Nylon Feet Mega Bundle

by Ella Ford

  Abruptly it stopped, and the tension left my body in a flash. I collapsed to the side, panting and laughing without any hint of self-consciousness. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, was all I could think.

  “Okay, scene two,” said Miss Todd from far away. “Jessica, stay exactly where you are, and you too Kimmy. This time, we’re getting a little taboo. Play along, you’ll get it eventually,” she said and winked.

  She’d allowed me only minutes to recover from the intolerable pleasures that I’d experienced before and I lay panting on the sofa. I barely had time to get my wits together, when Miss Todd shouted, “Action!”

  I rolled over and gazed at Kimmy, her mouth still wet with my juices. Reaching up, I grabbed her neck and pulled her towards me, pressing my mouth on hers and kissing her deeply. I would like to say that this was part of the scene, an improvised act to feed into the wider story, but honestly, I just wanted to taste her mouth. She yielded instantly, parting her lips and allowing my tongue to slip inside and find hers. Our lips slid together, moist with lipstick and pussy juice, and our tongues danced, warm and wet and eager. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be carried away with the kiss, body still quivering with the memory of the orgasm.

  “What on earth is the meaning of this?” shouted Miss Todd, and I jumped, pulling away from Kimmy with genuine fright. “What is going on here? Jessica, I leave you alone with the maid for five minutes and you can’t resist fucking her?” she cried, sounding perfectly serious and very angry.

  “I-I… It isn’t what it looks like,” I improvised, not really sure where this was going.

  “Then what is it? Honestly, I’ve half a mind to tell your father about this. What kind of a step-mother would I be if I didn’t?” she said and I finally got why she had described this scene as “taboo”.

  I shuffled around to face her, allowing myself to run with the scene. “Oh please Laura, I m-mean m-mom, don’t tell dad, he’ll cut off my allowance!” I pleaded, doing my best to sound contrite and ashamed.

  “And so he should Jessica, you little slut! You’re twenty years old and you’ve never done a day’s work in your life!” she scolded me. “And you Kimmy, I trusted you, gave you a home, a job and how do you repay me? By putting your whore tongue in my husband’s daughter!” She was really into it now, living the role perfectly.

  “Please Miss Todd,” replied Kimmy, “don’t sack, me I need this job to pay for my studies.”

  Miss Todd put her hands on her hips and stared at the pair of us, her eyes flicking between us, lingering on Kimmy’s breasts and my naked pussy.

  “Well, you’ve both been very bad girls,” she purred, suddenly calm and restrained. She lifted her hands to her neck and slowly teased the strap of her dress until the knot came undone and the dress fell down her breasts and slithered over her body to the floor. “And bad girls need to be disciplined,” she added, and both Kimmy and I gasped.

  Miss Todd was now completely naked but the for the wedge heels and an enormous strap-on dildo that hung between her legs from a complicated leather harness that snaked around her waist and between her legs. With a purposeful motion, she thrust her hips forwards, allowing the ponderous appendage to swing back and forth. I peered at it, horrified and captivated in the same measure. It was fleshy and bulbous, around ten inches long and several thick. The rubbery length was rippled with veins and tipped with a rounded end that was thicker still. She smiled a viper smile and gazed at us both.

  “Now, girls, it’s time I taught you a lesson. Kimmy, Jessica, bend over the couch, show my your pussies,” she commanded.

  “Y-yes, mom,” I replied. “Y-yes, Miss Todd,” said Kimmy and we both slid into position, side by side on the sofa, upper bodies resting on the soft cushions, asses pushed back and pussies exposed.

  “Since you apparently can’t get enough of each other, why don’t you make out for me while I decide which of your pretty holes to use first,” she said.

  I turned to Kimmy and found her doing the same, then, without further encouragement, we started kissing again. As my tongue found hers, I took a moment to reflect on the strangeness of the situation that I found myself in. This wasn’t me, this wasn’t my world. Before last week, I was shy and reclusive, crippled by anxiety and awkwardness. I’d barely kissed anyone before, let alone had sex with a woman. But now, here I was, about to be fucked within an inch of my life by a mysterious lesbian pornographer, just minutes away from having received the orgasm of my life from a submissive human sex slave. On camera to boot! With a mental shrug, I cast off any sense of doubt and focused on Kimmy and her eager mouth, relishing the minty fresh taste of her and the feel of her tongue rolling against mine.

  Suddenly, Kimmy paused and her eyes went wide. I wondered what was happening for a moment and glanced back to find Miss Todd kneeling behind her, thrusting her hips back and forth, driving the thick rod into Kimmy’s pussy. Kimmy blinked twice, then began to breath quickly, moaning as she did so. I felt a surge of pleasure race through me, captivated by the expression on her face and longing to feel the same myself. I kissed her again, and she sluggishly responded, allowing herself to be probed by my tongue. Her hand found my own and I felt her slender fingers wrap around mine, squeezing my hand in time with the quickening strokes of Miss Todd’s cock.

  In time, the pounding became too much and her body began to rock back and forth, caught up on the piston that was ramming into her. It became impossible to maintain the kiss and I laid my head down on the cushion, watching the pretty blonde’s face as she became lost in her own world of private ecstasy. Her mouth fell open, red lips smeared with our passions, and her eyes squeezed shut. I sensed her body become tense as she gripped my hand harder than before. She cried out. “Ah! Ah! Ah! Fuck yes!” she screamed.

  I glanced back to find Miss Todd gazing down at the pair of us with a maniacal stare. She caught my eye and grinned, then slapped Kimmy’s ass hard, causing a sharp crack. Kimmy jumped forward, but was unable to escape. She cried out once more, screaming in pain and enjoyment.

  Suddenly, her head raised from the sofa and the muscles in her neck bulged and strained. Her back arched upwards and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. She held that pose for several long seconds before finally finding her voice. “Ohhhhhhhh!” she cried out loudly, not caring who heard. I felt a sudden pain in my hand as she squeezed it roughly, channeling the power of the orgasm outwards in anyway she could.

  Then she collapsed forward and slid off Miss Todd’s cock. Her body went limp, her face soft and relaxed. She appeared to deflated before my eyes, like a popped balloon. Her expression became one of content exhaustion and her fingers lost their grip on mine.

  “Let that be a lesson Kimmy,” said Miss Todd, and I realized what was about to happen next. My heart skipped a beat, the thrill of anticipation and the fear that I wouldn’t be able to take such a monstrous length. I wasn’t like Kimmy, I had barely any experience. I was suddenly deeply worried about what was going to happen. But I remained where I was, bent double over the sofa, pussy on display.

  “Jessica, it’s your turn now. Do you have anything to say to me before I plough your virgin pussy?” she asked.

  “N-no mom,” I stuttered, wishing she would just get it over with.

  I felt a presence behind me as Miss Todd got into position, then a soft touch on my hips, steadying me, pulling me backwards slightly. I realized that I was pulling away from her, unable to overcome this insistent reluctance completely. I tried to relax, to allow myself to enjoy this.

  Beside me, Kimmy stirred into life and gripped my hand again. She locked her pretty blue eyes onto mine and flashed me a look of reassurance. I felt myself relax slightly, lulled by the softness of her expression and the fading contentment in her eyes.

  Slowly, Miss Todd began to tease the dildo around my pussy, dragging it through my lips, wetting it with the juice of my desire. She pushed it idly against my hole, giving me a tantalizing feeling of its girth as it pushed onto my tight opening.
It felt big and wide, still warm from fucking Kimmy.

  Then she eased forwards into me, impaling me with glacial slowness on the thick appendage. I gasped and felt my eyes widen as she entered me, mirroring the expression that had gripped Kimmy’s face minutes before. I felt the rod slide forwards, then she reversed her stroke and pulled backwards, slipping out of me with as much care as she’d taken entering. Then she pushed forwards once more, harder this time, deeper, ramming herself into me and causing me to sigh.

  The feeling was indescribable. An overwhelming sense of being filled, of being complete. Instantly, the fire in my body reignited, and my pussy roared. “Oh yes! Yes!” I cried out and gripped Kimmy’s hand. Then I felt Kimmy kiss me again and I reciprocated forcefully, sliding my mouth on hers, pushing my tongue out to meet hers, eager to taste her again and again.

  Behind me, Miss Todd picked up her pace, driving the moulded dildo into me again and again, faster and faster, deeper and deeper. With every thrust I felt my pleasure ratchet upwards, soaring up to unimagined levels of fulfillment. My entire body felt impaled, limp and loose on Miss Todd’s cock, a slave to her motions, the willing captive of her endless rhythm.

  For endless minutes, I resisted the urge to come, resisted the urge to release myself into the glorious embrace of orgasm once more. I focused on Kimmy and her hungry mouth, trying to ignore the constant pounding of my pussy and the occasional slaps on my ass by Miss Todd. But in the end, it became too much. The overwhelming input of my senses was simply too great for me to push away and I sensed a distant point of no return being crossed.

  Inside me, the orgasm rushed to the fore. A fractured dam of pent up energy gave way and the deluge swept forwards, engulfing everything in its path with an endless surge. I screamed out, and lifted my head far off the sofa, desperate to release this maelstrom somehow, yet unable to escape its roaring force. I began to feel detached, pulled away from my body and lifted skywards, up into the stratosphere. I gazed down with ethereal eyes and surveyed the scene: Miss Todd looming over Kimmy and me, her thick cock pushed into my dripping pussy, forcing me open and filling my body. I saw Kimmy and her pretty face, staring at me, still rocked by her own orgasm and the memory of pleasure. A sensual scene of debauched lesbian passion, it was intoxicating to view, overwhelming to be a part of. The whirling storm of my orgasm surged onwards, ripping at my very being, fueled by the input of my senses.

  And then it left me, releasing its grip on me and letting my soul fall back to my body. I went limp and slid forwards, Miss Todd’s cock leaving my pussy and leaving me with a distant feeling of regret. I exhaled deeply, my lips still touching Kimmy’s mouth. We lay together, two ruined bodies, two spent vessels, devoid of animation or intent.

  “Girls, that’s a wrap!” said Miss Todd from a million miles away.

  Epilogue

  And that’s how it ended. Or, should I say, how it began.

  After that steamy morning at Miss Laura Todd’s house, I became an occasional employee at Kimmy’s Foot Palace. I play “Nerdy Jess”, Kimmy’s shy and retiring next door neighbor; foot crazy, naturally, and hungry for pussy. I know, I know, stereotyping, much? It’s a good job, and a world away from where I started, so much so that I often wonder if all of this is one of my elaborate erotic dreams.

  I also met someone. A woman called Dani. She’s a bit older than me, and a cop. I found her in a Craigslist ad. She was looking for another girl to explore her love of pantyhose with. She was shy and inexperienced when I met her, looking to explore some curious urges that she’d had after a conversation with a friend. I was, of course, happy to oblige her, and, yadda yadda yadda, we’re moving in together next week. I know, right? Me…

  So, I like feet, and you know what, that’s okay. I’m okay with it. I spent a lot of my life pushing the feeling aside, denying it and hoping it would go away. But to what end? Since I’ve embraced my fetish, and explored it to its natural conclusion, I have found such fulfillment, such intense satisfaction. And why not? We’re here on this dumb planet for such a short time that it doesn’t make any sense to do anything other than embrace our deepest passions, our strongest desires. If it doesn’t hurt anyone else, then why wouldn’t you follow your urges?

  Here’s my advice. From one pervert to another. If you have a fetish or a desire, then don’t deny it. You live in a wonderful age of openness and tolerance. And internet porn. If you like a thing, then odds are that someone else does. Find that person, find them and explore your desires together. Whether you like feet, or pantyhose, or girls, or guys, or trannies, or tits, or balls, or asses, or anything! Find that person and fuck together.

  Because life is short. So live yours.

  THE BEGINNING

  Pantyhose College

  by Ella Ford

  Prologue

  If you’re reading this, you probably like feet. No, don’t panic, I’m not judging. You’re in good company here. I’m one of you! And if you have a thing for pantyhose and stockings and sexy, strappy shoes, then I’m especially one of you!

  Now you probably feel a little alone with your fetish, am I right about that? Sure, your wife sometimes gives you a footjob, and she’ll probably wear those cute open-toe pumps that get you going so badly. She may even put on some sexy black stockings and slink around the bedroom like a seasoned provocateur if you asked her nicely.

  But you always get the feeling that she’s playing along to humor you. Your six monthly footjob is a reward for good behavior, a treat for getting that barbecue setup going in the yard like you said you would; and the pantyhose you bought her for date night are worn with a weary sigh that suggests that she doesn’t really understand what it means to you, how deep your feelings run.

  I get it, I sympathize.

  Now, imagine what it’s like to have that same sense of isolation from the mainstream, but that you’re also a girl-who-likes-girls-who-also-likes-feet. Imagine cutting your audience by ninety percent and then looking for that one-in-a-million chick who digs sucking on toes, or the feel of silky hosiery on her face.

  Oh boy, you think you got it bad? Try being a lesbian foot fetishist!

  ---

  Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all bad. I love pussy as much as the next girl, and I’m totally capable of having my mind rocked by an eager tongue and some fancy fingerwork, even if I don’t have a big toe rammed in my asshole or a stiletto heel in my mouth. But sometimes it nice to have those things, right? That’s totally normal.

  I guess I’ve always felt like this, for as long as I can remember. As a young girl, I’d lock myself in the understairs closet with my Mom’s Macy’s catalog and pore over the shoe section. I’d spend hours fixating on the fancy ladies in pantyhose and towering heels, their toned calves pulled taut under the thin nylon gauze, and I’d wonder what it would be like to run my fingertips over those soft limbs, what it would be like to… kiss them.

  My Mom, bless her heart, thought I was obsessed by fashion and would go on to become the next Vivienne Westwood or something.

  “She loves shoes!” my Mom would drawl in that thick New York accent that she never bothered to correct when we moved out to Wisconsin. “She think’s she’s Carrie Bradshaw off the Sex in the City!” she’d add, and her friends would coo and purr and pat my head as though I was the cutest six year old in the world, instead of some proto-pervert who was secretly plotting to steal a pair of their pantyhose the next time we went over for a playdate.

  As I got older, I became more daring, but not massively so. Like, I’d always make sure I was first onto the floor when Miss Anderson was reading a story in elementary school. Not because I found her tales to be particularly enthralling, but because she was the only teacher in school to wear tan stockings with cork wedges that she’d dangle absent-mindedly from her foot as she was reading.

  To this day, I couldn’t tell you what stories she told us or even who else was in my class. But I could spend a long and pleasant afternoon describing to you the captivating arc that
the bouncing shoe followed as she tapped her foot up and down to some unheard internal rhythm, or the time that she flicked a little too hard and the shoe fell to the floor, leaving her perfect stockinged-feet exposed for all to see for the remainder of that homeroom session....

  Oh boy, I’ve got to take a break. Back soon.

  ---

  Where was I? Ah yes, the growing pains of a young lesbian foot fetishist.

  When I got to high school, I began to realize that not everyone was like me. For a start, most of the girls seemed to like boys - eww! Strange, lumbering neanderthals who liked football and fighting and swearing and didn’t even have pretty feet. Never saw the appeal myself.

  It’s true that there were some girls like me at my school - it was 2009, not 1809 after all! But mostly they were into kd lang music and flannel shirts. None of them, to the best of my knowledge, liked feet.

  So I played along with the normals and pretended to be pretty and shy, and avoided pretty much all conversations about sex. I joined the cheerleading team and made sure that I was always on the bottom of any pyramids (for the barefoot practise sessions), I was voted class president three years running and I even went to my own prom (I took a well meaning nerd called Irvine Fletcher who seemed far too interested in Firefly and Yu Gi Oh to ever pose much of a threat). But mostly I spent my teenage years resigning myself to the fact that people like me were like unicorns: rare and precious and doomed to be perpetually horny. I gradually came to accept that it was highly unlikely that I would ever meet someone who shared my particular peccadillo.