Now...

Steven Balfour was sitting at the desk in his bedroom staring intently at the computer screen where an attractive mature woman dressed in a business suit was bent over an office table being fucked by a young man. The man had kicked her heels apart and was holding her down on the desk with her skirt hiked up, her pantyhose ripped and her panties pulled aside while he fucked her. She was struggling to get free, writhing and bucking as the boy fucked her against her will.

The storyline went that a son was violating his mother. But they were really only actors in a porn video and he knew that it would soon be spoiled for him when the woman suddenly began to enjoy what was happening to her and let her son undress her and then she would give herself willingly to him.

He wanted to come before that happened. He loved that the mature woman was tastefully dressed and that her 'son' was fucking her while she was fully clothed. He loved the silky sheer pantyhose she was wearing and that her satin knickers had been pulled aside and not removed. Most of all he loved the expression of surprise and indignation that the 'mother' had on her face as her 'son' held her down and ravaged her.

Steven had the leg of a pair of his auntie's pantyhose over his cock and a pair of her soiled panties over his face. He looked quite ridiculous with the crotch of the panties on his nose and his eyes looking through the leg holes but he didn't care. He couldn't see himself and even if he could, the tang of his aunt's vaginal secretions and the silky feel of her pantyhose on his rampant phallus were all that he cared about.

Steven was usually very careful, double-checking that the door was locked before he rummaged in his stash of hosiery and lingerie to find suitable items to masturbate with while he watched pornography on the computer or just lay on the bed stroking himself, thinking about either his aunt or Miz Abigail Thompson, the next door neighbour.

But today he hadn't locked the door. He was in too much of a rush. His Aunt Beatrice had tortured him all evening.

She hadn't physically tortured him of course, but it had come close to that in Steven's opinion.

Beatrice knew what she was doing that evening. She'd had a lot to drink but that was no excuse. She was still dressed in the clothes she had worn to a meeting with her investment banker. A navy blue business suit, the skirt of which she'd had tailored so that the hem sat mid-thigh, a sheer nylon pink blouse, flesh-toned fifteen-denier sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, red full-cut satin panties and matching bra and a pair of shiny black Jimmy Choo high heels.

She'd turned heads in the streets and in the bank and when her investment banker took her to a late lunch she'd let him feel her up. She teased him during lunch by opening the top two buttons of her blouse and letting her skirt hike up while she sat at the table. He'd fondled her buttocks and tried to kiss her in the lift but she turned her head away from him. She did let him squeeze and stroke her bum and caress her tits, she even gave his cock a quick squeeze through his trousers but she pushed him away just before the lift arrived at the ground floor.

Beatrice had drunk nearly a full bottle of champagne at lunch and was more that a little tipsy when she climbed into the taxi to go home, she gave the driver a panty-flash getting in and out of the car and talked incessantly all the way.

She was randy and feeling quite naughty when she got home and after tormenting the banker and the taxi driver she was up for some serious teasing and Steven Balfour was the obvious victim.

She kept drinking and made Steven sit next to her on the couch on the pretext of telling her how his day had been. She kicked off one heel and rubbed her toes.

"Be a love and rub auntie's toes for me please Stevie," Beatrice thrust her nylon-clad foot into the boy's lap.

Steven was already enamoured by the scent of his aunt's perfume and now the delectable fragrance of her foot joined the heady miasma. He nervously touched her silken-sheathed foot and began to stoke it, the bright-red nailpolish on her toes visible through the dark gauzy reinforced toe of the stocking.

Steven was hard and leaking precum into his underwear, he was glad that he was wearing baggy trousers that hid his erection.

"Mm that's lovely, squeeze them a little harder honey, give my feet a good massaging, there's a good boy," she lay back on the lounge and lifted up her other foot.

"Come on Stevie, take off my shoe and rub both my feet," Beatrice wriggled her feet in Steven's lap.

She sucked on her scotch and soda, amused by her nephew's nervousness and excitement.

Steven slowly took off Beatrice's other high heel and stroked her feet, the silky nylon's caress against her warm skin felt so wonderful. Beatrice sighed and pretended to close her eyes but she watched with growing delight the look of wonderment on her nephew's face as he played with her feet.

Beatrice's skirt had ridden up, she had taken off her jacket before sitting down and Steven had a perfect view of her red satin panties and her bra through the sheer nylon blouse. He liked his aunt's tits but it was her legs that fascinated him. His eyes roamed up her perfect calves to her heavenly thighs and finally to the red V of her panties covering that glorious place. The sensations of touching her nylon-sheathed feet, looking at her gossamer-clad legs and panty-crotch combined with the scent of her feet and perfume was almost too much. He was scared he was going to come in his underpants.

"Let auntie freshen her drink and take a wee," Beatrice suddenly lifted her legs from his lap and got up from the lounge.

Steven didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed as he watched her walk away, her skirt still riding high on her thighs.

When she came back the torture worsened. She plonked her feet into his lap again and feigned sleep, letting her skirt remain high on her thighs and deliberately opening her legs a little.

Steven nearly did come in his pants this time when he looked up her skirt.

His aunt had taken off her knickers to piss but hadn't put them back on. He could see the outline of her pubis through the gusset of the sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. He could just make out the cleft of her sex and see the little pink lips poking out of her labia majora. Auntie had a shaved fanny.

Steven stroked and caressed her feet while he gazed at her thighs and her cunt. His aunt moved and one of her legs and rubbed on his hard cock through his trousers. It was too much.

Steven pushed Beatrice's legs out of his lap and shot up from the lounge.

"I have to go to bed Aunt Beatrice, I have a big exam tomorrow," Steven lied and almost ran to the stairs.

And so he sat in the darkened room watching the young man fuck the mature women wearing her business suit and imagined it was he and his aunt.

He didn't hear the door open because he had his earbuds plugged into the PC but he became aware of his aunt's perfume just before she pressed against him.

"Shh," she whispered in his ear.

"Don't tell anyone and I wont either," she bit his earlobe and then nuzzled his neck.

He could feel her heavy breasts pushing into his back as she pressed herself against him. When he tried to turn his head she stopped him from doing so.

"Just look at the screen and pretend that it's us," she whispered and this time she put her tongue in his ear.

She reached around him and took his hand off his nylon-sheathed cock and replaced it with her own.

"You've been wanting me to do this for so long haven't you?" she kissed his cheek and began to stroke him.

Steven groaned and his cock erupted in his auntie's hand. He sprayed scalding hot semen all over her fingers as she continued to stoke him, extracting every last drop.

Then she turned his face to hers so he could watch her lick the sticky treat from her fingers.

And then he woke up.

He'd had a nocturnal emission, a wet dream.

The sheets were saturated with his messy sperm. He lay there trying to recall every scintilla of the dream, and his cock, which was becoming soft, immediately became erect again. He reached for the stocking he kept under his pillow and put it over his cock as he recalled every second of the evening's events.

In the room next door, Beatrice buried her head in the pillows to stifle her moans as she had her third orgasm in a row, the vibrator's faint buzzing muffled by the bedclothes.

She was recalling the evening's events too.

Of course she hadn't come into her nephew's room and tossed him off, that part was fantasy. But she had drunkenly teased him until he couldn't stand it any longer. She recalled the heat and girth of his cock pressing against her calf, the laboured breathing and rustling noises as she listened at his bedroom door hearing the sounds of him masturbating. She recalled putting her hand down inside her pantyhose so she could stroke herself as she watched him through the keyhole. Biting her lip to suppress a cry when she came just as he did, spattering his seed into her stockings as he masturbated with them, breathing heavily into her panties draped over his face.

This was becoming too dangerous. Her nephew was nineteen, so technically an adult, but what they were doing was very close to incest. She needed Steven to shift his desire onto another woman. And she had the perfect candidate living right next door.

Then...

Robert Brinkley took on a job working construction in Chelmsford. He never showed up for a single day's work; it was a sham job because the company was owned by an associate of Larry 'The Loop' Connelly. This allowed Robert to go straight back to his old job, being Larry's minder and enforcer.

One of the first things Robert did when he got out prison was to visit a prostitute. He asked her to dress in suspenders, stockings and heels and put on heavy makeup; he tried to make her look as much like Mary Reynolds as possible. Whilst she was a good shag, he thought about Mary the whole time he was fucking her. He even gave her an extra fifty quid so he could take her up the wrong 'un, but it wasn't the same.

Mary put a profile up on transvestite dating site and sure enough Robert made contact with her. Murray reported as much to Barry Pinkerton and they began to finalise their plan. Mary would get close to Robert now that they were outside the nick. She would find out when Larry Connelly's next big shipment was due to roll out of the lockup and Barry and a few of his thugs would steal the lot the night before it was due to be trucked out.

The plan was perfect.

It just wasn't Mary's plan.

She led Robert on, letting Robert come to Murray Reynolds little bedsit, dressing provocatively but refusing to give him more than foreplay and a blowjob.

"People will hear us. These walls are paper thin," Mary complained.

"And you don't want me to come to your place because you don't want your mates to know that you're shagging a tranny," she said petulantly.

Bizarrely, criminals believed it was ok to get blowjobs whilst locked up in prison so long as you only received and didn't pitch, and fucking a prison tranny was almost a badge of honour. But as soon as you got out if you did either of those things you were considered a fag.

"What about we get a hotel?" Robert asked.

"I'll either have to go as Murray and change there, or go as Mary and risk getting clocked. They'll think I'm a Tom because I won't be able to produce any documents that identify me as Mary," Mary said flatly.

Robert turned down his mouth. He hated knowing that underneath the gorgeous creature before him was Murray Reynolds.

"You can come to the lockup!" Robert beamed.

"Tomorrow night. There won't be anyone there, just me keeping guard overnight. Come late and dress sexy for me," Robert beamed.

"It's a date," Mary smiled and leaned in and kissed him.

The next day Mary cleaned everything out of the bedsit. All of it went in a skip except for Mary, soon to be Abigail's, wardrobe and her identity documents. Murray stole a car and parked it one street over from the bedsit and transformed from Murray to Mary for the last time.

"You look stunning love," Robert opened the pedestrian portal cut into the big steel sliding door at the front of the lockup.

Mary had decided to give Robert the farewell shag of his life and had dressed to the nines for him. She was wearing a black leather micro-miniskirt and jacket, a tight lilac satin blouse, sheer tan pantyhose, ridiculously high heels, heavy makeup and lots of jewellery. She reeked of perfume and Robert was hard for her as soon as he saw her.

Robert led her to a dingy office at the back of the cluttered warehouse and Mary took stock of the prestige cars, the stockpiled antique furniture and other expensive booty that was about to be smuggled overseas.

The office was small but at least there was an old couch that they could use as a bed. Mary was carrying a small clutch purse, which she put on a side table before she took off her jacket and pounced on Robert. He leaned back in the lounge while Mary straddled him, kissing him passionately and pressing herself against him. It felt like Mary had real breasts but he guessed correctly that they were breastforms. Mary worked her tongue into Robert's mouth and crushed her lips against his. His hands went under her skirt and massaged her buttocks through layers of satin and nylon.

Mary could feel Robert's hard cock pressing into her through his jeans and she hopped off him and got on her knees on the floor, her head between his legs.

"What are you doing?" Robert smiled at her.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she smiled up at him and slowly unzipped him.

When his cock sprang free of his underwear she gobbled it up, working her lips up and down the shaft, slurping at his phallus as Robert threw back his head and groaned. He put his hands on her head and guided her face up and down on his hard cock while Mary slavered at the pulsing phallus. She put her hand inside her panties and pantyhose and freed her own cock and stroked it to full tumescence.

"Come on honey fuck me! It's been so long," Mary leapt on the couch, kneeling on it and presenting her backside for Robert, who wasted no time stripping off his clothes and moving in behind her.

Her bottom was perfectly presented for him at just the right height for him to mount. He lifted Mary's skirt and gazed at her perfect buttocks clad in red satin panties and shimmering pantyhose. He pulled the panty-gusset aside and her glistening puckered hole looked perfectly inviting. She was obviously well lubricated. He poked a fingernail into the gauzy pantyhose gusset and made a cock-sized hole.

Mary sighed when Robert slid himself inside her all the way. He gripped her hips and ground himself against her and she pushed back against him.

"Fuck me, you fucker!" she growled.

Robert did as he was told, holding her hips tightly he began to work his cock in and out of her tight anus.

Mary moaned and cried with pleasure as Robert teased her with his big cock. He pulled it all of the way out of her and then pushed it all the way in, deliberately pressing his glans on her prostate and grinding it, building the tempo until she cried for release and then he backed off and slowed down preventing both of them from climaxing.

"Fuck me! Fuck me and come in me! Fill me with your spunk!" Mary gyrated her buttocks, urging Robert on.

"Ok honey are you ready?" he leaned in and turned her face to his and kissed her.

She nodded.

Robert spun Mary over so that she was on her back. He wanted to see her pretty face while he fucked her and he wanted to see her come.

He started with long slow strokes and Mary wrapped her nylon-sheathed thighs around his waist and pulled him all the way into her. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him and raked her heels along his flanks.

"Fuck me! Make me come!" she hissed.

Robert increased the speed and power of his strokes. Mary's cock was poking out the front of her panties; it was fully erect; huge, bigger than his even. Globules of precum dripped from the eye and it looked ready to explode, which was just as well because Robert was ready to come.

He jackhammered his cock deep inside Mary and unleashed a torrent of hot semen, filling her anus with his seed. Mary moaned and her cock throbbed and gobbets of semen erupted from the swollen glans. Her semen flew everywhere as Robert continued to fuck her and Mary bucked under him, encouraging him to fuck her harder as the last of his spend dribbled from her sphincter.

Robert fell on top of her, oblivious to the sticky mess, he kissed her and she wrapped her arms around him and held him close to her with her legs. They were both panting and near exhaustion.

Eventually Mary scooted up the couch, having pulled her panties back into place and pulled down her skirt, and Robert lay beside her. They fell asleep in each other's arms.

Robert didn't even feel the sting of the needle as it pierced his flesh. He just went into a deeper sleep.

"Sorry honey," Mary kissed his cheek and then got to work.

It took her three full hours to search the lockup and pile together what she intended to steal. She conservatively estimated that she had about two million pounds worth of cash and jewellery. She put it in a carry bag that already contained the remainder of the cash she had taken from Barry Pinkerton's safe deposit box that afternoon.

There was no turning back now. Two of London's hardest criminals would be looking for Murray Reynolds and would not stop until they found him. Barry might even suspect that Murray would disguise himself as Mary for a while and go looking for her too.

Neither of them would be looking for Abigail Thompson.

Now...

Abigail Thompson had moved into her quaint two-story cottage in the neat little town of Brookhaven in Cornwall about a year ago. Her back-story was that she was a spinster who had got tired of the noise and bustle of London. She'd inherited her family's estate, sold the house and land, made a good chunk of money and could afford to move into her own home. Having no parents or brothers and sisters meant that she didn't have many visitors and as she was new to the area she hadn't made many friends yet.

Not that she needed to use her backstory very often because she kept mostly to herself.

The real story was that Abigail Thompson had risen form the ashes of Mary Reynolds like a phoenix. She had jetted off into Asia after first spreading most of the stolen cash across her new bank accounts and putting the reminder and some of the jewellery into a safe deposit box to which she had the only key.

She took a risk and took some of the jewellery with her and was able to sell it for about fifty percent of its value to a fence in Manila. She stayed in the Makati Diamond Residences for a week before she checked into a reputable hospital and had a nice set of c-cup breasts surgically implanted. She also had some facial reconstructive surgery which further feminised her features but she was careful not to change her face to the extent that her passport would become invalid.

Abigail spent another two months in the Philippines fully recovering from her surgeries before she returned to the UK, bought herself a nice car and drove down to the house she had bought in Brookhaven.

Abigail was happy to be a loner, she made a few friends and had a nodding acquaintance with her next door neighbour, Beatrice McLennan. She was well aware that the people in the small town gossipped about her. Why wouldn't they? An attractive mature single woman buys a house in the small town and moves in unannounced. She keeps mostly to herself but really isn't unsociable; she takes a drink in the local pub now and then and uses the local shops. But isn't there something strange about her?

, Abigail knows that people find her strange and a little different but given time she will just become a local oddity, which is exactly what she wants.

What she also wants is a good shagging now and then. Abigail has a fine new pair of breasts and an extensive, expensive wardrobe full of sexy clothes that she does not mean to keep locked away in this country town. Once a month she makes the six-hour drive to Manchester. She stays in a fine hotel for a few days and goes out clubbing on Canal Street a different man each night back to her hotel. She has no interest in a long-term relationship and intends to stay away from London except for when she needs to conduct business there.

She studies herself critically in the mirror.

She likes her new hairstyle and colour. It's a shoulder-length bob with a fringe that she dyes black to match the colour in her passport but has her hairdresser put in burgundy highlights. Her brows are arched nicely and she has considered wearing contact lenses to disguise her striking green eyes but thinks she looks nothing like Mary Reynolds now so why bother. She certainly look's nothing like Murray.

She is very proficient with makeup, although she does tend to use too much. Not that she cares. She dresses to suit herself and likes being a sexy, feminine woman. Her eyes are heavily lined and mascaraed, burgundy eyeshadow with a splash of purple in the corners, burgundy lipstick too, to pick up the highlights in her hair. Some rouge applied on her high cheekbones, which have been enhanced by a little surgery and she looks good.

She does not own any dowdy clothing such as housedresses or so on. She has one pair of skinny jeans but prefers leggings if she's not wearing a dress or a skirt. She is never barelegged and buys only expensive hosiery. The same goes for her lingerie and night attire. Satin, silk, nylon and lace are the order of the day when it comes to undergarments and intimates.

She owns one pair of Nike trainers, which she wears with lycra leggings and a matching sports top when she goes for her daily run followed by a workout, and one pair of flat shoes which she hardly ever wears. The rest of her footwear is Choo, Louboutin, and Blahnik.

Abigail likes suits with short skirts, form-fitting designer dresses, leather skirts, animal-print blouses and faux furs. She calls her fashion sense 'eighties harlot' and doesn't care what anyone else thinks. She even does her chores in full makeup and heels. She potters in her front garden quite regularly but the backyard had become a bit of jungle which really needs proper attention.

She notices that she and Beatrice McLennan have very much the same taste in clothes, not that they spend any time nattering over the fence. Theirs is more of a nodding acquaintance, especially since that strange young man moved in with her. She's got the gist that he is her nephew but Abigail has an uncomfortable feeling about him. The way he watches his aunt; the way he watches her. She knows that teenage boys are all hardons and sticky sheets, she used to be one for god's sake, but on the rare occasion they meet he seems almost predatory the way his eyes slide over her body and that of his aunt's.

The invite to afternoon tea came as a surprise. Abigail's first reaction is to find some excuse not to go but then she'd have to go out or hide out in her own home and she didn't fancy doing either.

Beatrice McLennan seemed nice enough, they were on nodding terms but they had never had an in-depth conversation so she supposed that it was probably appropriate that being long-term neighbours, they got together for a chat.

Abigail want's to impress her neighbour but is insistent that she is not going to alter her style to please someone else. It might be Sunday afternoon but she refuses to dress like a church lady.

She settled on a black leather skirt, not too short, a leopard skin silk blouse, fully-fashioned black stockings and a pair of Jimmy Choo high-heeled pumps. Her makeup is perfect and she has toned down her jewellery to just a gold watch and bracelet, matching necklace and earrings and a tiny ankle-chain. Abigail sprays herself in a miasma of Shalimar before walking out the door.

"Hello Abigail do come in," Beatrice met Abigail at the door with a beaming red-lipstick smile.

Abigail is pleased to see that Beatrice isn't dressed for church either. Far from it; she's wearing a black chiffon-crepe skirt that is cut rather high on the thigh, a mauve satin blouse that displays her ample breasts to best advantage, silky-sheer tan pantyhose, what appear to be mauve suede Louboutin's and at least as much makeup as Abigail. Her dark hair is styled in ringlets around her attractive face and on closer inspection you could see the professionally coiffed highlights that make her hair look so lustrous.

"Thanks for inviting me," Abigail smiled back.

They held each other at arm length and air-kissed each other's cheeks. The flowery reek of their combined fragrances would linger in the hallway for days.

"You have a lovely house," Abigail commented as Beatrice led her through the house to a small glass-walled conservatory out back.

"Well, when you live alone it's easy to keep it clean," Beatrice smiled.

"I agree with you there," Abigail laughed politely.

A silver tea service was laid out on the glass tabletop of a white cane outdoor setting. Beatrice pulled out a chair for Abigail who tried to sit as primly as possible but still flashed a stocking-top as she smoothed her skirt under her. Beatrice approved of the expensive hosiery worn by her guest, she felt a kinship with this woman already and they had only just met formally.

But there was something about Abigail that intrigued her; something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Her movements were a little too careful, a little exaggerated, almost over-feminine; and that voice. It was so sultry and sexy, deep but musical. Beatrice had a little dalliance with a girlfriend at the Chelmsford Finishing School for Young Ladies in her teens but had since never really found other women sexually attractive but she must admit that Miz Abigail Thompson rang her bell a little.

Beatrice sat down beside Abigail rather than across from her in a gesture of proffered friendship. Her skirt rode up too showing an expanse of thigh sheathed in exorbitantly expensive sheer hosiery, which met with the approval of Abigail.

The women's choice of hosiery also met with the approval of Steven Balfour who was watching them from the garden. Beatrice had banished him from the house while she entertained her guest and he had sulked off into the garden with his bird watching book and binoculars. But the two birds he was watching from a copse of fruit trees had no feathers. Steven was looking at their legs through the glass conservatory with his hands down his trousers. He wished he'd bought one of his 'wanking stockings' outside with him.

Beatrice poured tea and Abigail took up the conversation where they left off.

"You're not really alone though are you? You've had your nephew living with you for quite a while now?" Abigail phrased it as a question.

"Yes, my Sister Alice's boy. She ran away to Australia with a married man half her age," Beatrice took a sip of her tea.

"Lucky for her but unlucky for Steven I suppose; but at least he gets to stay in this wonderful house with you," it was Abigail's turn to sip tea.

"I'll get right to the point. That's one of the reasons I asked you for tea actually," Beatrice put down her cup.

Abigail looked at her inquisitively.

"Look. Steven is a typical nineteen-year-old lad in some ways. He likes to watch football, he plays video games; he's out in the garden bird watching now but he hardly ever goes further than my backyard. He goes to college of course and sometimes the movies but he's not very outdoorsy if you know what I mean," Beatrice placed her hand affectionately on Abigail's forearm.

"He needs to get out. To do something meaningful outside in the fresh air," she squeezed Abigail's arm gently to emphasise her point.

"Ok I get it. But where do I come into it? I'm twice his age and hardly up for a weekend camping," Abigail snickered.

"Oh god no! Nothing like that. I just want him out of the house doing something manly. And your back garden..." she let the statement hang.

"Oh fuck no! Sorry. Didn't mean to swear. I mean, I couldn't have a stranger hacking away in my back garden," Abigail sounded alarmed.

"Oh no. I'm sorry. It was a silly idea," Beatrice blushed, she was angry with herself for being so forward.

Abigail actually felt a little sorry for the woman even though they had only just met. Having to look after a teenage boy who insisted on being cooped up in this house must be very frustrating. And Abigail didn't have to do anything really. Just let the boy clean up her back garden.

"Ok I'll do it but I insist on paying him," Abigail blurted out before she really realised what she was saying.

"Oh you are a wonderful neighbour for doing this for me, especially given we were virtually strangers up until a few minutes ago," Beatrice leaned and kissed Abigail on the cheek.

This time it was no air-kiss and Abigail felt a little uncomfortable.

Steven managed to time his orgasm just as his aunt kissed the neighbour, the two spectacularly dressed women kissing each other was just the wank fodder he needed to fuel his imagination.

Of course in his imagination both women were stripped down to their lingerie, stockings and heels and the neighbour was lying on the table while his aunt lapped at her cunt. That image began to fade as his orgasm subsided; he wiped himself with his handkerchief and put himself away careful not to get any stains on his trousers.

He did so just in time because his aunt opened the door of the conservatory and beckoned him to come inside.

"Oh bollocks to that!" Steven was quite contrary when he was told that he would be spending one hour every afternoon in the next door neighbour's jungle that she called a garden.

"And four hours on Sundays afternoons, other than that your time's your own," Beatrice insisted.

Steven was about to complain again when an idea struck him. He would be able to legally access Miz Thompson's property. If he could get into her house who knew what goodies he might find and he would get to see her up close. He was staring at her legs now through the glass table. They were long and shapely and clad in sexy black stockings, he could just see the dark welt below the hem of her leather skirt and right beside those magnificent pins where his aunt's. Her legs were just as sexy and her crepe skirt had ridden right up and Steven could see those firm thighs sheathed in glistening flesh-toned nylon. He was getting hard again.

"And you'll pay me you say?" Steven changed tack.

"A fair day's pay for a fair day's pay," Abigail beamed at him and Steven just wanted to kiss those bright-red lips.

The presence of the two women, their long legs and heaving breasts on display, the combination of their perfume was making him heady. He wanted to pull up a chair and join them, to ogle them, to bask in their sexuality but he knew that it would be too dangerous. He would say or do something stupid. He was already staring at their legs and their breast and both women had subconsciously or otherwise pulled down the hem of their skirts.

"Ok Aunt Beatrice; done! I'll leave you two lovely ladies to sort out the details," Steven spun on his heels and bolted for the stairs.

His cock had an appointment with his aunt's knickers and stockings.

"Shall we switch?" Beatrice had got up and pointed to a crystal decanter and matching glasses on the sideboard.

Abigail nodded and beamed a congenial smile.

The two women enjoyed each other's company and made a decent effort at knocking off the decanter of scotch. Beatrice treated Abigail to all the gossip she had on the characters in their neat little village.

"It may not look like it, but it's a hotbed of larceny and debauchery," Beatrice chuckled after her fourth glass.

"Not really though, there hasn't been any real scandal since the publican got caught shagging his sister-in-law in the cellar," Beatrice laughed again.

'Oh there would be quite some scandal afoot if they knew about me,' Abigail thought to herself.

"The youngsters must get up to shenanigans though; there has to be a lover's lane?" Abigail held out her glass so that Beatrice could fill it again.

"Oh my god yes! The carpark at Black Tree Bluff is littered with dingers. The kids go up there to shag and there's rumours that there is a married couple who likes to go dogging there too. I found a pair of knickers and a pair of tights hanging off one of the tree branches once," Beatrice roared with laughter.

"Should have bought them home for Steven," Abigail joked.

Beatrice abruptly stopped laughing and studied Abigail soberly.

"What did you mean by that?" Beatrice sounded almost angry.

"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve. I was just joking. You know... the old joke about teenage boys collecting ladies underwear," Abigail realised she'd said something sensitive.

"Look. You're not stupid. You saw how Steven was pawing at us with his eyes, he couldn't stop looking at out legs and tits," Beatrice said.

Abigail nodded, encouraging her to go on.

"Well that's what it's like here all the time. It's unhealthy. And I've found things," Beatrice slurped on her scotch.

"What things?" Abigail leaned in intrigued.

"In his room. Panties, stockings, pantyhose, some lingerie... some of it's mine," Beatrice blushed.

"The randy young bugger!" Abigail burst out laughing.

Beatrice couldn't help but join her.

They hung onto each other laughing so much that they cried; their mascara and eyeliner smudging.

"It's not funny!" Beatrice tried to say seriously but she was cracked up and couldn't stop laughing.

"Look. Every teenage boy has fantasies about older women, and let's face it, both of us are pretty sexy. Can you imagine being surrounded by that twenty-four seven, it's a wonder he's got a dick left and hasn't worn it away," Abigail chortled and they both fell into another uncontrollable laughing jag.

"So that's the sort of friend you are. You're sicking your randy nephew on me so you can get some peace," Abigail said through fits of laughter.

"No seriously Abigail. I want you to work that boy hard and discipline him if he tries anything untoward. I want him to interact with other people, with other women, without seeing them as sex objects," Beatrice dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

"I'll give it my best shot neighbour. Now... have you got any scotch left?" Abigail proffered her glass.

Up in his bedroom, Steven had locked the door and sat in the dark staring at the computer screen, his earbuds firmly in place. He'd Googled 'lady fucks lady in stockings', looking for a couple of hot lingerie-clad lesbians scissoring, but was surprised by some of the search results.

On the screen a gorgeous transvestite wearing a classy wig, full makeup, black satin bra and panties, fully-fashioned stockings and high heels was fucking a real woman dressed very similarly.

The tranny looked gorgeous as did the woman and they were obviously enjoying what they were doing. They were locked at the lips, arms around each other, legs intertwined, their stockings hissing when they rubbed together as the transvestite fucked the woman with a decent sized phallus.

Steven had a silk stocking draped over his cock and held a bunched up pair of panties he had found at school against his nose. He managed to hold back his orgasm until the transvestite in the video came, pulling her cock out of the woman's cunt and spraying sperm all over the woman's cunt, her belly and her stocking-tops. A huge dollop of creamy white semen formed at the toe of the stocking that he had wrapped around his cock.

He cleaned up with tissues and logged off the computer. He took the stocking and knickers with him to bed and listened to his aunt and his neighbour nattering and laughing downstairs. He recalled how sexy they looked sitting side by side in the conservatory and put the stocking and panties back to work. His cock was red-raw but he couldn't stop.

To be continued