The belle next to me lifts her flawless foot straight in the air, pointing it towards the sun as if dancing just for me. She spreads thick cream up her calf, massaging it in in smooth circles to protect her cinnamon skin from the harmful rays. She’s laying on her back on a towel and lowers that leg to lift the other, a feat of flexibility if I’ve ever seen it.
My breath hitches in my throat as she curls her leg up, hooking her foot over her knee so she can reach it. She massages her slick hands around the entirety of that delicate-looking foot, and my tongue nearly hangs out of my mouth.
Time seems to slow as her digits glide along the arch, feeling every tendon and muscle beneath the skin. The pink of her soles squishes beautifully beneath her fingers, flesh slipping with the lubrication of the sun cream. She works her fingers between her toes, spreading them gracefully before squeezing them in her palm.
I love the beach. Hiding behind my dark sunglasses I can watch what I want, and what I want right now is this gorgeous woman’s amazing feet. If you love to be teased by women’s feet then check out the online foot fetish cams here
She stretches her legs out straight, lounging in the sun, and starts to dig her toes into the sand at the edge of her towel. I watch her wiggle them, grasping sand and then letting it go like a cat kneading its mother’s teat. She rolls over onto her belly and bends her knees, playfully kicking her calves back and forth in the air.
My eyes widen as she crosses her ankles and points her feet like a ballerina, toes curling. I imagine drawing my tongue up over her big toe, coating it with my saliva, and sucking it between my teeth. I imagine what she’d taste like, that tang of sunscreen but that amazing feminine musk that clings to a woman’s skin like ambrosia.
I imagine digging my thumbs into her arches, feeling every ridge and wrinkle as she moaned from the pleasure of my attention. She would throw her head back, letting me soothe away the worries of the day with my expert hands. I would run my tongue along the ridge beneath her toes, cupping her heel in my palm.
I roll over onto my stomach, stifling a groan of disappointment as my unwitting model jumps up to run into the water. I don’t even watch her go, my heart is so broken at her leaving me. I set my chin in my hand, eyes scanning the beach patrons in the hot sun.
And that’s when I see her. She’s wearing a string bikini that barely covers her lithe tanned body, but the best part of her toned form is the pair of perfectly manicured feet at the bottom of her stems.
They’re encased in a set of the strappiest sandals I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know how she’s managing to balance on the four-inch heels in the sand. Her toes are painted a cherry red that glint brightly in the afternoon sun. My mouth is watering as she struts in my direction and drops a bag and towel to the ground a few feet away from me.
She bends to lay out her towel and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the strain in her ankles as she does so. Her body is bent in half to straighten the fabric, feet at their impossible lift. The heel is so thin, it’s amazing that she can even stay standing in them. This reminds me of when I watch online as the females tease me with their feet
She runs a delicate hand down her smooth leg and toys with the clasp of the winding leather, unfastening it with deft fingers. She starts to unravel the thin strands from around her toned legs, for what seems like hours she unwinds, getting closer and closer to her beautiful feet. When she reaches the bone of her ankle, it’s as if she’s revealing a present just for me.
When she slips her foot from its sexy black prison I think I might choke on the lump of desire in my throat. She braces that barefoot on her toes in the sand while she undoes the other and the sleek way her sole stretches makes my heart pound in my chest. The way her heel juts out like a prized globe, the pedestal that holds up her body like a proud pillar of strength.
The cleft between the ball of her foot and the outer edge is a delicious cavern that just begs for my tongue to fill it. I find myself salivating like I’m starving and standing outside of a buffet. Each ridge of her skin is so tantalizing that it takes all of my willpower not to reach out and brush the tip of a finger ever so gently along with them. The minuscule rolls of her Achilles heel are plump and inviting, like little lips begging to be nipped at.
I imagine ghosting my lips across them, probing my tongue between the folds, alternating between moistening them and nibbling them with my teeth.
She removes her second sandal and drops to flat feet in the sand, nuzzling her toes in with a little moan of approval. I drink in her mewl like the word of god, imagining the sound coming out of her while I flick my tongue between her toes.
I shiver at the thought despite the heat beating down on me, and gooseflesh runs up my arms.
She wiggles a bit, swishing her feet back and forth a bit to really dig them in, and then bends over again to dig around in her beach bag. She produces a bottle of water and a jar of coconut oil, and I pray that she’s going to lube up those exquisite feet.
Fate is on my side this day, as she flops down onto her shapely ass and brings her legs up into a yoga pose. Her right foot is nestled up over her knee, the leftover her opposite thigh. She takes a long swig of her water, her throat bobbing with the motion. She’s overzealous and a little bit dribbles down her chin, a few droplets spilling down onto the ball of her foot, the glittering liquid letting gravity pull it down the graceful slope of her arch.
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She giggles, and wipes it away, her lean fingers swiping across the smooth skin. She scoops a fingerful of coconut oil from her jaw and warms it in her palm, letting the rapidly melting liquid drip drip drip down onto her foot. Soon there are multiple shiny globs of oil decorating her upturned foot and she starts to massage, fingers deft as if working at a ball of dough.
She digs her thumbs deep into the balls of her foot, clutching the toes with her fingers as she does so. It takes everything I have not to launch myself closer, fling her hands away and just rub my cheek against that beautiful work of art.
She uses her palms to work the oil into her heel and scoops up a bit of sand on the other hand. She rubs the sand gently against the dry skin of her heel, using it as a natural exfoliant to reveal baby soft skin beneath. I’m amazed at this ingenuity, why buy expensive products at the store when you can just go to the beach? And exfoliate your feet right in front of me?
I fight to keep my mouth from hanging open as she lavishes attention on her foot, and then turns to the other. Soon both of her feet are well oiled and sanded down, and she extends her legs out in front of her, pointing her toes. She straightens her feet again, admiring her toenails, giving them a little wiggle.
She begins to rub oil along her calves, but I’m still watching her feet, the way her toes flex as she moves. The nails reach just a hair past the ends of her toes, the perfect length. Too short and the nail polish looks like a postage stamp, but too long and the toes look gnarled. Just enough that the fire engine red polish is a beautiful accent to beautiful digits.
The knuckles aren’t too big or too small, her toes slender and lean. They’re not too long, and the big toe is the longest, giving a perfect diagonal line all the way down to the little. The tiniest toe is a lovely little-curved apostrophe, with an itty bitty triangle of the nail at the tip.
When she flexes her foot, the baby toe almost disappears around behind the second to last, creating a delightful fan of digits that I want to weave my fingers through.
I imagine painting those nails, holding the toes apart with my fingers, lovingly painting each one with multiple playful colours; bubblegum pink, jay blue, construction orange. I imagine that she’s the type of girl that would indulge me, would sit on the kitchen counter and wiggle her feet in my face while I kneel on the tile, trying to bite at them as they go by.
And then she, too, is running down the beach to the water, another set of perfect feet hiding beneath the cursed waves of the ocean. I let out a wistful sigh and turn over onto my side, knowing I won’t have to look too far to find my next tantalizing show.
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