I was eighteen when Lenya first touched me – and now, here I was, in the apartment I shared with both my hot horny lover Lenya and my boyfriend James, enticing sweet kisses up her delicate feet, sending shock waves of electricity up her body and telling her how much I wanted her with a slow, satisfying, erotic kiss on her pretty mouth. The thought of group sex dancing in the back of my mind. Lenya it seemed wanted me too – responding with firm but passionate kisses. Reaching to up to remove her top, Lenya bared her beautiful body and sensuous breasts to me in one smooth, tantalising move. She lay back on the sofa, her sultry eyes flicking their ‘come on’ gaze to me, that same seductive gaze she’d given to me all those years before, on our first night at University….
That night, I’d been so innocent; first time away from home, mixing with new friends in the student bar and trying to make good impressions. I hadn’t even noticed Lenya sitting alone on the edge of our group. But as the night wore on and I was hitting my third, maybe fourth beer, I began to feel the depth of her gaze boring into me. I couldn’t help but stare back. Her long, luscious raven hair the same then as it is now, gave her an air of mystery framing her delicate face, pretty but strong. Soon, Lenya began to smile at me, sultry smiles, with her gazes becoming longer and deeper. After a while, Lenya slipped past the rugged, sporty under-grad dude sat beside me and whose hand was now beginning to wander up my thigh. Lenya saw him as no competition at all. She eased herself between us, announcing that she wanted a private word with her ‘friend’. That friend of course was me. And as Lenya pushed back my hair to whisper huskily into my ear ‘I want you’ – I knew that the course of my evening had changed.
Lenya’s pussy was the first female sex I’d ever touched. First lesbian sex I’d ever had. Her clit as pronounced and provocative then as it is tonight. It’s always that first night that I think back to, the first taste of a woman, as my mouth automatically moves lower and my tongue begins to sweep over her pretty, swollen sex. Lenya’s taste is always provoking. In fact, licking Lenya always makes me lose myself; the scent of her arousal fills me and the wetness of her desire only increases my wanting even more. I must admit, it was Lenya who licked my pussy first on that evening back in Uni and despite me crying out to return the favour as my climax rose within me, the most beautiful, arousing orgasm I’d ever had, it took Lenya all the power she had to draw away from her tendering devouring of my clit and allow my desire to become reality. Now, here I was, doing the same once more. Caressing my lover’s clit with my tender tongue – one of my most favourite past-times of all….
I was so lost in the arousing moment I’d forgotten that my boyfriend James was looking on. It was like that sometimes since Lenya came to live with us. The shared attraction between her and I was almost unbreakable. In the years after Uni, while life got in the way, Lenya and I had almost lost touch but when she emailed to say she’d be moving to the city and was looking for a temporary roof over her head, I could hardly refuse. At first, James thought it was simply a girlfriend coming to stay. But that was before I told him of our shared past… Three years of being Uni lovers, between boyfriends and holidays, Lenya and I always found time for sensual playtimes together. James had known of my past boyfriends of course – but not my longstanding lesbian lover. And the thought turned him on….
The first-time James saw me and Lenya kiss, he was hard at once. He’d caught us, stealing a moment for old time’s sake in the kitchen, when I saw him looking on from the door, unbuttoning the fly of his jeans to stroke his swollen cock through the cotton of his tight shorts. With a look to me, I knew he wanted me to continue. So I did. Removing my top and whispering into Lenya’s ear, ‘He’s watching us.’ The luscious moan she gave in reply still reverberates in my ear to this day. And James looked on as Lenya and I slowly got naked, our lips hardly drawing apart as we helped remove each other’s summer dresses and let them fall to the floor. It had been so long since Lenya had touched the naked skin of my body, so long since my tender breasts had brushed against hers… She was eager for her fingers to dance their way into my white lace panties that evening. And her touch, so light, so arousing, as the tips of her digits teased over my mound, my swollen lips and to the centre of my desire, lead me to almost instant climax. But that wasn’t going to make Lenya stop there…
That night, she eased my down onto the kitchen floor to taste my sex once again. James’s hard cock was in his hands, working himself steadily as he looked on. But as he watched my eager lover take control of glistening wet pussy, James couldn’t stop himself from joining in. He moved closer, kneeling beside me, close enough for me to wrap my slender hand around his member, to work it rhythmically, to allow him to join with us in our pleasure.
Not long after, when Lenya’s job as a hotel receptionist came to an end, it was James who suggested she join our business. And when Lenya was struggling to find anything more than a studio the size of a postage stamp to live in, James readily agreed to my suggestion that Lenya should stay. Soon, our threesomes became a regular part of our life. James and I had been together for four years, he trusted me and the love I felt for Lenya, and she for me, only added to our bond – and our adventurous sex-life. But one thing James always liked was for me to be at the centre of our indulgence. He wanted me to give and to receive. And tonight was no exception…
Taking his throbbing cock deep into my mouth, I could tell James was enjoying Lenya go-down on me as much as I was enjoying it too. And James wanted to show me just how much. Turning me around, for me to pleasure Lenya, whilst offering my open and wet pussy to him, James took full advantage, slapping his cock deep inside me, as my tongue danced to the same rhythm across Lenya’s pulsing clit. As my orgasm began to rise, I paused for breath – long enough for Lenya to ease two fingers into her wetness, fucking her own pussy as I looked on. Lenya was satisfying herself but James needed more.
Pulling me astride him in reverse, he drew my slick pussy downwards onto this swollen cock, filling me, satisfying me the way Lenya had just satisfied herself. But that left my lover out of the action a little… Once more Lenya was looking on, lost in the dream of it wanting to be her face and her mouth that was below my sex right now, tasting my flowing juices, feeling the pulse of my lust as I slapped down hard on to James, his fingers rubbing my clit into the submission of climax. But the more I lost myself, the more Lenya was there for me. Coming closer to hold me, kiss me, share with me the point of no return. Allowing me to suck her sweet nipples, caressing her hand across my body, her touch only adding to my arousal – and James could feel every ounce of desire and excitement rippling inside me.
Being between my two lovers, seeing Lenya looking down on me, feeling James thrusting to climax until he spurted his hot seed out onto my bare skin and as I shared sweet and tender kisses with them both, I knew that I was home. Just the three of us… Just how we liked it.
ENDS

Hotel rooms are curious things. They range from the grey and mundane to the opulent, from the single-bed-and-Good-News-Bible to generous suites with all the conveniences. They all share one thing—that deep thrum of possibility suggested by their otherness. Places outside the world where anything goes. Where one might be anything one wanted, be anyone, live out a hotwife sex fantasy. They are powerful, and dangerous, and sexy as hell.
The email tumbled into her inbox among the steady drip-feed of dross, the copyings-in, the arse-covering, the bake sales. It was not in any of her current projects so it vanished for a while into the folder Flick had entitled ‘meh’. Not spam, but not a priority.
Felicity Kepler settled back and, prior to a wander, and a wee and a coffee checked the meh folder. Well, wow. Kelvin in accounts had adopted another baby. There was a car parked across the line in the back carpark and an invitation to a knitting klatsch and a Crossfit cult newsletter. No cakes though, which was a shame. She fancied a cupcake. Sugary coffee would have to—what was this?
There it was. A simple query.
Would she represent Brane Solutions at iFOAM in Barcelona, in April?
Would she? Her heart rate shot up and her mouth went dry. A thrill of pride and swiftly behind it, arousal. The words made her shift and unfold and throb behind her knickers. A week, on her own. Being HER, not Mum, not Wife and not merely Flick the QM from QA. She’d be her own captain. Free.
A whole week in BCN too! Mountains, and ruins and sea and the piled up higgledy-piggledy masses of the old city and the broad palmy boulevards elsewhere. She would be Brane Solutions by day, but her by night. Revisit her that still lived there, a different her, one that had not come home, one that had allowed herself to be seduced, to live in a sexual fantasy if only for one night. Her knickers shifted deliciously at the memory of the sweaty clubs and hurried fumblings in doorways. The hot spill of come on her bare thighs. That night on the beach, a whole gang of them in the waves, young bodies, group sex gilded by far-off streetlights and the flashes of fire from a storm over Minorca.
Her turn this time. Tom was always escaping the endless drudge by going on trips and conferences. The cleaning, the washing up, the school uniform. The constant battery of food. Always food. Her head and hips filled with a fierce glee and the day passed in a fugue of half-distracted work and occasional touches of herself. The hot, fluttering ridges of flesh through the separating fabric of her knickers, reading the signals of arousal that spilt across it like the radio-music from the stars.
Home was frantic as usual and it was not until later, children in bed, sitting amid the wrack and ruin of supper and with elbows on the table and a glass of wine, that Felicity was able to tell Tom.
“iPhone?” He said, distractedly, while clattering the plates together in a pile.
“No, iFOAM”
“Foam? How’s that relevant?”
“It’s—”
“No—I get it. One of those shoehorned acronyms isn’t it?”
“Yup. The international Federation Of AI Management.”
“And it had to be foam, because—”
“The quantum foam, yes.”
“Hmm. Maybe there are better ones. You know, I, Felicity—”
“I Fuck Older Attractive Men?” She took a swig of Aglianico and raised an eyebrow, as Tom choked. Laughed.
“That, too. But do they have to be older?”
“Oriental? Ornamental?…Otherworldly?”
“Onanistic?”
Felicity fixed Tom with a fierce, serious stare.
“Onanistic, huh? Oooh, would you like me to onanise you?” She stood and leaned against the table next to him, and he pushed his chair back, flushed. She grazed a fingernail down his fly. Felt the thickening beneath it.
“You do know,” she said while increasing her pressure and bringing more fingers into play, “that I am going to fuck, don’t you?”
Tom nodded, with that peculiar hunger in him that she loved so much. Her knickers filled again, and the pressure of the table was delicious at her crux, hard along the backs of her thighs. She began to squeeze.
“And you don’t mind?”
“Mind!?” Said Tom, thickly. “I fucking love it. Love you and your…” his voice trailed away waving a hand at his wife.
“My…? My hunger?”
“Your fierceness.” He gasped. Felicity had him in her fist. Was rolling him, squeezing, pumping. He spoke.
“I—I can’t give you much, but I can give you this.”
Felicity knelt and, laying her face along his trousered thigh, unzipped him.
“Keep talking,” she said, gruffly. She gazed at the ridge of him, pulsing under his boxers, and reached out a hand. Tom spoke on.
“Uh…mmm… yes. God. See. There’s more to fidelity than only this.”
Felicity freed him from his boxers, slick and ready, skin parted from his head, bright beads of precome reflecting the many kitchen lights. Felicity pressed her face against his warm and rigid shaft, felt the skin shift on the muscle underneath. Breathed him in. God. She was soaking. As Felicity parted her lips and reached for him with one hand, her free hand reached down, beyond the lace that covered her slick and aching cunt.
“There’s all of this, too.” Felicity sensed his hands waving around at the kitchen, the whole house, all the quotidian dimensions of their life together, house and housework, children, debts and laundry. She lowered her head over the tip of his glossy cock. Salt, earth—A hot flavour of summer fields after rain. She swirled her tongue, both capturing and creating more of the salt-sweet taste. His hands settled in her hair, on her nape. She relaxed into him. And as his words fled him, and the incoherence came, she let him fill her mouth, her throat, let herself sink onto him and drift. Breathlessly, she reached down stroking herself until she was seeing stars.
Soon, they were upstairs and fumbling naked on the bed, play-struggling as she tied his hands and feet with stockings, faces bumping and teeth clashing in bruising giggled kisses.
With Tom bound, his cock straining at the cool evening air, Felicity played and teased and sucked until she could wait no more and straddling him, impaled herself. Her mind seemed to unspool itself a little, leaving her riding Tom and filling the room, as if she and the air that truly filled it were one, surrounding Tom and centered on the blaze of his hot, fat, cock.
She rocked and rose and ground herself upon it. Spreading herself tight until her clit throbbed like a star at the centre of a swirling nebula. Out of this ringing cloud of arousal, she spoke, not without difficulty.
“Last time—I was in—Barcelona—
“I took—
“A tin of—
“Condoms.
“12 Durex. You remember?”
She leaned forward, pressing on his shoulders and arching her back, rolling her hips.
“Ran out by Tuesday. God.
“Four of us.
“Three boys and me.
“Twelve condoms.
“Mad times.
“Fucked each other.
“Orgy—
“In. The. Sea. Surf.
“Different cocks, lovely—
“Cocks.
Upright again and with her hands practically tearing at her breasts, mouth open, snarling, biting her lip.
“This time. Ah.
“Own room. Gonna—
“Fuck anyone I please.
“Waiters, waitresses—
“CEOs bellhops geeks nerds.
“Rip up the sheets.
“Going to—
“Show you—
“Send you pictures—
“Come on my face, tits.
Abruptly she shifted, reached around. Squeezed. He twitched like a fish, an eel in her grasp.
“Not now, Tommy, not yet. You’re mine, tonight. Do as you’re told.”
Only snapshots of memory remain. She certainly came, and hard while riding his cock, and again while watching him wank with one released fist. Maybe again, but that’s uncertain. She does remember them both sprawled on the big white bed with their mingled sweat and come cooling on them as it dried.
Since then Felicity had denied herself release. Every day she walked a little more loosely with a liquid hunger in her hips and a simple longing for the Hotel Room and its space outside of time. It’s offering of time that was hers, and hers alone.
The room did not disappoint. It was an outrageous, bizarre rococo affair all flounces and cornices and mirrors and drapes. On being shown it she had almost laughed in the porter’s face but had instead tipped him generously and lain down on the bed. It was just the right kind of firm. She allowed herself a luxurious stretch and slowly teased herself by undressing there, squirming slightly at her own electric touch, until her slickness and her heat were near unbearable. She would have a shower and get ready for dinner, and then probably go to town, find a small restaurant and a dark, gruff, waiter. Maybe fuck him in an alleyway in the Old City somewhere. Felicity was only half surprised to find that throughout this reverie, she’d been fingering herself, her inner lips wrapped up in a pinch of eager digits, her clit an upright pearl, aching to be touched.
Felicity slid off the bed and stood on slightly coltish, trembling legs. She walked around, checking the minibar, and the huge shower-room, gazing naked out at the dark, inviting, sparkling city as if in a brave new world. She caught sight of herself in the many mirrors, and in the dark glass, and felt a new and unexpected thrill. She’d never been shy, and was happy in her skin, was perhaps an exhibitionist, but she’d never thought about eyes upon her, of the heat of a voyeur’s gaze. She watched herself and liked it. The meta-ness of it, watching her own fingers fluttering at her slit, glossy, fast, but through a series of reflections, so not somehow quite in sync. It was like watching someone else, or another Felicity beyond the veil of some other dimension.
Felicity thought about this as she showered, her arousal a constant seething now. In her mind’s eye her cunt was full of fire, a crystalline pink light that shifted and roiled. She moaned, a low growling noise as she washed, as her hands touched her— were they hers? Or that other Felicity? It was becoming difficult to tell.
Naked, skin beaded by diamond droplets that sparkled in the candle-lights, Felicity unpacked her toys. There were two on this trip: a rosy glass dildo with smooth swellings and ridges, and a second, a wicked curve of black silicone, with a wedge-shaped tip and simple, unadorned girth. The glass toy represented her husband Roger; the black tusk, her lover Mark. With her two meta lovers cock-to-cock on the bed, Felicity began to dress, turning and twisting to her reflections. She watched the other Felicities pull on their lace, lace that neatly cupped and enclosed, that raised up their bosoms until they shimmered slightly in their cups, lace that darkened as it enclosed the crisply trimmed fur around their slits. A flash of movement caught her eye.
She turned.
Had window-her just snatched an exploring hand away?
She touched a finger to her mouth. In the window did she, had she, licked the tip? It did taste very rich. Earthy and slightly sweet. Behind her, she heard a long-drawn-out sigh. She looked up.
In the endless unfolding of the many mirrors, all her selves were moving now. All those many hers, their hands wandered, plucked and stroked, and they made little noises that made her blood hum. She moved in a daze back to the bed and picked up the two toys, weighing them and wondering which to try. A cool crystal hand took rosy Roger from her and ghostly apparitions of herself coaxed her, first to climb up on her knees, and then to lie on the wide arena of the bed. She stroked herself a little.
Light roughness of lace on her fingertips, fingers that could feel her heat and dampness swelling. Across the room and on a fairytale chair another her ran the rosy crystal dildo into her mouth, moistening it with spit as a free hand dove behind her knickers. A gasp to her left and there, perched on a fanciful chest of drawers was another, stroking one bared breast while looking Felicity right in the eyes. Felicity aped her movements, baring herself, her nipples hard and eager, and, while other reflections watched in rapt attention the three began a curious dance. A dance where the lead passed freely between them, to the music of eager sliding fingers and happy gasps and cries.
Before long, Felicity was everywhere. On the chair, the ridge of the seat tight against the crease of her bottom, the crystal Roger a long slippery hook which dragged at her lips and pressed hard within, sending blooms of warmth across her belly thighs and tits. The slip slap sound of it sliding, the stretch and pop as the balled shaft moved. Slipping her knickers off, boobs hanging out of the bra, fingers flying, buttocks wet on the smooth paint of the chest, watching the bed. The bed where her alter ego spread, fingers and dildo hard at work, the chisel-tip reaching deep as her lips and folds were spread and clenched, her clit pinched. She dipped in and out of these three dancers and among the many watchers too, their hands pressed against the mirror barrier, as the triple women played. It was as if she was sometimes all of them, watching her, a nexus writhing on the rumpled bed, and then just simply her, curled and clenched around the slick black cock, on fire and urgent under their keenly watching eyes.
This delirium, this dissociation now lay well outside any thought of time or any fixed point at all. The rococo room was everywhere and nowhere, all at once and she was connected to all possible Felicities by a hot bright wire through every clit and every bosom, every mind. And with this vision of a shimmering cat’s cradle, her hands touching her other selves and their touch and eyes on her, Felicity’s inner universe began to turn, a galaxy of heat and light all whirling around the blazing center where her fingers drummed. The heavens moved, and faster spun, and in her ears and bones she felt them hum and the signals passing one by one from her to each and back again.
Afterwards she would not recall a single moment of release, of climbing to some simple peak, she remembered more an orchestra, a long crescendo that filled them all with music and which slid away in little chimes and quiet strings and faded from the room with them, just as the stars wink out in the slow change to morning.
Alone again, Felicity soothed herself with little touches. Unconsciously echoing the come-down cuddles and strokes of her husband, she spoke to him as if he were right there.
“Ohhhhhhh,Tom.
“Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Frankly, I don’t know if I’ll ever need a cock again (I’m lying, obviously) but…those other Flicks, my god…”
And as she drifted off to sleep, this world’s Felicity half-dreamed and half saw those other Flicks slowly slip and fold away between the onionskin membranes of the multiverse. And, in a niceish house in Dulwich where children slept, a smiling man put his toothbrush away and turned off the bathroom mirror light.
The End

It was only a sheer piece of fabric, but Sienna’s nerve endings burned in fiery delight as her fingers caressed the leg of the thigh-high stocking that she had slipped from the package. The silky sensations felt amazing against her hand, and her loins began to stir in anticipation of feeling it sliding over the skin of her foot. She would never have thought twice about the power of nylon or her feet if it hadn’t been for Max unknowingly teaching her about it days prior.
He had been rather preoccupied and distracted, which had caused Sienna to worry that something was wrong. Eventually, she had the realization that the distraction was behind her, and when Max had excused himself to the men’s room she had turned in her seat to see that it had been a youngish brunette two tables away from them. There hadn’t been anything special about her, just a young professional on her tablet, but then Sienna had noticed movement under the woman’s table. She had been vigorously playing with her black high heels, and Sienna saw that she was wearing nude pantyhose.
Sienna smiled as she began to roll up the gossamer fabric in her hand. The sight of the young woman’s nylon-covered feet had sparked a memory that Sienna hadn’t even given much thought. The one time that she had worn a pair of pantyhose for an evening date, Max had paid a lot of attention to her and had been much more energetic in their bedroom activities. Was that it? she had thought to herself, watching the young woman’s shoe play. Is Max into nylons? Or feet? Or both? Was that his dirty sex fantasy?
“Now,” she said to herself as she pulled the nude stocking onto the tips of her pink-painted toes, “we find out the truth.” The fabric unrolled up over her foot and ankle, and she trembled as it slid over her freshly shaved and lotioned skin. She had never been one to wear nylons, only drugstore purchased pantyhose for special occasions. But she had splurged on the thigh-high stockings and had gone for an expensive European brand, and it seemed that she had been missing out. She had even bought a lacy grey girdle to hook the stockings onto. Girdles had always seemed old fashioned and matronly to her, but she had to admit that the way it hugged her hips and buttocks made her look spectacular. And, as she tugged the top of the nude stocking up her thigh and attached it to the garter snap, she felt more than spectacular – she felt like a woman.
She took her time again with the second stocking, revelling in the sensations that travelled throughout her at both the feel of the nylon and the excitement of what was to come. Once she had both stockings on, she stretched out on the couch and admired the expanse of her legs. Even if Max wasn’t into nylon as she suspected, it certainly wouldn’t be difficult to seduce him that evening. Maybe she could even wank his hard dick in-between her nylon covered feet. The thought made her shiver.
As she waited for her man to show up, she wiggled and flexed her feet, watching as the nylon material wrinkled and smoothed out, reflecting the soft light from the window with a muted sheen. It was almost hypnotic, and she began to understand the affection that men had for the material. And as for her feet, she thought as she rubbed them against one another with a soft rasping of nylon against nylon, they were just as beautiful as any other part of her body. Images flashed in her head of using her arches and toes on Max’s manhood, and a fluttering attacked her nether region. Her foot began to glide farther up and down her silky leg, and her breathing became heavier. It was difficult, but she resisted the urge to reach her hand down beneath her girdle to give herself just a little bit of relief. Instead, she fidgeted with the little bit of ribbon on her garter strap and the elastic edge of the silky girdle. Then she pulled on the top of one of her stockings, stretching it further up her leg and letting out a little gasp as the nylon rubbed against the sensitive skin of her upper thigh. Her hands dove under the material, sliding between silk and skin, and the fluttering she had been feeling became a throbbing. Her toes curled and her feet began to move more frantically against one another as she closed her eyes and felt herself drifting into an almost animal state of desire.
A buzzing brought her out of her trance and she checked her phone to see a text from Max saying, Almost there. Can’t wait to see you. The anticipation was almost unbearable. She shifted her position on the couch so that she was on her side and rubbed her legs together. The swishing sound was louder, filling the room along with her breathing. It had the added effect of putting a little bit of pressure on her blossoming flower, and she squeezed her thigh muscles tightly and let out a little moan.
Falling further into the moment, she bent one of her legs behind her and grasped her silky foot in her quivering hand. Her fingertips trailed over her sole, sending fiery bolts of electricity up her leg and into her desperate area. She massaged her toes, stroked the top of her foot, ran her fingers over her ankle and heel. She had never touched herself like that before, never explored her body in such a fashion, and the need to have Max there to share in the sensuality was overwhelming.
Sienna was so lost in her self-induced ecstasy that the knock on her door startled her like a splash of cold water to the face. She composed herself and stretched her nylon sheathed legs across the couch, then called out, “Come in.” She listened to the sounds of the door opening and Max’s footsteps coming down the hall, her heart pounding an extra beat with every footstep he took. The look on his face as he came around the corner and caught sight of her was priceless. She had never actually seen someone’s jaw go slack before.
“Uh… hi,” Max managed, his eyes doing to Sienna what her own hands had been doing earlier.
“That’s all you have to say?” she asked with a playful pout.
“Well, I… you caught me off guard! You’re… you look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she purred, rubbing her foot up her leg. Max watched and Sienna could almost swear he was salivating at the sight. “I thought I might try something tonight.”
“What about dinner?”
“We’re adults. We can start with dessert if we want to. And I have something sweet for you.” She flexed her feet up and down and then pointed one at Max suggestively to drive her point home.
“Wha… how did you know?” he asked, taking slow steps forward as if he were walking on a cloud. “I mean, I never told you about…”
“The coffee shop. Young girl in pantyhose. Ring a bell?”
Max’s face turned the colour of a ripe tomato. “I… I wasn’t…”
“You were. And it’s fine, now that I know what I need to do to have power over you.” The words sounded silly, but at that moment she did feel powerful. And Max looked as if he had no will to fight it, even if he wanted to. “Take your clothes off,” Sienna ordered, and Max obeyed as if in a trance, shedding his jeans and button-down shirt while never letting his eyes stray from Sienna’s stocking feet. When he reached his briefs, she stopped him. “I don’t want to make this too easy for you,” she said with a mischievous smile. Then she reached over and patted the couch cushion.
Max lowered himself onto the couch, his dark eyes wide with excitement and just a little bit of trepidation. Typically, in their brief time together, he was the more dominant one in the lovemaking. But now Sienna held all the cards, and Max came to that realization as well when she started rubbing her silky feet over his exposed chest, his well-toned abdomen, and along the upper portions of his thighs. She could feel him tremble under her touch and noticed a stir of movement from the confines of his underwear. “Ah ah ah,” she chided softly as he reached for her feet with his hands. “No touching or I stop.” He moved his arms to the top of the couch, far away from her exploring feet. “Good boy,” she purred, lifting one foot up to stroke his chin. The nylon made a loud hiss as it travelled over his five-o-clock shadow, and he closed his eyes in bliss. She trailed her toes down to his mouth and he planted several kisses on them, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through her. It was time to move on, she thought.
A groan escaped Max’s throat as Sienna grazed a foot across his lap. Back and forth she moved her foot over the bulge beneath his briefs, and she could feel the urgent throbbing against her arch. His muscles tightened and he leaned his head back into the padding of the couch, eyes clamped shut in ecstasy. The thought that she was bringing him to that level of sexual joy with just her foot made her feel dominant and feminine at the same time. With a smile, she increased the pressure of her toes on his swollen member and then slid her silky stocking foot southward. Her nimble toes lifted up, cupping his soft scrotum, and Max’s fingers curled into fists as he sucked in a breath. She returned to rubbing her arch across the top of his lap again a few times before wriggling her toes beneath one of the legs of his underwear.
“Oh God, Sienna,” Max moaned as her stocking clad toes met his burning hot package. She pushed in further, getting half of her foot against his manhood, feeling it twitch and throb as if it had a life of its own. Her other foot joined in the party, rubbing him from above his briefs, and sandwiching his rod between both feet. She rubbed him with her top foot and wiggled her toes with her bottom foot, and Max’s face grew flush with an intense need for relief. But Sienna wasn’t willing to give it just yet.
Using only her feet, she managed to pull Max’s erection free of its confines. It danced to an invisible beat, and Max finally opened his eyes to watch as Sienna worked her magic. Using both nylon-covered feet, she rubbed her arches against him, rolling his shaft back and forth as if she were making a snake out of clay. She lightly grazed her pink-painted toes against his sensitive tip, causing him to jump slightly and let out soft grunts. She cupped his swollen testicles with the bottom of one foot and petted his writhing member with the other as if it were an animal. Good doggy, she thought and giggled. Max looked at her questioningly, but she just smiled silently at him.
It was about that time that she realized how wet she had become and how much her lady bits were tingling. To intensify the sensations, she unbuttoned her grey sweater and released her pert breasts. Both nipples were engorged in arousal, and even though Max had revealed himself as a foot guy, his eyes became glued on Sienna’s mounds. His rapt attention and her busy fingertips swiping the tips of her nipples nearly pushed her over the edge into a premature climax, but she managed to keep from losing control by putting her focus back on Max.
She arranged her feet so that she had his straining member between her silky arches, and she began to stroke up and down gently. A gasp of pleasure rushed out of Max’s lungs and his hip muscles tightened, his back arching slightly. “Don’t you wish you had told me about your little foot fixation sooner?” she asked in a husky voice, her fingers grabbing at her swollen nipple again despite her attempts to keep herself from doing so.
“Yes… oh God, yes…” The words were whispers, barely audible. His eyes, wide with amazement and lust, were focused on the sight taking place in his lap.
“Would you like to cum?” she asked, her hand snaking down into her own lap and her fingers pushing aside her damp underwear.
“Yes.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please,” Max said in a near whimper. “Please make me cum.” Seeing him in such a state of submission, completely under her spell, brought Sienna to surprisingly quick orgasm. Her fingers barely needed to do any work as her labia fluttered and her inner muscles contracted, sending waves of delight all throughout her body.
She wasn’t the only one who managed to cross the finish line. All through her own climax, her legs had continued to pump, her silky feet sliding along Max’s shaft vigorously, and he let out a loud exhalation of breath as his manhood lurched and erupted in a manner that she had never witnessed before. His thick seed splashed over himself and over her feet, soaking the nylon stockings, and she tightened her grip to milk every last drop out of him. When she felt his muscles relax, she loosened her grip and returned to gentle stroking, her actions now lubricated by Max’s semen. The air was ripe with their scents, and the two looked at each other with content and satisfied smiles.
“We should start with dessert every time,” Max said finally.
Sienna giggled. “Don’t get greedy.” She lazily ran her foot over the patches of still-warm cum on Max’s stomach and chest, letting it soak into her stockings. Then she returned the foot to Max’s lap and cradled his deflating manhood. When she felt another throb against her arches, she realized that there was probably enough dessert left for after dinner, too.
THE END

I’ve been staring at the door for over twenty minutes, desperate for it to open.
I’m willing it to move, but it remains motionless.
She’s running late. She must’ve been held up. Probably giving a bit of extra attention to someone else. That would be typical of the woman. She’s rarely on time and always makes a short but genuine apology when she arrives.
The door opens. I hear a click of heels that announce her arrival.
I love the sound. Crisp, classy and confident. It’s a pretty good summary of the woman.
My eyes are focused on the floor by the door. Which shoes will she be wearing? The stiletto court ones with the red soles? The leather ankle boots with tassels on the side zip and a scuff mark on the back of the heel?
I’ve built up a pretty good idea of her shoe collection over the weeks and have my favourites. Her footwear is invariably sexy and today’s are probably the hottest of the lot, sky-high sling-backs.
My eyes move up her legs as she makes her way slowly towards me.
She looks so good in heels. They pull her calves tight. They make her long, slender legs look incredible. They push her hips in and her enchanting arse out.
Sheer black stockings drag my gaze up towards a short, tight fitting skirt, which contrasts with a crisp, white blouse.
Her hair is pulled back as you’d expect in a place like this. Matching strands are left loose and sway in the most sensuous of ways as they brush each of her cheeks. ‘Come on,’ they are saying, ‘look at me’.
Oh, I’m looking all right.
Black eye-liner sweeps beyond the corner of the lid, extending a wink to all who notice. Her long lashes are laced with mascara, setting off her hazel irises brilliantly. She applies it immaculately. There’s never a smudge.
And the colour coordination is perfect. Her lipstick matches her nail polish. I’m no expert, but I think the colour’s called nude.
No colour could be more appropriate for ‘Dr Kitana’ – as she encourages us to call her. Her second name is hard to pronounce. I saw it on her lanyard, memorised and mastered it. It catches her by surprise when I use it. Her face erupts into a glorious smile. A smile with nude lips.
God – what would I give to see the rest of her nude right now?
“I’m sorry to be a bit late. Got held up,” she says without looking at me.
She picks up the board clipped over the rail at the bottom of my bed and runs a long finger down the digits and data that express the entirety of my existence these days. What is she looking at? Oxygen levels? Pulse? Blood pressure?
I’m acutely aware that my pulse has quickened since her arrival and I can feel my face begin to glow.
She lifts a limp arm from the bed. Tubes, cannulas and drips prevent me moving it much. I’m not in any pain and, if I’m honest, there’s a bit of me that rather enjoy shaving limited motion when she comes into my room.
Before I ended up in here I was keen to try out a bit of restraint. BDSM rather appealed. Sounded fun and I definitely wanted to give it a go. Never really had the opportunity to try it out, though. But I’d listened to a podcast by a dominatrix and got really turned on when she described how she used a paddle on her clients. Naturally, I’d also watched plenty of sex videos featuring leather-clad models tying people up and running long fingernails across breasts, pricks and balls.
I feel the tips of her nails on my skin as she tries to locate my pulse. She pulls a face. “Do you feel a little hot?” she asks.
She raises a thermometer to my ear and gently brushes my hair away, allowing me to feel those nails again.
“On the high side,” she says more to herself than to me.
I nod. ‘And getting much hotter,’ I felt like adding.
“Let me take your blood pressure,” she says and turns to the trolley at the far end of the room. Her arse is almost visible through the tight skirt. I see her butt cheeks pull the fabric as she walks away from me, one foot slightly overstepping the other giving her hips a delicious little wiggle as she moves.
A thought rushes into my mind – perhaps that walk is for me. Like she’s putting on a bit of a show. A special treat for a patient who can pronounce her second name.
No, that can’t be true. It must be this cocktail of drugs playing with my mind. She’s my female doctor. Come on—get a grip.
But that grip casts my mind back to the sad reality of my own unfulfilled sexuality. The list of sexual deeds I’d like to do is huge. The number of pleasures I have ticked off that list is tiny.
Once I am out of here, when I am better, things are going to be different. I’m bloody well going to have the edgy, risky, reckless sex I crave. This is the sex that I need and have always needed. This is the type of sex that’s fundamental to my existence.
As Dr Kitana returns, pushing the trolley laden with an electronic observation kit, I can definitely feel the stirrings of a physical, sexual urge.
This is the first time I’ve been aware of my cock since I’ve been in here. How long is that? Four weeks or more? I’m not sure. I forget.
“Let’s take a look,” she says as she slowly slips a grey, fabric cuff up my arm and wraps it around the exposed flesh under my shoulder. Her fingers trace a line over my skin, which tingles under her touch. She pulls the strapping tight as she fastens the Velcro. She makes eye contact with me, and I’m convinced that she just winked.
My cock begins to grow. A delicious idea comes into my mind. Perhaps she has a secret side—perhaps she’s an exhibitionist who loves to strip at the classiest, most exclusive of sex clubs.
The swelling of my cock is mirrored by the growing constriction of the cuff as she takes a blood pressure reading. It’s tight. Too tight. My arm’s going to burst.
“180 over 97,” she announces. “Not good.”
My mind wanders. Perhaps it’s the rocketing pressure in my arm. I find it hard to focus. She says something. I can’t quite make it out, but I think she says she is going to do something to bring my blood pressure down, to make me feel a little more comfortable.
She removes her white coat and then, unbelievably, undoes a button on her blouse. The tight band on my arm is like a noose being pulled hard.
My cock, my dear old friend, suddenly and triumphantly breaks loose from my surgical gown and creates a peak in the bed sheet.
With tubes connected to my arms and my legs incredibly weak, I am rendered virtually motionless. But the fact that I am unable to move vastly intensifies the experience. Right now, the only mobile part of my central body seems to be my cock, and it is pulsing in time with the throbbing in my arm, held in the vice-like grip of the blood pressure machine.
She loosens a second button and begins to seductively strip to black underwear.
My focus jumps back. This is wrong. This shouldn’t be happening. “This isn’t right!” are the words I should shout out. But I remain silent. Deep down, I know I want this to continue. It’s more than a want. It’s a visceral need.
Being teased by a beautiful, hot, powerful woman while being tied up is high on that sexual wish list of mine.
As Dr Kitana raises a cheeky eyebrow and looks right into my eyes, I am conscious that I am physically constrained. And, fuck, does it feel good.
The white coat has gone. So has the blouse. Any traces of medical trappings—stethoscope, pen, clipboard—have vanished. Kitana is wearing a lacy top with a matching bra and g-string.
As she approaches the side of the bed, my erection grows. It is so good to feel hard again. To feel alive.
She bends over, and the black lace trim of her bra is visible, and just beyond that, the curve of her breast. I can’t quite see her nipple, but the bra is pretty transparent and if she would just bend a bit more, I might catch a glimpse of it.
My erection, after that thought, is complete and holds the sheet up like a tent pole. Fuck, she has seen it.
She peels back the sheet, looks at my cock, and gives me a nod of appreciation.
She spins round, walks away in that seductive manner of before, and brushes her arse against the door frame. She runs her hands over her thighs, up to her breasts, then drops them to her knickers. Slipping her thumbs under the straps, she tests their elasticity and pulls them to her knees.
She stares at me, purses her lips, and whips off her tiny knickers. The transformation from medical consultant to stripper is complete.
Turning to face me square on, my eyes feast on her pussy.
It’s perfect. The thinnest of lines of immaculately trimmed pubic hair end a little above her clit hood. I see a glisten of wetness on her lips.
Something else catches the light. She has a silver butt plug in her hand. My eyes dart back to her gorgeous pussy, and by the time I look up again the silver tool is in her mouth. A heart shape end protrudes from her lips.
My heart summersaults as she rolls it with her tongue, coating it with her saliva.
She turns, butt cheeks facing me, then, bending low with legs athletically straight, gently eases the plug into her arsehole.
Pre-come is pouring out of my cock. If my hands were free I would be rubbing it down my shaft, lubing myself up.
The fact that I can’t touch myself only has the effect of intensifying the feelings I have at the end of my cock. A huge drip of my lube has eased out of my helmet and is slowly, treacling towards my frenulum. My magic spot.
Contact is made, and my nerves jangle. My cock jerks involuntarily, sending another trickle of silvery fluid down my shaft. It merges with the earlier stream and, like two raindrops joining forces on a windowpane, they combine and slide quickly down the back of my prick to my balls.
The glug of pre-come traces a delicious line over one of my balls. I feel every millimetre of its movement until the circumnavigation is complete and it heads across my perineum and makes it to my arse hole.
Both of our arseholes are now enveloped in pleasure. Shared sensations.
She pulls up a chair, swings her legs over it in fine burlesque style, sits and parts her legs and presents her pussy, and her bejewelled butt.
Her delicate fingers, which moments ago had been taking my pulse, stroke her lips and circle her clit. I can see the pleasure this gives her as her head drops back and she moans every so slightly.
I yearn to clasp my cock with my fingers. I want to circle my helmet just as she runs her finger around the tip of her clit. I need to tease out more pre-come just as she is teasing out her juices.
She slides a finger between the folds of her cunt and begins to thrust them, finger fucking in and out. Her juices are flowing freely and are coating her fingers and her inner thighs.
I imagine that my cock is taking the place of those fingers. I can almost feel it hovering around her pussy, waiting for her to grasp it and ease it into her.
I can virtually sense the moment when my glans make contact with her lips, our juices mingle, and I slide deliciously into her warm, welcoming cunt.
“198 over 105. I’m getting concerned”. Her voice is distant as if coming from another room.
“I’m going to try one more procedure to see if we can get it down to something a little safer. Trust me, I think it’ll work,” my sexy female doctor says.
Reality seems to have partially returned. I’m not inside her. Perhaps I never was. She has taken her seat again. She raises her stocking legs and starts to finger the butt plug.
I’m aware that the torrent of pre-come has erupted again, and I feel a blob of it ease out of my urethra and, like slow-moving lava from a volcano, make its way inexorably, gloriously down my shaft.
I desperately want her to grab my cock in her hand, pump it and take it in her mouth. I imagine what her tongue might feel like and how she might roll it over my glans and suck more juices out of me.
But the action isn’t taking place around my cock. Her focus is on herself and on that little silver jewel.
I see her again in a different setting. She’s at that sex club which she likes to visit. She’s in a corset with a cocktail in her hand. She’s surrounded by three rigid cocks. She takes a sip from her drink, puts down the glass, moves one of the guys behind her unclips the crotch on her underwear and gently slips the prick into her pussy.
Taking the other cocks in each hand, she starts to pump them. She moves one to her mouth, before swapping to give the other some oral attention.
“185 over 119,” I hear her say. There’s still worry in her voice.
I notice a string of saliva connecting her mouth to a cock and am suddenly aware that my own cock is pulsing deeply. I can feel my spunk moving fast up the shaft. It sprays out of my helmet, and I feel an immense release of tension.
“160 over 105. This is better. Much better.” There is relief in her voice. Just as there is relief throughout my body.
Fuck, how I needed that orgasm. The achingly tight ring that was periodically squeezing my arm is now far less noticeable. My whole body, which felt as stiff as my cock, is rapidly softening.
I am overwhelmed by a deep sense of calm. And I’m suddenly aware of a warm, wet substance on my stomach and around my groin.
“140 over 93,” Dr Katana says. “This is great. Just great. You are doing well.”
I notice that she’s back in her white coat, and the stethoscope is hanging around her neck once more. Was I in a nurse fantasy? She is leaning over the bed, adjusting a drip that feeds into a tube connected to a vein in my arm.
“I was worried you might have drifted off,” she confessed.
I detect her perfume and inhale deeply. Then I drop my gaze from her beautiful face and see the mess on my body. It’s on the sheets too. I move the arm, which has fewer medical attachments, and attempt to mop things up using my surgical gown.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” I mumble. They are the first words, apart from her name, I have uttered since she came into the room. “I didn’t mean to…”
“Please. Please. There is absolutely no need to apologise,” she says.
She puts her hand on my wrist and guides my arm back to its resting position.
“Don’t worry,” she says reassuringly. She pulls a ream of the blue paper towels that seem to populate every hospital room from a dispenser on the wall and starts to wipe up the semen from my stomach.
Then she finds a wet cloth and, with one hand holding the base of my shaft, gently wipes the rest of my penis clean.
“I sometimes find that men climax in situations like that,” she says. “In fact, speaking from a medical viewpoint, it can actually be remarkably therapeutic. A sudden release of tension. Perfectly natural. And, so I am told, strangely enjoyable. Does wonders for the blood pressure, too.”
“Indeed, doctor,” I reply.
“I think it’s fine to leave you now. The nursing team will keep an eye on you, and if you need anything, just press the buzzer. Don’t worry,” she continues and lays a hand on my shoulder, ”you might not believe it now, but you will get better, and you will go back to your old life.”
I nod. Yes, I really do feel that I will get better. That orgasm was the turning point. But there’s no way I am going back to my old, sterile, dull life. I’m going to start a new, naughty and gloriously adventurous one. And I’m going to have the best fucking sex of my life.
“Thank you so much,” I reply.
“It’s my job. It’s what I do. It’s really most fulfilling. So there’s really no need for any thanks, “ she says.
She checks my drip one last time and writes something on the clipboard at the bottom of my bed.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have three more men to see to on this round.”
“Well, I hope you are fulfilled by them,” I say, and as she walks out of the door, she turns and raises an eyebrow and gives a tiny hint of a rather cheeky smile.
The End

I chuckled as I listened to the commotion in the loo. It had been so unlike me to bring a plaything back for the night, let alone awaken to find he, my toyboy was still around. But he was very good looking and quite the flirt so with the few drinks we shared, my attraction and courage grew. Before I knew it, we were romping in the sheets for the better part of the evening.
I felt the bed jostle as my lover stepped upon the mattress and stood next to me. I sensed his eyes peering down on me, but chose to ignore him. We had our fun last night and, at this moment, I desired nothing more than a peaceful morning. I rattled the paper, adjusted my reading glasses on the bridge of my nose, and hoped he would take the hint, but he didn’t. Instead, my frisky young man lay down beside me and tugged annoyingly at the cord of my bathrobe, morning sex apparently on his agenda. Pussy licking on mine.
I continued to read and show no sign of interest until; finally he became weary of seeking my attention and rolled to his stomach with a disheartened sigh.
I glanced over at his lovely bottom and instantly it triggered images of last night’s pleasures of the flesh. My blood pumped a little faster as I realized I was not quite finished with him after all. Now distracted from the morning’s headlines, I set the paper aside.
Crawling over to him, I straddled his muscular thighs. I pressed my quickly moistening mound against the firm curve of his butt cheeks while he lay perfectly still, as if he were now going to deny me. I grinned at the thought of him believing he could possibly have the strength to ignore my advances.
I slipped my robe from my shoulders, letting it fall to the mattress. There was now nothing but my panties and his pajama pants between me and his sweet ass.
With him pinned beneath me, I inhaled his masculine scent and pressed my breasts to his back. I nibbled at the tender flesh of his neck and kissed his earlobe as I thoroughly enjoyed my position of power over his fit young body.
Determined to keep my hot blooded lover in my control, I reached to the side and gathered the cord of my robe. My tummy fluttered with excitement as I brazenly placed his hands behind his back and securely tied them.
Moving off him, I tugged at the elastic waist of his pajama pants, eager to see the sexy bottom I knew was hidden by flannel material.
Two perfect cheeks now revealed, I caressed his naked buttocks, admiring the curve of his firm, toned rump. My head swimming with desire, I pulled the pants somewhat clumsily down his legs and over his feet. Instead of tossing them aside, I wrapped them around his ankles, using the pants to tie his legs together.
Amused by my resourcefulness, I rolled my handsome toy over and gazed at his magnificent prick. Engorged and jutting from his body, it was more than evident he was just as aroused as I. Savoring the feel of the soft taut skin of his erection, I teased the length of his glorious member with the tip of my finger before I leisurely followed the crease that connected the shaft to the crown of his cock.
I flirtatiously climbed back on top of him and lifting his shirt, I kissed his chest. He shuddered as my lips grazed his nipple. Delighted to have such a favorable response to my touch, I brushed my bottom lip over his stiffened nub. I continued to tease him before taking it between my teeth and sharply, but playfully, biting him.
As I kissed a path down his chest, I maintained eye contact, noting his smirk as my lips reached the tip of his cock. Turning my focus to his dick, I licked the salty precum from his head, savoring the taste on the tip of my tongue.
Lowering my breast to his shaft, I stimulated my nipple by drawing it across his rigid cock. He inhaled sharply as I continued moving my nipple up to the tip of his prick and teased his mushroom shaped head with my hardened point. He clearly enjoyed it, but I was not in it for his pleasure. I was in it for mine.
I stood over him, and could tell he was trying to anticipate my next move. With his eyes fixated on my body, I knelt over him, shamelessly slid the crotch of my panties aside, and lowered my aching pussy to his face.
I trembled as his tongue contacted my smooth labia and made its way across my moist slit. Straddling his face, I remained in control, allowed my plaything to lap at my pussy, adjusting my hips so his tongue stimulated my pulsing clit. Keeping just enough distance between us, I took pleasure in making him reach with his tongue in order to please me.
Crouching lower, I positioned my pussy so he could easily have access to my crevice and folds. I gripped the headboard tighter as he probed further with a stiffened tongue. But as exquisite as it felt, I craved even more.
Steadying myself with the headboard, I stood over my restrained lover, making sure he could plainly see my heart-shaped bottom. I confidently slid my panties over my hips and wriggled out of them. Naked, I straddled his head once more and I looked upon his fabulous cock while lowering myself.
Knowing his only view was of my puffy, shaved, wet cunny moving closer to his face, made my clit throb.
I placed my mound to his mouth and let him kiss my pussy. I pressed myself to his lips sending waves of pleasure through me, his tongue passing over my clit causing me to shudder.
Hungry for his cock, I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around his knob. Steadily sucking him deeper in my mouth, I cupped the underside with my tongue.
The scent of him driving me wild, I relaxed my jaw I took as much of his rod as I could, delighting at the feel of his manhood rubbing against my velvety tongue.
Suckling his cock as he skillfully ran his tongue over my labia, we made a perfect sixty-nine, but once again, it wasn’t enough. I now required his hardness deep inside me in order to fulfill my lustful desires.
Positioning myself over his stiff penis, I teased my clitoris with the head of his cock, using him to massage my pussy while spreading my juices over the tip. I placed his hot member to my opening and slid him inside of me.
His girth parted my walls as they fluttered around his shaft. I pressed him deeper inside me, tilting my hips up and down, rocking over his manhood, controlling the pace and depth as I fucked myself with his cock
Wanting to see my lover’s expressions, I slipped off him. Now facing each other, chest heaving, I slipped him back inside me, gliding effortlessly down his length until his cock filled me. Slowly I began grinding my hips in small intimate circles, pressing my clit against his pelvic bone, stoking the carnal flames that burned inside of me.
I stared in his eyes maintaining complete control of our coupling as I enthusiastically rode him.
His eyes lit up as he watched me dancing on his cock, selfishly moving around at a rhythm that suited my needs while he remained helpless to so much as lay a finger upon my dewy flesh.
Writhing on his rod, I leaned forward, kissing his lips, parting them with my tongue as the familiar wave of orgasm rose between my legs. The hot tingle of ecstasy, started in my clit, and quickly spread through my quivering walls as my muscles tensed and the sweet release flooded through every inch of my body.
With my tongue darting in and out of his mouth, I kissed him deeply while my pussy contracted on his cock. Holding still, I savored the warm afterglow of my climax, keeping him inside me as I regained my composure.
With my needs more than met, I slipped off my lover.
I knew he was watching me as I got comfortable against the headboard and that it would not be long before he realized I was finished, and leaving him not only tied up, but yearning for more.
Just as he was about to complain, I picked up my panties, rolled them into a ball and cheekily placed them in his mouth.
Sweeping my hair from my face, I put on my glasses and returned to reading my newspaper, hopefully with no distractions this time.
THE END