Pretty Polly Nylons

Hi, my name's Vickie Cooper and I have a story to tell you. It's a bit shameful on my part and I shouldn't really be telling you about it. But, knowing you, I have a feeling that you'll probably enjoy it. Anyway, it got me into a fair bit of trouble and that's something that seems to follow me around these days.

I will tell you about it right from the start. And that would be a few months ago, when the weather suddenly turned warmer. I don't know about you, but, all that sunshine made me feel better. Suddenly, I started to root out my summer outfits and shake off those winter blues.

But first, let me tell you a little bit about myself. Not that there's a great deal to tell.

First of all, you could describe me as a 24 year old leggy blonde and a bit on the dizzy side. The sort of blonde they make jokes about. Well, I might be quite pretty and have a good figure, but, I have to confess I'm not very brainy. In fact, I was a bit of a duffer at school and not much better now. I do some silly things at times, if I say so myself.

I suppose you could also say that I'm one of those girls who married too young, had a baby too early and went on to live a monotonous life of dull routine in a boring small northern town.

No stop, that's not being fair really, I shouldn't complain. It's the life I chose. And besides, I have a nice, two bedroomed, semi-detached house on the council estate and some good friends and relations who live nearby. And, of course, I love my little daughter, Sarah...and my husband of course, it goes without saying. Sarah is 7 now going on 30, if you know what I mean. She's growing up too fast that one and will need watching in the future. I don't want her to be a teenage mum like me. She spends a lot of time with my Mum. I have to say that I couldn't manage without her help.

Let's just say I get on with my life and try and make the best of things. I have a little part time job at the newsagents shop a couple of afternoons a week. And, I do for the old dear next door which is also a nice little earner.

Occasionally, I get to go out, sometimes on a Saturday night down to the pub with Mike and, very rarely, (about twice a year)I get to join my girl friends for a night out. But, most nights, we just stay in and watch the telly. As do most of our friends.

I'm just giving you all this as a bit of background, so you will maybe understand my little story just that little bit better.

I go to Asda's Superstore a lot. It's where I do my shopping. It's a big store and I like going there. It gives me the chance to dress up the way I want and it gives me a lift. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a model. I had the figure for it: still do as a matter of fact.

But my strict parents stopped me when I got my big chance. It has always rankled with me. I could have been another Kate Moss. Who knows? Often I stand and look at myself in the mirror, usually when I'm naked and emerging from my morning shower. And I don't care if you think I'm conceited or not, I'm impressed with what I see.

For example, I like my tits. They are a lovely shape, firm and round like a couple of big oranges, bouncing around provocatively inside my tight sweater. Men like them too, I can tell, judging by the way they are always looking at them. And, I like wearing the sort of clothes that show them off. Then, there are my legs. If you saw them I'm sure you would agree that they are well worth looking at; long and slender and shapely.

Again, I like to show them off. Well, you know what they say...if you've got it, flaunt it.

Oh yes, I like short dresses and mini skirts. And shorts...yes, shorts in the summer.

On the other hand, my husband, Mike hates me to wear anything that will get me admiring glances. He's a brute really, He has a ferocious temper and I have to watch it when I tease him or attract another man's attention. He's not averse to taking off his belt to me or giving me a black eye or a few bruises. I have to admit I get frightened when he gets into a certain type of mood, sometimes fuelled by drink, sometimes by jealousy and rage. I should have left him years ago when he first showed his true colours. But, I could never drum up the courage to do it, and besides, I had a baby to look after. These days, I can usually cope with him and get him to calm down, but I have to be careful.

But, getting back to what I wear. I suppose it's my way of rebelling against my husband and the kind of life I'm stuck with. My young life seemingly slipping away and so much I've missed out on.

I've got to be very careful and crafty. I only wear sexy stuff when he's out at work. And, I make damn sure I change before he gets home. No point in looking for trouble.

Anyway, back to my story. It all happened one Wednesday afternoon in Asda's. They have a woman's clothing department on the first floor, next to the coffee bar. I liked to go there and skim through the latest fashions in their clothes shop. Then I'd sit down for 20 minutes or so while, have a coffee and read through a magazine. I'd feel quite elegant just sitting there in something nice, while I watched the world go by and occasionally say hello to people.

Well, that afternoon, I was looking at some slinky black mini skirts which had just been marked down in the sale. I picked out my size and was about to try it on in the changing room, when I saw the queue. "Oh no," I groaned. "I'm not waiting in that."

So, I did what I had done a few times before. I went behind the mirror in a quiet corner and quickly unzipped out of my jeans. It only took a few seconds and there was no one about, or so I thought. I stood briefly in my nylons and suspenders, black high heels and black lace panties before stepping into the mini skirt. I pulled it up and zipped myself in before nipping out to see what I looked like in the mirror. As I had anticipated, it was a great fit and I just had to buy.

As I stepped back and proceeded to change back into my jeans I got a shock. There peeping through a gap in the clothes rail was a man with a camera and he was taking shots of me stepping out of the black skirt. How had I not noticed him before?

He saw my shocked face and stopped clicking for an instant. "It's O.K." he grinned.

Well, as far as I was concerned, it certainly was not O.K. I gave a little gasp and grabbed my jeans. In a panic, I thought of screaming an alarm but then thought better of it. I would bring the store to a standstill and never live it down.

So, all I could do was turn my back to him and continue dressing while he snapped away.

After I was decent again, I angrily turned to face him. But even then a little voice told me it had been my own fault. I should have gone to the changing room and stood in the queue like everyone else.

I was just about to give him a piece of my mind when he got in first.

"Sorry love, I couldn't resist taking your photo...you've got great legs by the way."

Well his flattering remarks went some way to appeasing me. Secretly, I got a little thrill out of being spied upon and I don't get many thrills these days, I can tell you.

So, I just shrugged my shoulders and went on my way. There was nothing I could do about it anyway. I carried the skirt across to the checkout and after I made my purchase, I made my way to the café for a coffee.

Not long afterwards, the man himself slid into the seat opposite. I opened my mouth to tell him he wasn't welcome at my table, when he got in first again. He was a good talker.

"Sorry again about that, I just couldn't resist it, I'm afraid." He began.

"The thing is I work for Pretty Polly Nylons, I'm sure you've heard of them. They sell their products nationwide. Also, here in this very store."

He got my attention then. Yes, I'd heard of them, who hadn't?

"As a matter of fact," he continued, "I'm on a talent seeking mission in the north of England...looking for models for the next sales campaign."

I blinked at this revelation. His words rang a little bell in my head.

"And I have to tell you that you are a definite possibility. Our stockings would look just great on you...you see, what we are trying to do now is get away from the concept of featuring skinny top models in our adverts and, instead, use attractive local women such as yourself as models, the kind who actually shop and buy our products in stores like these."

I opened my mouth in shock and delight. I could be a model for a nylon company?

"Yes...you have superb legs," he said smoothly, "I'd love to take more photographs of you and submit them to head office"

"Me, be a model?" I stuttered. "You can't be serious."

"Oh but I am," he assured me. "I've spent weeks looking for prospective models and you are the best prospect I've found yet."

"Well, I don't know what to..."

"Why don't you come with me to the park over the road and I'll take a few more, then, I'm sure I could press your claims with head office."

My head was dizzy with the thought of fulfilling my childhood dreams. Could it be that at last my talents had been recognised?

First thing I did was go into the ladies, and, on Harry's advice, (that was his name) change into my new black miniskirt. Then, in a daze I allowed him to lead me out of Asda's and into the sunshine.

As I waited for him to collect some more of his photography equipment from his car boot, I started to dream of fame and fortune and the life of a model.

Then he was back and ready to go.

"Just a minute" I said, being cautious for once, "how do I know you are genuine?"

He immediately flourished a letter in front of my face. I could see the Pretty Polly logo and address and its acknowledgement that Harry Vine was their employee.

It was enough for me. I wanted it to be true.

And so, we ended up in the park. Harry picked a real quiet spot and proceeded to take a lot of pictures of me. I felt really special and flattered.

As we progressed he encouraged me to show off my legs. "After all" he urged "that's what will impress them at head office."

So, I hoisted up my black mini and let him snap a few of me standing beside a tree.

Then he got me to hoist it up a bit further...and then higher still.

After a few minutes he sidled up to me.

"Look, there's no one around to see," he whispered. "Why don't you take off the skirt and let me take a few of you in your underwear?"

I was flabbergasted. "You can't expect me to...not here...in the park."

He came up and put his arm around me.

"Yeah you're right," he conceded. "But, I do need a few more ...and to be honest...a model is expected to show a lot flesh these days."

He let that sink in before continuing.

"It would be a pity not to complete a full portfolio of you for submission. I know they would want that down at HQ. And, unfortunately, I have to move on to other towns."

I must have looked a picture of disappointment with my little dream crashing around me

"Does that mean that it's not going to happen?" I asked.

"Well...there's a lot of competition and the photographs are crucial."

He stroked his chin and gave it some thought.

"Look I have an idea," he announced. "As there isn't time to book a proper photographic studio, why don't you just come back to my hotel and we can finish off the session in private. You would be quite safe there and, of course, you would have the final say with the photographs."

It seemed an ideal solution to the problem, but, I was a little concerned about going with him to his hotel room. Any girl would be.

However, his silky skills at persuasion won me over. And he knew I was desperate to be a model for Pretty Polly.

"It will only take half an hour" he assured me, "an hour at the most."

So, I finally agreed and he drove me there in no time at all. It was less than a mile away.

I was most impressed with his hotel and with the rooms he was staying in. There was a bathroom, a sitting room and a bedroom. It was all very posh and roomy with superb views from the large picture windows.

I sat down nervously, wondering if I had done the right thing. But Harry continued to reassure me and enthuse about my modelling prospects and I started to relax.

He offered me a drink and I settled for a gin and tonic. Then he got down to the serious business of taking photographs.

After taking half a dozen shots, he brought up the thorny issue of me taking my skirt off. I bit my lip and hesitated, but, in the circumstances I could hardly refuse.

As I blushed and unzipped, I thought of my jealous husband. He would explode with rage if he ever found out about this. But, at that moment, I was standing there in just my underwear and Harry's camera was busy.

Oh how photographers love to take photos, he never seemed to stop. He took photographs of me in every position. And, inch by inch, he cajoled me into more concessions. First, he had me take my bra off and then he had me sitting on the bed peeling off my stockings.

"Oh they will love this," he crooned as I slowly and provocatively teased them down my legs. Then, he persuaded me to pretend to tug down my panties and pout at the camera.

"You're a natural," he enthused.

I don't know what came over me but there in that room being photographed like a model I lost all my inhibitions. I posed endlessly at his instruction. In this seductive atmosphere, I did everything he wanted of me. At the very end, I was bending over and pushing my bum up high. The slut in me had finally emerged.

"Wow," he shouted. "You are truly sensational."

Eventually, he called a halt and I saw from my watch on the side board that we had been at it for nearly two hours.

He brought me a drink across and put his arm around me. His hands on my bare flesh made me shiver.

"You have wonderful skin texture," he growled.

"Maybe so," I frowned, "but I have to go now."

"Your husband is a lucky man, I hope he knows it."

He watched me climb into my jeans which I fished out of my shopping bag.

"You should never wear jeans, Vickie," he said "not with legs like yours."

As I made my way out I had only one question for him

"When will I hear about the modelling...whether I get picked, I mean?"

"Oh you'll get to hear soon, I've got your details, I'll be in touch."

Well, about a week went by and I wondered what if anything was happening.

I must confess the photograph session had got me all excited. Would I be in with a chance? Then I thought why not contact Harry and ask him. After all, he said he worked for the Pretty Polly Company and surely they would have his number. Good idea, Yes? You see, I am not as dumb as I look.

And guess what? ...Oh, I see you are ahead of me. There was no Harry Vine working for that Company; as a photographer, or anything else. In fact, they were quite concerned and wanted all the details of what had happened, including my name and address. At that point, the penny dropped with me. I had been duped. Some pervert had tricked me into posing for photographs and I had fallen for it like the gullible dope that I am. As my brain began to spin, I put the phone down. No way was I going to let them know who I was. Maybe, they would involve the police and God knew what would happen if Mike had got to know that I had gone to a man's hotel room and stripped naked while he took photos of me.

I remember worrying about it morning. Wearing out my carpet as I paced up and down. Eventually, I had to take a few sips of Mike's brandy just to calm my nerves.

And then I felt quite depressed. There was to be no modelling role for me at Pretty Polly Nylons. In fact, the Company representative I spoke to had just snorted with derision at the very idea of using local housewives as models for their products. She must have thought I was an idiot.

I got really angry then. What I would do to this...pervert...was nobody's business.

I walked up and down in the lounge concocting wild schemes of revenge and it took half a bottle of brandy and most of the afternoon to make me realise that there was nothing I could do. Not without drawing a lot of attention to myself and looking a right dope.

Although I was still very angry I realised that it was a lost cause. I would just have to forget about it.

Then to my amazement, a few days later, the cheeky sod just turned up on my doorstep. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"Good morning Vickie," he said brightly. "Do remember me, Harry Vine. I've come to show you your portfolio."

"What!" I exploded..."you've got a fucking nerve showing up here. I know all about you...you pervert...I have a good mind to..."

"I've sold some of your photos" he announced, quite unperturbed. "You should get quite a bit of cash."

He had stopped me in midstream. There was quite a bit more of similar abuse that I was ready to hand out, but, it just fizzled out as I took in this new development.

"How much did you get?"...I asked greedily, as my temper faded away magically.

He gestured towards the lounge behind me. "Well let's talk about it."

"Oh no, you don't," I countered. "I don't want the neighbours telling my hubby that I let strange men into the house."

He looked at his watch. "Well I'll be at the Crest Hotel until 3.00 p.m. today. It's up to you... I expect you found out that I no longer work for Pretty Polly. But, we had a disagreement and I now work for a couple of other fashion companies."

I looked at him open mouthed...had I misjudged the man. He couldn't have been more honest with me. And, did he say he'd sold some photographs of me? My mind raced ahead, curiosity running wild.

"O.K." I said suddenly. "I'll be there about 1.00 p.m."

I happily changed into my best outfit and spent time on my make up. I wanted to make a good impression. If people were paying out cash for photos of me, my dream might not be dead after all.

I got to the hotel reception and asked for a Mr. Vine.

"Oh yes" said the receptionist in her posh voice. "Mr. Vine is expecting you...go right up...Room 303."

I was suitably impressed as I made my way up to his door and knocked.

"Come in" came the instruction and I entered his room, it was the same one as before with a sitting room, bedroom and adjoining bathroom. He was busily writing something in a large book and had a mobile to his ear, the very picture of a busy agent. "I'll be with you in a minute" he whispered as he continued his conversation.

"She's a lovely girl," he said into the phone "and I'm sure she will more than meet your criteria."

He finished his conversation and looked at me.

"Now then Vickie" he smiled. "Let's get down to business."

First of all, he showed me my portfolio of pictures he had taken in our session a couple of weeks ago. They were very impressive and professional and I must say I looked good on all of them.

"And someone has bought these you say?" I asked hopefully.

"Well yes, that's true, darling,...but, he has asked for a few more shots of you before he hands over the cash. You see it's very important that a model pleases her clients and gives it the personal touch."

I perked up at this...it was the first time I had ever been called a model.

"What sort of photographs?" I ventured.

"Well not anything crude or suggestive. And definitely not anything sleazy," he hastened to reassure me as he set up his camera.

And he was clever I'll give him his due. Piece by piece I found myself discarding my clothes, first my blouse then my skirt. "Won't be long now" he called out breezily, his camera clicking busily.

"Oh, could you take your bra off, just for the odd shot." He's the only one who'll be seeing these. And, of course, he's the one who will be paying the money."

Then, of course, my panties had to go, I should have seen it coming.

"Your panties are so brief and sexy, he drooled. But let's do a couple where you're pretending to peel them off. Yes ...like that, perfect.