Anxiety, however, only serves to heighten the excitement for a certifiable foot-freak like myself, so, as my palms and pussy grow wetter and wetter, I draw a deep breath and walk up to the Avril Lavigne-wannabe. “Hi,” I squeak, then hastily clear my throat.
“Hi. What can I do you for?” the black-eyed and blue-haired girl replies, her lip and nose rings keeping rhythm with her jaw.
I show the clerk the membership card I begged and borrowed from a recent one-night stand gone weekly, when the lover in question told me stories about “shoe-shine stands” in the back of a bookstore. She’d whetted my sexual appetite with tales of illicit foot love only after I’d sucked on her toes, individually and all together, tickled the sensitive soles of her feet with my fingers and lips and tongue, jammed a big toe into her dyed-blonde pussy and vigorously foot-fucked her to shattering orgasm. After I’d demonstrated my all-encompassing love for women’s feet, in other words.
The grunge girl grins, shows off her Bubblicious and tongue-stud. “Club Ped, huh?” she says. “Go right on through.”
I give her a shaky smile and fumble the card back into my pocket, then walk past her, part a set of heavy, black curtains and find myself facing a blue wall with two doors in it. One of the doors has a red foot painted on it, the other a red hand. I turn the knob on the hand door.
The room I enter is long and narrow – really half of a larger room bisected by a hanging, red curtain, like a gymnasium cut in two by an accordion wall. The room is further divided up by blue, four-foot-high panels placed every five feet or so, perpendicular to the curtain, creating a series of small cubicles. My hand trails along the wall after me as I walk further inside, then I stop, lean back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat as I see what’s taking place in cubicle one – a woman is on her knees, frenziedly licking at the wiggling toes of a beautifully turned foot protruding from beneath the curtain.
The crimson barrier hangs down to within two feet of the floor, hiding the foot’s owner, but allowing enough space for her to stick her feet underneath and get them worshipped by the woman on my side of the curtain. I hear the hidden lady emit a low, muffled moan, as the woman on her knees squeezes her tongue in between the pale, outstretched toes, each in turn, before cramming the whole blessed lot of them into her mouth and excitedly sucking on them.
I swallow hard, creep further along the wall, my heart racing, my pulse pounding; this is sweet nirvana for an unrepentant foot-fetisher – like me. I pass three more cubicles occupied by foot-hungry women giving sole satisfaction to lucky gals on the other side of the velvet curtain, and then I come to the final shoe-shine stand and find it empty. I slip inside and duck down onto my knees, and wait.
There’s a small, padded, wooden platform, like a confessional kneeler, just on my side of the curtain. It’s covered with a sanitary strip of paper that I assume is supposed to be replaced after each session from the dispenser bolted onto the portable wall. There’s also a low-level, padded stool tucked away in one corner – for those extra long waits, I guess, when even the plush carpeting gets a little too hard on the knees.
I adjust my butt-length skirt, repeatedly, rub the damp slabs of meat that were my hands up and down on it. I shift my knees around, my legs trembling with anticipation. And as the minutes crawl by, I grow more and more anxious, the entire situation growing weirder and weirder in my mottled mind – anonymous women coming together in a dimly-lit backroom to rub and kiss and lick and suck the toes and feet of equally unknown female partners. How weird is that? The muffled moaning and groaning all around me seems to grow louder and louder, filling the hot, stifling air, filling my ears and brain and body with strange thoughts and feelings. I finally become so discombobulated that I jump to my feet, ready to bolt the booth and flee the store.
Then I hear a door open and close, hear soft footsteps on the other side of the curtain, and I kneel back down and hold my breath and blink the sweat out of my eyes; almost jump out of my skin and scream when a pair of feet suddenly appears like magic from under the curtain, displayed on the footrest. I stare down at those twin, pale apparitions – exquisitely shaped feet flowing poetically out of ultra-slim ankles, clothed only in open-toed, black stilettos, toenails psychedelically painted every shade of the rainbow save violet, silver bands encircling the slender big toes. My wooden tongue scrapes across my cracked lips, but I boldly reach out and touch one of the toes on the right foot, and watch in amazement as the foot jumps in reaction.
I let the stale air out of my lungs in a long, heavy sigh, and my stiff body is suffused with heat. I know what to do now, and I know that I’m going to richly enjoy doing it. I grasp the unknown woman’s right foot, run my hands all over and around the beautiful ped and sexy footwear, lace the shapely ankle with my fingers and stroke up and down on it. The woman on the other side of the curtain gasps, feeding my smouldering fire.
I feel up her feet, first one, then the other, stroke the shiny, black leather of her dangerous shoes, the sharp, silver-tipped heels, swirl my loving hands all over the silky-smooth, ivory skin of her twitching feet. Then I replace hands with tongue, anxious to taste the supple leather, the hot skin. She cries out with joy when I hold her feet up by the heels and lightly brush each wriggling, spectrum-tinted toe with my tongue, then slowly drag my thickened tongue across all of her delicious toes.
“Yes!” she hisses, breaking the club rule that forbids talking.
I picture her hand in her panties, two fingers buried to the knuckles in her soaking wet pussy, while she desperately rubs herself off as I attack her feet, and the thought of the owner of those gorgeous peds excitedly finger-fucking herself stokes the fire burning within me into a raging inferno. I tongue the sides of her shoes, lap at her high heels and bare feet at the same time, plunge a spike heel into my mouth and suck on it, tug on it, twirl my tongue all around it; do the same with her other erotic shoe dagger.
I hastily unfasten the strap that binds her luscious feet to her wicked stilettos and pull the sexy foot gear off her peds, bury my nose in her shoes and inhale deeply, and then fling them aside, so that I’m skin-to-skin with her naked feet. I balance them in my hands, admiring the rainbow-hued toenails (running from red on her big toe to orange to yellow to green to blue on each foot), and then I bring her toes up to my mouth and swallow them.
“Oh, my God!” she cries, as I wantonly suck on all ten of her foot-digits at once.
I tug on her toes with my mouth, buff the underside of them by wagging my tongue back and forth, suck long and hard on the delightful, edible ends of her feet. Then I slide her multicolored toes wet and dripping out of my mouth and softly kiss each of them in turn, before snaking my slimy tongue in between her toes and scouring the sides of them, slathering hot spit all over her feet.
I tongue and suck her toes for a good, long while, and then I lick at the soles of her delicate peds, lap at the arched, ticklish bottom of her feet. She moans, her feet dancing around in my hands as I paint their smooth, tender bottoms with long, slow strokes of my tongue. I hold tight to her feet, never releasing them from my grasp, always licking and kissing and biting them, tenderizing her succulent tootsies even further.
“I’m going to come!” she shrieks, her feet trembling violently.
I urgently lap at the rounded tops of her peds, suck some more on her toes, and then get really carried away; I drop her feet onto the platform, fumble my skirt up and my panties down, and jam the big toe of her left foot into my sopping pussy. I begin frantically fucking myself with her big toe, while I chew on her other foot.
“Jesus!” she yelps.
I gobble up that woman’s right-foot toes and desperately pull on them, as I pound big red into my tingling pussy over and over and over.
“Mmmm!” she groans, bringing herself to orgasm as her feet push me over the edge.
I bite into her toes and close my eyes and a heated wave of ecstasy wells up from my toe-fucked pussy and engulfs my quivering body. I’m devastated b
y foot-induced orgasm, my anonymous lover’s big, metal-clad toe relentlessly pumping in and out of my gushing pussy, her other adorable toes brushing mercilessly back and forth against my pulsating clit.
My feet and toes still tingling with after-taste from the licking they’ve taken from a nameless foot fanatic, I receive the shock of my life when I report to work at my accounts payable job, when my boss, just back from vacation, walks up to my desk clad in a pair of open-toed sandals, her toenails sporting polish covering five of the seven shades of the light spectrum, her big toes twin bands of silver!
“Glad to see me back, Melody?” she asks, smiling cheerfully; then glancing down at her feet, where my eyes and jaw are located. “You like my new toe fashions?”
My mouth opens and closes like a beached flounder. I can hardly wrap my dizzy head around the fact that my boss, Cynthia, was the one I’d frantically foot-pleasured. I’ve had the hots for the lush, forty-something brunette for a long time, mind you, but never did I expect in my wildest dreams that fantasy and reality would come crashing together so wickedly.
I’ve been planning to make a move on the hot-looking, big-breasted babe for months and, now that I knew she was my kind of righteous foot-disciple, I quickly make up my mind to put my sensual thoughts into action. So, without saying a word, I grab her hand and tow her down the hall, into her office, slam the door shut with my heel, wrap my arms around the startled beauty, and plant a sloppy, wet one square on her glossy pucker before she can even react.
“Jesus, Melody! What’s gotten into you!?” she reacts, jerking her head back, but not attempting to free herself from my bear-hug.
“Your toes, among other things,” I quip. And then I tell her all about my foot fetish, my session at the shoe-shine stand, about what I’ve done to her gorgeous feet, and what they’ve done to me. The words spill out of my mouth in a burbling torrent, and at the end of it all, I confess my long-held lust for the sultry manageress.
She stares at me for an awkwardly long period of time, and then slips out of my grasp and walks over to the window and twists the Venetian blinds shut. Then she’s back in my arms, confessing her own secret cravings for my young, tight body, my blonde cunny, before sealing her lips to mine.
We mash our mouths together, devour each other’s lips, my naughty hands roaming all over her curvy body, down to her plump, rounded bottom cheeks – which I grip and knead, while her own fingers riffle through my long, golden locks. I gasp for air, fight to keep my head from spinning off into orbit as wet dreams become wetter reality, and she darts her tongue in between my parted lips and explores the interior of my mouth, till I meet her tongue with my tongue.
I squeeze her body against mine, her large breasts and swollen nipples pressing hard and soft into my smaller boobs, and we slap our slippery, pink tongues together over and over. Finally, I break away from her mouth, push her back, and implore her to tear off her clothes and show me her over-ripe body. I’ve one thing in mind, of course. “I want you and me to foot-fuck!” I shout. “Face-to-face – no curtain between us this time!”
She gives me a strange look, but rapidly disrobes, leaving her flower-print dress and satiny pink bra and panties strewn on the floor along with her sandals, and any remaining inhibitions. Her body is just as I’ve pictured it in so many masturbatory fantasies – voluptuous, curvaceous, her golden-brown tits huge and heavy-looking, her mocha nipples thick and jutting, her glistening pussy sprinkled with downy, brown fur.
“Your turn, Melody,” she says, waking me out of my trance.
“Yes, miss,” I respond, quickly shedding my tight, purple halter top and tiny, black skirt. I was planning on visiting my favourite bookshop directly after work, so I’m sans underwear.
“You’re a very beautiful young woman,” Cynthia breathes, her warm, brown eyes travelling all over my lean body, my long, supple legs, my high breasts and protruding nipples, before fixating on my shaved cunny.
We melt back into each other’s arms, wildly kiss and French some more, our hot nude bodies fitting neatly together like we’re meant for each other. I suck on her extended tongue, excitedly bob my head back and forth on it, then escape her embrace and skip over to the huge oaken desk that dominates her office. I brush the business paraphernalia off its gleaming surface with a couple of swipes of my arm and climb on top.
“Time for some foot-lovin’,” I state, plopping my bare arse down on the cool, varnished wood and beckoning my boss over.
She joins me on the desktop, sits down opposite me, and I stick out my leg and hold my foot only inches away from her pussy, my toes pointing directly at her slickened sex. She hesitates for a moment, teasing me, my leg starting to shake, and then at last she grips my arched ped and rubs it between her hands.
“That’s more like it,” I murmur when she pops my big toe into her mouth and starts sucking on it. She has my right foot in her hands and mouth, so I scoop up her right foot and reciprocate her love. I tenderly stroke her ped, then lightly rake my purple-tipped fingernails up and down the vulnerable bottom of her foot.
“Yes, Melody,” she mumbles from around my toe.
I kiss her cute, multi-colored piggies one at a time, then tongue the tops and bottoms of them, dart my tongue in between her toes and eagerly scrub them with my velvet-sandpaper tongue. Then I latch my lips onto her big toe and suck it, getting it all nice and wet for my cunny.
“Toe-fuck me, Cynthia!” I bleat, pushing her foot down to my pussy and pressing her toes against my moistened lips. “Toe-fuck me like you did at the shoe-shine stand!”
She slides her big toe into my pussy, starts pistoning her sun-kissed leg, pumping her toe in and out of my sex, her other painted foot-digits caressing my electrified clitty. I pull my own foot out of her hands and mouth and shove it against her pussy, reveling in the hot, damp feeling of her engorged lips.
“Yes, Melody, yes!” she hisses, staring fiercely at me as I feel up her wet labes with my toes, then slip my big toe into her pussy.
We pound each other’s cunts with our toes, foot-fuck one another faster and faster, harder and harder, relentlessly, until Cynthia throws back her head and screams my name and her hot juices cascade all over my ped. I grasp her ankle and frantically help her plunder my pussy with her toes, biting my lip and whimpering when my own cunny explodes and a blistering orgasm rents my quivering body, followed by another, and another.
It’s only when we’re licking our come off each other’s feet that my boss admits that she’s never heard of the shoe-shine stands, or the bookshop in which they’re located. Apparently, she picked up the idea for her rainbow-hued toenail design and silver toe-jewellery from a friend of hers.
“Maybe you’d like to meet her sometime, Melody?” she comments, a satisfied smile on her shiny lips. “If you haven’t already, that is.”
Now, I don’t have a clue if “shoe-shine stands” actually exist or not, and my former boss was anything but a “hot-looking, big-breasted babe” (she was actually a flat-chested, horse-faced sixty year-old with more corns on her feet than toes), but a lady is entitled to a “ped”-estrian dream every now and then, isn’t she?
Marital Aids
Kate (Athabasca, Canada)
After ten years of mostly happy marriage to my husband, Jim, sex has become more of a chore than a joy lately – something to do once a week, like changing the sheets on the bed. Our love life has become stale, boring. It isn’t that Jim isn’t a good lover, it’s just that with the kids and the jobs and the new house, sex has become secondary, and, sadly, it doesn’t look like the situation is going to improve any time soon.
For that reason, I often wish that I had a really close girlfriend, someone I could talk openly and honestly to about things like sex, maybe get some advice on how I could spice things up with Jim. But, alas, all my women friends in the small town we recently moved to are rather prudish when it comes to things like that, or any other subject that can’t be discussed in open church.
As
a result, I’ve had to use my imagination and invent a girlfriend, Marianne, who I can have intimate chats with. I don’t actually talk out loud to her, like a six-year-old with an imaginary buddy, but I do converse with her in my mind. And she has, I have to admit, begun to figure more and more prominently in the evermore frequent sexual fantasies that I’ve come to rely on to retain my sanity. I often combine the two – a helpful talk and a healthful fantasy with Marianne – like I did when I broached the subject of my stale sex life. We were sitting at the kitchen table, and . . .
Marianne twirled a strand of her long, black hair around a slim, silver-tipped finger. “Roger and I had a very similar problem,” she said, her glossy lips breaking into a sympathetic smile. “I think all couples do eventually. You get completely overwhelmed by the day-to-day activities of living and striving to get ahead, such that sex doesn’t seem so important any more.”
I gazed into her crystal-clear blue eyes and blatantly inquired, “And how did you guys handle it?”
“Well . . . you’ve got to do something to, um . . . shock the sexuality back into your marriage, so to speak. For Roger and me, it was, uh . . .”
I leaned closer.
“Spanking,” she blurted.
“What?”
She looked me directly in the eye, her pearl-white, perfectly made-up face composed. “Our sex life had dwindled to virtually nothing, and it was just routine whenever we did make love, so Roger and I tried some new things, experimented a bit . . . until we found that spanking turned both of us on. Really turned us on.”
I gulped down my amazement. “You mean that Roger spanks you?”
“Roger spanks me, I spank Roger. We spank each other. It’s completely revived our sex life.”
“But isn’t it, um, painful?”
“There’s a very thin line between pain and pleasure, Kate.”
I almost spilled my coffee as I took a small sip, my hand was shaking so hard. “And w-what do you, you know, use to spank each other?” I spluttered.
The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies Page 12
