by Ella Ford
Suddenly, she inhaled deeply and her mouth opened wide. She hunched her shoulders forward and pushed my foot into her exploding pussy. “Ah, ah, ah,” she breathed, barely audible in the buzzing eatery. Then she clenched her teeth, riding the maelstrom that was raging through her body, inciting the muscles on her neck to stand up in stark relief. Her entire body was gripped by the tension of her orgasm, toes and fingers curling into tight balls. Beneath my damp sole, I could feel her clitoris throb and pulse.
And then she exhaled one final time and bowed her head, sucking cool air into her tired body. Her body seemed to deflate, losing the rigid tension that had previously animated it. Her leg went limp in my lap, foot falling to the side. Beneath the table, she released my ankle, letting it fall down between her thighs.
For endless seconds, she sat perfectly still, her only movement the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to regain her senses. I took this chance to study her, admiring her mature body, relishing the way blonde curls stuck to her damp forehead, a lasting reminder of the intimate exchange we’d shared, drying even as the fading light of her orgasm receded. She looked beautiful and alive, glowing like a cooling ember.
I glanced down at her foot, limp and perfect, her delicate toes lifeless and relaxed, followed the inviting curve of her arch. I reached down and touched my hand to the soft nylon of her pantyhose, savoring the way she shuddered as I caressed her, an involuntary response that rippled up her body.
And then I had an idea. An idea so audacious that I almost ignored it. But it persisted, gnawing at my mind, unfurling into something wonderful and bold. I sat forward in my seat and reached across the table, taking hold of Abigail Hausman’s slender hand.
The older woman looked up at me, smiling lazily and gazing at me through half-closed eyes.
“Abi,” I began, “I know how we can save Endless Legs!”
The Launch Party
December, 2015
The viewing room fell into a nervous silence as a young production assistant lowered the lights. All eyes were on the large cinema screen on the far wall and not a single word was uttered. I glanced around the room. I was surrounded by the executive boards of both Endless Legs Hosiery Inc. and Drake and Chesterton PR. Mostly women, but some men here and there.
I felt a sudden sinking feeling, a moment of half-panic where my stomach lurched and my heart skipped a beat. This was it, I thought to myself. It was the grand unveiling of half a year of effort, my audacious plan to save the ailing hosiery company, a plan inspired by an erotic encounter with an insatiable older woman. I knew what they were about to see, but I had no idea how they were going to react. I settled back into my seat and stared at the screen, resolving to try to enjoy this moment.
Behind us, the projector kicked into life and the screen exploded with white light, then settled on a black title card: “Endless Legs TV Campaign #1”. I sighed. From across the room, Abi Hausman turned to me and smiled, then winked and turned back to the screen.
The commercial opened with a simple scene against a white background. A side on view of two young women sitting around a small, modern bistro table. Each girl was immaculately made-up with bright, eye-catching colors. Purple and pink eye shadow, cheeks glowing with powder blush, glistening lips sparkling with wet-look lip gloss. Their hairstyles were perky and young, gathered at the backs of their heads in fashionable explosions and held in place with jaunty chopsticks. Each girl wore a simple, sleeveless, white blouse that served to draw attention to their pretty faces and large, luminous eyes.
As we watched, the two girls smiled at each other, one girl picking up her coffee cup and taking a sultry sip, never taking her eyes off the other. They appeared to be chatting, enjoying a friendly moment between best girlfriends. It looked, up to this point, like a makeup ad, a trendy, post-feminist production designed to sell lip gloss as much as anything.
A female voiceover began to speak over the lazy background music: “Sometimes, what’s happening up here…”
There was a pause in the narration and the camera began to pan down, switching the viewpoint from above the table’s surface to below it, slowly tracking down the length of the two girls’ bodies.
“... isn’t half as interesting as what’s happening down here.”
There was a collective gasp from the room as the camera arrived at the punchline of the small film. I glanced at Abi Hausman, expecting to find her looking nervously around, but instead found her gazing at the screen, lost in a kind of hypnotic trance. I followed her stare.
The camera had settled underneath the table, focusing on the legs of the two young girls. They were both, of course, wearing tan pantyhose, an ultra-sheer brand that was barely perceptible but for the perplexing shimmer and muted softness of each girl’s toned legs. Both girls were wearing identical, red stiletto pumps, perfectly new and impeccably shiny. But one of the girls had kicked off her left shoe, and the discarded footwear was resting on its side in the background of the shot. Meanwhile, the girl’s stockinged foot was lazily stroking up and down the nylon-covered calf of her friend, a languid tease that was heavy with sexual intent.
The camera lingered there for as long as was necessary to show what was really happening. I found myself breathing heavily as I following the girl’s perfectly painted toes, aroused as much by the gentle seduction on the screen as I was by the memory of my encounter with Abi Hausman that had inspired this tame masterpiece.
The screen faded to black, and a simple slogan appeared, rendered in a clean font with no decoration or distraction.
“Endless Legs. Irresistibly soft. Irresistibly touchable. Irresistible.”
The projector flicked off with a loud clunk and the screen returned to darkness. The space fell into a heavy silence as we sat there in the dim light of the viewing room. I felt my heart sink, wishing that someone, anyone, would say something.
And then, from somewhere across the room, someone began to clap. Slow at first, solitary, but soon joined by another pair of hands, then another, and another. Soon, everyone was clapping, and a few executives had even stood up to their feet.
“Brilliant, just brilliant,” said one.
“It’ll bomb in the midwest, but the coasts will love it!” said another.
“Think of the YouTube views!” cried someone with almost giddy enthusiasm.
I glanced over at Jamie Danvers. The sexual predator that called herself both my boss and my mistress gazed back at me with a hungry look in her eyes, a wicked glint that suggested I was due another performance review. And soon.
But for now, it was time to celebrate the new campaign. From somewhere behind me, a champagne cork popped and I felt an unusual flush of pride and arousal, vowing to settle down and enjoy the extravagant party that Endless Legs were throwing for us.
---
By ten that night, the party was in full swing. Endless Legs had brought in an extravagant catering company and invited the whole of the production team, as well as most of Drake and Chesterton, to their offices. With that much alcohol flowing, and the general sense of high-spirited jubilation at how the commercial campaign had turned out, it soon turned into a wild, boisterous affair, with singing and dancing and grown adults acting pretty disgracefully.
For my part I tried to get involved with the celebration, but found myself dodging between the filthy, expectant gazes of Jamie Danvers, my sex-crazy boss, and Abigail Hausman, the curious older woman who I’d introduced to a new world of lesbian pleasure. Don’t get me wrong, I intended to fuck one or both of the two older women, and soon, but on that particular night I just wanted to relax and think about myself for a few hours. The last few months had been a highly emotional, deeply stressful rollercoaster, that involved me sharing my innermost desires to craft a forty five second cinematic encapsulation of my entire sexual persona. That kind of thing can sap a girl, you know?
The clock passed ten and whoever was controlling the music queued up that old Ricky Martin song, Living La Vida Loca. There
was a wild whoop from the assembled middle-aged women, and a general swell of movement towards the ad-hoc dancefloor in the center of the office. I decided that it was time to take my leave, and quietly wandered towards the exit, avoiding the gaze of Jamie and Abi, and trying not to get swept up in the throbbing, perfumed crush of bodies that was frantically bobbing up and down to the quick latin rhythm.
With a sigh of relief, I slipped through the door and into the corridor beyond, trying to remember how to get to the elevators and make my escape. I’d been to the offices of Endless Legs countless times in recent months, but in the dimmed nighttime lighting, the place looked eerie and unfamiliar, and the buzz of the champagne high left me feeling quickly disoriented. But I wandered on regardless, creeping down deserted corridors and peering around endless corners.
After a minute of aimless wandering, I stopped dead, my attention attracted by an unexpected sound. I leaned my head to the side and strained to hear, focusing on what I’d heard, trying to separate it from the loud din of party music from behind me. There it was again! A high pitched giggle, a female voice that sounded somewhat familiar, but not enough to conjure up the face of the owner.
I crept forwards, inching my way down the long corridor, raised onto my tiptoes, trying not to make a sound. I’m not sure why I was being so careful, but there was something intriguing about the faint sound. Suddenly, there was a sharp yelp, a different female voice, a loud gasp of surprise perhaps? I looked forward and identified a room at the end of the passageway, a corner office with a partially opened door. I glanced around. There was no-one else here but me, and the office was at the termination of a dead-end. No-one was likely to come here at this time of night.
I inched forward to the open door and stopped by the wall, pressing my back against the magnolia surface like a cat burglar. Then I leaned around and peered into the room, taking care to remain cloaked in the shadows of the dim corridor. I blinked as my eyes scanned the office, then gasped quietly and pulled back quickly as I located the source of the noise.
I leaned back against the wall, gazing at the floor. Had I really just seen what I thought I had?
I took a deep breath and turned to face the wall, then craned my neck around the entrance once more, knowing where to look this time.
The office was vast and modern, with an uncluttered desk towards the left hand side beside a large picture window that encompassed two full walls of the large space. The city beyond glimmered and shone in the dark night, and endless streams of taillights meandered through the warren of narrow streets far below. In the right hand corner of the office was a large corner sofa, a bland, grey piece that matched the uncontroversial decor of the rest of the office.
But it wasn’t the decor that I was looking at.
On this sofa were two women who I recognized immediately. Kat and Ashley, the two young actresses from the Endless Legs TV commercial. I’d seen the two girls at the party and exchanged a polite greeting with them, but the hot pair had circled away from me, milling between congratulations and adoration in the bustling get-together, and then they’d vanished from my radar completely. Apparently they’d come here.
I fixed my gaze on the pair, trying not to be seen but not really needing to worry, the pair seemed entirely preoccupied. The brunette, Kat, was leaning back into the corner of the sofa. Resting on her elbows, her legs were up on the long length of the couch. Kat, like Ashley, was only eighteen, an aspiring actress who had come to the city in search of fame and found herself working commercials rather than blockbusters. But, also like Ashley, she was deeply attractive, with raven hair and sharp features, the kind of cheekbones that could have won her modelling contracts, if she ever tired of TV work. Tonight, Kat was wearing a very tight, very short, black cocktail dress that hugged her shapely figure and highlighted the long length of her legs. Her pantyhose - surely a mandatory requirement in this company? - were black and sheer, with a tantalizing seam down the back, perfectly aligned with the coltish length of her slender legs. On her feet, she wore fashionable stiletto pumps, with a thick sole and high heel.
Or rather, on her foot, since only her left foot retained its shoe. Her right foot was held aloft before her, her toes pointing directly forward, offered invitingly to the second member of this intriguing pairing. Ashley.
The blonde Ashley was kneeling on the couch beside Kat, gazing down at the brunette’s pointing toes. Ashley wore a white dress, similar in silhouette to Kat’s, but exuding an innocent counterpoint to the other girl’s demure seductiveness. Her legs were curled beneath her, but I knew from earlier that Ashley was wearing tan pantyhose and strappy, silver sandals.
From where I stood, I could see that Ashley was breathing quickly, obviously excited. But there was a hint of trepidation in her eyes, a gentle reluctance. With trembling fingers, she reached forward and touched her slender hand to Kat’s foot, stroking from her ankle to her sole. Kat gasped and opened her mouth, flinching back from the other girl’s caress and curling her toes.
Ashley glanced at Kat and looked suddenly concerned. “Are you okay?”
Kat nodded and nibbled lazily on her bottom lip. “Y-yes… it felt good,” she breathed, her eyes wide and locked on Ashley’s face. “Do it again!” she added.
Ashley reached up once more, with both hands this time, gripping Kat’s foot with ten slender fingers. Then she began to gently stroke back and forth, pushing her thumbs into Kat’s soft sole.
I felt a flush of warmth spread through my body, rising up from my pussy and igniting my nerve endings with faint arousal. What had I stumbled into?
“How does it feel?” purred Kat, studying the blonde at her feet with hungry eyes.
Ashley sighed and gazed back at her friend, the nervousness melting from her face as she continued her sensual massage. “It feels soft, warm, not gross like I thought it would,” she paused and focused her gaze on the other girl’s toes. “I want…” she began, then fell silent, blushing softly.
“What?” breathed Kat, clawing her hands into the material of the sofa.
“It’s silly…” replied Ashley, smirking softly, glancing down at the city beyond the window.
“Go on Ash, you can tell me,” urged Kat, her honey voice soft and sultry.
Ashley paused, then returned her gaze to the brunette’s face. “I want… to kiss your feet,” she said matter-of-factly, then sighed and glanced to the side. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“No!” said Kat, interrupting the other girl. “I want you to as well!” There was a moment of silence as the two girls smiled sweetly at each other along the length of Kat’s nylon-covered leg. Then Kat spoke again. “I’ve thought about it a lot since we filmed our commercial. I know it was just acting, but it felt so good! I’ve never felt anything like that before! I wanted you to touch my feet so bad…”
The pair of young girls fell into a fit of nervous giggles, the shared reality of their secret desires melting the final barrier between them. Then they became silent and almost sullenly serious. Kat relaxed back into the sofa, pushing her foot forward slightly, nudging Ashley down a road she was already taking. The brunette lowered her head, peering at the blonde through eyes wide with sultry desire.
It was Ashley’s turn to smile now, smirking back at her eager friend with lips that glistened in the dim light of the darkened office. Then she pulled Kat’s soft foot towards her, holding the soft sole inches from her face. The nubile blonde gazed at her prone friend over her squirming toes, her chest rising and falling with a quiet cadence. Then, with glacial precision, she leaned forward and closed her eyes, closing the gap between Kat’s pantyhose covered foot and her lips in apparent slow motion, drawing out the moment of first contact to epochal length.
The room was heavy with silence and rich with sexual tension as this slow dance played out before me. I swore that my hammering heart was clearly audible from my scant hiding place, but I could do nothing to slow my fevered pulse. The sight of these two girls and their moment
of intimate exploration was like nothing I’d ever witnessed, unbearably erotic, intolerably arousing. But the thing that really stoked the fire in my pussy was the notion that this sordid discovery was directly inspired by my own insatiable love of pantyhose and my strange longing for female feet. These irresistible beauties were embarking on a moment of shared intimacy because of me! Oh god, I thought to myself as I felt a wave of hot desire ripple up through my body, unable to look away from this stolen moment.
Before me, Ashley touched her lips to Kat’s foot and I swear there was a tangible jolt of electricity between them. She held her mouth there for several seconds, causing the brunette to sigh with sultry longing. Then she pulled back, her lips hanging open and her eyes narrowed. Her breathing was quick and fast. A hot pink blush had spread up from her slender neck to her unblemished cheeks.
Kat opened her mouth to speak but before she could say a word, Ashley buried her face in the other girl’s foot, planting hot kisses along the length of her sole. Kat squealed and gasped, gathering up tight handfuls of couch material in her grasping fingers. Meanwhile, Ashley was like a woman-possessed, frantically lapping and licking at Kat’s nylon foot. Her hungry tongue swept over her arch, licking up to the tip of her toes. Then she wrapped her lips around them and sucked, soaking Kat’s black pantyhose with her saliva. All the while, never taking her wide eyes off her friend’s hungry face.
Suddenly, she pulled back and, with a practiced motion, swept her long blonde curls to one side of her head, exposing her slender neck and bare shoulders. With a breathless sigh, she reached down and grabbed Kat’s other foot, retaining her grip on the first. Then she placed Kat’s ankles together and held them in place with one hand. With the other, she whipped off Kat’s remaining shoe, tossing it to the side without a second thought.
