Desigknickers

1

The course in Portugal yielded no encounters, which was as well, because I was a little weary from the Sasha-therapy (Ferry Tales, Chapter 7), and the travel. But soon after my return there was an email from Alex, who evidently also required easement after some unpleasant event, though the message revealed no details. I was amused that the mother was in need so soon after the daughter, and also not seeking aid from her nearest and dearest. If I could visit, there could also be a fitting for the specially crafted knickers she had made. I had almost forgotten how carefully she had measured and photographed my bottom.

She being the busier, I travelled to her studio and boutique sweatshop' as she calls her premises, on the outskirts of London, arriving in time for supper. She lives 'over the shop,' so, after some affectionate embraces, restraining ourselves for the moment, we proceeded to partake of the tasty repast she had prepared. I'm sounding like a Waverley novel because I was thinking of myself as a knight, like Ivanhoe, riding to the rescue of a lady..

Over the meal, Alex described one hazard of modelling her product herself. For, in the USA, as she raised her short skirt to show her perfectly-fitting panties, she became aware that one of her potential collaborators was studying her with an intensity beyond that merited by the quality of the garment. Of course, she had told me before that she had been able to recruit lesbian partners through parading her beautiful bottom in this way, but this time there was something worrying about the scrutiny.

Nonetheless, she agreed that the large, smartly-dressed woman in her late thirties should visit her in her motel-room later, and she was expecting a sexual encounter. But it was evident from the moment Nancy (let us call her) arrived that all was not well.

2

Nancy's business suit had been exchanged for a tracksuit, as if the wearer were to engage in an athletic event. As, indeed, she was, for hardly was the door closed than she discarded the two garments and her shoes and stood naked, poised like a body-builder, head back, tensing her impressive muscles, and clearly expecting admiration of her physique. It was certainly impressive, for, as she turned to show it off, Alex had to admire the shapely, widely-separated, outward-pointing breasts, nipples erect, and rather square-shaped, clenched buttocks. She was also, Alex realised, supposed to melt into eager, moistening, submission in response to this display.

And when she didn't immediately begin to undress with fluttering fingers and sighs of delight, Nancy advanced on her and began impatiently to rip off her clothing. 'OK, kiddo,' she said, 'Let's see whatcha got, as well as that cute ass. Hey, yeah! It sure is cute without the fancy panties, too.' For those powerful hands had quickly and efficiently stripped Alex to the skin and were now forcefully massaging her bottom. At the same time her assailant's mouth, opened to its fullest extent, was attempting to swallow her right breast.

This was not so much foreplay as one-play, since there hadn't been any two-play so far, and Alex thought maybe she should try to make matters more even-handed, So she got her hands on her opponent's breasts and sharply tweaked the rigid nipples.

The result was the immediate release of her well-saliva'd breast, the relinquishing of, and a hefty slap on, her bottom, and, 'You wanna go first? OK.'

Nancy strode over to and lay down on her back on the bed. 'Go to it, kiddo,' she said, 'The crick's flooding fast.' Which she demonstrated by opening her legs and prizing open her shaved vulva, as if opening an oyster, to indicate the dripping of her juices from her 'creek.'

English politeness, and a sneaking curiosity, overcame Alex's inclination to refuse or retreat into the bathroom until Nancy had realised no more would happen and had gone. Alex, therefore, knelt by the bed and waited for further enlightenment. This took the form of Nancy's cupping her hands under her own breasts and forcing them upwards, while instructing, 'Get your teeth into these babies, baby.' So Alex got her lips round a nipple and began to nibble.

'Not just the cherries,' Nancy commanded, 'Go for the cake.' And Alex understood she was to imitate the earlier treatment of her own breast, and opened her mouth to its widest to try to absorb the whole of one blancmange, which was aided by its owner cramming it into her maw, with, 'Taste that tittie, sugar.'

Some minutes of swapping from one bosom-engulfment to the other, making sure to chew as she went, was clearly part of what was required, for Nancy began to roll from side to side, making it hard to retain the fleshy mound, and yell approving expressions, such as, ''Yee-hah! Ride 'em, cowgirl!'

But Alex understood that much more was necessary, and tentatively reached for the gaping, hairless vulva, which drew the instruction, 'Fingers in the pie, babe.' And Alex slid two digits down the slippery runway and tucked them into the oozing vagina. That elicited the question, 'Are you limeys short of fingers, huh?' Thus, Alex ventured all four, and was told, 'Pound that pussy, kiddo.' Which Alex did, noting the loud squelching.

So far so good, but not enough. 'Get that thumb on the button, babe!' And that thumb was soon rubbing the cast-iron clitoris as if trying to eliminate a stain. Nancy responded with, 'Go, girl, go! She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes.'

Shortly after, there was a further injunction. 'Get that other cow-hand under. Drive those dogies down the gulch.' Apparently, she relished the powerful pressure of bunched fingers skating up and down within that deep valley, between those rounded hills.

Alex was soon panting with exertion, sucking air between her lips and the slowly expanding bounds of whichever breast she was fastened to. It was as if she were engaged in a form of gymnastic workout, and was wondering how long she could continue.

It was accompanied by staccato exhortations. 'Keep a 'going, babycakes.' 'Hit the trail harder.' 'Pan that gold, pardner.' 'All the way west.' Culminating in a bellow, 'She's going, she's going!' As Nancy abandoned the bosom-hold, clapped a hand behind Alex's head and forced it into the now puffed-up mammary, and clamped her thighs round Alex's aching wrist. 'Thar she blows!' Nancy exulted, her whole body rigid.

A series of congratulatory murmurs signalled the slow fading of the orgasm. 'Oh, yeah, that sure hit the spot.' 'Sister, did I need that.' 'You can't get a guy to do that rigjht.' But Alex considered this was self-congratulation and her role had been merely as agent.

After a while, Nancy raised Alex's head to detach her mouth from the slackened breast and pulled her fingers from the drooling vagina. 'OK, pantie-girl, your turn. Let me get at that little mink.' With she bounded from the bed, took Alex by the shoulders, thrust her down onto the damp sheet, lifted her legs apart and sat herself down between them.

Strong fingers pulled open her vulva and held the labia apart, while the other hand probed the vestibule with one digit. 'Hey, not much liquor in the glass. Let's get a bit more syrup in there,' and she withdrew the finger, thrust two fingers into her own vagina, gathered lubricant, and used to grease the way into Alex. 'Now we're in business, huh? It's a tight one, though, ain' it?'

Abruptly, Nancy shifted her bottom over one of Alex's legs and lie beside her, without withdrawing the two fingers now jerking in and out of the vagina. 'Let's take a lick at those cute titties,' she said, 'And limpeted her mouth to a nipple.

Alex now found herself in a situation she had never been in before. A woman was apparently aiming to make her come, but she, Alex, felt little or nothing suggesting arousal was likely. But she knew that unless and until she appeared to climax, the digital and dental onslaught would continue, unless boredom set in. The solution was, then, to attempt something supposedly common to heterosexual sex, the faking of orgasm. But, surely, Nancy would know there had been little hardening of nipple and clitoris, no swelling of breast, no pulsations in vagina.

Once again, Alex's English politeness and sense of fair play came into consideration, and she decided to see if prolonged stimulation might, after all, produce the symptoms of orgasm, if not the full experience. Though she could not prevent herself wincing when Nancy brought finger and thumb to bear on her clitoris and began a steady squdiging. This was, however, seemingly read as a shock of pleasure, for the comment was, 'Quick on the trigger, huh?' And, after a while, another question was asked, 'Geyser a' growing in the hot spring, honey?' Which Alex answered with a non-committal grunt and a movement of the hips.

There was nothing for it but to go for the deception, since nipple, clitoris and vagina could not take much more of this punishment. So, she began to buck up and down and let out little cries of apparent enjoyment. These drew greater speed and pressure in the ministrations. At least that provided the apparent final stimuli for Alex to let out a loud 'Aaaah!' and thrash about a bit.

The mouth and hands were promptly withdrawn, and Nancy swiftly got off the bed, saying, 'There you go, then. OK?' She then picked up Alex's special knickers and began to drag them on. 'These sure are cute panties. Mind if I try them. Course, I'm a bit bigger...'

Alex had to prevent herself laughing, for it took considerable effort to pull the knickers half way up Nancy's bottom, which strained at the fabric and bulged over the top. 'Well, when I get the business I can make my own to fit, can't I?' she said. 'I'll just get 'em off again...'

'Oh, no,' Alex said, 'I don't think they'd stand it. Do keep them.'

'Thanks, kiddo. They'll be like a souvenir, then, of a great evening.' Resuming the tracksuit and shoes. 'Hear from you soon, huh? Maybe you'll be over again and we can have a second ride together. Before that, you wanna get that hayfield mowed, sweetheart. So long!' And she was gone.

3

'Didn't like the curly curls, eh?' I said.

'Well, I must say her minge looked like a plucked chicken.'

'And you had to poke into the giblets.'

'I shouldn't speak about another woman like that, I know. I'm not even sure she was really lesbian.'

'Well,' I said, 'I think I can guess how you feel now. You were wanting some pleasant pussying, and now you're sore and frustrated.'

'Right. And you're going to help me. And I know what you did for my Sasha.'

'I'll do anything for some decent knicks.'

'You shall have them, Cinders. Meanwhile...'

'Have you some oil? Olive will do. And a towel? Good. Show me your boudoir.'

It was a pleasant airy room Curtains, duvet, sheets and carpet in shades of blue, furniture pale in colour, and plain. The paintings on the walls were originals, of naked women engaged in normal activities, brushing their hair, making up, sorting laundry, cleaning the bath, eating a meal.They were not posed, or erotic, but were beautiful in their ordinariness.

Alex turned back the duvet and looked enquiringly at me. I spread the towel on the bed and she lay down. I said, 'Alex, you are as beautiful as the women on the walls, and I'm going to show my admiration.' I poured a little oil onto her belly and began to spread it, in a slow, gentle, massage, nothing particularly arousing, though my hands glided over those perfect breasts and down towards that curly mons.

I have seen a good many breasts, and they were all good, but Alex's are special. Because while most breasts tend to flatten or sag outwards when the woman is on her back, Alex's stand up proud, hardly spreading at all. They remain in contact, too, as if glued together at a point midway round their circumference. The nipples are a rich, deep red, the nipples almost pointed. So, I was relishing my smoothing and gently compressing, noting they were erecting, and reflecting that there should always be a reverence for the body, the physical entity housing the person, who must be respected. Otherwise, you are not making love: you are making only sensation.

Steadily I pressed and moulded shoulders, arms, stomach and legs, pouring more oil when needed, and, as I had hoped, she went into a half-trance, half-doze, relaxed and breathing evenly. I neither avoided nor paid special attention to her pussy and labia. Her curls darkened and corkscrewed with the oil into ringlets, as I slid my fingertips along the creases between outer and inner labia.

Eventually I found I she was regarding me with open eyes and slightly raising her hips to meet my hands on her stomach and thighs. As I moved up to her bosom again she said, 'You know, Norma, if you do my nips I think I might come.'

One of my aims had been to soothe those abused nipples, to recover their natural responses, and this was good news. Therefore, I gently plucked at them, ran my fingertips round and over them as they stood up towards me. I have never come myself from nipples alone, but I knew some women can, though they are, I think, also consciously or unconsciously rhythmically working their pelvic muscles.

I decided to add an element to the operation, and moved a hand to lodge its fingertips within her vulva. I said, 'I won't trig your clit, darling, but you can move against the touch, if it helps.'

'It's just right,' she said, 'Go with the nips and just the touch on the clit will do it. It's like my breasts are waking up and wanting to say they're alive, that I'm alive. Oh, yes, lovely Norma, I'm going to come. Kiss me while I come.'

As our lips pressed and folded together, her orgasm waxed slowly, under my hand spread over a breast, and against my finger in her now dewy crease. She took a deep breath through her nose and held it while the ecstasy peaked. Then she relaxed, and as our lips parted, she said, 'Oh, Norma, that was so sweet, so beautiful.'

'And we're only half way, you know,' I said. 'When you're ready, turn over and give me your back.'

'I know,' she said, 'You want my bottom, don't you, you ruthless bottomiser.'

'Of course,' I said, 'I dream about your bum. It's the bottomyist bottom I know.'

She laughed and turned over, and I got her to lift her hips to put a pillow beneath her, so as to raise her bottom, which I did not at once begin on. I massaged her feet a while, moved up her legs slowly, traversed her bottom and went on up her back to work on her shoulders and arms. I could, naturally, contemplate with awe what is probably the most beautiful bottom I have ever seen, marvelling at its firmness as it spreads out in so many dimensions from the amazingly slim waist. The best image I can offer is Velasquez's 'Rokeby Venus,' though I think Alex's is even more stupendous, slightly larger in proportion to the rest of her.

Eventually, of course, I did arrive at those perfect hillocks and began to knead and stroke, working inwards till my thumbs were gliding up and down within the cleft, and my motive in placing the pillow was revealed.

One of the endless fascinations of studying women's bodies from all angles is the variation in the visibility of their labia from the rear. Does the overhand of bottom conceal or reveal the compressed labia when they're standing. Do they come into view if the woman lies on her stomach? If she bends over they are usually to be observed. Alex's are secreted when she stands, but I had her positioned so that the slightly parted inner lips, framed in the outer ones, were accessible. And as I squeezed and smoothed I moved downwards and inwards until my thumbs were grazing the labia and nudging into them. I took the labia minora between fingers and thumbs and run them up and down, sliding in the mix of oil and lubricant. My second aim was to soothe and refresh the sore vestibule, and, maybe, venture within, to bring healing.

She lifted her hips to welcome the manoeuvre and said, 'If you're thinking of going in, stop thinking and do it.'

Slowly, I inserted two fingers and began a gentle in-and-out, crooking the digits to slide their tips over the front wall of the vagina, not far in. Gradually I increased the pressure, homing in on the slightly rough patch which is the key place, and she said, 'Oh, you do know, don't you? You know how to give a cunt a good time. Much more of that - and, oh, yes, she really is going to blow. Fasten your seat-belt. Jam your tits on my bott. Yes, like that. Oh, it's coming, coming. I can feel it in my tubes. Now!' And the ejaculate burst out, soaking the pillow and towel. She keened a series of shrill notes, 'Aaaaeeeh! Eeeyah! Oooeeeah!'

I resumed the massage, stroking and lightly patting, and said, 'You know, Alex, you are one fortunate lady. You can come three ways, nipple, clit and cunt.'

'Yes, and I've only just extended the repertoire. But if I'm a geyser, you're going to be a volcano. I'll just move this cummy pillow. Now, lie down.'

No sooner had I disposed myself, on my back, than Alex was between my thighs, bringing her mouth to bear on my vulva. 'Oho,' she said, 'Looks like ogling my bottom has psyched you up, my darling.'

She was right: I was highly aroused, and then she lapped at my labia and slurped my clitoris, and it was only a few moments before I said, 'The power of your bottom, yes. I'm going to come. My clit is on fire.' As I came she thrust two fingers into me for me to grip and the blissful feeling travelled outwards from the clitoral wishbone, into my bottom and thighs and rapidly throughout my body and brain.

As the access of sensation faded, I said, 'I used to fear that as I got older my orgasms would diminish, or even cease, but they haven't, they haven't, and other old ladies like me have confirmed that though the cunt loses elasticity, and doesn't flood so much, the actual climaxes are quicker but no less intense. Just thought I'd tell you for future reference.'

4

We enjoyed a cuddle and then she said, 'Now, old lady, it's knicker time. I want you try some I've made you. Incidentally, Nancy won't be getting any of my panties. She keeps emailing to protest that I've not chosen her as my Americaknickerlady, but she's off the list. I'm not sharing the technology with her.'

'How do you do it, then?' I asked.

'It's three-dimensional computer work. The programme uses the images and measurements to create a 3D image. I specify the fabrics and how they're to be combined and placed, and the result gets fed to the machine, which makes the knicks. Everything is stored, of course, for future use. We haven't quite got the elasticating mechanised yet, but soon. And adding the frills and furbelows is done by hand, too, to personal specs.'

'You must be a computer wizard.'

'Not really. I had the idea, but I have a partner, Lucinda, who does the programming.'

'Is she?'

'No, she's married, but she knows my propensities, and doesn't mind - in fact she is curious and likes the idea of my seducing my clients and models. She shares my belief in the product, naturally. You probably do, too, if you think about it. After all, knickers are fundamental. In every sense. All day long they hold your largest component, your most sensitive and precious parts, and if they be not comfortable and healthful there is something amiss in your management of your life. So, properly fitting, all-encompassing and reassuring underwear is vital - and it's worthy of whatever expense is needed to achieve it.'

'Going commando can be fun, and the breeze round the quim is delightful, but the cunt is leaky, designed to be so, and you need to catch the drips, and keep the juice off your clothes. You may not want the general public to observe your pubes when the wind blows or you sit down, too. I've never been especially modest, but nowadays I feel quite edgy about blokes viewing the privaties of people I love, like you, dear Alex.'