Ramblings of a bloodhound
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  1. My sis is older than me, and for a lot of time we didn't live together. But when we did, she didn't have much time for my sensitivities. I liked that. She was in her twenties by the time I'd reached the age of consent, and when she was around the house for one of her extended show-ups she expected the run of the place, where the various siblings were concerned. If she had friends over, they'd be offered my room. Depending on the friend, I might be trusted to stay on my own floor, or I might be relegated to the lounge. Most of them were fine with me doing the floor thing, but none of them let me back into my bed once they'd rolled into it themselves, even if sometimes I hinted. They weren't arsey about it. Giggled, said no, and went off to sleep. Sometimes I got trodden on in the night by random drunken women. In my own bedroom. If they even remembered, in the morning, sis would laugh. 'Don't worry, he probably enjoyed it.'

    There was no such thing as a knock on my door, when these people came calling. Sis would walk in, followed by whoever. Never her blokes, though. She knew better than to offer my bed to blokes and she never brought that many of her type of bloke round to the family home anyway. They wouldn't have gone down well, in a household that tried so hard to be prim and proper. I have no idea what this blog is about really except maybe in part as a thank you to Sis, even though she'll never see it. They way the old man and the old lady went on, sex was either Missionary (once every blue moon) or else it was dirty, almost immoral. A lot of that rubs off. A lot of my urges and desires, I felt ashamed of. Even some of the more standard ones, like attraction to feet.

    Sis threatened to piss on me once. I was shocked. 'Fuck' she said. 'They don't usually turn me down quite that bad!'

    She'd come sit opposite me in my room, too. Put her feet up between my legs, and talk shit. Her toes would press into my cock and she knew she was doing it and she fucking knew I liked it too. She told her friends. If I'd known she was going to do that I'd have begged her not too - but they didn't get weirded out by it. More, kind of interested. They wanted their own turn, see if they could cause an erection just with the toe of a boot or a shoe. Once it started it all got worse and when drink was added into the mix I was pretty soon an object of regular entertainment.
  2. People don't really see me as very humble. I like to think I'm polite, unless I'm provoked, but I stand my corner. So why is it that with some people (who have always happened to be female) I turn into a completely different person? Because they're hot? You'd think so, wouldn't you, and I suppose it's true that being hot has a lot to do with it but that doesn't necessarily mean great body or amazing looks or even specially nice feet - because for sure I do like women's feet, big time. There's something about some particular women, apart from all of those things, that makes me want to run over coals for them, while they sit and watch and enjoy.

    Jesse would whip me. Till I was red. And then she'd want to do it more. Or she might decide to carve her initials into me with the tips of stilettos. It wasn't the fact that she did it, that made me want her to cut loose on me, time after time. It was something about the way she did it. Her fascination with the results, her smiling indifference to the pain. Her sense of fun involved an element of real cruelty, and yet she wasn't a cruel person, or an arrogant person. Though she did things that many would consider mean.

    She'd have made the point that I invited her meanness. So it was like that meant she had license. But it wasn't that simple. She's not someone you point a spider out to if you don't want it to end up a mess on the bottom of her shoe - and it won't make any difference pleading its case, or promising to remove it where she can see it's been taken safely away. It might come back, it her view. Whereas they don't often come back from being repeatedly stamped on and then determinedly ground into the floor. Maybe you're a lover of spiders or maybe you happen to own the carpet that one of them suicidally ventures out onto - or maybe both. She won't care. So it's not all about enacting the desires of others. Not by a long way. I really quite like pigeons. She's fairly unimpressed by them, but particularly dislikes the way they leave it right to the end to fly out of the way of her accelerating wheels, like they're taking the piss. She'd like nothing more than for a couple of them to misjudge time and space - and the result, if you're in the car with her driving it, is a bit tortuous. One day, she'll get her wish. I've been heart in mouth, more than once, when she's very nearly hit her jackpot.

    It can feel a bit like that sometimes, when she walks on your fingers in passing. In shoes. She doesn't look, she just walks. You wanna play dare with me, boy? Dangerous game, that? Or if she dances on your unprotected cock and balls, drunk. She's dancing, like she'd dance on anything more obviously designed to be danced on. It won't be long before you're not in any doubt about that. No pussyfooting. You give, and she'll sure as hell take.

    She liked the idea of restraining me. Of being let loose where there was no hope of it being stopped, even if I'd wanted. I'm pretty sure I know what would happen to a pigeon, if it signed up to that with her. And, for that very reason, I found the whole idea of it incredibly hot. But was never stupid enough to go beyond fantasy. I found the unrestrained tortures all the more amazing for the fact of being scared by exactly how far she might go if I ever gave in to the ropes or chains, or whatever her desire might have been. A one ton weight, on my chest. A giant tyre, where I could increase my empathy with the pigeon population? (I'm aware that there are people who like the idea of being utterly crushed by giant women but I'm not one of them as it happens. So I always treated Jesse with great care.)

    If I'd ever needed any evidence that I was right to be wary, it was in her responses to the offer of foot worship. She wanted it earned, first, through doing a good job on her shoes and boots. She liked them kissed, and she liked them cleaned.
  3. 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.
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