Posts Tagged ‘Stockings’

ashleymarionne: Thank god her tits are amazing cause the…

Wednesday, November 22nd, 2017

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

ashleymarionne:

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    englishmilf: milf pussy and stockings

    Friday, June 30th, 2017

    englishmilf:

    milf pussy and stockings

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

      Thursday, November 22nd, 2012

      got stockings? (June Palmer)

      via girliemagazine * heart-shaped-apple:

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

        Sunday, November 11th, 2012

        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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          doggingsite: going dogging in boots and stockings?

          Wednesday, November 7th, 2012

          going dogging in boots and stockings?

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            Can imagine this being my wife.

            Tuesday, October 23rd, 2012

            “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
            them.

            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
            lines.

            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…”

            FREE ADULT PERSONALS!

            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
            rear.

            “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
            attendance.

            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
            her.

            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
            here.”

            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
            bed.

            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.

            “Shelly!”

            No response.

            “*Shelly!*”

            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
            invitation.

            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.

            FREE ADULT PERSONALS!

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

              Friday, September 21st, 2012

              Big boob milf in stockings after a fuck date

              demi-hotwife:

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