The Door To Door Stocking SalesmanChapter 2 free porn video

Michele thought about her first sexual encounter with the door to door stocking salesman; she had certainly enjoyed giving him a footjob and she would like to explore their burgeoning relationship further. She particularly liked it when he had kissed and cuddled her just before he left. Of course the dilemma was how to explain to him that she was a transvestite.

So far nothing more than masturbation had occurred between them, but Michele was fantasising about going a lot further than that. But this was the nineteen fifties and people were not tolerant of any form of sex other than that which occurred between a man and a women; the word gay meant happy not homo. Not that Mike felt like a homo; when he was dressed as Michele he imagined himself as a totally feminine woman. Now; if only Brain felt the same way!

Michele was mulling over a number of options; one: do nothing but refuse to see Brian again, two: tell Brian the truth and hope that he isn't disgusted that she is a transvestite, or three: don't tell Brian that she is a transvestite but continue to have sex with him. She had a week to decide, and she chose not to rush her decision. As the days passed her fantasies became more vivid and she used the memory of the nylon footjob she had given Brian as her main masturbatory aid.

On Friday Mike received a phone call requesting that he come to the head office of the Midlands Lingerie and Fashion Garment Distribution Company located in Birmingham. The company had heard that he was good accountant and bookkeeper who charged a reasonable rate and they had an employment opportunity for him. Mike caught the bus to the head office and arrived on time at 10:00am. He had an interview with the firm's senior accountant, Mr Tilsbury who conveyed that the firm was looking to outsource some of their bookkeeping, particularly the accounts of their travelling salesmen. They had just become the local distributor of Aristoc hosiery and expected to increase their sales significantly as Aristoc was the most popular hosiery brand in the UK.

"We need more accountants and bookkeepers because we are expanding," Mr Tilsbury said.

"We sell quality lingerie and hosiery and we've just acquired the Aristoc distribution rights for the whole of the Midlands," he further explained.

Mr Tilsbury took Mike on quick tour of the offices and warehouse. At the front of the warehouse was a large counter over which the salesman collected their stock and completed paperwork with the stores assistants; behind the counter the warehouse was fitted with floor to ceiling shelving loaded with stock. Leaning nonchalantly on the counter was a handsome man in his mid forties who was giving a plump, mature, female stores assistants his biggest, cheekiest grin. She was halfway up a ladder reaching for some stock and the salesman was getting an eyeful of her legs and knickers. She was obviously well aware that he could see up her skirt but she seemed to enjoy flirting with him.

"We distribute to all of the major retailers in the Midlands and we also have about twenty or so salesmen working door to door." Mr Tilsbury was saying as they approached the counter.

"Actually there's one of them over there; come on over and I'll introduce you."

Mike was somewhat taken aback, he recognised Brain immediately; he actually felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw him looking up the skirt and flirting with the saleswoman.

"That fucking Brian; he spends more time looking at stockings than he does selling the bastards!" the senior accountant said.

"But I'll give him his due; he's our best salesman."

"Come on over and I'll introduce you," he said, leading Mike over to the counter.

"Mike this is Brian, one of best door to door salesmen," the senior accountant introduced them.

Brian snatched his eyes away from the saleswoman's skirt and looked guiltily at them. He then smiled that magnificent smile and held out his hand.

"Hello Mike; I'm Brian; don't believe a word this bastard tells you about me," he grinned.

"Pleased to meet you," Mike answered meekly.

Brian looked at Mike quizzically and asked.

"Have we met before; you seem familiar?"

Mike's face went a deep shade of red, he remembered Brian shooting his load over his stockinged feet and kissing and cuddling him only a couple of days ago.

"No I don't think so; but you can never tell; it's a small world," Mike answered.

"Mike will be doing your books Brian, so it's best to stay on his good side," the senior accountant joked and then led Mike away to continue the tour.

Mike realised that when he was introduced to Brian he immediately adopted Michele's personality in his head. That explained his jealousy and why his thoughts turned to memories their sexual encounter. Mike decided then and there that Michele would be waiting for Mike the next time he knocked on her door and that she would be taking their relationship one step further.

Brian went home from Michele's house very satisfied. He couldn't believe that he could find a mature attractive woman who shared his nylons fetish. Sure, there was something a little odd about her; she was big, but well proportioned, and she had that deep throaty voice; but she was very sexy. He fantasised about her all week and every evening as he lay in his bed with a silk stocking on his cock, masturbating like crazy, he thought of the beautiful silken tunnel that she had made with her feet for him to fuck. He was really looking forward to next Tuesday.

Brian went to the warehouse every Friday morning to restock his sample case and to deliver postal orders. He liked going to the warehouse because there was a cheeky stores assistant there named Alice who liked to tease him. She would find an excuse to bend over or climb a ladder so that he could look up her skirt. Alice was married and he knew it was just flirting around but it stimulated them both and it was harmless enough in the long run.

Today she was halfway up a ladder giving him a great legshow when they were interrupted by the firm's senior accountant and a new bookkeeper who, it was explained, would be working from home. There was something about the bookkeeper that Brian just couldn't put his finger on; he knew him from somewhere but was buggered if he remembered where. When they moved on and left him alone with Alice she resumed her legshow whilst she was perched up the ladder.

She finally came down from the ladder with a box of assorted nylon stockings for him to add to his sample case.

"We've just got the distribution rights for Aristoc here in Birmingham so I'm going to refill your sample case," Alice said.

"Head office wants us to push the product; and to be honest, they're probably the best stockings on the market now anyway."

"I wear them exclusively; look," she said lifting the hem of her skirt to show him her sheer nylon stockings.

"Lovely Alice; I'll bet your husband likes that you wear them too," Brian winked at her mischievously.

"You never mind what my husband likes," she quipped back.

"I always say 'a little of what you fancy does you good' and I make sure he gets a 'little' every now and again."

They both had a good laugh; stopping when they heard the approaching footsteps of the warehouse manager.

"Go on you cheeky bugger; I've filled in the counter book. By the way you were down six pairs of nylons last Friday with no payment recoded." Alice said.

"Shit!" Brian exclaimed, remembering the stockings that he had let Michele take from his sample case free of charge.

"How much am I down luv?" he asked.

"Two pounds, seven and six," Alice replied.

"Do you want me to put it on this week's slate or do you want to pay it off now?"

Brian handed over two pounds and some silver and waited for Alice to make change. A couple of pounds was well worth it for what he had received in return, he smiled to himself.

Brian was looking forward to Tuesday; he would come here to the warehouse to stock up his sample case, make his usual rounds in the morning and then arrive at 162 Sovereign Way in the early afternoon. He wanted to see if the sexy lady who lived there was willing to go a little further. He fantasised about how she had let him fuck her stockinged feet; would she let him do other things to her? Was she married? Did she live alone? Would she even be home when he called? All good questions.

Tuesday morning arrived and Brian had filled his sample case and was ready for the road. He was disappointed that he didn't get a legshow from the plump but pretty stores-assistant. The foreman was at the counter in serious mood and had no intentions of allowing his staff to flirt with the salesmen. As Brian was about to leave, the foreman called him over.

"Brian, Mr Tilsbury wants to see before you go out on your rounds," he said.

"What the fuck does that old codger want?" Brian asked.

"Well as been as I'm in charge the warehouse, and he's in charge of accounts; and as I'm a hard working, callused handed labourer and he's an inky fingered, shiny pants bureaucrat; it's highly un-fucking likely that he would tell me is it?" The foreman answered.

"Fucking wanker," Brian muttered under his breath and headed over to the accounting section.

There was a mature secretary over in the accounting section who insisted on wearing skirts that were far too short for her matronly figure and she often sat far enough away from the edge of her desk for Brian to get an ogle at her fleshy thighs and sometimes even a glimpse of knicker or suspender. When he arrived in the accounts office she was out from behind her desk and bent over at the waist getting a file from the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He stood there silently watching her and his erection tented his trousers at the sight of her apple shaped arse stretching her skirt to seam-breaking point, her seamless nylon stockings stretched taut on her shapely legs, they shimmered in the glare of the overhead lights.

She caught him staring and gave him a severe frown and then stared pointedly at his bulging erection.

"You should be ashamed of yourself; I'm old enough to be your mum," she chastised him.

But when she moved back to her desk and sat down she slipped him a wink and made no attempt to pull down the hem of her skirt as it rode up high on her thighs.

"Mr Tilsbury will see you now," she smiled at him.

"You might want to adjust yourself before you go in though," she pointed her chin at Brian's erection and smiled sarcastically.

Brian put his hand in his pocket and adjusted his semi-hard cock so that it was hidden in the pleats of his trousers. He smiled at the secretary.

"If I was a few years older..."

"If you were a few years older, you wouldn't be getting the free show I gave you today luv," she smiled back.

Satisfied that he had held his own bantering with the secretary, Brian knocked on Mr Tilsbury's door and went right in. Tilsbury was pouring over a ledger; another pile of ledgers was stacked on the corner of his desk. Brian didn't know how these desk-bound scribblers could stand their work; cooped up in a dingy office eight hours a day. 'Maybe Mr Tilsbury occasionally got his secretary to come in help take down some particulars?' he smiled to himself but doubted that Tilsbury had it in him. He looked at the photo set on the desk; a mousy little wife and two mousy little daughters. Still you never knew; often in was the quiet ones...

"The warehouse foreman said you wanted to see me Mr Tilsbury," Brian said.

"Oh yes, Brian Macklin; you service the Moseley area don't you?" Tilsbury asked.

"Yes it's on my route," Brian answered.

For a fleeting second he wondered if either the woman who'd given him the footjob last Tuesday or the mischievous older woman who'd asked him to straighten her seams had lodged a complaint.

"Oh good Mr Macklin; would you be so kind as to deliver this ledger to Michael Rodgers, you met him on Friday; he's the new bookkeeper. He lives in Moseley which is on your route today, yes? " Tilsbury finished.

'As if I give a fuck, ' Brian thought to himself, 'now I'm being used as an errand boy. Me! One of their best salesmen!'

"Absolutely, Mr Tilsbury; it will be my pleasure," Brian lied, and picked up the ledger wrapped in brown paper.

Brian put the ledger in his sample case and left the office mumbling to himself.

"Officious little prick!"

"Oh it didn't look that way to me when I saw it," the secretary smiled lasciviously at him.

"Not me; him!" Brian smiled back.

"Well let me tell you something, 'mister hunky smiling salesman'; Mr Tilsbury may be officious, but he ain't little," she smirked and winked at him again.

Brian looked at her with amazement. She got up from behind her desk and bent over to the filing cabinet making a show of returning a file back to the bottom drawer. Brian's eyes locked on her buttocks and legs when she bent over.

"You can stand there all day looking luv; but it'll cost you more than a pork pie and pint of bitter if you want to get your hands on these goods. Call me Friday afternoon and I might let you take me out," she said, turning her head to look at Brian, remaining bent over the drawer.

"I just might," he said, thinking about how cheeky all of the women that worked at this firm seemed to be.

"Then if you treat me nice I might take YOU out; if you know what I mean" she winked lecherously.

Brian sat on the bus heading out of Birmingham City to Moseley. He was thinking about Alice up the ladder in the warehouse letting him look up her skirt, Mr Tilsbury's secretary bent over the drawer of her filing cabinet showing him her ample bottom and shapely nyloned legs, the old lady who'd let him straighten her stocking seams, and of course, about Michele who had let him fuck her stocking encased feet. His cock was so hard that it was almost painful; he hoped that Michele would be home this afternoon and was up for some more fun.

He put his sample case on his knees to hide his erection and he opened it up, attempting to get his mind off sex and back on work. He picked up the brown-paper-wrapped ledger book and looked at the address on the white packing label: Mr Michael Rodgers, 162 Sovereign Way, Moseley.

Fuck! It was addressed to Michele's old man! Jesus! So she was married! But hang on minute; Mr Tilsbury said that Mr Rodgers worked from home. Jesus fucking Christ! The silly tart had given him a footjob and kiss and cuddle session knowing full well that her old man might come home at any time. But hang on? She didn't seem particularly stupid; maybe her old man might have a permanent commitment on Tuesday afternoons. Maybe he was a member of a club, a lawn bowler, a golfer, a bridge aficionado. Who the fuck cared! He would go around to 162 Sovereign Way this afternoon and be a professional salesman. And if Mr Rodgers wasn't home; he might give Mrs Michele Rodgers a good rogering, he laughed to himself.

Monday morning Mike turned up at Oxfam to assist with the donated clothing at the sorting tables. He was very excited, thinking about his meeting with the door to door salesman tomorrow. He was a little perturbed that they had met face to face last Friday at the Midlands Lingerie and Fashion Garment Distribution Company and that Brian thought they might have met before. He was still ruminating about what to do about telling Brian that he, Michele, was a transvestite.

He transformed into Michele in his subconscious. She was ninety nine percent sure that she was going to keep her transvestism a secret from Brian. There were plenty of sexy things that they could do together without Brian having to know any different. She would use Brian's stocking fetish to her advantage and allow him to play with her legs and let him kiss and cuddle her, but she would remain fully dressed and would not allow him to touch the front of her body intimately between her neck and thighs. Besides the thought of anything more than masturbating him and kissing and cuddling was quite abhorrent; after all she was not a homo; was she?

Mike looked around the sorting room and was disappointed to she that Miss McGuire and Mr Billson had volunteered to work today. Miss McGuire was a spinster in her fifties who thought she was the queen of the sorting room and tried to tell the other sorters what to do. On the rare occasion that they were rostered on the same day she barely tolerated Mike working at the ladies clothing sorting tables.

Mr Billson was a pensioner in his late forties who for some reason had a dislike for Mike; they seldom worked together as Mike insisted on working only at the ladies clothing sorting table; Mike's justification for working at the ladies tables was that there was usually more women's clothing than men's clothing donated to Oxfam. Mr Billson sometimes made the odd quip about Mike's penchant for working at the ladies clothing sorting table but Mike ignored them.

Yesterday's sorters had separated the ladies clothing from the men's and the pile of ladies clothing was at least twice as big as the women's. They had just sorted the clothing by gender and removed any torn, damaged or excessively stained clothing. Mike would have no problem justifying working at the women's clothing tables today.

After perfunctory hellos to Mr Billson and Miss McGuire, Mike grabbed a pile of clothed from the pile and dropped them on his sorting table. At the end of the table were bags marked for the various items of clothing: skirts and dresses; blouses and shirts; shoes and boots; hats, gloves and accessories; coats and blazers; lingerie and underwear; and miscellaneous. There was also a large bag marked 'rags' for clothing that was not suitable for resale. Any underwear and lingerie that was not in immaculate condition was thrown in the rag bag as a matter of course.

Mike went to work sorting through the pile of clothing on his table dreaming about his assignation with the door to door stocking salesman tomorrow. He mechanically sorted through the clothing until something special caught his eye. It was a black satin and lace, open-bottom, bustiere with inbuilt waist-cincher and it looked like it would fit him perfectly. It laced up at the back and had four garters on each side of the bodice. The bodice was beautifully detailed black satin with whalebone supports and lace trimming on the top of the brassiere cups and the bottom of the bodice. It would cost a fortune in a West End lingerie shop. Mike held the garment up to inspect it under the overhead lights.

"Oh that's lovely Luv," Miss McGuire cooed, "I'll have that!"

"I don't think so!" Mike snapped.

"Well; why would you want it?" Miss McGuire barked back.

"He's a noncer that's why. I see him nicking women's clothes all the time; it's unnatural it is!" Mr Billson joined the argument.

"It's none of your business! We're not supposed to be nicking anything!" Mike whined at both of them.

"Besides, what I do with the clothing I get from here is none of your business!" he whined.

"Well I never; if I new you was a knicker nicker I wouldn't have had anything to with you! I've seen you nicking women's clothing too; but I thought it was for your mum or a girlfriend." Miss McGuire said.

"Leave me alone! The clothes ARE for my girlfriend," Mike whined at the two of them and went back to sorting the clothing on his table.

"Noncer," Mr Billson whispered under his breath but went back to work.

Miss McGuire was obviously miffed that she couldn't steal the bustiere for herself but she let it go. Mr Billson continued to glance up accusingly at Mike but let the issue drop. Half an hour later one of the other volunteers came into the sorting room with a large pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Work stopped as tea was poured and biscuits dunked. Miss McGuire wandered off to the loo and Mr Billson looked around and noting that the room was empty, took the opportunity to sidle up to Mike. He muttered softly to Mike.

"You know, I don't really mind what you do with the clothes you get ere' you know. Before the war I lived in London and used to go to some special interest clubs, if you know what I mean," he winked at Mike.

"I have no idea what you mean!" Mike snapped back.

"Yeah, ya do; you're blushing like a virgin on her wedding night," Mr Billson chuckled.

"That's ok though; I just got to thinking, and I could see how a bloke you; dressed properly and with a wig and makeup, could carry it off."

"I have no idea what you're talking about you silly man!" Mike snapped back.

"Sure; well if you ever want to get together over a pint, or something; just remember I'm ok with that sort of thing," Mr Billson winked at Mike again and wondered back to the tea trolley.

Mike was astounded. He might have guessed that some of the volunteers had noticed him knocking off the odd garment here and there but he never dreamt that any of them would confront him. It served him right really, he was too absorbed in the reverie of what he was going to get up to tomorrow. He would normally never hold up a garment for appraisal like he did today; the bustiere would normally surreptitiously disappear off the table and end up in his satchel to be thoroughly inspected in the privacy of his home.

Mrs McGuire returned from the loo and they got back to work. The altercation over the bustiere was not mentioned again, and at knock off time they packed up the tables for the day and got ready to leave. As Mike walked out of the Oxfam and started heading down to the bus stop, he was approached by Mr Billson again.

"Look Mike if I'm wrong about my presumption, well, I'm sorry; but I don't think I am," he said.

"And I meant what I said; I'm ok with that sort of thing and would be willing to talk with you more about it," he said, winked at Mike, and walked away.

Mike was puzzled by exactly what Mr Billson meant. Was he crossdresser too? Was he a man who liked to consort with crossdressers? Mike would have to give this situation some careful thought. He caught the bus and sat down and looked at his watch and had a horrible feeling that he had forgotten to do something important. What had totally slipped Mike's mind was that he was supposed to go to the accounting section of the Midlands Lingerie and Fashion Garment Distribution Company and pick up last weeks sales ledgers.

Mike had a profitable morning and had made some good sales; he was looking forward to some serious fun with Mrs Rodgers this afternoon. He sat in the Moseley Arms public house with the ledger book addressed to Michael Rodgers in front of him, sipping a pint and eating a cheese sandwich and pondered the conundrum regarding Mr and Mrs Rodgers and the house at 162 Sovereign Way. It just didn't make sense that Michele Rodgers would let him fuck her feet and then arrange a meeting for the same time next week if it was at all likely that Mr Rodgers would return home during the afternoon.

He thought back to his meeting with Mike Rodgers at the garment distribution company last Friday. He recalled their conversation:

"Have we met before; you seem familiar?" Brain had asked and Mike had answered, "No I don't think so; but you can never tell; it's a small world."

Something didn't sit right! Mike had blushed and stammered when they were introduced. Did Mike know him? Did Mike know that Brian had been at his house last Tuesday? Did Mike know that Brian had foot-fucked his wife? What the fuck was going on at 162 Sovereign Way? He played it over in his mind.

Suddenly Mike choked and spat out a mouthful of cheese sandwich and bitter ale.

"Fucking hell!!!" he exclaimed.

The punters in the pub looked at him disapprovingly and the publican gave him a stern stare. Mike raised his hands in apology to the lunchtime crowd and went back to his rumination.

Chris; that was it!!! Michele Rodgers was big, but well proportioned, and she had that deep throaty voice. When he compared the images in head of Michael and Michele Rodgers they looked too much alike for coincidence. They were either brother and sister, or, Michael Rodgers was also Michele Rodgers.

"Fucking hell!!!" he exclaimed again and immediately apologised to the patrons and the publican.

Michele Rodgers was a transvestite! Brian Macklin had been given a footjob by and kissed a man! He pondered that for a few minutes and was surprised that he wasn't disgusted with himself. It wasn't as though he'd been with some bloke in suit and tie; he was no homo. He'd been with a sexy woman who just happened to have male genitalia! He rationalised this further. He had a raging stocking and lingerie fetish and had tried on the garments himself occasionally. Brian didn't have the urge to dress up like a woman, but he had to admit that Michele looked sexy hell.

So what to do now? That was the question!

He had a number of options open to him. He could continue on as if he knew nothing; he could confront Michele with the truth; he could just never go back to the house at 162 Sovereign Way; or he could even blackmail Michael Rodgers and threaten him with exposure. It was quite a conundrum. Bugger it! He would keep his appointment with Michele this afternoon and see how it played out. He felt himself begin to thicken down there in anticipation.

Brian finished his pint. Left the pub, after again apologising to the publican for his outburst, and caught the bus that would take him to Sovereign Way. He plotted and schemed and played out various scenarios in his head but he had to admit that the more he thought about the situation the more he became aroused. He'd never given any great thought about what it might be like to have sex with a transvestite; he'd always had plenty of willing women. But he had to admit that Michele was not only sexy, the way she dressed and spoke, she had also demonstrated a particular aptitude when it came to satisfying his fetish.

Brian stopped briefly at a chemist and by the time he knocked on the door of 162 Sovereign Way he was sporting a fierce erection and had formulated a strategy regarding how he was going to deal with Michele Rodgers.

Tuesday morning and Mike had a nagging feeling that he had forgotten something important. Then it dawned on him. Fuck!!! He was supposed to go into the Midlands Lingerie and Fashion Garment Distribution Company yesterday and pick up the sales ledgers. He looked at his watch. Shit!!! Ten o'clock; there was no way he could make it into Birmingham and get home again before his afternoon sware. He decided he would keep his tryst with the salesman and then call Mr Tilsbury later in the afternoon to apologise. If he rang now, Tilsbury was likely to demand that Mike come to the firm and collect the ledger and Mike was anticipating transforming into Michele and having a pleasant afternoon with Brian Macklin. Mike allowed his mind to transform from his male persona to Michele as he prepared for the encounter.

Michele poured herself a bath and shed her male attire and then lowered herself into the hot frothy water. She closely shaved her face using a hand held shaving mirror and a new razorblade. She ran her hands all over her chest, arms, legs and buttocks and shaved away any stubble she found.

She dried herself off and sat at the dresser and applied foundation, finishing powder, blush and lashings of mascara, eyeliner and eyeshadow. She painted her lips with two coats of ruby red lipstick. She pulled on her favourite brunette, shoulder length, wig and adjusted it so that the fringe came to her eyebrows. She stepped into a pair of red satin full-cut panties and pulled them tight around her buttocks and tucked her penis under the gusset. Then she stepped into the black satin and lace, open-bottom, bustiere and laced up at the back with some difficulty. The bustiere cinched her waist and gave her an hourglass figure, accentuating her full hips. She slipped her homemade breastforms into the cups and admired herself in mirror.

Michele opened a package of seamless, flesh-toned, fifteen denier stockings and rolled them up her legs attaching them to the four garters on each side of the bodice of her waist cincher. She had selected a charcoal grey business suit with a knee length pencil skirt with rear kick pleat and a white silk long sleeved blouse. She liked the idea of wearing the risqué bustiere under the conservative suit. She stepped into black, four-inch high heel pumps and accessorised herself with gold earrings, necklace and bangles. She fastened a gold chain anklet around her left ankle.

She sprayed a liberal amount of perfume on her décolletage and under her skirt and picked up her bottle of red nail polish and went downstairs to the lounge. She poured herself a glass of red wine and lit a Woodbine and glanced at the mantle clock. She had half an hour to do her nails before Brian was due to call; providing he was on time of course. Almost exactly thirty minutes later there was a knock on the door. Michele pulled a curtain to one side and peeked out. Brian Macklin, the door to door stocking salesman, stood on her doorstep.

Brian was very impressed with what greeted him at the door of 162 Sovereign Way; this woman (well not really) knew exactly how to dress to get him excited. From her heavily made up face, to her wide hips, to her sexy legs and large but elegant feet, she exuded sex. She didn't say anything, but curled a red painted fingernail at him beckoning him inside.