Copyright © 2014 Kings Woman
Something for me (and the BFFs - my women fans).
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. (From Cherry-Ripe by Thomas Campion)
* * * * *
Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (10.5 min/mp3)
* * * * *
"Will you paint my toe-nails?" I ask.
You lift your head from your book in surprise. "I can't be bothered to get out my easel," you quip first then: "I've never done it. I'll make a mess of it."
"Please," I say. I smile, sweeping a loose length of hair away from my face behind my ear -- because I know you find that sexy.
You look at me standing, wearing nothing but a blue cotton kimono, sweeping a length of hair off my face, and you laugh. "OK," you say. "You'll have to tell me what to do."
"It's a deal," I say gleefully. "I'll go and take off the old polish."
"I'll do that too," you say. "I'll do the whole thing for you."
Well, this is more than I'd hoped for. I have sometimes done my feet while we listen to a podcast so you know it can be quite a palaver. I flash a grin to see that you're actually interested. I love to have my feet held; I love it so much, I might not have actually admitted to you how much.
I fetch out the glass pots of nail polish, the emery boards, pumice stone, some foot cream and some sea salt. It would be nice to soak my feet in a porphyry font but we haven't got one so I fetch the red plastic washing tub.
I sit on the floor; pulling at the folds of my kimono so it lies over my thighs, covering up my pussy. I offer you the varnish remover and some tufts of cotton wool from the roll.
You kneel down and take my left foot in your hand. Mmmmmm, your long fingers close around my foot. My feet are not ticklish -- only all the rest of me! you have exploited that fact often enough. You know you can run your fingers up my foot and I will only make a fat smile, parting my legs.
My muscles relax, warm feelings of lazy contentment ripple through me with my foot in your sure grip. My cunt goes soft, hopeful.
You're wiping the cotton wool over my toe nails; old dark varnish comes away in vivid stains. It takes a while to get the stray corners clean. You let my toes go into the tub to rinse off, turning to my other foot. I wriggle my toes in the water.
I used to have perfect beautiful feet. I took them for granted, I thought nothing of it even when men said: "What pretty feet you have." I said: "Oh no, they are a funny shape if I squash the foot down, look." I did love to shoe them in fun footwear: fuck-me-just-a-little-bit-in-a-corner high heels, brown-topped boots. Now one poor toe sometimes gets a corn. It's the little imperfection that makes me realise my feet used to be perfect. I rub it down lovingly to keep it from growing back too quickly. I let you do it a bit today but I don't like you to spend time on my imperfect toe. I wriggle my foot in your grasp and say it's enough.
You go to fetch hot water. I lean luxuriously back on my hands and watch you, enjoying being treated. You pour the water in the red plastic tub with handfuls of salt crystals which swirl and dissolve in the heat.
Oooh! ah! gingerly I put my feet in the hot water. The biting heat goes nibbling up my nerves and makes my clit tingle and my nipples tighten. I grin through my lashes at you squatting in front of me.
You lean in and start to kiss me. Your mouth presses to my soft mouth, your tongue runs over my lips. I'm giggling, distracted by the sensations of the hot water on my feet, my nerves tingling. My tongue caresses yours, you laugh into my giggly kiss and pull back. Leaving me to sit and soak my feet, you go off to do something-else. I sit leaning back on my hands, my eyes half-closed, feeling the heat in my feet and the tingling going up my nerves through my thighs.
After a while, I start to take my feet out of the water, meaning to dry them off. You hear me and come back, scolding me for not waiting for you. You take the bowl of water away and dry my feet gently, pressing the towel between the toes and rubbing it fluffily over my soles. My feet are soft after the soaking and your rubbing them dry makes the feelings surge in my cunt. Realising how much this is turning me on, you start to grin. I look up through my lashes, smirking back at you.
OK, now we can do the varnish. First the clear varnish that protects the nails. It doesn't really matter with the clear but I make you do it properly. Dip the brush in the varnish, wipe it on the lip of the bottle -- on both sides. Starting a few millimetres from the cuticle, make a broad stroke in the centre of the nail, then one on each side so there is an even neat painted coat. These days varnish dries quickly, although we give the toes a few minutes between coats. We both blow on my toes. I am consumed with giggles at this, you laugh, holding my foot in your firm grip. Mmmmm, I'm creaming up -- as you have realised. You're grinning as you clench your fingers around my small foot.
You have to concentrate when it comes to painting the coloured varnish, though. We both sit, staring intently as you move the little brush delicately down each toe nail.
There: ten little cherries. After occasionally blowing on them, I gently press a finger on one. It's hard and bright. You lean suddenly down, pop one toe in your mouth and suck it. I squeal with laughter.
Taking the foot cream, you squirt a great load onto your hand in a white spurt. I cry out in horror! it only needs a little. Look at that white cream wasted in your hand. I wipe most of it off with some cotton wool, grumbling.
Mmmmm! I'm not grumbling when you take my foot in your hand and start pressing the cream firmly into it. I'm wasting a load of white cream myself -- my cunt going soft and wet. I look at my foot in your hand through half-closed eyes. I'm panting. You rub your long fingers confidently over and around my feet: the heel, the sole, the instep, in between -- oooh! -- the toes.
So soft and clean, with the cherry red toe nails, my nearly perfect feet. They feel loved, tender with contentment. I'm still panting lightly, looking at them through my half-closed eyes. I hear the zzzip of your jeans coming undone and lift my head, a grin lifting the corner of my mouth.
You take a hard thrusting cock out of your jeans. Grinning back to me, you shuffle forward on your knees. Then you lift my two feet into your lap and fit them around your cock. The curves of the insteps make a nicely sized hollow around your turgid dick. I'm panting faster now, laughing with excitement. Your hand grips tight to hold my toes together. I press my heels into each other gently. I feel your big meaty dick between the soles of my feet -- oh God! that's so ... hilarious!
Fuck my feet! Fuck my feet! I'm loving this: the sensation of your cock pushing between the sensitive soles of my feet. Precum is leaking out to ease your cock thrusting through. The plum head of your dick presses between the peach-shaped hole my feet make. I'm laughing and panting to see your slick dick pushing up between my feet. My excitement gets you going. Gripping my feet -- which makes me scream with fun -- you thrust quicker and harder, quick, hard -- uhhh!
You come in a white spurt like cherry blossom falling over my toes, the cum flowing to lie on the slopes of my feet like snow on Mount Fuji. Oh cariad, my lover! You let go my feet and lie in my arms where I can kiss you and hold you tight to me, wrapping my legs around your waist, pushing my freshly painted feet in the back of your jeans to slide over your buttocks.