It's A Weird, Weird World!

Before we start, it's important to know two things.
Firstly, this story is true. Entirely. Wholly. Accurately. Exactly. Utterly. And completely. True.
Secondly, there is something else incredible about this fine yarn, truly incredible, but more on that later.
Instead, it all began in 2002. I was just 21 years of age. Well, dear reader, I must now confess that merely this part of the story began there. My particular kink began years before, and that's another tale for another time altogether.

But back to 2002.
My best friend was going abroad for a few months, he wasn't home, and I had left some of my stuff at his parents' house. He told me to just 'go and pick it up' - nothing out of the ordinary. It was a cold, bright, crisp autumn day.
I arrived at around noon, greeted at the door by my friend's mother, a forty six year old lady - divorced, former fitness instructor, fitness photographer. She was wearing nylons, as usual, heels, a short black skirt, tight red top, foxy, as always - I struggled to avert my gaze as she wiggled her perfect ankles at the door. She was hypnotic and she knew it.

She let me in, and told me to grab whatever I needed. She explained that she was heading out, and that I should just shut the door behind me when I left, as normal. Nothing out of the ordinary.
And then she was gone. And I was alone.

So I gathered my things - a jacket, some DVDs - and was about to leave when I passed the kitchen door. Something.... caught my eye. Through the kitchen I could see the laundry, more specifically the laundry basket, and there, placed upon it, shining in the sunlight, my best friend's mother's underwear.

Now, I know. I shouldn't have looked at the underwear. I definitely shouldn't have gone over to it. I certainly shouldn't have picked it up, and caressed it, smothered it to my mouth - inhaling her musk, experiencing her scent. I shouldn't have done those things but I did them. And somewhere, deep in my pants, my tiny cock stirred and twitched into life. And before I knew it I was standing there naked. And hard. Tiny droplets of sticky pre-cum glistened at the tip of my small, thin, erect penis. I pressed her worn tights into my groin, squeezing my pre-cum into her fabric, pulling my pathetic erection down with her gusset. I could have sworn it was still warm too. Heavenly. The sensation of her nylons on my skin sent a fire through me. My knees trembled, buckled; my brain overloaded and I ran from the laundry.

Upstairs. To her bedroom.
Where I flung open her drawers. All of them. A whirling dervish of fetish cravings exploded in my head like fireworks.
And instantly, there it was, Pandora's perfect box - the nylons drawer.
And I stood back. In shuddering awe.

Hundreds, there were. Hundreds of pairs of tights, and stockings, and bodyhose - all sorts, all colours, all patterns, all hers.
Hundreds.
I knew it.
She was a nylon fetishist, just like me.
I think I'd always known, truth be told. I could not remember an occasion that I had seen her bare-legged. She was my special secret love, and now I had finally confirmed my deepest suspicions.
And I dug deeper, frantically probing into her drawers. Gasp. No knickers.
I'll repeat that.
No knickers.
I knew it. I'd never seen so much as a visible-panty-line, and suddenly here was the truth staring me in the face - she didn't own any panties. None at all. Not even a thong. She wore her tights commando - and I knew exactly why - that exquisite encasement, that soft, gentle, confident rub. That warm familiar feminine embrace. She knew what I knew. She felt what I felt. My tiny cock jerked and twitched.

I reached further back into the nylons. Grasping. And there, suddenly, at the back of the drawer, a hardness amongst the soft pantyhose fabric. My heart skipped a beat. Literally. I heard my breath catch in my throat. Two objects - I pulled at them. One slightly larger than the other, but the shapes unmistakable in my hands.

Dildos. One came alive instantly, bucking and pulsing and whirring and flexing. Impressive size. I watched it for a few seconds, before stuffing it deep into my mouth, gorging on its thickness.
Her taste was immediate. Unique. That same musk, but somehow sweeter. I licked at the dildo. I teased it with my tongue. I sucked hard on it, until all her greatness was cleaned from its mighty pulsating length.

And before I could understand my own actions I was pulling at her nylons again, searching the drawer for something, anything.
And from deep inside the darkness I took out a beautiful pair of white tights.
And I put them on. No time wasted. No thought considered. And no knickers underneath. Of course.
My tiny bulge stood rigid in her hose, and I caught a glimpse of myself in her full-length mirror to my right. I imagined her standing there, my best friend's mother, looking at her perfect body just as I was looking at mine, in these tights, her tights, for now ...my tights.

And I imagined her whole outfit - white bra, hugging navy tank-top, short lycra blue polka-dot skirt, ultra-high heels, these white tights, yes, these very same white tights I was pitching my little tent in, and a belt... yes, a belt, thick, black, gold buckle. I'd seen it before. She'd worn this outfit. I'd seen it.
And in a flash it was me.
Standing there.
Dressed as her. Dressed exactly as her.
In her clothes. My god, even her heels fitted me perfectly. Perfectly, dammit!
Her wardrobe thoroughly raided, her fetish and her sex exposed and abused, her scent all over me, my cock pre-cummed and twitched urgently into her perfect white tights. My balls tightened and my knees quivered again.
And I looked again in the mirror.
And I looked like she did.
I looked like her. I was her.
And it was fucking incredible.

I headed back downstairs - I needed the outside, the cold air, the world to see me, maybe a glimpse, a flirty doorway twirl, maybe a confident strut, anything, who knew? Who cared?

But it wasn't the world that saw me.

It was her.

Standing there, in the laundry, with my forgotten hateful man-clothes in her perfect fingers and a confused expression on her perfect face.
And she turned.
Those perfect, nyloned ankles pointed towards me, and her legs, my god those legs, her hips and body followed. Her shoulders, her neck, and finally her beautiful unsuspecting face turned to me - and she gasped. Her mouth fell open.

I had no time to pose, no power to react - I was caught rigid, frozen to the spot.

She took in the information. She absorbed it. Her eyes saw me, but I'm not sure they understood me. Up and down they fleeted - checking me thoroughly. The world's longest pause reached a breaking point.
I felt her stare burning into my crotch. I went numb.

"What on earth are you doing?" she uttered in astonishment, her eyes fixed at my tiny bulge.

And then.

"IS THAT MY SKIRT?" She exploded.

"ARE THOSE MY TIGHTS??"

And I crumbled.
I didn't know what else to do. Dear reader, I started blabbing, blubbing, muttering anything, an incoherent mess of words and high-pitched noises.

"TAKE MY CLOTHES OFF NOW!" She screamed, as if I were in any doubt about how angry she was.

I started to unzip her skirt from my waist - my fingers rebelling against me in shock.

"UPSTAIRS" She howled. "NOW!"

And before I could undress, she marched me upstairs, back to her bedroom - to survey the full extent of my carnal indiscretion.

And in her bedroom I stood, for what felt like the longest while, as she stared in horror at the open drawers and cupboards - her two dildos proudly upright on her bedside table, one still visibly wet from my mouth.

And her face turned to thunderous purple fury.

"GET THAT SKIRT OFF......... NOW!!!" She screamed in my direction, approaching me with violence in her stride.
My fingers fumbled at the clasp, my grip was feminine and my practice was weak - the skirt tumbled from my waist, past my knees to the floor around my perfectly heeled feet.
And her expression changed again.

Caught in her advance, she now backed away.
Staring at me. Unable to blink.
Anger was temporarily diluted by something else.

Pity.

I looked down.
Through her sheer white tights, my tiny shaven cock and balls had shrunk away to nothing. Just the helmet was visible - the shaft and nuts had completely receded into my body.
I looked up.
Her hand flew to her mouth - she was shocked. Dare I say it, even more shocked than previously.

I felt hopeless, useless, utterly powerless.
And I did the only thing I could do. I broke down entirely, dear reader, and I cried like a baby.
And as I stood there in her clothes - exposed to her astonished eyes, my tiny fucking helmet rubbing the seam of her perfect white tights with each sob and whimper - she started to laugh.

And I cried harder. Oh the humiliation. The sheer humiliation. It was total.

"What the FUCK is that supposed to be?" She howled in sadistic delight.

And as I pitifully looked down again, even I was shocked by how small I was.

"Have you actually cum in my tights?" She barked - now pointing at the tiny wet patch of pre-cum in her nylons.

"No" I replied, my voice broken and high, tears rolling down my cheeks "It's just..."

"SHUT UP!" She cut me off. "Are those my shoes as well? Is...? ...Is that my top?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" I pathetically offered.

And she laughed.

Oh my, she laughed.
And with each and every cackle my humiliation was compounded, doubled - this beautiful, lithe, experienced, perfect woman was laughing at my tiny fucking tranny-dick. Laughing with everything she could muster. And on it went. Her laughter peaked and waned, the seconds and minutes passed like hours, and on it went.

Until finally.

"You can keep my tights. I don't want those back. The rest you can pay to have cleaned"

"Ok, I'm sorry" I responded.

"No." she said, and I was alarmed by the negative. "Wait here"

And she left the room. I dared not move. I turned to look in the mirror - my tiny bulge had long since flattened to my body, my pathetic cock and sack had entirely ascended into me, her sheer white tights clung snugly to me, and I looked amazing.

And as I was staring at my perfect body, the door flung open.
She had a camera in her hand. Fuck.

"Arms by your sides" she ordered. And I complied. Honestly, what else could I do?
Click, click, click went the bloody thing.
Photo after photo after photo for what seemed like an eternity. Every lens, every angle, every part of me.
And I stood there - utterly humiliated, utterly degraded.
And she laughed again. Louder than before.
"NOW" She shouted, and then paused, calming herself, "now you're sorry!"

And then she ordered me out of her house.

Out. Out into the cold, bright street. In her tights, and her heels and her tank-top. She threw my car keys past me into the busy road. And despite my begging, she slammed the door behind me.
I was disgraced.

I clambered quickly back to my car and returned home, shaken, mentally eviscerated, physically humiliated.
And there, in the curtained darkness of my bedroom, I cried again.

But fear not, dear reader. For this story does not end here, as you might have expected.
Because two days later, the most wonderful thing happened. She called me.

And a week later I returned her things. Cleaned.
And yes, a week after that she invited me back to try her clothes on again - this time in front of her.
And yes, she photographed me again. More professionally. More carefully. More attentively.

And a week later the same happened again. She filmed me. I danced for her. I performed. I did everything she suggested.
And that night we got drunk. Very drunk.
And as we snuggled on the sofa, in perfectly matching stockings and nighties, I slipped my tiny cock inside her from behind - and I came instantly. Oh my, how she laughed. HOW SHE LAUGHED! That same damn laugh as before. And I was humiliated again. And it was beautiful.
So then, by the hand she took me, outside, to the street, and to a darkened corner, and there, in the rain, encased in our soaking nylons and nighties we fucked. Yes. We FUCKED.

And we've been together ever since. Turns out she has a major kink for tights and trannies - gets her incredibly horny!
It's a weird world!
It's a weird, weird world!

So now, dear reader, I'm afraid this story is complete - I live with my best friend's mother, my true love, as a full-time transvestite - which she adores and encourages and abuses and ridicules in perfectly equal measure.
We swing regularly - and enjoy a very healthy and extremely active sexual partnership.
Her (our) dildo collection has considerably increased in size. So has her (our) nylon collection. My tiny dick? ...not so much :) but hey...
Oh, and my best friend hasn't spoken to me since 2003. haha! Ah well.

And before I disappear off into the night I'm reminded that I haven't yet told you the most incredible thing about this tale.
I promised it, oh yes, so I shall deliver it.
Well, dear reader, the most incredible thing about this story is that it ISN'T the most humiliated I've ever been. That experience occurred when my butt-plug slipped out at Waterloo station and several hundred commuters gawped and gasped in very audible horror as the combined spunkload of twenty six men exploded noisily out of my bum, through my tights, down my legs and onto the floor between my heels - and filled my heels! - I could feel it squishing around my toes as I walked to my train. But that's another tale for another time altogether!

L.