Baby In Pantyhose

A New graphic serial by Prim

Chapter One: Michael Is Caught With Pantyhose

When the Leglushes moved into the apartment over one of the stores near where he lived, Michael Fairleigh's life was about to change dramatically. He didn't know them personally; he just happened to be taking a short cut home from the swimming pool when Nadia Leglush was taking in her washing from the rotary washing line. His route took him along the path between the backs of the stores and the canal, which meant he could stand and watch, hidden amongst the trees.
  There was nothing exceptional about Nadia, a tall, 40-ish, busty woman with full, light brown hair, in jeans and a tee-shirt. What made the young boy stop and stare at her was the dry washing that she was taking down from the lines: nylon nightdresses in small sizes, so she must have a daughter, pairs of the prettiest panties, some of them large enough for her well-endowed bottom and others smaller for the younger bottom, and dainty petticoats with lace around the hems. But what made him separate the leaves so that he got a better look were the stockings. Soft and long, floating delicately in the breeze, separating into different legs, although... as he strained his eyes to see better... they were joined together. Pairs of pantyhose: each one of them giving him two stockings for the price of one to look at and feel breathless over.
  He couldn't drag his eyes away from the pale tan pantyhose, the darker brown pantyhose and even the grey pantyhose that Nadia Leglush was unclipping from the lines. Oh if only she would stop and leave them there, flicking and fluttering their leg-shaped prettiness in the breeze. Michael's cock was beginning to feel good. He was hating that woman for taking down every last pair. Oh shit! She was walking back into the house leaving the rotary completely empty. What a dream he had been having, only for his bubble to burst.
That night he dreamt again about Nadia Leglush and her daughter before he fell asleep, pulling their pantyhose up their legs in their pretty bedroom, smoothing each leg higher, standing to pull the darker, lovely panty up over their most precious feminine places, cupping their rounded bottoms, right up to their waists, looking so perfectly feminine and long-legged, before they drew on their nylon panties and their soft, whispy nighties ready for bed.
 He had already planned his route for the next day, to arrive earlier and see the pantyhose and panties while they were blowing in the wind.
  Drama! Horror! The next day saw rain, and although he was amongst the trees, well covered up, there was no chance of Nadia Leglush bringing out her washing. He softened his disappointment by trying to find out which store she had moved into. He calculated from the back yards that it was next but one to the Coca-Cola crates of the candy store, and when he got round to the front, he got a shock. What used to be Jefferson's hardware was now all pink and purple with stars and sparkly glitter.
Nylon, Lace and Little Ones, said the smart plastic head-board: Ladies' and girls' lingerie and babywear.
  In bed that night, Michael Fairleigh's dreams had ladies in pantyhose shopping in the lingerie store in very short skirts indeed. He prayed for no rain tomorrow, until he fell asleep, and when he awoke, the sun was shining.
He was hidden in the trees bright and early, with a bottle of coke and an apple to keep him company. He must have been meant to be there, he thought, because the bushes opposite Nadia Leglush's yard were particularly thick, hiding him from the path. As he was smiling at this bright thought, he nearly choked on his coke. The door opened and into his perfect view between the branches came, not Nadia Leglush, but a dream of a girl who must have been two years older than himself, with a load of washing that would fill the rotary dryer.
  She had short dark hair and a bust that was big for her age, but what the young voyeur's eyes focused upon were those gorgeous legs between her mini skirt and her wedge high heels. Pure pantyhose, the colour of honey and the most gorgeous female shape.
He watched her pick out one garment after another, and every now and then there was a pair of pantyhose. Occasionally the wind flicked her fringe across her eyes, so that she would use the hand that was holding washing to move it. Ohhhh, when it was a pair of pantyhose, Michael ached with desire. He was going to be watching this pantyhose all day until it was dry, and at the moment it was moving slowly in the wind as if it would take ages.
  It was a long morning, and when the breeze had died down, the pairs of pantyhose were maddeningly still and lifeless. Michael was dying of hunger and aching throughout his body. He made a big decision: he would get over the fence, creep closer to the rotary and examine the pantyhose... to work out which ones were the mother's and which were the daughter's, then creep undetected back again and carry on with his vigil until they were taken in.
  Getting over the wooden fence was easy: there were transverse frame-strips making a ladder of sorts and he dropped like a cat onto the flagstones of the yard. He felt horrifyingly exposed, as if there was someone in each of the four windows, watching and wondering what the hell he thought he was doing.
  "Just coming to inspect your pantyhose, ma'am," he thought to himself with an inward giggle. "The pantyhose that you wear next to your legs... and ass... and pussy!" He didn't stand up; he crept on all fours using the hanging clothes as a shield once he got near enough, and wow! Here he was, under a rotary filled with women's and girls' smalls, with one or two things that didn't matter, like a jumper or a tee-shirt. In front of his face were the nylon feet of one - two - three... six pairs of pantyhose! How lovely they were, this close up. He reached a hand forward and closed his fingers onto one of them. It was dry. He looked at other garments and felt a couple of them. They were all dry. His neck felt hot, as if he was being approached by Nadia Leglush. He looked round, but no. He'd better get out of there, though, while he was still safe. He ran his hands up a pair of pantyhose... in a very pale honey colour... and felt the thicker, oh-so-soft panty, then dropped to a crouch again and high-tailed it back to the fence. A step onto an upturned flower pot, onto a trunk, and his leg was on top of the fence and a drop to the other side.
  Ten seconds later he was back in his leafy cache, and five seconds later than that, he got yet another surprise. Instead of Nadia or her daughter, it was a younger girl who came out with the laundry basket, about his own age. The woman must have two daughters. She had blonde curls almost to her shoulders, a pretty top that flared from her shoulders to her waist, a pleated mini, flesh coloured pantyhose that shone on her legs and high heeled sandals on her feet. She spent the whole time on her phone, doing everything with one hand. He watched in a state of thrill as panties, jumpers and eventually pairs of pantyhose were taken down and thrown into the basket, and by the time her pleated mini disappeared, Michael had decided that not only would he be back, but he would be more bold.
Okay, he had made a good decision to get out when he did, or little miss cell phone would have caught him, but why didn't he get in there half an hour earlier? Why hadn't he pinched a pair of pantyhose? A longer pair that would have been mother's, and a shorter one from one of the girls? That younger daughter's hose would clutch his legs in nylon bliss.
  He was back the next day even earlier, with two bottles of coke, a bagel and two apples. He knew which pockets he would put his pairs of pantyhose into so that he could sneak them up to his room without Mom knowing. He was prepared to wait patiently but got a fantastic surprise: the washing came out early, brought by both daughters. His heart felt like it was pumping in his throat as they began pegging out the contents of the basket: pantyhose, more pantyhose, and even more pantyhose... it was almost exclusively pairs of gorgeous pantyhose and his cock was telling him that he was feeling so excited already.
  It was a nice day but not over-warm, so there would be no sun-bathing. The back door of the lingerie and babywear store was shut. So were all the windows: a good thing, because any accidental noise would not be heard inside. Michael ventured forward from his place of safety, half climbed the fence to check that the coast was clear... and to cast an eye over the rotary washing line.
Ohhhhh, how wonderful! How exquisitely feminine. He dropped to the ground and crouched his way across the yard, nearer and nearer to the pantyhose. His cock was aching in anticipation as the legs and feet of gossamer nylon flickered slightly, as if alive in the still air.
Draping pantyhose wasn't brilliant at giving him total cover, but he told himself he was behind them as his eyes devoured each pair one by one.
  This dark chestnut pair were definitely the mother's: gleaming, rich and elegant. This pair in palest tan nylon must be worn by the taller of the daughters. He could imagine her bottom filling the back of that panty, her thighs filling the legs... her knees, calves and ankles... and her feet and toes pushing deep into the bottoms. He unclipped them from the line. He had a pair of her pantyhose in his hands... so soft... so dreamy. He pressed them into his face and worked them round his cheeks, his eyes, his ears, his nose and his lips. What a catch! He spread them across his crouching knees and folded them neatly, smaller and smaller until he could push them into the pocket of his jeans.
  What he really wanted was a pair from each of the three females. He held two pairs of pantyhose and carefully rotated the triangle of lines, bringing new treasures his way, until... ohhhhhhhh: unbelievable! These smaller tights simply must belong to the girl his age. In palest pink nylon, slightly too small so that they would stretch and grip. He held one foot with reverence against his face and kissed . He loved it. How feminine it was, working miracles of thrills through his body. He wished he could pull it on, up his legs. Instead he would do the next best thing.
  He opened the front of his jeans, his thrills multiplying as the pink pantyhose dangled in front of him; and his jeans slid down to his thighs. His cock was an absolute boner, so that he had to unhook his briefs from the top of it. He couldn't quite pull the dainty foot down to it, so he stood up, bent double, and a moment later, he had the precious pantyhose foot caressing his helmet, cupping his cock, sliding its nylon sweetness up and down his manhood, pressing...
  "Gotcha! ya little pervert!" came the shout as his tee-shirt was seized at the back.
"Look at what he's doin', the filthy prick!"
"That's my hose, ya wanker!"
Michael's heart stopped. His arms were grabbed. Strong hands... the girls he'd seen in the yard... both the daughters and their mother, as he was hoisted off the ground and landed on his feet again facing her. He was caught at the worst time, with his pants at his knees, his briefs pulled down and his cock in a stiffie!
  "Well, well, well," declared Nadia Leglush, her fists on her broad hips and her eyes devouring the guilty state of the captive. She had her black hair tied back, making her rounded face glare intently at him. Her big breasts in her cerise, sleeveless top seemed to threaten him with female power and menace. Her legs seemed even stronger, bursting from her little, black leather skirt in shapely, gleaming, charcoal pantyhose. She stood a foot above him in towering high heels.
"You were so easy to catch, panty-waist boy," she said. "Once I saw you yesterday, you were hooked. Its pantyhose, isn't it? You can't resist them. Little scum-bag!"
"B-But I wasn't doing anyth...Ooooowww!" The grip tightened on his arms as if with steel tentacles... displaying his erection.
"Shaddap, ya prick!" snapped the younger girl at his ear, "or I'll pull yer prick off!"
"Now, Christine," said her mother, her tone agreeing with her daughter but pretending to chide, "our little pantyhose snatcher is going to be needing his precious prick, for what we're going to do to him. Aren't you, my little thief? Going to cover these lovely soft legs with our pantyhose, were you?" She leaned closer to him, smelling of perfume and showing him all of her breasts, and smoothed her hands round his bottom and down the backs of his thighs. "My, they are nice and delicate. Feel his legs, Lucy-Mae, and tell me this isn't a girl with a prick."
  The older daughter let go of Michael and put her hands round the top of his thigh. Her hands were cold but feminine and gentle. She ran them down to his knee and on down his calf to his ankle and foot. "Mom, this leg is just made for pantyhose. Hell, it's a girl's leg! What kind of a disgusting oink did we find in our back yard?"
  Michael squeezed his eyes to hold back his tears. They had no right to say that... as if he was effeminate. "But I was only crossing through your yard," he bleated. "I'll go home right away... hones-Oooowwwwww!"
  His feet left the floor as his arms were squeezed and a female hip dug into his back and levered him up. It was the girl his own age, and dammit, was she strong! "Didn' I tell you to shut yer face, pretty-legs?" she said. "If ya mouth off again I'll break yer arm, so help me."
  Michael had no doubt she could, and would. She was close to breaking both his arms as it was: he had to stifle his cries as she turned him so that he was following her mother towards the house, his feet stumbling in the jeans round his ankles.
  "Our pantyhose thief wants to go home," scoffed Nadia, turning to him with a lipstick grin as she led the way in. "I think he'll feel at home strung up in his own little rotary dryer, Christine. Bring him upstairs to the nice little 'home' we've prepared for him."
"Too right," said Christine, holding her captive with his arms out to the side by his wrists to give him some balance with his feet strung together. "We need to take a good look at this cock of his."
"This pathetic cock of his, the worm," snarled Lucy-Mae. She followed her little sister as she forced the boy through the back of the store to the staircase and pulled his jeans off his feet so that they could frog-march him upstairs.
  On the landing, Nadia stood, arms folded, waiting for the pervert to be brought face to face with her. She eyed him for a moment, twisting her nose and lips in a sneer. It was the moment for Michael's tears to free themselves and roll down each cheek, bringing a snort of contempt from the mother. "Oh don't cry, honey. We have a little room here for treating males like you," she murmured. "Girls, bring our dainty-boy inside and strip him."
  Her words frightened him. It sounded like she had been expecting him, or at least was glad to have found someone interfering with the feminine washing on the line. He was thrust into a dark room and the light was turned on.
  How enclosed it felt, with no windows, only furniture: unusual furniture: a big white chair in the middle... huge... and on it the seat of a swing on cords from the ceiling. He saw lots more dangling: dresses hanging round the room, and petticoats... young dresses, like for large baby girls or toddlers, and to one side, big mirrors standing on wheels.
"I think you had better tell me your name, my boy, before you get yourself into serious trouble with the law," said Nadia Leglush, seating herself on an upright chair to face him as her daughters stripped him of his tee-shirt, briefs and socks. He stood naked before her, held in a position of helplessness by a girl his own age.
  He wondered whether to tell... then thought he might be released sooner if he played ball. "Michael," he said, his voice small, gasping with the exertion he was being put through from behind.
  "I see," said the mother, producing a package that looked like a big encyclopaedia, wrapped in silver paper with a pink pattern and fastened in a ribbon bow. "Well, Michael, my daughters and I don't take happily to a little boy messing with our personal garments."
"Not when that boy's a filthy little piggy," cried Lucy-Mae, taking the parcel from her mother and opening the rustling paper.
"But he's going to make up for it, aren't you, sweetie-pants?" cried Christine, giving him a shake to tell him to respond.
"Yes, I'm awfully s-s-sorry," he said, wishing he was anywhere else but here. "I... I'll make up for be-e-eing so naughty." He had his eyes on the package, which was now unwrapped to reveal a flat white box with a lid, which Christine's sister was taking off. She passed the lid to her mother, leaving an open box with tissue paper folded neatly inside.
"C-C-Can I please go home now?" he asked, with tears running down his cheeks.
  Nadia Leglush held the box lid as if about to read from it and flicked her eyes up to look at their captive. "Shall we see what we've got in the box, my boy? Shall we see what we've got for naughty little Michael?" Her big lips grinned with delight as she read aloud: " 'Sweet Baby Wendyhose,' " she said, looking up at him; then continued: " '... with vagina.' "
  Christine burst out laughing at his ear, her curls pressing around his hair. "Ha, just what a pantyhose thief wants, isn't it: to feel sweet in his own pretty pantyhose."
  Lucy-Mae was giggling too as her hands appeared from the tissues, holding a pair of pantyhose by the waist: pink, sparkling and so obviously for a little girl. "We can't have naughty Michael going home without wearing his pretty baby pantyhose, can we?" she said.
"Especially since they are rather different and very special," said their mother. "Girls, strip the pervert so that we can give him his heart's desire."

Chapter Two : Michael Is Put Into Baby Girl Pantyhose
"Look what good little boysie Michael had in his jeans pocket, Mom. A pair of my pantyhose, the monster. Hoping to take them home and jerk off into them." Lucy-Mae held onto her pantyhose and slung the boy's jeans into a heap against the door. "Let's turn him into the sissy panty-waist he wants to be."
 Like her mother, she wore a little black leather skirt over dark pantyhose. Her top was in slippery acetate material with ruffles cascading from her generous bust, while her feet were balanced in the highest of high heels.
  Her mother laughed with scorn and turned to the wall of the special room, where a cranking wheel was connected by pulleys to the ceiling. "I wonder how we should dress him, girls, so that his perverted stiffie feels really happy and contented? In some of our mini skirts, do you think?" The pulleys lifted the swing apparatus from the bed so that it swung from side to side behind Christine and her prisoner.
"Or our pairs of panties," sneered the girl herself. "That's what you want, isn't it, Michael dearest? To feel your stiffie is becoming more girlish inside our panties?"
"No! No I don't!" he cried, trying to keep his voice level to hide his sobbing. "I was just looking. I don't like pantyhose at all."
"Pantyhose... oh, of course!" scorned Nadia, feeding a length of satin under Michael's arm and hooking it together a foot above his shoulder. "So photographs don't tell lies then?" Lucy-Mae fed the second loop under his other arm and hitched it up, then linked the two loops together with a cross-piece. He was fastened to the ceiling sling, tightly enough to prevent escape. The mother stood in front of him as he snivelled and turned the screen of her phone towards him.
  "Christine," she said, "you remember that nice Sergeant McGrath who brought you home from the gig last Saturday, the worse for a bottle of hootch? What would he make of these photos, do you think?"
  Michael couldn't see through the tears in his eyes. But Nadia wanted him to see. "Christine," she said, grabbing him by a bunch of hair, "wipe his eyes while I hold our dear Michael." She smiled placidly into his face, eventually pursing her lips with menace. Her daughter used his tee shirt to give a vigorous rub across the eyes, finishing by shouting "Piglet!" into his face. When the girl was holding him again, her mother showed him the phone.
  The first picture showed him dropping from the fence into the store's back yard. Then he was creeping towards the washing, then he was under the washing with just his foot sticking out. The blood was draining from his face as he saw a close-up of himself sniffing Christine's pantyhose... then putting hose into his pocket, then... oh no, his pants were open and he had pantyhose stretched down inside it... and his mouth was wide open in a picture of sexual desire! He wailed with despair and the tears ran again. As he stood there, Lucy-Mae took a few more pictures, using her phone, of his naked helplessness in the hands of her sister.
  "Hold his hands away from his cock," she said, flashing time and again, "to show how thrilled the wanker is."
"So now you want to be dressed in panties, hon; isn't that right?" cooed Christine into his ear. "I've got some divine little white panties you're just gonna love, sweetie. And you can wear my pleated skirt if you like... yeh... this one," and she let go of him for a moment so as to move round and show him the skirt she meant, in pale blue with red buttons down the front. "I'll dress you in my girly top, if you like..." and she twirled to show him her floaty tank top in dove grey nylon patterned with flowers. "You'll get such a stiffie!"
  A wail of despair escaped her captive, but his heart stopped again as the pulleys lifted him under the arms. It was Lucy-Mae who wound him upwards until his feet left the floor and he dangled in pure nakedness while Christine held onto his wrists. She folded them round his legs so that she held him in a hug with her curls against his shoulder. Her mother sat on the chair in front of him and crossed her legs, revealing the most private reaches of her pantyhose. The beating of his heart doubled as he realised either that her panties were black and very brief, or she wasn't wearing any at all! She held the lid of the box and read aloud for them all.
  " 'Sweet Baby Wendyhose...' " she read, looking up into his eyes, then down again, " '..will turn your naughty sissy-boy into the cutest little girly you have ever nursed'." She giggled and looked up at the naked boy. "This is you, Michael. Our pantyhose is very special indeed."
"And you're going to find out just how special it is, pansy boy," said Christine, looking up coyly into his wet face.
" 'Even the most masculine of tough legs will not resist the weakening and feminising effect of the hormonal inner surface of the hose'." Lucy-Mae leaned over her mother to read it with her.
" 'While wearing it, he will begin to feel that he is turning into a girl. He will develop an urge to be cuddled and dressed by maternal females. The longer Sweet Baby Wendyhose contains his legs, the more childish he will want to be, until he begs to be dressed in the prettiest of babywear. From his waist downwards, he will become irreversibly female and babyish'."
  The penny dropped for the wretched boy. He burst into a fit of coughing, or at least that was what it sounded like. From trying to hold back his sobs, they overcame all his strength and he sobbed and spluttered out loud as his panic came through in helpless crying.
  "Stone me, Mom," snorted Christine, putting on a cheated look, "he's turned out to be a cry-baby before we've even begun. I wanted to see him suffering." She wrapped a ribbon round one of his wrists, securing it in place with its Velcro, passed the ribbon through each of his shoulder loops round the back of his neck, and secured his other wrist in the same way. A fit of panic seized him and he dangled wildly to free himself, his bare legs jabbing the air to right and left but failing to reach the ground.
  "Come on, Christine," said her sister, "help me put the little wanker into his babyhose. We'll see him suffer all right." She parted the tissues of the box, her face glowing with excitement, and slipped her fingers inside.
  The suspended boy watched in choking fear. A whimper escaped his lips as the lustrous pinkness of the pantyhose came into view. To his fevered mind, it appeared to have shiny stars on its panty, while its legs were divinely shaped into female curves, scaled down for a little girl.
  "No... Oh no, please... D-D-Don't put me into the W-W-Wendyhose," he stammered as Lucy-Mae allowed the nylon to slide out into its shape and hang from her fingers. Her sister ran her hands down his legs, along the insides and outsides of his thighs, and the same with his calves, calculating whether his boyish flesh was smooth and soft enough to be encased in such a special, life changing pantyhose.
  "Oh yes," she cried, as excited as her sister as the pantyhose came nearer, "his legs can't wait, Lucy-Mae. He wants to be feminised and turned more and more into a baby girl."
"No! No I don't! Oh help! Please don't put them on me. I want to go home now. Oh please, ma'am, let me down. Oh he-e-e-e-e-e-elp!"
  Nadia held his feet still for the girls to present the panty to them. "Make sure his feet are well down into the toes."
"He-e-e-e-e-elp!" he cried between them.
  Her daughters knew how to put on a pair of pantyhose, and gathered a leg each onto one arm with her hand inside the shining pink foot. Then they gathered their leg together, and the panty was threaded onto his feet. They couldn't resist turning to look up at his face... his hands clutched into fists on either side of his cheeks and his trembling jaw gagging as he tried to call out.
"What beautiful girls' pantyhose, Michael," said Lucy-Mae. "Now you can feel really excited and girly," said Christine, "now that you're going to be as sweet as a baby."
  The panty was gradually unthreaded up his legs, with Nadia stretching the hose up from his feet onto his ankles. "Pull them tight, girls," she said, "so that the hormones go to work on his nicely shaped legs."
  She hardly needed to insist, for the pantyhose was already clinging to his skin, as if it was contracting and imposing its nylon on the lower half of his body. His legs dangled between the legs of the girls on either side of him, with their hose rasping and sliding against his own. There were gasps above them as the panty pulled higher, above his knees, and as they looked up, his fingers had relaxed into sweet little shapes as the most unfamiliar, but delicious feelings started to smooth and flow their way through him.
  "Oh my God, will you look at his cock!" cried Christine as the panty got to the tops of his thighs.
"I think Sweet Baby Wendyhose must have started its work," giggled her mother as they saw the added stiffness of the upright erection in the middle of them. "Pull up hard," she urged the girls, so that all of the panty is perfectly in place over his sexual area. "I want him to be totally girlified in his new little pantyhose."
  A gurgle of feelings babbled out of his mouth and his silky legs slithered uncontrollably amongst the pantyhose of the females around him, sliding up and down in wriggles and kicks. "Oh no!" he gurgled, his whole body squirming in his sling, "I feel so l-l-lovely in... in my le-e-e-e-egs... I'm wea-ea-earing little girly p-p-pantyhose... and I'm s-s-so sweeeet!"
  His words brought out the females' laughter, and they tucked and smoothed and played with his pantyhose for him, and knew for certain that his naughty boy's perverted erection had never been so stiff in his life.