigan.

Glancing toward the drying rack now entirely adorned with panties and bras, knee-his and cotton socks, Sophia was thinking how amusing it would be to ask Henry how come her pink panties were still damp when she cleared the drying rack earlier whereas all his clothing was bone dry. She decided not to mention it, for the time being, she was just going to enjoy imagining what she was certain would have occurred, that he would have been unable to resist decorating them for her.

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