My Voyeur Addiction

Over the waistcoat and skirt she had this almost schoolmasters cloak which flowed after her. It was black and looked suitably dusty. On her feet there were highly polished black work shoes, but I could see nylon tights or stockings. I hoped she would be wearing her namesake undies Cami knickers.

She was very interested in some ancient sepia second world war photos of local significance I had displayed in heavy, leather bound albums, very precious hence the do not touch labels. Cammy wanted to study them closely, thinking her grandfather might be in the war pictures and as her eyesight was poor she used a magnifying glass, fished out of a canvas sling bag as she bent over to accentuate her spectacled vision. I noted she had even cultivated the school ma'am literati look wearing her owl like skinny specs way down her slender nose. She used some gloves I loaned her to handle the precious documents. My luck was in again so I slid the the bag under her seeing she was another wearing tights, or so I thought.

Back home I viewed my captures at leisure. Cook Nancy's arse hove into view, not easy light considering the thickness of her skirt, but the first surprise and delight, was not tights, not even stockings but skin coloured pop socks which stopped just below her knees with their elasticated tops. From there her pale chubby knees and thighs rose to converge with what would probably be a noisy slap, flabby upper flesh then arse cheeks that bloomed with cellulite. Over the marshy outlooks of her buttocks clung dark, grey, plain, all enveloping pants.

Inadvertently I sniffed as I perused this uncharted territory, the first to my knowledge and experience on my trusty camera. When next to her, there was a musky but not unpleasant odour, delicate kitchen, perfume and woman smells.

Now Lady Pamela, the name rolls off the tongue with an inbuilt formality, I remember a kids TV cartoon with a same named character, but she was a glamorous blonde. This was not what I captured as I rolled the video on and expectantly waited for the up skirt she and her WI members were completely unaware of.

She was wearing stockings, high denier no doubt, a light tan shade and I fondled my cock as I noticed amongst all the movement she was making and my camera manipulation, there was a pair of vintage, bronze coloured, satin/silk garters with a cute bow. To me this was classic aristocratic apparel and suited Lady Pamela to a tee. Her knickers were the same coloured material, not skin tight, no lace trim and all encompassing and like Nancy a fair spattering of cellulite on what flesh I could see.

The surprise of the afternoon was Camilla. So intent was she on the old photos, she remained very static and fixed her stance, which gave me superb access. I recalled that she had smelled fragrant, betraying her foisty weird clothes and I wasn't sure of any success beneath the grimy outer layers, but there was pale flesh coloured tights and...no knickers! Fuck me, was that a bare pussy winking at me? I remembered the length of time my cam spent under her layers and how still she remained, engrossed in the war memorabilia. I played the video slowly absorbing every detail, seeing a light coloured, sparse, muff crushed beneath the clinging gusset of her tights.

There was no sign of her slit, I assumed she had a slit rather than a meaty beaver and at one point in the video, Cammy reached down and attempted to scratch into her groin area and I could see the imprint of her fingers as they delved into the annoyance.

I realised I had captured another lady judging by the time recorded on screen, so I fast forwarded to lovely sweet Ethel who was in charge of the tea and a long term neighbour of ours. I hadn't dwelt long with her but how could I forget her? More for cheekiness as I knew her very well, capturing a quicky up what I thought a modern dress for a lady in her mid eighties while she gossiped to some other ladies, all completely unperceived of the rogue in their midst.

It was scooped neck white across the shoulders down to her saggy, low slung, tea bags bust, then a sky blue pattern to where it finished just below her knees. Meeting her walking past our house in the summer, I always noticed the myriad of fine lines and wrinkles round her eyes, mouth, jowls but more interestingly to me, those at the top of her bony cleavage especially when she folded her arms and bunched her bosoms together. It was almost as if her delicate transparent skin would flake away.

Ethel was slender, old school, well preserved, comfortably off with white/silver immaculately coiffured thick hair never covering steely blue clear eyes. She was always well tanned, sort of fuck the skin cancer warnings, I'm having my two cruises a year, which she did. She was widowed by Justin her TV executive husband, keen golfer and sailor with their own yacht, since sold. Ethel's trim legs had a few blemishes and age marks, but unseen in the video as she favoured not sheer tights which covered her ageing limb details.

The illicit views I got weren't sexy in their own right but I could see white bloomers under the tights and the peep was well worth it being a lady I saw several times a week.

Lovely times, illicit views and loads of wanks.