Prom Night
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Prom Night free porn video
I knocked briefly at the doorframe before poking my head into her room.
“Amber,” I said, “your date’s here.”
“Michael,” she responded incensed, “what are you thinking just barging in here while I’m getting dressed? Do you think you can just barge in here?!?”
I glanced briefly at my fiancée’s teenage daughter, who appeared to be fully dressed, aside from trying to finish the zipper of her dress behind her back. She was youthful looking, maybe 5’ 6”, with blonde hair, smallish but perky breasts, well-toned legs, and a perfect ass. She was 18, a senior in high school. At 40, my soon-to-be wife Lisa was 11 years my senior – as I was 11 years Amber’s senior. Obviously, Amber and I didn’t try for a father-daughter relationship.
“Here, since you’re going to be a Peeping Tom, you might as well help me with this”, gesturing behind her back. I stepped toward her, to help her with her zipper. “The door?!?” she barked. I looked questioningly at her. “I’m getting dressed here; the least you could do is close the door.”
Confused, I walked over, closed the door, and headed back to help her with her zipper. “That’s better, Michael” she said, as she shifted her weight and rotated her shoulder so I could zip the last 3 inches of the zipper, and close the hook at the top. “Now I’m sure you want to help me with my shoes. I know how much you love my feet.”
Somehow she had figured out my weakness. In 11 months of dating, Lisa had never figured out my foot fetish. I had been ready to bring it up a number of times, but never did, and Lisa had made certain comments that made me believe that she was not interested. I had accepted that, and since I loved Lisa in all ways – she was beautiful like her daughter, a little taller, with darker hair, and full breasts; what more could I ask for – I accepted that her not sharing in my fetish would not be the end of the world.
But somehow Amber had keyed into it. She did have beautiful feet, small and soft, with high arches. She took good care of them, too. In this past spring, she had gotten a pedicure at least every other week. Today’s pedicure included an emerald green toenail polish, to match her dress, which could be seen glimmering beneath the shear, nude nylons she was wearing. The sheen of the nylon highlighted the curve of her arches and shadowed the space between each perfect little toe. The view was quite mesmerizing. “Well, what are you waiting for, foot-boy? My shoes aren’t going to put themselves on.” I snapped back into consciousness, took a knee in front to Amber, and reached for one of her shoes.
I gathered up one of her shoes – an open strappy silver heel; far from the typical dyed pump most girls wear to match their prom dress – and brought it to her foot. She had her left leg crossed over her right, lifting her left foot off the ground, and pushing the hem of her dress up above her knee. I tried not to make it obvious, as from my kneeling vantage point, I noticed that under her dress, she was wearing her sheer pantyhose without panties, and I could just barely see her pussy lips pressed against the taught nylon.
“Actually,” her voice again breaking my daydreaming, “I’ve been running around all day… hair, makeup, manicure, pedicure… why don’t you massage my feet first?” Now to my knowledge, the pedicure she made such an effort to stress included a foot massage, but I wasn’t inclined to argue this point. Whether out of fear, or out of inappropriate desire to touch her beautiful feet, I was more than compelled to give the massage she asked for.
I put down her shoe, and caressed her delicate foot between my hands. My left hand cradled her heel, the fingers stretching across her arch. I placed my right thumb on her instep and squeezed gently as I pulled from her arch to her little toe. She let out a soft moan of approval. I returned my hand to where I started and kneaded her foot gently before repeating the lengthwise stroke for each of the remaining toes in sequence.
I was definitely becoming turned on as I stroked my fiancée’s daughter’s feet, and judging by her continued cooing, she was too. Before too long, she pulled her dainty foot out of my hand and, rotating her legs, replaced it with the other. I leaned forward slightly as she did, grasping the second foot closer to me than the first. I inhaled deeply as I began to massage her other foot. She hadn’t been in her pantyhose long, and there wasn’t much smell, but it was just noticeable enough to make my cock bob in my pants.
“You can kiss it. I know you want to.” I brought my lips to one manicured toe; the slick nylon brushed my lips as I wrapped them gently around it. “Oooh… you’re such a dirty boy.” Her condescending tone only added to my arousal, and by now my erect cock was tenting the front of my trousers. “Do it again.”
I brought my mouth to her toes again, only this time she kicked her foot forward, shoving her foot three inches into my mouth. Shocked, I gasped audibly, muffled slightly by the foot in my mouth. She wiggled her toes in my mouth, tickling my tongue, and rotated and pushed until my lips enveloped all five toes. “Suck it.”
I eagerly complied with the orders of my wicked step-daughter-to-be. I was no longer concerned with what was appropriate, or what my fiancée would say, but operating on pure lust, and following Amber’s every command. I sucked on her foot, slurping and licking each little toe. Amber continued moaning her approval, and my cock was so rigid and straining against the front of my pants I thought my zipper would break. “Wait, isn’t my date here?”
Amber had uncanny timing, and again she woke me from my lust-filled haze. She pulled her foot from my mouth in just enough time for me to cough out “Yeah, he’s downstairs.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Do you need an engraved invitation to leave?” I turned and started toward the door. “No, wait. I need money for the night. How much do you have?” I paused. “I could always ask Mom… maybe have a conversation with her about your behavior this evening?” My heart sunk. Was my step-daughter-to-be blackmailing me?
I reached into my wallet, and thumbed through the $200 in twenties within. “That’ll do.”
“There’s $200 there!”
“Yeah, I think that’ll be enough. After-parties aren’t cheap.” Again, I turned for the door. “Wait”, she said, “if you’re still up when I get home, I might have a little something in mind for you.” With that, she lifted her leg, pointing straight out toward me – her beautiful foot, wet with my saliva, distracting me from her nearly bare pussy – and bent her foot into a small wave goodbye.
I headed downstairs, and no sooner had I told her date she’d be right down, did she bound down the stairs behind me. She yelled to my wife in the back room, “Don’t wait up,” and headed out the door. Maybe Lisa wasn’t going to wait up, but I was.
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2:00 came and went. I had told Lisa I was going to watch the West Coast ballgame in the back room, and she had long since fallen asleep upstairs, at the front of the house. It was getting on about 2:30 in the morning when I recalled Amber saying after-party, so for a moment my patience returned, until the thought of drinking and driving came to my head.
Again, I was startled back from my wandering thoughts as I heard the front door open. I waited a moment, until I heard soft footsteps pad against the kitchen floor. I heard the fridge open and shut, and then the footsteps started towards me again.
I looked up, toward the kitchen, and, silhouetted in soft light from the kitchen, there was Amber; shoes in one hand, a can of soda in the other, she paused and leaned against the doorway between the two rooms. “I see you waited up for me.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, and strolled into the den, nonchalantly dropping her shoes to the floor mid-stride. “Mom’s asleep upstairs?”
“Yes”, I replied, “since about 11.”
“Good, I wanted a chance to have a talk with you.” I was now perplexed. What would she want to talk about? Was she upset about earlier? Her demeanor didn’t suggest so.
“What about?” I mustered the courage to ask. She didn’t answer, but walked forward around the coffee table, and sat on it in front of me.
“Well…” she said, with a pause. As she did, she ran her right foot up the inside of my left ankle. I couldn’t see for sure in the dim light, but I could feel against my bare skin that she was still wearing the same pantyhose, now slightly damp from having them on all night. “In four months, you’re going to marry my mother…”
“Don’t worry, Amber, I’m not going to try to be a second fath…”
“Don’t interrupt me”, she barked. “In four months, you’re going to marry my mother. But… that’s not going to happen if I don’t want it to.”
I was beginning to get scared. Again it felt like I was being blackmailed by Amber, and she was good at it. I nodded my understanding.
“You’re right. You’re not going to be another father. But we are going to have a certain special relationship. If you hope to marry my mother in the Fall, you and I are going to have an understanding… like earlier, with the money.”
“You want money?!?” This evening’s minor blackmail was one thing, but this was beginning to sound like outright extortion.
“No, silly boy”, she giggled condescendingly, “at least, not just money. It might behoove you to keep a hundred in your pocket, in case I need something from time to time, but I’m not talking about money. What I’m talking about is much bigger… but I think in the end it will benefit you, too.”
Over the course of this monologue, her foot has drifted north, to my calf, to the limit of what the cuff of my pajama bottoms would allow. Now, she took her foot out of the hem of my pants, and continued her foot’s slow ascent toward my crotch over my pajama bottoms.
She cracked open her can of diet soda, and continued talking. “I’m discussing an agreement, between you and I, one that I think will be mutually beneficial. I will allow you to marry my mother, and in exchange, you will provide me with certain… shall we say ‘services’… when I ask them of you.
“For example”, she continued, “the foot rub you gave me earlier was quite satisfactory. I get a foot rub, you get to touch my feet, and Mom gets a husband without having to put up with his sick fetish.” The sound of pseudo-disdain with which she spat the words ‘sick fetish’ only turned me on more, but I held off on answering as she continued the terms of her agreement. “Little things like that; things I need, things you want, things maybe you can’t get from Mom, things I can’t get from the little slug high school boys.”
“Take off your pants”, she commanded, as an aside to the conversation. I obliged, lifting my butt from the couch and sliding my pajama bottoms to the floor. I was now naked from the waist down, and clothed only in a t-shirt. My cock bobbed a couple times before coming to rest, in full salute. She again placed her foot at my ankle.
“Little slug high school boys…” her foot again inching up toward my now-exposed cock, “oh they’re good for some things. Like this one tonight… he was just fine for pounding my cunt… but ask one to go down… they look back at you as confused as they are in 6th period Calculus.”
“You know how to go down, right?” As she posed the question, her foot stopped just mid thigh. “No, of course you do”, not waiting for an actual reply. As she continued, her foot returned to its path of exploration. “I’m sure you’re pretty good at it. I’ve felt what your tongue can do, even if it was only my toes.”
“No, those little slugs are only good for fucking”, she continued her original thought. “They are good at fucking; probably better than you. And I like to get fucked. This one slug-boy fucked me for 45 minutes straight. Then I sent him into the other room for a soda, he came back, and he fucked me again. No, I can’t complain about high school boys and their ability to fuck, but sometimes I want something more… and that’s where you come in. Do you follow so far, Michael?”
“Yeah… I think I…”
“Good. I thought you’d get it. You seem like a smart guy. You managed to hook up with my mom, so you’re probably not a moron. Anyway… basically put, you’re my toy. Whatever I want from you, I get. If I want a foot rub, you give me one. If I want you to go down, you do it. You don’t question and you don’t get to say no. You also don’t ask. I get what I want. If you want to rub my feet – which, I know, you always do – tough. You don’t get to rub my feet unless I ask you to. And no fucking. It probably should go without saying, but there will be no fucking. I’m not going to let you cheat on my mother…” I was astonished that in all of this, she somehow justified the concept of cheating. “… and I can get better fucking from the guys at school. Questions so far?”
She didn’t wait for a reply. “OK, good. Now I’m going to college in the fall, so… that’s going to let you off the hook for a while. But remember, I come home Thanksgiving, Christmas – you know, all the holidays – and I’m sure I’ll want some attention then, too. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One more week of school, and all of summer vacation… four months before you get married; four months for you to show you’re committed to our little agreement, or I could easily have a conversation with Mom.”
It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to pay attention to what Amber was saying. Despite my best efforts, the pantyhosed toes wiggling under my exposed balls were slightly distracting. My cock was straining, and bobbed now with every deft motion of her delicate foot. My balls were becoming tight, and the first glint of pre-cum could be seen reflecting light at the tip of my prick.
Perhaps sensing my increased arousal, or perhaps just out of her perverse sense of timing, she stopped, pulling her foot away and putting it on the ground. “So… I think we understand each other, yes? Good.” Again, there wasn’t even a pause for my reply. “Now, I did promise you something for staying up until I got back. Let me see… Yes, that’s it.” Whatever it what she had in mind, at least she agreed. “OK, up, off the couch.”
I stood up slowly, half-naked, my erection standing at attention. Amber motioned me toward the end of the couch. She took my spot on the couch, and swung her legs over the armrest. Her dress lifted up past her thighs as she slid her hips up onto the armrest. She only had to point, indicating her desire for me to kneel at the end of the couch, as she parted her legs, exposing her bare pussy where the gusset had been torn from her pantyhose.
The light was dim, but there was enough to see her completely shaved pussy. Her labia were pink and engorged, and glistened with her own obvious arousal. The torn edges of her pantyhose were also wet, and appeared crusted with fluids from her evening’s earlier encounters. My observation was confirmed as I moved my head closer and was enveloped with the heady aroma of sex; the scent of her pussy mixed with cum. “Well? You don’t always get to be my foot boy. Show me what you’ve got. Go ahead… go down.”
That was far more encouragement than I actually needed. I parted her legs with my face, and began to kiss and suck her swollen labia. She lifted her hips, pressing her mound into my nose. I responded, licking at her already moist lips. She moaned her approval. I continued licking, sucking, and nibbling her puffy pink gash until it was slick and dripping with a combination of my saliva and her juices. Then I turned my attention to her swollen clit. Licking, sucking, gently tugging with my teeth, I whipped her into a frenzy that had her bucking against my face.
I stopped.
The thought of all the times she’d broken my concentration came to mind, and I decided to turn the tables on her. “More”, she begged. I gave her labia a brief teasing lick. “Don’t stop”, she moaned. Again, I gave a brief lick. “Don’t stop… until I tell you to stop.” Mid-sentence her tone changed from begging to the more familiar commanding condescension. I was beat.
I took a deep breath, and dove back into her dripping pussy. Within moments, my lips and tongue brought her back to her previous excited state. Again she was bucking her hips and moaning. Her breathing quickened and her legs began a vice-like grip on the sides of my head. I continued my oral assault on her wet lips and throbbing clit. My pace quickened, I sucked her clit deep into my mouth, and with a violent shudder she began to cum.
I lapped at her juices as she continued to climax, wetness streaming down my face. Her convulsing pussy clenched and relaxed, releasing not only her own emissions, but a heady mix of the remnant of the poundings she’d received earlier. My face now sopping, having swallowed this mixture of semen and pussy juices, I slowed my lapping and allowed her to calm.
It took her a couple minutes to regain her composure. Once she did, it was back to her prior condescending tone. “That was very good, my little man-toy. I see now why Mom keeps you around. In fact, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”
She shifted her hips back over the armrest, and as she did, she pressed her left foot into my forehead, pushing me back until I was sitting upright, still on my knees. With her toes on my forehead, she rolled the rest of her foot down, until she covered my nose with her arch, and her heel rested on my lips. Propping herself up on her hands, she maneuvered her right foot back down to my crotch, with her toes wiggling under my balls. My cock immediately sprung back into action. “Good. I thought you might have gone limp on me”, she cooed. “Now lick.”
She continued wiggling her toes under my balls, as I tongue bathed her left arch. Occasionally, she’d draw back her foot and run her big toe up the shaft of my cock, sending shudders from my groin up my spine. Then back under my balls, with gentle and precise pressure, keeping me aroused without ever providing enough stimulation to grant me release.
She dragged her right foot against my outstretched tongue, from arch to toes, pausing briefly to wiggle them beneath my nose. Compared to this evening when she was getting ready, and after a night of dancing and who knows what else, her feet now had a strong, musky aroma that made my eyes tear and my cock throb. She thrust her first toes into my mouth. I could taste the sweat, mingled with a bit of dust from when she might have been dancing without her shoes. “Suck them… suck them clean.” I obliged, and went to work slurping at her foot as she drew it in and out of my mouth.
Eventually, she was fucking my mouth with her foot, and as her thrusts increased, four, then five of her little toes were in my mouth. I fought to hold back from gagging as the ball of her foot thrust over my tongue. Each time she withdrew her foot, I’d gasp for a breath before she’d shove it in deeper, finally hitting the back of my throat with her big toe.
While she forced me to deep-throat her left foot, she continued teasing my balls and cock with her right. By now, even the gentle pressure at the base of my shaft was bringing me to the edge, and I knew I was going to shoot soon. She knew it too. She took her foot out of my mouth, and moved it down next to her right. Her toes juggled my balls as my cock rocked between her insteps, the head nestled between her ankles. She turned her soles together, pinching my balls between her toes, grasping the shaft between her arches, rubbing her heels together over the tip.
My balls tightened and she grabbed at them harder, kneading them between her toes. My breathing was erratic, and I began to gasp and moan. A torrent of cum was welling up form my balls. She pulled her feet back, and positioned them so my cock head was resting across her two big toes. “Cum on my feet”, she commanded. “Jerk your prick onto my pretty feet.”
I reached down and grabbed the shaft of my cock. With but a few short tugs, I was spewing like a geyser. The first strand shot out and splattered her ankles, dripping down to form a web of cum between her ankle bones and her heels. A second glob splattered spunk all over her delicate, pantyhosed feet. It kept coming. Spray after spray of my hot man juice coated the tops of her feet and ran down between them. Cum dripped between her arches, over the tops of her feet, down into the nylon of her pantyhose and between her toes.
When I was finished I sunk backward, sitting on my heels, panting. “Wow that was a lot now wasn’t it?” she said. “I can’t just walk all over the carpet and the floors like this. I’d leave sticky, gooey footprints everywhere. We can’t have that, now can we?” She cooed this last question. It was obvious she’d already decided the answer, and I paused just a second for her to give her own reply.
“We’re definitely going to have to clean this up now. Actually, you’re going to have to clean this up.” I looked around; maybe I could use my t-shirt, or go into the kitchen for a dishtowel. Before I could get up, a sticky foot was forced into my face. Strands of my own cum now hung between my lips and her toes as pearls of white goo slowly began to drip onto my knees. “Open!”
“That’s better”, she said as she slid the first of her soiled feet into my mouth. “Suck it clean, foot-boy.” Grudgingly at first, I began to lap the cum from her gooey foot. I sucked the goo from between her toes, and licked the top of her arch clean. I worked from the toes back to the ankle, sucking and swallowing every bit of the load I had just blown on her sexy little foot. When she was satisfied I had clean it to the best of my ability, she pulled it out and fed me the other sexy ped. I repeated the process of cleaning her other foot, and when satisfied, she withdrew the second foot from my mouth.
“You’ve been a very good boy tonight, Michael; just how I want my foot slave to be. Now, I have to go up to bed, and so do you. Mom will expect us in our usual place when she wakes up. And I will expect you in your place whenever I choose. I hope you understand that.” With that, she got up, collecting her shoes as she sauntered by me, and padded quickly upstairs to her room. I collected myself then followed shortly behind her, thinking about what had just transpired.
‘If I was to be a good husband to Lisa,’ I thought, ‘I was going to have to be a good slave to her daughter.’ I could live with that.
“Amber,” I said, “your date’s here.”
“Michael,” she responded incensed, “what are you thinking just barging in here while I’m getting dressed? Do you think you can just barge in here?!?”
I glanced briefly at my fiancée’s teenage daughter, who appeared to be fully dressed, aside from trying to finish the zipper of her dress behind her back. She was youthful looking, maybe 5’ 6”, with blonde hair, smallish but perky breasts, well-toned legs, and a perfect ass. She was 18, a senior in high school. At 40, my soon-to-be wife Lisa was 11 years my senior – as I was 11 years Amber’s senior. Obviously, Amber and I didn’t try for a father-daughter relationship.
“Here, since you’re going to be a Peeping Tom, you might as well help me with this”, gesturing behind her back. I stepped toward her, to help her with her zipper. “The door?!?” she barked. I looked questioningly at her. “I’m getting dressed here; the least you could do is close the door.”
Confused, I walked over, closed the door, and headed back to help her with her zipper. “That’s better, Michael” she said, as she shifted her weight and rotated her shoulder so I could zip the last 3 inches of the zipper, and close the hook at the top. “Now I’m sure you want to help me with my shoes. I know how much you love my feet.”
Somehow she had figured out my weakness. In 11 months of dating, Lisa had never figured out my foot fetish. I had been ready to bring it up a number of times, but never did, and Lisa had made certain comments that made me believe that she was not interested. I had accepted that, and since I loved Lisa in all ways – she was beautiful like her daughter, a little taller, with darker hair, and full breasts; what more could I ask for – I accepted that her not sharing in my fetish would not be the end of the world.
But somehow Amber had keyed into it. She did have beautiful feet, small and soft, with high arches. She took good care of them, too. In this past spring, she had gotten a pedicure at least every other week. Today’s pedicure included an emerald green toenail polish, to match her dress, which could be seen glimmering beneath the shear, nude nylons she was wearing. The sheen of the nylon highlighted the curve of her arches and shadowed the space between each perfect little toe. The view was quite mesmerizing. “Well, what are you waiting for, foot-boy? My shoes aren’t going to put themselves on.” I snapped back into consciousness, took a knee in front to Amber, and reached for one of her shoes.
I gathered up one of her shoes – an open strappy silver heel; far from the typical dyed pump most girls wear to match their prom dress – and brought it to her foot. She had her left leg crossed over her right, lifting her left foot off the ground, and pushing the hem of her dress up above her knee. I tried not to make it obvious, as from my kneeling vantage point, I noticed that under her dress, she was wearing her sheer pantyhose without panties, and I could just barely see her pussy lips pressed against the taught nylon.
“Actually,” her voice again breaking my daydreaming, “I’ve been running around all day… hair, makeup, manicure, pedicure… why don’t you massage my feet first?” Now to my knowledge, the pedicure she made such an effort to stress included a foot massage, but I wasn’t inclined to argue this point. Whether out of fear, or out of inappropriate desire to touch her beautiful feet, I was more than compelled to give the massage she asked for.
I put down her shoe, and caressed her delicate foot between my hands. My left hand cradled her heel, the fingers stretching across her arch. I placed my right thumb on her instep and squeezed gently as I pulled from her arch to her little toe. She let out a soft moan of approval. I returned my hand to where I started and kneaded her foot gently before repeating the lengthwise stroke for each of the remaining toes in sequence.
I was definitely becoming turned on as I stroked my fiancée’s daughter’s feet, and judging by her continued cooing, she was too. Before too long, she pulled her dainty foot out of my hand and, rotating her legs, replaced it with the other. I leaned forward slightly as she did, grasping the second foot closer to me than the first. I inhaled deeply as I began to massage her other foot. She hadn’t been in her pantyhose long, and there wasn’t much smell, but it was just noticeable enough to make my cock bob in my pants.
“You can kiss it. I know you want to.” I brought my lips to one manicured toe; the slick nylon brushed my lips as I wrapped them gently around it. “Oooh… you’re such a dirty boy.” Her condescending tone only added to my arousal, and by now my erect cock was tenting the front of my trousers. “Do it again.”
I brought my mouth to her toes again, only this time she kicked her foot forward, shoving her foot three inches into my mouth. Shocked, I gasped audibly, muffled slightly by the foot in my mouth. She wiggled her toes in my mouth, tickling my tongue, and rotated and pushed until my lips enveloped all five toes. “Suck it.”
I eagerly complied with the orders of my wicked step-daughter-to-be. I was no longer concerned with what was appropriate, or what my fiancée would say, but operating on pure lust, and following Amber’s every command. I sucked on her foot, slurping and licking each little toe. Amber continued moaning her approval, and my cock was so rigid and straining against the front of my pants I thought my zipper would break. “Wait, isn’t my date here?”
Amber had uncanny timing, and again she woke me from my lust-filled haze. She pulled her foot from my mouth in just enough time for me to cough out “Yeah, he’s downstairs.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Do you need an engraved invitation to leave?” I turned and started toward the door. “No, wait. I need money for the night. How much do you have?” I paused. “I could always ask Mom… maybe have a conversation with her about your behavior this evening?” My heart sunk. Was my step-daughter-to-be blackmailing me?
I reached into my wallet, and thumbed through the $200 in twenties within. “That’ll do.”
“There’s $200 there!”
“Yeah, I think that’ll be enough. After-parties aren’t cheap.” Again, I turned for the door. “Wait”, she said, “if you’re still up when I get home, I might have a little something in mind for you.” With that, she lifted her leg, pointing straight out toward me – her beautiful foot, wet with my saliva, distracting me from her nearly bare pussy – and bent her foot into a small wave goodbye.
I headed downstairs, and no sooner had I told her date she’d be right down, did she bound down the stairs behind me. She yelled to my wife in the back room, “Don’t wait up,” and headed out the door. Maybe Lisa wasn’t going to wait up, but I was.
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2:00 came and went. I had told Lisa I was going to watch the West Coast ballgame in the back room, and she had long since fallen asleep upstairs, at the front of the house. It was getting on about 2:30 in the morning when I recalled Amber saying after-party, so for a moment my patience returned, until the thought of drinking and driving came to my head.
Again, I was startled back from my wandering thoughts as I heard the front door open. I waited a moment, until I heard soft footsteps pad against the kitchen floor. I heard the fridge open and shut, and then the footsteps started towards me again.
I looked up, toward the kitchen, and, silhouetted in soft light from the kitchen, there was Amber; shoes in one hand, a can of soda in the other, she paused and leaned against the doorway between the two rooms. “I see you waited up for me.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, and strolled into the den, nonchalantly dropping her shoes to the floor mid-stride. “Mom’s asleep upstairs?”
“Yes”, I replied, “since about 11.”
“Good, I wanted a chance to have a talk with you.” I was now perplexed. What would she want to talk about? Was she upset about earlier? Her demeanor didn’t suggest so.
“What about?” I mustered the courage to ask. She didn’t answer, but walked forward around the coffee table, and sat on it in front of me.
“Well…” she said, with a pause. As she did, she ran her right foot up the inside of my left ankle. I couldn’t see for sure in the dim light, but I could feel against my bare skin that she was still wearing the same pantyhose, now slightly damp from having them on all night. “In four months, you’re going to marry my mother…”
“Don’t worry, Amber, I’m not going to try to be a second fath…”
“Don’t interrupt me”, she barked. “In four months, you’re going to marry my mother. But… that’s not going to happen if I don’t want it to.”
I was beginning to get scared. Again it felt like I was being blackmailed by Amber, and she was good at it. I nodded my understanding.
“You’re right. You’re not going to be another father. But we are going to have a certain special relationship. If you hope to marry my mother in the Fall, you and I are going to have an understanding… like earlier, with the money.”
“You want money?!?” This evening’s minor blackmail was one thing, but this was beginning to sound like outright extortion.
“No, silly boy”, she giggled condescendingly, “at least, not just money. It might behoove you to keep a hundred in your pocket, in case I need something from time to time, but I’m not talking about money. What I’m talking about is much bigger… but I think in the end it will benefit you, too.”
Over the course of this monologue, her foot has drifted north, to my calf, to the limit of what the cuff of my pajama bottoms would allow. Now, she took her foot out of the hem of my pants, and continued her foot’s slow ascent toward my crotch over my pajama bottoms.
She cracked open her can of diet soda, and continued talking. “I’m discussing an agreement, between you and I, one that I think will be mutually beneficial. I will allow you to marry my mother, and in exchange, you will provide me with certain… shall we say ‘services’… when I ask them of you.
“For example”, she continued, “the foot rub you gave me earlier was quite satisfactory. I get a foot rub, you get to touch my feet, and Mom gets a husband without having to put up with his sick fetish.” The sound of pseudo-disdain with which she spat the words ‘sick fetish’ only turned me on more, but I held off on answering as she continued the terms of her agreement. “Little things like that; things I need, things you want, things maybe you can’t get from Mom, things I can’t get from the little slug high school boys.”
“Take off your pants”, she commanded, as an aside to the conversation. I obliged, lifting my butt from the couch and sliding my pajama bottoms to the floor. I was now naked from the waist down, and clothed only in a t-shirt. My cock bobbed a couple times before coming to rest, in full salute. She again placed her foot at my ankle.
“Little slug high school boys…” her foot again inching up toward my now-exposed cock, “oh they’re good for some things. Like this one tonight… he was just fine for pounding my cunt… but ask one to go down… they look back at you as confused as they are in 6th period Calculus.”
“You know how to go down, right?” As she posed the question, her foot stopped just mid thigh. “No, of course you do”, not waiting for an actual reply. As she continued, her foot returned to its path of exploration. “I’m sure you’re pretty good at it. I’ve felt what your tongue can do, even if it was only my toes.”
“No, those little slugs are only good for fucking”, she continued her original thought. “They are good at fucking; probably better than you. And I like to get fucked. This one slug-boy fucked me for 45 minutes straight. Then I sent him into the other room for a soda, he came back, and he fucked me again. No, I can’t complain about high school boys and their ability to fuck, but sometimes I want something more… and that’s where you come in. Do you follow so far, Michael?”
“Yeah… I think I…”
“Good. I thought you’d get it. You seem like a smart guy. You managed to hook up with my mom, so you’re probably not a moron. Anyway… basically put, you’re my toy. Whatever I want from you, I get. If I want a foot rub, you give me one. If I want you to go down, you do it. You don’t question and you don’t get to say no. You also don’t ask. I get what I want. If you want to rub my feet – which, I know, you always do – tough. You don’t get to rub my feet unless I ask you to. And no fucking. It probably should go without saying, but there will be no fucking. I’m not going to let you cheat on my mother…” I was astonished that in all of this, she somehow justified the concept of cheating. “… and I can get better fucking from the guys at school. Questions so far?”
She didn’t wait for a reply. “OK, good. Now I’m going to college in the fall, so… that’s going to let you off the hook for a while. But remember, I come home Thanksgiving, Christmas – you know, all the holidays – and I’m sure I’ll want some attention then, too. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One more week of school, and all of summer vacation… four months before you get married; four months for you to show you’re committed to our little agreement, or I could easily have a conversation with Mom.”
It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to pay attention to what Amber was saying. Despite my best efforts, the pantyhosed toes wiggling under my exposed balls were slightly distracting. My cock was straining, and bobbed now with every deft motion of her delicate foot. My balls were becoming tight, and the first glint of pre-cum could be seen reflecting light at the tip of my prick.
Perhaps sensing my increased arousal, or perhaps just out of her perverse sense of timing, she stopped, pulling her foot away and putting it on the ground. “So… I think we understand each other, yes? Good.” Again, there wasn’t even a pause for my reply. “Now, I did promise you something for staying up until I got back. Let me see… Yes, that’s it.” Whatever it what she had in mind, at least she agreed. “OK, up, off the couch.”
I stood up slowly, half-naked, my erection standing at attention. Amber motioned me toward the end of the couch. She took my spot on the couch, and swung her legs over the armrest. Her dress lifted up past her thighs as she slid her hips up onto the armrest. She only had to point, indicating her desire for me to kneel at the end of the couch, as she parted her legs, exposing her bare pussy where the gusset had been torn from her pantyhose.
The light was dim, but there was enough to see her completely shaved pussy. Her labia were pink and engorged, and glistened with her own obvious arousal. The torn edges of her pantyhose were also wet, and appeared crusted with fluids from her evening’s earlier encounters. My observation was confirmed as I moved my head closer and was enveloped with the heady aroma of sex; the scent of her pussy mixed with cum. “Well? You don’t always get to be my foot boy. Show me what you’ve got. Go ahead… go down.”
That was far more encouragement than I actually needed. I parted her legs with my face, and began to kiss and suck her swollen labia. She lifted her hips, pressing her mound into my nose. I responded, licking at her already moist lips. She moaned her approval. I continued licking, sucking, and nibbling her puffy pink gash until it was slick and dripping with a combination of my saliva and her juices. Then I turned my attention to her swollen clit. Licking, sucking, gently tugging with my teeth, I whipped her into a frenzy that had her bucking against my face.
I stopped.
The thought of all the times she’d broken my concentration came to mind, and I decided to turn the tables on her. “More”, she begged. I gave her labia a brief teasing lick. “Don’t stop”, she moaned. Again, I gave a brief lick. “Don’t stop… until I tell you to stop.” Mid-sentence her tone changed from begging to the more familiar commanding condescension. I was beat.
I took a deep breath, and dove back into her dripping pussy. Within moments, my lips and tongue brought her back to her previous excited state. Again she was bucking her hips and moaning. Her breathing quickened and her legs began a vice-like grip on the sides of my head. I continued my oral assault on her wet lips and throbbing clit. My pace quickened, I sucked her clit deep into my mouth, and with a violent shudder she began to cum.
I lapped at her juices as she continued to climax, wetness streaming down my face. Her convulsing pussy clenched and relaxed, releasing not only her own emissions, but a heady mix of the remnant of the poundings she’d received earlier. My face now sopping, having swallowed this mixture of semen and pussy juices, I slowed my lapping and allowed her to calm.
It took her a couple minutes to regain her composure. Once she did, it was back to her prior condescending tone. “That was very good, my little man-toy. I see now why Mom keeps you around. In fact, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”
She shifted her hips back over the armrest, and as she did, she pressed her left foot into my forehead, pushing me back until I was sitting upright, still on my knees. With her toes on my forehead, she rolled the rest of her foot down, until she covered my nose with her arch, and her heel rested on my lips. Propping herself up on her hands, she maneuvered her right foot back down to my crotch, with her toes wiggling under my balls. My cock immediately sprung back into action. “Good. I thought you might have gone limp on me”, she cooed. “Now lick.”
She continued wiggling her toes under my balls, as I tongue bathed her left arch. Occasionally, she’d draw back her foot and run her big toe up the shaft of my cock, sending shudders from my groin up my spine. Then back under my balls, with gentle and precise pressure, keeping me aroused without ever providing enough stimulation to grant me release.
She dragged her right foot against my outstretched tongue, from arch to toes, pausing briefly to wiggle them beneath my nose. Compared to this evening when she was getting ready, and after a night of dancing and who knows what else, her feet now had a strong, musky aroma that made my eyes tear and my cock throb. She thrust her first toes into my mouth. I could taste the sweat, mingled with a bit of dust from when she might have been dancing without her shoes. “Suck them… suck them clean.” I obliged, and went to work slurping at her foot as she drew it in and out of my mouth.
Eventually, she was fucking my mouth with her foot, and as her thrusts increased, four, then five of her little toes were in my mouth. I fought to hold back from gagging as the ball of her foot thrust over my tongue. Each time she withdrew her foot, I’d gasp for a breath before she’d shove it in deeper, finally hitting the back of my throat with her big toe.
While she forced me to deep-throat her left foot, she continued teasing my balls and cock with her right. By now, even the gentle pressure at the base of my shaft was bringing me to the edge, and I knew I was going to shoot soon. She knew it too. She took her foot out of my mouth, and moved it down next to her right. Her toes juggled my balls as my cock rocked between her insteps, the head nestled between her ankles. She turned her soles together, pinching my balls between her toes, grasping the shaft between her arches, rubbing her heels together over the tip.
My balls tightened and she grabbed at them harder, kneading them between her toes. My breathing was erratic, and I began to gasp and moan. A torrent of cum was welling up form my balls. She pulled her feet back, and positioned them so my cock head was resting across her two big toes. “Cum on my feet”, she commanded. “Jerk your prick onto my pretty feet.”
I reached down and grabbed the shaft of my cock. With but a few short tugs, I was spewing like a geyser. The first strand shot out and splattered her ankles, dripping down to form a web of cum between her ankle bones and her heels. A second glob splattered spunk all over her delicate, pantyhosed feet. It kept coming. Spray after spray of my hot man juice coated the tops of her feet and ran down between them. Cum dripped between her arches, over the tops of her feet, down into the nylon of her pantyhose and between her toes.
When I was finished I sunk backward, sitting on my heels, panting. “Wow that was a lot now wasn’t it?” she said. “I can’t just walk all over the carpet and the floors like this. I’d leave sticky, gooey footprints everywhere. We can’t have that, now can we?” She cooed this last question. It was obvious she’d already decided the answer, and I paused just a second for her to give her own reply.
“We’re definitely going to have to clean this up now. Actually, you’re going to have to clean this up.” I looked around; maybe I could use my t-shirt, or go into the kitchen for a dishtowel. Before I could get up, a sticky foot was forced into my face. Strands of my own cum now hung between my lips and her toes as pearls of white goo slowly began to drip onto my knees. “Open!”
“That’s better”, she said as she slid the first of her soiled feet into my mouth. “Suck it clean, foot-boy.” Grudgingly at first, I began to lap the cum from her gooey foot. I sucked the goo from between her toes, and licked the top of her arch clean. I worked from the toes back to the ankle, sucking and swallowing every bit of the load I had just blown on her sexy little foot. When she was satisfied I had clean it to the best of my ability, she pulled it out and fed me the other sexy ped. I repeated the process of cleaning her other foot, and when satisfied, she withdrew the second foot from my mouth.
“You’ve been a very good boy tonight, Michael; just how I want my foot slave to be. Now, I have to go up to bed, and so do you. Mom will expect us in our usual place when she wakes up. And I will expect you in your place whenever I choose. I hope you understand that.” With that, she got up, collecting her shoes as she sauntered by me, and padded quickly upstairs to her room. I collected myself then followed shortly behind her, thinking about what had just transpired.
‘If I was to be a good husband to Lisa,’ I thought, ‘I was going to have to be a good slave to her daughter.’ I could live with that.
Ofelia
- 07.06.2021
- 27
- 0
