The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (15 page)

Then I ran my tongue up and down the length of him, while his hand remained on my head. I sat up a little, opened my mouth and slowly brought it down around the first few inches of his cock. I
could feel his cock stiffen even more and I sucked on it before letting my mouth slide down so more of him could enter me. I started rocking back and forth, my knees in rhythm with my mouth as I
moved up and down the length of him. I placed my ankle between my legs, my pussy pounding against it every time I rocked backwards, torn between bringing a hand down to my clit and fondling him. I
leaned back, rubbing my ankle as hard as I could against myself, while bending his cock slightly away from him and sliding my mouth up and down along its delicious length.

I know some girls find it a chore, but for me, sucking a man’s cock is sometimes even better than sex, one of the most sensual things anyone can do. I like the way it tickles my throat,
the way it works its way into the crevices of my mouth, the way I can smell and taste every morsel of him; nothing else allows me such sensory overload, such pure, raw, indulgent sex. I moved
slowly, wanting to prolong the pleasure, and felt a few tears slipping from my eyes; part happiness, part something that often happens when a cock is pressed all the way inside my mouth, as if
it’s pushing out the tears to make more room. I cried from the beauty of it, from the sheer joy of having him hard and helpless in front of me like that, at my mercy every bit as much as I
was at his. My cool, competent boss, this friendly people-person who could command a room of hundreds without a microphone, reduced to his throbbing cock and the need to have it down my throat. I
smiled a little, as much as I could in that position. I could hear him stifling his moans, and making a tortured sound when I’d manage to get his entire cock inside my mouth, its tip stroking
the back of my throat and my lips brushing against his pubic hairs. I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and held it there, bringing my mouth up and down, slower and slower, then faster
and faster, trying to figure out which he liked better. Then I began sucking in earnest, pulling him into me with my mouth, relaxing so I could go as fast as I wanted. I rocked faster, gliding up
and down the slick surface of his dick, sliding my lips along his delicate skin, until he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I’m gonna come,” he managed to say before his come
burst into my mouth in a fast, hot stream, making almost a direct pathway down my throat. In one quick swallow, it was gone, and I leaned against his hip, both of us panting, slightly dazed and
awed.

We sat silently for a few minutes, breathing, recovering, then stood up and smoothed our clothes. Once that moment passed, and we moved away from each other, it hardly mattered that we were in
the same room; we’d never be quite that close again, and we both knew it. I splashed some water on my face, toweled off, and looked at him, feeling incredibly tender and unsure of what would
happen next. He went downstairs first, and I followed a few minutes later. Nobody seemed to have noticed we’d been gone, and I went home with only my body’s memories of our
encounter.

By the next holiday party, I had thankfully moved on to another company, one where nobody held quite the attraction of my old boss. We didn’t keep in touch after I left, but I did get a
holiday card from him that year. “May you enjoy this holiday season as much as the last one,” he wrote, and I imagined his cock hardening as he wrote the words and relived the memory. I
never saw him again.

Every Christmas I think of our might-have-been brief bathroom fling, the one I was too much of a “nice girl” to ever truly follow through with (the closest I got was kissing his
cheek), and it never fails to turn me on.

Melody (Brighton, UK)

I guess you could call me a fairly typical housewife, if there is such a thing these days. My husband, Neil, and I wanted to have a traditional family, so when I finally got
pregnant with our first child, I quit my part-time job and went into the Mum business full-time. Two kids later, and I’m still at it.

With the children around, and Neil on the road quite a bit, our sex life has become fairly typical as well – hurried, vanilla intercourse whenever we can sneak it in, which isn’t
often these days. My fantasy sex life, however, has become anything but typical. In the fantasy world that I inhabit almost every spare moment I can grab, I have stunning, steamy sex as many times
as I want, for as long as I want, with anyone and everyone of my choosing – and always with very satisfying results.

My fantasies have even veered off into the fetish realm – an area I wouldn’t normally touch with a ten-foot dildo in real life – with feet figuring prominently in my latest hot
and hazy mental sex pictures, women’s slender, shapely, succulent feet . . .

I saunter into the book/video store and casually browse through the shelves and shelves of X-rated lesbian reading, the racks upon racks of explicit, all-girl videos, trying
not to look as nervous as I feel. There’s a skater girl parked behind the cash register at the back of the store, reading a magazine and chewing gum, watching me every so often with her
black-rimmed eyes.

Anxiety, however, only serves to heighten the excitement for a certifiable foot-freak like myself, so, as my palms and pussy grow wetter and wetter, I draw a deep breath and walk up to the Avril
Lavigne-wannabe. “Hi,” I squeak, then hastily clear my throat.

“Hi. What can I do you for?” the black-eyed and blue-haired girl replies, her lip and nose rings keeping rhythm with her jaw.

I show the clerk the membership card I begged and borrowed from a recent one-night stand gone weekly, when the lover in question told me stories about “shoe-shine stands” in the back
of a bookstore. She’d whetted my sexual appetite with tales of illicit foot love only after I’d sucked on her toes, individually and all together, tickled the sensitive soles of her
feet with my fingers and lips and tongue, jammed a big toe into her dyed-blonde pussy and vigorously foot-fucked her to shattering orgasm. After I’d demonstrated my all-encompassing love for
women’s feet, in other words.

The grunge girl grins, shows off her Bubblicious and tongue-stud. “Club Ped, huh?” she says. “Go right on through.”

I give her a shaky smile and fumble the card back into my pocket, then walk past her, part a set of heavy, black curtains and find myself facing a blue wall with two doors in it. One of the
doors has a red foot painted on it, the other a red hand. I turn the knob on the hand door.

The room I enter is long and narrow – really half of a larger room bisected by a hanging, red curtain, like a gymnasium cut in two by an accordion wall. The room is further divided up by
blue, four-foot-high panels placed every five feet or so, perpendicular to the curtain, creating a series of small cubicles. My hand trails along the wall after me as I walk further inside, then I
stop, lean back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat as I see what’s taking place in cubicle one – a woman is on her knees, frenziedly licking at the wiggling toes of a
beautifully turned foot protruding from beneath the curtain.

The crimson barrier hangs down to within two feet of the floor, hiding the foot’s owner, but allowing enough space for her to stick her feet underneath and get them worshipped by the woman
on my side of the curtain. I hear the hidden lady emit a low, muffled moan, as the woman on her knees squeezes her tongue in between the pale, outstretched toes, each in turn, before cramming the
whole blessed lot of them into her mouth and excitedly sucking on them.

I swallow hard, creep further along the wall, my heart racing, my pulse pounding; this is sweet nirvana for an unrepentant foot-fetisher – like me. I pass three more cubicles occupied by
foot-hungry women giving sole satisfaction to lucky gals on the other side of the velvet curtain, and then I come to the final shoe-shine stand and find it empty. I slip inside and duck down onto
my knees, and wait.

There’s a small, padded, wooden platform, like a confessional kneeler, just on my side of the curtain. It’s covered with a sanitary strip of paper that I assume is supposed to be
replaced after each session from the dispenser bolted onto the portable wall. There’s also a low-level, padded stool tucked away in one corner – for those extra long waits, I guess,
when even the plush carpeting gets a little too hard on the knees.

I adjust my butt-length skirt, repeatedly, rub the damp slabs of meat that were my hands up and down on it. I shift my knees around, my legs trembling with anticipation. And as the minutes crawl
by, I grow more and more anxious, the entire situation growing weirder and weirder in my mottled mind – anonymous women coming together in a dimly-lit backroom to rub and kiss and lick and
suck the toes and feet of equally unknown female partners. How weird is that? The muffled moaning and groaning all around me seems to grow louder and louder, filling the hot, stifling air, filling
my ears and brain and body with strange thoughts and feelings. I finally become so discombobulated that I jump to my feet, ready to bolt the booth and flee the store.

Then I hear a door open and close, hear soft footsteps on the other side of the curtain, and I kneel back down and hold my breath and blink the sweat out of my eyes; almost jump out of my skin
and scream when a pair of feet suddenly appears like magic from under the curtain, displayed on the footrest. I stare down at those twin, pale apparitions – exquisitely shaped feet flowing
poetically out of ultra-slim ankles, clothed only in open-toed, black stilettos, toenails psychedelically painted every shade of the rainbow save violet, silver bands encircling the slender big
toes. My wooden tongue scrapes across my cracked lips, but I boldly reach out and touch one of the toes on the right foot, and watch in amazement as the foot jumps in reaction.

I let the stale air out of my lungs in a long, heavy sigh, and my stiff body is suffused with heat. I know what to do now, and I know that I’m going to richly enjoy doing it. I grasp the
unknown woman’s right foot, run my hands all over and around the beautiful ped and sexy footwear, lace the shapely ankle with my fingers and stroke up and down on it. The woman on the other
side of the curtain gasps, feeding my smouldering fire.

I feel up her feet, first one, then the other, stroke the shiny, black leather of her dangerous shoes, the sharp, silver-tipped heels, swirl my loving hands all over the silky-smooth, ivory skin
of her twitching feet. Then I replace hands with tongue, anxious to taste the supple leather, the hot skin. She cries out with joy when I hold her feet up by the heels and lightly brush each
wriggling, spectrum-tinted toe with my tongue, then slowly drag my thickened tongue across all of her delicious toes.

“Yes!” she hisses, breaking the club rule that forbids talking.

I picture her hand in her panties, two fingers buried to the knuckles in her soaking wet pussy, while she desperately rubs herself off as I attack her feet, and the thought of the owner of those
gorgeous peds excitedly finger-fucking herself stokes the fire burning within me into a raging inferno. I tongue the sides of her shoes, lap at her high heels and bare feet at the same time, plunge
a spike heel into my mouth and suck on it, tug on it, twirl my tongue all around it; do the same with her other erotic shoe dagger.

I hastily unfasten the strap that binds her luscious feet to her wicked stilettos and pull the sexy foot gear off her peds, bury my nose in her shoes and inhale deeply, and then fling them
aside, so that I’m skin-to-skin with her naked feet. I balance them in my hands, admiring the rainbow-hued toenails (running from red on her big toe to orange to yellow to green to blue on
each foot), and then I bring her toes up to my mouth and swallow them.

“Oh, my God!” she cries, as I wantonly suck on all ten of her foot-digits at once.

I tug on her toes with my mouth, buff the underside of them by wagging my tongue back and forth, suck long and hard on the delightful, edible ends of her feet. Then I slide her multicolored toes
wet and dripping out of my mouth and softly kiss each of them in turn, before snaking my slimy tongue in between her toes and scouring the sides of them, slathering hot spit all over her feet.

I tongue and suck her toes for a good, long while, and then I lick at the soles of her delicate peds, lap at the arched, ticklish bottom of her feet. She moans, her feet dancing around in my
hands as I paint their smooth, tender bottoms with long, slow strokes of my tongue. I hold tight to her feet, never releasing them from my grasp, always licking and kissing and biting them,
tenderizing her succulent tootsies even further.

“I’m going to come!” she shrieks, her feet trembling violently.

I urgently lap at the rounded tops of her peds, suck some more on her toes, and then get really carried away; I drop her feet onto the platform, fumble my skirt up and my panties down, and jam
the big toe of her left foot into my sopping pussy. I begin frantically fucking myself with her big toe, while I chew on her other foot.

“Jesus!” she yelps.

I gobble up that woman’s right-foot toes and desperately pull on them, as I pound big red into my tingling pussy over and over and over.

“Mmmm!” she groans, bringing herself to orgasm as her feet push me over the edge.

I bite into her toes and close my eyes and a heated wave of ecstasy wells up from my toe-fucked pussy and engulfs my quivering body. I’m devastated by foot-induced orgasm, my anonymous
lover’s big, metal-clad toe relentlessly pumping in and out of my gushing pussy, her other adorable toes brushing mercilessly back and forth against my pulsating clit.

My feet and toes still tingling with after-taste from the licking they’ve taken from a nameless foot fanatic, I receive the shock of my life when I report to work at my
accounts payable job, when my boss, just back from vacation, walks up to my desk clad in a pair of open-toed sandals, her toenails sporting polish covering five of the seven shades of the light
spectrum, her big toes twin bands of silver!