I am laid out on Esmiralda's platform, my arms and wrists secured next to my sides with velcro straps. My legs extend beyond the end of the platform and my ankles are secured together with feet flat on the floor. Another velcro strap is wrapped about my legs at the knees, forming something of a backrest for Esmiralda who sits atop me naked with her beautiful, brown, bare feet placed together over my face. Her feet move slowly up and down my face, side by side, pausing with intermittent strokes to clasp her stinking, sour toes over my nostrils. I wretch at the ghastly odor, then inhale deeply until my lungs are full, and my eyes roll back in my head as the delirium rushes over me.
Esmiralda is a local folk healer and fortune teller by day, and an amateur dominatrix by night. She is something of a witch,...a good witch, anyway,....who insists that sucking her toes and performing cunnilingus on her bestows good luck on the giver. Standing about five foot three in her rotten canvas sneakers, and weighing about one hundred seventy pounds, or so, Esmie is wonderfully buxom, with magnificent hips and a voluminous round ass. Her thick, muscular thighs are like boa constrictors, and yet, taper into the daintiest of knees, firm, curvy calves, pretty ankles, and lovely sculpted feet. Her heels are square and thickly padded, and her silky, soft arches are strong, but not too high. Her instep is broad, and her exquisitely delicious toes are perfectly aligned. Esmie's smooth soles are always warm and moist with rancid sweat, and her toes reek with the putrid stench of fermented toe scum. She spends most of her day in a pair of sneakers that date back twenty years to her days as a high school cheerleader. Full of holes, and soaked through with oily, age-old, feminine foot filth, these little shoes form the basis of her sensually dominating persona. Each session begins with a period of intensive foot worship whereby Esmie's feet and toe cleavages are licked clean of every trace of sweat and toe scum.
Above and directly behind me, perched on an old wooden stool, is a young blond woman named Ellen, with the heels of her pumps hooked on the cross-members of the stools legs. Her knees are spread apart, and the crotch piece of her black thong is clearly distinguishable under her short miniskirt at the rim of the seat. She is taller,...about six feet,....and just as buxom and curvaceous as Esmie. Longer legged of course, hers terminate in slightly more elegant and elongated feet, with longer and more slender toes. This is her second visit in a week, and she is celebrating her recently settled divorce. She too keeps her feet smelling like swill, wearing a pair of old black, sling-back leather pumps that are scuffed and full of the most putrid foot odor. She looks down on me from between her milky thighs, her soft eyes resolute with purpose and anticipation. Earlier in the week she had sat atop me in a black brassiere, her stocking feet in my face, and her filthy, reinforced toes in my mouth. Now she watches as I lick the greasy toe scum from between Esmie's succulent, flexible digits.
It is dusk and the sun has just gone down. The room around us smells of wretched foot odor and incense. Strung from the rafters above are tiny clear Christmas lights that veil the platform in a kind of half light. In the corner behind me is the statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe, an array of votive candles glowing before her, and a writhing serpent beneath her lovely sandaled foot. Next to us, about six feet away, is an old love seat, worn and musty with sweat and body odor. It folds out as a bed, and many nights have been spent on my back with Esmie sitting astride my face, butt first. In the adjacent corner is Esmie's wicker Peacock chair, frayed a bit around the edges, but sturdy and mysterious. How many hours have I sat cross-legged on the floor before her, massaging her wonderful red-brown legs and sucking her sour toes? Hour many times have I knelt on the soiled rug before her with my face buried in her steamy crotch, as my tongue moves up and down her swollen labium, and probes the depths of her wet canal?
Next to the chair is an old lamp table full of votive candles of every type and size. An empty wine glass is present, left there earlier as I sat before another woman who visit's regularly. She is a domestic servant from a nearby town, and she needed her feet worshiped after a day doing general housecleaning for a gaggle of white trash. She, too, wore sneakers and her lovely brown feet reeked of sweat and filth. In her 40's perhaps, she has gorgeous legs, and there are few things I enjoy more than worshiping the feet and massaging the legs of a woman of color. It is an honor and privilege to be of such service to this woman.
The old wood framed house creaks, and pecans drop on the tin roof above, as the trees are tossed about in the breeze of an evening thunderstorm. The old windows rattle, and the stained, roll-down shades flap as the rain begins to fall lightly above us. The candle flames flicker, and dark shadows dance overhead in the open rafters. Esmie stuffs her heel gingerly into my mouth and I immediately begin to work the edges of my teeth against her soft flesh, rubbing away any dried skin, and dredging up the malodorous crud that lays wedged in her fine pores. The filthy insoles of her sneakers leave a poopy brown stain on her soles that must be loosened, and then licked away before the evening session moves on to more intimate issues.
With her feet finally clean, Esmie retreats by grasping my face between her warm soles, as Ellen drops her old pumps and places her sweat soaked soles together over my face. She curls her toes over my nostrils and the sharp, acrid odor of her toe scent burns through my sinuses. Reflexively, I wrench away, but am instantly trapped in a cocoon made of silky-soft girl-feet. I inhale deeply, and am carried away once again by that nauseating, brown cloud that emanates from Ellen's delicate, pink toe cleavages and soles. Ellen is aroused by the sight of me beneath her feet and without much foreplay, points the long, elegant toes of her right foot downward and coaxes them all into my captive mouth at once. My tongue darts between her supple digits and instantly my taste buds are inundated with the salt-sour tang of a white women's wretched toe scum. Like snakes, Ellen's toes coil about my tongue and squeeze playfully, causing her oily bunkum to ooze forth freely.
I lay in a stupor, eyes watering from the stench, sucking Ellen's toes and licking her smooth soles. Periodically, she would work her heels, and then the balls of her feet, into my mouth to be exfoliated and licked clean. Ellen would give forth with a sigh of ecstacy, and squirm on the stool on which she sat. Then more slavish tongue work on her soft soles would resume, and finally some additional toes sucking.
Esmie dismounted and knelt beside the platform. Reaching into my shorts, she drew out my flaccid shaft and began pumping slowly up and down. Encased in her silky-soft fist, my rod stiffens quickly. Hungrily, the witch drops her head and grasps my foreskin in her teeth. Her tongue flicks wildly at the tip of my tool, sending shock waves though my body. I began to squirm, too, as the big blond girl above me massages my face vigorously with her lithe, dexterous toes and soles. Esmie sucked at my shaft now, taking it deep into her mouth and then working her tightly pursed lips up and down the shaft rhythmically. It is sensory overload as I am transported deeper into a tortured delirium.
Then the magnificent Ellen withdrew her bare feet from my face and stood up. She unwrapped the leather miniskirt and tossed it onto the love seat. Lifting and removing her black turtleneck, tossing it aside as well, her big, jiggling jugs bounced forth majestically. Hovering above me, Ellen grasps each tit and hefts it, squeezing gently and stroking the huge conical nipples that swell before her eyes. Stepping to one side of me, she peeled down her stinking, soiled panties and then dropped them over my face. Standing on one foot, Ellen carefully took the wet panties between her supple toes and deftly stuffed them into my mouth. My shaft stiffened as the taste of menstrual flow reached my tongue.
From the floor next to the platform, Esmie produced the "evil contraption",....a perforated plastic golf ball attached to one end of a six foot length of clear plastic tube, with a plastic funnel attached to the upper end. A look of horror shot across my face as the folk witch coaxed the ball end into my mouth and handed the statuesque Ellen the funnel. Stepping across me, the big girl spread her legs, squatted slightly, placed the funnel firmly over her swollen vulva and released a stream of golden, yellow piss. Gleaming in the candle light, the pee coursed down the tube and into my mouth. Mingling with the soiled panties, the fresh, hot piss took on the flavors of sweat, mucous, menstrual flow and week-old woman-filth. Quite an irresistible cocktail, if one thinks about it. Then, the ball is jiggled from my mouth, as ellen steps to the side and the big girl clamps a warm foot across my mouth until I have swallowed all her pee.
When I have done as ordered, Ellen steps across me again and squats slowly until her crotch hovers just above my captive face. Mucous drips from her fat labium, and the odor of menstruation seers my sinus cavities. Ellen's ass is huge, with hips that measure easily in the mid-forty inch range. She reaches down and removes the wet undies from my mouth, then, reaching back with both hands, she pulls apart her ass cheeks, and in the dim light I see her dark rectum. Gently settling to her knees, her massive bum looms closer, and Ellen calls for my tongue on her butt flesh. I oblige, licking happily at her cavernous sweaty, crevice. It is ghastly business, but it is a great joy, and my shaft stiffens in the witch's mouth. For the immense pleasure, there is a price that must be paid. And I pay dearly for the privilege of giving these magnificent women the homage that they deserve.
Ellen finally settles down and drops all her weight gingerly onto my face, driving my nose up her rectum as her enormous maw of a vagina engulfs my lower face like the mouth of a great serpent. Thick labium drapes over my cheeks and will seal off the precious air if I do not commence to probing round and round in her slimy canal. Thick mucous oozes forth, and I must gulp it down, drown or suffocate. Big Ellen begins a slow bump and grind, humping my face dreamily and deriving great satisfaction from my slavish tongue work. The horrendous stench of her deep bowels is highly arousing, and my shaft is kept rigid with Esmie's expert fellatio.
A clap of thunder crashes nearby, and then a deluge begins above us. But all I can really hear is the squeak of the platform as Ellen's weight shifts back and forth, and the audible squish of a wet, sloppy cunt sucking at my face. Ellen's face-fucking picks up the tempo, and she shifts back and down a bit until her fat clitoris is within reach of my tongue. I suck and lick her clit, as great flows of hot, mucous descend over my face. The pace picks up, and a deep groan comes forth from the depths of Ellen's body. My hips thrust against Esmie's mouth, as Ellen stiffens, then shakes violently, and stiffens again. The big girl farts, and I am thankful that my nose was not up her tremendous ass. Sliding forward again in her slimy muck and grasping my mouth once again in her gaping cunt, Ellen feeds me her orgasm. Gulping down her flow, I now shudder, my legs stiffen in their bonds and I explode into Esmie's hungry mouth. Esmie pumps and sucks at my deflating shaft, biting the head and foreskin for added effect, and to squeeze every drop of semen that she can make off with. She pumps and jerks,...then bights and sucks. Pain, then pleasure.
Ellen sits atop my face quietly as I continue to probe her slimy sex canal. It is a peaceful evening, with the ghastly odor of steamy sex and sweat filling the room with both revulsion and ecstacy. These women are the sweetest of lovers, and I am in awe of their remarkable feminine prowess. They must be worshiped completely, and with great reverence and enthusiasm. It is their birthright,....their human right. The evening will draw on, late into the wee hours of the morning. The two women will change places and positions several times before I am released from my bonds and shuttled over to the open sofa bed where the two women will collapse on top of me with feet in my face, or my head clamped between their thighs,....or perhaps even my face burried beneath their heaving breasts. They may sleep softly as I suck their nipples, and tongue their rubbery areolas. As the rain clears away near morning, the air will freshen and filter into the old farm house through every crack. The candles will go out one by one,....most of them, anyway. And, as the sky lightens outside, roosters will crow here and there, all over the dew-covered countryside.