#tigh high boots

[muffin-tops-stumps]

[virginiecollantv]

[newestcool]

Jimmy Choo x Jean Paul Gaultier 90mm cuff over-the-knee boots in calf leather & denim Newest Cool

[crescentia-fortuna]

Ahoy hoy~ This one is a commission for "Pax". It's an add on to an older commission of Andraste, now she got a fancy new outfit, new hairstyle and 2 headgears OwO

Hope you like it!

Obligatory link to all the other galleries and stuff: https://crescentia-fortuna.carrd.co/

[lovejoannlove]

Shiny boots and mini skirt 🥰💕❤️💋

[modafashioncouture]

Camilla and Marc S/19

[lingerieloversworld]

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

me, hearing that we are getting two new seasons of PnF almost a year late:

[munichladygesucht]

Mmh was für ein Stiefelgenieser

Thenia is back. Earlier today for StudentsOfBoots.com

[gold-rhine]

speaking of neuvi being a cryptid (affectionate), i get why his hair antennae or whatever these things are, glow when he uses his powers, but why do his coat-tails glow in exactly same way at the same time. are they an actual part of him? what does it mean for a dragon to be born in a human form. did he just pop into existence shaped like an adult human with a coat, cravat and tigh high boots already on???

[virginiecollantv]

[lavaridgexflannsfw]

The gym leader needed an escape. Anything to help her forget her past choices. Maybe even forget how lonely it gets at night. With only her mp3 player and pokemon nearby.

She'd even sort herself out every now and then.

But it turned out that tonight wasn't a night any of the usual things helped.

Flannery could be found sitting at a bar already two or so drinks in with her make-up a little runny. Her outfit was pretty hot,as it barely covered her ass or tits.

The young gym leader was even wearing tigh high boots with a little bit of a heel that matched the rest of her outfit. She took a deep breath and used the heel of her hand to clean up some of the makeup off her face.

Seems like she's been crying..?

[ofthebeasts]

They watch the host step out of the darkness, walking steadily into the middle of the arena. As light flashes on them, and as the higher seated guests squint from their seats to watch, Amaranthine smiles.

He dons a pristine white robe tigh on the waist, with its loose sleeves tucked into straps of black leather that seem to shine when light incides upon them, and high boots with wooden soles. His long, pointy ears are filled with black earrings, as is his left hand with rings.

The clack clack clack of wood in stone resounds over the noise of the guests, and rather theatrically, Amaranthine bows, with his right leg crossed in front of the left.

The movement of his hands is graceful, and every action a careful performance, as his jovial voice rings through the vicinity.

"Dear guests, welcome to my humble abode!"

As he raises his arms, the crowd breaks into clamor, calling out Amaranthine's name, but it takes only a single, simple cease gesture from the host to reign silence.

"Tell me, prized patrons,

[modafashioncouture]

Marques  Almeida S/17

[thequeenofmyownscreen]

The Ménagerie as sexy ladies

Oppy : same skin tone color, "the biggest titties you ever did see", a perfect hourglass shape, basically Ashley's body. She's wearing a leather bustier, dark and long black hait, still yellow eyes though. And little bloomers with ruffles ! With tigh-high boots

Kexon : broad-shoulder lady, in a zip-up skintight and black pleather, full-body outfit. Hair black, pulled up tight in a sexy ponytail, very dark goth makeup. Basically The Matrix.

Xarlo : still a simia, but tall and lanky, like a tamarin, with a big boof ! of orange fur, wears a matching fur coat, with feathers, and very little else under the coat...

Sweetpea : also more tall, skin turned pink, basically a fairy with wings, beautiful long pink hair, wears a outfit of gemstones with "dangly, shaky bits"

Sir Dante : the turtle version of Dolly Parton in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Big blonde hair, a peach negligee "that sits where it's supposed to", mid-calf boots, and some gloves.

Bunnie : hair like Catherine Zeta-Jones with a bob, fans with feathers now, wears a slinky tiny-micro dress (going with the flapper vibe), black and glittery.

[deliverred]

pâro: the feeling that everything you do is always somehow wrong.

"Again."

Lukas does not grimace at the command, but there is a weariness to his gaze as he once more sets up across the yard from his instructor. They had been running through this routine for the better part of the day, his father watching from the side as he meticulously went over his books, the needling sound of his quill against paper incessant when the sounds of mock battle did not drown it out.

It was unseasonably warm, and even the veteran man that served as his teacher was red in the face and sweating.

"You've got the technique down," the older man said, his tone firm but encouraging beneath the aged gruffness, "All we need do now is make it easy as breathing, speed up your pace."

More speed. More power. More precision. More, more, more. It rarely seemed to matter how quickly he learned something, how he mastered every task given to him, there was always something more and better ways to do it. Lukas thought he almost would not mind it, if there was but an acknowledgement of his successes. The barest hint that he was doing well, doing right, pleasing--

Boots scuffle in the dry dirt of the courtyard, wisps of dust around their feet as they circle one another. Testing, probing for weak defenses, an opening.

It is hot.

The solid clack of his instructor's lance coming down on his own, brought up just in time to block, feels slow and displaced in the moment as Lukas staggers. One leg bends awkwardly, tilting his arm beneath the weight of the blow and forcing him to deflect it away to the side; his instructor's lance still clips his hand despite the recovery, and he grits his teeth as he tries to shift things into his favor. He's able to spin his weapon around and knock the blunt end of it hard into the back of his instructor's leg as the man attempts to keep his balance.

The man goes down with a grunt, and Lukas claims his advantage; boot planted on the man's back, the tip of his spear at the back of his head. Red eyes look up to where his father is still bent over his notes, not even looking at the fight he had called for. Lukas pants under the heat, spear arm trembling, waiting.

The scratch of quill against parchment fills his ears again, his father never looks up.

"Two minutes. You can shave some more time off of that. Again."

Lukas doesn't move right away, processes, and then lets up the pressure he'd been exerting on his training partner. He offers the man a hand, which is taken, and pulls his instructor back up to his feet and out of the dust.

It makes his head swim, and there's a strange gathering of saliva in his mouth that he swallows down as he readjusts his grip on his weapon.

"My Lord, perhaps it is wise to give the boy a break--"

"He has the stamina, this should not be an issue--"

He hears them talking, but the conversation fades as if he's walking away from them. But he isn't, he's standing still. The thought that he doesn't feel real enters his mind unbidden as he tries to focus -- on what he was being taught or the conversation that seems to be escalating into a disagreement, he's not entirely sure, just that he feels untethered and needs to be grounded.

Lukas swallows again, blinks with a slow repetitiveness. It feels like he's falling. He is falling and they do not notice, and the earth is going to swallow him up into its stifling embrace--

It's hot, it's hot, it's hot, it's hot...

"Hey now, easy there, boy."

What...?

There's a rough hand smacking at his cheek, and Lukas makes a noise low in his throat caught between confusion and irritation. He stirs as if waking, blinks against blistering sun still high in the sky. He feels delirious, as if he had a fever, vision swirling as if the sky above was spinning in circles around a midsummer pole against his wishes.

"There you are. Gave me a right fright with that fit, you did." Ah, his instructor. He recognized his voice now. He sounds...relieved, though there is tension lingering. "Sit tight, I'll fetch somethin' to cool you down."

The palm leaves his face and he can hear the crunch of boots making a stiff and hasty retreat away.

Lukas squints against the sun, flexes his hands and then goes to sit up. He almost does, but he twists over abruptly and brings a hand to his lips when his stomach rushes into his mouth and he vomits into the dirt and dust. He heaves and gasps for air, scrabbling to his hands and knees as his vision blurs before there is nothing left in him to spit up but acid.

He feels the familiar weight of eyes on him, and his father doesn't need to speak for Lukas to shakily get to his feet. He's flushed and bruised, tunic and trousers covered in dirt and bile, and he has not felt such shame hollowing him out since he was a young boy having to fess up to soiled bed sheets.

Some part of him whispers that he should say something, speak up, defend himself to his father's judgments. But he stands there, silent, a tic in his jaw as he keeps his gaze firmly pinned on the mess he's made.

Finely tailored boots enter his vision, and he doesn't resist against the hand that grips his chin and forces him to look up. Plain disappointment sits heavily in his father's eyes as he is scrutinized, and the pit that has been torn gaping and dark inside of him widens further at the downward curl of his father's lips and sharp click of his tongue against his teeth.

"I thought you would grow out of this, but it seems this defect runs deeper than I originally thought. It must come from your mother's blood." His father speaks in calm monotone, continues his clinical examination for a few more moments before releasing his hold. "An unfortunate drawback to an almost perfect result. Ah, well, notes for any future pairings. When you've recovered, you will pick up where we left off. I must know the limitations of this."

Lukas murmurs his understanding.

He knew what happened to lame horses, to dogs that did not follow the trail of the hunt. They were slaughtered for their flaws, their deficiencies, to not waste resources on a beast that will never perform to the set standard. Lukas isn't sure if it is the blood that ties them together that spares his life this same death, but he wonders if that fate is not the kinder one.