Dressed to Impress, page 10
‘H-Hold on! Let me help you!’ Myron left his key in the lock and leapt over to Lorraine. ‘You shouldn’t have to carry all that-that heavy stuff.’
‘But what about your work?’
Myron’s eyes were fastened on Lorraine’s golden limbs, journeying up and down. ‘Huh? What work?’
He lugged all of her boxes out of the rented van and up the three flights of stairs into her new apartment, trailing eagerly, oglingly after her. Then he insisted on helping her unpack, setting up her new computer and TV and PVR, even though she was quite capable of doing that all by herself.
She told him where to put things and he excitedly complied, his eyes fixated on her legs standing tautly together or swishing seductively against one another in her hose when she walked around the apartment. His reddened ears rang with the clarion click-clacking of her two-inch heels on the hardwood floors.
It was late in the evening before Myron finally had all of her stuff unpacked and set up just as she wanted it. ‘I-I guess I’d better go,’ he spluttered, not moving an inch, staring at Lorraine’s shining legs and feet.
‘You really should be rewarded for all of the help you’ve given me, Myron,’ she murmured, strolling slowly over to the transfixed man. ‘And for all of the help you’re going to give me – getting a job at the company you work at.’
The company Myron worked at was the largest, most powerful computer hardware and software manufacturer in the country.
‘Uh, well, you don’t –’
Lorraine placed an elegant hand on Myron’s bony shoulder and easily pushed him down to his knees on the floor at her feet. ‘You can caress my feet and my legs, if you care to.’
Myron shot out his small, soft, damp hands and clutched Lorraine’s ankles. He moaned, clinging to the hose, the shapely, intricately boned structures beneath, staring up and down Lorraine’s towering legs. Sweat beaded his tall forehead and his lips trembled. Lorraine smiled down at him.
His damp hands travelled higher, sweeping upwards, fingers widening and stretching to accommodate Lorraine’s mounded calves, her capped knees, her lean, firm thighs. She bit her lip as the excited caress of the man’s hands on her sensitive lower limbs, and the power she wielded over him with her legs, pulsed through her body.
Myron’s hands slowly slid back down the long, exquisite expanses of Lorraine’s legs, fingers stroking her silky hose, the silken skin beneath, until he was smoothing his palms over the contoured arches of her feet, touching her packaged toes in the open-faced pumps. He impulsively dove his head down and pressed his lips to her feet, feverishly kissing first one, then the other, fingers covetously coiling around her ankles again.
Lorraine felt the man’s hot, damp lips pour kisses all over her feet and her black leather pumps, and she thrilled with the treatment. Whereas leg-men were stunned by her lower limbs, so were her legs and feet sensitive to the caress, the kiss, the lick of a man. It was a perfect match of emotions, leg-loving men and leggy woman. Except that Lorraine had better mastery over her feelings than her footmen did theirs, and thus all of the control in the leg-driven relationship.
She slid her slender hands up off her hips and onto her breasts, and cupped the taut, tingling mounds, as Myron kissed her feet, then ran his tongue up and over one arch and the other. He looked up at her for desperate approval, and she nodded, pinching her stiffened nipples through the satin and rolling the buzzing tips between her fingers.
Myron excitedly lapped Lorraine’s arches like the foot-dog he was, painting her crested skin through the sheer hose with his warm saliva. Then he dipped his head even lower and wagged his tongue across the set of toes sticking seductively out of Lorraine’s left pump, then bounced over and swiped the rounded toes revealed in her right shoe. Lorraine murmured softly, her legs trembling slightly, her nipples straining against her fingers.
Myron flowed his tongue all over her toes, around and around the glossy-nailed tops and delightfully rounded bottoms. Lorraine playfully wiggled them on their leather platforms, in their nylon encasings, as best she could, to drive the kneeling man wild.
Myron finally jerked his reddened face back up, and the blood rushed out of his head in a torrent, but still thundered in his ears. He wound his tongue around Lorraine’s right ankle, nipped at the delicate structure, the tautened tendon at the back. Then he dragged his wet, widened tongue up her bladed shinbone and around to the soft spot behind her knee, and licked up onto her quivering thigh. He pulled the pantyhose with him, too ardent to be subtle, striping Lorraine’s leg with his tongue.
She shivered the length of her stems, revelling in the man’s open-mouthed worship. Only when his tongue started to stray under the hem of her stretch-skirt did she tap him on the head and admonish him with her eyes. Myron quickly and obediently dropped his head back down the shapely, sculpted stretch of one leg and bobbed over to lick up the lovely length of the other.
He repeated the same rapturous process as before on the other of the erotically twinned pair, winding his tongue all around Lorraine’s left ankle, eagerly lapping the towering expanse of her second leg until he reached close to the pinnacle again.
‘You can … come on my feet, Myron,’ Lorraine breathed, noting the throbbing, tented condition of the front of Myron’s trousers. Her own body shimmered all along its length with tingling heat, her pussy at the apex of her parted legs brimming with sensation.
Myron quickly straightened up, fumbled his hard cock out and yanked on it, clutching Lorraine’s moistened left leg at the knee with his other hand. Lorraine slid her own hand down into her skirt and pantyhose and onto her pussy, and touched her clit with her fingertips. Myron whimpered and jerked and sprayed hot come onto first one leather-cradled foot, then the other, unable to control himself any longer. Lorraine shuddered silently with her own orgasm, watching the kneeling man spurt out his lust onto her feet.
Thanks to Myron, Lorraine got a job at the giant computer firm. And within a year she was up for promotion. A promotion she knew she deserved but probably wouldn’t get. Her boss was an aggressive young woman who didn’t like the way Lorraine had been foisted on the department she managed by the dirty old HR Director. The woman was short and squat, thick-ankled and bandy-legged.
Lorraine had only one option: bypass her boss, strut right over the woman’s head all the way to the top man in the company, Charles Featon, the eccentric founder of the firm.
‘Yes, yes, what is it?’
Lorraine peeked around the plastic door and looked across the vast, sparsely furnished office at the man seated behind the huge polyurethane desk. She’d slipped past the guards with her security badge and a story about delivering a package, and had waited until Featon’s personal assistant had gone to the washroom. ‘I’d like to talk to you, if you have a moment … Charles?’
The man tore his piercing blue eyes off the giant 3D computer screen and glanced at Lorraine. He was in his late forties, with thinning greyish-brown hair, a hawkish nose and wiry body. He was not unattractive and was enormously wealthy. ‘I don’t have time for any interrupt–’
Lorraine interrupted him, slipping inside the office and shutting the door. Her hair was swept up, glossy black coils dangling. Her face was lightly but carefully made up, red lips shining juicily, violet eyes highlighted. She was wearing a light-blue satin blouse, darker-blue thigh-high skirt, sky-blue nylon stockings and cobalt-blue four-inch spike heels.
Charles stared at her – her gleaming legs and feet – as she strolled towards him, her hips swaying outrageously, sensuously covered limbs crossing and recrossing, leather shoes and strapped-in feet piling up one in front of the other. In the stunned silence of the huge room, the sharp click-clacking of her heels on the polished cement floor echoed loudly, the erotic whisper of her stockinged limbs clearly audible as well.
Lorraine had done her research. She knew she, and her legs, were talking to the right man. Leisurely, languorous, she closed the distance between them until she stood before him. His jaws closed with a crack, Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard gulp, as she slowly sat down in one of the Formica chairs in front of his desk, elegantly folded her lower limbs, then crossed them softly one over the other.
She sat back, legs forward. ‘I’d like to talk to you about my promotion.’
The man’s hands squealed on the desktop as he pulled them off. He rose to his full five feet seven inches, glaring at Lorraine’s crossed legs, the dangling of one leather-clad foot. ‘What about “your” promotion?’ he tried to demand, the abnormal squeak in his normally high-pitched voice betraying him.
Lorraine uncrossed her legs and folded them together again – a symphony of nylon, a masterpiece of feminine shapeliness. ‘I want one – a big one. In exchange for …’
She unfurled her right leg up into the air, reached out and unfastened the upraised shoe and uncoiled the leather straps from around her ankle. She slid the heel off and let the shoe drop, along with Charles’s jaw again. Then she lowered the limb, so that the tapered tip was pointing at the man, foot arched and toes bunched, leg stretching out its sculpted loveliness through the electrified air.
Charles ran around his desk and flung himself down to his knees, grabbed Lorraine’s erotically proffered ped and pressed it to his burning face.
‘Yes!’ she hissed.
‘Yeah!’ he yelped.
He smeared her slightly dampened, spicily scented foot all over his face. Then the dyed-in-the-silk leg-man rained kisses down upon Lorraine’s ped, running his fingers around and along her humped arch, across and along the curved hollow of her sole. He’d never seen, felt, tasted, smelled a foot so beautiful before, and he’d been trodden on by the best. He wantonly opened his mouth, stuck Lorraine’s ped-tip inside and sucked on her long, slender, bulb-crowned toes in their nylon covering.
Lorraine shivered, feeling the ardent, wet-hot tug of the man on her foot all through her body, his hands sliding up and down her clenched ankle and calf. She wriggled her toes in his mouth and wiggled her skirt up, revealing the blue flower-budded garter straps that held up her stockings, the blatant fact that she was wearing no underwear. Her pussy lips glistened with the moisture of sexual triumph, just a downy tuft of black fur gracing the top of her slit.
Charles crammed more of her foot into his craven mouth, fully half, sealing his stretched lips around arch and sole and sucking, as she slid her long, red-tipped fingers onto her pussy and rubbed.
He grabbed up her other foot, lovingly unwrapped the straps of her shoe and slid her high heel off. He fondled and caressed that foot, his mouth still full and sucking on the other one. Until he popped her right ped out, tilted up her perfectly matched left ped and lapped at its sole, his urgent tongue riding the thrilling rollercoaster of Lorraine’s foot-bottom.
Her feet shone with the man’s saliva, the tiny woven squares of her stockings clotted with wetness. He licked the equally sensitive and shaped sole of her right foot, riding the curvaceous contours with his thrilled tongue. Lorraine playfully crinkled her soles for him and he exulted, tonguing the sexy creases both horizontally and vertically. Then he pushed her feet together side by side, crammed both pointed tips into his mouth at once and sucked on them.
The corners of his outrageously stretched mouth drooled, his cheeks bulging with foot, his shining eyes rocketing up and down the twin gleaming lengths of the stems pouring out of his mouth right before him. Lorraine felt his tongue wag back and forth across the rounded balls of her feet, the tug of his obscenely stuffed mouth on her toes and half of her peds. She pushed his head up higher with her feet buried in his mouth, bringing Charles right up onto his shaking legs. His neck craned down awkwardly to hold onto her peds with his mouth.
She pulled her feet free and lowered them to the level of his bulging crotch. She held them out like that, glistening, legs gleaming, the feet perfectly arched and pointing at the pulsating lump in the powerful man’s trousers. Then she darted her feet forward and pressed her toes soft and hard into Charles’s erection.
‘Oh, yeah!’ he groaned, buckling at the knees and thrusting his groin harder against Lorraine’s planted peds.
With her deft toes she grasped the rigid outline of his cock in his trousers. Then she pumped, moving her feet up and down on either side of his engorgment, her toes clutching and caressing his shaft. He impulsively grabbed her ankles and pumped her feet faster. She shook her head and squirmed her peds free, showing him who was the boss now.
Lorraine left Charles wildly straining for a moment, his eyes begging, her feet hovering just in front of his crotch, out of reach of his hands. Then she said, ‘Show me your cock. Let’s see if your cock is worthy of my feet, and legs.’
He ripped the zipper down on his expensive trousers and pulled his cock out into the open.
Her violet eyes widened slightly. It was impressive, long and thick as her forearm, wound round with blue veins and capped by a beefy purple hood. A manly cock that measured up to a lovely lady’s beautiful legs and feet. She kicked his hand away, grasped the pulsating pole with her moistened nylon peds and pumped.
‘Yeah! Yeah!’ he gasped.
Lorraine pistoned her luscious limbs, stroking Charles’s cock with her feet. Meanwhile she rubbed her pussy, buffing her swollen clit with her fingertips. He stood there shaking, fists clenched at his sides, eyes blazing down on her clasping and caressing feet on his cock. She pumped faster, rubbing herself harder.
It was a hand and foot race to the finish, to total release, who could leg it the longest. The lean muscles rippled up and down Lorraine’s lower limbs, peds furiously pumping prick, fingers polishing clit. Charles jerked, cried out. Lorraine bucked.
Semen burst out of Charles’s foot-jacked cock and sprayed all the way onto Lorraine’s flying hand on her cunt. She screamed and shuddered, orgasm shooting through her body. His hot semen striped her thighs and legs and feet. Her hot juices flooded her fingers.
The promotion came with a proposal – of marriage.
Together, Charles and Lorraine quickly crushed or swallowed up all of their business competitors. Thanks to his genius in developing the ‘ultimate computer’ that could do almost anything, control all inferior competitive computer systems. Thanks to her legwork in lobbying certain men on the Commerce Committee to set aside certain anti-trust laws.
Within three years, Lorraine and her thoroughly ankled husband had created enough worldwide wealth and power and prohibitive patents to enable her to install herself as absolute ruler, with the technology to back it up. A meeting was arranged with the President to air her demands.
Lorraine stepped out of the company helicopter onto the south lawn of the White House in a black latex skirt that hemmed just below her buttline and the top of her thighs, a pair of scarlet silk stockings that flashed brilliant and lethal in the bright sunlight. Her showcased legs seemed to go on for ever. Strapped to her feet, finally halting the breathtaking cascade of her lower limbs in glorious fashion, were a pair of five-inch-heeled, open-toed, crimson leather stilettos with silver stems, which displayed her elongated, toe-popped peds to awesome effect.
The President shakily shook her hand, his eyes glued to her striking appendages. The thoughtful, introspective intellectual was an old-school leg-man, ever since his golden glory days with the Cornell swimming and diving team. His leggy First Lady glared at Lorraine, her own slender, conservatively clothed limbs not quite measuring up.
‘My husband and I want a voice in world affairs, Mr President,’ Lorraine declared in the Oval Office. ‘We have a list of demands that –’
‘Huh?’ The President tore his eyes free and glanced up at the woman’s determined face. ‘Oh, yes, yes, the all-powerful computer. I’m afraid that’s not quite the … persuader you perceive. You see, the government has a computer genius of our own – a man so brilliant in the digital dark arts, the open range of cyberspace, that he can hack into any computer and control it. He’s already done so with yours.’
Lorraine rocked back on her stilettos. ‘What? Why, that’s –’
‘Done,’ the President cut her off, his clear blue eyes roaming the erotic expanses of her red-clad legs again, with more assurance, smiling at her deliciously packaged peds. ‘He’s in the next room. Perhaps you’d like to meet him?’
Lorraine smiled too, regaining her composure. She stood tall on her sky-high heels, skyscraper legs tautened for action. She smoothed up her skirt and murmured, ‘I’d love to meet him.’
The President ushered her into the adjoining room. A man wearing dark glasses sat in a wheelchair all by himself. His limbs were shrunken. He didn’t move when the pair entered the room.
‘This is Jerome Chanowski,’ the President announced. ‘He’s blind, paralysed, completely devoid of all senses, owing to a debilitating virus he caught from a rogue mainframe. His eyes are computer screens now, his brain the hard drive.’
Lorraine’s knees buckled, her legs gone weak.
‘Hel-lo, Lor-raine.’ A digitised voice broke the silence. A cold, emotionless, sexless voice. ‘Won’t you sit down, t-ake a load off your feet?’
‘Dress Slutty’
Grace Moskowitz
I got a text from Randall. ‘Dress slutty,’ it commanded. I smiled. I dressed provocatively frequently, and I had never had to be asked or ordered to do so. I knew he liked that about me. We had embarked on several kinky adventures, and I was having a great time watching him open up to a world of possibilities he had only recently discovered.
Really, he had blossomed in the time I had known him. Since his long, mostly sexless marriage ended, he had been actively exploring and opening up his sexual life, and he was the most natural dominant I had ever met, even if the least experienced. Like me, he wasn’t a part of any ‘scene’; he was new to the world of kink, and I just hate the careful orchestration, the deliberateness of that kink world and its denizens. The negotiation of every sexual encounter kills off the excitement of a serendipitous meeting, where attraction bubbles over into passion and sex happens spontaneously. It might not be safe, but I’ve always found safety to be the opposite of sexy. Plus, I hate jargon. The only problem with my aversion to carefully planned and non-spontaneous sex, however, is that I have a strong self-preservation instinct. So my days of passionate trysts springing out of nowhere with men I’d never met before were pretty much a thing of the past – and of my imagination.
