I lay back and tried to savour the pleasure as best I could. I hoped he was doing the same, as I considered this was the reward I had promised him.
The sound of a car pulling up outside reached my ears and I gave Alec a tap on the shoulder to disengage him from his eager cunnilingus.
‘He’s here. Hide somewhere,’ I instructed him as I adjusted myself. I put my knickers back on over my sopping wet pussy. Alec had disappeared and I did not think to see where he had gone.
‘Hello!’ I called to Wil across the front garden.
‘What do you think?’
‘Nice,’ he commented. ‘Quite a nice area too.’
‘Want to come inside and check it out?’ I asked.
‘Sure.’ He smiled a bright white smile.
I showed Wil around the house, giving it all the usual Estate Agency stuff, but without the hard sell. After all, I wanted him to be impressed, but not too impressed: it would get complicated if he tried to make an offer.
I tried my best to touch him and brush past him in the corridors and gave him plenty of eye contact whenever I could. I even allowed my hand to brush along his back and ever-so-lightly touch a buttock as I motioned him from the kitchen to the dining room.
Going up the stairs I skipped in front of him and wiggled like a slut as he followed me; I knew my dress hem would dance enticingly, and that he would be feasting his eyes on the back of my shiny legs. I did not notice Alec anywhere, so good was his hiding place, and indeed, I forgot about him really. It is hard to give a tour of a house and think about how to make a move on a sexy guy and also think about where your boyfriend is hiding, all at the same time.
‘There’s no balcony, I’m afraid,’ I joked as we concluded the tour, upstairs in Alec’s bedroom.
‘Shame,’ commented Wil; I noticed him eyeing my legs blatantly, trying his best to recall the thrill of my wee mishap in the wind. We laughed.
Wil stepped nearer to me.
I wanted to tell him how I felt, to reach out for his hand, ask him about his ‘situation’ as they say, but I had the very real problem that I did not know where Alec was hiding, and the last thing I wanted was for him to hear me asking another young man for a date. My face creased with a combination of lust and frustration.
Wil stepped nearer again, and it suddenly dawned on me that he might be having similar thoughts to mine – only as far as he was concerned, we were alone in the house and had no reason to hold back. Involuntarily, my eyes searched the V shape at the neck of his shirt, open to two buttons, and I admired the exposed part of his copper-coloured chest; I felt like running my fingers across it.
‘Do you have to be back in the office by any particular time?’ he asked, fixing my gaze with two huge ebony pupils. I melted in their intensity and my lips parted slightly as though to kiss. I felt a thrill run through my pussy and clitoris that I could not ignore. I was itching to let him know I was interested, and I leant in to whisper a warning that we were not alone.
I never got to speak – managing only a gasp as I felt two clamp-like hands close around my arms and draw me in. I felt the warmth of his torso on my breasts as they squashed against him and I gasped as he kissed me roughly on my neck.
‘I must have you, now,’ he whispered passionately.
My pussy ran with dampness and I was overcome with lust; without thinking, I allowed my head to loll back submissively. Wil devoured my exposed neck with hungry kisses and nibbles of his teeth.
‘No, we can’t, not here.’ My voice was barely a wheeze in the excitement.
‘I am fucking you now,’ he said confidently. I wanted to protest, I wanted to struggle, and I knew that these would have been the right things to do. But so much was making me want him: the closeness of his firm body, the pressure of his engorging penis against my belly, and, most of all, his uncompromising, commanding attitude. I knew if I stopped him now, we would only end up fucking somewhere else by teatime, but I would have lost the raw animal exhilaration of being taken at this moment. I could not, I knew, recreate the tingling pleasure on my tongue, in my anus and on my clitoris, or hope to orgasm as deeply and fully as I anticipated I would now with Wil’s cock hammering my pussy as hard as he was likely to in this mood. A slave to the signals ringing off in each of the erogenous zones of my body, I damned the consequences and let it happen.
My knickers were yanked down to my knees as Wil continued to feast on my neck, earlobes and mouth. I was being forced backwards in the rush and I felt Alec’s bed on the back of my legs and a feeling of entrapment overcame me: I could back away no more.
Wil finally planted his mouth on my own and I was able to return his passionate kiss, pressing my tongue against his. But the kiss was a mere distraction as Wil’s real attention was on his hand, which crept up my skirt, past my hold-ups to my dripping pussy. I felt two fingers part my lips and press inside. I grabbed the back of Wil’s neck as I kissed him.
Wil was like a tidal wave, relentless and unstoppable, as he progressed towards his ultimate goal. He was not pleasuring me with his fingers, he gave that no thought, he was testing and preparing my pussy for penetration, and the single-mindedness of the action thrilled me further. I was now sufficiently dilated and lubricated for cock, and I felt Wil push his two fingers all the way inside me, to confirm this for himself.
He spun me round and I faced the bed. I felt his strong black arm encircle my waist and tighten around me, followed by the impetus of a firm hand against my back. I bent over and put my hands on the bed.
‘Are you ready for your first black dick, you little cock-teaser?’ he asked. I didn’t answer because the question was completely rhetorical; he was going to fuck me anyway, ready or not. I had no idea how, or if, he knew that this was my first black dick; I guessed I wasn’t the first white girl to pursue his cock and that he was used to helplessly horny girls like me turning to utter whores in his hands. That would certainly explain his confidence and authority; he just took girls the way he wanted them, knowing they would not object.
I felt my hair being gathered into his fist and I heard his trousers being unfastened. I would have liked to take another look at the black hose that was about to drill me, but he would not let me turn my head. I shut my eyes and pictured it in my mind as I felt it press to me and slip inside. A moan of utter contentment accompanied two slow, explorative thrusts into me, as Wil used his hard cock to open me fully.
Then the real fucking started, hard and fast, reaming my cunt in selfish pursuit of satisfaction. I felt like my pussy was on fire, so intense were the feelings, and the sensations from each thrust began to run into each other, until they became one constant burning inferno inside me. Moaning through gritted teeth, I came so quickly that I was almost ashamed of myself.
Then the journey started again: Wil had not adjusted his rhythm or stance, even throughout my orgasm, and just continued, allowing me no respite.
A second time, my pussy combusted in the same fashion and I whimpered my way through another orgasm. Wil carried on regardless and I wondered if I would even survive another climax.
Fortunately the only climax I had to survive was Wil’s. It was building for him too and, overcome with pleasure, his thrusts became more choppy until, at the point of release, I felt him grab my shoulders and hammer his cock, and semen, home.
I savoured his cock as he slowly pulled in and out of me, catching his breath. I was greatly disappointed when he finally withdrew, cheekily wiping his cock clean on my buttocks. This time I was able to turn and admire it one more time, black and glistening. He began to dress himself once more.
‘That was good,’ he said. ‘Listen, I got to go, but call me, OK?’
I said I would, and stood to readjust myself. Only at that moment did my thoughts begin to return to Alec, and now my face was burning with shame for I could not even begin to imagine that he had not heard us. Why had he not interrupted us?
Wil did not even stop to let me see him out, but kissed me on the cheek and l
eft me in the bedroom. I sat on the bed and listened for the sound of the front door.
‘Alec?’ I shouted, hoping he would answer from downstairs or further down the hall – the further away, the better. There was no reply.
‘Alec!?’ I shouted again. There was only silence.
Then, by just a crack at first, the wardrobe door creaked open, and I saw four fingers creep around it before it was flung open, revealing Alec. My heart stopped. He would have heard, and possibly even seen the whole thing from just feet away. I was scared: why had he not emerged to stop us? Confronted us? Was he about to explode in jealous anger now? I had teased him for nigh on a month and then just let myself be taken by a comparative stranger.
Alec emerged from the closet, crawling, a serene look on his face that soothed my fears a little. I said nothing, watching him come nearer. His cock was bulging in his trousers and he looked surprisingly amorous. Wordlessly, he pushed his head up my skirt and began to do what he still does best to this day …
– Janice Bell, Lanarkshire, Scotland
Word of Foot
My fetish is women’s feet. I work at a women’s shoe store. Who says business and pleasure don’t mix? Not me. I’ve been mixing them footloose and fancy-free for two high-stepping years now. And getting quite the reputation for it, as I found out the hot way not so long ago.
The sultry sight, feel, smell and taste of girl peds have thrilled me ever since I was old enough to wet myself – the good way. The sculpted, arched elegance, the shapely, playfully plump toes and smooth, contoured soles, all the delicate curves and complexities of the female foot have been feeding my sexual appetite going back to the day when I first became fully aware of my best friend’s cute little feet.
She was innocently applying sparkly toenail polish to her separated and extended piggies, and as I stared at her curvy peds, my hands suddenly went damp and my fingers shaky, my throat dry and my pussy dewy. She asked me to help her, and I fumbled polish all over her outstretched toe-tips, then abandoned the brush for good and openly petted her smooth arches and supple soles. She thought I was crazy, but I knew I’d found the love of my life.
From that first awkward experience was born my craving for female feet. I studied shoe catalogues, took in swimming and diving events, sat on park benches and watched the girls go by in their summer sandals. The beach became my second home when it was hot, the bowling-alley shoe concession when it was cold. I devoured foot-fetish speciality books and magazines by the yard, girl-girl ped-porn videotapes by the shopping cart. By the age of eighteen, I was a fully fledged foot-whore.
And it was in college that I had my first honest-to-goodness full-on foot sexual encounter with another woman – my size-eight psychology professor, Anne. She had the longest legs showcased in the shortest skirts, shapely, toenail-painted feet openly displayed in swaybacks, sandals and pumps. We played bare-ped footsies on top of her office desk after class one day. Then she handled my feet as only a fellow fetisher can – gently rubbing them, stroking them, licking and sucking them – till I came in a heated gush, with a whoop and a holler, which brought the department head barging through the door, catching the two of us in flagrante foot delicto.
I’ve been selling shoes to my soul’s content ever since. Women’s feet are my beat, an endless parade of lady limbs and peds to be hand-fitted into hand-tooled coverings. Work is a joy, rather than a labour. The rich, musky scent of the leather and suede and the slick feel of the beautifully crafted, vibrantly coloured ped-holders is enough to get me misty where it counts most. And when a sexy customer sashays in and takes a seat, and I lovingly cradle her tapered leg-tips in my hands, dress them up in a pair of stilettos that blazingly enhance the natural sensuousness of the female-formed foot, it’s all I can do to control myself.
Sometimes, I don’t.
Like when stunning Melinda strutted into my store in a whisper of silk, and a pair of four-inch heels.
It was 9.20 on a Monday night, ten minutes before mall closing. I’d been working the full twelve-hour shift, as usual, but it had been quiet enough up to that point to hear a stocking drop – only a handful of heavy-footed housewives and retirees. Until tall, leggy, ped-perfect Melinda strolled into my life, and heart.
The dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty with the moist scarlet lips and pale oval face seemed somehow familiar to me. But I couldn’t place her, and I didn’t waste much time studying her face anyway. I briefly glanced over her tailored black jacket and pearl-white blouse, her thigh-high black leather skirt, and then my eyes plunged downwards. They slowly slid down her long black-stockinged legs and came fully to rest, wide and wondering, on her sheer-stockinged feet, delectably packaged in a pair of shiny black pumps, a shiny gold anklet adorning her slender right ankle.
She did a quick walkthrough of the store, fingering this and studying that, my gleaming orbs following her every step of the way. Then I remembered that the clock was ticking, and I leapt into action.
‘Anything I can help you with? Anything at all?’ I asked, rushing up to the statuesque goddess with the spectacularly moulded base.
She looked at me, looked down where I was looking. ‘I want the sexiest pair of stilettos you have,’ she stated, sending shivers racing down my spine and into my pussy.
I glanced up, gazing in awe at the sly smile that spread across her full lips. And I resolved right then and there to find out where the gorgeous lady stood on the issue of female foot worship.
‘Gimme a minute,’ I yelped.
I dashed around the store like a woman possessed, loading up on the sluttiest spike-heels I had on hand, including some from my own private stock. I could’ve shod a platoon of streetwalkers in guaranteed sales with the armful of sexy footwear I gathered up and tumbled down onto the chair next to Melinda.
Her slim silk-sheathed limbs were crossed in a symphony of casual elegance, her right foot dangling, dancing under the lights. A voice on the mall loudspeakers shattered my google-eyed reverie, however, informing one and all that it was 9.30, mall closing time.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Melinda said, rising to her feet. ‘I guess I left it a little too late. Perhaps I’ll come back some other night.’
‘No,’ I protested. ‘It’s – it’s OK. I – I have a key. I can let you out the back way – when we’re … done.’ I scampered to the front of the store before she could say anything and yanked out and locked the transparent security shutters. In two shakes of a lady’s tail, I was back at her feet.
‘You sure you don’t mind?’ she asked.
‘No – no, not at all,’ I gasped. ‘Please, sit down.’
She sat down, folding her exquisite limbs one over the other as before, a soft smile on her face.
‘We have all the leading brands,’ I babbled, pulling up a stool and plopping down. ‘Anne Klein, Prada, Franco Sarto –’
‘Let’s try those red ones first – the ones with the golden heels and arches.’
‘Good choice,’ I exhaled, grabbing up the shoes by their seven-inch spikes and presenting them to Melinda.
She started to remove her own heels. I stopped her. ‘Allow me.’
She smiled, extended her right foot to me, and I captured it in my hands, electricity arcing from it into my body. I held her by the ankle, the toe of her shoe, feeling the thin gold anklet, the very pulse of the lovely lady. Then, shivering with delight, I slid the shoe off, heel to toe, exposing her ped.
The warm moist leather and silk scent of her shoe and foot flooded my senses, leaving me momentarily dizzy, the breathless sight of her sheer-stockinged foot with gloss-painted nails dazzling my eyes. I took a deep breath, inhaling everything, and Melinda slipped her right foot down and her left up. I tenderly freed the other high-arched ped from its highly polished covering.
Then I slid off my stool and onto my knees, and she placed a foot in my lap. I gazed at the erotic hour-glass figure, but somehow managed to slip one of the shaking stilettos over her toes, lift her ankle and fit her snugly
inside the wicked shoe.
She withdrew her erotically costumed foot from my lap and asked, ‘How did you know my size?’
‘I knew,’ I breathed.
I dressed her other foot, and she stood up and walked back and forth in front of me. I stared down at her feet, up, up the soft shining contours of her legs. ‘How d-do they feel?’ I mumbled.
‘How do they look?’ she countered.
My eyes flashed crimson and gold. ‘Like heaven.’
She laughed. ‘Let me try on another pair.’
She was a finicky shopper – just the kind I like. We tried on every pair I’d brought her, me surreptitiously stroking her feet and ankles and calves as I shod and unshod her, she putting on a scorching footwear runway fashion show that had me gasping in the aisle. My face burned hot and bright and my whole body shook, my pussy soaked to unsatisfaction beneath my skimpy skirt and panties. It was too much to take, without giving something back.
‘My, it’s getting late, isn’t it?’ Melinda spoke, glancing at her watch.
Time has no meaning for the dedicated shoe saleswoman – customer service is her raison d’être. And I was darned well going to service this customer the best and wickedest way I knew how, or be told off trying.
She sat back down and extended her right leg for shoe removal. I caught her by the anklet and the toe of the wild leopard-print stiletto. I squeezed her ankle and toes in a meaningful manner and stared deeply into her soulful eyes, willing her, begging her to allow me to truly fall at her feet and worship them for the erotic objets d’art that they were.
She stared back at me. I slipped the exotic slutwear off and let the shoe drop. Then I gripped her bare foot and pressed my thumbs into her vulnerable sole. I rotated my thumbs, massaging her soft foot-bottom, and she smiled. My world lit up with a thousand suns.
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 10