For those of you who don’t know, I have a regular Monday night party for my girlfriends. In reality, no man passes through my front door on these nights. Girls only, bitch boy! But for little exhibitionist it’s a great scenario on which to build a filthy fantasy.  Which I decided to do with R.C. a while back. I think he liked it.

I think he liked it a lot:

Good evening, Ladies. 

I have been instructed by our mutual friend, Ms. Angela, to write to all of you to introduce myself. My name is R.C. Over the past month or so, I have accepted Ms. Angela’s invitation to be her loyal pet. What exactly does that mean? (I’m glad you asked, rhetorical questioners.) In addition to engaging in some lovely vanilla conversations, I have submitted to her the control of my cock–erm, her cock, as she now likes to refer to it. How did this happen, exactly? Some kind of Don Corleone-esque “offer I couldn’t refuse”? I suppose we can in fact chalk it up to Ms. Angela’s estimable powers of persuasion. After all, in a sentiment in which I believe we may all agree: “She has the pussy, She makes the rules.”

I sure my Mistress apprised you of this, but I’ll recap anyway: a few weeks back Ms. Angela spun a fantasy about a scenario where all of you ladies were in Ms. Angela’s loft for one of your Monday night gatherings, the one major wrinkle being that I had been invited along by Ms. Angela for, in the euphemistic sense, “entertainment purposes.” The scenario did get quite steamy, not that any of us would be surprised at Ms. Angela’s legendary talent for spinning a naughty yarn.

I’m not sure how in depth Ms. Angela went in her recap on her end, but in broad strokes (and hard strokes, natch) she preyed on my prominent foot fetish to persuade me to spring into action, pampering all of your perfectly pedicured toes. She even permitted me to slide my throbbing cock in between here and there to get a bit of what I coined “foot pussy.” Because a deviant foot slut like myself could not hold out for too long with the combination of that visual floating through my imagination and a particularly wicked torrent of Ms. Angela teasing, I ended up shooting quite a load of jizz all over those wiggling toes. Ms. Angela — never one to pass up a moment to literally rub my face in it — prodded me to bend down and immediately slurp up all that sperm juice from those creamy toes. So, yes, to put it bluntly, I ate my own cum. I ate my own cum FOR REAL for Mistress Angela.

I would like to profusely thank each and every one of you for playing an indirect role in that particular scenario. Even though I believe it may be your second time hearing some of this, I hope you were amused to hear it from my perspective.

Hello Ms. Diana: I understand you were the one who requested a bit of posing last night. Hope you enjoy what you saw; I personally don’t think it will win any prizes, but I’ve also been told it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Anyway, I think I’ll let you ladies get back to the other topics that are on the agenda for tonight, as well as the Monday night programming. I appreciate your taking the time to listen, and if any interest is there and it aligns w/ Ms. Angela’s wishes, I would be happy to keep the correspondence going in the future.

R.C.

Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon  to a Zen Fetish blog near you.

xo, Angela

FOOT FETISH FRANK

by Cynthia French

At first it was fabulous
dating Frank, the foot fetish guy
He asked me one night,
can I massage your feet?

And I let him. Ooohing and Aahing
to the sensation of skin against skin
in between my toes, sending sensations
reverberating through my body.
It was almost better than sex
Almost.

Before our next date, I painted
my toenails purple
His face lit up in smiles gazing at my feet
he came out of the closet
"I love feet," Frank said
and I didn’t care.
At least I had found a man that was honest.

So I kept my toenails long and polished
black his favorite color
and he kept rubbing my tired feet
and watching them
and kissing them
and sucking on my toes
strange, I know…but damn it felt good

Then it got worse
or weird
or something.

Frank, the foot fetish guy started showing me
pictures of feet he’d found on the web
excited to learn about a foot fetish web ring
photos of celebrity feet
Mira Sorvino, Gena Davis, Uma Thurman
all their feet for all to see.

He started reading me stories
sexual scenarios of feet fetish frenzies
sent Frank into sexual overdrive
let’s try this and this and this he’d exclaim.
Frank started buying me shoes accentuating toe cleavage.

Then came the socks
All sorts of socks
toe socks, mitten socks
argyle animal print
socks by Miller
sheer socks
stockings (he insisted on watching me put on my stockings)
slippers too, furry ones, open toed
strappy sandals
high heels
ankle bracelets
toe rings
temporary tattoos.

Then it happened.

After I fell and slid across the marble floor of the apartment building lobby wearing my newest 4 inch spiked red heels, spraining my wrist and flashing the doorman, I knew I was in trouble.
He’d pulled me into his foot fetish fantasy world and I couldn’t see a way out.

Even the food in my cupboards had changed.
Whipped cream, chocolate syrup, creamy peanut butter
all things that tantalized his taste buds
as he sucked my toes.

My credit card bill showed
charges of a foot fetish shopping spree
Bath and Body lotions and scrubs
Eucalyptus foot cream
massage books
silk nylons
files and buffers
polish of all colors.
My credit cards maxed,
my wrist wrapped and throbbing
Blushed red from embarrassment
Frank down on his knees in front of me
lifting his pant leg
revealing a sock with a tiny pocket
from which he pulls a ring
and as he say the words, I cry out NO!
I can’t live a lie any longer I’m afraid
Frank. I said
Feet stink.
_________________________________________

I couldn’t find a lot on Ms. French, but did locate this homepage, where there is a sampling of her work.  Hopefully, we’ll be hearing more from her soon.  I’m inspired.  Haven’t written a naughty poem in a while.  It’s about time, so watch out.