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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Feet First (MF)
by mkoven@morgan.ucs.mun.ca
***
She is asleep on the sofa. The living room is large, with high ceilings and
a picture window on one side overlooking the park. There is no furniture,
apart from the sofa and a small desk; just books piled up in the corners. A
small electric heater warms the room as snowflakes lightly dance on the
window pane. The camera eye pans 360 degrees to reveal this.
He is awake in the middle of the floor surrounded by papers and open books
and file folders. He watches her sleep. Empty wine bottles litter the
floor, her wine glass knocked over drunkenly by her unsteady hand, his wine
glass is in his hand as hand as he takes a brief sip. Close up of his eyes.
Watching over the rim of his wine glass.
He and she have been working late that night discussing what should be done
with the project at hand. They have discussed many alternatives of
organisation and presentation, and perhaps even come to a few conclusions.
It is tiring work, compounded with the wine, and she is exhausted.
She is wearing a big sweatshirt and sweatpants and is barefoot, with her
feet up on the arm of the sofa. He is in jeans and a thick sweater, white
sport socks, sitting in middle of the floor
He looks at his wristwatch and sees that it is late. He is also tired. But
the sight of her bare feet is more intoxicating than the wine they'd been
drinking. Quietly, he stands.
Moving with the quite assurance of obsession he approaches her.
Her feet are small, wide, and slightly pudgy with a high arch and good
definition in the sole. He had seen her touch her own feet earlier and by
the ease of the flesh could tell that her feet were soft too. He's been
sitting in positions all night trying to hide the growing lump in his
pants.
To sneak a purloined kiss of an unknowing foot is a awkward situation. The
potential for embarrassment, of revealing such a less-than-mainstream
fetish exposes more about oneself than should be revealed. This is what he
thinks.
It is late enough that he can dry kiss her big toe, and should she wake up
suddenly he can give the excuse of being about to leave and didn't want to
disappear without saying goodbye. How heavy a sleeper is she?
He bends over her feet, and quietly inhales the salty popcorny smell which
brings saliva to his mouth. And places a single dry kiss to the pad of her
big toe.
Nothing.
No movement from her.
He kisses her toe again.
Nothing.
As dryly as possible, he licks her big toe.
Small movement from her.
He stands upright, about to make a quick exit.
Nothing.
He bends over and inhales deeply the scent of her feet again.
He draws his tongue across the ball of her foot, under her toes, and a kiss
in the arch.
She moves. Turning over onto her face. Her feet are now soles up, toes
hanging down.
He positions himself underneath her toes, and delicately sucks each one.
Tasting their dried sweatiness each in turn.
She moves, back onto her back, but does not awaken. He knows he is pushing
his luck, but must continue, compelled to continue. His erection is
actually painful.
Her feet back pointing up, he gently draws his cheek across her soles.
He then notices that her hands are deep down her track pants and that she
is masturbating silently in her sleep. He smiles and gently licks under her
toes.
"Wha?" she says, awaking very suddenly, and a bit confused. She sees her
hand down her pants and realises what has happened. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry.
I'm really embarrassed. I don't know what you must think of me."
He thinks she doesn't know what *he* thinks of *her*?
"Hey," he says, trying to be as cool as possible, "masturbation is natural.
Not something to be embarrassed about."
"It's still embarrassing."
"Actually, I was in the process of leaving." He bends over her foot and is
about to give it a goodbye peck, when she raises her other foot and
snuggles it into his crotch.
"That felt nice."
He holds one of her feet, while the other is rubbing his crotch, and
gently licks her sole. She is blushing, still glowing a bit red, puts
her hand down her pants and continues her clitoral self-stimulation.
Slowly.
Methodically.
He takes each toe into his mouth and gently sucks them in turn.
Her mouth is smiling, and now a grimace, and now she comes, with a
throaty gasp and her mouth open wide. Her eyes widen in pleasure.
Her feet point into a stretch, as far as they can, and he licks her
soles wetly.
She squirms in her wet pantied pleasure.
He licks his saliva off her foot.
"Hmmm," she says quietly
"I should be going. It's late."
"Hmmm. Do you have to?"
"Yeah. I think I should. We work together and should probably keep
things..."
"Probably right."
"Believe me, I'm going straight home to jerk off for a week."
She laughs.
He gives both feet one last semi-dry lick, and is out the door.
The camera follows him out into the wintry night.
End.