Posts Tagged ‘Stockings’

doggingsite: going dogging in boots and stockings?

Tuesday, January 15th, 2019

going dogging in boots and stockings?



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    thong-it: stockings and new thong you can leave the stockings…

    Tuesday, December 11th, 2018

    stockings and new thong

    you can leave the stockings on. i’d just pull that thong down and take you gently from behind, classy lady.



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      Can imagine this being my wife.

      Tuesday, November 27th, 2018

      “Was it worth waiting for?”

      I turned and mimed applause. She was an image of cool
      elegance, slender in a snug-fitting black slip dress.
      No stockings — with her olive skin, she didn’t need

      As I helped her into her coat, I realized that the
      dress was *all* she was wearing; the dress was thin
      enough that I would have noticed a bra strap or panty

      I swallowed. “Are you *sure* you want to go the party?
      I could call Rob and give him our regrets, and we could
      settle down here…”


      She cut me off with a laugh. “Down boy! Public party
      first, private party later.” She danced lightly out of
      range of my mock grab, and laughed again.

      = = =

      I offered her my arm as walked towards the house.
      Though we were early, the closer parking was already
      taken. Laughter drifted around from the terrace in the

      “Remember, don’t let me drink too much.” Her expression
      was half serious.

      Shelly has almost no capacity for drinking — even a
      glass of wine turns her giddy; it also tends to make
      her very, very, horny. More than two, though, and she
      gets sleepy, almost comatose.

      I laughed at her, “One or two, no more. I have plans
      for you, my dear.” She made a face back at me as I put
      on my best leer.

      I *would* keep an eye on her, not that she usually
      needs it; she’d learned the hard way how little
      tolerance her body has for drinking.

      = = =

      A young man, one of the college boys Rob had hired to
      help with the party, let us in. After a brief detour
      upstairs to leave the coats in one of the spare
      bedrooms, we threaded our way through the mob in the
      living room to join the even larger mob on the terrace.
      There must have been over 50 people there already.

      Rob waved us a welcome without interrupting his con-
      versation; we waved back, and moved on. Most of the
      guests were people I didn’t recognize.

      “Do you want to dance?”

      Shelly shook her head. “Maybe later. I’d like to cir-
      culate a bit and meet people, first.”

      Wine glasses in hand, we did just that. Before long,
      a female friend claimed her, and I wandered over to
      join the group listening to the band. Looking back,
      I could see the two women now had several men in

      Somehow, I found myself roped into a heated political
      discussion, the kind that usually ends with some
      variation of “I guess they’re *all* crooks!” I didn’t
      get to hear the end of this one, though — just as it
      started to reach the loud stage, Shelly reappeared and
      pulled me out onto the dance floor.

      Though she was enjoying herself, she wasn’t dancing
      with her usual careful restraint. I took in her
      flushed expression and raw, almost predatory, dancing
      style with a frown.

      “Shelly, just how much wine did you drink?”

      She giggled at my worried expression. “I know, I know,
      I’ve had all the wine I need. Don’t worry, dear — I
      only had two glasses, and I’m switching to punch after
      this. You’d better switch, too — you’re going to need
      all your strength later.”

      Though she tried her best, Shelly’s face isn’t really
      built for dirty leers. Though I was delighted by the
      sentiment, it took all my willpower not to laugh at

      Instead, I steered her towards the buffet. She wasn’t
      hungry, but did accept a tall glass of the milky-
      looking orange punch. She sipped, then took a much
      bigger drink.

      “This is good!”

      I *did* laugh at the pleased surprise in her voice,
      and got a glass for myself. I had to agree with her —
      it *was* good: creamy, mildly orange flavored, and
      slightly fizzy. I sipped mine slowly, then laughed
      again when I saw that she had finished her first glass
      and was asking for a refill.

      “Ready to go home, Shelly?”

      “Let me sit down and listen to the music for a while.
      And you can help yourself to some of the food that I
      see you drooling over.” She laughed back at me as my
      stomach gave a rumble.

      I walked her to the nearest seat before returning to
      the buffet. She gave me her empty glass to take back.

      “What was in that punch? My wife really likes it.”

      The bartender gave a shrug. “Nothing hard to find — a
      quart of orange sherbet, a big bottle of ginger ale,
      two bottles of cheap sparkling wine.”

      I suddenly lost all interest in the buffet. Even at
      that dilution, Shelly had just finished the equivalent
      of at least three more normal-sized glasses of wine. If
      I didn’t get her home soon I’d have to carry her.

      Even in the short time I’d been gone, it had started to
      affect her. She swayed visibly when she stood, and
      clung to my arm desperately as I led her back towards
      the house.

      “I need to lie down for a while. I’m sorry, honey. I
      didn’t mean to make such an idiot of myself.” Her voice
      was muted and more than a little slurred.

      “Shh, sweetheart. Not your fault. Can you stay awake
      long enough for me to get you home?”

      “I’ll try.” Her voice sounded doubtful.

      Rob must have a sixth sense – he met us before we’d
      covered half the distance to the house and took her
      other arm.

      “What happened?”

      “Your punch – she didn’t know it was spiked. I need to
      get her somewhere to lie down.”

      He looked thoughtful. “If we can get her up the stairs,
      the spare bedroom next to the coatroom is empty. If she
      doesn’t feel better later, you can spend the night

      Despite our worries, Shelly stayed awake long enough to
      make it to the bedroom. With a final, worried look,
      Rob headed back down.

      “Will you be all right, honey?”

      She managed a sleepy smile. “I’ll be fine after a
      nap, sweetheart. Give me an hour or two and I’ll feel
      better. Just turn out the lights and let me sleep till
      then.” She kicked off her shoes and scooted onto the

      When I checked on her ten minutes later, she was sound
      asleep, she didn’t even stir when I tugged her dress
      down to a more decent level; it had risen enough to
      confirm my guess about her lack of underwear. I gave
      her a gentle kiss and headed downstairs to enjoy the
      festivities. We obviously weren’t going anywhere for
      a while.

      = = =

      Though I tried, I was too distracted to really enjoy
      the party. Rather than just wander aimlessly, I took
      over the indoor bar; it had the benefit of keeping me
      too busy to brood. Over the next couple of hours, the
      crowd shifted gradually outside, till only a small,
      all-male group was left, dividing their attention be-
      tween the bar and the television in the far corner.

      As the demand on the bar slowed, I had time to notice
      a minor oddity; guys would head upstairs, be gone for
      a while, then return to the main group. I shrugged;
      probably just looking for an open bathroom I thought.
      Seemed kind of a long way to go, though.

      Finally, one of the college boys relieved me. I headed
      up to check on Shelly. At the foot of the stairs, the
      doorman flagged me down. I paused.

      “How’s your wife?”

      “I was just heading up to check on her.”

      “If she’s feeling better, you might want to get her
      home. Some of these boys are getting a little raunchy.
      I heard someone say there’s a woman pulling a train in
      one of the spare bedrooms. If you stay, you’ll have to
      listen to them boasting all night long. Or Rob trying
      to calm them down.”

      That explained the back and forth traffic I’d been
      seeing. But he was right; she’d be better off at home.
      I started up the stairs.

      At the top of the stairs, I shook my head wryly; some-
      where, a woman was moaning. I passed the coatroom and
      turned the corner.

      I noticed that Shelly’s light was on, and the door was
      ajar. But I was in the doorway before I realized that
      the moans were coming from her room.

      After an endless moment of shocked paralysis, I rushed
      forward. I hadn’t the time – or the mental clarity —
      to form a coherent plan; I was operating on the level
      of reflex. And it was pure reflex that bludgeoned me
      to a horrified halt in the doorway.

      From the door, I could only see the back of the man who
      had mounted her, his pants puddled around his ankles.
      What held me frozen, though, was the sight of Shelly’s
      bare feet hooked into her favorite position behind his
      knees, urging him in. Her face was contorted in her
      familiar, just-before-orgasm rictus; moments later her
      heels locked in place and her moans changed to the
      choked whimper that signals her release. Before she had
      completely finished, a much deeper groan signaled his.

      Almost immediately, he was on his feet and pulling his
      pants up. He showed no surprise when he turned and saw
      me in the doorway; probably, he took me for the next in
      line. With a friendly nod, he brushed past me and out
      before I could get my frozen muscles to respond.

      Shelly lay naked on the bed, her dress a wadded-up ball
      beside the pillow. Her face had relaxed again; eyes
      closed, she seemed at least half asleep. Her chest
      still had a faint, post-orgasmic flush to it and her
      dark nipples were erect. I gave a shuddering gasp and
      stepped forward, closing the door behind me.

      Not too surprisingly, the whole room reeked of sex. As
      I walked closer, I could see a white stream of semen
      running from the swollen lips of her vagina. Even
      now, she didn’t seem to be aware of me.


      No response.


      When I shook her, her eyes remained closed, though she
      did mumble something that might have been my name.

      I began to tremble with rage as I stood beside the bed.
      I could see it all, playing like a movie inside my
      head: The first man stumbling in to find Shelly asleep,
      her dress above her hips once more.

      His embarrassment changing to arousal.

      Knowing Shelly, she was probably already wet — and her
      normal sleeping response is to spread her legs in

      His acceptance.

      If she’s already aroused, Shelly can respond, even
      orgasm, without fully waking. I’m sure she gave him a
      great ride.

      And since she was so eager, he probably couldn’t resist
      bragging to a friend or two. Of course, they had to
      check it out. And brag in turn.

      I tried to remember how many men I’d seen make the
      trip up the stairs. Five? More? I couldn’t be sure;
      some had gone up more than once. At a minimum, her body
      had been taken – raped – by half a dozen men.

      I stared down at her nude body. Even now, she was so
      lovely that it hurt. Her legs were flexed and slightly
      spread, framing her ravished pussy. Though her inner
      lips were still swollen and slightly agape, the pink of
      her core was hidden by the white stream that oozed down
      to form an obscene pool beneath her.

      My fists and my jaw were so tightly clenched they were
      painful. I tried to think of what to do. Tell Rob. Call
      the police. Try to avoid attacking the men responsible.
      Thank God she was on the pill. Take her to the doctor.

      I thought some more. Could we prove rape? I had only
      seen one of them with her. And he could claim; truth-
      fully – that she had enjoyed it. Would the police even
      bother to file charges? Was Shelly willing to deal
      with the smear campaign their lawyers would hand out?

      I reluctantly decided that she’d be happier if I kept
      quiet. She could deal with this – to her, it would be
      no more than a half-recalled erotic dream; notoriety
      and a trial we might not win would be the problem.

      (“Deal with it? She had *enjoyed* it!”) a nasty corner
      of my mind whispered. One of her hands had slipped
      down and was sleepily caressing her slit. With feeling
      of self-loathing, I realized that I was erect and
      throbbing. I wrapped my beautiful young wife up with
      the bedspread and carried her down stairs to our car…

      The party was over as far as we were concerned.



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        frenchtwist: via girliemagazine * heart-shaped-apple: got…

        Wednesday, October 10th, 2018

        got stockings? (June Palmer)

        via girliemagazine * heart-shaped-apple:



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          demi-hotwife: Big boob milf in stockings after a fuck date

          Thursday, September 27th, 2018

          Big boob milf in stockings after a fuck date



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            ashleymarionne: Thank god her tits are amazing cause the…

            Tuesday, July 31st, 2018

            Thank god her tits are amazing cause the stockings are UUUggly ! 


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              englishmilf: milf pussy and stockings

              Friday, June 30th, 2017


              milf pussy and stockings

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