Kate’s Question

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“Can I ask you a question?” said Kate with a sudden serious tone that seemed at odds with the lighthearted feeling of post-party relaxation.

“Sure,” I said.

It was gone two in the morning. The office party had ended an hour before when the hired venue had spewed out a horde of drunken revellers, reeking of alcohol and high spirits, and no small amount of mortified regret on the part of some of our colleagues. Kate and I had said our goodbyes, then linked arms and staggered to my apartment, kicking off our heels and collapsing down to the floor in a fit of girlish giggles.

“I’ve noticed something,” she said. Her glistening lips curled up in a shy smile as she shifted her position, folding her legs beneath her body and leaning back on her hands. Her short red skirt rode up her thighs slightly, revealing more of the endlessly soft flesh of her nylon-covered thighs. “There it is again!” she said suddenly, causing me to gasp.

“Wh-what?” I said, slightly dizzy with the alcohol and the late hour.

“You keep looking at me,” she replied, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep looking at my legs and feet,” she said with mock accusation.

“That’s not true!” I spat, shaking my head. Without thinking, my gaze fell to her toes, distracted by the way she kept flexing them back and forth, stretching the thin material of her black pantyhose. Each painted jewel seemed to dance with a hypnotic rhythm that held my focus as they rippled back and forth.

She snorted through her nose. “I mean, you’re doing it right now,” she said with a tone that was half annoyance, half amusement.

I sighed. “I-I guess,” I began, realizing with a dawning recognition of the blatantly obvious that she was right. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

But I did know, though the admission was shocking to me. All night long I’d been sneaking glimpses of my friend’s long legs, studying the firm muscle of her calves; the way her strappy heels had pulled them into tight definition. I’d been captivated by the soft nylon wrinkle of gathered pantyhose behind her knee as she crossed her legs, an almost fractal detail of infinite complexity. I found myself wondering distantly, with a subconscious fascination, about what it would feel like to touch her thigh, to stroke my fingertips down the length of her long limbs…

“Lisa, you’re staring again!” she said sternly. I pulled myself back into the present and we both fell silent, the air between us becoming charged with a hot, palpable tension.

Then she sat back and stretched her legs, pushing her feet out towards me and revealing the soft, intricately textured flesh of her soles. She flexed her toes back and leaned her head to one side.

“I guess my feet are kind of tired,” she purred, narrowing her eyes and staring at me with a curious pout. “Maybe you could… I don’t know… rub them a little.”

She lifted her index finger to her mouth and began to lightly stroke her lower lip as she studied me. My heart skipped a beat.

“I c-couldn’t…” I stammered, staring at her outstretched feet, fixated on the undulating line of her pantyhose’s seam, clinging to her toes with mathematical precision. I’d never felt this way before, never experienced these feelings that were now rushing through my body like wildfire. I’d never felt so much as a second of attraction to another woman. But now here I was, utterly transfixed by my best friend’s slowly writhing, endlessly compelling feet. What was happening to me?

I reached forward, unable to resist despite my token protest. My heart was hammering, my head was swimming, the periphery of my vision became blurred until only her soles and toes stood out in sharp relief. Between my legs, a familiar rush of tingling warmth, a pulse of pleasure that made my neck flush with a sudden heat. My fingers trembled, shaking as much with the intense energy of desire inside my body as with the nerves of unfamiliar intimacy.

Then I touched her soft nylon sole and we both gasped in unison. My pussy surged as I wrapped my fingers around her foot and lifted it up onto my lap. I glanced up to see her mouth parted and her eyes widened, and I realized with a rush of desire that this was as new for her as it was for me.

“Th-that feels good,” she breathed.

With a burst of confidence, I raised her foot before my face, holding it with both hands, lightly kneading her tender flesh with my thumbs and fingers. Her toes squirmed beneath my touch, dancing back and forth, straining against their thin prison, only serving to tantalize my overloaded senses. I became aware of the scent of her, a heady mix of sweat and shoe leather, utterly intoxicating as I drew it into my nose and throat.

Her foot was inches from my face, drawing closer with every passing second. I could feel the heat radiating from her, I could see every precious detail of her sole, a novel topology of hills and valleys that I wanted to explore and chart to the finest detail.

And then, without the consent of conscious action, I touched my lips to her flesh and kissed her tenderly. She sighed and lifted her head back, breathing quickly through parted lips. My own senses exploded with the thrill of her taste, salty and tangy and ripe with desire. I went back for more, alternating kisses with quick flicks of my tongue, sampling her like a fine wine. She moaned and writhed, squirming beneath the intense attention of my mouth. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift away, to become utterly consumed by her. I licked her sole, kissing my way from heel to toe, then I sucked each of her flexing digits, soaking her pantyhose with my mouth.

I was lost now, a prisoner of my desires, surrendering to the unstoppable lust that drove my actions, intense urges now freed from the chains of my subconsciousness. As I smothered myself in her hot, silky soft nylon soles, I realized, for the first time in my life, that this was what I wanted more than anything else in the world.

Then Kate lay back on her elbows and parted her legs, causing the short red skirt she was wearing to ride up her thighs, revealing the captured folds of her pussy beneath the delicate material of her pantyhose. In that moment, I realized two things simultaneously. First, that she wasn’t wearing any panties. And second, that maybe there was something I wanted more than the taste of her pretty, writhing feet.