Nylon Feet Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  “Your Dad is… into this stuff,” I breathed.

  “I guess,” said Lana, clicking through to another image that showed the two girls in yet another pose; lying top to tail, both faces plainly visible now, both mouths wrapped around each other’s toes.

  Silently, we clicked through a dozen photos, each more revealing than the last, each containing poses and actions that were novel to us both, but strangely fascinating. Different girls, different locations, sometimes barefoot, sometimes with nylons, sometimes wearing heels.

  I heard Lana sigh beside me and I turned to her. Her eyes were wide, cheeks flushed. I realized, with a gasp, that my face was warm too, that my heart was racing in my chest.

  “Should we… should we play some more Tetris,” I said quietly, saying the first thing that came into my mind.

  Lana nodded with a frown and closed down the browser, sending the computer back into its long slumber with a click of the mouse. In silence, we both wandered back to the sofa and flopped back onto it with a sigh. There was an awkward tension in the air, a confused contemplation on both our parts. I reached down and picked up the controller from the floor and, as I did so, my hand brushed against Lana’s leg, feeling the velvet warmth of her tan hose under my fingertips. I flinched away, as if touching an exposed electric wire and Lana did the same.

  “Sorry,” I said awkwardly.

  “It’s okay,” she said, gazing straight ahead at the TV.

  I sat back and started to play, allowing myself to fall into the steady, hypnotic rhythm of the game, trying not to think about what I’d just seen, trying not to think about the undeniable warmth in my stomach. A perfectly stacked column of blocks disappeared with the precise application of a straight tetromino and I felt the familiar endorphin rush of satisfaction. Beside me, Lana watched me play.

  “Say, Abby,” she said, shattering the silence into a million pieces. “You’re pretty good at Tetris.”

  “I dabble,” I replied.

  “I bet you that on your next game, you get under fifty lines.”

  “Unlikely,” I said with a dismissive chuckle.

  “Do you bet?”

  “What’s the stake?” I said, feeling my familiar competitive urges rising to the fore.

  “Um, if I win, you have to do me one favor. If you win, I have to do you one favor.”

  “You’d better like doing favors, honey,” I said with a street girl flourish that I’d picked up from Rikki Lake.

  “We’ll see,” smirked Lana. “There’s only one condition. Once you start the game, you can’t pause it, no matter what happens.”

  She clearly had something planned, but I was steadfast in my position as Queen of Tetris. There was nothing that this rich bitch could do to knock me off my game.

  “You’re on.”

  “Shake?” she said, offering me her dainty, slender hand. I took it in mine, feeling suddenly ashamed of my chipped polish and chewed nails.

  We took our positions and I gripped the controller, feeling utterly confident. Fifty lines was chump Tetris, a baby could do it.

  I started playing and the blocks began to stack up. After twenty seconds, I scored an early tetris, bring my total to four lines without even trying. Lana sat forward, I guessed she was nervous. Seconds later, two more lines, six.

  Suddenly, Lana slipped forward off the couch to the floor below, sitting beside my outstretched legs. I watched her move from the corner of my eye, watched her slide down. She turned to me and touched her finger to her lower lip, a mannerism that would become oh so familiar to me in later years.

  “Remember, no pausing,” she smiled, lowering her head and smirking mischievously.

  I scored another tetris, taking my total to ten.

  All of a sudden, Lana moved. She shifted onto her knees, curling her long legs beneath her bottom, then she pivoted around to face me, coming to rest at my feet. I glanced down at her, causing myself to misplace an easy t-block. “Damn,” I said and tried to concentrate on the game.

  Lana reached down and gripped my ankle, lifting my leg up onto her lap. Her hands felt warm on my nylon-covered skin, but her grip was gentle. She paused and glanced at me one final time.

  “What are you doing, Lana?” I said, not yet seeing where she was going. My mind was half-focused on recovering the situation caused by my lapse in concentration.

  Lana ignored me and turned to my feet, slowly undoing the lace of my sneakers. I glanced down and my heart skipped a beat, but still I played the game. I wasn’t going to let her win. Slowly, purposefully, Lana lifted my foot before her and began slide off my sneaker, pulling the white shoe over my heel and along the length of my foot.

  “This isn’t fair, Lana,” I said, feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious. Did my shoes smell? Were my pantyhose clean?

  “No pausing,” she whispered. There was a distance to her voice, a breathless sigh that spoke of preoccupation.

  My shoe cleared my foot and she set it aside beside her, still holding my foot in the air. Fourteen lines, sixteen, twenty. I felt my toes stretch out involuntarily, bending them back, enjoying the feeling of cool air. Twenty two lines. Lana turned back to my raised leg and leaned her head to the side, studying the underside of my sole. I could feel her hand shaking, her fingers trembling as she gripped my ankle. Then, without warning, she stroked her finger from my heel to the tip of my toe.

  “Oh!” I sighed, trying to pull back, but she held me tight. A z-piece landed in the wrong place, blocking off a double tetris that I was about to score. “Shit,” I said, and started the long process of recovery.

  But before I could find my rhythm again, my young life ended and my new life commenced. What a strange moment to become a woman, I would often muse in later years.

  Lana closed her eyes and leaned forwards, touching her lips to my sole. A brief kiss at first, a millisecond of contact, but the sensation was electric, sending warm shivers along the length of my leg, causing my toes to curl with involuntary pleasure. “Shit!” I repeated, shifting on the couch, momentarily forgetting about the game and allowing another square block to compound my situation. Before I could recover, Lana leaned in again and kissed my sole once more, longer this time, allowing her tongue to flick out of her mouth, wet flesh against my skin. I writhed on the sofa, desperate to pull away from her while simultaneously never wanting this to end. Her mouth moved along my foot, kissing the curve of my arch, sending jolts of pleasure through my body with every loving peck. I could feel the wetness of her mouth, soaking my hose, I could feel the warmth of her breath, bringing rashes of gooseflesh to my skin.

  Somehow, I turned back to the game, scoring two obvious singles in quick succession, unable to concentrate enough to form the higher scoring tetrises that I needed. I glanced at the score panel: twenty five lines, halfway there. I knew I could do it, but maintaining concentration was hard. My brain felt mired in a hot funk, slowed to a crawl, fixated on the endlessly pleasant sensations of Lana’s mouth on my raised foot.

  And then, any hopes of victory fled from my mind as Lana wrapped her lips around my toes. I turned away from the screen, unable to resist as I felt her mouth close on my foot. I glanced at her, seeing her peering at me with wide eyes, my toes half in her glistening lips, her pose eerily reminiscent of the images we’d just seen. I sighed, sinking back into the couch. From a thousand miles away, the chime of landing blocks, one after another, totally forgotten about, then the failure fanfare of Game Over. I didn’t care, couldn’t care, my entire sensorium was focused on processing the novel and debilitating sensations shooting up my leg as Lana worshipped my nylon foot.

  “Oh, fuck,” I moaned, gripping the material of the couch cushions in clawed hands. Lana’s hand stroked along the length of my calf, touching the soft skin behind my knee, then returned to my foot. With her mouth she sucked at me, her tongue lapped over the line of my toes, following the undulating line of my pantyhose seam. She seemed lost in her actions, utterly silent, eyes squeezed shut. She began
to kiss down to my heel again, then paused, fixing me with a wide-eyed stare.

  “May I?” her eyes seemed to say, and I knew instinctively what she meant. Something primal had gripped me, something fundamental, a need that went far beyond the torturous, fumbled exchanges with overconfident high school boys in parents’ cars up on Lover’s Point. This was real, visceral, appealing to a side of me that I’d always known was there, but had not dared to face. I wanted Lana, I wanted her on me, I wanted her in me, I wanted to feel her tongue on my pussy. I nodded without hesitation.

  She smiled sweetly and touched my foot to her cheek. I caressed her and she leaned into my touch, closing her eyes and sighing sweetly. How wonderful she looked beside my stockinged foot, how perfect her regal, porcelain skin seemed against the dark weave of my pantyhose. With a sigh, she turned to my leg and began to kiss down my calf, lingering behind my knee, making me squeal with her probing tongue. Then she wandered to the inside of my thing and planted two firm kisses there then paused, breathing in with a nervous excitement. She gazed at me dreamily.

  “I need to…” she said, then glanced down between my legs.

  I wondered for a second what she meant, blinking quickly as I struggled to understand. And then I saw. “Oh,” I said, “hold on.”

  I reached down and fumbled with the button on my shorts, then pushed them down along with my pantyhose and panties as far as my knees. I was frantic, trembling, shaking, my heart was hammering away at a thousand miles a second. All I wanted was to be free of my hated clothes, exposed to her, open, available. My pussy felt warm and wet, slippery damp between my thighs as they rubbed together. I felt no self-consciousness, no trepidation, all I wanted was her.

  Lana gripped my bundled garments in her hands and pulled them down my legs, peeling the pantyhose from my feet like a second skin. Then she did something that I will remember for the rest of my life. She lifted the bundle of underwear and shorts to her nose and breathed in, long and slow, shutting her eyes and burying her face in my clothes. I looked on, captivated, enthralled at the intimacy of it, her utter and obvious enjoyment.

  “You smell amazing, honey,” she smiled, setting the clothes down. Her voice oozed confidence, but her tone had an undercurrent of nervousness. There was a feeling that this was rehearsed for her, planned, as if she was reading from a script in her beloved drama class. Had she planned this? I wondered distantly, but the thought was lost in the blink of an eye when Lana moved herself between my legs and touched her trembling hand to my stomach. “Lie back,” she said and I moved without question. How could I not? I was frozen in place like a deer in headlights, knowing what I wanted though not knowing why, terrified of what it meant, terrified of what she would do, of how I would react.

  “Please,” I said, breathing my desperate desire out like the rustle of fall leafs.

  She smiled at me and lowered her head, peering me from between my legs, never breaking eye contact. There was an electricity between us, a subtle tension, a need to preserve this moment for all time, balancing on the edge of a precipice that over which we both longed to plunge.

  Her tongue pressed down, touching my pussy, lightly drawn along the length of my lips, barely making contact. A shudder ran along the length of my body, I inhaled sharply, my fingers clawed into fists. She reached under my knees and lifted my legs, pushing my feet up and back. I took my legs from her, knowing instinctively what she wanted me to do. Holding my legs aloft, I opened myself to her like the wings of a butterfly, tasting crisp air for the first time. I felt self-conscious, ashamed, yet gloriously willing. She gazed down at the complex tableau of my pussy; the mop of dark hair, unkempt, natural; my labia, which I knew with a bold certainty would be glistening wet; my ass, that forbidden place. She sighed, as if shedding the burdens of a thousand years, then she smiled.

  “May I?” she asked coquettishly, touching her hand to my inner thigh.

  I exhaled, my lips parted, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Every muscle I had was poised in anticipation and outright terror. I managed a nod.

  No more words then, no more build up, no more flirtation and innocent tease. She simply buried her head in my pussy and began her noble work. There was a trepidation at first, a nervous exploration. Her tongue probed around, learning my sex by touch and taste, finding the spots that provoked a reaction, mapping what she knew of her own body to what she found on mine. But I loved it, every sinful lick sent hot shudders through my body. I reached down without thinking, touching my hands to her hair, finding that golden cascade to be unfathomably soft. I longed to smell it.

  But those first tentative moments of pleasure could not prepare me for the sensations felt when Lana discovered her rhythm. She was a quick study, spending only a few short minutes on orientation before graduating to the advanced class. Her tongue swept upwards as she gripped my thighs with slender fingers. She touched on my hole, pushing herself into me, fucking me with her mouth like a hot, wet cock. I screamed out, head thrashing from side to side. I could barely believe that something could feel this good, this complete. She found my clit, that throbbing mass of electric nerves, and she began to play with it, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, prodding it, probing it like a cat toys with a mouse. Seeing my reaction, she became daring, pressing it down, flicking it from side to side. Her technique was masterful, her knowledge of my needs unfathomable. I became a marionette under her sole command. At that moment, as she worked my sex and made me cry out, I wanted her more totally than I’ve wanted anything before or since. I remember distinctly the sensation of craving, needing to feel our bodies pull together, interlocking, tessellating, merging into one being of pure pleasure.

  “Oh, Lana, fuck, fuck,” I said, without conscious thought.

  I became aware of sliding, falling, tumbling down a slope, out of control. A fire rose between my legs, dead ahead, unavoidable even if I’d wanted to. Lana sensed this change in my breathing, this tension in my muscles, and she worked me harder, moving her tongue in quick circles on my clit. I began to pant; short, sharp breaths of utter pleasure. I curled my toes, clawed my hands, every tiny muscle on my neck becoming taut and rigid. I was a being of pure energy now, a battery of lust that must soon discharge. But I fought against it, allowing myself to reach overload, feeling as though I might black out at any second, pushing the inevitable release of my climax away.

  And then, as Lana pushed down hard on my clitoris one more agonizing time, I lost control. The orgasm blossomed forth, exploding from my pussy like a supernova, sending white hot energy into my body and nullifying my every sense. I screamed, thrashing about, panting quickly, urgently. Lana held me, gripping my legs and riding me like a rodeo bull, her mouth still pressed against my pussy.

  Then, just as I thought I would be consumed by it, the deluge of sensation ceased. I fell back, as though falling from a thousand feet to the couch below. My arms and legs went limp, collapsing on Lara like a ragdoll. Every muscle twitched, burning with the warmth of memory.

  Lana sat back, casually touching her fingers to the corners of her mouth. Her skin was glistening, still wet from my sex; her hair was tussled and amok, stuck to her sweating forehead in curling ringlets; her cheeks were flushed a deep rose. She looked angelic, perfect, a golden presence that I could barely look at.

  “Hmm,” she said with a sultry smile, “seems I’m good at some games.”

  She leaned her head to the side, peering at my naked legs, my bare feet.

  “Now, about the terms of the wager that you lost…”

  For the first time in my young life, losing didn’t feel bad at all.

  Chapter 2

  3 Player Bomberman in tan sheer to waist

  After that first explosive night, Lana and I became virtually inseparable, to the surprise of everyone who knew us. “They’ve become best girlfriends,” they’d say, unaware that our bond was that of lovers, not mere friends.

  We were able to cloak this bond beneath the distracting reality of our shared love o
f gaming, something that most people found inexplicable enough back then. Nobody thought to look deeper to examine the reality of our newfound closeness. We played games endlessly, spending hours together in my Mom’s basement or in Lana’s bedroom across town. We’d attend cons and exhibitions, spending nights away from home, our parents safe in the knowledge we BFFs were innocently enjoying a shared hobby.

  But, for all that we genuinely enjoyed the gaming, our true interest lay in each other and new game we’d both developed a genuine affinity for. As soon as we were alone, as soon as our parents’ backs were turned, the controllers would be set down and a more intimate form of play would take place. I swear, I never knew any part of the world half as well as I came to know Lana’s body that long, hot, sultry summer.

  And always, underpinning every sapphic exploration, we’d indulge our shared fetish, the sinful secret desire that brought us together in the first place. Endless Saturdays we’d spend, shopping in the mall, buying pantyhose and stockings, cute shoes that showed off our toes, our heels, the gentle arches of our feet. Because what could be more innocent than two gals, out shopping for clothes to attract guys? The unlikeliness of our fetish served as the perfect disguise.

  But when we got home, all pretence of innocence dissipated in a flash. We’d dress each other like dolls and ravage each other like animals. We’d laze around for whole evenings, cradling each other’s feet in our trembling hands, kissing, licking, worshipping them like idols, never able to achieve enough of the taste that we loved so much. But all roads lead home, so they say, and every sweaty foot session served only as starter for the main course to follow. I became an eager student in a single subject: Lana’s sweet pussy. I learned it, I memorized it, I gained degrees in every hot inch of it. And she, in turn, became mistress of my pleasures too.

  Once the discipline of the tongue was mastered, we studied the finger, then the fist, becoming ever more knowledgeable about the other. I fucked her with a strap on, with a dildo, with vegetables. If it was long and hard, I put it in her and allowed her to put it in me. Nothing was off limits when it came to our pleasure, no high-score of depravity was unbeatable.