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Lesbian Foot Fetish?

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"Oh, I'm deadly serious, honey. When I married that limp dick husband of mine, he promised that everything that was his, was mine as well. And that includes his whores. You, in other words. Now you belong to me, and I intend to find out just what he sees in a low rent fuck doll like you. So you're going to take that slut mouth of yours and start at my filthy feet. You're going to suck my toes and lick my soles, and then you're going to work your way up. And you'd better make me think you're enjoying it like a slice of your mom's apple pie..."
 
EllaFord said:
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"Oh, I'm deadly serious, honey. When I married that limp dick husband of mine, he promised that everything that was his, was mine as well. And that includes his whores. You, in other words. Now you belong to me, and I intend to find out just what he sees in a low rent fuck doll like you. So you're going to take that slut mouth of yours and start at my filthy feet. You're going to suck my toes and lick my soles, and then you're going to work your way up. And you'd better make me think you're enjoying it like a slice of your mom's apple pie..."
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Well this is just hot as fuck!!!!
 
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"Do you have a choice? Oh, Ella, you dumb whore. Of course you have a choice. Don't get me wrong, you have no choice about worshipping my feet. That's a lock. That's the unavoidable price you're going to have to pay for what you did to me. So you'd better make your peace with it and get used to the idea. But when you're done licking my soles and sucking my toes, you're going to kiss your way slowly up my legs, over my knees and my across thighs, all the way up, till I tell you to stop. And when you reach my panties, that's where you'll find your choice: will you choose to eat my pussy? Or will you choose to eat my asshole? See! You're not entirely out of options!"
 
EllaFord said:
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"Do you have a choice? Oh, Ella, you dumb whore. Of course you have a choice. Don't get me wrong, you have no choice about worshipping my feet. That's a lock. That's the unavoidable price you're going to have to pay for what you did to me. So you'd better make your peace with it and get used to the idea. But when you're done licking my soles and sucking my toes, you're going to kiss your way slowly up my legs, over my knees and my across thighs, all the way up, till I tell you to stop. And when you reach my panties, that's where you'll find your choice: will you choose to eat my pussy? Or will you choose to eat my asshole? See! You're not entirely out of options!"
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Doubt if you ever be able to escape from under her spell. ;)
 
EllaFord said:
MXs7cdkl.jpg

"Do you have a choice? Oh, Ella, you dumb whore. Of course you have a choice. Don't get me wrong, you have no choice about worshipping my feet. That's a lock. That's the unavoidable price you're going to have to pay for what you did to me. So you'd better make your peace with it and get used to the idea. But when you're done licking my soles and sucking my toes, you're going to kiss your way slowly up my legs, over my knees and my across thighs, all the way up, till I tell you to stop. And when you reach my panties, that's where you'll find your choice: will you choose to eat my pussy? Or will you choose to eat my asshole? See! You're not entirely out of options!"
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Such an enticing picture
 
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Mistress takes good care of her little girl. She provides for her needs, both physical and mental. She gives her the structure of discipline that she craves and frees her from the awful burden of self-determination. Gone are the expectations of her old life, the hideous, crushing weight of responsibility. And in their place, something different, something better.
All Mistress asks in return is obedience.
Like now, for example. Mistress has been at work all day, wearing heels that are as uncomfortable as they are elegant. All her little girl wants to do is to take Mistress's toes in her mouth, to soothe her aches with her tongue... maybe later, she can do something else with her tongue...
But she knows her rules. She knows that Mistress likes to savor every precious moment of her dominance. She knows that Mistress expects her to kneel at the end of couch, waiting for permission, before the delicious feast that awaits.
And so she kneels there, waiting, watching. She allows the divine smells of Mistress's feet to tantalize her senses; the sight of her perfect toes curling under soft nylon to make her ache with desire; the infinitely complex landscape of her soles to make her dizzy with hunger.
Because Mistress's little girl knows that Mistress won't keep her waiting for long, and the wait is more than worth it.
 
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The sorority initiation was far more intense than I ever imagined it would be. Three days of sexual excess, a non-stop orgy at the mercy of a coven of insatiable lesbians. Three days of being forced to do things that I never dreamed possible, to experience sensations and agonies that brought me to the edge of mental shutdown and held me there till I begged for release. I'd eaten more pussy and asshole than I had in my entire life, and now this.

They call it the "final bonding", the ultimate acceptance into their wicked world, a final measure of my fealty to the High Sisterhood and a final test of my capacity to take instruction. Sorority feet clad in sorority-pale nylons, pungent with sweat and sex and expensive perfume. All around me, everywhere I turn, a writhing forest of toes and soles and heels and a whispered instruction, a single word: "worship".

Two days ago, I would have shied from this final task. But that was before, that was a different me. I'm a sorority slut now, the lowest rank of the sisterhood. And all I can think is how good those toes are going to taste!
 
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When it came, the offer of her foot was the most blissful release, the most exquisite surrender of all. It shouldn't have felt that good!
Lying on my back, the older woman whom I barely knew towered over me. Her eyes roamed over my naked body with a hunger that was palpable, charting me, surveying me, studying her prize, her latest conquest.
A thousand thoughts crowded my mind for attention: How did I get here? What will she do to me? Should I leave this scented prison and find my friends?
But when she smiled down at me and called me a good girl, all those frantic thoughts gave flight like a startled flock of birds. Only an intense feeling of longing remained, paralyzing me with desire. I couldn't move. I'd become a slave to her without even realizing it.
And when she slipped off her shoe and held her toes to my mouth, teasing me with tender caresses, I knew that I should have felt revulsion and disgust. But I didn't.
When she pushed her toes between my lips, I should have tried to pull away. But I didn't.
When she slowly described the things she would do to me, hushed whispers of sinful humiliation, of pain and pleasure, of violations that I had never dreamed possible, I should have fled as fast and as far as I possibly could. But I didn't.
Instead, with an inevitability that felt like fate, I did as I was told. I worshipped her pretty feet and relished the ecstasy of her taste like the good girl I longed to be.
Wouldn't you?
 
EllaFord said:
HhsV83Il.jpg

When it came, the offer of her foot was the most blissful release, the most exquisite surrender of all. It shouldn't have felt that good!
Lying on my back, the older woman whom I barely knew towered over me. Her eyes roamed over my naked body with a hunger that was palpable, charting me, surveying me, studying her prize, her latest conquest.
A thousand thoughts crowded my mind for attention: How did I get here? What will she do to me? Should I leave this scented prison and find my friends?
But when she smiled down at me and called me a good girl, all those frantic thoughts gave flight like a startled flock of birds. Only an intense feeling of longing remained, paralyzing me with desire. I couldn't move. I'd become a slave to her without even realizing it.
And when she slipped off her shoe and held her toes to my mouth, teasing me with tender caresses, I knew that I should have felt revulsion and disgust. But I didn't.
When she pushed her toes between my lips, I should have tried to pull away. But I didn't.
When she slowly described the things she would do to me, hushed whispers of sinful humiliation, of pain and pleasure, of violations that I had never dreamed possible, I should have fled as fast and as far as I possibly could. But I didn't.
Instead, with an inevitability that felt like fate, I did as I was told. I worshipped her pretty feet and relished the ecstasy of her taste like the good girl I longed to be.
Wouldn't you?
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OMG - you write so beautifully Ella! :heart:

You described me so perfectly too. You are a good girl. I'm glad you enjoyed my scented prison so much. You were such a pretty prize. ;) :)
 
EllaFord said:
HhsV83Il.jpg

When it came, the offer of her foot was the most blissful release, the most exquisite surrender of all. It shouldn't have felt that good!
Lying on my back, the older woman whom I barely knew towered over me. Her eyes roamed over my naked body with a hunger that was palpable, charting me, surveying me, studying her prize, her latest conquest.
A thousand thoughts crowded my mind for attention: How did I get here? What will she do to me? Should I leave this scented prison and find my friends?
But when she smiled down at me and called me a good girl, all those frantic thoughts gave flight like a startled flock of birds. Only an intense feeling of longing remained, paralyzing me with desire. I couldn't move. I'd become a slave to her without even realizing it.
And when she slipped off her shoe and held her toes to my mouth, teasing me with tender caresses, I knew that I should have felt revulsion and disgust. But I didn't.
When she pushed her toes between my lips, I should have tried to pull away. But I didn't.
When she slowly described the things she would do to me, hushed whispers of sinful humiliation, of pain and pleasure, of violations that I had never dreamed possible, I should have fled as fast and as far as I possibly could. But I didn't.
Instead, with an inevitability that felt like fate, I did as I was told. I worshipped her pretty feet and relished the ecstasy of her taste like the good girl I longed to be.
Wouldn't you?
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This is so fucking hot! Just as the rest of your stories! You turn me so on Ella! Thank you! :kiss::heart::rose:
 
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Wordlessly, she slipped her heel from her stockinged foot and set it down beside her. I looked on entranced as she slowly crossed her legs and slid her foot down the shapely curve of her lower leg, then flexed her toes, stretching the gossamer thin weave of her pale nylons.
"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling dizzy.
"I thought you'd like it," she replied, purring.
"You know I do."
"Well then."
She reached down and gripped her foot, curving slender fingers around that impossibly inviting softness. I watched as her painted toes rippled, five muted magenta jewels, a parade of perfection.
"Mmm," she sighed. "That feels so good. My feet are so sore..."
Her hand began to slide over her sole, fingers kneading soft flesh. I licked my lips and sighed. My cheeks were on fire.
"Can..." I started, but couldn't finish, paralyzed with doubt. She was my best friend.
"Can you what?" she said, smirking.
"You know what..." I whispered, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe. All I could think about was the what they must feel like... what they must taste like. It wasn't a new thought, but a resolution to my feverish wonder seemed unspeakably close.
She sat back on the stairs, resting her elbows on the next step up. Then she smiled. It was a look I knew. An expression I'd seen a thousand times in the years I'd know her. Determination, expectation... desire.
She lifted her stockinged foot and held out her leg, extending her toes so that they were pointing directly at me.
"Beg me."
I gasped in surprise. "What?"
"I said, beg me. If you want to do what I know you want to do, then you're going to have to work for it."
I closed my eyes and chewed on my lower lip. I was dizzy and warm, a product of the wine we'd drunk and the peculiar way that my best friend was behaving. It was silly, humiliating, more than likely her idea of a joke. I knew, deep down, that she was mocking me, mocking my fetish. It had always amused her, but she'd been respectful before. But now... I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump and my resistance fade. Even though I knew that it was likely a trap, I couldn't take the risk that it wasn't...
"Please, I beg you," I said, eyes still closed, barely able to look at her. "May I worship your feet?"
I braced myself for her mocking laughter and the belittling feeling of being used for her amusement. But, instead, there was only silence.
Finally, she spoke. "Yes, you may worship my feet."
 
EllaFord said:
4gyqNGjl.jpg

Wordlessly, she slipped her heel from her stockinged foot and set it down beside her. I looked on entranced as she slowly crossed her legs and slid her foot down the shapely curve of her lower leg, then flexed her toes, stretching the gossamer thin weave of her pale nylons.
"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling dizzy.
"I thought you'd like it," she replied, purring.
"You know I do."
"Well then."
She reached down and gripped her foot, curving slender fingers around that impossibly inviting softness. I watched as her painted toes rippled, five muted magenta jewels, a parade of perfection.
"Mmm," she sighed. "That feels so good. My feet are so sore..."
Her hand began to slide over her sole, fingers kneading soft flesh. I licked my lips and sighed. My cheeks were on fire.
"Can..." I started, but couldn't finish, paralyzed with doubt. She was my best friend.
"Can you what?" she said, smirking.
"You know what..." I whispered, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe. All I could think about was the what they must feel like... what they must taste like. It wasn't a new thought, but a resolution to my feverish wonder seemed unspeakably close.
She sat back on the stairs, resting her elbows on the next step up. Then she smiled. It was a look I knew. An expression I'd seen a thousand times in the years I'd know her. Determination, expectation... desire.
She lifted her stockinged foot and held out her leg, extending her toes so that they were pointing directly at me.
"Beg me."
I gasped in surprise. "What?"
"I said, beg me. If you want to do what I know you want to do, then you're going to have to work for it."
I closed my eyes and chewed on my lower lip. I was dizzy and warm, a product of the wine we'd drunk and the peculiar way that my best friend was behaving. It was silly, humiliating, more than likely her idea of a joke. I knew, deep down, that she was mocking me, mocking my fetish. It had always amused her, but she'd been respectful before. But now... I sighed, feeling my shoulders slump and my resistance fade. Even though I knew that it was likely a trap, I couldn't take the risk that it wasn't...
"Please, I beg you," I said, eyes still closed, barely able to look at her. "May I worship your feet?"
I braced myself for her mocking laughter and the belittling feeling of being used for her amusement. But, instead, there was only silence.
Finally, she spoke. "Yes, you may worship my feet."
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You are fantastic Ella. simply one of the best erotic authors I've ever seen and luckily we share a fetish!
I'm speechless. The perfection of that photos and this scene ... it is just too exquisite! :heart:
 
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"Oh, Ms. Ford, I didn't expect you back so soon..."
"I can see that," I said calmly, narrowing my eyes and setting my purse and jacket down on the chair by the window.
Jenna, my new intern, seemed to be frozen in place. She was sitting in the middle of my office with my shoe half on and half off her stockinged foot, shoes that I'd left there for particular meetings that required a particular kind of footwear. Her delicate, doll-like face was painted with a guilty look, a faint pink blush that lit her pale cheeks with the kiss of fire.
"I-I just thought... your shoes, they're so nice... I just wanted..."
"You just wanted to try on my heels?" I said sternly, raising an eyebrow. I crossed my arms and gave poor Jenna my "scary Ella" face. The girl flinched as if struck.
"No. I mean, yes. I mean..." She paused and took a breath. "I'm sorry, Ms. Ford. I didn't mean..." She fell silent again, her pretty face heavy with remorse. With a sigh, she set my shoe down beside the other and placed her hands flat on her lap then took a deep breath, looking me straight in the eye. "Am I fired?"
I licked my lips, then moved over to my desk and sat down, gazing at Jenna across the wide wooden surface. She was young and pretty, and looked perfectly adorable in this state of shame and guilt. I allowed my eyes to roam down her body to her long, slim legs, velvet soft in nude pantyhose, and her tiny feet. As I watched, she curled her toes into tight little fists, digging them into the rug. I felt a familiar stirring inside me, a warmth that seemed like an old friend, and I wondered, with a long sigh, what her feet would taste like.
"Well?" she said, blinking quickly, hot tears welling in her aqua eyes.
"Pick up my shoe again," I said, sitting back in my chair.
"Ms. Ford?"
"Pick up my shoe," I repeated, adding a note of command to my voice.
Jenna leaned to the side and picked up the elegant brown heel that she'd placed on the floor seconds before and turned it in her trembling hands.
"Good girl," I said with a smile. "Now put the shoe over your nose and mouth, and take a deep, long breath."
"M-Ms. Ford?" she exclaimed with a startled expression, her eyes wide with surprise.
"You heard me."
"I c-can't do that, it's..."
I sat forward and laced my fingers together, causing Jenna to become quiet in an eye blink.
"I want you to put my shoe over your nose and take a good, long sniff. I want you to experience what my feet smell like, I want you familiar with my scent. I want to give you a chance to find something to love in that smell..."
"Wh-why?" she stammered.
"Because I'm not going to fire you," I said. For an instant, Jenna's face lit up with a look of quiet relief. "I'm not going to fire you, but I am going to change your job description. Starting from now, you have new responsibilities."
"New responsibilities, Ms. Ford?"
"Yes, you're now my personal assistant. You are responsible for the general well being of my feet. When I come into the office, I want you under this desk with a smile on your face and cheery hello. Then, I want you to do whatever you feel is needed to make my feet feel like they've just slept for twenty four hours." She looked at me, utterly aghast. "Hands, mouth, tongue, pretty little titties. You'll need to use every tool at your disposal. Do you understand?"
She gazed at me, mouth hanging open, eyes glistening and wet.
"Now. Let's start off slowly. Put the shoe over your nose, then take a deep breath." I spoke each word purposefully, drawing out the sentence, enjoying the look of confused bewilderment she was giving me.
After a glacial epoch, she finally spoke, lifting the shoe over her mouth as she did so. "Yes, Ms. Ford," she said, closing her eyes and breathing in, "whatever you say."
 
EllaFord said:
Fgv7e6Vl.jpg

"Oh, Ms. Ford, I didn't expect you back so soon..."
"I can see that," I said calmly, narrowing my eyes and setting my purse and jacket down on the chair by the window.
Jenna, my new intern, seemed to be frozen in place. She was sitting in the middle of my office with my shoe half on and half off her stockinged foot, shoes that I'd left there for particular meetings that required a particular kind of footwear. Her delicate, doll-like face was painted with a guilty look, a faint pink blush that lit her pale cheeks with the kiss of fire.
"I-I just thought... your shoes, they're so nice... I just wanted..."
"You just wanted to try on my heels?" I said sternly, raising an eyebrow. I crossed my arms and gave poor Jenna my "scary Ella" face. The girl flinched as if struck.
"No. I mean, yes. I mean..." She paused and took a breath. "I'm sorry, Ms. Ford. I didn't mean..." She fell silent again, her pretty face heavy with remorse. With a sigh, she set my shoe down beside the other and placed her hands flat on her lap then took a deep breath, looking me straight in the eye. "Am I fired?"
I licked my lips, then moved over to my desk and sat down, gazing at Jenna across the wide wooden surface. She was young and pretty, and looked perfectly adorable in this state of shame and guilt. I allowed my eyes to roam down her body to her long, slim legs, velvet soft in nude pantyhose, and her tiny feet. As I watched, she curled her toes into tight little fists, digging them into the rug. I felt a familiar stirring inside me, a warmth that seemed like an old friend, and I wondered, with a long sigh, what her feet would taste like.
"Well?" she said, blinking quickly, hot tears welling in her aqua eyes.
"Pick up my shoe again," I said, sitting back in my chair.
"Ms. Ford?"
"Pick up my shoe," I repeated, adding a note of command to my voice.
Jenna leaned to the side and picked up the elegant brown heel that she'd placed on the floor seconds before and turned it in her trembling hands.
"Good girl," I said with a smile. "Now put the shoe over your nose and mouth, and take a deep, long breath."
"M-Ms. Ford?" she exclaimed with a startled expression, her eyes wide with surprise.
"You heard me."
"I c-can't do that, it's..."
I sat forward and laced my fingers together, causing Jenna to become quiet in an eye blink.
"I want you to put my shoe over your nose and take a good, long sniff. I want you to experience what my feet smell like, I want you familiar with my scent. I want to give you a chance to find something to love in that smell..."
"Wh-why?" she stammered.
"Because I'm not going to fire you," I said. For an instant, Jenna's face lit up with a look of quiet relief. "I'm not going to fire you, but I am going to change your job description. Starting from now, you have new responsibilities."
"New responsibilities, Ms. Ford?"
"Yes, you're now my personal assistant. You are responsible for the general well being of my feet. When I come into the office, I want you under this desk with a smile on your face and cheery hello. Then, I want you to do whatever you feel is needed to make my feet feel like they've just slept for twenty four hours." She looked at me, utterly aghast. "Hands, mouth, tongue, pretty little titties. You'll need to use every tool at your disposal. Do you understand?"
She gazed at me, mouth hanging open, eyes glistening and wet.
"Now. Let's start off slowly. Put the shoe over your nose, then take a deep breath." I spoke each word purposefully, drawing out the sentence, enjoying the look of confused bewilderment she was giving me.
After a glacial epoch, she finally spoke, lifting the shoe over her mouth as she did so. "Yes, Ms. Ford," she said, closing her eyes and breathing in, "whatever you say."
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Oh my God I had to read that twice!

I felt like I was hiding behind the curtain watching the whole scene! :heart:
 
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Her self-confidence was intoxicating, a highly contagious virus of pure faith in the power of her own body. Nothing was off limits, nothing was forbidden. Every path was a route to pleasure and she explored them all with wilful abandon, drawing me into her lurid web of sexual exploration and showing me a glimpse of the world that she inhabited.
I should have been shocked, then, at her suggestion, appalled by her invitation. But, somehow, I wasn't. I should have asked her to leave my office, threatened every weapon of process that I had at my disposal to punish a disobedient subordinate. But, somehow, I didn't.
Instead, I found myself following her command and gazing at the outstretched length of her legs, the precise curve of her toned calves, her toes pointed skyward as though reaching for the very heaven that she promised. Unable to stop myself, I pondered what it might be like to stroke my fingers down that shimmering trail, how soft her nylons would feel, how warm the flesh beneath. And I dared to imagine, against the myriad instincts of common sense, what it would be like to bury my face in the velvet expanse of her soles, to nestle my nose behind her toes and breathe her into myself, to devour her like the delicacy she described to me with her whispered words and tender assurances.
And when the time came to choose a path, I found that I had only one left available to me.
Her. Her body. Her legs. Her feet. Every one of her dancing toes.
The siren had claimed another victim.
 
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Am I addicted? Of course not, I can give it up any time I want.
I just like it, is all. Nothing more than that.
I love that moment... you know? That moment when she smiles at me and settles down on her stomach, kicking her feet behind her like a cheerleader on a call with the high school quarterback. I love knowing what she wants, what she needs, that unspoken communication that passes between us like a telegraph signal. Our complementary desires, yin and yang, night and day, dark and light.
I adore that moment when I slide her shoes off, knowing that she's been wearing them all day long. I love the elegance of her style, I love the aesthetics of her footwear. It adds to the feeling that I'm unwrapping a gift. I enjoying taking my time, tackling the tiny buckles at her ankles with trembling fingers. It's not nervousness that makes me shake though; it's the excitement of anticipation, knowing what's coming, knowing what awaits.
I live for that first glimpse of her soles and that precious, electric moment when her toes are finally free, that blissful second where she can bend them back and spread them apart. I love the texture of her nylons, the way they seem so impossibly soft and inviting of touch, a gossamer thin barrier separating me from her but somehow transmitting the glory of her feet in every divine dimension.
And the smell... oh lord, the smell. An anticipation at first, the first hint of it as I set her shoes down, then the full bodied aroma as I move closer in. I sigh as the memory and the reality of it clash within me. I close my eyes, freeing up room in my sensorium to experience it fully. I lean forward and press my nose between her toes, smothering myself with her, setting her foot at the center of my universe and orbiting around it.
She smells of her, raw and unedited, subtle notes of shoe leather and perfume and sweat. Not gross, by any means, but invigorating, vital, alive. As the first scent of her fills my mind and animates my imagination, it conjures up notions and urges, hungers and needs... the awakening of desire. I picture the things we'll do together, the things she'll do to me, the things I'll do to her. I breathe her again, taking her like a drug. I'm dizzy and light headed. She is intoxication given form, I'd drown in her if I could.
She moans and squirms, moving her toes against my face, sliding her feet together as she lives out her own particular need. I pull her back, hold her legs still. I'm not done yet. I bury my face in her soles, breathing deeply, overwhelmed, as I always am, by that feeling of total contact, a thousand points of velvet softness on every inch of my skin. My sex aches, demanding and constant, insistent, aflame.
A sudden dark thought occurs to me and I entertain it for a second. What if I didn't have this? What if I hadn't overcome my fears and told her what I wanted to do? What if she'd laughed at me or hated me, instead of nodding and licking her lips?
But the thought is banished in a single second when she pushes her toes between my lips and the dizzying heights of smell are joined by the impossible delights of taste. I collapse back onto the floor, still holding her feet to my face, unable to let them go, unable to give them up, unwilling to entertain the possibility that this feeling should ever end...
So... Am I addicted? No, of course not, I could give this up any time I wanted. Really. Seriously. Any time. I just don't want to.
 
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She turns to me from the bed where she's lying, her face lifting in mock annoyance.
"You're doing it again," she says with a smirk.
"What?" I reply, though I know what she means.
"You're looking at them!"
"I am not!" I deny quickly, as I do every time we play this game.
"Stop it! They're disgusting!" she frowns, shifting her body and sliding her feet beneath the crumpled sheet.
"I respectfully disagree," I say, reaching across and shifting the sheet, removing her hiding place.
Her toes curl, like spring shoots searching for the light, making her tan nylons stretch and twist. She slowly rubs her feet together, as she does whenever she's nervous, whenever she's aroused. The motion causes the slightest sound, nylon on nylon, the faint rustle of fall leaves. She turns over onto her back and gazes at me.
"What..." she begins slowly, "what do you like most of all about them?" A single finger lifts to her mouth and distantly traces the line of her lips.
I set my book down beside me and sit forward, taking her feet in my hand and touching my palm to the flat of her sole. I breath in, catching the faint odor of her, so tangy and inviting.
"How can I pick?" I say without a single hint of insincerity. "Is it your perfect toes? Each one is more lovely than the last, pristine gemstones, a Queen's treasure. Is it your soles? Those shifting fields of infinite complexity, the meadows where my heart lies. Or is it your arches? Mathematics never described a more perfect curve, the bridge between heel and toes and all the lands beyond. How could I possibly pick?"
She blushes and shudders beneath my fingertips, idly nibbling at her lower lip, eyes wide and dark like midnight lakes.
"And what," she breathes, quietly now, the whispered prelude to something more, "and what would you like to do to them?"
Our eyes lock together and I move over to the bed beside her, tracing my hand along the length of her leg, shifting the hem of her loose skirt above her thigh. She lays back, prone before me, prey to my huntress.
I smile and touch her chin. I feel dizzy and breathless, hungry beyond imagining. "There's only one way to find out."
 
EllaFord said:
YSM8IvGl.jpg

She turns to me from the bed where she's lying, her face lifting in mock annoyance.
"You're doing it again," she says with a smirk.
"What?" I reply, though I know what she means.
"You're looking at them!"
"I am not!" I deny quickly, as I do every time we play this game.
"Stop it! They're disgusting!" she frowns, shifting her body and sliding her feet beneath the crumpled sheet.
"I respectfully disagree," I say, reaching across and shifting the sheet, removing her hiding place.
Her toes curl, like spring shoots searching for the light, making her tan nylons stretch and twist. She slowly rubs her feet together, as she does whenever she's nervous, whenever she's aroused. The motion causes the slightest sound, nylon on nylon, the faint rustle of fall leaves. She turns over onto her back and gazes at me.
"What..." she begins slowly, "what do you like most of all about them?" A single finger lifts to her mouth and distantly traces the line of her lips.
I set my book down beside me and sit forward, taking her feet in my hand and touching my palm to the flat of her sole. I breath in, catching the faint odor of her, so tangy and inviting.
"How can I pick?" I say without a single hint of insincerity. "Is it your perfect toes? Each one is more lovely than the last, pristine gemstones, a Queen's treasure. Is it your soles? Those shifting fields of infinite complexity, the meadows where my heart lies. Or is it your arches? Mathematics never described a more perfect curve, the bridge between heel and toes and all the lands beyond. How could I possibly pick?"
She blushes and shudders beneath my fingertips, idly nibbling at her lower lip, eyes wide and dark like midnight lakes.
"And what," she breathes, quietly now, the whispered prelude to something more, "and what would you like to do to them?"
Our eyes lock together and I move over to the bed beside her, tracing my hand along the length of her leg, shifting the hem of her loose skirt above her thigh. She lays back, prone before me, prey to my huntress.
I smile and touch her chin. I feel dizzy and breathless, hungry beyond imagining. "There's only one way to find out."
Click to expand...

That's indeed one of the hardest questions to answer ever!
So beautiful! :):kiss::rose:
 
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