enovel Footlicker Unknown [Future Story Codes]

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Footlicker ....(64k)    by Unknown

One

Barefoot cuntessa's footlicking footman is an image apropos to a theme that ripples through the lineage of literary excursions selected for this volume.

We venture into a passionate realm of pleasure wherein is worshipped that portion of the womanly anatomy encompassing the toes, soles, heels, ankles, and uppers of the feminine foot.

A predilection toward, for instance, commencing sexual foreplay with an oral assault upon the footworks offers the enthusiast a wide spectrum of lingual activities-proclivities known variously and suggestively by cultured practitioners as footballing, bootfucking, slicking the piggies, fetlock fetish, and "ye old foot-in-mouth" (to cite merely a few such examples).

This set of tales from the feet ranges, in stylistic approach, from the naturalistic to the fantastic, from the casual to the ritualistic.

But one thing they hold in common is that they are real:

The actions are real.

Feelings and emotions are real.

The persons and situations depicted are real and true to life-even though details such as name and place and sequence of events have been rearranged and altered freely as appropriate to presentation in dramatic context.

Let us begin, then, with an offering in the first-person mode that might have been taken from the journal of a normal everyday working man.

You know me.

Or somebody a lot like me-even if you never thought about it that way.

I'm not odd, not wild or wacko-my habits are conventional and my appearance I like to think is unexceptional.

I have an open, friendly face with a quick, easy grin. The perfect salesman, I am-for with this camouflage to cover my professional animal instincts I can thus go for the jugular-or, in my case, for the foot.

I sell shoes.

Have been a shoe salesman for my entire professional life.

Just ask my wife: "You again?" "Pardon?"

"You're supposed to say that to me," she said. "I am?" I said.

"Cause I've been into the store a few times and you recognize me." "I do," I said. I recognized her feet.

"Been in here a coupla times this week already," she said steadily. "So tease me about it."

"Very fashionable dresser you are."

She sat in her seat.

Legs crossed at the ankles.

Red-nailed toes sticking through the webbing of a pair of high-heeled sandal pumps I had sold to her here at my store not a week before.

She said nothing.

Her eyes glittered.

I had a hard-on-felt like it stretched from my crotch to my neck.

"I feel honored by your patronage, you know," I said as though off the cuff. "What pleases you today?" I said in my come-hither-and-buy-from-me voice. "You may find something choice among several new styles that arrived this morning."

"Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe this time I'd just go for it."

She shrugged.

I wondered what she meant. "Go for broke," she croaked. I still wondered.

"Go crazy on shoes," she spoke loosely. "I'm in one of those moods. Like a floozy on booze."

She shifted one gam in front of the other as she sat.

Placed one knee on top of the other and aligned her calves closely parallel with each other. Legs touching each other-pressed together from high up on the thighs down to the toes, where from one shoe now dangled at an obscene angle from a set of shrimplike digits that fidgeted in a writhing wave like the undulating spine of a snake.

The look in her eyes was lit as if from an inner flame. When she snorted a snicker out through her flared nostrils she seemed to blow smoke: "Ah ni-ni ni-ni ni-ni."

Her hair shook as she giggled-and I felt the tickles from her mane against my face even though I was not nearly close enough.

My eyes flickered down her columnar neck.

I seized her tits through -her bodice and squeezed-with my eyes.

I ran my gaze around her waist and belly button. Played around visually with the fluffy dankness of her cunthairs and lips of fuck.

Frigged her fanny with my thoughts.

Ate her legs down to her feet. Sucked a hunk of her heel.

Tested the feel of her artfully painted toenails. Went down on them. All in my head.

She extended one long arm and with a finger indicated a row of high-heeled shoes of various styles displayed upon a wall mantel of the shop.

"Bring them to me," she said.

"Excuse me, miss," I always spoke casually. "Which ones in particular-?"

"All of them."

I pulled a grin like pulling a boner and tried to hide it just like it was a hard-on I had drawn. I had one of those too-an erection-as I already told you-so I turned my torso as 1 rose with aplomb from the fitting stool in an attempt to conceal my elongated dong.

Of course I hoped secretly that her eyes would shoot to the outline of my blood-infused tool and hovering nuts-and she would see something on me she liked as much as I liked what I had seen on her-those feet.

Pale and smooth and undulant like flowers carved of ivory or alabaster.

Toes pure and neat-petals of the floral feet.

And those tailored nails-glistening, polished- their surface sparkling.

Pedicured toes like driven little rows of snow or dainty, slight, dessert ices decorated with toenail cherries.

My mind was buried beneath heavy visions that seemed to haunt me openly as I perused the shoes aligning the wall mantel.

Had I thought of her as I had selected the shoes I had placed on display today?

Would I have hoped-or known-she would be in again? Could I have thought that-then? Or was I now fantasizing romantically to the vision of her folded flowerlike feet?

A fresh scent of perfumed talcum powder rose headily in my nostrils--a lightness laced with a deeper fragrant combination I knew as a brew of incipient rutsweat, quimjuice, prickmusk, assoils, and-most soulful of all-footliquor.

She cocked one gam up as I lofted the first selection toward her-it was a light little number with see-through plastic pointy-toed upper mounted on a transparent plexiglas spike heel.

"Kinda reminds me of Cinderella," she said looking up at me and not at her foot. "You know? But instead of this prince taking one glass slipper or whatever the fuck it was around to all the little chippie chicks and bitches-I just sit here and you bring all the clodhoppers to me."

"I see."

I slid her shoe from her extended foot-now held just beneath my lap below my thundering cock and burgeoning balls.

My hands glanced in passing over her smooth stockings. I slippered her then within the transparent number.

Thumbed her routinely at the heel and ankle as I adjusted the strap in back.

"Nice," she said. "I'll take them."

Now I'm not the one you've probably seen if you've ever been here in New York City on Fifth Avenue during the afternoon, especially when it's overcast and maybe raining a little bit like it has been today-it's the kind of day that brings cunt to my mind-you know, weather like oysters drizzling brine with barefoot maidens treading the seaweed- and jellyfish-strewn beach between them.

This kind of guy I'm talking about hangs out on the street corner. Sometimes looking at reflections in the store windows-I've seen him plenty of times stop in front of mine.

Reading a magazine with his eyes looking at the ladies' boots.

Licking his chops.

Beating off into his rubber gloves shoved down inside his slicker.

That's the one who's got a thousand-page manuscript at home titled Diary of a Footfiend and a longer one still in progress and made the home videotape production of bootfucking prostitutes recruited from the corner cobblery based on a script he wrote called Confessions of Saint Sucktoes-by which name he calls himself.

I don't pose as an artist or monster or conniving creep.

That's not me.

No-I chased that guy away.

I work subtly and I take my time.

I savor the thought, the process-and 1 was willing to spend the time and attention necessary to enmesh this game young fluff of quail fully within my grasp before I gave any clear indication of my intentions.

"Excellent choice." I looked up under her dress. "Which do you wish to see next?"

"Any of them and all of them. I really mean it. Just if it fits-that's the main thing." "Runs into money," I remarked offhandedly.

"I got an expense account."

"Oh;" "I'm a model."

"I should have guessed." - "You might have seen me sometime and you didn't know it-they don't always show my face. But the credit line should read Jeanette. That's the name I use on photography shoots." "Jeanette. I like it."

"I'm a mannequin for footwear. Advertising. Printwork and teevee commercials mostly. But I want to be an actress really."

"I see," I said-I thought at the time a bit too gruffly. I didn't like the thought of too many other people seeing those feet of hers close-up. But that was her business-if she wanted it that way. Who was I to say anything?

But I did.

"I wish you luck," I started out. "You sound as if you really mean it." "I do."

"But I mean you sound as if you don't mean, like, saying good luck to me or anything. More like I'll need any kind of luck I can get cause it's real rough out there."

"You sound as if you know the story already."

"It's been tough." "Sorry."

"I'm not. That's how you learn about life. So I'm doing this portfolio on my own-with a photographer friend of mine."

"Lucky guy."

"She's a she." Her eyebrows rose. "She knows a writer. And this writer-she'll like do a text for it and we'll get it published as a big fancy book."

"The three of you."

"We all, like-uh-like feet."

"As a subject matter for photography."

"Yeah. And other things."

I had by now gathered up around her feet a couple armloads of shoes of her size.

"I adore that one."

To my surprise she kicked the next selection of footwear on my intended sales agenda from between my fingers with a flick of her ankle.

I caught a whiff of her footliquor as her toes flew up past my nose.

"Smell those," she said as she adjusted her posture so that her toes almost touched the lower part of my face. "Lick them."

My eyes crossed slightly to focus upon the flexing pedal digits seen through the screen of her stocking.

I parted my lips and teeth and sleeked the tops of my lower front teeth with sidewhisks of the underside of my tongue.

My vision slid up her crooked leg to her garters and a flouncy trim of pantielike undies that did not seem to cover anything.

Remember that I mentioned I proceeded with due stealth and insinuation-I would lie in wait for as long as it took to sight my quarry.

Then stalk and tease like the hunter prowler that I was until I was certain of my prey before I dared pounce.

She, on the other hand, evidently preferred a quick gambit with high risk.

"Playing hard to get?" she said. "Go fuck yourself then."

She pulled her foot away from my snout. I choked out: "You were kidding."

"Pulling your leg? It's a gag, uh-you know I really don't know your name."

"They call me Chance because I'm chancy."

"Oh. I thought you were gonna say they call you Chauncy cause you're raunchy."

I must have blushed.

She continued: "Well, you know, Chance. They always make those jokes about girls and guys who sell shoes being, like, uh-foot fetishes and stuff."

"I can think of worse things than being caught with one's foot in one's mouth."

She then then blurted out: "How about if the one's foot is mine and the one's mouth is yours?"

"Of course."

"Do it."

"Not here."

"I want you to."

"I'll close up first."

"Go on. It's late enough."

"Fitting you took all afternoon."

"Seems so. But actually I only got here right before you were supposed to be closed. Thought I might get more personal treatment that way."

"So you planned this."

"I don't see it that way. You kinda seduced me into it all the way."

I began massaging her feet as she lifted them between my legs, brushing my ballooning ballocks and erected cock through the material of my trousers.

She bent her trunk so that her breasts pressed into the sides of my skull-so skillful she was-at the same time she ran her toenails underneath my nose and between my lips.

"Mmramra."

My tongue slid between her tiniest toe and the crook of the next digit, which clicked rhythmically against my teeth.

I breathed in.

"Come on," she said. "I am."

"Sssssuck it."

I pressed my lips about her small toe and flicked my tongue around the little toenail. My fingers twisted her other phalanges against the- cheeks of my face.

She squealed: "Ni-ni-ni-ni-ni."

As I sipped her footliquor, her feet began to glisten within their gauzy stocking sheath. She lifted the hem of her skirt slowly.

Helped me unsnap her garters.

Held hands and wrists and intermingled fingers with me as we stripped her hosiery on down off her legs. Lingering along the ankles, soles, and especially those toes of her.

"Like tasty shrimp," I mumbled-or something like that-as she cracked the knuckles of her toes against my nose. "Mind if I bite in?"

"I wish you would."

I nibbled the one big hawg of a piggy.

Wiggled it with my tongue.

Went after each one of her toes.

Lapped the underside of each and every one of her toes with to-and-fro flaps of my spread oral appendage. Dredged in between the neat rows of toes and suckered.

"Unh."

Munched the ball of her foot upon which she rose as she walked.

Caulked her crannies and furrows of flexed and cringing footmeat with fermenting saliva that ran from the insides of my mouthcheeks.

I squeaked my teeth all along her toenails.

"Oh!"

Lipped around the phalanges of her feet. Lanced with pointed tongue among the recesses of her floral pedal digits.

Puckered my lips upon her footknuckles.

Suckled her arches with parched lips.

"Ngh."

Ran my hands all over her heels. Snicked my fingertips against her ankles.

Slithered my arms up her calves.

Lapped against her knees as she shot her toesies down into my waist.

"I love it, Chance. Love it when you lick me. Love you, Chance. I do."

I ignored her comment and embalmed her words with warm saliva from my jaw that was imbued with the scented oils I had extracted orally from her feet.

My hips began rut action.

She tractioned her pelvis a fraction closer to me. Worked her naked feet freely.

"Aiii."

As I grated my hands up her thighs and my face against hers, she undid my trousers with her learned toes.

She hooked her toetips inside the elastic of my bikini-brief underwear and yanked downward and to the side. My prick seemed to leap toward her.

I sucked her face.

She raced her toelike tongue within my mouth as she began to play her feet upon my pricktip and gonads. There was a boiling in my pud.

Hung nuts shivered with the rise of bodyheat. Prickmeat jumped and shuddered.

Her legs juddered in tandem as she jacked the soles of her feet about my penis. I played fuckwork havoc with my pelvis and rump.

Her knees splayed and she lay back flat against the chair.

Head lolled over to one side.

Knees hooked over the armrests of the fitting chair. Cuntlips barely covered within the acute triangle of her thonglike lacework undies.

Toes flexing and undercurling erotically.

Crablike flexions of all her limbs.

Spiderlike play of fingers within the web of her froufrou as she drew her lingerie off to one side with a snick of the side clasp.

Snatchlips snicksnacked open and shut as she squeezed her cunt playfully like teasing the blossom of a snapdragon.

"Want to fuck?"

"Yes."

We kissed face to face.

"Fuck my cunt first? Or my feet?"

"Let's just see."

Jeanette snuggled her little fingers and her thumbs within the crinkle and warp and wrinkle of her woolly flocculent froufrou.

She shoved a fingernail in. Cuntlips grinned.

She used her free hand to pull at the riband bow at the center of her bodice.

Her tubelike top slinked down and her boobs popped out and up like toaster tarts.

Niptips rigid and hard.

Glowing aureole of pink flesh at the nib of an angelfood dome of breastflesh.

Nippletips pointed like darts.

And feet arched on either side of my head, pulling my face toward her.

I next sucked Jeanette's face thirstily, all the while feeling up her feet, and then ate at her bubbling breastmeat.

Nipples filled my mouth.

Then tongue slithered out and squeaked down the slope of taut tit, up and into her armpit. Jeanette pressed her heels into the back of my neck and I bridged the- gap between her warm paps and my mucoid teeth in a breeze.

Seized and suckered her breastmeat fiercely and then frigged down into her navel-French-kissing bellybutton and then snaking lower.

"Oh."

I wedged my teeth into her wet ornamentally coifed cuntal hedgework. "Aaah."

Took hold of Jeanette's clit with my lips as she soothed me with caresses of her toes upon my fervent brow.

I then engulfed her muff orally. Ran my hands all over her feet. Fondled each toe between thumbs and fingers. Felt her toenails talon along the flesh over my cheekbones. Sputtered sputum into her cuntflews. Jeanette groaned: "Alalalalala."

I suckered cunt ravenously. Felt the fleshfolds take hold of my lips and draw them in. Twat sucked tongue. Then I licked at her bum. "Ah ni-ni."

Her fannycheeks caught hold of me by the facecheeks. I breathed into her asscleft. Sapped into her seam.

Reamed her rumphole as she pumped away at my face-cunt spread open about my eyes and nose.

Toes crawling together somewhere around my backside. Writhing of bodies half out of clothing now tossing and torturing uncontrollably led to our tumbling from the seat down among the selected footwear.

I had a slipper on one ear.

Jeanette wore a sandal caught up in her hair.

She reared her haunch toward me with her rump pushed out and up-asscheeks and cuntlips parted startlingly.

I fucked in at her cunnikin from behind.

Began to grind my gonads against her toes.

Screwed my prong into her soles.

Then-oiling my stinger within the folds of her froufrou, threw my pecker into her pussy well past the cockneck.

My balls must have beckoned for the kick-for that is what Jeanette did.

"Ow!"

But she usually missed and I continued to fuck into her cunt from behind while frolicking with my fingers at her feet.

Cockmeat squeaked between her bleating cunt-lips.

Her ass moved faster in fuck action. "I'm getting off, Chance." I fucked her cunt harder.

Held her feet firmly as I drove my dick in to the quick.

Then wrenched my pecker out again teasingly before fucking into her quim again. "Eiii."

Jeanette tossed her head to the ceiling. "I'm come-miiing!"

I zinged my mind off somewhere as Jeanette squiggled her pusskins upon my dingdong. It wasn't long before I sensed a calm in her haunch as she slid into a series of narcotizing climaxes stacked one on top of the other.

Jeanette's mild shudders primed my prickbutter for a spree of fuckery.

"I want to fuck with you everywhere, Jeanette. Fuck you in the cunt. Fuck up your ass. Fuck your teeth. Fuck your feet. Jizz off all over onto and in between your toes."

"Go for it."

My head roared.

You see, up to that point I had actually only toyed with the idea of going all the way with feet. And I sensed the same was true of Jeanette.

I gored into her pussy more.

My loaded hard-on exploded.

"Unh. Un-nuh-nuh."

Come gushed from my gonads and swept through the length of my prick.

My nuts clung high to my underside as I withdrew my dick from her quickening quim.

Her feet grew up toward my scrotum. Toes tapped my twanger.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck my feet."

I ran my penis between her soles.

Screwed the tip of my prick between each digit on the rows of toes on both feet.

Shellacked my cuntmoist meat back and forth across the planar surface of her feet. Slithered dickmeat between the arches.

"On me-come!"

Hanging hard-on snapped out and up.

Barks of come were flung from the head of my pecker. Tip of cock coughed out glistening knobs of jizzom.

"Uuuuunh."

Her feet spasmed.

"Arrrgh."

Cock barfed out jizzom. "Eeeeeh."

Come nickered between her toes. Hung in cobbles from her toenails.

Jeanette wailed: "Oh. Oooh. O-ooo-oooooh."

She ran her feet all along my spouting cockmeat. Ran her toes through the fluffy hair growing from my sack of balls.

Billows of cuntoils slicked my fists as I twisted through her twat.

I worked the quimjuice into the skin of Jeanette's feet and then licked it off courteously as she squeezed her pussy and flailed her clitoris.

I sucked her cunt and ground my fingers against her feet as Jeanette achieved another round of orgasmic oblivion and my hard-on rose to the ceiling.

My mind reeled as I again peeled my boner through her midsection.

My erection ate the insides of her cunt. Pegged into her butt.

Then jammed her mouth with my juice-filled prickmeat rolling loglike over slick tongue. My balls hanging over her chin.

I fucked into Jeanette's feet again after licking them up to lubricate them.

Dick flicked along the undersides of Jeanette's cringing toes.

I fucked her feet slowly-then alternately paused to bend my head down and lick them. Fucking them tenderly with my mouth.

Tongue moving in and out.

Toes jamming into my nostrils.

"Come on and fuck off jizzom on my feet again. I liked that."

Jeanette whacked my pecker off with the smooth pedaling traction of her feet.

I was all set to squink out another load of cockcream and ream her cuntjuices all over her toes. And then another woman-a customer, I supposed-walked into the shop through the door I had never bothered to lock.

The wandering walker who had entered my shoe shop turned around without saying anything and began to walk out.

Then: "Phoebe!" Jeanette coughed out. "That's my writer friend, Chance. The one I was telling you about. That book idea."

Phoebe shot her head about.

Looked directly at my cock, my nuts, my butt- inspected everything naked about me, which was everything except for my feet because I was still wearing socks.

Phoebe looked at Jeanette too-at Jeanette's come-caked feet-then said simply: "Sigourney's outside with her camera, Jeanette. Want me to have her come in? We can shoot a photo session right here if you'd wish."

"I'm not an exhibitionist," Jeanette said. "But if it's artistic and you insist-we won't resist. Will we, Chance?"

"Will Phoebe strip too?"

"Down to my toes," Phoebe glowed.

Jeanette kissed me.

I kissed her.

This was the climax of the story-but we started going through it all again. This time the three of us-for Sigourney's camera, which was pointed at Phoebe, Jeanette, and me for published posterity.

All the time thinking about how I had intended actually to close up early and go home today. But had not been too eager to change into rubbers and raincoat to go about on foot in the drizzle to hang out on corners and building foyers observing the slick rain-gear and footwear the ladies wore.

No-I never did that.

Nor had I gotten around to locking that door.

Or is that another thing? Maybe I had known Jeanette would be back in again-she who had awakened the responses latent within me.

So, you see, the story is in and of itself actually commonplace-like me.

Meet a girl.

Fall in love.

Shoot a lez-bo toefuck photo session with her and one of her girlfriends crawling all over and become talkshow celebrities and then get married.

Live happily ever after.

We now own a shoe company.

I manage the marketing and deal with the factory and suppliers. Jeanette designs several lines of footwear for each season of the year.

We are together.

Licking feet between us.

Two

Ballerina On tiptoe turns an arabesque as the lights go low and the audience bursts into righteous applause. She bows, extending an arm toward the crowd, flexing her slippered feet in plie. Receives roses onstage.

Football kicker drills the pugnosed pigskin ball over the crossbar of the goalpost to score in the final moments of the decisive game. He is carried off the field on the shoulders of his mates.

The fans rave.

Do the pretty ballerina and the rugged football player have anything more in common than do silk and leather?

Than Venus and Mars?

Do they need anything else in the stars to bring them together?

"Saw you working out-out there." "Oh?" she said slowly, with no aim, meaning, intonation, or pose.

She flared her thin nose. Her eyes glowed.

"That thing where you spread your legs?" He paused in his speech. "And-I mean-had one leg up here-Jeez-arms out-I sure can't do it. What was that-that you were doing?"

"A posed arabesque."

"And your foot-like-?"

"Sur la pointe."

"Balanced right on the end of your big toe. You have to have awesome gams, m'am-monster feet."

The light in her eyes turned amber colored and their sparkle jelled.

"Uh-sorry," he said. "I meant it as a compliment. You looked great."

"My arabesques are perfect-always have been."

She filched in her pouch. Drew a cigarette out. "Want a smoke?" "No."

Pale light filtered through the metal screens covering the lower panes of the high arched windows of the gymnasium.

Where they stood was shadowy.

Shrouded in darker tones that signaled the end of the day.

She leaned against the barre draped in tattered unmarked sweatclothes togs and he stood clad in shining tight designer warm-up duds.

The drudge and the stud.

Her clit was humming.

His ballocks were drubbing.

He saw her scratch at her neck as though her breasts were actually what itched.

She saw him nonchalantly lance two fingers into his thigh to unkink a muscle and loosen up the hard-on stuck along his leg.

Dust glittered in the slants of sunlight off to the side. She blew smoke through parted lips and exposed teeth.

Breathed in through her nose.

"So what do you do to get such huge legs?" She stared off into nowhere. "I mean-we're obviously in the same boat. If we're both here."

They turned together and semihobbled out through twin swinging metal doors into a hallway.

He sucked water up from a drinking fountain.

She wrapped a towel around the back of her tightly bunned coif and soaked up perspiration. Placed a foot next to his as he answered: "Football player. Place kicking-field goals and kickoffs. Punting too-one of the few professionals playing these days who can do that."

"Oh? I'm afraid I don't know very much about- uh-football. But other sports-what you call soccer-?"

"I played that too-in school. I was into sports where you play the ball with your feet."

"Ah. But you are injured now. No?"

"Torn cartilage. Here in the knee. Some motherfucker tackled me the wrong way-sorry!"

He blushed.

"Me too," she said offhandedly. "Coincidentally my knee's fucked-up also. A cocksucker dropped me during rehearsals. And I mean it. He was a cocksucker. You know all those male ballet dancers are cocksucking little faggot brats who climb the ladder of success with a dick in their arse."

"So you're here for physical therapy?"

"Yes. My operation was yesterday."

"Arthroscopic."

"Sure-they went in right away after it happened. And I was lucky, you know. Ligaments still intact. So I am rehabilitating already."

"It might be some time before I'll be back on the field. But the surgery was routine. We'll see. That's what they tell me." They stood close to each other.

The tips of their shoes touched.

Fumes of sweat mingled with their breaths.

"But in the meantime," she said with warbled inflection, "at least you can still walk without a cane or crutches."

"I had that happen."

"Awful. Isn't it?"

She flicked a cigarette ash onto the floor. Took something out of a small purselike pouch. Pushed a finger up her nose and snorted. Lit another cigarette.

This one smelled different from her other one.

"You still can warm up," she said as though nothing had interrupted the conversation, not trying to hard to sound as if she were actually interested in anything. "You can still work out."

"To a certain extent. I can't chance any impact for a while yet."

"Too bad. So sad. I know it must be a great part of your identity to be able to slam into bodies on the field of play."

She wiped the underside of her slippered foot over the toe of his sneaker.

He looked away.

Replied steadily: "Plenty. I guess that type of competitiveness and* striving for domination is as bodacious to me as making beauty up onstage is to you."

"Probably so. Would you care to hold this? My bag? While I run into the locker room and get my clothes. I'm getting out of here now. I can shower later. This place is so dreary."

"Where would you like to go?"

"Us?"

"Yuh."

"I'm in a rush."

"That's why you gave me your little purse to hold while you go into the locker room? So I'll be waiting for you?"

"So I like to play games. So do you. Okay?" "Fine and dandy."

She was in and out of the locker room right away. They went down in the elevator and stood together as they waited on the curb outside to hail a taxi. And were arm in arm as they slipped into the back of the cab.

"Okay," she said breathlessly. "What did you want to do?"

"Get a bite to eat."

"I could have a coffee. I'm on a diet."

"So am I. High carbohydrate. High calorie. I have to eat a lot. What's yours?"

"I just take vitamins."

"Which ones?"

"Caffeine. Nicotine. Hashish. Cocaine." She sucked her gums. "And highballs." "You don't eat?"

"Sometimes-with champagne cocktails-a little bit of yogurt and fruit."

She cocked her head and barked out an address to the cabdriver.

Then rested her head against his shoulder.

"Where's that-uh-?"

"Place near here I know," she whispered. "And it's Miou-Miou. They call me Miou-Miou." She drew the syllables out long. "So can you."

"Miou-Miou. Sounds like a cat."

"I can purr."

"Let's hear you." "You have to make me."

"How do I do that?"

"Do what cats do."

"How's that?"

He put his arm over and around her neck. Palmed one of her shoulders.

She crossed her ankles and ran a slippered foot up the inside of his calf.

"I'm getting out here," she said slithering her leg up and away from his.

She squeezed into him and kissed his cheek as the taxicab swerved into the curb and drew to an abrupt halt. The door flopped open and a uniformed man lifted Miou-Miou out by the wrist.

"So where are you going?" he laughed.

"To my apartment." Her eyes twinkled. "Sure you want to come?"

Wellington nodded to the doorman as Miou-Miou floated into the gilt baroque foyer in front of him. They writhed together alone in the elevator as the elevator car rose to the penthouse landing.

Soon Miou-Miou and Wellington were standing on a balcony overlooking the central park of the city. Stars and lamps lit in a purple-gray twilit haze.

"Oooooh. Miou-Miou."

"Like it when I rub your leg, Wellington? I take it that's your name embroidered on your fancy jacket. Wellington-?"

"Like the military field commander."

"Like the boots. So do you like it then-when I rub your ankles with my bare toe?"

"Well enough."

Her slipper was off now.

Toes crawled over the top of his sneakers.

"Or do you like it tough, Wellington? Catfighting. Scratching you with my paws."

She scraped a rack of toenails across his instep. He felt her strength through his layers of shoe and sock.

"That's righteous."

"Pussypussypussy."

"You know-saying that's like an insult to me. I know you didn't mean it that way, Miou-Miou. But on occasion other football players have been known to accuse kickers of being pussies-can't take the roughstuff licks."

"That's not true with you-is it?"

"I like to think not-but, see-I was injured. Ruined me for the year at least."

"So I see you are a pussycat, Wellington. You act like one. Writhing your back when I scratch your neck."

"A tomcat," Wellington meant to correct. "This is a nice drink," he said sucking liquid through crushed ice in a tall slender glass.

"I like this hour of the day. When everything fades away around you."

"Like outer space."

"I was in a modernistic space ballet onstage. It was very bawdy."

"I've never seen one-a ballet. Not really. Maybe on teevee."

"Then you haven't really seen one at all."

"I guess not."

"You can see one close up if you'd like." "I'd like."

Miou-Miou took a step back from the balustrade and wafted her sweatshirt off over her head. Stood there sur la pointe and opened the knot of her trousers. She stepped out of her pants and danced a warmup step there on the balcony in see-through tights and leotard.

Wellington's cock was hard.

"Watch out, Miou-Miou. I know you feel good. But your injury-!"

"I can just do a few simple movements-to demonstrate. Give you an idea."

Miou-Miou lifted a leg parallel to the floor with foot pointed. Bare toe seemed to tease him in the air as Miou-Miou flew through the opened French doors into the living room.

Wellington watched silently from the balcony. Hair wafting in the breeze.

Miou-Miou turned out her legs from the hips. Dipped with flexed knees, feet plashed to the floor pointed away from each other, one foot in front of the other. One arm held level crooked in front, the other arm arced over her head with hand and long fingers loose as a handkerchief dangling from pliant wrist.

She swung her back leg out in front of her, threw it up, and leapt with split legs.

Feet twitched at the ends of her gams. She then snapped her hamstrings together in midair and landed on the balls of her feet, toetips flat.

"You can't do that other thing barefoot," Wellington cracked.

"1 have to be wearing special pointe shoes to do anything like that."

Her tits jiggled like tasty tarts.

Her haunch was split wide open in her stance. Ass muscles flexed.

Pussy pushed out.

"I have special shoes too," Wellington said with his eyes roving over Miou-Miou's feet. "One for kicking field goals. One just for kickoffs. Another for punting."

"Another drink?"

"I think I better be going, Miou-Miou. Have to get out to my place in Jersey. Have an inspection with the team physician and trainer tomorrow so I have to rest up."

"You wanted something to eat before."

"I can have supper near my digs."

"We can have something sent up here if you'd like. Chinese?"

"How about pickled ballerina's feet?"

"Oh-you tease me."

Miou-Miou bent in a stretch with one foot slanted out in front of her. She dipped her chin down over her row of toes and then scratched her nostril with one of her toenails.

"You are loose, Miou-Miou. Are all ballet dancers that way?"

"They should be."

Her tits were tight on her chest. Wellington could see her nippletips red and erect through her translucent leotard top.

Her pussy popped right out from her pelvis as she bent backward in a slouch. He could literally see the cuntlips pip apart as she arched her body upon the floor. Twitched her toes. Rose back upright on planted feet. "Neat."

"You should really flex out, Wellington. Might cut down on pulled muscles-I can tell you have that tendency from the thickness there."

She stepped into him with one foot between his.

Perspiration with the metallic scent of incipient rut grew up like mushrooms from Miou-Miou's armpits. Fucksweat smarmed headily from Wellington's underarms.

Cuntjuices stewed in Miou-Miou's froufrou. Ballocks choked out billows of orchidine musk.

He clutched her buttocks.

She thrust her haunch into his.

They kissed, open mouths prowling about each other's face.

Legs entwined.

Feet fidgeting.

"I think it's about time for that shower of ours now, isn't it, Wellington?"

Miou-Miou turned from Wellington's embrace and snapped a leotard strap down over one ripe shoulder and off her arm.

One tit jumped out.

Nipple thick.

Tip smoking sweat and poking out like a thumb. She unsnapped the leotard crotch and flipped the assemblage off to one side.

In the same fluid set of motions she removed her tights, and the flesh from her bellybutton down to her ankles came starkly into view.

Heart-shaped cuntmuff tufted out at Wellington from swollen labia as Miou-Miou gave one gam a flick toes-first and turned ass toward him down the hallway with her chin tossed back over one shoulder and eyes glistening.

"You know," she said walking straight-legged like a bird with asscheeks lithe and limber. "I've never seen a football game. Maybe you could show me something about football. When those muscles of yours get warmed up."

Wellington jumped after Miou-Miou and caught up with her just as she reached up to adjust the shower massage to a hard juddering drizzle.

He ran into her humped ass with his hard-on drawn out from his pants.

Wellington's dick danced between the taut nates of Miou-Miou's asscheeks. Peckerbeak squeaked against buttock muscles.

She hustled her hiney sideways.

Raised rim of rumphole rolled over his burgeoning cockhead.

The water spilled in rhythmic waves down upon their haunches. With raunching action, Wellington tractioned his prick up under Miou-Miou's belly.

Jabbed dork into jimjam.

"Not so fast," Miou-Miou said slashing at Wellington's hard-on with her claws. "Get down, now, Wellington."

Wellington dipped to one knee and began to eat up at Miou-Miou's twat.

"Pussy purrs at you," Miou-Miou slurred. "But pussycunt mews gr-rrr-rrrrr! too. Get away," she suddenly brayed. "Can't get at that yet!"

Miou-Miou pressed Wellington's head down and her own leg up.

"Unh."

Wellington found his face full of feetmeat and tweaked his nose against Miou-Miou's toes. His tongue flared out.

Snout snorted toenails.

"Alalalala!" Miou-Miou wailed.

Wellington slathered his lathered saliva up the sides of Miou-Miou's arch.

Parched mouth of Miou-Miou popped open and a tongue lolled out.

Water showered down upon her visage and her lips and tongue seemed to bloom and swell with the steaming rinse of pulsating water.

Miou-Miou lay one foot upon the back of Wellington's neck as he bent to suck her other ankle. He licked upward upon her legs.

"Mmmmm."

Dredged his mouth over her shimmering shins. Carved her calves in half with slices of his incisors.

Smooched behind her kneecaps. "Aiiinh."

Wellington spread his legs. Hunkered down with hinders on his heels. Knees spread to either side of Miou-Miou's sheening feet. Beat himself of for a yank or two. Pumped his ass once.

Dick reached out and smacked against the side of Miou-Miou's leg as he mouthworks begged for mercy at the whim of her snickering cuntlips.

"Feet first," Miou-Miou thirsted. "You must perform ablutions."

"I believe I have a solution to both our aims."

He stroked her gams.

Hammered his prong along her lower legs. Pegged the nib of his pecker against her ankle. "Yes."

Wellington bucked and fucked into Miou-Miou's foot with a series of jerks. Pecker lanced forward with the underside of the fleshy blade furrowing through her toes.

"Yesss."

Nuts bounced over her feet as he fucked upward toward her knees. "Please."

Wellington lowered his aim and screwed his prick between her feet again. "Yes-sss."

The cockhead grated between Miou-Miou's soles as she coiled her torso about over Wellington's head and spine. "Yes-sss-sssss."

Miou-Miou climbed down Wellington's backbone with her tongue splayed out over Wellington's shoulders. Her mouth pursed out and grabbed a faceful of Wellington's fannymeat.

"Aiii."

She shivered her canine teeth squeaking into the assbreak. Flaked her tongue flat against Wellington's bung.

Tore into asshole hungrily. Sucked his butt inside out. "Ululululu."

Tongue taut and hot, Miou-Miou snapped at Wellington's balls from behind. As he continued to grind his peckermeat through Miou-Miou's feet.

"Fuck-me. Fuck my feet."

As Wellington fucked through Miou-Miou's cupped feet with her toes frigging his balls, he felt the come hobbling up within his gonads.

Straddling Wellington's body, Miou-Miou pressed against his flank with her knees as she yanked off his cock with her toesies.

Dank cuntflesh floated over Wellington's head like a drenched bouquet of posies.

Two tits, thick with snubbed nippletips, hovered above, glistened, and dripped warm water awash with sweat upon Wellington's chewing cheeks.

HE rubbed his rubbery asshole over Miou-Miou's footsies and stuck his prick between her shins, grimacing with cocktip juddering.

"Yeow!"

Peckerhead juddered off a sputtering stutter of cockcream between Miou-Miou's calves. Wellington pulled back, pulled off his dong, shot slinks of jizzom down at Miou-Miou's squiggling toesies.

"Oooooh. Eeeeeh."

Wellington squeezed off leisurely a teaser of come from his whinnying horseheaded meatsteed right onto the tip of Miou-Miou's nose wherefrom it hung like a glittering mucoid tassel.

"More. More fuck, Wellington."

Wellington rubbed morsels of his come into the skin of Miou-Miou's muscularly tender tootsies. The shower water washed away the gushy mass of semen and perspiration.

And a lotion of cuntjuices founted down from within the folds of Miou-Miou's twittering froufrou. Womanly dew gleamed in the spread of Miou-Miou's nymphlike labia.

"There's the trap," Wellington said as Miou-Miou's twat snapped shut.

"You'll like that, won't you Wellington. But first you have to get there."

"Nothing to it."

Wellington's mouth pouted prayerfully as Miou-Miou's pusslips twisted into a feline leer. Clitoris a one-eyed witheringsneer gaze. Wellington's eyes hazed. Twatlips grimaced. Liquid slipped out. "Neeeee-iiinh!"

Slivers of liquid silver and gold flipped out from Miou-Miou's cuntfolds.

Dazedly,.crazily, Wellington dropped into a folded jackknife position, buckled at the knees and hips. He flipped his tongue out and spread it wide. Lapped from side to side.

"Ah. Naw ni-ni."

Wellington sucked off Miou-Miou's feet as her piss rolled down the insides of her thighs past her knees.

Pizzle and shower water drizzled upon Wellington's gobbling jaws as he sawed into Miou-Miou's flittering feet.

"Easy now," Miou-Miou said as she drew his head higher up toward her pissing cunt.

Cuntjuices boiled to the touch of Wellington's mouth to Miou-Miou's crotch. Tightly napped cunthairs scraped across Wellington's face.

"Aaaaawn."

Miou-Miou tinkled pizzle over Wellington's forehead. Worked it into his hair with waggles of her snaggling pussy.

"Slurgle."

Wellington munched on Miou-Miou's pissing cunt as she shimmied his jimmying maw higher up on her haunch. She thrust her buttcheeks into his hands.

Jammed her asshole down on his fingers.

"Now," Miou-Miou murmured.

Wellington frigged Miou-Miou's feet with his penis and then held her hiney and cunt close to his chest as he rolled backward.

"Eiiinh."

Wellington dorked one of his toes into Miou-Miou's navel. Dredged his foot down into the center of her cuntfolds.

"Oh!"

Wellington rolled a big toe into the tightness of Miou-Miou's asshole. "Oooooh."

Miou-Miou wafted her body around and snorkled onto Wellington's dork.

She corked his cock through her mouth and yanked her head back.

Dick drove in and out.

"Yum."

Wellington played one foot at Miou-Miou's bum.

Footfucked her cunt with the other one.

His big toe burped on up Miou-Miou's asshole and he rolled it sideways to stretch her rectum out like a rubberband.

He jerkied her clitoris with the grasp of his foot through the wettened forest of her mounted Venus snatchtrap.

Cuntlips flapped upon Wellington's footsie as simultaneously he continued to fuck Miou-Miou's tushie with his big toe.

Miou-Miou's face glowed orgasmically as she spasmed in Wellington's fuck embrace. Her quim frothed out choads of oils.

Her asshole roiled to the shudder and quake of her unslaked and still-fermenting turn of climax.

"Alalalala. Eiiiinh. Iiiiinh. Oooooh. Ululululu. Yi-yiii-yiiiii!"

Miou-Miou imploded into oblivion as Wellington's gonads detonated a blast of white-hot carbonated jizzom in fission of nuclear intensity. His ballocks ballooned to immensity.

Bomblike cockheat blew off a cloudy gel that mushroomed out and over Miou-Miou's cocksuckering mouthlips. Her cunt stammered upon the edges of Wellington's toenails.

Her asshole yammered to the hammering of his hard-on big toe.

Come flowed from her cunt.

Jizzom jumped from his pecker.

Stinger zinged in and out of Miou-Miou's face- piercing her through her lithe swanlike neck as she milked the last lingering ejections of cockcream with the muscles of her neck.

Miou-Miou torqued her tongue around the inside of her mouth. Cleared her palate of the last dollops and curds of his jockjuice. .

"Luscious," Miou-Miou lithed.

She writhed her pussy and hiney upon Wellington's feet. Randied her fanny upon his large toe. Took hold of his clubbing foot that was clutching the inside of her cunt.

Pulled it inward with snaps of her labia. Cringed off to new intensity.

"That's what they call footballing."

Three

Spurred cowgirl boots. Lickabie legs covered in suede chaps legs shooting out to plump-pumping grinding bared rind of cowhide rumpmeat.

Sweetheart of the rodeo glistening within fringed panties without a crotch.

Tits tipped with arrowhead pasties. Pistols at the ready.

Just like in the movies.

Get the picture?

Almost.

It was another of those days for Mustang Fannie Mae. She watched the other bitches sashay by in the hotel lobby, hitching their britches up tight in the crotch to show off tight slits of asscrack and snatch.

Pussies in fancy booties was all those city roundup dolls were.

Fannie Mae was the real thing.

Authentic queen of the cowgirls.

She had won that title in Reno some months back. Another one something like it she had garnered in a fair outside of Fort Worth just a couple weeks ago.

But it didn't seem to mean much on the streets of New York City, where she now loped across the street from her hotel, carrying several bags of her own saddlery gear over to Madison Square Garden for the last roundup of the day.

Fannie Mae spat tobacco-juiced sputum from between her upper front teeth, spittle dribbled over her lower lip.

She sipped it back in.

Blew out another wad of spit.

Sucked bubbles of her saliva lividly inside her mouth as she tried not to think too awful much about the competition coming up.

Bronco busting-no soap. Calf-roping-still hope. Riding the bull was another thing. One of Fannie Mae's best events, it was also often the most rugged-depending on the bull she drew and what she had been through physically and mentally leading up to it.

Fannie Mae saw a dude-kind of cute, he was- as slender and wiry as the cheroot he was smoking- fatchewing with a gaggle of bleach-blonde groupie girls who wore fringed buckskin and embroidered denim-with hems slapping whorishly halfway up their asses.

The man nodded in passing as Fannie Mae walked past. She walked fast, barely glancing between the flowing folds of his smooth capelike leather duster coat. But still Fannie Mae sensed the size of the firearm he was toting.

Had heard the jingle of his flashy spurs.

Down in the confines of the indoor stable, Fannie Mae was checking out the cinch of her colt after the calf-roping-and-tying event, which she had a bit of trouble with when she had slid from the saddle and splatted with legs wide, straddling the calf in the middle.

Fannie Mae was able to fiddle out of it-but it was not one of her featured events and any seconds added to her time would have to be subtracted in effect from her better performances.

And Fannie Mae was neck and neck with a couple of other rodeo gals going into the final rounds. She twirled a lariat around in her hands and frowned.

The sound of spurs rang subtly in the back of her mind.

Whirr and grind of star-shaped rowels chinking along the straw. Tipping chunks of horseshit and bullshit and hunks of scattered livestock feed.

Fannie Mae saw the shape-it did not escape her after all.

Recognized him immediately. "Never sneak up on anybody that way, dude," Fannie Mae cooed. "Jingle-jangle-jingle."

"Didn't intend to," he drawled tipping his wide-brimmed black hat with flat crown and a tasseled rattlesnake band running around it. "How do you do," crawled from his lips without a question mark.

"Thought you were a cowboy at first," Fannie Mae twisted through her lips. "But that accent-!"

"I ride the rail trails of the subways. Home on the range upon the theater stage. I'm an actor. They hired me to replace a stud who was a little injured in the Wild West shootout routine they put on to entertain the urban and suburban fantasies. Between the real things."

"I see. Well, you must have some experience."

"Sure-I do stuntwork in Hollywood sometimes. I can shoot-fake a fight pretty good. Ride-but not like you can, Fannie Mae. That's an understatement."

In the background a horse whinnied.

"Shoot." Fannie Mae flushed four shades of scarlet across her forehead, facecheeks, and neck. "Heck. Thanks for saying that."

He rustled his feet.

Spurs spun.

He wrinkled his nose and the bristles of his unshaven beard took off at barbwired angles to his light guileless smile.

"Now I see," Fannie Mae said. "I recognize that expression from one of the Westerns."

"Bit parts."

"You're a villain. Get to do the killing."

"But not high enough billing." He extended a gloved hand toward hers and shook it at the wrist. "Still it's kinda a living. Jake Marlborough."

"I always thought that name was fake."

"Fake as the deputy marshal star I'm wearing. Goes with the teevee shows. I'm sure you must think they're phony."

"Horseshit," Fannie Mae snitted as she kicked. "Bullshit. Nothing like the real thing. But they can be a little fun to watch-for the plots." Her spurs hummed as she shot her foot repeatedly at a tumbleweed ball of rolled dried bullchip and straw. Kicked it along as she walked between the rows of stalls in front of her.

Marlborough hovered slightly behind her to the left. Watching her spurred heels slink. Lifting his eyes up the back of her chapparreras leggings to where the rumpmeat swelled.

There was an ass that never went begging, Marlborough surmised.

Surprisingly, he saw her continue through a wide doorway without saying "So long" or otherwise bidding adieu and Marlborough saw his chance.

Marlborough watched Fannie Mae swing her limbs determinedly toward another passageway opening up onto another warehouse-sized room where more animals loomed into view.

Fannie Mae's ponytail waved down behind her as she looked back. Slapped her gloved hand to her tits as she twisted.

"I didn't know-you were following me, Marlborough." She was jabbering. "I just-had other things in my head instead of-oh!"

"Say, baby. I didn't come down here just to pass the time of day. Say: Hey! and congratulate you and be on my way."

"Want my autograph?"

"Written with your tongue along my prick."

"That your idea of a pick-up line?" Fannie Mae chewed lewdly through rudely screwed lips. "All the New York gypsy actresses you fuck in the mouth, ass, and cunt must really go down for it."

"It's called a joke."

"Only if it's funny."

"Even if it isn't, bitch." "Hawhaw haw."

Marlborough slapped Fannie Mae's jaw. "Ow. You bastard."

"Want it harder? That your problem?"

Marlborough lobbed a right fist out toward the side of Fannie Mae's face.

She dodged and twisted directly into Marlborough's left jab and blinked with tongue slinked out between snapping teeth as Marlborough cuffed her with an uppercut right.

"Motherfucker," Fannie Mae huffed. "I have another event I'm riding tonight."

"So you don't want to be roughed up," Marlborough coughed. "Or maybe your kink is you don't get roughed up enough."

Fannie Mae stepped back and kicked up at Marlborough's crotch with the toe of her boot.

"Oooh."

Marlborough cocked a leg up and deflected Fannie Mae's kick with his knee.

Stepped forward and took Fannie Mae's next jarring leg attack right in the nuts.

Shocked her with hard-on cock.

Rutted like a mutt against her gam.

"Unh."- Fannie Mae twanged a fist into Marlborough's prick.

Then pushed him away from her by the shoulders, spitting tobacco-juiced sputum at him as she shot her leg out and up.

Marlborough twisted his torso as Fannie Mae scratched at his eyesockets.

His peepers jumped in their sprockets as Fannie Mae socked into him with the toe of her boot right up toward his poopdeck.

Marlborough bucked forward and then huddled slyly off to the side clutching himself in the midsection with both hands stranded on his erection.

"Ho ho ho." Fannie Mae's face glowed. "I'll show you how to take a cuss down."

Fannie Mae kicked Marlborough to the ground with her spurred heel upon his hiney.

Jabbed blindly toward his balls with her soles.

Kicked him in the bucket with her toes.

Roundhoused and hauled off a whallop at his balls with her heel.

"Arlgh."

Spurs spun around as Fannie Mae hammered her rowels in and out of Marlborough's nutpouch with alternate glances of her bootheels.

"How does that feel, buster? Take a little luster off your bogus star?"

"Close. But no cigar."

"Don't you mean cheroot, cowpoke?"

Fannie Mae stuck her bootheel into a piece of crusty manure. Shot it up to Marlborough's snout in a flying leap, keeping her legs out and her upper body balanced as she would doing something chancy when mounting a young bull. "Shit."

Marlborough's head snapped back and his skull cracked against a railing.

Marlborough kicked up at Fannie Mae's cunt and sent her reeling.

His cheroot smashed into his jaws and a smudge of dusty shit sizzled in a reeking ember at the still-burning tip.

His eyes narrowed to flinty slits.

He pushed his pelvis forth.

Took hold of one side of his oiled leather duster and drew it back as he placed a hand on his hip. Showed a long mean and lithe sidearm hard alongside his thigh.

Fannie Mae stood there and waited. Shook her head as he spoke smokily: "Make my day, filly," Marlborough brayed.

Snot looped out through his snout.

Bubbles of blood clotted as he chuckled, thumbs now tucked under his belt buckle.

"Read my cuntlips," Fannie Mae yawned. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."

"I'm a sailor." Marlborough eyed out somewhere in near space. "We sailed. In a pirate sloop. Maybe this is the wrong act. Yeah. That's it. Kid Yancey I am. Outlaw on a mad-dog rampage."

"Been smoking too much sagebrush, Kid. You can't take it for real. Remember-you're only an actor, my dear. I'm the cowgirl around here. Say- aren't you supposed to be a deputy marshal anyway?"

"Kicks to the head," Marlborough said in deadly earnest. "Bring out the worst in me."

Marlborough snapped a leather fist to the inside lining of his duster. Hustled out an oiled and coiled slip of deep gray leather.

"Hippopotamus hide," Fannie Mae said snidely. "They supply you with real fine bullwhips backstage. What-? Is this a setup?"

Fannie Mae's spurs jinglanglonged as she stepped sideways and then to the rear. Marlborough snapped out the length of oiled leather and Fannie Mae measured its range.

"Nine-footer," Fannie Mae slicked from her lips. "Long enough bull whip for me to use. Here's to me hoping it's too much for you to control."

Fannie Mae rolled in toward Marlborough.

He slid the whip about her ankle and the leather became entangled with Fannie Mae's spurs. Marlborough tripped her up by the heel.

"Myfuckingchrist."

Diced into her leg with stomp-tromps of his own pointed toes.

Threw his featherweight leather duster over both himself and Fannie Mae as he swayed eerily about her lower limbs and hinders.

Huffing of breath and shuffling of leather. "Ai-iii-iiiii!"

Fannie Mae whined as Marlborough whipped the rattlesnake band from around his hat and latched it around Fannie Mae's neck.

"Yechk."

Marlborough twisted the snakeskin band into a slipknot under Fannie Mae's chin. Brought her face close in to his.

She hissed spit like a viper shooting venom between her front teeth. Then pursed her lips and reached out with her tonguetip. Breathing out loudly and clipping his teeth as they kissed.

"No way, Marlborough."

Marlborough lapped along the underside of Fannie Mae's earlobe. Bobbled his brittily bristled chin down her neck.

"Come on, slim. I'll hafta kick you again."

"Keep wiggling."

"Oh-I get it."

"No-you do."

Fannie Mae drew his revolver and tapped against the snake rattles attached to the noose about Fannie Mae's neck.

"Savage world. Isn't it, Fannie Mae?"

"Anything you say."

"Pray."

"Hey-this act has gone far enough. That actually hurts when you twist it like that." "Cowgal brat." Fannie Mae spat again. Marlborough spat back.

Fannie Mae cracked her teeth and slid her tongue out to taste Marlborough's saliva. His head was buried beneath her fringed vest.

Lips nestled between her breasts.

Fannie Mae swerved to the side and Marlborough caught her up with a firm grip to the ankles. His | hands slipped down to her spurs as she churned her legs together.

"Unh."

Marlborough's tongue flipped out as he snaked his body down around her bellybutton and waist. He tasted the straw, the dried muck, and other stuff as he ruffled down the insides of Fannie Mae's chaps.

Fannie Mae hustled her hinders as Marlborough laid into the tops of her boots with a series of juddering chews.

Saliva dripping from his flews.

"Yeah-go on."

Marlborough lifted the barrel of his revolver and cocked the hammer back. Placed a finger gingerly upon the trigger.

Twitched it limberly.

Caught the hammer before it hit the bullet in the chamber.

Marlborough spun the barrel around, and nearly soundlessly cocked the gun again and shoved it bull's-eye into Fannie Mae's mouth. "Neaugh."

Fannie Mae sucked gun as Marlborough went down on her boots.

He rooted his snout about the toetips. Lapped the leather and its patina of dust and manure and sucked loudly through lip-shrouded teeth.

"Eeeeeh."

Marlborough drove the barrel of his revolver in and out between Fannie Mae's teeth as she breathed juicily onto the gunmetal.

Marlborough licked up Fannie Mae's shins and peeled the warped boot leather from Fannie Mae's legs. Dragged her unsnapped chaps down at the same time as he wrenched her Levis open and dragged them along with her moist underpants down over her thighs.

"Ai-iii-iiiiinh. Ei-iii-iiiiinh. Iiiiinh. Oooooh. Uluoughloughloughlough. Yee-yiii-yinny. Aaah. Aaah. Aaah. Aaaaawn."

Fannie Mae groaned as Marlborough sucked Fannie Mae's bare foot. She mushed her instep through the dreck of cowchips and horse manure that had dried to rusty dust within the lustiness of the straw.

Fannie Mae explored the spaces between Fannie Mae's reeking feet. He swathed the tingling toetips with the flat of his tongue.

Hung his teeth onto her toenails and rattled them like keys.

Now Marlborough sucked Fannie Mae's other hoof-the booted one.

Licked flecks of horseshit and bullshit from the sharp tips of her whirling spurs. Shiny like shark's teeth. Wet breath oiling the roundels as they tore into lower mouthlips.

Singing lips of quim limned within Marlborough's vision. He made incisions with his teeth between Fannie Mae's toes and then rose nose-first toward her dripping cunt.

"Uuuuunh."

Fannie Mae flailed away at her clitoris maniacally with one fist as with her other set of digits she stripped away her blouse and vest to Marlborough's assistance.

Marlborough kissed the grit underneath Fannie Mae's toenails. Groveled his hard-on between her legs as he bent her backward stretched out under him.

"Inh."

Fannie Mae's hinders bucked up onto Marlborough's horseheaded dingalingdong. Marlborough's spurs jinglangalonged with his shuffling feet as he twisted his hard rattlesnake meat between Fannie Mae's dusty nates.

"Ay!"

Fannie Mae's hooves drove into the straw as in the background humpbacked bulls lowed slowly in their stalls. They cornholed the walls with their longhorns as the essence of Fannie Mae's rut slutted through the air.

Marlborough peckertip bit into Fannie Mae's bung. He skewered her onion on his stinger.

Tingling twinge of asshole rolling over cockhead as Fannie Mae's spread her hinders wider and hammered with her heels upon Marlborough's rumphide.

"Inside."

Fannie Mae friskied her toes down the outsides of Marlborough!s legs as he pegged her punkhole with long-barreled shafts of the haft of his ramrod.

Marlborough grunted his prick up Fannie Mae's ass with corkscrew action.

His toes mingled with hers as their limbs twisted amidst oiled leather, snakeskin, fuck-perspiration, cuntjuices, ballsweat, straw, sand, and sawdust, as well as animal dung.

Fannie Mae split her mouthlips and skipped out a yowl from her yip: "Yi-yeeeh-yinny!"

Marlborough screwed into Mustang Fannie Mae's bucking fanny.

Filling every nookie cranny of her hiney with his rawhide choad.

Marlborough road the cowgirl high in her saddle. Legs astraddle her hinders with saddlehorn cornholing her innards to barbecue cinders.

Fannie Mae bit her lower lip to think of it.

Teardrops squinked from the sides of her eyefolds as she moved her feet snidely against Marlborough's boots.

She shot her tail back harder onto Marlborough's cock. Rocked her shoulders and threw her sweat-drenched ponytail out at Marlborough's fuckstering face. Wrenched the tie from around her bound locks-flailed out a mane of her wettened tresses over Marlborough's grimacing rictus of fuck.

"Unh. Unh. Unh."

Marlborough shot a set of fingers into his balls to loosen up the juices.

Fannie Mae jerked her clit.

Feet entwined with writhing toes.

Marlborough tossing Fannie Mae's naked form back and forth.

Fannie Mae bucking back at Marlborough.

He fucked her ass on a pile of shit.

She loved it.

Fannie Mae tongued his gun and he fired it off once or twice-since it was after all loaded with blanks-blah-bla-aaa-aaaaah-blamnh!

She yanked Marlborough's head down her shanks and he assfucked her upside down so he could lick her heels-the bare one and the booted spurred one.

As he shot off spurt after slow spurt of scum slurried from the pursed prepuce lips of his muttering hard-on. "Eaugh."

Marlborough ejaculated slim lines of glimmering slime up the crack of Fannie Mae's behind. She ground her asshide from side to side.

Jizzom sloughloughed up into Fannie Mae's cuntflews as Marlborough pumped into her front for an instant before pitching more jizzom into her sniveling navel.

Marlborough babbled: "Pawpaw pawpaw pawpaw pawpaw ahau maumau. Pawpaw ahau maumau."

Fannie Mae chowed down every snippet of sweat and dreck and yech she could crowd into her mouth as she licked out Marlborough behind his ears, under his arms, behind the nuts, between the buttocks cheeks, upon the pricktip.

And-oh!

Those toes.

Now the ending to this story is that of course Fannie Mae was invigorated enough by her discovery of the intricacies of having her feet sucked that she shut down that wild raging bull and pulled into the lead to stay.

It didn't happen that way.

No way at all.

Fannie Mae and Marlborough balled until after Fannie Mae missed her call.

Her manager went off the wall and fired himself from her services.

Marlborough had an idea-he was an actor, after all. And Fannie Mae could perform.

Fannie Mae and Marlborough now have a circus act. Kid Yancey Marlborough and Queen of the Cowgirls Mustang Fannie Mae.

When you see them next time they're in your town or city-go back to them-tell them you're a fan, and ask them to autograph your boots for you.

No?

Four

Shrimptoed water nymphs of beauty rare and wild have been the stuff of legend-of course such creatures really do exist, though perhaps without powers that are explicitly mystical.

Any dangerous attraction these women of the waters may hold for the venturing soldier of fortune is more than likely due to machinations of the realms of physicality and mentality by these nubile undines-a rather worldly approach personified in the form of a devious femme fatale.

What were the lyrics to the toe-tapping song of the Sirens that so tortured the wily Odysseus?

Did Lancelot du Lac lick the feet of the Lady of the Lake?

Where did Morgan la Faye insist Gawain seal their remembrance with a kiss?

If the Rhine maidens wore flippers or slippers- did it matter to the passing fisherman?

Whether it is the sprite of the babbling brook who hooks the knight-errant or the mermaid who offers a taste to the sailor-the tale is the same.

Here then commences a modern-day rendition of this age-old theme that offers a portrayal of the riches of the sea that seems destined to pass into the language of contemporary mythology.

The sea rolled into the beach-as if snoring in the mist of early morning.

A river had sprung up overnight in the seam of the cliff, in response to the previous evening's storm, draining the overflow of a small lake that studded the marshy shore on the low-lying inland side of the ocean highway.

A motorcycle buckled to a halt in a swath of gravel.

A leatherclad man dismounted the smoking burping metal steed as the engine sighed.

He snapped the visor of his helmet up above his clear-eyed visage as he ran his gaze over the sylphlike silhouettes flicking their limbs with flipping feet along the silvery crescent-moon slice of silken sandy seashore in the distance.

Then he hawkeyed the twisting waterfall of the transient river limning over the edge of the low cliff into the frothing surf where a moll perhaps clad solely in water appeared to stage a bath.

The waterfall itself brought to his mind a stream of ladyjuice sluicing in the cleft beneath a maiden's clitbud as she whirled in a water dance.

And the shore of the small lagoon appeared home to a brood of nubile nymphettes playing a randy game of volleyball that seemed to include such rarefied moves as kissyface, tug-the-titty, grabass, smellcunt, and lickfoot.

The man kicked diffidently at the driveway gravel with swings of the toes and heels his motorcycle boots.

He popped his helmet from his head.

Unzipped his leathers partway, wiped his face with a bandana, and sloughed toward the metal-gated entranceway.

The building carried but a single story of lacquer and glass brickwork above the driveway, but situated as it was upon the ledge of the cliff, he could see the complex extended in tiers waffling down from the edge of the rise to a marina in a cove at one end of the beach.

In between were open spaces featuring arrays of pools divided into racing lanes or set with triple decks of diving boards and platforms.

Seaview Institute Natatorium and Marina the sign centered above the gateway said.

Buzzing sounds.

He pounded at the latch and was in.

"So you're some kind of dick," the tousel-haired chick behind the desk said as she read the man's calling card. "Are you properly appointed?"

She spoke coyly.

Indicated her impatience with his apparently nonforthcoming answer by tapping against the side of the metal desk with a light-colored leather juarache crooked from the end of one toe.

He licked her insole mentally and then ran his tongue around her ankle.

Then nibbled in his mind up her entwined legs- eating through the textured zip-on leggings that hugged her from her calves to her hiney.

She sighed snidely.

Spoke: "Does the lady know about this?"

"If the lady is Doctor Veruschka Van Dyke I am well appointed indeed."

She crinkled her nose and warped her lips at him in a thin down turned grin.

Tabbed a box on the desk and spoke into it: "This Donovan character. He's here."

She glared at Donovan as he stared past her into the dark nave of the building paved with stone flagging. Donovan lagged back for an instant when the low gate clicked and barely made it through.

Donovan thought he saw her actually crack into a sincere smile as he frigged through the gate.

"Wait in there, Donovan." She flicked her big toe at him. "Doctor will be with you momentarily."

Donovan found himself in a foyer decorated with statues and paintings of female practitioners of the culture of athletic water sports.

There was a short pedestal upon which Donovan found the sculptured figure of a diver with toes torqued and arms outstretched over her head.

Donovan dipped his stance and lanced a tongue out playfully at the statue's feet.

Breathed in to stifle his laughter and began to inspect a large wall painting featuring a naked lady dancing on a pile of pearls within the labialike curls of an oversized cockleshell.

Before Donovan had a chance to ponder the imagery inherent in all this his head twisted in response to a hiss: "Seems you secretly inspect artistic collections," the deeply feminine voice bled within the shimmering envelope of an echo. "Or perhaps not so secretly, Mister Donovan."

She extended her wrist-standing not a foot from him. He took her hand and shook it automatically, and haughtily she flung the back of her hand up toward his face for him to kiss.

Donovan did.

"I always liked that gesture," Donovan commented blandly. "Kissing the hand is more seemly an affect than rattling it and trying to break it simply in order to show how tough you are."

"I agree," she said within a sheath of cigarette smoke wafted from the end of a long holder she held in front of her halter bodice.

Her boobs mushroomed as she breathed.

Legs teased down partly wrapped in a sarong and her feet were laced within thin gilt sandals. Long gold-painted toenails impaled the air.

"Doctor Veruschka Van Dyke, I presume?"

"I have a security problem."

"That's what you said on the phone."

She nodded.

Veruschka began to advance from the foyer through automatic doors that gave onto a garden atrium wherein young ladies in disheveled swimming apparel lounged about a fountain sipping pastel-colored iced frappes.

Veruschka waved to her youthful charges as she and Donovan passed through onto a narrow walkway along the ridge of the cliff offering a view of the sea, the trickle of the river, the edge of the pond, and a swarm of girls at work in any of several glittering swimming pools.

"As you may know," Veruschka droned. "I have a program here at the Seaview Institute to train and groom young women for international athletic competition. Swimming. Diving. Synchronized swimming. Water polo. You will have deduced that we also have departments devoted to research projects in marine biology and human physiology."

"And you just happened to stumble upon a sunken treasure ship. Am I warm?"

Veruschka smiled steadily as her steps took them unerringly across the walkway onto a sundeck. Donovan looked back toward the waterfall, led there by Veruschka's eyes.

"There she is," Donovan said. "Prime suspect."

Veruschka slimed: "I see you've done your homework, Donovan. Babette stretches out a lot-especially when she's hot. Prefers the falling water."

"She's your daughter."

"Not necessarily-though it may look that way on paper. Any particulars you may require for your investigation, Donovan-Cynthia will be more than happy to supply you with."

Donovan's eyes slit.

"Regardless of what you think, Donovan," Veruschka twinkled. "It is evident you hit it off quite well with Cynthia. She let you through without too much of a bitchup-no?"

"Guess I'll go start with her then."

Donovan kissed Veruschka's wrist again and clicked his motorcycle boots back into the main administration building, where he found Cynthia waiting for him with a pile of files at the reception desk.

"Here, Donovan. Take these." "Where to?" "I'll show you a room you can use."

Cynthia lofted her toes from the top of the desk and thrashed her ass in front of Donovan through a glass arcade into a shaded alcove obscured from view by an undecorated folding screen.

There was library shelving filled with large volumes and a display of shellfish featuring a glassed-in fountain in the corner where swam examples of shrimp, lobster, squid, and a rack of oysters and clams, as well as a crabwalk.

Donovan had a hard-on as Cynthia slammed the files between them onto a stone table.

As he bent his head there was a whispered chittering in his ear: "I saw you looking at me, Donovan. You were watching what I did with my feet. Know something, kid? I want you to lick them."

"Come again?"

"Stick them between your teeth." "Get on my knees?"

"Sure. It's fun. It's easy."

"Look-I know this has the reputation of being a sleazy racket I'm in-but, believe me-a private investigator can't play too many of those kinds of tricks and get away with it for long."

"You know what this is all about, don't you?" Cynthia said stealthily. "Think of it. Women and the sea."

"I see."

"No you don't. Lobsters, starfish, sponges-all fishes are like women-I mean you cannot deny the affinity in taste."

"Finny in taste, you said?"

"Maybe you do get it. Oysters and clams-they're so much like the clitoris."

"And shrimp?"

"Big ones are like the gams-but the tiny ones of those are most like the toes." "I do see."

"Suck these toes for me. Please."

Cynthia posed with her arse on the edge of the tabletop. She flopped back on folded arms and snapped her knees up to her chest.

Flexed her toes like bands of bon-bons.

Flicked her foot against Donovan's hard-on.

"Okay."

Bending, Donovan took one of Cynthia's heels in his grip between thumb and finger. Kissed at the ankle gingerly.

"Fine feet, milady."

"Don't get carried away by your code of chivalry. Suck them shrimp, wimp."

Cynthia's toes snapped, crackled, popped as Donovan minced them in his jaws.

"Oooooh. Tickles."

He slicked the tasty morsels against his tongue. Tamped them with his teeth. "Wheel" Licked up between the two big ones as she tweaked his nostrils.

"Enough," Donovan said, slipping a look back over his shoulder.

"Come on. In. In me. Your dick."

Cynthia twitched Donovan's pants open.

Donovan twisted his prick into her.

Ran his whanger between her largest toe and the wriggling one next to it.

"So you got some good evidence," Donovan mentioned casually as he dragged his balls along the tops of Cynthia's toes. "That's correct?"

"Pertaining to what?" Cynthia said, crawling her toes along Donovan's cock and lifting her butt from the tabletop.

"Veruschka said you did. Said you know everything. All about it."

"She said I did? Doctor Veruschka Van Dyke is a sniveling, lying sow of a pig if she told you I had anything at all to do with it."

Donovan frigged through Cynthia's prayerfully clasped feet.

Randied his dickmeat along the indentations and undulations of her toetips.

Licked his lips and buckled forward.

Sucked onto one of Cynthia's small toes and twisted it in his yip.

"Iiih. Yeeeh."

Cynthia took hold of her stretch-blouse and tore her tits out. "See these?"

Donovan reached up and squeezed them. Tips hard and hungry. Boobflesh firm and fresh.

Cynthia jacked off Donovan's cock with the side of her foot as she snagged a zipper to her leggings and flashed the rest of herself out.

Cuntlips pouted.

Anus stuttered.

Donovan reached up Cynthia's legs with his mouth-lips and tongue moving-while he ran his fleshy blade through Cynthia's lissome feet.

"Sweet," Cynthia said. "Footfucking is so beautiful. Can you cream in me?"

"We'll see."

Donovan butted up Cynthia's legs and clutched at her feet with his toes. He drove his dingdong through the dankness of her cuntfolds as a shimmer of jizzom rippled his ballocks.

"Uuuuunh."

He cocked her quickly as she demanded his fuck: "Faster. Blam me. I want come!"

They fluttered their feet together as Cynthia tethered Donovan's cock to her cunt with jutting rut-thrusts of her buttocks.

Twatjuices fumed through the room and Cynthia gushed gobs of cuntcome.

Maw swabbed with sweat, Donovan suckled Cynthia's sweet titmeat.

Pressed their chests together in fuck.

Spermlets warmed through Donovan's pud. Then jizzom jumped from the stinging snout. Cream slid through Cynthia's briny cuntfolds.

Glistening oils trailed down between Cynthia's legs as she dredged Donovan still-sputtering dick up under her hinders toward her asshole.

"Oh-my as-sss-sssss! You must fuck me in my ass. Fuck me there fast. In the aaaaassssshole."

Donovan's dork uncoiled briskly and corked into Cynthia's bung.

Twanger thunked into Cynthia's bung as she hung her legs about Donovan's hips.

Cynthia's asshole slipped and squeaked as she folded her feet weakly over Donovan's rutting buttocks. Trailed her toes down into his asscrack.

"Eiii."

Cynthia stretched Donovan's asshole wide with her feet pressing the nates of his juddering buttocks.

She humped with her hiney to get more jizzjuice loosened.

Frigged away at his fanny with flails of heels and toes against his rosehole. "Oh!"

Cynthia groped to a new level of orgasm as Donovan spasmed off a wad of come into her punk. Prickmeat squirted with a squeal from Cynthia's bunghole as Cynthia coiled her legs more tightly and hammered away at Donovan's rump with frightening intensity.

"You know, Cynthia. What you said about Veruschka? She never accused you of anything. You just jumped to conclusions. Is there anything in these files I could use?"

"You might get off better using our naiad out there by the waterfall."

"Babette."

"That slick little tramp. She'll framp you and fluse you with every ruse if you try to get through to her. Schizo I think. Thinks she's a goddess or something."

"Aren't you being a little hard on her?"

"Haven't been hard enough," Cynthia said smugly. "That's what you're here for. Now that you've passed the test. You see Babette for yourself next. Veruschka and I will be waiting for your report on that little psychofuckstress."

"As you insist," Donovan said zipping back up into his leathers.

He tethered his helmet on as he walked out to his motorcycle, kicked off, chugged up the hill to the ravine where the narrow river ran from the edge of the lagoon to its miniature waterfall tumbling a liquid ribbon into the ocean slinked over the supine body of a gauze-covered lady with steaming semiprecious eyes.

"Hi."

"Fucker. Doncha know you ain't supposed to sneak up on naked ladies and gawk at them in their bath?"

"I didn't know you were naked, Babette." She looked down at herself. Held some of the wet material out from her bosom.

"Well," she snorted. "You can see through it. Same thing as naked."

Donovan placed his helmet down on a rock next to him. Tested the water in the tiny whirlpool formed in the ledge wherein Babette had collected herself.

Babette kicked the helmet off the rock with lithe pawed foot.

"Into the drink with you, sucker," Babette giggled. "If you want that helmet back."

Donovan dove down around and underneath Babette's hinders. Gripped her underwater by the ankles and twisted through her legs to the surface.

"Aiiiiinh!" Babette whined.

Then Donovan dragged Babette gagging by her headhair to where she was half in the water and half on the rocks.

"Nice socks," Donovan said as he lifted her feet to his head.

He sucked down mound after mound of Babette's toes. In between the digits was strung a long length of pearls-of large size but not well matched as to color and shape.

Her toes crunched like raw shrimplets between Donovan's nibbling lips and teeth.

Babette gaped her cuntlips-squiggling squidlike as Donovan chewed up her fishy gams.

Donovan sucked into Babette's crabclaw pussy and found a mound of pink clitlike pearls unfurling around his tongue.

He poked his nose into her sea-urchin blowhole.

Encountered several large round single pearls of purplish color rattling round in her bung.

"Unh Unh. Unh."

Donovan stuck in a thumb.

Pulled out a pearl.

"What a good girl you are. Grind your groin a little bit and look what I find."

"Aren't you even gonna fuck me? Some detective you are."

"That's right-now that you mention it I did come up here with some sort of intentions like that.

Thought I'd mentioned it."

"I can't cuntfuck with men. Won't ever again. That's only for us water nymphs."

"Not even with shrimp?"

"You can stick your piggietoes in my blowhole if you want to. But nothing goes into the front but another lady's clitoris-or nipple-hee hee hee."

Donovan slid his wetly leathered body in next to Cynthia. Winced open her legs by yanking her ankles and toes with his hands.

Babette's panting pusskins waved fringed thatch like a patch of seaweed or tentacles. Babette's asshole winked open and shut like the mouth of a fish.

"Fuck it."

"Both?"

"Yeah. And fuck my face while you're at it." "Thought you wouldn't do that." "I was lying about being lez-bo." "You lie a lot."

"Whenever I've got the chance. Even lie when I don't have to. Just for practice."

"To refine your technique."

"Fuck me, honeydude. And don't take it easy. I like to feel it after I've screwed."

Donovan's teeth clattered upon Babette's face as he raced his cock in and around her pussmound. He wrenched her clitoris sideways with the wedged head of his twanger.

Babette chewed the air as she gloried in instant and insistent orgasm..

Banged boner into tightly churning twat.

Randied asshole as Babette's anus squealed.

Popped his pecker out and spouted a spume of spermoil upon Babette's shiny tum-tum.

Snapped off a jolt of jizzom to her face.

"Yum."

Come hung from her mouthlips like liquid pearl mother and she rubbed her feet together.

"I like it when we fuck there best," Babette said. "Do it again."

"Aren't you going to confess or anything?"

"Start walking. I ain't talking to you anymore."

"Mind if I take the pearls? Leave you a few to chew on if you want."

It was evidently lunchtime when Donovan wandered onto the sundeck to find Veruschka and Cynthia sitting face to face upon a chaise longue.

Veruschka hung her mouth down over Cynthia's feet and hawked her mouth up and down like a scavenger beast feasting upon carrion.

Cynthia sucked between one of Veruschka's toes.

Their naked bodies glowed beneath a patina of sunscreen, rutoils, and fuck-perspiration.

"Do I get a ration too?" Donovan said as he observed. "What's on the menu?"

"A favorite of mine," Veruschka said trimly to Donovan. "Footliquor distilled and mulched with bodily fluff is the stuff of toejam-or toe truffles, as I prefer to refer to them. Have some of mine. They're sublime."

Five

Oriental sexual footbinding is by no means confined to the geisha classes. Well-bred women have traditionally been in the forefront of footbinding's trend-setting exponents-and females of all types of society have long sought to emulate the mode.

In the West, we know the expatriate Manchu noblewoman Ching Fah Loh Su-eeh to favor certain styles of erotic footwrapping to coordinate with her long sculptured fingernails-and the practice has from time to time enjoyed a certain vogue among the international chichi.

Courtesan's smiles and courtly wiles have been plied from the stem of the bound lotus blossom-as the foot thusly dressed is known to aficionados-and the folded foot has its devotees and patronage a traditional homeland throughout southeast Asia, the Indonesian archipelago, the regions of mainland China, Mongolia, and Tibet. As well, Manchurians, Koreans, and Japanese have their own wrapping styles.

And in the contemporary context-as we have seen-sometimes staid old traditions take on a new spin.

The sounds of the arena grew to a surly background hubbub as-at the clang of the bell-the contenders bent into their respective seats in their corners of the roped-in ring.

Pails of water were plashed over the faces of the fighters, whose appearance was much more colored by elements of the feline or vulpine than by the typically feminine.

"Whaddaya think of the chink cunt?" a man in the front row said just loud enough to be heard within the confines of the ring. "A new twist she brings-that slant bitch."

"She's not a new gal, Sal," the man seated next to him at ringside said. "If anything, Kat Zu-si is overexperienced."

"How come I never heard of her before?"

as been Zu-si Was on the Asian circuit mainly-a few exhibitions in Europe."

"You sportsboys, Colquohoun-know everything. To write about it right I guess you hafta know even more about it tharj the gamblers."

The bell again sounded and the two women contestants tossed off their robes and strode to the center of the ring.

The bell clinged again and the fighters started moving through the next round at heightened quickness and intensity.

Sal eyed the contestants.

"Nice tits," Sal slavered. "Both sets."

In the ring, taut leg muscles snapped and a foot whacked out. Slapping the other one's underbelly with knuckles aligned atop her fisted toes.

"Yo!"

To the rear of the stalking fighters, trainers and coaches hovered on the other side of the ropes, foreheads furrowed with concern. "You can tell it's on the line now," Sal said chowing down the ass-end of a heavily mustarded and ketchupped hotdog and bun. He washed his gullet down with beer as he spoke: "Look at those belles! They're giving each other hell."

Colquohoun kept his peepers trained upon the action inside the ring-nodded no when Sal offered Colquohoun a snack from a sack of tortilla chips gilded with melted nacho cheese.

"See her move, Sal."

"Kat Zu-sl's giving Rosalita a real kick in the cunt. That pussy can hurt ya-huh?" "I wouldn't know."

"Oh? Say, Colquohoun. You mean to tell me you make it with some of these chicks you write about- cover them for the news services?"

"Maybe a couple one-night shacks a while back," Colquohoun stated tartly. "But nothing really to write home about-to write about anyplace."

The crowd roared.

"The fuck-?" Sal sounded gruff. "Over!"

"Missed the action with all our gabbing," Colquohoun said matter of factly. "Kickboxing is one of the fastest sports-even though it doesn't look like it sometimes."

"Some legs they got-some feet." Sal shook his head and shrugged. "Have you on your knees begging for some of that twatsqueeze."

"Depend on what your kicks are, Sal. Say-I have to try to get a couple short interviews in the locker rooms. Won't be long."

"Wish I could come with," Sal added smartly. But I got this feeling it might set the ladies to squawking-with me tagging along and gawking."

"You don't think the ladies would appreciate your attentions?"

"Something about them babes-well, you know my intentions, ColquohOun." Sal raised one eyebrow wickedly. "I don't mean to insinuate nothing. But-maybe they're-howyousay-? Lezz-bians?"

"No comment."

"Like I say. You sportswriters got a 'line on everything, I guess."

"Time to go party, Sal. Have yourself a ball."

"Thanks for the tickets and the invite-you gonna drop by the club tonight?"

"Maybe I better not plan on it, Sal. Depends how late I am. I'm no good for fun when I'm under the gun of a deadline."

"So maybe I'll read all about it in the sporting news headlines tomorrow."

"Hang tight."

Colquohoun turned toward the side aisle as Sal met up with some friends by one of the exit doors and begin to slap their backs and chat them up. Colquohoun took off without waving or nodding to anyone among the loud crowd as the people filed out in the opposite direction from that which Colquohoun was moving.

He flashed a press pass and jazzed among the arena corridors. Checked his camera. Spied a figure walking slowly down the hallway alone, head lowered below her shoulders, from the back Colquohoun couldn't really tell who she was by sight-but he knew.

Caught up with her as she opened the door into a dressing room.

"Oh, say. Kat Zu-si-I'm Colquohoun-" "I know who you are."

"Quite a fight tonight."

"You got me in stitches already, mister."

"I was wondering if I could get a few comments from you-what happened in the final round?"

"She went down."

"So I saw. Say-is that any mood for a champ to be in, Kat Zu-si? The way you're acting-!"

Kat Zu-si slinked her almond-shaped peepers wide as she sidled inside the door. Held it open for Colquohoun to enter.

"No you didn't, Colquohoun. You didn't see anything." Kat Zu-si shut the door abruptly. "You and your friend were too busy jawing out loud and feeding your faces."

"Well-I meant--uh-do you think we could go over the videotapes of it?"

"Shit."

Kat Zu-si cocked a leg and threw a foot up onto the rim of a sink.

"You know, Colquohoun." Her face shone underneath a dressing of sweat as she moved her face close to the mirror under the bank of lights and inspected her frayed lips. "What ticks me off about sportswriters is that they never get it right."

Kat Zu-si thumbed across an abrasion on her cheek and then looked directly at Colquohoun: "Your supposed insights are phony baloney-you fucking never even saw-all that you write about is made up-like fiction."

"You do have a point," Colquohoun said as he slanted his eyes down Kat Zu-sl's bent leg. He watched as she pressed and massaged her hamstrings.

"Pretty fucking lame-o-for you, Colquohoun. Maybe a kick in the teeth would liven up your prose."

Kat Zu-si half-rose from her seat and sweeped an angled foot out in an arc that passed within an inch of the bridge of Colquohoun's nose.

"You didn't flinch," Kat Zu-si sneered. "You a robot or something, Colquohoun?"

"I have a lot of confidence in you."

Kat Zu-si crouched and rolled a roundhouse- wheeling a heel to glance lightly as an insect over the point of Colquohoun's chin.

"A lot of control," Colquohoun iterated. "That's what makes you great."

"I guess it doesn't say much good about me that you knew I wouldn't hurt you;" Kat Zu-si said.

"Mercy is not an admirable trait in a kickboxer," Colquohoun noted. "But I think you're the type who can separate her personal life from all the media hype that goes with the profession."

Kat Zu-si tugged at the moist taping that was now undraping from her feet.

She squeezed with both hands up and down both legs, pulling on the muscle groups and pushing the blood through the veins.

"Stiff," Kat Zu-si whispered. "Tight."

Gingerly she removed the tape from about her foot and inspected the calluses on her toes with her fingers and eyes.

"What I'm writing now," Colquohoun let out slowly, "is a work on a more serious and artistic level. Different kind of research."

"A novel," Kat Zu-si barfed.

"Close enough-in concept. But it is rather a treatment for a documentary film dealing with the intricacies of footbinding."

"A history," Kat Zu-si said expansively in a hiss through twisted lips.

"Cut the raving, Kat Zu-si. We know all about that. What I'm talking about is present-day manifestations of the art."

"Go on," Kat Zu-si eructed through opened mouth. "Men are all alike regardless of the slant in their eyes. Is a form of what you call sadomasochism. To control psychologically the court ladies, housewives-whores and slaves."

"I'll give you that," Colquohoun said, still playing his peepers along Kat Zu-sl's pedal assemblage as she brought both feet together. "But what is it that you do-?"

"Oh, surely you don't mean-the tape? The trainer does that." "But you like it."

"Sure," she shrugged. "It helps my fighting technique. Prevents injury."

The door rapped and several chaps danced through slinging gauze and tape and unguents. One of them draped a towel about Kat Zu-sl's head and daubed on antibiotic ointment over scratches.

"Don't go, Colquohoun," she sad. "You might want to stay here and watch this."

Kat Zu-si sat there and smoked a cigarette as a trainer first washed and inspected her feet and then wrapped her from the tips of her toes to the highest and innermost portions of her muscular thighs in bags of crushed ice.

"Aiii."

After the ice was taken off Kat Zu-sl's feet, the trainer seemed to embalm each of Kat Zu-sl's toes with a spicily fragrant dressing. Each portion of Kat Zu-sl's feet were thus attended, and her legs then removed from their cold wrap.

"So back to our conversation, Kat Zu-si?"

"Didn't realize it was meant to be so private. You want a drink or a cigarette?"

"Yes."

Kat Zu-si picked up the telephone on her dresser.

"Come on over, Rosie." Kat Zu-si flared her nose up at Colquohoun as she spoke into the telephone mouthpiece. "Bring the posies."

Again the door opened-this time without a knock, and Rosalita clicked in carrying a large cone of lotus blossoms and a long silk pouch, wearing high heels and a jade green shortshort skirt that flirted with the fringes of her froufrou and the edges of her farthole.

Rosalita's tits stuck out from within the confines of an overstretched tubetop. Parts of nipples pipped up over the stretch bodice.

Colquohoun saw Rosalita and Kat Zu-si exchange tight glances and Rosalita said: "I'll lock it."

The door clicked.

Colquohoun's cock was stiff.

Rutsweat rippled through the room.

Perfumes of liniment, witch hazel, and an array of dressings and cosmetic makeup arrayed along a side table rushed through Colquohoun's mouth, which parched and shot saliva in alternation.

Rosalita moved away from the door and cast a look back over her shoulder at Colquohoun as she swooned into Kat Zu-sl's lap.

Rosalita's trap flapped open and Kat Zu-si licked in gloatingly.

Colquohoun caught the floral bouquet Rosalita pitched out at random. Snatched up the silk pouch from where it had snaggled to the floor.

Kat Zu-sl's tongue stroked in and out of Rosalita's mouth.

Tonguetip stiff like a boner pushing through Rosalita's yip.

Rosalita shimmied her hiney from side to side in Kat Zu-sl's lap.

Kat Zu-si scratched Rosalita's naked legs and Rosalita shot her feet up and Colquohoun saw she wore no underpants.

Rosalita flopped her head back.

Her tits flapped out.

"I like the tubetops," Kat Zu-si coughed, rolling one of Rosalita's nipples between thumb and forefinger. "But if I wear that style, you know, they all say I look like sushi wrapped in seaweed." Kat Zu-si zinged Rosalita's nipple into her lips and twisted her head up.

Tugging Rosalita's dug, Kat Zu-si said smugly: "You maybe would like to see, Colquohoun?"

Kat Zu-si flipped Rosalita over onto her back, still holding Rosalita on her lap.

Colquohoun watched entranced as Rosalita squiggled her legs and feet together with working toes. Kat Zu-si drew a flat palm back.

Slapped Rosalita across the toesies.

"Ow!"

Kat Zu-si gave Rosalita's buckling undersoles a backhand crack with her knuckles. Gave her fanny a whack. "Eaugh."

Snapped Rosalita's arms up and back over her head. Slapped the tubetop up over Rosalita's paps and face, jerking the spandex material through the tangles of Rosalita's hair.

"Eeek."

Rosalita stripped off some of Kat Zu-sl's sweatier togs.

Colquohoun watched, thought about his trusty camera by his side. Decided it would not be wise-as discretion must be the bettor part of valor.

But then-there was the value of an image of truth preserved for posterity.

Kat Zu-si jagged herself into Rosalita's tubetop. Naked otherwise except for a pair of very juicy panties of thick cotton terrycloth.

"Rosalita is Filipina," Kat Zu-si sucked. "I am Malayan, Thai, Indonesian, Caucasian-combination type of creature-you call me a Eurasian mutt bitch? Makes me tough maybe."

"But she likes to be babied," Rosalita slurred. "Is that the word?"

Rosalita stepped back too late as Kat Zu-si floated a foot aloft and swiped a kick-which Rosalita deflected as she letched in between Kat Zu-sl's legs and pegged Kat Zu-si to the wall like a crab stuck on its back.

Kat Zu-sl's feet curled up and unfurled, legs slowly juddering. "I-iii-iiiiinh."

Kat Zu-si was held pinned to the wall by Rosalita's pussypuff-jerking cuntworks pulsing, raunching at Kat Zu-sl's crotch.

Rosalita kept the hunching Kat Zu-si steady with finger friction up the sides of Kat Zu-sl's ribs.

Kat Zu-si riveted by Rosalita's dartlike tits spearing Kat Zu-si further up her torso.

And stung by Rosalita's tonguetip hung deep down Kat Zu-sl's throat.

Colquohoun snapped off a few frames of photographs as the two sparring females separated and Kat Zu-si sloughed down the wall.

Rosalita stepped into place in front of Kat Zu-sl's face.

Raised her microminiskirt up about her waist like a cummerbund.

Loaded her labia into Kat Zu-sl's twisting mouth-lips. Cuntlips whispered in answer to the blistering bitchkiss.

Kat Zu-si raced her tongue in and out between Rosalita's fleshflower.

Her hands crawled down Rosalita's back and slapped along the inside of Rosalita's asscrack. Flapped the sleek nates apart.

Daubed a finger around Rosalita's rumphole.

"Oh."

"Ne-eee-eeeeeh-eaugh."

Kat Zu-sl's legs splayed and her toes twitched. She scratched at her twat and snarfed the snot that hung in a loop from her snout.

Rosalita nattered: "Wheel" Jugs jiggled on Rosalita's boobcage.

Rosalita pulled Kat Zu-si up into a half-stance. Colquohoun shoved a chair under Kat Zu-sl's rump and Kat Zu-si thumped down onto the seat wheezing.

Next Kat Zu-si straddled the battling Rosalita.

Pulled her with her legs back into her face. Slashed tongue through cunt hung with thick scalds of Rosalita's ladygoughgough.

"Fucking Kat Zu-si here mangled me," Rosalita jeered. "You can see."

Rosalita stripped her skirt off upward and her asscheeks slipped out in a flash as she sat back on Kat Zu-sl's lap.

Kat Zu-si sloped a finger into the tight thin fringe of Rosalita's twatworks.

Rosalita fidgeted her feet together.

Kicked her high-heeled pumps off clattering to the floor. Brought her feet up toward Kat Zu-sl's face. Kat Zu-si slicked her lips with her tongue and then dug in.

"Eeeeeh!"

Kat Zu-si started to sucky Rosalita's little toe. Colquohoun reached out a hand and rolled a thumb over one of Rosalita's hard-knobbed erect nipples.

Boobflesh rippled.

Kat Zu-si looked up from where she nibbled. "Want a taste, Colquohoun?" "I-uh-sure."

Colquohoun closed in on Kat Zu-sl's face.

He ventured a smooch at Kat Zu-sl's cheek, which she did her best to ignore. Then Colquohoun scored his chin across the nib of one of Rosalita's toes and froze.

Tingling began to run through Colquohoun's nervous system. He pursed a lip down and pulsed the membrane against Rosalita's toenail.

"Aaaaawnh."

Rosalita pressed a medium-sized pedal digit to Colquohoun's teeth. "Eat."

Colquohoun's mouth yawned open and his tongue sloped out. "Feed."

Colquohoun breathed outward. Sucked in.

Thunked down on Rosalita's tiniest toe.

Choked up vapors that rose through his nose and blistered his sinuses.

Colquohoun kissed down the line of Rosalita's toes. Lapped in between them and smacked up the fresh taste. "Nnnnngh."

Kat Zu-si rose and snicked her terrycloth panties off over her legs. Colquohoun saw Kat Zu-sl's fleet feet flash through the air like flying fish as she untwisted her body in one fluid action and trac-tioned the balls of her feet against Rosalita's face.

"Say, Kat Zu-si," Rosalita puled. "When I get my rematch with you, dollbaby-we should make ourselves sure this dude's around to play the lapdog pup with us afterward.

Rosalita gored into Colquohoun's chewing mouth with one big toe.

Chucked him under the chin with a couple of her other foot phalanges.

"I think it would be better for the suck," Rosalita clucked. "If our randy dandy here were buck naked stag on the hoof-I heard that line on teevee and think it's funny."

Colquohoun swiveled up from the floor and took his clothes off-carefully pulling off swatches of fuzz and smoothing his headhair as he stood up naked.

Kat Zu-si and Rosalita exchanged glances.

Danced their eyes toward Colquohoun's dick and exchanged glances again.

Kat Zu-si floozied herself down on Rosalita's leg. With teeth gritting together Kat Zu-si ground her groin along Rosalita's calf in an uneven rocking action of her pelvis.

Scuffing sounds came from Kat Zu-sl's muff as she fucked her clit against Rosalita's kneecap. Kat Zu-si shimmied further down now, her cuntlips flapping over Rosalita's anklebones.

Asshole rimming toes.

"You gonna take more pictures again?" Rosalita gibbered through rutwrithing mouthlips. "I'd like a set or two from you, Colquohoun."

Colquohoun fucked his twanging pecker and dredged his loamy balls over Rosalita's heels and up the backs of her thighs.

He speared through wide cuntlips where his prick met with Kat Zu-sl's twat-gobbling yip. Tongue and dicktip fought hungrily for possession of Rosalita's pussy.

Rosalita coughed out gops of viscous cuntjizz.

Colquohoun snaggled his prong in.

Juiced his stinger up then snapped it out from Rosalita's twat, drew the hot tip down Rosalita's underseam. Reamed hardrod into anus.

"Uilch!"

Six footsies played together as the fuckstering suckstering threesome rolled across the floor. Colquohoun gored Rosalita in the asshole.

Kat Zu-si groveled amidst Rosalita's tits, twat, and armpits.

Rosalita kissed and sucked both their feet.

"Fuck me," Rosalita wailed. "F-fu-fuuu-uuuuu-uck me with your feet. In the mouthy. In the assy. In the cunny. Footfuck me."

Kat Zu-si jimmied a couple toes up Rosalita's ass as Colquohoun dashed a set of digits twisting through Rosalita's snarling yip.

Fucked at her clit with his other hoof.

"Ooooof!"

Rosalita shuddered in orgasm as Kat Zu-si spasmed off over the floor sidewise, nailing her clitoris maniacally and with a passive ambivalence cast through her eyes.

Colquohoun slithered out a long length of jizzom in a slow low arc.

A curd of cockcream fizzed onto Kat Zu-sl's toes and ricocheted onto Rosalita's nearby nose. Colquohoun's choad blew off again and an elegant pebbling of prickjizzom slinked through the air like a floating cloud.

Dashed against Kat Zu-sl's cuntjuice-plastered face. Rosalita noshed hunks of Colquohoun's gunk from between Kat Zu-sl's toes.

Colquohoun squeezed out the last chunks of his jizz fizzing over Kat Zu-sl's tits.

He rubbed it into titmeat with his feet. "Eeeeeh," Rosalita gasped.

She grasped her clit and wriggled her toes at the end of feet close up to her crotch, legs folded at the knees with thighs pressed up alongside her boob-cage.

Rosalita's belly roared in horrid spasms as she belched and farted with legs parted, feet in Colquohoun's and Kat Zu-sl's mouths, head hanging down licking at their toes languidly.

"Boo-ooo-ooooop!" Rosalita blew through her blowhole. "Ble-eee-eat!"

She giggled: "Excuse me, please."

Tittered amidst the jollity of her orifices: "E-eee-eeeee-a-aaa-aaaaaugh!"

She chittered: "Oops!"

Colquohoun fucked back up her asshole again.

Squeaked his feet up her shins as he worked his prick in and out of her rump.

Kat Zu-si pumped her pussy against Colquohoun and stuck her toes in a fitful series of climactic postures into mouths, assholes, andcunny. Her body ran with fuck-perspiration, prickcream, snatchwa-ter, assoils, and footcream.

Petals of the lotus were scattered about over them. Smashed underfoot.

"And don't, Colquohoun," Kat Zu-si wriggled over the floor and jugged a bottle of sake out from Rosalita's silk pouch. "Don't you write one mother-fucking word about what went on tonight. Ever."

"Of course I will," Colquohoun said slugging sake from the bottle. "Chill out, willya? That's my job. My mission. But don't worry-" he puffed "-I'll make it fiction."

And the story closed with a fadeout of oral friction upon four blossoming rows of feminine footboxing toes. Tonguetip between them-nose snorting impaled by the fragrant lotus-petal nails.

Six

The name Caligula in the Latin language is a reference to a type of footwear common to the Roman military during imperial times.

As is documented through literary sources, the fine art of footsucking had by the heyday of the Roman republic achieved epicurian heights.

The classical Romans delighted, especially in nibbling scented footfood presented in decorative- and sometimes edible-sandals.

The emperor known to record by the name Caligula acquired that sobriquet while living as a youth among Rome's frontier garrisons. For the caliga was the standard-issue footsoldier's sandal-boot, and the diminutive ccdigula, which signifies a smaller baby-shoes version of the boot, thus became the future emperor's familiar name-the translation of which may be rendered as something on the order of the nickname Bootsie.

Among Emperor Bootsie's many passions were lickable slave legs as well as a heady taste for spicy footliquor that amounted to an obsession.

Those of our readers given to indulging fantasy as antidote to mundane reality might well be drawn to the exploration of sensual themes of antiquity, as the continuing popularity of the toga party with its many variations among our contemporaries attests.

Michael Sheldon wielded his briefcase out from under his arm. Slapped the sloppy flaps of the newspaper he had not really read over onto the settee by the luggage rack.

Flopped himself back onto the large hard mattress covered with tapestried rugs and plushed pillows and automatically jerked his eyes toward where the bedstand should be-he had an idea, and a pert phone call or two right now might make him a lot more money today.

No bedstand.

No telephone.

He was not disappointed.

Sometimes pleasurable release earned things more substantial than its fees in money lost.

His eyes juddered wide as he inspected his surroundings further: No radio. No sound system at all-from appearances. No teevees or video monitors in evidence. No windows to the outside.

He glanced haphazardly through a wide doorway opening onto an indoor terraced patio giving onto a garden and fountain pool within an atrium of unornamented architectural planes.

Without a sound, he stripped his pinstriped blue serge suit from his sweating body along with his spread-collar shirt and navy tie stippled with carmine pindots.

He left this clothing wrinkled on the marble flooring as he shoved his lithe leather slip-on shoes from his feet and flogged his socks off.

Wiggled his toes and rubbed them.

Lifted his rocks from his underpants.

Danced his dick out in front of him-stretched his pecker like taffy up his belly-jacking his dong off to loosen up.

"Unh."

With a puff, he padded toward the majolica-tiled bathroom and hissed out a slovenly piss into a commode the size and design of an imperial throne.

He sat down and shat.

Farted.

Started to rise from the padded toilet seat, but then just sat there and twitched his feet. He sure was beat. It was a bitch and a bastard all at once if you were a ritzy publishing executive.

But it was an even harsher curse if you were the silent president and chairman of a so-called vanity press-an industry given to petty racketeering, including fraudulent come-ons to prospective author clients, associations with gangsterish printshops and bookbinding operations, cajoling and extorting money from all and sundry who were hungry to have their stories and studies published at their own cost-the whole of the process was specious to be sure-and was ultimately an utterly shameful sham.

Picking on dregs of humanity was not as much fun as it seemed to outsiders.

Michael Sheldon was getting a bit jaded already in his career and he wanted to bully in the big leagues-at least in his dreams.

"lllegitimati non carborundum est," he hissed. Muttered the translated utterance, "Don't let the bastards grind you down," well under his caffeine-rancid breath.

Tried not to frown.

He was ready to get down.

"Are we ready?" the epicene voice drifted in through the foyer. "We are indeed set to begin, Mister Sheldon. May I come in?"

"Enter, Petronius, arbiter of passion."

"Hey, dude," the man said entering. He had a bunch of white cloth draped around him every which way and had a bunch of bay laurel leaves rigged up in his hair. He munched grapes. "I see you're already in the mood. Good. Say-Ginger. Get your fanny in here. We have our patron to dress."

"Hiya," Ginger smiled, popping into the room wearing a Grecian-styled tunic with pressed pleated folds and square yoke with the roots of her tits poking out and a hem that came down to about the netherlands of her twatmeat and seat. "What'll it be?"

"Roman gentry," Petronius said to Ginger. "This is the classical period. Ancient-not Medieval or Renaissance. Just thought I'd mention it in passing in case you forgot."

"I know," Ginger glowed. "Monday nights we have the Inquisition. Tuesdays are A-rabs and all the harem chicks. Wednesday is geisha jamboree. Thursday is Amazon bitches. Friday is a free-for-all costume event. And-!"

"You got it, Ginger," Petronius jabbered. "Shut your trap and snap out the togas. One with a purple border would be in order for Mister Sheldon- tonight he is our emperor."

"Oh?" Ginger sizzled licking her lips. She knew that treatment cost money. "Which one?"

"Yes, Mister Sheldon," Petronius yelped. "Which identity do you prefer? I mean-after all, you do have a rather wide choice of characters to ponder."

Sheldon got up from the commode.

Ginger wiped Sheldon's arse with a sash of spun silk, flushed the toilet, and then uncoiled a metal hose from the shower assemblage.

She sprayed between Sheldon's nates and washed the dregs of shit away down his legs and down the drain in the center of the tiled floor.

"You should get some Roman plumbing," Sheldon japed. "More authentic that way."

"Let's get your smelly ass to the baths, Caligula," Ginger gabbed casually.

She wanted a big tip.

She would give it to Sheldon solid.

Whatever the man wanted. However he wanted it. And when.

And she would be more than willing to do whatever it was all over again, however he liked it, whenever-it would be at his leisure.

If he coughed up the correct dough.

"Ah-Caligula," Petronius said to Sheldon, nodding his head toward Ginger. "That's a good selection. What do you think?" Sheldon blinked.

Ginger saw Sheldon's gaze flicker across her face. His eyes crushed her breasts. Vision jizzom sizzled on her tits. He licked his lips.

Sheldon then ogled Ginger's hips and ass. Creeped his peepers down her gams.

Lanced his eyes toward her feet.

Her toes twinkled.

She said nothing.

Sheldon drooled with his lips pulled tight and thin back from his teeth. A wide gummy rictus came unstitched up the sides of his visage and his tongue clucked curled up back to his gullet.

His eyes were sunken colorless craters that did not reflect light.

"Caligula," Sheldon effused without much enthusiasm. "I don't know about that. How about if I have a drink first?"

Ginger drew a large goblet of wine from an amphora and placed it before Sheldon's gaping maw. Spilled the wine over his jaws as he gobbled the juice down in long draughts.

Next Ginger siphoned off some of the wine and shook it in a bladder with some floral-scented water. Attached the bladder to a water hose as she sniffed the mixture with wriggling nostrils.

"Now I drink you," Ginger cooed.

She poured wine over Sheldon's body.

Suckered into his armpits.

Kissed along his prong and around his hiney like an animated grapevine.

Slimed herself over his toes with her pusskins bubbling and asshole mumbling.

"Please."

Ginger weaned herself from Sheldon's hinders, jabbed a finger at his anus, and then slinked the water hose out in front of her face.

She made a face.

Ginger then scooted onto her hands and knees with the water hose held between her teeth.

Screwed a sleek ivory nib onto the end of the hose. Rose up between Sheldon's legs.

"Okay, Caligula," Ginger giggled. "Time for a nibble on you. It is Caligula, then?"

"If I were to hold an imperial position," Sheldon mused, "I would best choose as a model a ruler whose propinquities are closest to my own."

"Who then among the Romans?" Petronius droned as he motioned through the doorway into the atrium to a bevy of silver-sandaled beauties who slid a rack of fake Roman columns into place and passed out props of cats of ninetails and short leather classical-design riding crops.

"Not the whoremongering Julius Caesar would I be," Sheldon wheezed as Ginger inserted the enema nib up his keister. "Not wolfish Marc Antony nor warped kinky Brutus. Down with the straitlaced Augustus and Claudius. Of course there is the divine trinity of ribald Tiberius, psychofucker Commodus, and lubricious Elagabalus to choose from as well as the justly exalted Nero. But the hero whose mask I wish to assume this evening is-!"

"Let me guess," Ginger gushed.

"Do so at your risk," Sheldon said grittily.

"Caligula," Ginger smarmed.

"You dig it?"

"Oh, Imperator Gaius Caligula-I insist upon it!"

"Quit your groveling or I'll have your tits and clit twisted off by an elephant's trunk. Force you to fuck my horse Incitatus in front of the other members of the Senate."

"Bully for you," Ginger chewed lewdly through crudely screwed lips at a rude clip. "You may kindly fuck yourself off, Bootsie. There's been a palace revolt around here-you chew your imperial demands right on up your ass. Leave all things to me."

Sheldon was soundless but not yet impressed by the setup as he drank a slug of wine.

Ginger sucked some pungent alcohol-laced liquid up from Sheldon's mouth and spat it back out at him, grinning thinly as she worked the enema nib in corkscrew traction squeaking in and out of Sheldon's punk.

She picked up Sheldon's feet by the heels and hoisted them to rest upon her shoulders-one footsole on either side of her neck.

Pecker sticking up in a pumping puce-colored curve. Wedge-shaped head of hard-on din-galingdong hammered randily.

Ballocks thundered within their purple-and-black sack.. Taupe tints of asshole wrinkles were visible at the bung of Sheldon's crack.

Ginger spat on Sheldon's dick.

Flicked her fingernails upon his toes.

Cocked her mouth out with lips parted. Clattered her teeth together in a chittering sound as she wound herself up his thighs.

Chunked down waffling scrotum.

"Mfgh."

Suckered bloated phallus. "Unh."

Ginger lapped along Sheldon's lingam, hummed along the veined flesh as it inundated to new hardness with the infusion of fresh dense erectile gore.

"Aaaaah."

She jacked Sheldon's prong with one hand as she fondled his balls with the other. Her maw smothered Sheldon's gonads and she slathered his entire underbelly up to the waist, eating out speared asshole, lathering behind the balls, creaming over the seam, reaming the navel.

"Aiiiiinh!"

Sheldon sputtered saliva and screamed as Ginger twisted the enema nib giddily further up into Sheldon's intestines and squirt-flushed his rump with a jump of wine-and-flower-water mixture.

Sheldon's innards slushed.

"Aiii-yi-yiii!"

Petronius waved an arm in a circle about his head as Ginger beat into Sheldon's bladder with her fists. Petronius did not grin as he said: "Let our entertainment commence."

A line of wild-eyed ladies with no clothing on wafted into view and danced trancelike through sly corybantic antics in front of the atrium columns as Sheldon now blew his enema load.

"Oh!"

Wads of caramelly goughgough blew from his bung in thundering blasts: "Bra-aaa-aaaaack!"

Caramel-colored gas clouds flew from his ass.

Ginger moved out of the way fast.

Dashed the water hose over Sheldon's body and then shoved a foot out in front of Sheldon's face.

She tickled his snout with her toes.

Yanked her foot away playfully as Sheldon's tongue rose.

"Hee hee hee."

Sheldon looked longingly out toward the dancers, who advanced nearer now from around the fountain-entirely nude, they were, poised on pointed bare toes with naked legs and feet rising and falling in Bacchanalian synchronicity.

Nipples and lips glistening red and pussies shaven-the sylphs waved ranks of polished legs like banks of oars that begged for the lick.

Now there were a total of three women in the throne room. The two new arrivals undraped themselves from within a many-layered multicolored wrapping of spangled gauze.

A tawny pair of polished jugs-nipples pierced with chains of rings dangling from and between them-loomed above Sheldon's head.

A piss-blonde pussy snapped pale pink lips at the cheek of Sheldon's face.

Sheldon tasted both.

Tugged the ringed dugs with his teeth.

Squeaked a smooch into the jaundice froufrou and sampled the bitchkin's brew.

"You like these other two?" Ginger cawed. "Absinthia's pierced tits are mighty nifty. And Belladonna's bleached peach of a twat is plenty hot.

Sheldon glanced down at their bare feet.

"I'd sooner sample those sweetmeats," Sheldon peeped. "Bring them to me."

"Sorry," Ginger said.

She nodded her head toward Petronius, who read from a wrinkled sheaf of foolscap hung with a ribbon and seal: "This is to announce the arrival at court of Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, Oasis of the Eastern Desert. Mistress Zenobia has already sent feelers to the rulers of A-raby, Abyssinia, Babylon, Persia- but sorrowfully has yet to select a suitable mate. Sounds great to me!" - "No big deal," Sheldon reeled.

He honed his boner between his hands as Absinthia and Belladonna wound around with each other on the tile before his feet.

Belladonna groped Absinthia's toes covetously.

Teased them with her tongue.

She strummed each digit with her lips and teeth, emitting sounds pleasing both melodically and rhythmically as she lapped deliciously.

Then Belladonna shoved her toes into Absinthia's face. They both fed upon each other's feet, wriggled their toes in each other's asshole and pussy, juicing slurpily from the maw and burping succulently from the cuntflews.

As Sheldon now saw, out in the atrium was in progress a formal gathering.

Sheldon smacked his chops and slathered froth from his face as a pavilioned palinquin lifted on the shoulders of a flock of oiled nubile Nubian nymphettes floated into view.

A brace of bare-bosomed strumpets blew a chorus on swan-shaped trumpets and the veils of the tent in the center of the litter the nymphettes carried parted. Sheldon started as his eyeball lenses zoomed in upon his treat.

Sheldon's meat beat harder as though of its own volition as the parade passed scattering flower petals from the garden through the doors to the imperial apartments and halted before his toilet seat in the throne room.

He rose from his commode-Absinthia and Belladonna beat him back down onto the seat with swipes of their toes at his gonads.

"Remain in place," Ginger snickered lazily. "You'll get your chance to tongue the tootsies soon enough. But first please make obeisance-did I say that word right, Petronius?-to Zenobia."

Sheldon gaped at the carried female figure lying motionlessly on her side like a statue of an odalisque. Jeweled netting hung down from a circlet crown around her feathery coif covering over her face, allowing hints of moving flashing dark gemlike eyes.

Boobs arranged in an openwork cage of tasseled silk could be seen through the split in a diaphanous gauze robe. Bejeweled bellybutton and cuntworks seen plainly through iridescent leggings of ballooning transparency.

Rings on each toe in gold, silver, electrum, studded with emeralds, sapphires, rubies, carnelian, and lapis lazuli.

"I want them," Sheldon reamed.

"Fine by me," Ginger seethed. "Girls-ready for the weewee? Let's party."

"Wheel" Absinthia screeched. "I love to peepee.

Come on, Belladonna. Stick me on his cock."

Belladonna shocked Absinthia's pussy onto Sheldon's hard-on.

"Alalalala."

As soon as the head was tempered inside Absinthia's peppery twat, hot emissions of pizzle frissoned from Absinthia's pusskins.

Belladonna parted her cuntlips and sat in a squat athwart Sheldon's feet.

She licked Absinthia's asshole from the rear as Absinthia pissed down Sheldon's cock and balls and Belladonna gnawed Sheldon's toes with her torrid twatlips and jabbering anus.

"Neee-augh."

Belladonna skittered tinkle over Sheldon's toes and lassoed his cock with her tongue-as the nib end of Sheldon's dick clicked in and out of Absinthia's pissing pussy.

"Ahajah!"

Absinthia and Belladonna dismounted and shot their fountains of silver-and-gilt liquid over Sheldon's festering face.

Zenobia's feet were now in place.

Sheldon ate.

"Mmmmm."

The baubles of precious stone and metal glinted against Sheldon's pack of choppers.

Sheldon clattered his teeth along the rings on Zenobia's toes.

Gnawed up the rows of slender finely worked chains slinked from Zenobia's toerings to anklets hung with hooks and bells.

"Oooooh."

Sheldon scarfed up toejelly and smelled the fermenty savor of his own yeasty saliva, Zenobia's footliquor, and random ambient spatters of scattered cuntjizz and pissmist.

"Yum."

Absinthia and Belladonna embraced Zenobia and unlaced her gauzy leggings. Drew them off down Zenobia's cringing legs as Sheldon drew his head back, took a gander at Zenobia's bared body, and had Ginger jack him off with her hands as her mouth glued around his gonads.

Ginger next popped Sheldon's pecker from her mouth and hoisted herself about. She jazzed Sheldon's pecker at her ass.

Sheldon twisted through her sphincter easily, instantly, pumped his pelvis desperately as he syruped more saliva upon Zenobia's feet ravenously and with evident relish.

Ginger jiggled her hiney snidely from side to side on the end of Sheldon's prick.

"Give it!"

He blistered off come into her keister.

His dork uncorked from Ginger's bung with a thunk. Thick jizzom oiled out from Ginger's asshole as she rolled her toes around Sheldon's come- coughing cockmeat. "Unh. Unh. Unh."

Sheldon slurried his tongue among Zenobia's toes as she wriggled her feet together and drew them up toward her waist.

Absinthia and Belladonna gyrated in orgasm, wrapping their legs around Sheldon's torso and playing their tootsies up and down his legs.

Ginger pegged Sheldon in the punk with her big toe. Zenobia raced her feet all over Sheldon's glistening face as Absinthia and Belladonna heeled into his phallus and gonads.

"Uuuuunh."

Sheldon's tongue hung over his lower lip.

Seemed to grow longer as he licked up the insides of Zenobia's legs.

His face was contorted into a risus sardonicus as he suckered Zenobia's queenly feet.

The toes at his cockles and ballocks and the big one nibbing at his ass jiggled him to a tremor of pleasure that seemed but an indication of a sensory maelstrom to come.

His eyes took in the sight of silver-slippered maidens frolicking in the atrium-whipping and flailing with leather cats of ninetails and riding crops at the bare feet of the naked dancers.

Sheldon felt his prick pop and saw gops of his own semen seethe between tasty nymphette tootsies and over squiggling rows of sylphide toesies.

The night had just begun. Now for the real run.

Seven

"Your feet Stink." His eyes glistened as she twisted around toward him from behind the dinette counter. "Sorry. Must be the cabbage."

This seemingly plainspoken line of gab is extracted from the writings of a master of the genre of storytelling that French literary critics have dubbed roman pom noir.

Characters in such tales frequent the darkside of the psyche and are often habitues of out-of-the-way places-whether they be the primal jungles of the tropics, the antacid rainforest of modern urban centers, or the badlands of the mind.

His eyes blinked at the first slink of the coffee grounds around his mouth. The bitterness of the caffeine cut the grease of oxidized animal fat that lodged in the creases of his yip.

Then came that other scent-hovering around the edges of the fragrances of desultory cooking that layered through his nasal passages.

He angled his vision down behind the torn formica countertop of the roadhouse dinette and- careful not to let the round seat squeak too much on the unoiled loose ballbearings-he peered leerily at her feet.

Bare, they were.

As she swept.

With the toes grubby and scales of darkness collected under the ragged toenails. He wanted to suck them. Fuck them.

Rut on them with his cock jutting, and come-off chunks of jizzomic gunk onto her toes and watch her closely as she pissed slowly in rivulets down her legs onto her feet.

Then do it again-after first fucking her down the throat, in the twat, up her asshole.

She moved the brush of the broom in mincing sinuous strokes over the scatterings of burnt gristle and broken shards of roadhouse pottery.

The edges of her soles looked buttery.

"How about some eggs?" he begged.

"Hardboiled?" she said recoiling.

"Any way you say."

She met his gaze.

Followed his eyes as they traipsed down her neck. His leaping peepers did a fidgety jig down her tied-back oily smutchy-blonde tresses.

He slanted his vision incisively down a neck and dress that were not too dirty yet, under which rounds of bazoom and hip loomed.

She saw the way his eyes seemed to dart into her midsection like an erection spreading her cuntlips. His eyes drifted down her legs.

She felt a hiss around her ankles-a lapping at her toes. Looked down and saw the cat and stooped to shoo it away from her.

"Maybe over easy," he sleazed. "The eggs."

"How about scrambled. Like your brain."

"Look, baby. I was just having a little fun."

"Then why don't you take out your hard-on and beat off?"

Her mouth moved tightly, glowing on the kitchen-filthy glaze of her face like an inflamed sucker under its thick creamy layering of bright harlot-starlet scarlet lipgloss.

Her tongue reamed in and out through her puckered oral opening like a s'erpent squirting through its cubbyhole home.

She looked off unfocusedly over his shoulder into the near distance.

She continued casually: "You can see the lunchtime bums are gone and the old man is out of here for the afternoon-he don't own me anyway, even though we are married."

"That was him back in the kitchen then? Carrying a piece he was."

"Come on, stud. I bet you got one too. I saw you looking at me."

"Looking don't hurt no one."

"You do more than look. You're a born crook. You want something you take it."

"Maybe I fake the attitude."

"Bring it on out into the open and hone it off for me. You can watch me sweep up while you're working your gherkin."

"Maybe even lift your hem a little."

"Let's see the pickle first," she said thirstily. "We can work something out. You and me. You look like a guy stands on his own two feet."

"Reet."

"Thumb it out and show me what you've got. Whip it and whip it on me."

He palmed his pud through the crotch of his denim pants. 1 Looked up at her with arched eyebrows.

"The name's Buzzcock," he said as he unzipped. "Wanna see why?"

Red-tipped twanger pipped from Buzzcock's fly. The helmetlike peckerbeak featured a small crest like the clipped cockscomb of a bantam.

There was a remnant of well-chewed prepuce ruffling the nape of the dickhead and a network of thick veins running in high relief from just in back of the cockneck down the horny erectile curvature to the dickroot, where Buzzcock's wadded balls were sucked up into two scrunched shells of scrotum.

"I see a cock," she clucked. "Let's see if it really does buzz."

She reached a hand across the counter, took hold of Buzzcock's black leather jacket by the lapels, and hissed a kiss trailing venomous sputum along the beard stubble of Buzzcock's chin.

Roxanne then leaned over the counter until her boobs flounced halfway out of her dress and her tiny apron tugged against an empty menu rack bracing up against her pounding swell of pussy.

She bent her arm down.

As her fingernails came within inches of impaling Buzzcock's prick, she pulled herself back, glancing around with face flushed.

"Roxanne," came a commanding voice from in the kitchen as a huge hairy ham-shaped figure lolled into view. "Say-listen, honey. I gotta go into town today to place a coupla bets with the boys."

Buzzcock dropped his napkin down from his chin onto his lap, careful to conceal the wiped smear of lipstick, covering his snap of prick, hanging sack of nuts, and sprawling thatch of pudhair.

He stuffed his batch of cock and balls back into his pants as if he were wiping up greasy coffee-stained paws to make tidy.

Zipped up.

Covered the zinging with a choke-cough and a squeak of the seat as he furthermore unzippered his jacket and reached inside to poke out a smoke.

He lit it up.

Took one hit.

Slid the cigarette into an ashtray. Buzzcock sloughed his jacket off down over his boulder-muscled shoulders and torso and extracted a roadmap from a pocket in the lining. Appeared to examine a marked route while smoking diffidently.

Listening.

"You should try and collect on those other accounts," Roxanne grunted, frowned. "Your friends, Greco. The bigshots. Boys come in here and weasel their second breakfasts outta me most every day. Supper sometimes too."

"Hey, Roxanne-it pays to be good to the local constabulary," Greco said pausing in the swinging doorway. "Sides. Sheriff and deputy marshal hereabouts is entitled to good treatment for all they done for society."

He patted her fanny.

"And by the way," Greco said eyeballing down the front of Roxanne's dress, "the mayor will be holding a private conference out back in the-uh- bridal suite coupla nights this week."

"Secret?"

"Political meeting. Wheeling and dealing. You know how it is."

"Feminine, I guess," Roxanne peeped. "This associate of the mayor's."

Greco leaned over and pecked Roxanne neatly on the neck and cheek.

"I'll reserve it for them," Roxanne yawned. "They're the only ones ever stay in those fucking bungalows anyway these days."

"Say, listen," Greco said nonchalantly. "You with the tattoos. What I mean to say is-that your jalopy out front there?"

Buzzcock answered: "Yeah."

"You need a job?" "No," Buzzcock said.

"Well, I know you guys. Just passing through, are you? Maybe you could use a little extra dough for the road. Help my lovely wife. Ease her load-you know?"

Roxanne bristled randily: "I can handle it okay by myself, Greco."

"Thanks for the offer," Buzzcock said to no one.

Greco cast a glance past Buzzcock and reached over to take up six coins' worth of ten cents from where it had been left under a saucer.

Buzzcock did not look at the short revolver holstered underneath Greco's arm as Greco's jacket flapped open. Greco stood up straight, grating his tongue inside his cheek as he tamped the change tightly into his pants pocket.

"Be on my way now," Greco brayed as he swaggered back through the kitchen doors.

Roxanne tutted, sneered.

Flattened her dress against her body by pressing with her extended fingers down the sides of her boobcage, hips, and thighs.

She sighed: "Aiii-eeeh-ainh."

Roxanne bent both legs at the knees and ankles.

She brought one leg out in front of the other one and lifted the gam a little bit up, pointing the foot and arching the toes.

Buzzcock froze for an instant.

Winked at Roxanne as she slinked round the broomhandle. Went back inside his coffee cup with his mouth and sucked down the dregs, clogging his teeth with grounds.

"Shucks," Roxanne uttered blithely. "But thanks for the warning."

Then Greco popped his head back in again.

"By the way, Roxanne," Greco cackled slanting his body through the kitchen doorway. "There's something I wanta say to you before I go. You know. In private; Personal."

This time Greco wore no jacket but was holding a wet wringing towel over his sleeveless teeshirt.

Buzzcock took in Greco and Greco's wife without really looking at them.

Buzzcock saw again edges of the leather holster in Greco's left armpit.

The rim of a snubbed pistol misted with low animal gleam as the door creeled closed shut behind Greco's butt.

"What's that, hon?" Roxanne made as if to blush but her skin didn't change color-just got dimmer. "You can say it now. Out loud."

"Your feet stink." His eyes glistened as she twisted around toward him from behind the dinette counter. "Sorry. Must be the cabbage."

Greco vanished.

Roxanne pumped her butt once as she stuttered out a fart: "Ble-eee-o-eee-ooought!"

Buzzcock coughed into his coffee cup.

Roxanne tittered: "Ooops."

Blushed.

"Sonofabitch," Roxanne puked. "He's mother-fucking checking up on me. Seeing if I'm stealing- skimming from the frigging tips already. Get that pecker of yours out again and hold it steady for me, Buzzcock."

Buzzcock unzipped his fly and lithe prickmeat slinked into view. "Get ready," she said.

Roxanne lifted her dress and apron off over her head in one easy swing.

Her bazooms stood there tingling.

Boobflesh jiggling. Nipples cockeyed like a pair of cyanide cherries.

Roxanne squinched her toes and pressed her knees together hard.

Like a bitch she barked: "Wanna go for a whirl on this girl?"

Buzzcock saw slick wetness spread quickly across the stretched-out crotch of Roxanne's off-white faintly yellowed panties.

Her pusshairs stuck out obscenely from holes in the front over the cunt and in the back over the lower part of the crack of her fannycheeks.

"You like?"

"Heavy!"

Roxanne bent toward Buzzcock. His hands flinched out. "Ne-eee-augh."

He gripped Roxanne by the jugs and hugged them hard to his unshaven face. The bristles of his beard seared through her boobflesh.

"Yes. Scratch me. Cut me. Rip me up and fuck me up the cunt, through the asshole, in the mouth, around the armpits, and between the tits."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Uh-let's see."

"Soon enough," Buzzcock coughed.

Buzzcock twisted Roxanne's tits in his mitts like knobs on an old-fashioned teevee set. With one hand he drew the nipple out firmly between his fingers and let it linger out there a bit.

"Eeeeek!"

He tweaked boobmeat hard and hauled the bazoom out from a blimplike bulge to a banana-shaped dug. Tugged tit out farther until it appeared to have stretched like saltwater taffy bought on the docks.

"Shi-iii-iiiiit."

Then Buzzcock released his grip.

Roxanne's tit snapped back to shiver upon the bones of her boobcage.

In shock, Roxanne brought her hand to her breasts and twiddled the flesh.

Buzzcock engaged his jeans and shoved them the rest of the way down over his ass and knees. He sat-splat!-on the countertop and unbuckled his boots, cock shooting up high on his stomach.

Roxanne gasped and frigged at her clitoris as Buzzcock wrenched his pants off over his feet. Brought his body around to meet hers.

Buzzcock groaned as Roxanne seized him beneath the belly.

Mauled his balls to jelly.

"Oooooh."

Body slack, Buzzcock fell sideways and back, teetering off the countertop as Roxanne hawked her maw down upon his cock like a mutt bitch in heat going down on a bone.

Roxanne hopped her head along the stand of Buzzcock's hard-on in nonstop herky-jerk of mouth-lips, teeth, and tongue.

She slung his shlong along her tongue and strung the pecker up by the roof of her mouth, then bent the cockmeat limberly at the back of her palate before thrusting the tingling thing into her gullet.

Roxanne pulled at the base of Buzzcock's pud with thumbs and fingers.

She wiped the edge of a fingernail down the seam between the back of Buzzcock's bag of balls to the rim of his punk.

Thunked a finger at his asshole.

"Unh-hyunh-nyaugh."

Buzzcock's blowhole winked-on over Roxanne's finger, impaled past the first knuckle.

His body buckled forward as Roxanne sucked and frigged at him.

"Suckitsuckitsucksit."

Buzzcock lay back with his ass splayed over a stack of trays and head jabbering along the uncleared countertop.

His legs flexed and nailed as Roxanne stood between them, head dipped.

Mouth chawing down long rawhide lengths of lingam. She placed her hands palms-up underneath his ass-chewed away fast.

Buzzcock thrashed his torso, knocking against the countertop with his shoulders.

He pummeled his heels behind Roxanne's rump as she twisted herself down the underside of his primecut stiffness.

Out of the corner of his eyes Buzzcock caught sight of a furry fluff tufting up between Roxanne's toe rows.

The cat purred around the corner and Buzzcock saw pussy sucking and licking the hairballs that had collected underneath Roxanne's feet.

Through the dinge coating of Roxanne's digits, Buzzcock saw traces of unsmudged polish glinting like specks of crushed fruity sugar candies spangling her tootsie rolls.

Buzzcock writhed there, loving the nearness of Roxanne's lollipop toenails-just ready and waiting to be cleansed by his tongue, which now skittered lizardlike from side to side of Buzzcock's silently working maw.

He had a flash reminiscence and could taste the clams and boardwalk on feminine feet-and those cotton-candy bolls impregnated with foot juice rolling around on his tongue, which now hung slung over his rasping chin in a thin languid whip.

"Omigaaaaawd, you're hard," Roxanne bawled, mouthlips crawling insinuatingly. "Harder than before." Her eyes glowed. "And even then you were like a hot rock. Feels cool now-more like steel."

"No big deal," Buzzcock jawed. "Gets longer too the more you chew on it with your mouth, cuntlips, suck it with your asshole pucker."

"Goes in deeper then."

Roxanne pecked Buzzcock's jauntily jumping jimjam from the neck just in back of the helmetlike carapace of cockbeak, down the haft to the prick-base, where shoots of barblike pudhairs glanced up through her nostrils.

"Ulgh."

Buzzcock could hear Roxanne shuffling around down there as she sucked his cock.

As he thrust and jerked his dork in and out of Roxanne's wickedly hissing mouthlips, he sensed her moving her feet carnally in the muck that had collected behind the countertop.

Jizzom was about to blow.

Buzzcock's balls clung together and sent a spasming of lather up the cords and into the cockbody fuselage.

Spermlets jockeyed neck and neck down the stretch of stinger, going for the edge of the envelope. The rush of semenoids intensified as the funneling jizzom barreled toward the light in sight at the end of the tunnel. "Nawnaw-naw."

Roxanne's facecheeks inflated and deflated, blurting in alternating suction vacuum and pneumatic blasts of thick mucoid breath.

Bellowing zestily upon Buzzcock's whanger with mouthlips puckered assholishly, Roxanne took hold of both Buzzcock's testicles.

She jabbed a fingernail into the scrotum hard- impaling one nugget of nougat and flicking the other nutmeat offhandedly.

She flattened his balls in her fists.

Kissed the webbing of thick veins that ran the length of Buzzcock's stinger.

Roxanne's nibbling maw lingered upon Buzzcock's banger at the tip, just above the neck. She stretched the tingler out in her yap.

Snapped her head back.

"Aaaaawn. Eh. eh."

Smutched the bottoms of her feet around on the floor as he roared: "Naw-eee-eeeee-a-aaa-aaaaaugh!" Jizzom rolled to a halt.

"You squeezed my scum off," Buzzcock burped. Cockcome rustled back down the tubes into the ballocks, where more grime slimed in yeasty ferment and snapped, crackled, popped.

"You'll hold it longer," Roxanne said, playing her eyes down Buzzcock's nuts, stepping back and whacking her clit off through her smarmed underpants. "Won't come off so fast that way."

"I don't need any help in that department," Buzzcock farted through his facecheeks. "I can whack out a crack of jizzom in an instant. Still be hard. And fuck off another round every few minutes or so-when I'm loaded."

"How you hanging nowadays?"

"Take it away."

Roxanne wrenched her clit between two fingers and twittered her glittering cuntlips as she snapped off her scummy undertogs onto the floor.

Roxanne then climbed up onto the countertop and oinked her oily jugs into Buzzcock's face. He rutted upward and stroked his hard-on through her boobs, moving loosely.

"Ah ni-ni."

The tip of Buzzcock's pecker hovered over the hair stubble of Roxanne's armpits. The single-eyed prong lodged in Roxanne's underarms tractioned between her tightenecftriceps and rippling boobcage moving in back-and-forth jacking action.

Buzzcock felt the scurf of Roxanne's feet wheedling at his ankles. She drove her curlicued toenails into his shins as she shimmied her hinders.

Snatchlips snicksnacked open and shut like a livid snapdragon blossom heavy and pinguid with dew in the morning. "Now."

Roxanne jimmied her pussmound around on Buzzcock's pecker. Writhed her asshide over his nuts. Butted her blowhole straight-on dead-on bull's-eye onto his cock.

"Ne-eee-augh."

Roxanne kicked her cocked legs upon the counter as she fucked herself up the ass with Buzzcock's fast-pumping shotgun of a dingdong.

She shuddered her chapped feet up toward Buzzcock's face as she fucked him with long sucking chews of her asshole.

Buzzcock gnashed his teeth as Roxanne clapped her feet to his facecheeks.

Roxanne began giggling as her skunkish cunt pissed a jaundice mist over Buzzcock's belly. Pizzle sizzled in Buzzcock's navel and drizzled down through his pudhair as Roxanne blared forth cuntjuices in juddering climax.

Buzzcock's prick snapped from Roxanne's blowhole and a smattering of dung hung from the tip as Roxanne flipped and twisted like a fish.

"Mud in your bucket, Roxanne."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Roxanne pouted. "Suck it off with my mouth again?"

"How about it? With your feet in mine."

"I see."

Buzzcock held his stuttering cock out and they both jacked it.

Roxanne sat on Buzzcock with cunny and hiney humping his hips.

Her feet stippled his mouth and chin with flaking crust of oils, rust, and dust.

She touched her toes to his nose as he licked her undersoles.

Buzzcock looked down and saw the hard-on head of his cock was snap-cocked back and pointed at Roxanne's snickering yip.

He gripped the stinger at the base.

Aimed dork at her face.

Traced off a low oily loop of jizzom plink! right into her wink.

Cobbles of grimy come sprung like opal-chip teardrops from Roxanne's eyesockets as she slimed her peepers up slowly in their sprockets.

Roxanne stared up inside her skull and yowled shrilly-and so did the cat-as Roxanne sucked down Buzzcock's sputtering prick.

Jizzom hung strung from the lower lip of Roxanne's yip like melted mozzarella cheese squinking from the edge of a hot wedge of pizza.

Cockcome shook in thick semicongealed clusters hung from the undersides of Roxanne's gobbling jaws like the wattles of a barnyard fowl at feed.

Buzzcock minced her cherry toes.

Slicked her undersoles against his licking maw.

Filled his teeth with the exudations of her feet. Wound her toes, heels, and ankles around in his hair and the furrows of his ears.

"Again."

"In the cunt-from the front."

Buzzcock rutted fast and hard. Huffing and puffing like a gruff billygoat as he loaded his choad into Roxanne's ragamuffin muff.

"Uldgh."

Stroking stinger choked with an overload of come. He diddle-tickled Roxanne's middle with his thornprickle. Balls hung loose and low, wafting from side to side underneath Buzzcock's pullulating horn of plenty.

"And you ever tried taking twanger, Roxanne," Buzzcock began blandly, "between the feet?"

"No," Roxanne eructed vapidly.

"When you jack dick with them just like a monkey-feel the cockmeat up with the toes."

"Sounds neat," she sneed.

Buzzcock chunked his spunk.

Bilge of boner and cream of cunt slushed together between their bellies. Roxanne brought her feet down from Buzzcock's face and raced her toes around over his pud.

Buzzcock syruped smutch of jizz from the edge of his prong. He lacquered her now-sparkling toes with sparkling cobbles of his choadwater.

Roxanne wriggled her tootsies, mulching the cockcome to a fizzing batter within a wash of rutsweat, assoils, cuntjizzom.

Buzzcock jackknifed forward and brought his head down on Roxanne's legs.

In a kneeling crouch, Roxanne pissed out again and drizzled pizzle over the crown of Buzzcock's head as he fed upon her feet like a vulture upon a pile of fresh carrion.

"Again."

"Where?"

"Ass. Cunt. Both."

"We can do it so we go back and forth. First pop the pecker up your poopdeck. Then slip it in the quim. Back again."

"And if I get like this in your lap-unh-it's in my ass. See-get my feet right back up here where they count."

He buried his face as he babbled: "Footdew," Buzzcock said as he chewed.

"Toe caviar," Roxanne squiggled out of her mouth as snot popped from her nose. "That's what Greco calls it. You ever had caviar? Fish eggs. Stinks."

"Greco must like it a lot then."

"What the fuck you saying?"

"Nothing, Roxanne. Keep fucking away at me with that hiney. I'll see if I can wedge my mouth here over your big one-get another toe in here to suck-with you bucking like that it-squeaks like a door or car or something."

"It's him again," Roxanne said thinly. "Outside. You just heard it. Eldorado convertible makes that sound when the top goes down."

"New model."

"Fuckingchrist I'll go get him-make up something, some story and bring him back into the kitchen and we'll kill him."

"Huh?"

"I said let's get lost." "Sure."

"You get into his car and start it up while I take all the cash-and there's loads of that. And bank notes. I'll come out and we can take off."

"Together."

"Hell-for-leather."

"You'd stab him with a butcher knife." "And here's the gun from in the cash register so you can shoot him in the back or something." "You're the boss."

"What are you waiting for. Get dressed." "Must be more to it than that." "Why must there?"

"You know, dollbaby. You can fuck around with a man's wife and nothing's ever happening. Kill him and nobody gives sowshit. But fuck around with his car and you won't get very far at all. Leastwise in my experience. They got interstate records and the banks are in on it too."

"Just kill him then."

"Bygawd you're serious."

"I will then."

"You already planned it."

"Maybe just waiting for the right occasion."

"Your decision."

"I made it."

"Perhaps I'm a bit jaded-but this doesn't seem that exciting to me."

"Would you rather be indicted?" "How so?"

"You go on and leave me here. If a crime's committed I just give them the license plate of the punk roadhunk fancyman gigolo who passed through here today and they're halfway to knowing who committed it-that criminal act. You'd be picked up faster than cat scat wherever you was."

"Now that's a fact."

Buzzcock cracked into Roxanne's snatch.

Hatchwork sawing of Roxanne's snagglepuss lip action was seen in a rippling shifting shadow pattern down the length of Buzzcock's hard-on.

"Time to come off some more?" Roxanne said smokily as Buzzcock continued to gore her.

"Twitch a few more shots of jizzom off over your feet, I would. But it'd make you stick to the floor. And you better be able to move quick right out that door-cause we're gonna make off with all the money right now down the blacktop just as far as it takes me to find another jalopy."

"Give me come. I'm come-miiing!"

"First set the whole place afire with one match if you use it in the kitchen-and he don't even know what the hitch is and he's outside screaming. When it spreads to the gas pump and blows up- who fucking knows ? We've been out of here forever."

Roxanne muttered, with her eyes clenched shut, fuckblinded in rut: "You're so full of shit, you birdbrain, I can taste it in your kisses."

"And you find it delicious."

"Keep me in stitches. Not enough yuks made me vicious. Turned me into a monster like a witchy bitchwoman or something."

"Come on, Roxanne."

She wriggled her feet.

Probed his flesh with her toes as she spoke in a gloating choke: "I know I'm not pretty. And I'm not very smart. I have to learn to do with what I got. These. I got two of them. With ten little other things right on the ends."

She wiggled them.

Eight

Adventures in toesucking and other forms of footfuckery are worthy of enjoyment for their own sake.

The stories presented herein feature this strain of heightened pedal sensuality as it runs through the currents of erotic literature.

The feet may also be seen as an entranceway to the sexuality of the entire body-not to mention soul and mind-and, like the orally oriented so- called French kiss, are means of approach as well as ends in and of themselves.

An affection for the stuff of feet quite naturally veers by extension up the legs to incorporate the calves, knees, thighs-and thus to the founts and mounds of juiciness found upon the underbelly between those lower limbs-as well as realms beyond these.

There are those for whom pleasure is intensified by giving an act of oral-pedal sex ramifications on manifold dimensions of mind, body, and spirit.

No serious student of sexuality can deny the widespread fascination engendered by whatever most stimulates the sensorium.

And such a student is the subject of our ultimate story.

I have found it.

I confess this sounds ludicrous.

You may perceive this as evidence of my mania, my frenzy-but please do not be deceived. For the truth of the matter lies at your feet.

Yes.

Look at them. Feel them.

Run your fingers over the heel.

Dab the insole with a fingernail and inscribe circles around and around upon the sole.

Pick one toe and flick it right at the knuckle-it doesn't matter which one.

Fun?

Now imagine-suck it. Better if you can do it.

Only one way to prove it, and with that observation I shall commence my account.

I am able to evoke the highest degree of sexuality experienced by human beings. Let me be specific- for I am a researcher, a person devoted to learning and scholarship.

I believe I have found the means to achieve an ecstasis of the sexual response-that means ecstasy in everyday language.

I do this through the use of organic matter I have isolated from an hallucinogenic fungus grown about the base of the pollex, or big toe.

From this substance I have extracted a nympholeptic aphrodisiac-something that turns you on, helps you get off.

Describing the state and situation thus induced in a personal experiment shall be the subject of the following entry.

To secure anonymity for those involved and thus obscure any protest of ill feeling that might otherwise be engendered, I have taken certain liberties regarding details of plot and character as appropriate to dramatization.

On the occasion in question I was in my office patiently awaiting a client who was often late. I was perusing my notes on her case when she was buzzed in by my receptionist.

"Sorry I'm late!" she exclaimed upon entering the room hastily and stripping off her outer robe. "Feels like I stood you up for a date or something. Um-maybe I shouldn't say that to you. After all, you're a shrink-uh-maybe I shouldn't of put it that way either."

My cock was rock hard.

"I like the term shrink," I said. "You know, Putainette, it is rather a compliment-to think that some people attribute to us the powers of headhun-ters and magicians."

"I think it's neat," Putainette squeaked. "You're looking at my feet, aren't you, Doc?"

"Take your clothes off."

"Wha-?"

"On the couch."

"Ouch!"

"I should hit you again, Putainette. It's perfectly within my authority as your counselor to strike you as I see fit. Go on over there, my dear one-and remove your clothing."

"Before or after I get on the couch?"

"Suit yourself-we are not dictatorial here. This is a democratic clinic for the criminally depraved, Putainette. And you are my slave."

"Pretty funny, Doc. Pulling my leg, aren't you? Jeepers! Didn't mean for you to do it really."

"Call me Alistair, sweet."

"Oh-I will, Mister Kroughleigh. I mean Doctor-Alistair. You like my hair? I had it done at this savvy place-" "I admire your footwear."

"Oh-these?"

She wiggled her toes in a pair of low-heeled patent-leather slip-ons that made her feet look like two licorice drops.

"I don't know what has come over me, Putainette. But I wish to pop them into my mouth. If you please."

"These?"

"Your feet."

"With the shoes still on?" "Otherwise nude."

With much aplomb, Putainette wriggled across the leather covering of my diagnostic couch. She opened her blouse.

Flaunted her tits out.

The nipples were tight and pert.

"This is part of the treatment. Isn't it, Alistair? Oh-I don't care."

Putainette undid her skirt, slid her underpants down simultaneously in a most fluid and practiced technique-I mention in passing-and out burst a round fecund rump and a cuntling that set my penis almost to the burst.

She rolled her stockings down her legs and then told me with her eyes what was coming.

Without a word, my Putainette lifted her sparkling shoes up past her waist.

Held the heels level with my face as I sat there ready to inscribe anything pertinent or remarkable onto my leather-covered notepad.

"Egad."

I sucked the heel of Putainette's shoe-the left one-on her as she faced me, the righthand side of me. It seemed an eternity as I lapped bits of mud from the seam where the vamp joined to the sole.

"Aaaaawn."

I rolled my tongue around over the tip of Putainette's shoe, shellacking it to new brightness- with surprisingly slippery whacks of my tongue ladling on the saliva heavily.

"Aiii."

As the reader may be aware, there are many levels of transference that pertain to the relationship between client and therapist.

I specialize in the physical.

By calling, I am a professional whose primary aim is to maintain at least a half-decent head-state in the people who pay me.

It helps therapy a lot if my clients are female and kind of tarty.

Because I like to fuck them.

Some may see this as unethical, but bear in mind that I promote therapeutic exercise with those whose clinical presentation feature^ what are commonly referred to as sexual hang-ups.

My pose as a romancer will come as no surprise to the fancier of real-life situations. Fucking is a guise that is part and parcel to the professional turf that is mine.

And fucking feet is most divine.

"Ah ni-ni-ninny."

Putainette whined-as was to be expected-as I slipped the shoes from her feet and began to eat the material of her stockings.

She was rocking back and forth now with her tits jiggling. She ran her thumb sideways across the nib of her clitoris, grimacing with eyes clenched shut and randying her buttocks.

I unsheathed Putainette's feet of their stockings and let my tongue loose to go walking among the rows of toes, savoring the tender flesh interspersed with corns.

"Uuuuunh."

Putainette's toes swarmed through my mouth.

I supped upon the broth of her footjuice and took her two large toes at once into my mouth. Sucked hard down to the roots.

"Schmooot!"

Thirstily I imbibed the drippings from Putainette's feet and began to notice another texture, another taste.

Subtle at first-then the sensation grew from microscopic to immensity as I tested the tip of my tongue against a rim of green-gray mold thriving in the inner folds of Putainette's big toe.

I assure you this is not a fabricated fictional story in the mode of a strange tale of a squeamish Doctor Jekyll and an ungentlemanly alter-ego Mister Hyde intended to delight the masses.

The passions that went through my mind can be described as shattering to any preconceived notions I may have had.

My lips lurched into every nookie cranny of Putainette's feet.

"Eeeeeh."

I squeaked her toemeat between my teeth. "Tickles."

Nibbled at every flocculent nugget of Putainette's mushroomy encrustation that I could gobble. I scrabbled ravenously for the puffy tufts stuck between Putainette's toes.

Sucked them through my teeth.

Twirled the morsels upon my tongue.

Snorted the snippets through my nose.

"Oh!"

Footjizz fizzed through my nostrils and made me sneeze. The scent of Putainette's passionate toes rose inside me and I recognized touches of sweetness and the medicinal-rather like cotton candy artificially sweetened.

The filmy clouds I encountered in Putainette's footfolds melted inside me and took my mind for a ride. I swived my mouth from side to side and spread a layer of my sputum over Putainette's heel.

"Eeeeelch." I ran my hands up Putainette's ankles and thighs as Putainette jockeyed back and forth upon the leather couch.

Putainette's breasts wobbled upon her ribcage- the nipples appeared enraged, festering-but with an inner sanctity that could be released therapeutically.

I reached up.

Plucked one nippletip on Putainette's booby. Slipped the nippletip between my lips and sucked heartily. Nuzzled in between the titflesh.

"Ninini."

Putainette wrapped her legs around my waist as I licked down into her armpits and then up around her face. She undid my trousers with her feet- almost entirely by hoof it seemed.

She screamed as I reamed my tongue down her throat and slithered my blood-bloated stinger between her legs.

"Aiiiinh. Eiiiinh. Iiiiinh. Oooooh. ululululu. Yi-yiii-yiiiii!"

Remorseless in my entry I was.

By brute force the tip of my pecker speared through her peachpit.

"Shit-lick it. My foot. Forget about my cunt. I want it."

What Putainette meant was that she wanted foot-frottage. I should fuck with her feet. And I need not be discreet.

Putainette hammered her heels against my rump as I pumped off an ejaculation of semen. The sperm glittered as I removed my sputtering penis from within her quim and sent a long leash of milky fluid directly into Putainette's navel.

I beveled my prong along Putainette's legs, spitting off the dregs of my ejaculate as I brought my virile member-yet erect-to connect with Putainette's ankles.

"Eaugh."

My cock notched along the surface between Putainette's feet. My nutmeat beat up another whammy of cream ready to be slathered.

I gathered Putainette's rumpmeat in my hands as she spasmed in orgasm.

Drove my thumbs into the clove of her treasure-trove of a clitoris. Gripped the tufts of hair in her pubic forest and tugged.

"Neaugh."

Cottage cheese squeezed from Putainette's feet as I chased each and every ration with my mouth before it could escape.

Putainette's sublime climax engendered a slurry of snatchwater blown from her cuntflews. I chewed quickly up the insides of her thighs, striding my prick in quick herky-jerk ruts against her legs. "Awn. Ni-ni."

I wormed around underneath Putainette and gripped her tits.

Twisted them around in my fists and drove my hands in deeply as though putting on mittens. She pressed her boobs close in around my ears.

As Putainette randied my ass with dashes of her tractioning feet, I was able finally to insert my penile blade within her vaginal sheath.

"Oh. Fuck me."

The prick squeaked in past the glans. "Harder."

I battered inward with the head of my pecker extended out and up.

Rutted grunting with each thrust as Putainette and I squirmed our footsies together.

"Oooh. Lululululu."

I fucked through Putainette's pussy.

Got it all gushy and ran my hands down the sides of her chest as she tapped my buttocks with her tootsies in time to the fuck.

Putainette boiled over with cuntoils. Rolled her body in a torpid warp and humped with her rump twitching with undulant nates. Her anus winked open and shut.

I aimed my cock up.

Shuddered my hips forth, pelvis first. "Ulch."

Pegged her asshole.

Putainette contorted incongruously, with the churning of her hinders working the length of my embedded stinger to a blistering tingle.

"Argh."

I untamped by erection from Putainette's fundament before I blew off come too soon-sooner than Putainette had wanted it again-and ran my prod right up into Putainette's face.

Putainette tasted the tingling dickmeat.

Placed the underside of the glans on her tongue and bit down gently.

Crunching the fresh erectile cock between her teeth in tweaking action.

"Ahajah!"

I fucked over her craw and down deep through her gullet. Pulled the dork out to her lips again and then drove in toward more throat.

Putainette played her footsies up the backs of my legs as she gnawed at my balls one at a time.

Dabbled matter of factly with my lingam in her head. Then spread out over her and suckered like an octopus once more upon her toes.

"Ah. Ah. Ay-yi-yinny!"

As the semen set to boiling within my ballocks, I felt Putainette in a chewing frolic upon my feet. She bleated as she screwed her mouth around my heel and breathed outward unsteadily.

I readily shot off another wad of jizzom-sent it fizzling over Putainette's forehead and ears and into her hair.

"Pawpaw pawpaw pawpaw pawpaw ahau maumau. Pawpaw ahau maumau."

Scalds of Putainette's cuntbrew slathered through her flews.

"More."

Scum flushed from Putainette's underarms as she smarmed the nipples of her breasts against the balls of my feet-sperm-filled clouds hitting her tits as she stroked foot with them.

We then commenced another round.

With sublime control, Putainette folded her legs over my shoulders from the rear. Seared her snuggling toes underneath my nose.

My dick rose higher.

Putainette continued her coming.

The experience was numbing.

I knew then that I had something.

You may feel that this ordeal signifies nothing more than the erotopodophilia of a podiatric psychiatrist. Rather like mixing business with pleasure. But this hint of sublimity in the stuff of feetmeat is a treasure that can increase the resonance of pleasure in all of us.

I bid adieu, finis-this is the end of this story. I do plan further investigative reports.

Watch out for the next one.

Until we meet again to savor tales of the toes, escapades of the ankle, and ordeals of the sole, we bid you good fortune in exploring for yourselves the fabulous world of foot sensuality.

THE END
Footlicker ....(64k)    by Unknown




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