Your erotic stories

It has been almost a week since my sunset encounter with my lover and I have been worried she might be so turned off by my strange fetish that she no longer wants to see me. Sex had been good before she used a strap-on to fuck me and we had seemed to hit it off outside of bed also, but the tone of our conversations since have been a bit weird.

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Rina wrinkled her nose in disgust and set her coffee cup down. "Ugh! Jessica!" "No, really," her friend answered, "It's a huge turn-on, believe me. I kind of thought it was gross when I first heard of it, but now I have him do that almost all the time." "Jerry does that? YOUR Jerry. Oh my gosh!"

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As the only female doctor on staff at the health center of a large midwestern university, my work has afforded me numerous occasions when I'm asked (even begged) to describe certain of my work experiences to "the girls"---four girlfriends whom I've known since college. We gather three or so times a year at a spa or for a cruise or just to kick back for a few days away from husbands and boyfriends and, now, a couple of kids among us.

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It was a quiet afternoon at the office. My last appointment for the day had to cancel at the last minute, and the bosses were all at a convention out of town. Nothing was happening, and although it was a good time to catch up on paperwork, I was tired so I thought I'd get an early start on the weekend. I didn't expect my girlfriend, Paola, to be home when I got there, so I was surprised to hear the television when I walked through the door.

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This is the story of my first foot fetish experience, I hold nothing back and will try and embellish nothing. First a very little background, I am 21 years old, and a lover of female feet. I have been seeing the girl in the story, Christine, for about 2 years on and off. We shared everything. First as friends, then transcending that line and into our sexual desires. Before this we had not made love, our kisses and caresses were the slow, careful ones of a couple physically new to each other.

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The last three years since finishing a Masters in Math, I've been teaching at a small college. Other than that, my life is lonely. I don't wish it to be. It is. Not many women fit my fantasy. It is all I can do to contain my emotions when she walks into my second year math class. I know I will be a wreck. "I'm Amy Glass," she says as she hands me the admission slip.

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It all began when I asked Shira: "Have you been a good little girl?" My wife had been dreading this moment for hours. Indeed, she had known about her impending mortification for days. Even so, she began to blush and cry at once. It was bad enough to be treated like a baby, but to be treated so in front of her best friend was particularly humiliating.

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"Excuse me, sir. Could you spare a dollar or two? I haven't eaten in two days," Carey pleaded. The tall good looking and well dressed man about to enter the Starbuck's stopped to check out the much smaller woman speaking to him. She was petite, maybe five-four to his six-six stature. She was dirty but otherwise looked cute with brunette hair and blue eyes. "You look too young to be on your own," Tory Rider stated.

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Girls in their teens weren’t supposed to know all the things Helen knew about boys and sexuality. But Helen knew that sex wasn’t just a matter of humping your brains out. There were all kinds of needs people had, needs they’d either been born with or which had been developed.

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For years I had kept a very private secret. I had run the gauntlet emotionally because of it too. Sometimes forcing myself to abstain, thinking it wrong, bizarre, even disgusting as many would see it. But eventually, I'd give in to the urge, usually resulting in a frenzy of activity in order to satisfy what I believed then to be an absurd form of sexual pleasure and gratification.

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