Delicate strokes of the polish stained her toes. Something so simple, but yet his eyes watched the wand draw back to front with seductive lust. She giggled as he grew excited, her toes held as still as a statue. He could feel the moisture collecting in the sides of his cheeks, embarrassed with a little trickle escaped through the corner of his lips. A quick swipe of this tongue didn’t go un-noticed, her giggle became deeper and more childish. Like being caught with the last cookie after being told no.

“How’s that, Princess?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

She wiggled her toes back and forth, inspecting they tiny digits. Each one coated in a flawless shade of crimson. She could complain, but there was no reason. He had done what he said. Painted a masterpiece of passion and desire on each nail. He even picked the color. They matched the shoes he purchased earlier in the day.

“Yes, Daddy,” her tongue played with the name she called him. It was done out of a playful nature, but when he readjusted his pants, she knew that would be his new name. Well, at least for her. No one else would dare use it. Her nails would fuck up the first pretty face that tried. Jealousy wasn’t pretty, but at times she couldn’t control it.

“Stop that shit before I put you over my knee and make you scream that name,” he warned.

Her cheek tugged upwards like the Cheshire cat, wiggling her toes in his face. The shoes sat at his knees and a pair of white socks laid next to them. Not the normal socks, but the silky ones with a row of lace around the top. It had been years since she wore them, but tonight, she would have them slipped on with nothing but sex on their minds.

One last blow across her toes and he slipped the shocking white socks on her feet. Each one followed by a pair of red patent leather shoe with a bow on the tip and a 3-inch heel on the bottom. They were the kind that most wore for holiday pictures with the fat man in the red suit. Shiny and pretty, she pulled them up to look at them. Not quite a reflection, but she could see a shadow in the soft material.

A sharp exhale as he stood, his massive frame towering over her petite shadow. She was a waif of a girl, but full woman in all the right places. Some of them unexplored for now, but soon he would leave his mark over her entire body. Extending a hand, he waited until her delicate grasp was within his. She was his property now and he God damn dared anyone to challenge that.

“Tonight, your mine. Don’t let me hear you speaking to another man or there will be hell to pay. All of your attention will be on me, and me alone. I don’t share. Do you understand that, Princess?” he asked.

She simply nodded at him knowing that she had never in her life felt this way before. Butterflies anticipating their release in her stomach, this was the man she dreamed of. The one from her dreams. All of her life she thought he was just a part of an overactive imagination, but no more. He was real, and she was his property. His Princess.

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I’ve talked to many men over the years who love those cute little tootsies, but can honestly say some have shocked me. I understand getting a foot job, blowing all over pretty toes, but stomping? Let me tell you about a friend of mine. She loves selling those feet pictures, but a few of the guys have stood out. One had her stomp on dead bugs, squishing them between her toes. I was there when she filmed the video and it was fully disgusting. I hate bugs, so even dead ones scare me to death. Another time it was flowers. Crushing a dozen red roses. Yes, he paid for them and the video. I wanted to ask who hurt him, but laughed too hard instead. Her giant feet obliterated those beautiful flowers. She’s a size 10, which is also a fetish I am told.

What about ticklish feet. I am so ticklish, and can barely make it through a pedicure without laughing. I remember one time the salon was full of people. All the chairs full. Sitting next to me was a man. Nothing odd about that. He did have really nice feet though. The woman who did my feet was new to me and didn’t know that I have very sensitive soles. She rubbed, I laughed, and we both looked over when that man started moaning. At one point I swear he came in his pants, but I stayed silent. God dammit, I don’t do that shit for free. From that day forward I made sure to get my pedicures in the private room. No pay, no play.

I will admit that I find wrinkled soles rubbing over a mans cock to be empowering. His manhood under my feet, one push can be either pleasure or pain. I am all for the pleasure though. Soft strokes, toes tickling the balls, and last but not least, a splattering cum shot all over my silky smooth feet. So what about you? Do you like feet, and if so, why? Leave me a comment or message me on niteflirt.

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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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