Steve has been a constant feature of my fantasies virtually since I
first met him. To actually say this out loud is embarrassing enough,
but the burning flush of shameful guilt really starts to rise
whenever I think of this next fantasy. It’s only a short one but it
plays like its on endless loop whenever it comes to mind. It also
doesn’t at first sound altogether intense or overly sexual at all,
although it does escalate in this direction as it plays in my mind.
It begins by a swimming pool although it could be anywhere. The only
furniture in it is one of those old plastic banana lounges which
were common around poolsides throughout the country back in the 70’s.
You know the type? Bright colored corefluted woven plastic; a seat
section roughly three foot square; foot and head ends about the same
size and which could be adjusted to fold an arc from bent down
touching the ground, to horizontal like a regular bed or completely
folded into itself and any combination in between.
In this dream this chair is set like a regular chair but with the
foot end extended out straight. I’m completely naked; my wrists bound
to the aluminium frame either side of my head; my legs spread and
ankles tied to the frame at the bottom corners of the foot end. Steve
appears. He’s smiling; teeth flashing through his graying beard; a
sparkle in his eyes. He’s carrying something – I can’t tell what at
first.
He walks right up to the foot of the plastic lounge and stands there
for a while just surveying the view. I’m struggling, but not overly
anxious to escape. It’s quite a dreamy, hazy feeling to lie there
spread open for him, unable to hide anything of my nakedness from
him. So far, it all seems quite harmless; non-threatening even
despite the lingering demure unsettledness. It’s non-threatening
right up until he kneels at my spread feet and reaches out to gently
grab hold of them.
I’m well aware of his peculiar thoughts regarding the touching of
women’s feet and so to have him touch mine in any way is immediately
a cause for concern – more so when he starts gently pushing black
pearly marbles which have been lightly oiled between my toes. It’s a
weird feeling, having my toes spread like that. I’m instantly
reminded of the story of my kooky train adventure with an anonymous
foot fetishist many years before; of all the times I’d told Steve
that story but without ever revealing the full story – how I found it
impossible not to orgasm if somebody toyed with my toes for long
enough. The smallish, cold glass of the marbles spreads my toes
widely; Steve seating each of them snugly in the webbing between and
holding them spread like that – a metaphore perhaps for the way in
which he might spread my legs and hold them open against my will.
If that was all he did in my dream, I might be able to hold back long
enough not to orgasm in front of him; not to give him the
satisfaction of seeing exactly how right he was with his bizarre
theories about women, their feet and their sexual desires. But in my
dreams he’s far more ingenious in stimulating me than I ever imagine
him to be in reality. He tells me; no, warns me, if I drop any of the
marbles before he’s finished tormenting me, he’s going to take a
vibrator to my pussy and force me to cum in front of the small crowd
of people which has gathered around to watch the kinky spectacle.
At first it seems like an easy enough challenge to remain composed
and not lose grip on any of the marbles between my toes. I think he’s
going to try and tickle my feet and I know he’s wasting his time
because they’ve never been ticklish, much to the chagrin of anybody
who tried tickling them when I was a child. However, it soon becomes
arrapent to me this is an ADULT tickling game and Steve has something
much more devious in mind for me.
The dream becomes a bit surreal but the next thing I know Steve is
naked; his cock dances obscene and large up from his hairy loins and
right under my nose as he straddles me lying on the banana lounge;
hands slip anonymously around from behind the chair and elegant, long
fingers caress and stroke my armpits. In the surprise of the moment,
as the unseen hands glide in search of my breasts, I open my mouth
and gasp. Steve’s cock immediately fills my mouth; his hands gripping
the head rest of the chair to pull my face closer and my mouth deeper.
It’s all too easy to lose concentration on the tenuous grip my toes
have on the marbles and one by one there is the light clatter as they
drop onto the concrete around the chair. I hear the vibrator before I
feel it. It’s buzzing loudly; very loudly; embarrassingly loudly and
the touch of it against my clitoris sends me instantly spasming with
mind-numbing waves of orgasmic pleasure. I try and keep a grip on the
marbles – not to stop them from falling but to savor the spread,
vulnerability the sensations of them between my toes provide. Steve
doesn’t need to look anywhere except into my eyes to know what’s
going on. His face remains creased up into a grin as he floods my
mouth with a pulsating eruption from his cock. I’m moaning loudly,
sucking in air noisily; frantically through my nostrils. The fingers
which had been tickling under my arms and breasts now take hold of my
sensitive nipples. They twist and pull painfully. I can feel marbles
being launched across the concrete from between my toes. An orgasm is
the only thing that makes me giggle like that, and giggle I do…