The Mammoth Book of Women's Erotic Fantasies (16 page)

“Glad to see me back, Melody?” she asks, smiling cheerfully; then glancing down at her feet, where my eyes and jaw are located. “You like my new toe fashions?”

My mouth opens and closes like a beached flounder. I can hardly wrap my dizzy head around the fact that my boss, Cynthia, was the one I’d frantically foot-pleasured. I’ve had the
hots for the lush, forty-something brunette for a long time, mind you, but never did I expect in my wildest dreams that fantasy and reality would come crashing together so wickedly.

I’ve been planning to make a move on the hot-looking, big-breasted babe for months and, now that I knew she was my kind of righteous foot-disciple, I quickly make up my mind to put my
sensual thoughts into action. So, without saying a word, I grab her hand and tow her down the hall, into her office, slam the door shut with my heel, wrap my arms around the startled beauty, and
plant a sloppy, wet one square on her glossy pucker before she can even react.

“Jesus, Melody! What’s gotten into you!?” she reacts, jerking her head back, but not attempting to free herself from my bear-hug.

“Your toes, among other things,” I quip. And then I tell her all about my foot fetish, my session at the shoe-shine stand, about what I’ve done to her gorgeous feet, and what
they’ve done to me. The words spill out of my mouth in a burbling torrent, and at the end of it all, I confess my long-held lust for the sultry manageress.

She stares at me for an awkwardly long period of time, and then slips out of my grasp and walks over to the window and twists the Venetian blinds shut. Then she’s back in my arms,
confessing her own secret cravings for my young, tight body, my blonde cunny, before sealing her lips to mine.

We mash our mouths together, devour each other’s lips, my naughty hands roaming all over her curvy body, down to her plump, rounded bottom cheeks – which I grip and knead, while her
own fingers riffle through my long, golden locks. I gasp for air, fight to keep my head from spinning off into orbit as wet dreams become wetter reality, and she darts her tongue in between my
parted lips and explores the interior of my mouth, till I meet her tongue with my tongue.

I squeeze her body against mine, her large breasts and swollen nipples pressing hard and soft into my smaller boobs, and we slap our slippery, pink tongues together over and over. Finally, I
break away from her mouth, push her back, and implore her to tear off her clothes and show me her over-ripe body. I’ve one thing in mind, of course. “I want you and me to
foot-fuck!” I shout. “Face-to-face – no curtain between us this time!”

She gives me a strange look, but rapidly disrobes, leaving her flower-print dress and satiny pink bra and panties strewn on the floor along with her sandals, and any remaining inhibitions. Her
body is just as I’ve pictured it in so many masturbatory fantasies – voluptuous, curvaceous, her golden-brown tits huge and heavy-looking, her mocha nipples thick and jutting, her
glistening pussy sprinkled with downy, brown fur.

“Your turn, Melody,” she says, waking me out of my trance.

“Yes, miss,” I respond, quickly shedding my tight, purple halter top and tiny, black skirt. I was planning on visiting my favourite bookshop directly after work, so I’m sans
underwear.

“You’re a very beautiful young woman,” Cynthia breathes, her warm, brown eyes travelling all over my lean body, my long, supple legs, my high breasts and protruding nipples,
before fixating on my shaved cunny.

We melt back into each other’s arms, wildly kiss and French some more, our hot nude bodies fitting neatly together like we’re meant for each other. I suck on her extended tongue,
excitedly bob my head back and forth on it, then escape her embrace and skip over to the huge oaken desk that dominates her office. I brush the business paraphernalia off its gleaming surface with
a couple of swipes of my arm and climb on top.

“Time for some foot-lovin’,” I state, plopping my bare arse down on the cool, varnished wood and beckoning my boss over.

She joins me on the desktop, sits down opposite me, and I stick out my leg and hold my foot only inches away from her pussy, my toes pointing directly at her slickened sex. She hesitates for a
moment, teasing me, my leg starting to shake, and then at last she grips my arched ped and rubs it between her hands.

“That’s more like it,” I murmur when she pops my big toe into her mouth and starts sucking on it. She has my right foot in her hands and mouth, so I scoop up her right foot and
reciprocate her love. I tenderly stroke her ped, then lightly rake my purple-tipped fingernails up and down the vulnerable bottom of her foot.

“Yes, Melody,” she mumbles from around my toe.

I kiss her cute, multi-colored piggies one at a time, then tongue the tops and bottoms of them, dart my tongue in between her toes and eagerly scrub them with my velvet-sandpaper tongue. Then I
latch my lips onto her big toe and suck it, getting it all nice and wet for my cunny.

“Toe-fuck me, Cynthia!” I bleat, pushing her foot down to my pussy and pressing her toes against my moistened lips. “Toe-fuck me like you did at the shoe-shine
stand!”

She slides her big toe into my pussy, starts pistoning her sun-kissed leg, pumping her toe in and out of my sex, her other painted foot-digits caressing my electrified clitty. I pull my own foot
out of her hands and mouth and shove it against her pussy, reveling in the hot, damp feeling of her engorged lips.

“Yes, Melody, yes!” she hisses, staring fiercely at me as I feel up her wet labes with my toes, then slip my big toe into her pussy.

We pound each other’s cunts with our toes, foot-fuck one another faster and faster, harder and harder, relentlessly, until Cynthia throws back her head and screams my name and her hot
juices cascade all over my ped. I grasp her ankle and frantically help her plunder my pussy with her toes, biting my lip and whimpering when my own cunny explodes and a blistering orgasm rents my
quivering body, followed by another, and another.

It’s only when we’re licking our come off each other’s feet that my boss admits that she’s never heard of the shoe-shine stands, or the bookshop in which they’re
located. Apparently, she picked up the idea for her rainbow-hued toenail design and silver toe-jewellery from a friend of hers.

“Maybe you’d like to meet her sometime, Melody?” she comments, a satisfied smile on her shiny lips. “If you haven’t already, that is.”

Now, I don’t have a clue if “shoe-shine stands” actually exist or not, and my former boss was anything but a “hot-looking, big-breasted babe” (she
was actually a flat-chested, horse-faced sixty year-old with more corns on her feet than toes), but a lady is entitled to a “ped”-estrian dream every now and then, isn’t she?

Kate (Athabasca, Canada)

After ten years of mostly happy marriage to my husband, Jim, sex has become more of a chore than a joy lately – something to do once a week, like changing the sheets on
the bed. Our love life has become stale, boring. It isn’t that Jim isn’t a good lover, it’s just that with the kids and the jobs and the new house, sex has become secondary, and,
sadly, it doesn’t look like the situation is going to improve any time soon.

For that reason, I often wish that I had a really close girlfriend, someone I could talk openly and honestly to about things like sex, maybe get some advice on how I could spice things up with
Jim. But, alas, all my women friends in the small town we recently moved to are rather prudish when it comes to things like that, or any other subject that can’t be discussed in open
church.

As a result, I’ve had to use my imagination and invent a girlfriend, Marianne, who I can have intimate chats with. I don’t actually talk out loud to her, like a six-year-old with an
imaginary buddy, but I do converse with her in my mind. And she has, I have to admit, begun to figure more and more prominently in the evermore frequent sexual fantasies that I’ve come to
rely on to retain my sanity. I often combine the two – a helpful talk and a healthful fantasy with Marianne – like I did when I broached the subject of my stale sex life. We were
sitting at the kitchen table, and . . .

Marianne twirled a strand of her long, black hair around a slim, silver-tipped finger. “Roger and I had a very similar problem,” she said, her glossy lips breaking
into a sympathetic smile. “I think all couples do eventually. You get completely overwhelmed by the day-to-day activities of living and striving to get ahead, such that sex doesn’t seem
so important any more.”

I gazed into her crystal-clear blue eyes and blatantly inquired, “And how did you guys handle it?”

“Well . . . you’ve got to do something to, um . . . shock the sexuality back into your marriage, so to speak. For Roger and me, it was, uh . . .”

I leaned closer.

“Spanking,” she blurted.

“What?”

She looked me directly in the eye, her pearl-white, perfectly made-up face composed. “Our sex life had dwindled to virtually nothing, and it was just routine whenever we did make love, so
Roger and I tried some new things, experimented a bit . . . until we found that spanking turned both of us on. Really turned us on.”

I gulped down my amazement. “You mean that Roger spanks you?”

“Roger spanks me, I spank Roger. We spank each other. It’s completely revived our sex life.”

“But isn’t it, um, painful?”

“There’s a very thin line between pain and pleasure, Kate.”

I almost spilled my coffee as I took a small sip, my hand was shaking so hard. “And w-what do you, you know, use to spank each other?” I spluttered.

Marianne shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it depends on what we feel like. Our hands, of course, brushes, paddles, rolled-up newspapers and magazines, dildos –”

“Dildos?”

She nodded. “Why don’t I just show you our collection of disciplinary devices?”

“Why don’t you?” I almost shouted, my face turning red and my body hot as I had a mental flash of beautiful Marianne savagely spanking hunky Roger’s bare bum with a
dildo. Roger is a big, blond, macho type of guy, and the thought of him getting disciplined with a plastic cock by his petite, polite wife left me light-headed and tingling all over, and wondering
if Marianne wasn’t on to something here.

“Follow me,” she said, pushing back and gracefully sliding out of her chair. She winked at me and then strolled out of the kitchen and down the hall, her hips swaying suggestively
under her shark-coloured dress.

I slammed my coffee cup down in its saucer, cracking both, and hurried after her, the two of us colliding just inside her bedroom door. She laughed and steadied me, her smooth, slender hands
cool on my hot, sun-burnished skin, and then she guided me over to an antique dresser that crouched against a wall in the tastefully appointed room. She pulled the top drawer open, and we stood
there, bare shoulder to bare shoulder, looking down at a neatly arrayed collection of butt-warming tools: switches, yardsticks, steel batons, paddles, hair brushes, a riding crop, and, yes,
dildos.

“Wow!” I exhaled. “How long have you and Roger been doing this? Spanking each other, I mean?”

“Oh, about a year now, I suppose.”

I picked up a monstrous, blue-black double-dong and held it in my hand, marvelling at its length and thickness, its heft. Then I whispered, as if I was holding a sacred object in a place of
worship, “How does getting whipped with this thing feel?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Marianne replied matter-of-factly.

I jerked my head sideways and gaped at her. “Huh? Oh, no . . . I couldn’t . . . I –”

“You want to reclaim your sex life, or not?” she said bluntly, her soft, sweet voice grown decidedly harsher. Her eyes were hard and intimidating, her full lips parted slightly as if
she was having trouble breathing.

I was having trouble breathing. I dropped the heavy-duty, two-pronged dildo and took a step backwards. “I guess maybe I better get –”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Marianne barked, scooping up the lewd sex toy and roughly grabbing my elbow.

I glanced anxiously from her hand to her face, and her expression of unbending determination told me that I’d better play along. Plus, my own blossoming desire to find out just what that
dildo did feel like kept me rooted to the ground. “Okay, okay. I-I’m willing to give it a try,” I stammered. No risk, no reward, right?

“Good,” Marianne replied crisply. She let go of my arm and walked over to the large canopy bed that dominated the room, sat down stiffly on the side of it. She held the
wicked-looking cock-substitute in her right hand and patted her tiny lap with her left. “Come over here and accept your punishment. Now!”

Sweat grew on my forehead and the palms of my hands, and my legs turned into two overcooked noodles. My whole body was numb and my head was spinning, but somehow I managed to stagger over to
Marianne. I stood in front of her like a nervous schoolgirl, my hands trembling, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“You’ve been a bad girl, haven’t you!?” she rebuked me, slapping the giant dildo hard across the palm of her small, delicate hand.

The warm, caring woman I had known only moments before was gone, replaced by a cold, aggressive, and aroused dominatrix (I could clearly see her rigid nipples indenting the thin fabric of her
dress). I suspected, as well, that her pussy was probably as wet as mine. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto her lap, bent me over her knees as if I was a ten year-old girl who’d
just been caught smoking.

“This is for your own good,” she declared, and then smacked my bottom with the rubber hose.

“God!” I shrieked, instantly amazed at the intensity of my reaction. It hadn’t really hurt, but everything, every feeling, every action and reaction, seemed incredibly
magnified in the crackling, sexually tense atmosphere of that bedroom. I was wearing only a flimsy summer dress and a pair of panties, and the thin fabric of those two garments provided sweet
little cushioning for my bottom against Marianne’s wicked love-stick.

She gripped my neck to hold me securely in place, and then whacked my bum again with the dildo, harder this time. I fought to catch my breath and blood rushed to my head and thundered in my
ears. She smacked my butt again and again with her heavy spank toy, harder and harder, faster and faster, pounding my arse in an ever-more vicious rhythm.