Tinker, Stinker, Mommy’s Toy

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For Charles, who wanted to know what games I enjoy… I think most everyone knows the incredible attraction so many have towards well-cared for, beautiful, female feet.

I like my men to be self-confident to begin with, but by the time I’m through with them… they have learned to be my little boys. And we all know what little boys need…

As he laid there, I ran the sole of my foot across the features of his face. My toes caressed his eyelids and along the length of his nose. Placing both of my feet over his face, I pressed firmly and made him squirm. My toes are quite long and followed the contours of his features as easily as if I were stroking his face with my fingers. My bare feet had been in my pumps for quite a few hours by that point in the evening and they were warm and slightly moist. As he took deep breaths through his nose, his heart pounded as he was trying to rationalize as to how he wound up in this most enviable position. It wasn’t nerves–it was excitement!

“Just relax and enjoy,” I cooed. “We both know how much you wanted this chance… so don’t disappoint. Okay, darling?”

I ran the toes of my left foot over his lips while I pressed my other foot against his nose. The best he could manage was a muffled agreement as the scent of my feet made his head spin.

“Good, darling. Good boy!”

I’m a bitch and I know it. No problem… I own it. I’m a middle aged, single woman who happens to have what most would consider, a gorgeous body. Shoulder length brunette hair, green eyes and full lips. I have an hourglass figure and long legs that makes me stand 5’10” in my bare feet. For those who care, I wear a size 9, sometimes a 10, depending on the shoes.

When I say that I’m a bitch, it’s only because I know what I like and know how to get it. I run my own business and I’m used to being in charge. When it comes to sex… well, you might say that I have a strong personality. I’m what some call a size queen and yes… for me, size matters. Big time!

I like clean cut men who have a brain and are successful. By that, I don’t mean wealthy–I have my own money, thanks. I mean that they set goals that require intelligence and put in the effort to reach them. They don’t have to live in the gym, but they must take care of themselves. Good grammar, good manners and a taste for the imaginative in the bedroom… or the living room, or the beach, or… you get the message.

I gave him his first taste of my feet; it was now time to get a little more comfortable.

“Be a gentleman and help me with my zipper.”

I stood up and turned around.

“I’m going to get comfortable and pour myself a drink, then you’re going to put on a little show for me and remove your clothes. Won’t that be fun?” I giggled as I asked the rhetorical question.

Poor thing, he was turning green as he thought about it. Apparently he wasn’t used to stripping for a lady. We’ll fix that.

I’ve played this little game all across the country, in some of the grandest hotels that this nation has to offer. I combine it with a business trip and consider myself quite good at it. I’ve never struck out and get a good days worth of work done as well. That’s what I call goal setting. Here’s what I do. I check in at the hotel where I am actually staying, get settled, then check in at the hotel where I am planning to play. I never do both at the same place just in case someone doesn’t understand when the evening is over. I use the same hotels over and over again so I know what to expect, their quality and how to get out without having to use the lobby.

I’ve had a printer make me up expensive business cards with the names of the different hotels printed on high quality paper and raised ink. I play at about a half dozen establishments and have separate cards made for each one.

I love it when he watches me and realizes that his dreams have come true. I’m not in my twenties, or even my thirties anymore, but my body is hard and it is fit. When I take my clothes off… I get the stares. I poured a flute of champagne and then stretched out on the bed. The poor guy just stood there, not moving, not speaking–just staring. I’m loving it. My legs are slightly bent and my toes pointed. My breasts sit up proud on my chest and he can just see the tiny strip of hair trimmed neatly and showing just above my pussy. Tits? Toes? Pussy? Ass? And those long legs? He doesn’t know where to begin, but I’ll help him with the menu later.

“Are you just going to stand there, or do you plan to strip for me?”

Oh, dear boy… this one is indeed still trying to get his sea legs. He wants it all, but has no idea where to begin. It appears that he’s used to landing a more diminutive little fish… ones that let him be in charge and set the pace without questioning him. It’s all his ideas and his pace and his needs. Well, tonight he may just earn his woodchuck badge if he applies himself. He looks completely lost standing çukurambar escort there at the foot of the bed. This one is going to need a mommy for sure.

After my days work is completed, I always dine at the hotel where I’m going to play later and make sure everything is just right before I head to the lounge where I plan to fish for the evening. My lures are always the same, with little variations here and there. Tonight I chose to wear a sparkly cocktail design with a high neck and a low back. It’s short, coming to just mid thigh and shows my legs off spectacularly when I am sitting in my preferred spot–on a stool at the bar. Experience shows, it’s the best waters to troll in. No stockings or pantyhose for me this evening; I’ve got bare legs. My heels are elegant and simple, but compliment my dress perfectly. I chose an enclosed style tonight just to make my feet a little warmer and a little more scented. I’ve never met a footman who didn’t enjoy the smell of leather as part of the palette.

“I could hum or perhaps find something in my playlist if you’re feeling a bit awkward?” I chided him.

Feeling, I’m sure, like he was looking like a fool, he quickly calculated if this humiliation was worth the reward he was staring at stretched out on the bed. I ran my foot up the calf muscle of my other leg. I think my pointed toes helped him with the math, because a moment later he was starting to show me his idea of how a stripper moved. I let him be. There was no sense ruining his confidence completely.

I like to scout different fishing holes in these various cities. I usually don’t use the same lounge more often than once every two or three years. I’m not particularly interested in running into people from my past when I’m trolling.

After a nice supper, I took a cab to the lounge and arrived before it started to get crowded for the night. I chose my spot and slipped up onto the leather seat of the stool. I begin the night with a cocktail and then switch to sparkling water and lemon while I’m waiting for the trout to arrive. It’s funny, I’ve yet to set up my trap and not have the bartender run a Poirot on me. I guess most of their clientele, who show up like me, are actually working girls. When they determine that I’m actually just a single gal looking for a bit of company… they go boy scout and turn a bit protective. Men are so cute. This particular place was classy, in an old money sort of way.

I watched politely as he did his best to be sexy as he removed his clothing. I already had an idea of how big he was, but the critical point in his evening–the point where I decide if I’m going to fuck him or not, is when he slides his skivvies down and shows his goods. He’ll either be relegated to the plaything category or will get to share my bed for a few hours. It’s all up to him… and Mother Nature.

I watched and he showed. Lucky fellow… he passed inspection.

“Now, darling,” I began sexily. “Why don’t you show me just how much you like feet. Mine are a little sore and I could use a nice foot rub.”

Quite obediently, he sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to take one foot in his hands.

“No,” I said abruptly, pointing towards the floor as I snapped my fingers.

“I’m on the bed and you’re on the floor! You have to earn the privilege to be on the bed with me.”

Like I’d zapped him with a cattle prod, he knelt beside the bed and waited for me to reposition myself and give him my right foot to massage and pamper first.

“Show me how well you can give a massage, darling and I’ll show you how turned on I can get if you’re any good at it.”

I smiled at him and softly giggled as he took my foot in his hands.

Like any good angler, I knew how to wait and bide my time. There are always the young ones and the immature ones who try and snap at the bait right away. They’re the type you might play with a bit… catch and release I think they call it. I like to check my gear out with those little fingerlings, but they are not what I’ve gone to all of this work to catch. I’m a patient soul and I’ve got my heart set on just the right catch on this particular night.

As I sip my drink, I swivel on the stool a little and show a bit of leg to the boys seated at the tables behind me. I don’t have to turn my head and see them, I can feel them looking at me, running their eyes over me and licking their lips like the wolves they think they are, not the little fish I know them actually to be. So cute, they all are.

My hem has slid a little further up and I’m showing a bit of thigh now. I’ve never met a leg man who can resist a woman who’s are long and shapely. Add the sight of that thigh, jerk the line, set the hook and start reeling them in slowly towards the net. It’s almost no sport at all, it’s so easy.

I let my hand run over the bare skin I’m showing. My long, delicate fingers, snazzy diamond bracelet and demetevler escort manicured nails. Like a school of hungry sardines, I can feel their eyes watching me as I caress. Although I’m not interested in these first few bites I get, there is still a warmth that stirs between my legs. These fellas are only the warm up act, but make no mistake, they still get my juices trickling.

Just for fun, I let my one shoe fall off my heel and dangle precariously. I can almost hear the combined gasp as they think they’re about to get a free look at my foot and toes. This little flick will surely embolden a few of the school and they’ll come over and try to make small talk and buy me a drink.

My guy worked his thumbs into the sole of my foot and sent shivers up my spine. He was good and had a nice touch with those large hands of his. I purred as he worked and the heat he created as he rubbed my skin, only added to the scents that were already permeating the air near his face. My foot perspired just enough to moisten the skin and make his hands slide over it quite nicely.

“I know what you’re thinking, but you’re too shy to ask…,” I whispered to him. “Go ahead. Bring my foot closer to your nose and lips. You’ve earned a little sniff and a suck.”

I could see him release the stress that had been building in him from being so close to my feet. He exhales and I wait to see his chest expand again as he fills his lungs with the scent of my warm feet. He takes a long, deep breath and holds it in as he pushes his nose to that fragrant crease between the base of my toes and the ball of my foot. I can feel the air as it rushes back out of his nostrils and he prepares for another hit of my sexy, moist foot. Poppers couldn’t give him the rush he was currently having as the combined smell of leather, soap, a hint of my perfume and my foot odour rushed like a tornado straight to his brain. I could have easily hypnotized him to smell that beautiful scent every time he looked at an attractive woman’s legs and high heels. He would have thanked me if I had.

“Don’t be shy… I want to feel your tongue slip between each toe. I want you to slip it in and out until you’ve cleaned the day’s dirt that always seems to accumulate there. Smell them. Taste them. Let your head spin as you give into my beautiful feet. I know you dream of things like this.”

I’m almost ready for my second fizzy water and lemon by the time the ones I’m really interested in begin to arrive. By this time, I’ve developed a nice rapport with the bartender and he watches my stool as I slip off and strut my way to the ladies’ room. How cute they look as all of their little fishy eyes follow me until I disappear out of sight.

When I return, it only takes a minute or two for one of the big boys to slide in close to my stool and order themselves a drink. There’s a couple of patterns they’ll use as they pretend to just be needing a refreshment. I could write a book about all of the lines I’ve heard. As they check me out, I’m returning the favour and inspecting the goods they’re displaying too. What fun the social psychologists must have in an environment such as this.

I notice the quality of his clothes, the collar of his shirt and the cuffs. His shoes have to be shined and well cared for. No cheap crap on your feet, fellas! Clean cut, hair styled? Young girls like the stubble look, but I prefer clean shaven. Just a hint of some nice cologne… not too much. I want to lean in and search for it. I hate it when it accosts me 5 feet before you arrive. Slacks pressed? Wrinkled screams overworked and poor hygiene. Smarten up.

He’s failed the smell test before he can even open his mouth. Move along, sir… you’re double parked.

A few minutes go by as the barman and I chat. I can tell he thinks he has a chance with me, but he’d have to be really well hung to get me to abandon my plan for this night. And he’d have to prove it right there, behind the bar, before I’d be changing anything. I see him checking out my ring finger. He’s curious.

The second salmon of the evening swims in for a closer look for himself. We exchange smiles and check each other out. Perhaps I’m wrong thinking of him as only a salmon… this gentleman looks like a real tuna! Maybe I’ll just wiggle my lure and see if I can get a nibble or two.

I can hear him whimper as he drools all over my toes. The fantasies he’s had of meeting a woman like me. The cum he’s spent as he masturbates with his thoughts. Finally, he’s thinking, someone who actually understands his needs! I can see the panic start to fill his head until his eyes are almost floating in it. He’s worried that if he lets go of his inhibitions too much, I might balk and push him away! He needn’t be so worried, though. By the time I send him out the door later on, I’ll have given him enough new fetish hangups, he’ll never fit into descent society ever again!

“That’s demirtepe escort it, darling. You’re doing an excellent job,” I coo at him again. “I’d love it if you could suck on two or three of my toes at the same time.”

I watch with intense pleasure as he does exactly what I’ve asked. His mouth is warm and wet, just like the small gap between my pussy lips. As he suckles, I squirm and purr a little more. In my imagination, I can feel his tongue right between my legs and I think, ah god… if he can suckle and lick toes this good, he’s going to be fantastic eating my pussy all night long! I’m either going to drain him dry or kill him!

The bastard has my big toe in his mouth and he is sucking it just like I would suck a cock! The pressure of his lips, the suction of his mouth and the laps his tongue is making all around my toe feels absolutely fantastic! I rolled on my side and hooked my other foot behind his head and pulled him onto my foot firmer.

“Suck it, you bastard!” I growl. “And watch your teeth!”

I love what he’s doing and so I just let him go at it like a rabid dog for a little bit longer. He opens his mouth and adds the first toe and then the second as he continues to try and blow my pseudophallus, that he is enjoying so much! Abruptly I pull my toes from his mouth and rub the sole and the drool soaked toes all over his face. His hair is a mess now and he is covered in his own spittle. I look at him and laugh.

“Having a good time, are we?”

I sit up on the pillows I’d been reclining on and slide to the edge of the bed.

“Lay down,” I say as I snap my fingers again and point towards the floor.

I can see his manhood now and it’s gorgeous! He’s rock hard and it stands straight out from his neatly trimmed pubic patch. If I had a ruler, I’m sure he’d easily be a 9 incher. As the angler said, this one’s a keeper!

He’s only inches from me and as I lean ever so slightly forward, I get the first hints of a nice, manly scent. It smells expensive. He’s cool in his approach and after ordering his drink, turns and apologizes to me for butting in between the stools. I look at him and smile again. He’s interested.

He engages in a bit of small talk and it is obvious he intends to chat me up. He offers to buy me another drink, but I decline; my glass is still quite full. He starts with the usual questions of I’ve never seen you here before, what do you do for a living and then quickly introduces himself. I let him talk about himself and I contribute almost nothing about me. He doesn’t come off as nervous, but he is. He almost inhaled his drink and was quick to order another one. He climbs up on the stool next to me and swivels in my direction. His knees are almost touching my leg. The material of my dress is catching the light and it is drawing attention to how short it is.

He lays down as I instructed. My legs are now dangling off the edge of the extra high bed.

“You did a nice job on my right foot… but you’ve made my left one jealous. Are you going to remedy this little situation, darling?” I ask, pretending to pout a bit. “You take care of this one…,” I tease, placing my left foot near his hands. “And this other one will take care of you.”

I run my toes along the full length of his manhood and scratch around the engorged rim with my toe nails. He shivers as his cock takes a responsive jump. Oooooh… I muse to myself. Big and sensitive!

He starts on my left foot just as he had with the right. I close my eyes and just drift with the pleasure his thumbs are providing as they press hard into my sole and run the length of it. He kneads and rubs, then pushes his thumb tips back in firmly and drags them the length of my foot again and again. The friction has my feet releasing more of their fragrance as they get warmer. I can smell them, so I know that he can too. Perhaps that is why he’s closed his eyes and has that silly grin on his face.

I lean forward until my head is directly above his cock. His eyes open just as a big droplet of spit leaves my lips in slow motion and drops down onto his shaft. I spread the toes of my left foot and slide them through the puddle my saliva made. My toes grip the shaft as I slide them along its full length, then up onto the knob. Pressing his cock against his stomach, I let my toes wander all around the underside, along his corona and around the drooling opening of his piss hole. He’s become distracted and is not paying proper attention to my other foot in his hands.

“Excuse me,” I say with a rude tone, “did anyone give you permission to stop?”

He talks and tries to be funny. Apparently this works well with other ladies he’s hit upon in the past. I am more stoic the longer he talks and I can see that he is worried that I am losing my interest. I’m not actually sure just what my interest really is at that moment.

When he appears to be running out of things to say, I jerk the line and set my hook. It’s beautiful to watch. A handsome, confident man who is sagging as he realizes that his usual lines and stories are not getting the same response that he’s used to. I throw him a life preserver and place my hand on his thigh before I ask him to hold out his hand.

“Left or right handed?” I ask.

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