Woman's sexy toes with red nail polish.

All tucked in and fast asleep, Tad looked angelic beneath the Holly Hobbie sheets he’d picked out for himself at the FedMart discount store. Dee quietly closed his bedroom door and tiptoed back to the couch where Eli now lounged.

“He’s asleep,” she told him.

Eli stood and stretched and gave Dee a seductive smile. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“You’re standing in it.”

Eli looked around the living room, perplexed. “You sleep out here? On the couch?”

“Not on the couch. More like in the couch.”

A look of confusion came over Eli.

“It’s a pull-out bed,” Dee explained.

Eli’s face brightened. “Ah!” he cried and immediately set upon the couch, tossing the seat cushions aside and pulling out the queen-size bed hidden inside. Next, he kicked off his shoes, plopped onto the mattress, and struck a centerfold pose; he patted the bed and gave Dee a come-hither look.

“Let me get some pillows,” mumbled Dee, who was suddenly a bundle of nerves. The vague sense of fear she’d felt earlier was back, only bigger and sharper, as if brought into acute focus by a magnifying glass. The only man she’d ever been with was her husband, Newt, and it had been more than a year since they’d last had sex. And sex with Newt was about as exciting as watching paint dry. Towards the end of their marriage, before he ran off with his teenaged waitress, their sex life had withered into a dull routine of fellating him until he was hard, followed by sixty seconds of missionary-style humping until he came, rolled off, and fell asleep. And in their last year together, getting him hard had proved more and more challenging for Dee, requiring longer and longer bouts of fellatio, to the point that Dee’s jaw would ache for hours afterward.

Newt, of course, blamed Dee for his erectile failings. It was always her fault, for one reason or another. He criticized her technique, her body, her face, her everything…it got to where Dee became so insecure about her sexuality, she stopped trying to please him altogether. In hindsight, Newt’s leaving her was predictable. She should have seen it coming months beforehand, but denial clouded her vision back then. Now, however, those clouds of denial were nowhere in sight as Dee retrieved the bed pillows from her hallway closet. In a moment of sudden clarity, she realized Newt’s abandonment didn’t just leave her single and destitute, it also left her with a paralyzing self-doubt that made her so unsure of herself, and so afraid of rejection, she was too terrified to ever again have sex with another man.


It was Eli, calling out from the living room. Dee shut the closet door and turned to face her fears…

Eli was still reclined and patting the bed when she returned. She arranged the pillows and climbed in next to him, trying her best to hide her trepidation as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. But he sensed it, her fear, and suddenly withdrew. He looked at her with confused alarm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Dee sat up and grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, as if it were a protective shield.

“It’s just…it’s been a while. I’m a bit rusty in the romance department.”

“Just lay back and let me do all the work.”

“I wish it were that easy. I’m sorry…”

Eli sat up. “You need something to help you relax, and I have just the thing for that.” He stuck a hand into his pants pocket and fished out a joint.

“You smoke marijuana?” asked Dee, her eyes conveying her shock. “What if the department found out? I heard they’ll fire anyone who does drugs.”

Eli laughed. “Then they’ll have to fire half the force.” He lit the joint, inhaled deeply then schooled her: “Seriously, the department doesn’t care as long as it doesn’t interfere with our job performance. Here, try a hit.”

The first inhalation from the joint sent her into a coughing fit. “Oh, my god! And this is supposed to make me feel better?”

Eli propped a pillow against the sofa’s backrest then placed a light hand on Dee’s chest to gently encourage her to lie back. “It’s an acquired taste. Take another hit…”

After a couple more hits, the coughing subsided and Dee began to feel the subtle effects of the drug. She felt the tension in her arms and legs fading away. Her head felt weightless, as if it were disconnected from her neck and hovering above it on an invisible updraft of air. With the fourth hit, her spine began to melt, or so it felt. She arched her neck and lifted her chin to the ceiling, noticing for the first time all the intricate details of the ceiling’s popcorn-plastered surface.

“Wow, just…wow.” As she fixated on the ceiling, she was vaguely aware of a strange yet pleasant sensation happening somewhere on her body. She took another hit from the joint and closed her eyes, trying to pinpoint exactly where on her body it was. She performed a mental scan, from head to toe, trying to locate the source of the pleasure:

Was it her head?


Her chest?


Her stomach? Her thighs? Her calves?

No, no, and…no.

Was it her feet?

Her mind told her she was getting warmer, but she wasn’t quite there yet. She giggled at her next thought: Could it be…

Her toes?

Yes! her brain screamed, it’s your toes, it’s your goddamned toes!

Dee began to giggle again at the ridiculous notion. How could a few hits of pot possibly affect her toes so profoundly and so pleasurably— a pleasure that was increasing with such intensity as to make her skin tingle and her heart pound. Dee dared herself to open her eyes and look to her toes, to either confirm or deny that it was they who were, indeed, the source of this earthy, yet oh-so-heavenly sensation. Her eyelids began to lift, just a crack at first, then a little more, like the slow-motion rise of a theater curtain. Finally, when they fully lifted, two glazed and shiny eyeballs stared out in disbelief. Through the blur of reefer madness, she spied, not only her toes, but…

Eli…crouched at her feet, licking and sucking her polished digits, alternating this little piggy with that little piggy, sometimes taking two or three of her little piggies in his mouth at once. Feeling Dee’s eyes on him, he looked up and exclaimed, with a toe in his mouth, “Your feet are so fucking hot!”

Her first thought was to scream in disgust and jerk her toes from his mouth but the power of the pot very convincingly told her to wait, to just keeping watching and let this surreal scene play itself out. A dumb smile crept over her face as she did exactly that, watched with a fixed and curious fascination as this magnificent specimen of a man made oral love to her toes—toes that were surprisingly receptive. The pleasure arising from them began to creep into her lower extremities, starting with her feet, then to her ankles; crept further still, up along her shins and across the ticklish underside of her knees, causing Dee to squirm and the hair follicles on her skin to stand at attention. The steady creep of bliss continued its journey, dancing along her inner thighs, like a tiny and invisible Mr. Bojangles toe-tapping his way up a staircase. It was when Bojangles reached the landing—Dee’s crotch—that she began to moan…and moan…and moan!

Her moaning pushed Eli beyond the limits of self-restraint. In a heated frenzy, he stripped off his clothes and sandwiched his erection between the soles of Dee’s feet, sliding himself up and down within their grasp. Dee was now writhing as she reached out and called to him—Eli! Eli!—but Eli was oblivious to her calls as he was far too busy fucking her feet, pumping hard and fast, like an eight-cylinder turbo engine in maximum overdrive. His own moans now drowned out Dee’s—moans which, much too quickly, ended with a single feral howl as molten semen erupted and sprayed down the sides of Dee’s feet.

“No!” cried Dee, still reaching for Eli.

“It’s okay,” he told her. He took what was left of the joint from her hand, took a deep drag before setting it aside, then stripped off Dee’s clothes. “We are so not done yet.” He lay back down with his head at the foot of the bed and legs stretched toward Dee’s naked body. He slid his legs between hers and placed a foot on her vulva, massaging her labia with his toes.

Dee’s moans began anew. She called out to him again, begging him to fuck her.

“You want me inside you?” he asked in a raspy, taunting voice.

‘Yes! Yes! Please!”

“Tell me how much you want it!”

“So…bad! I need you…inside me! Now!”

Eli pushed his big toe inside her, thrusting it in and out while his four smaller toes played and pressed against her clit. It wasn’t exactly what Dee had in mind—his toe inside her instead of his cock—but, she had to admit, it was working, and far better than she could have ever imagined.

“Yes!” she screamed.

“You want more?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Tell me what you want!”

“Want! You! To! Fuck! Me!”

“With what? Fuck you with what!”

“Toe! Your toe! Fuck me with your toe!”

Her words so excited Eli he was now jerking himself off as he continued to toe-fuck Dee’s brains out. It wasn’t much longer before both were screaming insensibly as they crashed, headfirst, or rather, foot-first, into the throes of orgasm.

It was the first ‘Big O’ Dee had had in a long, long time. And, quite possibly, the best. She wasn’t sure if it was the miraculous effects of the pot or the exquisitely talented toes of one Officer Eli Colton, but whatever it was, damn, it worked. Her body felt like it was now in a state of suspended animation—she felt a sense of sublime nothingness, no stress, no tension, no worry, no guilt, no insecurity…no nothing. It was the kind of nothingness where deep-seated fears go to die and where REM dreams are born. Yes, thought Dee, fading fast:


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