Desi On Fire

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Sexy wide soles, perfectly tapered toes, nicely arched. Very soft and ticklish. I was scared I would scare her off if I expressed my foot fetish to her. On our first date she took off her sexy heels and flexed her toes and arches while we talked and I was as hard as a rock instantly! However I was at that point in my life tired of being ridiculed for my fetish by girlfriends who would bring it up sometimes in fights or to tease me with. By the way, my personal foot fetish was centered around tickling, massaging, licking soles and toes, and footjobs. I never got in to shoe collecting or dirty feet. None of the more submissive stuff was never my thing. I simply enjoyed the pleasure I gave women through pampering and tickling their feet. But for me, it was an complete aphrodisiac. One day my wife (who at the time was my girlfriend of about a month) discovered an online profile of mine that had a photo of a girl being tickled on her feet while locked in stocks and asked me what it was. "What's your name?" And yet the boys in the car hadn't yet made theirmove. They hadn't yet jumped out and beaten him up. They hadn't yettaken a picture, and now they were asking him his name. Art wondered ifthey were just stringing him along, trying to make his suffering worse.It didn't seem likely. Doyle and Marcus weren't usually that smart."Oy, what's your name?" Marcus again. He was certainly the less patientof the two. Art still didn't answer. A mistake, "I said, what's yourfucking name?!"Art panicked. He went to say Art, not thinking. He had never been morehappy to hear his words catch in his throat. Instead he made a low,small coughing noise that didn't sound like anything. Doyle cut back in."What the fuck was that?" Again, no answer. "So are you working or not?" Look just get in the car!" Marcus was getting angry now."Are you working?" The question seemed so alien to Art. Was he working?What did that mean? "It's a simple bloody question. Are you workingtonight?" No." Art.
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‘Why’d you go and do a bonehead thing like that?’ I sighed, took another sip. ‘Take a long time to explain,’ I said. He shrugged, glancing around the near-empty bar. ‘Not like I have anything better to do.’ I just laughed. *** I watched her for days, following her to work, as she went shopping. So many times I wanted to approach her, to say . . . something, anything. But what would I say? ‘Hi, honey, miss me?’ Would she be angry? Glad? Would she slap me? Hug me? Somehow, I did not think she would be so easily forgiving for leaving her so abruptly. I had been gone a year, with no word. That’s not a simple thing to overlook. I noticed Carmen always went to one particular little grocery store a block and a half down the street from her building, even though there was a larger, better-stocked, one closer. I wondered why. Maybe they had something there that the other place did not. I had to admit that it was a cozy little place. Pretty good selection of fresh vegetables and fruits,.

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