Just How Bad Can It Get

I used to go round to this girl's place years ago. This is no way the place I should be starting on this but I need to start somewhere so this is as good a place as any. A few things worth knowing about Suzie before we start though. First, that's not her real name. Second, I found her pretty hot. Third, I liked the way she dressed round the house. She was either ready for bed, or ready to go out. In ready to bed mode she always made me feel like I might be ready for bed too, with a bit of encouragement. In ready to go out mode she might be in something pretty tight and revealing but not flashy - but she'd more likely be in jeans. And (mostly) spiky-heeled boots. I have no idea how many pairs of boots she owned but quite a few and they all had a heel of some sort with some or them pretty high and some of them pretty lethal for anything or anyone getting stepped on. I fancied her, and the boots did no harm to my fancies. Made me all the more keen to get close to her bare feet, when she was out of them.

She had a dog. The most stupidly loyal, stupidly affectionate thing that was even more turned on by her than I was but didn't have to worry about being banned from the house if he showed it. She'd take him out and throw stuff for him, make him fetch. Something very sexy, with her, even about that. Setting out across some bit of park, with her collecting clumps of mud round her heels and sinking in all over - but somehow carrying on like that was totally how it was for everyone when they walked on grass, where most women would have stopped with the ploughing onward fairly soon and started with the throwing, nearer the edge (or else would have said something about choice of shoes). Sometimes I'd think of offering to clean those boots for her, after - but I did make that offer a couple of times, and never got the job. One time she looked at me mischievous and asked, 'What with?' Other times she just kind of shrugged and smiled and said not to worry, it'd all drop off soon enough. Next thing, she (and the dog) would be back in my car. The dog just jumped round all over everything in the back, she did nothing to stop him. Before long, she'd be on her phone, feet up - near enough at eye level. Go to check the left hand mirror, nothing to see but mud covered stilettos boring into whatever bit of the dash it was she'd absently decided to adopt as a temporary resting place to support the needs of playful, never-still-for-long, long, sexy, legs. Maddening bitch, but she knew I'd never tell her she couldn't. Why waste breath.

That bloody hound had it all. Collar, lead, mistress. He'd lope over to her and lie at her feet, and she'd lift her legs and rest her feet on him, like she would with anything that ever presented itself in a convenient spot for the resting. Depending on the way she chose to do it, sometimes there'd be a little howl - but no chance of him moving. She'd lift her legs for a moment, if anyone looked odd at her - just to show he was determined to stay put. After a bit he'd stand, though.

He'd back himself up, so that if she crossed one leg over the other he'd be in easy reach of her foot - the one that dangled, and whirled, in the air. By he, I mean his rampant cock. Where she could have stroked her boot all along it, almost without even trying - just depending on the position of her foot, at any given moment. Did I tell you she was never in the same place long? So, he'd get his wish, even without her consciously granting it. But she knew what he wanted. She tease it, and she'd prod it, and then occasionally stroke. Bigger and bigger, it would grow.

'You fucking stupid thing', she'd say. Still with her boot slid under it, nice firm rubbing motion from the tops of her toes, back and fore, back and fore. Then she'd suddenly stop, and laugh. No matter what he tried, it was over. Well and truly edged.

So the first thing I'd want to say is that there's a lot of stupid things I've wanted to happen in my life. Experiencing a dog's life was (and still is, in fond memory) just one example.