Nylon Tales

By JT Roberts

The first story collection from Fetish Fiction. The anthology brings together our first four titles in one volume: Blackmailed in Pantyhose, Roadtrip, The Priest and the Goth Girl and Teacher's Torments. Explicit tales of nylonic naughtiness.

Plenty of pantyhose, stockings, bondage, domination, masturbation, submission, foot fetishism, and lots more. Torrid to the max - not for the faint-hearted!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fetish Fiction
• Release date: May 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476287751

JT Roberts

Writer of erotic fiction.

Book preview

NYLON TALES

A Fetish Fiction Anthology

Published by Fetish Fiction at Smashwords

Copyright Fetish Fiction

Discover other Fetish Fiction titles at www.smashwords.com

Website: www.fetishfiction.yola.com

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Introduction

Welcome to the very first Fetish Fiction anthology, Nylon Tales, which collects together the first four books in the imprint: Blackmailed in Pantyhose, The Priest and the Goth Girl, Roadtrip, and Teacher’s Torments. The project has been an interesting one for us so far. And it’s been gratifying to get such good feedback from readers. Incidentally, we’re also going to test the waters by making this book available in paperback from lulu.com. So if you prefer a print version, we hope you will order one from there. As ever, we invite feedback, as we value the opinions of our readers. So, if you have something to say, whether it’s comments on any of our books, or have suggestions as to what sort of material you’d like to read in future, or you’d like to join our mailing list, please do drop us an email: [e-mail].

You may be interested to know also that we are diversifying into non-fiction. Our first title is Diary of a Pantyhose Escort by Melissa Cambridge (read an extract at the end of this anthology). It will come out in episodic form. Other titles are planned in the future too.

If you ask to join our mailing list we will not share your email with anyone else. And you will only receive announcements of new titles and so on. We always endeavour to respond personally to feedback email, too.

We hope you enjoy this first collection of nylonic naughtiness!

John Roberts

Editor in Chief, Fetish Fiction

Writers, artists, photographers wanted!

We’re now in a position to take submissions for our books. We’re looking for short stories, cover art of photography suitable for covers. At this stage we are unable to offer payment, though you will receive free copies of the book in which your work appears. And creators will be fully credited in the books and on our website, if you wish linkback to your own website, blog or email address. For submission requirements, just send an email to: [e-mail].

CONTENTS

Blackmailed in Pantyhose

The Priest and the Goth Girl

Roadtrip

Teacher’s Torments

BLACKMAILED IN PANTYHOSE

A first floor window wasn’t the best vantage point from which to spy on Mrs. Wilson next door. Simon would have much preferred a basement window, and the low angle it would afford to ogle her long, shapely legs. And increase the chances of catching a glimpse up her skirts. For now, his bedroom window, which overlooked the Wilson’s bathroom window and front lawn, would have to suffice. The powerful Zeiss binoculars to which Simon had treated himself last week were an excellent substitute for an underground den.

At 25, Simon had never had a girlfriend. Not that he was bad looking for a bookworm. It was just that he was socially inept. Tended to say what was on his mind, even when it was entirely inappropriate. So girls tended to shun him. Apart from one or two who found him amusing and would take him along to parties just to throw the cat in among the pigeons.

He envied Jack Wilson, a well-to-do businessman. Not for his money, though. For his wife. Natalie Wilson, who had to be 15 years older than Simon, was a real beauty. Shoulder length black hair which flowed across her shoulders like water, almond-shaped green eyes and full ruby lips, she was the type of woman who turned heads. Somewhat full-figured by some standards -- a 50s glamour girl rather than a scrawny 21st Century type -- her large, firm breasts were emphasized by a narrow waist, broad hips and thighs. Her legs tapered to shapely calves and beautiful, slim feet.

When Mr. and Mrs. Wilson moved into their four-bedroom bungalow six months back, they’d invited some of their neighbors around for drinks. To introduce themselves and to get to know folks. Simon had felt awkward. Most of the people in this small community were a pain in the ass. Unintelligent, for the most part, or just plain dull. Most of them were older than Simon, too. And he felt they disapproved of him for that reason. That he was a bachelor in a street filled with suburban two point four families must have seriously put their noses out of joint. But Simon liked the suburbs; he wasn’t a city-centre sort of guy. So with the money he’d got from his kindly uncle Frank’s estate upon his death, he had enough to put a deposit on a new-build two-bedroom place. It was modest by this neighborhood’s standards, but plenty good enough for Simon.

So, what do you do, Sy? Jack had asked him heartily.

Simon, he replied. Only mom calls me Sy. I’m...well, I work in a garden centre. I like plants more than most people, I guess.

Jack’s smile froze almost imperceptibly, but he answered, Well, hope that doesn’t include us, kid.

Simon inwardly rebelled at the kid part, but he managed a weak smile and a shake of the head.

Hi, there, Simon. A slender hand reached out to shake his and Simon noted the elegant diamond ring on the forefinger, and the long scarlet painted fingernails. I’m Natalie. Pleased to meet ya.

Me, too, Mrs. Wilson. Simon shook the proffered hand warmly.

A waft of perfume, musky and with a hint of geranium. First glancing at her plump lips, Simon then involuntarily dropped his gaze to Mrs. Wilson’s chest. Beneath the tight white sweater he saw the straining mounds of her breasts, which were cut into midway by the top edge of her brassiere. And the fat buttons of her nipples pooched out the thin cashmere in a way that sent an electric shock straight to his cock. He averted his gaze quickly, hating the idea of being marked down as the local pervert. But Natalie Wilson simply smiled a little wider and turned to greet her other guests. He caught a steely critical look from her husband.

While nearby Simon heard Mrs. Pearson from across the road speaking to a friend admiringly of Jack Wilson and giggling, he watched Natalie Wilson sashay elegantly among the guests. Her elegant, knee-length black skirt had a small slit at the back and every so often Simon caught a flash of the inside of a thigh, the little wrinkles in her shiny suntan pantyhose, just behind a knee. Simon could tell from the lightly muscled calves and taut skirt that their hostess had good, strong legs. He would bet those firm thighs could hold a man real tight. And that thought made his stomach churn with desire.

A few weeks later, Simon heard a car pull into the Wilson’s driveway. It was a Friday, and Simon had finished work a little early. He’d been sitting on bed reading a crime novel about a terrorist who was threatening to blow up a school unless he was paid ten million dollars. The book was lousy, but Simon enjoyed putting his brain into neutral with a trashy book or movie blockbuster once in a while. So upon hearing the sound of the car engine rev and then die, he laid the book aside and went to the window. Looking down, he saw the blue Audi A4’s driver door open and Natalie Wilson swivel around to step out. Except she didn’t get out right away. He heard her say, Dammit! and then reach down to turn aside her right leg. She slid a hand up her nyloned calf, checking for the snag that must have caught as she’d began to get out of the vehicle. Simon held his breath. The hand slid higher up. With her other hand, she gripped the hem of her floral summer skirt and pulled it back to mid thigh. She traced the ladder in her pantyhose all the way up there. Too late. The pantyhose were ruined. She tugged the hem back down in disgust. But as she stood up she suddenly craned her head and looked straight at Simon. He blushed.

She waved and shrugged as if to say, What can a girl do?

Reaching back into the car, she emerged with her arms full of shopping bags and had to kick the door shut with her hip.

She shouted up, Well, are you gonna give a me a hand or not?

He didn’t need a second telling and bounded downstairs and outside in an instant.

By the time he was next to the car, Mrs. Wilson was at her front door, dropping her packages in front of the threshold and fishing in her handbag for her keys.

Thanks, Simon, she called across her shoulder. There’s plenty more stuff in the trunk.

Sure enough there was. Boxes of it, from crockery to kitchenware, curtains and bed covers, even a new stereo system. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were starting from scratch it seemed. He dutifully ferried box after box into the lounge, putting most of the contents of the trunk on the couch and the floor. As he knelt to lay down the last of the boxes he noticed a few of the shopping bags from clothing retailers. A couple of the bags contained lingerie and he caught sight of what might have been a black corset, some white and black lace panties and several packages of pantyhose and stockings. All of them expensive brands.

Stay for a drink, Simon, she said from above him, and withdrew from one of the bags he’d been studying a pack of pantyhose (Wolford, which Simon knew to be an expensive brand). Just gimme a minute to straighten up, will ya? Darn nylons. She swung her foot around to show him the ladder in the sheer material over her calves. Now I look like white trash.

Simon laughed weakly. You could never look that way, Mrs. Wilson.

She patted his shoulder playfully, Oh, you guys! She added, Be right back. Take a seat.

But instead of dropping himself into the armchair, he listened for her heels clicking down the parquet flooring of the hallway. Then he risked