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You’d finally made it. After saving for so long, you were sitting on an airplane that was making it’s final approach to Honolulu. The day was unbelievable out there – sunlight so bright you could almost feel it on your skin already. The cotton-candy clouds billowed pristinely against the clear blue of the late afternoon sky and you could already see the palm trees waving in the gentle ocean breeze. There was the craggy hull of Diamond Head, the green carpet of Punchbowl, the nautical traffic in Pearl Harbor and finally the long reef runway that was the plane’s destination.
The first thing you notice after entering the terminal is the air. It is thick and warm, an intangible tropical blanket that drapes gently over all your senses. The salt breeze is a tang in your nostrils, punctuated by the sweetness of flowers wafting in from a distance.
Peace and quiet for a week! And even the “crowd” at the airport is small and pleasant as you grab a taxi to take you downtown. Your hotel reservation is in a place called the Hale Koa, right on Waikiki Beach. From what you’ve heard, that’s where you can find anything you want on the island, along that strip. Unless, of course, if you’re a surfer, then you’d have to go up to North Shore, but that was only a half hour away.
The resort is huge but that same sense of calm hangs here too. Your room is small but adequate and cozy. You don’t plan to spend very much time in here anyhow.
After a shower to wash away the long hours of flight, you dress casually, planning on a walk through the district and an informal dinner somewhere. Watching the crowds from your room’s balcony, you realize that shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops are the accepted style of dress here, so you follow custom, relishing the comfort and freedom you feel away from all the bonds of home and work. Everyone seems so laid back here.
Again, you are amazed at how peaceful the city is, even amidst the nightlife crowds. It’s clean here, you see no fights, you don’t even feel the urge to continually check to make sure your wallet is still in your pocket.
After an hour or so of walking up one side of the strip and down the other, and after pausing to view the most wonderful sunset on earth, you give in to the gnawing hunger growing in your belly. One of the little kiosks you approach smells too good to pass by. You read their short menu and get an explanation of several items you don’t recognize, then decide to have a pork manapua and plain saimin. You lean on a nearby railing and try the new dishes.
The manapua is a thick doughy bland bread baked with a sweet, spicy pork filling. It melts pleasantly on your tongue – a different taste than you’ve ever known. Even though it nearly fills you up, the saimin noodles are calling your name. This is a very Japanese taste – these thick egg noodles – but you realize that about 60% of the people you’ve encountered this afternoon are Japanese.
Now, feeling happily satisfied, you want to find a little of that party atmosphere that Waikiki is famous for.
(tale # 7) get full text ... Russian amateur likes hardcore in pantyhose.
Petite teen janette in white pantyhose on a field.
To one afflicted with the habit, there is no respite. Its a curious phenomenon. They are all around and I treat them as if it was like a big stamp collection. Some people love to look at breasts, some are into asses. The thing that draws my attention is the female foot. Don't get me wrong, breasts are certainly a close second, but I walk around and collect the images in my mind, comparing and contrasting, looking for those that I feel are most perfectly formed, prettiest, softest looking, and most lovingly cared for. I store those images and refer back to them for later comparison. There is something intricate and complicated about them. The rare sighting of perfectly formed feet is a special occurrence and worthy of some regard. It permeates my everyday life and I find myself staring constantly. Of all of the fetishes that are out there, I guess I am lucky that this benign form is what is what turns me on.
It was a business trip to London with my boss, Susan that got me in trouble this last time. I had worked for Susan for the last six months in the Chicago office. I was the idea man and she was the marketer. We were in intense competition with colleagues in our regional office in London and Susan arranged for us to travel to London with the intention of showing them up and insuring our place in the pecking order. We had arrived on the red-eye and spent the day in meetings. Susan was masterful, commanding the audience and stomping our competition. It was a long day, and we had just arrived back at our hotel.
Although not a raving beauty, Susan had soft features with curves in all the right places. Her most striking features are her long shapely legs and her full, pouty lips. Her personality is what makes her sexy with a commanding presence and massive self confidence.
We agreed to shower up and meet back in the lobby for a drink and dinner. I went back to my room and took a long steamy shower and changed into khakis and a sport jacket. I went down to the bar in the lobby and ordered a drink. Time passed and no Susan. I got antsy and went to look for her in her room.
I knocked on her door and heard her tell me to come in. I tried the door and found it unlocked.
Now those of you who are into feet, you know that you study the print that a woman's foot makes in a leather boot, the outline of the shape and the tease of an occasional dangling pump. But when Susan walked out if the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I got a full view of her exquisite bare feet and all of my blood instantly rushed south of my belt buckle. In fact, it took me a moment to realize that she had wrapped a towel around her wet hair but had not yet wrapped one around her body.
In a matter of fact way, Susan told me that she had been delayed on the phone with the states. I was unable to say anything intelligent, so I sat on the bed and waited, pretending to stare at the floor but concentrating intently on storing the intricate curves and polished details of her toes and soft skin. Smelling weakness and enjoying her upper hand, Susan sat on the bed and chatted with me about the days events. Immediately, she picked up on my keen interest and discomfort and bounced her foot so it touched my leg as she spoke,
Her toes were impeccably cared for, which surprised me since I had thought about them many times, but had never actually seen them. Susan is very sexy, but didn't seem the type to put in special effort in seemingly insignificant details such as her feet. She was sporting one of my favorite looks. Pearl coat polish in a shade of pink contrasting just a bit from the pale tone of her skin. They looked luscious.
She smiled and leaned back on the bed, resting on her elbows and extending her legs forward. That was it. I turned toward her and without a word, took one of the soft feet in my hands. I began kneading the soft skin and stroking the smooth insoles lightly. I brought the foot to my face and let the soft skin brush against my cheek and then my lips. Susan took her other foot and gently traced a path across lap, probing for my erection that had pitched a tent in my pleated pants. I placed a small kiss on the soft instep and massaged her sore muscles as I held it against my cheek.
(tale # 8) get full text ... Petite teen janette in white pantyhose on a field.
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I still can't quite believe what has happened to me. My wife Lisa has always been into more weird stuff than I have, but I've gone along with most of it because I love her and, well, weird sex is better than no sex. Last weekend she went too far. Last weekend she locked me in a chastity belt.
I haven't had sex in 6 days. That's not that bad I've gone longer before.
I haven't masturbated in 6 days. I don't really keep track but I think that's a personal record (at least since puberty).
I HAVEN'T HAD AN ERECTION IN 6 DAYS. I know that's the point of a chastity belt but it's still extremely frustrating! I don't know why she did it. She knows that I'm not cheating on her, she told me that much. She just wanted to try it. The only reason that I agreed to do it is that she promised that it would only be for one night. SHE LIED!!! But I digress. This morning, after pleasing her orally, which has become a common occurrence this week, she gave me the most wonderful news that I could ever have heard. She was going to let me fuck her tonight. I couldn't believe it. I was FINALLY going to get this stupid belt off. The day went by very, very, very, slowly. I wasn't really getting any work done (how could I, I was looking at the clock every 30 seconds) so after lunch I went home sick, or at least that's what I told my boss. I went to a movie to try to take my mind off things. I guess it worked a little but I was still very anxious to get home. All I could think about was freeing my cock from it's stainless steel prison and sliding in to Lisa's warm tight pussy.
When I FINALLY get home there's another car in our driveway. I'm thinking that this can't be a good thing. I get inside and Lisa's friend Sylvia is sitting in our kitchen. I HATE this woman. (If she is a woman and not some kind of evil demon.) Although I hate everything about this woman I must admit she has a good body. I've always been a breast man and Sylvia's were at least a cup size bigger than my Lisa's.
As soon as I came in Lisa asked "Aren't you home early?"
I replied with a vague "A little."
"He probably a little anxious for tonight." said Sylvia.
My jaw hit the floor. What did she say? How much did she know? Surely Lisa didn't tell her about my belt. Did she? But I didn't have to wonder long. All my fears were confirmed a second later when Lisa added "Don't worry she knows everything. Now go into the bedroom and take all of your clothes off."
(tale # 9) get full text ... Guy doing teen pussy fingering through stockings.
Luxury brunette in fishnet stockings.
This is, primarily, a story about my fascination with female body hair, especially when it sprouts and flows freely and abundantly. This book records one particular encounter. But before I begin I'd like to share some background information.
Annie, my wife, and I met in college. I've always been a bit of a geek, that's what she calls me, and shy around women. But from the moment I saw her talking with a couple of her friends in the student union I knew I had to get to know her better.
What first caught my eye was how small she was. And then I was struck by the beauty of her face, surrounded by a mass of rich red-brown curls. Finally, what clinched it was the sense of intense impish vitality that seemed to emanate from her like heat off a radiator. As I sat staring at her she turned slightly and looked straight into my eyes. I felt as if I'd been hit by lightning, so powerful was her presence. In the merest instant it seemed we each downloaded several gigabytes of information. And then she turned back to her friends.
It took awhile before much else happened. I was, as I said, a shy person. But slowly, like magnets drawn into each other's influence, we moved closer and closer throughout the next couple of weeks. And then we abruptly clicked. I learned later that she'd had her eye on me even before I'd seen her at the student union. It was all a cat and mouse game. And she, quite clearly, had been the cat.
We realized, even at the start, that we had very different approaches to interacting with the world and for a long time this made us both wonder if our relationship was, in fact, workable. But over the years we developed an understanding of how we complemented each other and came to deeply respect and value our differences.
Annie is the adventurous one, the seeker, the swashbuckler, the spunky sprite, the bold zephyr; I'm the ballast, the keel, the counterweight, the appreciator. I play Sancho Panza to her Don Quixote. After many long talks we've come to the conclusion that she expresses and instigates feelings that I carry within myself but don't yet feel comfortable acting on while I give her a sense of safety because she knows that if things get too crazy I'Il be clear-headed enough to put the brake on. Over the years we've developed a delicate, and delightfully vivid, balance between her style of being and mine to the profound enhancement of both our lives.
One of Annie's habits that threatened the stability of our early years was her openness to enjoying the attention of other men, especially when this included their physically intimate attention as well. She never made a secret of her other friendships and sexual dalliances and never apologized for them either. Her attitude was that it was her body and she could do with it what she would and if I couldn't handle her choices I could move on. It wasn't that she didn't understand my insecurities or empathize with the hurt I felt but, despite her real concern, she refused to be bound by my limitations.
And she didn't (and doesn't) maintain a double standard. She actively encouraged me to experience other women which, because of my diffidence, sometimes took the form of covert facilitation.
Eventually, as the true depth of her love and respect for me became clear, I began to appreciate and even delight in the gift of freedom she offered me. I never evolved into what anyone would call a womanizer but I liked knowing that if an interaction with a woman reached the point where sexual intimacy seemed like a good idea I could act on it without guilt. Another benefit was the quality of honesty it built between us. As our relationship progressed I felt less and less of a need to hide what I truly thought and felt because I learned that although she might express hurt, anger or irritation she was always willing to work through these emotions till we both knew where we stood. And, in time, through a rather long and painful process, I taught myself to do the same for her.
(tale # 10) get full text ... Luxury brunette in fishnet stockings.
Plump older redhead in stockings.
The next time I woke up it was daylight and Annie was preparing to leave the tent in last night's t-shirt and a pair of cut-off jeans. I could hear other people stirring outside.
"What time is it, " I asked.
She came over and gave me a quick good-morning kiss before answering. "It's about six-thirty, Hon; breakfast will be ready in another hour. There's probably some coffee now though." With a little wave and a smile she disappeared out the door. I lay back, listening to the sounds of people moving around me and the quiet murmur of voices. It was odd to have the private and public spheres separated only by a thin sheet of nylon fabric.
Finally I rose and, like Annie, donned a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt and ambled down to the dining tent. There were about fifteen people sitting around drinking coffee or tea and talking. Annie was busy making french toast so I got my own cup of coffee and sat on the outside of the circle and listened to the conversation. After about fifteen minutes Heather appeared and, after speaking to Annie for a couple of minutes, brought her cup of coffee over to sit beside me. She was wearing a long purple and black dress that was made out of a diaphanous, almost transparent, material. The fact that I could see the vague shapes of her large breasts shifting under the gauze and the shadow of her full pubic patch unnerved me. Somehow she seemed more naked than the nude women I'd seen yesterday. I was extremely aroused, especially after the fantasy session with Annie last night, but I didn't feel comfortable revealing this to Heather. However, adding to my distress, I had the distinct suspicion that Heather was well aware of my turmoil and was intentionally playing on my arousal. And succeeding. Even though we managed to maintain a mangled conversation our words conveyed the least of our communication.
At one point Annie came over and brought Heather and me each a plate piled with scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and french toast. As she set the plates in front of us I happened to catch the rather enigmatic glance that passed between them.
"You've got a very sweet husband, " Heather said, placing her hand on my bare thigh and giving it a squeeze.
I felt flushed and flustered. I had an almost full erection that, because I'd been unable to adjust it, had snaked down the leg of my cut-offs and was threatening to stick its head out the bottom. I looked at Annie with a pleading expression. My dear wife just giggled and headed back to the stove.
I tried to focus my attention on eating but it was hard to concentrate with Heather's nearly naked body so close by. I couldn't help but wonder what she'd look like without the dress on, what the true extent of her hairiness was. Annie had talked about Heather's "hairy cunt" last night but I didn't know if she was speaking of something she'd seen or was just trying to excite me. I was hoping I'd get the chance to see for myself sometime during the weekend.
Even while I was entertaining these thoughts, and we ate, Heather and I continued to talk. As she stopped being so flirtatious and the conversation deepened I began to feel more at ease. I asked her about her involvement with the Wylde Wymyn and what it meant to her and, as she answered my questions, I realized that what I'd taken to be a kind of joke was actually a disciplined search for life-sustaining values. We finished eating and kept talking.
(tale # 11) get full text ... Plump older redhead in stockings.
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