Helping Cindy

I and my husband, Tim, have a normal marriage. Nothing "out there" going on.

He does have a foot fetish and I'm happy to oblige. Pleases me to please him. And I know how. I was schooled years earlier in what makes a foot guy tick by a guy named Rick. Since that time, I'd grown into a shameless foot tease out in public and at work, even church when we'd occasionally go.

Once married, my husband approved of my low-key teasing. He loved hearing my stories about tormenting the foot lovers in the office, how I raise their blood pressure while never acknowledging that anything at all was happening. Studiously pretending not to notice their eyes on my feet, my revealing shoes, my meticulously pedicured toes.

Beyond the foot fetish stuff, one of the other big things that made a huge impression on my young enlisted self (I was in the military at that point in my life) was the way Rick and his wife, Margaret, spoke to one another during our sexual encounters.

The way they spoke became a huge part of my sex life, even today.

My husband is utterly free to tell me how badly he'd like to suck his secretary's toes - while I'm blowing him. And I'm similarly free to scream out loud how much I want to suck that hunky guy's dick from the gym - while my husband eats me out. It's beyond hot (at least for us).

It's also just fantasy. We'd never done - or even considered - doing anything extramarital. Our sex talk about various other people in our lives was just that...all talk.

It's our thing. Thank you Rick and Margaret!

That was the way things were before Cindy.

Cindy was a mom, someone we ended up meeting because we had young kids of the same ages who were engaged in the same activities (little kid football and cheerleading).

The first time I saw her was so typical of her - or I should say, typical of all the dads in attendance at whatever event it was (a football practice in this case). Yup, just a collection of moms and dads watching their kids, emotions riding an internal roller coaster, hoping "junior" did good, didn't fuck up.

Except for one difference whenever this one woman happened to be there. When she was present, you noticed a knot of mostly dads coalescing around her.

She didn't appear to be actively trying to "hold court" but she certainly could have. What a body! That day, she was wearing workout gear, as if she'd just come from the gym. The dads were so obvious, each hoping to engage her, or maybe just stand close enough to her to maximize their view.

The first time I witnessed this, I harrumph-ed in internal disapproval. I admit it. Dressed like that, with that body, it's a wonder the dads weren't jerking off right there at little kid football practice.

Later that night, after the kids were in bed, I found myself thinking about That Woman (at that point I didn't yet know her name). As in, thinking about what a remarkable specimen she was. Like, mmmmmmmmmm. Shades of Margaret, college track star, the only other woman I'd 'been with.'

Now a bit frisky, I asked my husband if he wouldn't mind "feeding me," our little euphemism for feeding me cock and a load of cum.

Tim was down. Surprise, right? We unceremoniously got naked. He sat up with his back to the headboard and I assumed my position. I prefer to suck cock lying on my belly between his spread legs with my little feet in the air where I know they'll turn him on.

I took his nice dickhead in my mouth, savoring its shape and its heat. Heaven, still, after hundreds of cocksuckings. Just doesn't get old and our dirty talk - with its ever-changing topics - keeps things fresh.

I slowly pumped up and down the length of his shaft a couple times, eliciting that sigh I soooo love to hear.

I took his cock out of my mouth and said, "So, I noticed you checking out that hot mom at practice today. Want to tell me what you think of her?" I knew he would, so I didn't wait for an answer before resuming.

He answered, "Yeah, hard to miss. I asked Ron about her." Ron was another football dad.

"Her name is Cindy. Married - to a fireman apparently. She does bodybuilding or fitness competitions. Which shows right?"

I made some sort of noise that meant "yeah," my mouth, ya know, otherwise engaged.

He went on, trance-like, enjoying his blowjob but really reveling in talking about this Cindy woman. "Can you imagine getting your hands on that fucking body honey?"

I began working on his balls. He loves that. His question was rhetorical so I didn't bother answering as I sucked his hairy balls. Tim just kept talking.

"That ass! Not an ounce of fat on that fucking perfect body!"

"Can't wait to see her again...can you feel how hard Cindy's making my cock honey?"

I took it out. "You're rock hard. You want this one bad don't you?"

"Oh my god, babe, you have no idea!"

"Yeah, you wish she was here - just like this? Blowing you? Maybe she has pretty feet too. Maybe she likes to be fed..."

Tim croaked out, "Oh....my.......god!!! Yeah, Cindy!!!!!!"

And I got a relatively premature feeding. Which I gratefully swallowed.

Hubby was spent. Typical.

But that's not a bad thing. Just means, I was once again awesome - Wife of the Year! Lol. I was happy in that moment. His release, on his terms, always makes me blissfully happy.

That time I didn't ask that he reciprocate. I just let him fall into a nice deep slumber, no doubt dreaming about Miss Perfect Body. I was awake for awhile longer, thinking about her myself, determined to find out more about her.

And find out I did. The next day, during casual conversations over the phone with a few other football moms, I got a pretty full picture of who Cindy was. Most of it was unimportant of course, but I learned what she did for a living. She was a personal trainer at a gym not that far from our house.

I'd had personal trainers before in other places, both in the military and once I'd gotten out. But I didn't have one here. I just lifted my puny little weights at home using workout videos. And I regularly jogged around the neighborhood or used the track at the local high school when the field wasn't in use. I was in shape and I still am. I work at it.

Talking to my husband that night, I mentioned that I was thinking of signing up for the gym. He said, "cool" and we went on about our night.

I didn't act on the join-the-gym idea for a week or so. Wasn't until after another football practice which happened over the weekend. Both Tim and I were there, and so was Cindy with her bubble of dads forming around her. She was talking to another mom, seemingly oblivious to the dad-bubble phenomenon.

I don't wanna inaccurately paint the picture though. I mean, the dudes weren't openly gawking at her. It was subtle. They were obviously trying to be cool about standing in proximity to her but, to me, she was the center of gravity and the dads were caught in orbit around her.

I whispered to hubby, "Babe, just give in and go on over there. Hey, she's wearing sandals."

I knew there was absolutely no stopping my man from checking out her feet. At some point, it was gonna happen and, if she was even halfway good looking below the ankles, I'd be hearing about it later.

Then again, if it turned out her feet looked like they'd been worked over with a bag of hammers, well, not only would I not hear about her feet, I probably wouldn't hear about her at all - even though she was hyper-hot. Pretty feet are a requirement for my hubby to commit to lusting after a woman. If he doesn't know, he'll just assume a woman's feet are nice - until proven otherwise. Anyways that's his thing...

So he joined her orbit. At one point I noticed he was talking to her. Well, damn, good for him but I'm going over there.

They were engaged in little-kid-football-related chitchat of course. Proforma stuff. Tim introduced me to her. She was nice, warm, sweet. East coast (maybe New Jersey?) accent which stood out big time given we were in the midwest.

But whoa! She had foot-model feet!

Look, I've been told my feet are perfect. Like, a lot. As in, I've been told that so often and so consistently that a year ago I was emboldened to begin posting pics of my feet on instragram.

But Hottie Cindy was giving me a run for my money. She had super-cute feet. My husband had just hit the fantasy-mom jackpot. I looked forward to hearing about it later...

Let me tell you...standing with your husband, talking to a woman that you know he desperately wants to fuck...it's a thrilling experience in its own way. I wasn't at all jealous of her.

As I stood there engaging in chitchat with Cindy and my husband, I thought of Margaret again. The tables were turned. I was Margaret at the picnic (you'd have to read my first story to understand this reference).

I found myself saying to Cindy, "...yeah these practices ARE kinda long..." or whatever, but what I was thinking was, "Woman, I would absolutely eat your pussy!" So yeah, no jealousy knowing with certainty that my husband's dick was half hard right now. Rather, I felt a little flushed with lust just being in her physical presence.

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I signed up at the gym two days later - that next Monday. Huge place. Bright, clean, with a good energetic vibe. Got the obligatory tour, met some staff, and asked about personal trainers (price, availability). And sure enough, Cindy was there, off in the distance in a corner working with someone. I pointed to her and asked whether she was available to take on another person.

Staff Guy was unsure - couldn't answer for her - so he walked us over and caught her attention. Cindy gave her client another set of whatever to do and she joined us.

"Victoria, good to see you!" Remembered my name. Gave me a hug. Nice. I mean, this is all business at this point, but still, nice.

Staff Guy explained that I'd just signed up and was wondering if Cindy was available.

She said of course and she asked if I could hang out another 10 minutes-ish so we could talk a bit after she completed the session she was doing. That gave me the opportunity to check her out a bit more - more than I had at football practice. I mean, what else was I gonna do as I stood around while killing 10 minutes?

As my dear husband had helpfully pointed out as I worked his dick, this woman had no fat on her. None. Really.

Small pert tits. Fucking muscular ass. Tight. Hard. Wow. The tan was probably fake (I'd learn all about that later as it happens). She could probably kill a man with those legs. Damn, what a specimen! Like some living, breathing, walking, talking sculpture.

Pretty face too. Lovely brown eyes. Nice hair. Thin-ish lips though. I'm (justifiably?) proud of my full lips. Ha! So I've got her beat on one thing!!

She finished with her client. We set up a day and time for our first session to discuss goals etc. and knock out a first workout.

She had a little spiel about her background and qualifications. And turns out, yes, it was true she competed in fitness events. Big events. As in, she'd fly to LA or Chicago or wherever to compete. She hadn't achieved professional status (still unsure what that meant) but it was clear she was waaay into all of it. She was prepping for another event and alluded to the work and dietary restrictions involved and I pretended I understood. I did learn later what these men and women go through to participate in these competitions. It's pretty rough.

So I went home that afternoon and googled her. Sure enough, there were pics. There were photos of her at competitions where she was on stage in her skimpy bodybuilding bikini and her translucent stripper heels (not being judge-y but how are those different than stripper heels exactly?)

Some photos were of her in a group. Some were just her, posing alone in front of the others - I guess being judged. And there were some where she was in a studio, although that photo session was also somehow associated with the event? Wasn't sure what I was seeing. Whatever. She was smoking hot in real life and smoking hot in her photos. Good for her!

And, at one of these events, she had won in her category...womens/fitness/tall...if I remember correctly.

Tim came home and I just couldn't help myself so...

"Hey babe, remember I was thinking about starting up at the gym?"

"Sure. Yeah. You signed up?"

"Yup, I'm good to go. And I got a personal trainer lined up too. Want to see a pic of her?"

I didn't actually wait for his answer, just put my iPad in front of him.

Cindy from football practice but...bikini...heels...a little round button on her bikini at the hip with a competition number on it. She's fluffing her hair back or there was a fan. She's deeply tanned. Looking straight at the camera. Six pack abs. So lean. Utterly sexy.

A goddess.

The feeding was tremendous.

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Cindy was a solid trainer. Obviously, she knew her shit when it came to exercising and bodybuilding but she was also quite personable. Could be pretty funny. And I definitely benefited physically from our sessions over the course of the next six months or so. I was getting a little leaner, a little harder.

She and I became pretty close friends, maybe not best friends or anything to that degree, but I enjoyed her company and talking with her about...whatever.

I was able to compartmentalize my physical attraction for her, and of course the over-the-top dirty talk stuff that was confined to the privacy of my bedroom. Those things weren't in the realm of reality. They didn't get in the way of my growing bond of friendship with Cindy. She was really cool and really nice.

That said, Cindy and I didn't hang out a whole lot socially though. Met for coffee a few times. I did a couple girls night out things with a group that included her. Nothing interesting to report, although she did draw massive attention wherever we went.

But it was now me, the one standing next to her at the little kid events - as her friend. Within "The Bubble," I was all but invisible to the orbiting dads. And that's not something I'm used to. I'm attractive dammit but Cindy was just on another level. What're ya gonna do? Just roll with it. Plus, I wanted to be in her bubble probably as much as all the dads...Deep down, I shared their reasons...

One day I heard through the mom network that Cindy's husband was out of work. Well that sucks. Speaking of her husband, you just never saw this guy. And if she mentioned him, it was only in passing. Odd, but I never pressed...

I broached the subject of his lost job with her later when the moment seemed appropriate. She said it was true. She didn't go into 'why' though and I didn't push it.

She said she was thinking of taking on another job and I thought "ouch," feeling awful for her. Cindy already worked pretty hard, seemed to me, and had a couple kids to raise. I forgot the exact context but she let slip that they were late on a mortgage payment.

So she was thinking of doing a little waitressing during the evenings, cocktail waitressing.

That night, I discussed her troubles with Tim over dinner. We were both willing to loan her money - we weren't rich folks but we could handle it. But I was worried that'd hurt her pride though. It could change the dynamic between Cindy and me.

Tim thought for a bit and then said, "She should model."

Hmmmm. I mean, yeah.

So the next time we did a workout session and were talking about life, I mentioned Tim's suggestion to Cindy.

She said, "It's not as if I haven't thought about it. I dunno. When I pose on stage, I'm literally flexing. That's not exactly what most modeling involves. And if I just try to be a fitness model, I'd certainly have to move. This city isn't a hotbed for that sort of thing." She would know.

Again, I brought this up with Tim. He surprised me, the bastard...

"Hear me out. She could model for us. And we could sort of, you know, deliberately overpay her. If she's up for it, it'd be a way of transferring money to her that leaves her pride intact..."

I laughed, "Ok horn-dog! And how long have you been thinking about this?"

Before he could answer, I mused, "Maybe she'd actually be up for it. I'll consider asking her. No promises."

Tim joked, "Besides, my birthday is coming up..."

Shaking my head but smiling, I shot back, "Yeah, fuck you Tim. But it would be hot. Imagine her in our living room in one of her glittery bikinis."

"I'm there. I'm imagining."

All this sort of talk always, always, always results in sex.

I said, "Who gets to go first? You wanna feed me or eat me?"

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The idea grew on me, fed by my vivid memories of my photo session with Rick and Margaret. I wasn't presuming that Cindy would agree to anything beyond the bikini pics in our living room. But even though it wouldn't develop into a Rick-level encounter, it would still be very, very hot. And it would be a way to push her some much needed money, which I wanted to do. I had genuine affection for her and would feel good if I were able to help her.

Could I totally avoid the idea that we were taking advantage of her vulnerability? No. I wrestled with some guilt about that but rationalized, hey, she's an adult and she'll do what she wants.

The very next day, after wrapping up a workout session, Cindy and I chatted about her new waitressing gig - which was ok but the hours were turning her days into a grind. The money was helping but wasn't amazing.

"Remember we discussed modeling?

"Yeah, sure..."

Time to take a risk. With a surge of adrenaline, here goes...

"Look, would you consider dipping your toe into modeling by doing a session for me and Tim? A private thing?"

She outright gawked at me. Shocked.

I instantly regretted what I'd said. I panicked a bit. A fight or flight moment.

I blurted out, "Look, we want to help you. And it wouldn't be anything crazy. We were thinking you could do the same stuff that you've already done, you know, competition posing."

She began processing that. Maybe considering it.

"Look, we're both very fond of you and, like I said, we really want to help out."

Finally she asked, "For how long? For how much?"

"We were thinking an hour." Tim and I hadn't actually discussed a specific amount of money. And I had no idea what a model gets for an hour.

In the tension of the moment and my panicky state, I offered, "1500."

Well, that must have been a good number.

She looked me in the eye, her expression maybe a little plaintive, "Let me think about it."

Three days later we met for coffee. Actually, I was a little surprised - and really relieved - that she said yes to coffee. A good sign?

It was. She said she'd do it but she had some questions and concerns. I basically agreed to the things she brought up. Photos never for release to anyone. No mention of what we were doing - to anyone. No nudity. She would choose the poses and the outfits. I assured her that none of that was a problem at all, which it wasn't. We didn't need anyone finding out about us either.

My only request was that she have a nice pedicure. In red. She was ok with that.

Once we'd gotten through her concerns, her mood lightened and it was like the clouds parted, the dawn of perfect day.

"I'm actually looking forward to this!"

"That's so awesome! And so are we of course" I said, laughing a little.

I added, "The pedicure is for Tim."

She laughed. "Yeah, no kidding. Your guy is like all foot guys. They think I can't tell."

Me, "Tell me about it. I have stories..."

We agreed on a day and time - a weekday, early afternoon. Tim would take the day off.

It would be another five days.

There would be no feedings until after the last picture was taken, probably right inside our front door, five seconds after she left.

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