Nylon Feet Mega Bundle Page 6

  At once, I lost control and the raging fireball slipped free of my grip. The orgasm exploded inside me and a wave of utter pleasure blossomed out from my pussy and set my body alight. I gave in to it, releasing myself into the galloping inferno. My muscles tensed and I thrashed about on the sofa, head pushed backwards, back arched. I screamed out, “Ah! Ah! Ah!” no longer caring if the neighbors heard me or if I was somehow caught in this compromising position. The orgasm rolled on, and I dug my fingers into the sofa cushion, a vain attempt to anchor myself in this reality, fearing I might lose myself entirely.

  And then it ended, for both me and Kimmy. My body relaxed, and I panted heavily. My limbs tingled with the memory of the fire, and my arms fell limply by my side. On the laptop screen, Kimmy was deflating similarly, sinking back into the couch, her hand still trapped in her pantyhose, locked on her pussy.

  The camera cut to Candy, now bending forwards to the floor, kissing her mistress’s feet with tender pecks. Lazily, she raised her head and looked up at Kimmy, her face a perfect portrait of feline contentment. Then she spoke, purring in that enticingly exotic accent. “Did I do good, mistress?” she pouted.

  Kimmy pushed her eyes open and peered down at her maid. “Yes Candy, you did very good. Very good indeed.”

  With that, I slammed the laptop lid down, suddenly overcome with a feeling of guilt and shame. I sat back on the couch and drew my trembling legs to my chest and wrapped my arms around my knees. Where the hell did that come from? I thought, my eyes flicking around the room nervously.

  Then, slowly, insistently, another thought began to bubble to the surface of my mind. One that I couldn’t ignore but dared not face.

  I want more!

  Chapter 3

  The following week passed by in a blur of revelation and exploration. I felt like a teenage boy who had stumbled on my father’s porn stash. So many new possibilities were open to me and I plunged my mind into this strange new world with reckless abandon.

  When I was at home, I was usually glued to the laptop, digging into this new fetish and absorbing as much as I could. I read erotic fiction, trawled through countless photos and images, each one more bizarre and hedonistic than the last. I watched endless videos, some from Kimmy’s Foot Palace, some from further afield.

  Like a master sculptor, I whittled my new desire down with expert skill, throwing away the aspects that I didn’t like, keeping those that I did. To my surprise, I found that I preferred female feet and lesbian porn over porn including men. And while I enjoyed barefoot scenes, I mostly looked for scenes where the girls wore hosiery - pantyhose, stockings, thick tights - and high heeled shoes.

  I barely stopped to think about how strange all this was, how out of character compared to my usual reserved demeanor. My friends began to notice the change - more than one commented on how they hardly saw me that week, and when they did, I was distant and distracted. Was something wrong with me? Did I have something on my mind? Oh, if only they knew.

  Strangest of all, I began to see the world differently. Everywhere I looked, I saw feet and found myself drifting along in a constant state of fantasy and make-believe. It was invigorating and debilitating, a tantalising obsession that I could not banish from my mind. I found myself constantly noticing things that would previously have gone unnoticed.

  On a warm spring day, I spent lunchtime in a park downtown, intending to get away from the humdrum drone of office life. As I nibbled on my sandwiches, a pretty Asian girl in a sharp business suit and black pantyhose sat on the grass opposite my bench. As I watched, she slipped off her shiny black pumps and stretched her legs out before her, pointing her toes in my direction. I swear, I probably looked like a slack-jawed yokel! Mouth agape and unable to look away, I watched as she flexed her tired toes, blissfully unaware that I was watching her.

  It was the kind of thing that I’d probably seen a thousand times before, but never registered it as anything other than utterly mundane. But now, this innocent scene registered in a different part of my mind, an altogether less savory part, and I dared to wonder what it would be like to touch her pretty feet, or even to taste them.

  In other situations, I began to play a fun game with myself. “Pantyhose or thigh highs” - a simple distraction where I tried to guess whether a girl was wearing hosiery or not, and if so, what kind. It sounds ridiculous to say it out loud, but endlessly fascinating in practice.

  On a metro train after work one night, I found myself sitting opposite a preppy college girl. The petite blonde was fresh and perky and probably nineteen or twenty. She was wearing a tight blouse and tartan skirt, with black ballet flats and tan hosiery. I looked up from my ebook and studied her intently, gazing at the soft, sheer material that covered her legs, trying to guess whether she was wearing practical pantyhose or alluring stockings. What kind of personality was she? Was she innocent and virginal; or sexually aware and seductive?

  As I watched, she crossed her legs and I heard the agonisingly intriguing sound of her thighs brushing together - an inviting swish that seemed to beckon me forwards. The girl looked up, gazed directly at me, and I realized that I was staring at her feet like a homeless pervert. I flicked my eyes back to my Kindle and pretended I hadn’t noticed. When I glanced up again, I found the girl still looking at me, a mischievous smirk transforming her angelic features with a look of pure, filthy intent. I blinked and felt a red hot flush spread across my face. The girl saw my embarrassment and began to seductively rotate her raised foot, then pointed her toes in my direction.

  My heart hammered in my chest and I felt out of my depth. Suddenly, the train pulled to a stop and I jumped to my feet, clutching my bag to my chest, then fled from the carriage. As I stepped off, I looked back at the college girl. She smiled again warmly, and I thought that maybe my fetish fueled mind had been mistaken, that she was just being friendly. Then she winked, and I gasped in surprise!

  Stockings, definitely.

  So you probably think I’m a hopeless pervert now, obsessed with feet and spending all of my time leering at young girls in public places or porn on the internet. And you’d probably be right. In fact, the whole mad compulsion might have remained purely theoretical, the kind of dirty secret that you keep to yourself for fear of ridicule or rejection. But then something happened…

  I’m going to be completely honest with you. What I’m about to tell you was entirely spontaneous, I never planned it at all! You probably won’t believe me, but that doesn’t matter. What happened, happened and I don’t regret a single thing.

  It was the following weekend, about a fortnight after Abby’s confession and the kinky birth of my new obsession. On the Saturday night, I had a dinner date with a group of good friends to wish bon voyage to a close girlfriend of ours who was heading off to a new job in a new city. Abby and Dani were there, and a handful of other girls that we’d all known since college. It was a great night - good food, good conversation, a little bittersweet because Lisa was leaving, but mostly a happy time - and a good excuse to get dolled up for a fancy restaurant.

  As the night ended, we all parted and headed our separate ways. I’m not ashamed to admit that I shed a few tears when I hugged Lisa goodbye. She’d been a good friend to me when I first moved up to the city and I’d miss her dearly. But after a long embrace and a promise to keep in touch, the other girls headed off uptown, leaving Abby and me to hail a taxi back to the suburb where we both lived.

  When we reached Abby’s house - a tiny, adorable craftsman on a leafy street about five minute’s walk from mine - the taxi pulled up on the street outside. “Nightcap?” asked Abby, not unexpectedly. It was not unusual for the two of us to have a quick drink after a night out before I headed home. I don’t believe for a single second that Abby had any other motive than that. In fact, she hadn’t mentioned her fetish at all since that day in the diner. I think she would just rather that we all forgot about it.

  Well, one of us hadn’t forgotten about, that’s for certain. As we paid the taxi
driver and headed into Abby’s comfortable home, I studied my friend with an uncomfortable scrutiny.

  We’d both really made an effort that night. I’d selected my slinkiest little black dress - a figure hugging number that had a low cut chest and was so short that I had to keep pulling it down whenever I stood up. Normally, I would have gone bare-legged, but tonight (for no reason at all, honestly) I wore sheer, black pantyhose and shiny black high-heeled pumps. With a new haircut and a fancy necklace that I’d been itching to wear, I felt a million dollars.

  But it was Abby that I was mostly focussed on. My pretty brunette friend was wearing a flimsy red dress with delicate straps that fell across her creamy shoulders. Her long wavy hair, usually held back in a ponytail, was worn down tonight, and fell down her back in lazy cascades of wavy chestnut hair. On her feet, she wore red pumps with an open toe that showed off her painted nails and betrayed the fact that she was wearing nude pantyhose in a most enticing way.

  I felt a little guilty that I’d spent the night risking furtive glances at my best friend, and sincerely hoped that she hadn’t noticed. But once again, I’ll reiterate that, even at this late stage, I had nothing but innocent motivations!

  We headed into Abby’s house and I settled back onto her sofa. Abby disappeared for a few minutes and came back into the living room holding a bottle of pinot grigio and two glasses. I smiled at her as she poured me a glass. I’d had too much to drink already and felt a little tipsy, but another drink wouldn’t hurt.

  Abby sat down on the sofa beside me and we began to chat about the night.

  “How do you think that Lisa will manage with her new job?” I asked.

  “You know Lisa, she always was an overachiever, she’ll be absolutely fine,” replied Abby, and I noticed a hint of distraction in her voice.

  “Hey, here’s an idea,” I began, “we should do a roadtrip to visit her! Open top car, music on loud, some classic Thelma and Louise stuff!”

  Abby laughed. “Yeah, hopefully with a better ending!”

  I nodded and we both fell into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Abby sighed. “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “Ah, just these damned shoes. They’ve been dogging me all night. My feet feel like pieces of raw meat,” she said, wincing.

  I blinked, suddenly seeing a world of possibility opening up before me. Did I dare to take this opportunity? Here? With Abby?

  “You want me to … give you a foot rub?” I said, attempting to conjure up as much innocence as I possibly could, but probably only succeeding in sounding like one of the painted maidens in the foot porn that I seemed to love so much.

  Abby looked uncertain. She narrowed her eyes and stared down at her feet. “I don’t know Jo, I’ve been walking around all night and they’re probably kinda icky.”

  I smiled at her and lightly touched her arm. “Don’t be silly, now swing around and put your legs up here,” I said, patting my thighs.

  Abby glanced around and her eyes flicked down to my nylon covered legs. A light flush swept across her face. “O-okay,” she stammered, “i-if you’re sure you want to.”

  I nodded and Abby turned her body and lifted her legs up onto the sofa, placing her feet on my lap. I became aware that my heart was beating quickly now and I felt the faintest beginnings of a familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Lie back and close your eyes,” I said, and Abby reluctantly capitulated. Then I turned my attention to her feet. “I love your shoes,” I remarked and Abby smiled.

  With trembling hands, I wrapped my fingers under her right ankle and lifted her leg slightly, then took hold of her pointed heel and eased the shoe off her foot. Abby sighed, relieved to be free of the uncomfortable prison, and she wiggled her toes. It was my turn to gasp as her painted digits danced before me.

  I felt Abby pull back from me. “What’s wrong? Are they that bad?” she said, and I tightened my grip on her ankle and shushed her quiet. Then I turned my attention to her left foot. This time, I took my time slipping the shoe off her foot, prolonging the reveal of her dainty arch and pretty toes.

  While I had set out with good intentions, my motivations were now purely dishonorable. With my best friend’s stockinged feet here on my lap, I was fueled purely by my desires and intended to enjoy it as much as I could. Still holding Abby’s ankle, I took the delicate red shoe and held it to my face. Then with no hint of shame or revulsion, I took a deep breath through my nose and closed my eyes. Oh god, it smelled amazing! Rich leather with a faint musky hint of Abby’s feet. I felt an instant flush of arousal and shame. What on earth was I doing, sniffing my friend’s shoe while she lay before me, blissfully unaware of my kinky intent.

  Her toes began to wiggle again, stretching at the flimsy material of her pantyhose and demanding attention. I set the shoe down beside its twin and turned my attention to her foot. I took it in both hands, wrapping my fingers around her arch and pushing my thumbs lightly into her sole. Abby moaned and exhaled deeply. “Oh god Jo, that feels amazing,” she said breathlessly.

  I continued to stroke and massage her foot, tentatively at first, but slowly growing in confidence. I thought back to my first introduction to this strange compulsion - to Candy’s devoted worship of Kimmy’s feet - and my mind raced with the sudden realization that I was living out a similar fantasy. How far did I dare take it?

  I decided to play it slowly, enjoy the moment. I held Abby’s foot aloft and studied it intently, my confidence and technique growing with every passing moment. I gazed at her sole, the soft, wrinkled skin there and the slow rise of her heel. I studied her toes, each one perfect and petite, painted to perfection and twitching slightly with every tender caress of my hands. I wondered what it would be like to feel them in my mouth, to taste her flesh and the soft material of her pantyhose.

  I glanced away from the foot and looked at Abby’s face. My best friend seemed lost in a trance. her eyes were still held tightly shut and her mouth was slightly open, her glistening red lips parted unselfconsciously. It was obvious that she was enjoying this as much as I was.

  Suddenly, I was overcome with an unexpected boldness. With barely a second thought, I held Abby’s foot up higher and slowly, teasingly, dragged my tongue upwards from her heel to the tips of her toes. As I did so, I felt Abby go tense in my grip. She moaned and squirmed on the sofa. “Jo… what… what are you…? I… I…” she protested, then fell silent, breathing heavily and speaking no more.

  I turned back to her foot and flicked my tongue over the tips of her toes, relishing the taste of her. It was rich and pure, the essence of woman, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I felt myself being driven forwards on instinct now, a primal need to do things that several weeks ago I would never have even contemplated. I began to kiss and nibble her, savoring every delicious touch. Then I wrapped my lips around her toes and sucked on them, pulling at the slender digits and soaking her pantyhose with my mouth.

  For her part, Abby had begun to writhe on the couch. Her hands were roaming over her body and lightly massaging her breasts. She was moaning constantly now, sharp pants and tiny cries of approval at every lick or kiss. Her other foot began to move back and forth, sliding over my stockinged thigh. I thrilled at this sensation, pantyhose on pantyhose, and redoubled my attention on her foot.

  Suddenly, she opened her eyes and raised her head. I was struck with the fear that she was about to panic and push me away, ending this erotic fantasy. But her eyes painted a different picture, something very different from fear. It was hunger, a lustful desire and need. She fixed her stare on my face, panting as she watched me suck on her toes. There was a fire there, an intensity that I’d never seen in another person. It was different to the contrived passion of porn; a real, primal longing that caused my heart to skip a beat and my pussy to throb with my own desires.

  Abruptly, Abby turned to her left and reached down and grabbed my ankle. Then she pulled my leg up onto the couch and swung her free leg down so that we both had hold of
each other’s feet. I gasped as I realized what she was about to do and urged her onwards with my eyes.

  With no hint of the tantalising tease with which I had removed her shoes, Abby grabbed my black heel and plucked it from my foot, throwing it over her shoulder in a single motion. The shoe struck a picture on the table beside the couch and knocked it onto the floor with a loud clatter, but neither of us noticed. Instead, I had Abby’s toes in my mouth and I was staring at my friend as she prepared to do the same to mine.

  Abby paused and studied my foot. I flexed my toes back and forth, urging her forward without even thinking about it. I knew only that I wanted her mouth on me, to feel the warmth of her tongue and the soft caress of her slender fingers. Then she leaned forwards and buried her face in my sole, pushing her nose into the space behind my toes. She breathed in deeply and moaned loudly. “Oh god Joanne, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she exclaimed with a muffled voice. Then she set to work with her mouth, kissing, licking, nibbling.

  It felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. The frantic attention of my best friend on my pantyhosed foot. It was warm and intense and wet, a cacophony of unfamiliar feelings from an unfamiliar place. Yet it triggered something deep inside me, a more familiar sensation that burst outwards from my pussy. That hot core of desire that had began as a tiny spark with the first touch of my best friend’s foot was now rolling forwards and gathering pace. Pulses of pleasure radiated outwards, urging me forwards, driving me on, fueled by my need.

  I opened my eyes and peered across at Abby. The sight of her, lost in the hypnotic trance of pleasure, sucking at my toes, her moist red lips contrasting with the dark material of my hose, was intolerably erotic. I dropped a hand from Abby’s foot and frantically tugged my short dress up around my waist, then spread my legs and pushed my hand under the waistband of my pantyhose.