The Big Toe

I'd seen her outside with her foot up on the front wheel of my four-track. Her skirt was billowing around her and she had the cutest pair of pink lace panties covering what I imagined to be an equally cute pussy. I didn't pay much attention to her face. No, what fascinated and drew me to her was not the sexiness of the situation and her obvious overall sexuality, but that foot. You see, it was so dainty, with toes painted different colours.

I couldn't help but step closer to inspect them. I found myself drawn to her, drawn to those delicate toes. Was I going mad? I had never in my life been turned on by a pair of feet, even less when I had just seen such a beautiful chance sight of her lace-covered pussy. Yet with this woman, my eyes could not leave that foot.

Let me tell you about it. It was, as I've already said, dainty and each toe was painted. But it was also more, so much more. It was encased in a finely strapped shoe that was obviously very expensive leather and although like an act of bondage for that foot seemed to caress rather than grasp it. The heel was high. In fact, it was suicidal in rake, yet her calves seemed unstrained and there were no bulging tendons showing, or at least from what I could see. I would have to touch to know.

Oh, how I wanted to touch that dainty foot! She seemed in no hurry to place 'ce pied' down on the ground. Nor was she particularly bothered about her skirt that continued to blow around her waist. So would she mind if I took a closer look?

"What are you staring at, farmer's boy?" she asked in a harsh, Chicago drawl.

It was my chance. I could talk to her. I could get closer and look at her feet. I had an excuse. I was trembling but realised this could be to my advantage.

"I don't bite you know," she said, her voice more conciliatory, softening from the 'attack'.

I must have looked like a real hick, with my greasy overalls on from repairing my uncle's tractor. Only my hands were pristine as I'd just lathered them in cleanser and picked the oil from under my nails. Though I saw the advantage. She didn't know who I was or what I really did for a living, so I'd play along. It might get me to where I definitely wanted to go.

"S-s-sorry miss," I said in a really quiet voice. "I-I-was admiring your art work on your toes."

I kept my head down, looking like a really timid jerk, hoping she'd fall for poor ol'me. I even imitated the local accent to make me sound even more stupid, more like Hicksville USA.

"Oh, farmer boy, so you really like it do you?" Her voice was so much softer now, caressing my ears with its melody. I guessed she was from Chicago but had come into money, changed her accent to fit, but leaked her past when angry or startled. "Come closer then and feast your eyes on my handiwork. I'm an artist you know, and this is what I did on my way here for the assignment. I've been practicing miniature painting and what better way than on my own feet. Do you like the work?"

I moved closer, bending lower to see the handiwork. Should I dare? Should I hold her delicate foot in my hand? I placed my fingers next to her softly tanned skin, feeling the thick tread of the Humvee's tyre and imagined its contrast with her smoothness. My head was so low now that I was under her skirt. I had only to look up and I would see if the lace was folding into her labia, which I imagined to be full and pouting. I don't know why, but I sensed this was as much a turn-on for her as for me. Perhaps a clue was the subtle sweetness that seemed to come from above me, a perfume I recognised but could not pinpoint.

"So what do you think?" she asked, her voice now sounding deeper, thicker. Was there some lust hinted at in the tone and pace? Slow and deep; so sexy.

"I-I-don't know," I said, still feigning timidity, then added slyly, "D-d-do you mind if I hold your foot in my hand to, er, inspect it?"

"S-sure," she said. Was she mocking me or was something more fundamental happening? Was she getting more turned on and perhaps losing control a little? "Yes, hold it and get real close so you can see what a good artist I am."

Yes, she was getting turned on. The tone was deep again, deep and breathy now. That scent I had picked out from the myriad of smells by the garage was from her sex. There was no doubting it now. I knew that particular bouquet only too well from my recently failed relationship. 'One last fuck for the road,' she had asked for, and then walked out. Good riddance to the most boring fucker in the world, but oh, her scent was magnificent. Now she had a rival and one who was turning me on in a way I had never imagined possible.

I took her heel in my hand, lifting the foot up off the tyre, but careful not to imbalance her. The scent of her cunt continued to waft over me, but now I could also smell the leather of her shoes. They were new, perfectly crafted and clearly expensive. Their art was to bind but caress this delicate foot, stretched to display its obvious beauty. I let my thumb gently caress her ankle as I inspected each toe.

On her little toe, she had painted a tiny star in gold on a crimson background. It was simple, but showed off the perfect form of this digit. I felt bolder; squeezing a pressure point below the ankle bone, knowing this secret place would send delights to the apex of her body. I'd learned the technique from a Chinese girlfriend some years ago, but not until now valued its significance. As I gently squeezed, so I moved on to look at the next toe. In fact it was the next three. She had created a scene of a naked woman across the three, with torso and legs on the first two and the arms and head on the third closest to the big toe. The work was exquisite, such detail in so tiny a space. She even had managed to include nipples and a hairless pussy with labia showing. This woman was on a black background, contrasting with her slightly golden skin. It was the head on the third toe that both amused and aroused. Her eyes were closed but her tongue was extended towards the big toe.

Instinctively I was blatantly caressing her calf and ankle now, using my other hand to support the sole of her shoe. I felt the contrasting grit of the road in my palm as the other ran up the smoothness of her lightly tanned leg. I heard the sigh above me, and turned upwards to see a patch of wetness creeping over the lacy pink crotch of her panties. Her aroma invaded my senses, but I had more to do. I had not inspected that big toe.

"This work is magnificent!" I said, truly marvelling at her skill whilst completely aroused and besotted with this woman.

I could not help but stare at the final detail. My cock strained in my overalls. It was unfettered by underwear but aching against the rough working garment. I was looking at a perfect miniature of an erect penis and heavy balls that were being offered up to that long tongue. Although a man, with a more than healthy interest in the cunts of women, I was aroused by this cock with its strong veining and evident size in relation to the scale of everything else. I wanted to lick it just as the reclined woman had or was about to do. That was the cleverness of the artist. Was she depicting the act about to happen?

Yes, it was impulse, and possibly could be interpreted as a homosexual act by the homophobes out there, but I could not resist. I suddenly dipped my head and found myself licking and licking at that big toe. I heard her moan above me, grasping my hand that was now up to her inner thigh and there was the sound of ripping cotton.

"Oh yes, lick my feet, and fuck me with your fingers!"

Her voice was a whole octave lower. It was pure lust. Her breathing was harsh, hungry to be finger-fucked and her toes lovingly lathed with my tongue. I could hear her talking constantly, erotically, even pornographically, but I did not care.

I was in heaven.

I was in love with that big toe...