Got a message via email that a site that we used to be members of was closing down. Its subject was stockings, though some participants used the remit loosely as the stockings sometimes framed a naked pussy or a penis, sometimes 2 penises, poking at said pussy!
W didn’t use it a lot but I used to place some of my fictional developments of our own lives in the StoryBoard section. I logged in, and some of our stuff was still there, some dating back to 2006! The comments section were very favourable; one tale was “darkly erotic.” I thought the story was quite mild compared to some of the material!
All the material, like this site, happened, though names, places and references had/ has been changed.
So here goes, think of it as a remastered CD?
We used to spend a lot of time staying in Lizzie’s hometown. She still had several relatives there; not one of them offered their services as a B&B, so we had to use small hotels. However one of Lizzie’s oldest friends did offer their services a couple of times, however despite having a massive kitchen she never cooked anything, at all! So we stayed in a small hotel down in the village.
“You must come over this evening, we’ll have a meal.”
The weather was wet and freezing and the prospect of not having to scour the village to find a decent pub grub place , was inviting.
What she actually meant was that we would walk down the road, in what was by now sleet, to a French Bistro.
Liz was cold. she had forgotten to bring some socks, she was in some T Bar shoes, think they are called Mary Janes in the U.S. and the thought of walking down and back and then onto the hotel was daunting.
He said that if the weather got worse we could stay over. The look on her face was, well let’s just say that he was speaking out of turn and that an argument would develop when we were out of earshot. He retreated behind his Daily Express.
Liz asked me to redo her shoes up as she had just done her nails; she is always doing her nails.
As I bent down to tighten her shoes, I felt nylon on her feet. I looked up at her and she mouthed , “I’ll tell you later!”
She did when we went to Garlic Bistro, and both escaped to the loos. Liz showed me the brand new pack of M&S tan ankle highs in her bag. She gave me The Smile.
Liz and I have gradually worked out our hosiery preferences over the years. She hates knee highs, wearing tights under jeans, stockings are too fiddly, hold-ups don’t, footsies not for shoe wearing but are useful in bed, so that leaves tights and ankle highs. Sometimes, to please me, the mild hatreds are ignored, but her face says it all. she has come round to over the knee socks, but not in cotton!
We perused the menu. Now our hostess with the mostest hates garlic, so she interrogated the waiter about the garlic content of each dish. I asked the waiter if it was fair to say that none of the desserts contained garlic, and I was right!
Husband never said a word throughout the whole meal. He drank red wine and studied the label intently. She talked incessantly. She once told Liz that I was a good listener. She never twigged that nobody could get a bloody word in.
She has of late become slightly flirty with me, not from any encouragement, but as I discovered lately marital relations had stopped. She had tried to encourage him but he was already starting with 2 major health problems, now in remission, and was quietly seeing the medics, and not telling her.
I’ve always wanted to know how she tried to encourage him, but Liz wasn’t revealing anything.
We got a taxi back to their house, chatted, he had another drink, and then we made our excuses and went to bed.
We showered, thankfully the room was ensuite, probably from the time she floated the idea of taking in paying guests, then decided not to as it would be too much hard work.
“Put them back on,” I said as I slid into bed next to Liz.
“Too right after that dull evening, and let’s see if we cant’t make some muffled giggling.!”
I slid down the bed to work on Lizzie’s stockinged feet. We both love it when I massage her feet, paying her toes and soles some careful attention.Liz crossed her legs and I knew that she was starting to quietly jill herself ready. I moved up the bed, uncrossed her legs, held her by her feet, still massaging them while I put my lips on her clit.
The orgasm was muffled but obvious. I moved down the bed to stand at the end, grasped her feet, holding them to my lips, them moving them down to my penis and balls.
Now this was a good few years ago when I could get an erection 99% of the time. Thankfully the statistics were kind to me and I entered Liz. At this angle her bum was high off the bed giving a full view of everything. The fact that we had to be reasonably quiet helped our joint enjoyment.
“Sleep in them, please?”
Over our bowls of healthy cereal next morning husband asked if we had slept well as he thought that he had heard restlessness.
Liz blushed; The Wife was unaware of anything.
We went back to the hotel, collected our things and drove home. The hotel didn’t charge us for the missed night saying that we would have been foolish to even attempt the roads in that weather. And with that they know that they have got repeat customers. As it was, Husband phoned them up, and as he has some clout in the town, they listened.
We drove home, unpicked, showered , slipped into bed.
“Are those the same ones?”
“Do you want fresh?”
“No they can wait.”
We enjoyed a very hearty 69 with her ankles grasped.