“How am I doing?” I asked. Even though I was witnessing his obvious pleasure, I wanted to hear it from his own mouth too.
“You are an angel,” he said.
I continued to stroke his cock with my feet, and as I grew used to the movement, I started touching myself again too. The experience was so new, and he felt so good against my sensitive feet. (I never knew my feet were sensitive, but boy are they ever!) I began to grow excited again, and I knew I was going to orgasm from this new, wonderful experience.
I slid one foot down and tickled his heavy-hanging nut sac with my toes. When I did he sighed and groaned with pleasure. I liked to hear it – it only turned me on more.
My orgasm was approaching, so I picked up the pace, stroking his cock with my bare feet, gripping it tightly as my fingers moved furiously in my underwear. “I’m getting close,” Tom muttered, gritting his teeth. I ran my toes across his ball sac – it was tight and ready to explode.
I was ready too. I could feel myself peaking, and then I came hard, my orgasm crashing through my pussy and clit, thundering down my thighs and legs until my very toes tingled as I continued to fuck Tom with my feet. I screamed at the pleasure, every inch of my lower body tingling with release.
Tom came, shooting his hot, thick load over my smooth, bare legs and feet – I made sure not a drop of it hit the floor as I stroked every drop of cum from his cock with my feet.
His spunk was hot on my legs and feet, sticky and drippy. While Tom fell backwards, breathing heavily, I reached down and tasted it. Salty and good. Tom looked up at me, beads of sweat across his forehead. “You are amazing.”
I smiled, sated from my own orgasm and pleased I had done well. “Not bad for a first time, huh?”
“Phenomenal.”
After our breathing returned to normal Tom lovingly cleaned his spunk off my feet with a damp wash cloth, making sure each toe was spotless and neat. I’d never had a guy wash my feet either. I loved the attention.
When he finally left that night I walked him to the door in my bare feet, and slid one exposed foot up his leg when he kissed me goodnight. “Same time tomorrow?” I purred in his ear.
“Oh yes, definitely!”
* * *
And that, boys and girls, is the story of the first (but definitely not last!) time I gave someone a foot job. Tom and I parted ways after a few months, perfectly amiable, but I will never forget my first introduction to foot fetishism, and I’m always on the lookout for new men to worship my amazing feet.
Worth My While
Clifford, Long Island
I only watched for a few seconds, but in those seconds, Edgar’s mom realized I was there and she saw me. She backed away, but she was still holding the man’s cock. Her mouth fell open in amazement that I saw her. I was amazed too, but I was also embarrassed. I got out of there as quickly as I could and I went straight home.
Until I saw her doing that, I never thought of Ms Alcott as a sex object, but it was the way she went about it and the way she looked at me and, finally, the way she gave me that knowing look that grabbed me and would not let me go. The true image lasted ten seconds, tops, but it stayed in my brain, and the feeling stayed in my chest.
Over the next two weeks, the image kept returning and I invented other images of Edgar’s mom that I used to create fantasies that I relived in bath and bed.
Was Ms Alcott good-looking? Yes. She was maybe in her forties with long brown hair that she piled on top of her head most of the time. She had nice tits, but she never went around showing them off – not that I noticed. I could not stop thinking about what she did with whoever that was and I wanted her to do it to me. As hot as I was about it and her, I made it a point to stay away from her house. A week later, Edgar Alcott asked me why I hadn’t come over lately.
“I go to your house all the time.”
“Not for a couple of weeks. My mom wants you to come for dinner on Friday.”
I was glad I was on the other side of the cafeteria table, because during the whole conversation, I was thinking about his mom looking at me and working some guy’s cock. My own cock was growing now and I made an excuse to stay at the table until Edgar left for his economics class. I still had a key to their house, but I was afraid to use it or even to just walk in the way I usually did. At the Alcotts’ on Friday, I knocked, just in case.
Like I said, I did not think Edgar’s mom dressed to emphasize sex and she didn’t the night I went to dinner there either, but I made it a point to sit at the table as soon as I was in the house. I didn’t want to expose how rock-hard my cock was under my trousers but Edgar’s mom noticed. It seemed like an ordinary dinner at the Alcotts’ until Edgar’s mom asked him to go downstairs for soft drinks.
Edgar rolled his eyes and left the table, but he first checked the fridge in the kitchen. He huffed that there were no soft drinks, and then went to the downstairs fridge where his mom sent him in the first place.
Ms Alcott stood at the counter with her back to me while she tossed the salad.
“I hope you didn’t tell Edgar about what you saw a couple of weeks ago.”
“I didn’t and I won’t, I promise.”
“It could be worth your while.”
“How do you mean?” I said, but that was the end of the conversation because Edgar trudged up the steps carrying two soft drinks in each hand.
Ms Alcott made it a point to sit across the table from me while we ate and she made eye contact from time to time. She smiled sometimes, but occasionally her smile seemed to have the slightest bit of evil to it. I kept wondering what she meant by worth my while.
When Edgar went to the kitchen fridge to get the last of the soft drinks he brought up, Ms Alcott raised her eyebrows and mouthed the words Well worth your while. I was almost afraid about what she meant, but I was more hoping than afraid.
When Edgar made a trip upstairs to the bathroom after eating and guzzling two soft drinks, Ms Alcott reminded me that he was working at the garage the following day.
The words “Yes, ma’am” barely escaped my lips.
“I want you to do me a big favor tomorrow. If you came here at nine while Edgar’s at work, that would be perfect.
“Edgar’s my best friend.”
“I’d think that, as his best friend, you’d want to do his mother a favor.”
Edgar came down the stairs and that ended the conversation with his mom, but it brought a new hard-on.
When I went to the Alcotts’ house on Saturday morning, Ms Alcott was in jeans and a denim shirt knotted in the front and acting as a kind of bra. She had tied her hair in a ponytail, instead of her usual twist and pile. The slight intrusion of her nipples made it clear that she wore no actual bra under her shirt. I did a bit more than glance and it didn’t seem to faze her.
“Go get the lawnmower,” she said.
Mowing her lawn seemed more like a chore than something that would be worth my while and it didn’t take many minutes behind the mower for me to get outright pissed. There I was in the hot sun, sweat pouring down my body and into my clothes, and Edgar was cool and in the air-conditioned garage at the dealership where he worked on Saturday.
By noon, I was finished. I put the lawnmower in the garage, and I went into the house. Ms Alcott was not on the ground floor and I called down to the basement. When there was no answer, I called up the stairway and told her I was done.
“Come up here. I have something for you,” she said.
Like a fool, I asked what she wanted.
“Just get up here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When I reached the upstairs hallway, I was surprised that she had not changed clothes, stripped, or done anything else that would indicate I was about to get the something worth my while, the something that I was hoping for.
“Take a shower in my bathroom, and close the door.”
She was just being nice again, but I was beginning to believe that what I thought was an invitation was merely wishful think
ing on my part.
Amelia Alcott’s private bathroom was a lot nicer than our only bathroom at home and a lot bigger too. I was too hot and too disappointed to let my imagination take hold again. I folded my sweaty clothes on the hamper, adjusted the temperature and spray of the water from the shower, and climbed into the big and very deep tub.
Ms Alcott had some creamy soap that was slippery when I got it wet, and I was thinking about whacking off to the idea of fucking Ms Alcott. I even gave my cock a few strokes before I dropped the soap. When I leaned over to pick up the soap, Ms Alcott pulled back the curtain and scared the hell out of me.
“Nice,” she said.
I turned away, embarrassed, and I slipped and fell on my ass, lucky I didn’t break my neck. The shower spray went everywhere, including the bathroom floor. Ms Alcott just stood over me, laughing, but just slightly. She was still wearing her jeans and denim shirt, but she had unknotted the front and it wasn’t buttoned. It was hanging loose, but it still covered the bulk of her tits.
I saw her once in a bathing suit and, to the best of my recollection, it was a modest bathing suit. That was two summers ago when she was still married to Mr Alcott.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said, and she peeled back the shirt.
I didn’t respond, but I grabbed the chrome support bar, and pulled myself to my feet. My cock must have grown an inch for every square inch of tit that she showed. She revealed first one tit and then the other, all the while watching my cock. When she finally parted the shirt, her tits hung just the slightest bit, but her sharp, upturned nipples more than made up for it. They were not enormous but they were damn close to perfect. I thought I might come just looking at them. I put my hand around my cock as she let the shirt slide from her arms. When the shirt fluttered gently to the tile floor, she kicked it closer to the tub. The shower spray was still needling at my flesh and I was holding my cock.
Ms Alcott, still wearing her jeans, smiled up at me, reached for my cock, and pushed my hand away. I stared, mesmerized, as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft. She stroked four times with her right hand. She told me to lather my hands again, and to give her the soap, which I did.
“Now let me see you stroke it. I haven’t seen that in a long time.”
I was not quite sure she meant that, but she nodded and I did as I was told. She opened her mouth, and let her tongue touch her upper lip. She looked contented. When Ms Alcott said it would be worth my while, I didn’t think she meant that I would have to whack myself off in front of her, but even that beat the hell out of just mowing the lawn, or even whacking off alone.
I gripped my cock and stroked while she lathered her hands. The more she watched, the wider her eyes went, and the slower I stroked. Slow is not how I usually do it, but that day, I wanted it to last as long as it could. Her nipples were getting hard and the brown circles that surrounded them bulged. It was something I never saw with any of the girls I fucked. I thought maybe that it was only something older women did.
Or special women, I thought, but I didn’t know. I was unsophisticated when it came to sex.
Her hands were lathered well and, still kneeling, she leaned around me and put the soap in the tray, brushing her shoulder against the head of my cock. As the upper part of her body moved on by, the shower sprayed through her hair and over her cheek. Coming back, she dragged her tongue over the head of my cock while I held onto the shaft.
She knelt more upright than before, giving her a better angle. Then she forced my hand away with her own. She looked up the front of my body, grinned, and then pulled my cock toward her lips.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time, Clifford.”
“Me too,” I said, but that was a lie.
For me, it was only two weeks, but it was also fourteen very intense days and nights when I worked out my fantasies.
As good-looking as Ms Alcott was, I never thought of her as a sex object until I saw her with her hand on that cock that she had just popped from her lips.
If she had taken my cock into her mouth, I was sure I would have come instantly, but she let it go and she stood. I was disappointed until I saw her unbutton and then unzip her jeans. I watched as Ms Alcott peeled the jeans down over her hips. She wore neither panties nor thong and, apparently, she shaved herself to a ribbon of hair over the slit of her pussy. I was afraid to stoke again, because I was afraid I would come.
After her jeans slid over her thighs and knees and gathered at her feet, she kicked them away, pushing the denim shirt with them, and she stood tall beside the tub. She looked into my eyes, not smiling, but grinning, which was driving me even crazier.
“Feel them,” she said. “But do not come.”
I reached out, not with my fingers, but with the palm of my hand. When I felt the hard nipple and the bulge of the circle behind it, I was afraid I would come, but I managed to obey Ms Alcott’s command, and my hardness even subsided a bit. Now, I was afraid my cock would shrivel and withdraw.
She stepped over the edge of the tub and under the needlelike spray of the shower. She faced me and lathered her hands, showing the fullness of her tits, the slight bulge at her belly, and of course, the evil smile. My cock stopped shrinking.
She did nothing for me or for herself for a full minute before she grabbed my cock and tugged, nicely and smoothly. I inverted my hand, cradled one of her tits in the crux of my forefinger and thumb, and began to squeeze and release. I was beginning to grow hard again, maybe harder than before.
“If we try to do this standing up, we’ll break our necks,” Edgar’s mom said. “Now, sit.”
I stifled a yes, ma’am, let go of her tit, and I supported myself with the chrome bar and lowered my ass to the shallow, flowing water as it flowed over us, and drained along the floor of the large tub.
She stood over me with one foot beside each of my thighs. I don’t know how many other college guys have had a chance to see a gorgeous older woman from this angle, but it was the very first time for me, and I took it all in. Her hips were wide and her belly hard with just the smallest undercurve. The bulge at her nipples made me want to suck them.
She still had the soap in her hands and she lathered her tits and her belly. As I watched, my cock bobbed against my belly. I was again afraid I would come, even though I no longer touched my cock. She brought the soap to her trimmed pussy, and slipped it into the wide blossom of flesh that was her pussy. She pushed the soap just part of the way inside her with one hand at the same time as she rotated the hard little hood of her clit with the middle finger of her other hand. The look on her face seemed a combination of deathly serious and ecstatic joy, and an evil that was driving me crazy.
With her left hand, she grabbed my right ear, and urged my face toward her pussy, but it did not take much urging. I ran my nose through the layers of her pussy and then my lips. I twirled my tongue over the soapy clit that was as hard as a stone.
“Nice, yes,” she said, but mostly she was breathing hard.
As I licked and sucked, I had this weird sensation of fear that someone might come into the bathroom and see what we were doing just as when I had seen her sucking and stroking someone’s cock almost two weeks ago. I looked up the front of her body. I puckered my lips, sucked her clit between them, and rolled my tongue over it.
“Good, good,” she said, encouraging me, and it was the first time I heard her moan.
I opened my mouth and plunged my tongue through the layers of her pussy.
“I’m coming down,” she said, and I did not know what she meant, until she squatted further, and knelt with one knee on the outside of each of my thighs.
She took my cock in a kind of backhand grip, laying it across her palm and she went lower still.
Yes, this was it, not just a blowjob or a handjob, but a fuck. A real, honest-to-goodness fuck. I wanted to fuck my best friend’s mom, my very first MILF, a mother I didn’t know I’d love to fuck until two weeks before. Now it was happening.
Th
e spray of the shower was fine and biting, but it did not bother me. She spread her thighs and angled my cock. She ran the head through her slit without letting my cock go all the way inside her. She pushed me back until I lay hard against the back of the tub. The pleasure of cockhead on clit was excruciating. All the while she worked with me, I was afraid I would come too soon. Now, I was afraid I would not come soon enough, not because I didn’t like what she was doing, but because I wanted to fuck her again. This time, I wanted to fuck on a bed, with me on top and in control.
“Oh,” I said, and here it went.
“Good,” she said, and my cum shot not into her, but over the front of her belly. Even as I came, she worked the length of my cock, pulling my cock as far into her pussy as it would go from that angle, and then bringing it out and rubbing the head into outer edges of her pussy. She did not relax until the final bursts of cum dripped inside her.
I told her I was sorry I came so fast, and she told me that she wasn’t sorry at all.
She held onto the bar and raised herself in the tub.
“Finish your shower and dry off,” she said. “Then come into my bedroom and fuck me properly.”
“Yes, ma’am,” slipped out this time.
“I like that,” she said. “Let’s have more obedience and we can make it even more worth your while.”
The two hours doing the lawn and the three hours in the Alcott house that Saturday were well worth my while. It was not the last time that I fucked Ms Alcott, but I had to do a ton of lawns while my friend Edgar was at work.
Everybody’s Got A Fist
Julie, Orlando
I met Gary one night when I was out at Pleasure Island in Downtown Disney with my girlfriend at the time. We became friends immediately and pretty soon I was out clubbing with him more than I was with her.
I won’t get into the boring details, but things with that girlfriend had already begun to go downhill by then, and before long we split up and Gary stepped in to fill the void, so to speak.
The Mammoth Book of Urban Erotic Confessions Page 22