Feet

Her toes wrapped around his warm cock. They were cool and still dripping with water from the swimming pool.  Her toes were painted red accentuating her arches.  Her cool, wet feet contrasting with the heat from his dick. He looked up into her dark brown eyes.  There was a contrast between her dark hair and eyes and her pale, alabaster skin.

She was sat back resting on her elbows with an obvious look of pleasure on her face as her feet went up and down. His breath was coming in short bursts but shame held him back. 

He had always had a thing about feet.  He loved the arches, the soft sensitive skin under the toes.  He delighted in gently tickling and watching women squeal and squirm just at a subtle touch.  The reaction they gave him was startling in comparison with the amount of effort he needed to apply to induce it.

Painting her toes was another one of his favourite sexual pastimes.  Not in a slap-dash manner.  He preferred washing her feet first and then patting them dry in a soft towel.  He ached to rub in moisturising cream from her heels, across the soles of her feet to the very tips of her toes, pulling each toe in turn, massaging the whole foot until it was soft and pliable.  He loved inhaling her scent then and stealthily trying to sneak a gentle kiss. He liked the idea of stolen, illicit kisses.

He adored taking each toe in his mouth and letting it just exist there before playing his tongue over the underside of each digit and sliding back, leaving it wet and sensitive. It was the way that she would ball her toes and try to fight it, then slow her breathing and accept the sensitivity of her toes in his mouth.  Occasionally, he would nibble and bite at the balls of her feet.  He knew that when he did that, she was totally at his mercy.  That firm grasp of her foot to his face with the other hand around her ankle, where she wanted to pull away but didn't want to hurt him; to watch her melt with full abandon at the pleasure of it all.  And yet he still would not have got around to the painting.

But there was the shame.  Which right-minded person loved to wank and cum all over someone else's feet?  He knew all 'normal' men loved coming in her mouth or cunt but he loved feet.  He adored feet.  He worshipped feet.  They were the unfettered erogenous zone of women.  Whenever he had tried to be open about his foot fetish he had too often been spurned.  Some women had tried to please him but none loved him touching their feet the way he loved to touch them.  His very being ached to be allowed to enjoy feet. Foot jobs were simply divine; heaven sent.

He had seen Katherine across the other side of the pool on the 2nd day of his holiday.  She had been in for a swim and was lazily swinging her legs back and forth at the edge of the pool.  She had a good figure, curvy and toned, not fat but delicious.  Skin that required biting and nipping between his teeth.  She had been bright and friendly enough.  He knew that he looked normal from the outside, he worked out and looked good.  But there was always that face-burning humiliation when, at some point, he would have to 'fess up to being sexually turned on by feet.

She sat there, splashing the water with her feet. She had no clue how hard he was as he leaned against the side of the pool.  They chatted away and he could tell that there was an immediate connection.  They verbally toed and froed, checking each other out.  He could tell she was holding something back; a boyfriend maybe? He wouldn't be surprised as she was extremely sexy.  The conversation changed, she changed; she went shy and then seemed to find the courage from somewhere.

"I love my feet. Do you? I love them being massaged."

The statement hung in the air, like some form of potential.  His mouth went dry and his heart raced.  He could feel the huge adrenaline surge within him.  He 'accidentally' brushed his hand over her moving foot.  She caught her breath and looked at him with her mouth parted.  'That' look was all he needed to know that she loved her feet being touched.  Emboldened, he delicately traced his fingers over the top of her foot.  Their eyes locked together.  There was a bubble around them shutting out the rest of the world.

"Let's get out of here.", he suggested.

They found somewhere secluded.  They kissed but it was only cursory, just to observe social norms.

"Pulls your shorts down, I have been dying to do this to you since I saw you yesterday.", she breathed.

He peeled his wet shorts down over his hips and sat down.  She calmly curled her toes around his cock and started to wank him off.  Slowly at first, but picking up a confident pace; it was obvious that she had done this before and had learned to specialise and perfect her technique.  There was the right amount of pressure between her feet and him.  The cool contrast of her feet on his burning skin.  The thing that was driving him towards a rapid climax was the look of pure, unadulterated pleasure on her face.  She was enjoying this just as much as he was.  Finally, he was able to let go of his shame, abandon it and embrace his kink and the moment.  He closed his eyes.

Short, sharp, shallow breaths.  Tension building up in his torso and his balls.  He looked over to her and her head was thrown back in lusty abandon.  He couldn't stop himself.  In hot, elongated bursts he came over her feet.  She moaned delightfully as though he had paid her the highest compliment.  She lifted her head and smiled at him.

"I think we are going to enjoy this holiday."