Your erotic stories

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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As the train slowed down and drew into York station Mark smiled at his wife Serena and asked how she felt. 'Nervous, and as horny as hell,' she replied. The train slowed to a halt and Mark and Serena got off and made their way off the platform where they were due to meet Robert, Mrs Wyles' assistant. They held hands as they approached the ticket barrier and walked through it.

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There are fifteen candles strategically placed throughout the room, one for every year they have been together. They lie on the bed, side by side. Their fingers are laced together and are wedged between their two steaming bodies. Beads of perspiration glisten upon his chest hair.

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To be honest, I can’t really pinpoint where my fetish for hairy women began. As a kid, I can remember looking at old photos of Victorian woman in lingerie, and thinking they looked slightly strange with the thick patches of hair in their armpits, and when I did see the occasional woman with hairy pits in real life, I thought it unusual rather than exciting.

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Even as a child Jane had always loved the feel of certain materials against her skin. Her first sexual feeling was caused by her wearing a plastic apron of her mothers. She felt her nipples harden and was worried because she thought she had wet herself as she was wet between her legs.

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