An erotic story with a twist.

“Gypsy, you’re wanted for the weekend in Vegas. Your ticket is at the airport, but this one, well this is something special. You need to sign this non-disclosure before leaving.”

It wasn’t the first time I signed one, but I almost died when I read the name. I can’t mention who this was, but he is enormous right now. I won’t ever let it slip, or tell you if you guess, but wow, I was in for a shock.

Arriving late Friday evening, a limo waited for me at the airport. Not unusual. Some of my clients are very well connected, and they do this quite frequently for me. Slipping into the sleek black car, a bottle of champagne was chilled and ready for me to enjoy my relaxing ride to the Venetian. I love that place, to be honest. Staying there is just a little pricey when you do it on your own dime.

I checked in and escorted to my room. There was a bathtub where the bubbles that looked like champagne fizzed when filled. I was in mid soak when the door opened, and there he stood. My god! I was starstruck for a moment, but he sure wasn’t. Dropping the robe, without a word, he joined me in the tub. From the view I had, he didn’t need an escort to please that beast between his legs.

“Did you have a good flight?” he asked.

That voice was smooth as silk. As we relaxed in hot water, a bellhop entered the room and left a bottle of Dom Perigon and two chilled glasses. My host popped the cork the moment he was gone. Pouring the drink, he leaned in for a seductive brush against my lips before handing it over. I think that was the first of many moments that I lost my breath. Many times in the past I had fantasized about this man, and here I was with him. I needed to remember he was human, just like anyone else. Only much better looking than most.

“It wasn’t bad at all. No screaming kids in first class,” I laughed.

We both had a good laugh at that one. I hate flying and listening to marital issues, kids crying, and how much someone doesn’t want to visit the bitch mother in law. Usually, that’s when my headphones become my best friend.

Reaching a hand out for me to join him on the other side, I slid my tiny frame over and nestled into his side. It was the kind of moment that most girls dreamed about experiencing. This man didn’t need to pay a whore for services. Any girl in her right mind would have taken my place for free, but he wanted to be able to enjoy himself without any repercussions. An escort is a perfect woman for that!

I had heard things about this man. He has a bit of a fetish for the feet. I can’t say I blame him. A foot carries the weight of the world upon them. His hand brushing down my silken locks, I admit now that I felt special for that one moment in life. We know that is not true. I am a whore who knows how to shut up. A woman who sells her pussy to the highest bidder, but not once did he make me feel that way. I felt like I mattered to at least one person in this heartless world. Pity that feeling was brought forth by the exchange of currency.

“I want you to move back to the other side, lift your foot, and show me, no, entice me to worship that perfect sole!” he said, his voice husky.

I have done many sessions with Men who love feet, but to know this particular man wanted to stroke, lick, and envelope my foot made something deep inside of me twinge with power. I have stated many times that I am not at all a Dominate, but I love twisting and tugging a man around my finger, or in this case, around my little toe.

I slipped back to my spot, lifting that size seven from the warm water. His eyes watched as a twist and turn of the ankle beckoned him to touch. In all honesty, I wanted to feel his mouth on my flesh. Inching closer to the edge, pressing my soft heel against his cheek, I lovingly stroked across the day’s growth of stubble. It felt like an electrical charge rushing through my body. Brushing my digits over his lips, I wanted, No! I needed to feel his tongue bathe my foot. Cleanse me from sole to soul.

I knew he was stroking, but I ignored it. I didn’t care about his hand massaging over that cock. All I needed was this bliss that was enveloping me with each lap of the skilled oral manipulator over my flesh. I would have sold my soul at that point. He was the only man to ever make me cum without either of us touching my genitals. Crying out, I came with a force that I had never experienced before. Rapture rushing through my veins. I would have been sedated with just this, but there was so much more to the weekend. Yes, I fucked him. Yes, he was terrific. Too bad I can’t tell you who he is, but a secret is a secret.

The post The Rockstar: An erotic story with sole appeared first on Seductive Gypsy.

Have you considered a foot job? Do you enjoy a woman with soft feet, and devastating arch, and her nails perfectly manicured? So do a lot of other men, and some women. The foot is one of the most beautiful parts of the body and should always be pampered.

I visited a nail salon recently and for the first time had a male tech. At first I was taken back a little, but the way he settled in and got to work lifted those fears. His hands soft, but I knew there was a passion behind each little stroke of my soft feet. A male manicurist isn’t that odd, but this one loved feet more than most. He inspected every inch of my tanned flesh, even tracing the artwork on the top. I will admit that I was getting a little turned on by his sudden obsession with my toes.

That man was a perfect candidate for a foot job.

Warm lotion covered my toes, dripping down the side of my foot. The color resembled cum a little too much. As he massaged the heat into my flesh, I swear I heard him moan out. I laughed a little as I wiggled back and forth, knowing that this wasn’t the kind of cream that you buy over the counter. He made me his own special lotion in the back room. I could almost feel those little swimmers moving over my soles. Maybe I should feel violated, but the only thing I know is that I am so turned on. He was getting a special foot job and we both knew it wouldn’t be the last.

I opted for a French manicure and whimpered with each stroke of the brush. That poor man busted in his pants, but never stopped painting. Silly boy should have known that a foot job can be explosive.

Are you ready for more? Call or chat me on niteflirt.

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