Your erotic stories

I yawned. I was bored and too hot. The lecture I was in was dull and I hoped it would end soon. I felt so sleepy and I was itching to get out. I sat there restlessly staring at the screen as the lecturer droned on listlessly. My feet sweaty in my converse, as I flexed them around inside my shoes.

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I was nineteen (about three years ago) when I had my first real life experience testing my foot fetish. I had been aware of my fetish since I was in middle school, always looking under the table at girl's feet. The older I got the stronger the fetish became. I had a couple girlfriends in high school but had never had the courage to tell them about my fetish.

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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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He couldn't keep his eyes on the road, or his mind on his sales pitch. The sexy blonde was driving barefoot, and all Gavin could think about was how his cum would look on those toes of hers. "Wow, it handles like a dream," the girl said, smiling. The bright sun reflected back from the polished chrome of the gas pedal, the dazzling light gleaming from between her toes.

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It was a gorgeous, sunny day in late July just about a week before my birthday. I had just signed off on an incredible deal that was going to make my company millions and net me a signing bonus big enough to keep me in very expensive shoes for a very long time to come. As I settled into my high back leather chair behind the great mahogany desk that is the centerpiece of my office, I gave a little stretch and yawn and kicked off my four and half inch patent leather pumps.

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Sarah stood in the shade of the thatch-roofed picnic shelter, sipping on a diet coke as she spitefully contemplated how her weekend had been completely ruined. After two continuous weeks of stressful work, she had been relishing this much needed weekend to herself. That was until Friday night, when a dreaded phone call from her cheerily coercive mother had ended all her hope of relaxation.

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"I hate her," Joe muttered as he watched Natalie bounce through the crowded college courtyard. Two years, they had been together. Two years of wasted emotion, compromises, and plans. Hell, they hadn't really started making love until these last few months, and that's why he had thought she was the one. "'Let's save ourselves until we're sure,'" he grumbled.

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"What was your most interesting photo shoot, Natasha?" Alex asked. His digital SLR snapped in the silence of the hotel room. I held my pose, wondering how honest I should be. "Well, I did a shoot last year wearing nothing but body paint," I offered, the over-stuffed comforter pressed softly between my legs.

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It was a stormy night in Atlanta. My bones rattled with chills as I struggled through sheets of rain that slapped against my body. My thin windbreaker failed it's only job, as I felt the dampness soak into my clothes which sucked onto my skin. It was a terrible night, but this struggle of the elements was worth it. For tonight, I would meet my angel, and nothing would warm my drenched body more than her embrace.

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