Hey! You! Don't watch that! Watch this!
Get you teeth into me today with no consideration! Free for one day only:
Here's a taster, from 'Searing heat and dexterous feet':
'Would you like to touch... my toes?'
'Indeed, I would.' He swallowed. 'Nothing... nothing would give me greater pleasure.'
I chuckled.
'Nothing?'
'Precisely. Podiatry is my specialty and reflexology my lifetime's passion.'
Nothing. Blood pounded in my ears. As though marking the seconds, sweat dripped from my nose and splashed precisely where my swollen crimson clit prodded my sopping crimson briefs. Our breathing synchronised: our needs did likewise. His tentative fingers tickled then grew bolder, firmer.
'Oh, my dear! Your skin is so soft. So smooth...'
My left foot was entirely in his hands. Moulding gently, he tested every bone, every tendon, every sinew and cell, separating toes in turn and subtly tugging while manipulating my ankle joint with barely perceptible pressure. Now he concentrated his attentions on the scrubbed and silken sole. One by one, across its delicate surface, he touched a procession of nerves, each with improbable connections across my entire body. I shuddered in delectable expectation. Gentle circular motions on the ball of my foot eased tension from my neck and shoulders, my back and buttocks. In response to divers digital devices, my tongue, lips and forehead relaxed. Eyes softened. Jaw released with an accompanying outpouring of breath. And there, oh, god, yes, yes! And there again, on my instep, an insistently pressing fingertip opened me, penetrated me, and tickled my incredulous cervix. In disbelief, I squeezed my eyes more tightly closed, dug urgent fingernails into the seat's soft wood, silently begging him to stop before my oozing lubrication audibly dripped through the lattes.
Aspen boards creaked as he eased forwards. He steered my right heel till it rested in his crotch. I sighed. He groaned. His throbbing flesh expanded, spread along the length of my sole. With increasing force, I ground my heel against the base of his cock, safe in the knowledge that, in this sultry heat, his dangling scrotum would be safely out of harm's way. Then, with the ball pressed to his pulsing bell-end, I slowly and deliberately foot-wanked him through his loose-fitting trunks.
While my right stepped up the pleasure to his groin, my left received the full gratitude from his incredibly skilful hands. Administering only to the squirming sensitive sole, he gave pleasure to my whole body, somehow biting my taut belly and sucking my aching nipples; one moment fucking my hungry mouth and the next stretching my tight young arse. Now he was riding me, buggering me, stabbing his rigid prick into my bowels, while pulling my bedraggled hair, slapping my stinging buttocks, fingering my gushing cunt, and sinking his teeth into my arching back, my rolling shoulders, and whiplashing neck. I heard myself cry out.
'Don't stop! Don't you fucking stop!'
My helpless body bucked and writhed. Clinging feverishly onto a quickly fading reality, my pincering nails bit even more deeply into the seat's swirling grain. I lurched forwards, backwards, forwards again, vaguely fearing I might fall, yet, throughout, he clung to my calves, pressed his bearded chin to my thighs, his forehead to my fiercely clenching belly, and pinned me to my perch.
In the endless orgasmic melee, a tit was wantonly bared and its nipple deliciously crushed by agents unknown. Stretched and tangled, my knickers soon dangled from my right ankle as my squelching hole became a haven for two, if not three, if not a fistful, of fingers, though how that had all come to be, I could not be certain.
Fireworks still exploded on my eyelids. Pleasure still rippled in deepening troughs from the tip of my clit to my every extremity and back again, in an apparently infinite loop. I was suddenly dimly aware that his mouth was on me, his tongue was in me, his fingers were up me, and my long legs were over his strong, wiry shoulders. Once, twice, three times, I slammed the back of my head against the sauna's wooden wall, though couldn't begin to care a fuck, either at the thunderous noise or the swingeing pain. Pain was for later. Pleasure was now. Oh! And what pleasure! I found myself cumming again and again.
He guided me down through decreasing circles of indescribable bliss, till again the wooden seat filled my palms, its wooden lattes digging into my buttocks and thighs. My bra was symmetrically full of tender tits, my knickers - miraculously back in place - were full of raw and sticky quim, while my spinning head was full of unprecedented joyful wonder. And still I did not open my eyes, knew that sight was long obsolete, and that seeing him could only break the sexual spell he had so eloquently intoned. While tirelessly testing my finely-tuned secondary senses - touch, taste, sound, and smell - I stretched my long, now limber limbs and sighed. On flexing my tingling toes, I fortuitously found them in the vicinity of his crotch and proceeded to pleasure him.
Within the tented trunks, he was impressively hard. As a starter, I fucked him with both feet, grasping his shaft between my soles and violently kicking up and down from my knees. Fatigue intervened. While recovering, my left foot grasped and tugged at his waistband while the right sought the string and released the bow. He gasped as his cock sprung free. The tip of my right big toe homed-in on his cock-head and drew circles in the slippery precum that oozed from his slit. For an age, I lingered there, teasing and tickling till his breathing quickened and his shaft tensed, began a spastic dance against the taut rounded ball of my foot.
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