by Ella Ford
---
After fifteen minutes, I sensed a presence behind me and I turned to look. Standing before me was the mistress, legs spread to shoulder width and her hands on her hips. She’d stripped down to her stockings and heels, the pristine tan nylon covering her long legs invitingly. Otherwise, she was completely naked and she looked radiant. I felt my stomach flutter at the sight of her, and the prospect of what might happen.
Then I noticed something else, something new. Hanging from her waist was a thick appendage, a strap-on dildo of immense proportions. It was fastened to her body with a complex array of leather straps that passed around her ass and between her legs. The nine inch shaft was flesh colored and rippled through with veiny details. Its head was bulbous and grotesque, a cartoon rendition of a real, human cock.
As I watched, she wiggled her hips and the monstrous plastic cock swayed ponderously in front of her. She grinned manically, and I realized that she was enjoying this immensely. I swallowed, suddenly very apprehensive.
“Are you ready to be broken in pet?” she asked, and I sensed that this was a rhetorical question, but nodded nonetheless. “Good. Bend over the couch, show me your pussy.”
I nodded again and turned to face the couch, then bent at the waist so that my upper body was lying on the soft leather cushions. I shuffled forwards slightly, then spread my legs and pushed my ass upwards, allowing her to see my dripping pussy. As I got into position, I felt my excitement growing, the glowing ball of fire from before having never completely faded and the fuel of my spanking pushing it to greater heights. I closed my eyes and awaited my mistress.
In no time at all, I sensed her behind me. She kneeled between my legs and I felt the soft brush of her stockings against my thighs. I shuddered, and gripped the cushion tightly, desperate for release. Then I felt a cold presence against my pussy lips as the mistress teased the bulbous head over my moist labia. Back and forth she moved, brushing my clit and causing me to moan out loud with eager anticipation.
Then she stopped, pausing with the tip of the cock pushing against my tight, young hole. A sudden feeling of apprehension flooded through me. I’d never taken anything that big before. The two boys I’d slept with had been tiny in comparison, but even their unimpressive cocks had felt like they were splitting me in two. What on earth would the mistress’ monstrous strap-on dildo feel like?
Before I could dwell on the question too long, Ms. Jones thrust forwards into me. I gasped as I felt her slide the rigid length into me, gradually filling me until the sensation felt intolerably pleasant. Then she pulled backwards and slid it outwards, reversing the stroke and causing me to sigh at the perceived absence. Without pause, she thrust forwards again, faster and deeper. I moaned and dug my fingers deeper into the sofa. The feeling of completeness was almost indescribable, having the thing fill me up totally. I wanted the sensation to never end, I wanted it to intensify, to never stop filling me.
I sensed my mistress falling into a rhythm, pounding my pussy with an increasing frequency that rocked me back and forwards. With every stroke, my pleasure intensified until I feared I could take no more, then with the next thrust I discovered I could. Faster and faster she moved, ramming me deep with the thick shaft, stretching my throbbing hole. I felt her hands grip my hips, digging her nails into my skin, pulling me back into her, impaling me deeper and deeper. I allowed my body to be guided, making myself little more than a ragdoll under her control. I was hers! She was my owner, my mistress, my possessor, and it felt wonderful to be possessed!
I became aware of a low moaning, a constant cacophony of pleasure, and then I realized that it was coming from me. My entire sensorium collapsed down until the intense jolts of electricity from my pussy encompassed the sum total of my awareness. In my world, there was only the sense of being filled and being complete, the constant beat of glorious pounding.
I felt my breathing quicken and I clutched the sofa tighter than ever. Once again, the looming visage of my orgasm rolled into view, yet I did not embrace it. I pushed it away from me, struggled to focus my mind and keep myself centered. I wanted this sensation to last forever, did not want to face losing that exquisite feeling of fullness, so I battled the temptation with all my might.
The mistress continued to drill me, unaware of my inner struggle. Her thrusts became a blur of constant motion, each drive of her hips slamming into me, taking me so deep that the sound of her skin slapping against mine brought to mind the sound of her hand spanking my ass earlier. At once, I was cast back to that intense pain and the feeling of helpless vulnerability that I’d felt as I lay across her lap.
The recollection broke my concentration and I felt my mind crest the wave of my surging orgasm. Too late, I caught myself, but it was no good. The orgasm exploded in my body and washed over me, drowning my senses in a sudden rush of pleasure so intense that I felt myself blacking out into a few moments of sweet oblivion. When consciousness returned, I felt my entire body become tense, and my arms and legs thrashed about on the sofa. I arched my back and threw my head backwards, straining to release the furious energy that raged inside me. But it was no good, the sensation was too intense. A panic took hold of me, an intense feeling that I could not escape this sensation, that it would only build and build until I could stand it no longer and I would go crazy.
But in time, the surging pleasure fell back to nothing and my body relaxed. I fell forward on the sofa, sliding off the mistress’ slick cock. My arms and legs became limp, twitching now and then with the memory of the orgasm and its ferocious power.
In time, I felt the mistress’ warm hand on my back. She stroked her fingers upwards and began to scratch behind my ear. I purred loudly, leaning into her touch, relishing the feeling of contentment and submission.
I was a good girl. An obedient girl. My mistress loved me. It was all I ever wanted.
THE END
Her Best Friend Likes Feet
by Ella Ford
Chapter 1
“I like feet,” said Abby, blushing slightly and staring down at her cooling coffee as she stirred it frantically.
I looked at Dani and she looked back at me, neither of us quite sure what to say. This conversation had spun off in an entirely unexpected direction and Abby’s confession has stunned both of us into an awkward silence.
After several seconds, Dani broke cover and asked the question that the two of us were clearly desperate to ask. “What do you mean, you like feet?” she probed, a note of incredulity creeping into her voice.
“Come on guys, you swore you wouldn’t laugh at me!” protested Abby, her light blush deepening to a furious glow. “You asked me what my secret turn-on was and I told you! I thought my two best friends would understand,” she said. She sounded as though she was going to burst into tears.
I reached across the table and touched her forearm reassuringly. “Aw, come on Abby. We’re just trying to understand what you mean. It’s a pretty out there turn on, don’t you think?” I said, doing my best to sound compassionate and not really succeeding. It isn’t every day that your best friend of ten years tells you she has a secret fetish, let alone one so weird and gross.
Abby sniffed and forced herself to look at me. “Well, you know now. I like feet, and I’m not ashamed,” she said defiantly.
Dani sat forwards and propped her head on her hands. then fixed Abby with a penetrating gaze. “I’m still not sure what you mean,” she said, her training as a cop emerging in the way she gently interrogated our friend. “Like, guys’ feet or just feet in general?”
Abby squirmed under the scrutiny and I genuinely thought that she might stand up and flee from the diner. But after a few seconds, she sniffed and looked up from her drink. “N-no, not guys’ feet....”
Dani and I looked at each other once more, the realization of what Abby was implying landing in our minds simultaneously. “Girls’ feet? But you’re not…” I stammered, struggling to make sense of this. Dani nodded, obviously as eager as me to figure out
what Abby was really confessing here.
“... not a lesbian. Is that what you were going to say?” Abby asked, and I nodded reluctantly. “You’re right. I’m not a lesbian. I think. I mean,” she looked up and fixed her stare directly on me, “you know me Joanne, I like guys. I love sex, and I’m pretty sure I’m not living in some weird denial state or something. It’s just…”
Dani and I sat forward in our seats, drawn in by the unfolding confession. I guess after ten years of friendship, such earthshaking revelations are few and far between, and I found myself relishing every sordid detail of this one. “Go on,” I encouraged her.
“It’s just… ever since I can remember, I’ve been attracted to women’s feet. There’s just something about them, something that really gets me, you know?”
Dani and I both shook our heads in unison. “I guess I never really thought about them like that. They’re just things at the end of my legs. Kinda weird looking, kinda stinky. But hey, whatever floats your boat,” I said.
“I know, I know. You think I’m weird. Hey, I think I’m weird. But still I have these feelings.” She paused and took a sip of her coffee, then glanced across the diner at one of the tables by the window. “Listen, without being too obvious about it, look over there at the window seat. Tell me what you see.”
Dani and I simultaneously flicked our heads around in the least subtle way possible. Abby groaned and raised her hand to her forehead in consternation and the three of us laughed quietly. Then I turned my attention back to the window seat.
“Okay, I see a woman in her early thirties maybe. She’s dressed smart, looks like an office worker, perhaps from the block over the street. She’s drinking a large coffee and checking her phone every few seconds. Looks like she’s waiting for someone,” I said, feeling like a cop on a stakeout. I turned back to Abby and found her grinning to herself.
“Right, that’s what you see. Do you want to know what I see?” she asked, clearly leading up to something.
Dani and I nodded together. “What do you see?” I asked.
“Right. First up, she’s wearing pantyhose. Or maybe thigh high stockings, I’m not entirely sure but the detail fascinates me.” I turned my head and glanced around again. Abby was right, the woman was wearing pantyhose. They were tan and sheer, and seemed strangely out of place on a hot day like this. Abby continued, “Every few seconds, she slips the high heeled shoe off her foot and dangles it on her toes. Then she flexes her foot and bounces the shoe up and down for a minute. When she does this, I can see the arch of her foot and the ball of her heel and my heartbeat quickens slightly.”
As Abby spoke, I became aware of a change in her voice. I looked at her face and realized that she was staring intently at the woman by the window. Her eyes had glazed over and she was speaking distantly, with a drawl that was rich with desire. I began to feel uncomfortable as my best friend became lost in what was obviously a sexual fantasy, but found myself compelled to continue listening.
“In a few seconds, she’ll reach down with her hand and slip the shoe back on her foot, then uncross her legs and recross them. As she crosses her legs, there’ll be a quiet swishing sound as her thighs brush together, then she’ll slip her shoe off once more and start the whole thing all over again.”
Abby finished talking and Dani and I fell into a stunned silence, unsure of what to say next. It was Dani that spoke first. “Wh-what do you … you know … want to do? To her, I mean …” she asked, obviously as intrigued by this as I was.
Abby squirmed once more. “I-I don’t know. You guys have to understand that I’ve never done anything about this before, and I’ve never told anyone else about this. So you have to swear on our friendship that you won’t tell anyone?” Dani and I both nodded. “I guess,” she continued, “I guess I want to touch her feet. I want to feel how soft they are, what the pantyhose feels like. I kind of want to,” she paused and took a deep breath, “I want to taste them as well, to feel them on my face, to put them in my mouth.”
As Abby spoke, I felt a warm flush on my neck. There was something hypnotic about the whole thing, the rich, erotic way that she spoke. The feeling of taboo, of forbidden desires. I wasn’t entirely sure I got the whole foot thing, but the way that it was affecting Abby was triggering something inside myself. I became distantly aware of a familiar warmth in my mid-section, a gathering presence that caused tingling sensations in my stomach and … well, elsewhere.
“Gross!” exclaimed Dani, suddenly rousing me from my trance.
Abby blushed deeply as she emerged from the depths of her fantasy. “Dani! You swore you wouldn’t make fun of me!” she spat and fell silent.
“I’m sorry Abs, it’s just … you have to admit it’s pretty weird right?”
To my surprise, Abby chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty weird. Listen, let’s just forget I ever said anything okay? I was mostly kidding anyway,” she said and turned back to her coffee. Her face glowed with the echo of her fantasy, and I wondered just how much she was actually kidding.
After that, conversation returned to the mundane details of everyday life - about work, about houses, about guys. It was as if Abby’s confession hadn’t even happened, and both she and Dani seemed happy to let it go and never mention it again. But it played in my mind, over and over again. The way that Abby had spoken about the woman by the window, the way that she had described her peculiar desires and strange needs.
I sat in silence, not really contributing to the conversation, instead studying Abby as she chatted with Dani. It may have been my imagination, I’m still not really sure. But every so often, Abby’s eyes would flick to the right, towards the window. As I watched, she’d linger there, her gaze falling down among the legs of the tables and the chairs, and her eyes would dance with a secret flame.
I’m a firm believer that sometimes, things happen for a reason. Call it God or a higher power, but I reckon that the universe is a hell of a lot weirder than we give it credit for. I also think it has a pervy sense of humor. So what happened later that day didn’t really surprise me at all. The true surprise was how I reacted.
After leaving Dani and Abby at the diner, I hoped on the bus and rode it all the way out to the suburbs where I lived alone. The memory of the conversation was beginning to fade and I struggled to remember the feelings that I’d experienced during Abby’s strange confessional. Instead, my mind turned to less interesting thoughts like what groceries I had to pick up, or what I was going to do about my stupid, broken boiler.
When I got home, I fixed myself a drink and collapsed onto the couch, slipping off my shoes and grabbing my laptop. I was in a productive mood, and intended to use the internet to find a boiler repair man capable of dealing with the endlessly complex contraption that sat uselessly in my cellar. I wasn’t hopeful.
I swung the laptop screen up and waited for a few seconds for the aging machine to warm up, then instinctively opened up my email to see if I had any messages. It was the twenty first century equivalent of glancing into your mailbox on your way home. With no surprise, I found my inbox peppered with the usual collection of junk email, viral videos from friends and tempting notifications of never-ending sales. With a practiced motion, I dragged the mouse across the screen and selected all of them, intending to doom them to a short life in the trashcan, when a single email caught my eye.
“Join Kimmy and her friends for steamy foot fun!”
On the face of it, the sordid subject was no different from the five or six other porn site spam mails that I’d selected and intended to nuke. But this one triggered something in my mind. Perhaps it was the fading recollection of the transfixed look of desire that had washed over Abby’s face as she gazed longingly at the woman in the diner? Whatever the reason, I found myself unselecting that mail and then continuing to delete the remaining mails.
I sat there, staring at the single unopened message and its kinky offering, not daring to click it and face the implications of this unexplained urge. It’s not that I co
nsidered myself particularly prudish, and I was most certainly open to experimentation, but up until now, this explorative spirit was mostly confined to sex in public places, or the occasional game of dress-up. This fetish, the love of feet of all things, was so far out of the realm of my consideration as to be completely foreign to me and I was not entirely sure what to do with it.
After a few minutes of mental turmoil, I swallowed hard and clicked through into the message. My computer thought about it for a few seconds, then opened up the mail. I was immediately assaulted by a complex and gaudy spread of colorful images and a lot of female flesh! Icons and buttons flashed and pulsated, imploring me to click them and visit the site. Kimmy (and her friends) peered out from the screen, seducing me with their heavily made-up eyes and pouting lips. And feet, so many pictures of feet!
As I scrolled up and down the email, my eyes flicked between the countless images. Closeups of stockinged toes; painted nails with pretty colors muted by the thin gauze of the nylon that covered them; heels, soles and ankles posed enticingly to elongate the leg, wrapped in strappy sandals and precarious stilettos; and most intriguingly of all, feet in mouths.
Kimmy (or her friends) appeared to like nothing more than the taste of toes. I scrolled down, slack jawed and breathing heavily as I scanned the filthy images. A collage of breathless desire, women gazing longingly at nylon covered feet, held inches from their faces. Pretty girls with their glistening, red lips wrapped around long perfect toes!
I blinked, feeling like Pandora as she opened that damnable box. I’d had no idea that such a thing existed, no idea that this fetish was so … extensive. Yet I couldn’t turn away, I couldn’t avert my eyes from the elaborate and cynical email, designed as it was to do one thing: to entice me to click through and part with my money in exchange for cheap thrills. Distantly, my inner mind sneered at this, believing me immune to such manipulation. But I didn’t close the message. Instead, my eyes fell on a video thumbnail and it’s eye catching caption: