Femboy Foot Worship Novels & Stories

One gets turned on by imagining being a vamp. I studied myself in a mirror. ‘It makes me look a whore. It’s the boots.’ ‘Don’t exaggerate! Immodest perhaps, concupiscent even, but that’s good.’ She seemed pleased with the effect and the adjectives to describe it. Her first in English Lit seemed more useful at that moment than my business degree. She stormed ahead. ‘Don’t blame the boots. When you move, your arse is the biggest come-on ever. It’s great! Walk up and down and swing a bit – you know, hips – side to side.’

VIVIENNE “Goddess, this is life,” I mumbled around a fat purple grape, popping another one between my lips like I was royalty instead of a collared bitch playing house in enemy territory. Five servants, three women, two men were currently working me over like I was a priceless artifact about to crack. One kneaded the arch of my left foot until my toes curled in bliss. Another dragged strong thumbs up the backs of my thighs, chasing away the delicious ache Dante had left there two nights ago

"Well, you're not wrong. This isn't exactly a reputable establishment. Next time, I'll take you somewhere better. I'll make sure you're well taken care of." I smiled again, shaking my head. I was about to clarify that I wasn't interested in massages at all when someone cut in. "Sienna, what are you doing here?" Zachary stood a few feet away with his arm draped around a woman. She clung to him like a trophy, and her posture was screaming possession. I guessed her name was probably Tiffany. Lucky for me, I'd already bought my new phone. Which meant I had no problem pulling it out and snapping a picture.

I picked it up and began to flip through it, but my mind was far from the glossy pages. Smith’s mockery a few day s ago popped up in my head, “Do you think you can bed a tomboy?” As a tomboy, I expected nothing less, but I trusted my charms. I am Travis Scott, the most handsome billionaire in the state. Last night, I even put in some effort to look provocative before going to her. I flung my masculinity before her. I was almost bare. My shirt was unbuttoned and I had just a pair of briefs on.

You know those guys in your school? Not the normal ones, but the fuckboys? Yeah, those ones. If you don't know those guys, then you may just not know the meaning of the term fuckboy . Generally, a fuckboy is actually an attractive, funny guy. Usually you wouldn't want to admit it, but everyone knows it, even himself. A fuckboy has an unhealthy amount of confidence in himself which helps him to lead girls on just for hookups. He'll say that he's really into you but doesn't want to deal with an actual relationship. He thinks about himself and only himself all the time but is nice to most people.

For now though, he decided that he might as well have as much fun as possible. While Julia sipped her wine and relaxed, Damon continued to worship her feet, working his way all around with his lips and tongue, sucking and licking away the tension and sweat. The whole foot worship thing was relatively new to him, and while at first it had struck him as silly and strange, he had since grown quite accustomed to it, and now his cock grew rock hard every time he started working on them. He wondered how it would feel to do this with Cara’s feet, but then realized that he would probably never try it because she would think he was a pervert if he did.

Big fat lie. I am interested because my body wants him so damn badly it aches for him to touch me with those big hands of his. I want to feel his weight on me and those fat lips kissing mine, down my neck and okay, time to stop with that. He is a grade one Asshole. Capital A. She chuckles then turns back to continue hanging clothes up. From her bag she takes some shoes out. Black ballet pumps, fawn ballet pumps, a pair of Slazenger sneakers and a pair of Jimmy Choo heels. My girl loves her Choos.

' There was that plea in his voice, raw and broken, mirroring the deep ache in my own heart—the emotional tether that bound us in this taboo dance of desire and surrender. I slid down his body slowly, savoring the drag of my skin against his, my heavy breasts brushing his chest, my hard nipples grazing his heated flesh and leaving trails of fire in their wake. My feet—oh, the fetish burned hot in my veins, a secret kink I'd harbored for so long, now begging to be indulged. As I positioned myself over his hips, I extended one leg, pressing the sole of my foot against his inner thigh, my toes curling into the firm muscle there, feeling the twitch of his body under my touch.

Through it all, she sighed and rocked her hips. “You like that?” she asked. “My pretty feet in my pretty shoes? While I fuck you like the filthy boy you are?” I nodded like a mute maniac. I was unable to think of anything but her hot, wet cunt wrapped around my dick and her dainty feet in her good girl shoes. I thrust up from under her and pinched one of her nipples. She let her head fall back, and her long hair hung down her back. “You wanna fuck my toes? My shoes? When did you become such a dirty boy?” Her words were delivered in hushed tones amid eager breaths.

My chest rose and fell, my breasts still quivering. I felt him tug at my red-soled stilettos. “Do you know what these shoes are?” “I think they’re Louboutins,” I stammered. Hey don't give me that look, am a woman on the brink of being sweetly savoured And those cost a fucking fortune. The morning I bought those babies I could hear my account balance laughing at me. “They’re Louboutins to you. But I call them ‘fuck me’ shoes. That’s why women wear them.”