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It only took light gentle strokes on my young clit, still through my panties, to send my mind, knees, and firm nipples into an erotic dance. I came hard and quickly, I thought. As my mind was clearing, with my young pussy still quivering, I saw someone standing through the crack of my stall. It was our life-long family friend Melinda. I sat speechless and there was a long pause before she spoke. “Better clean up before your mother comes in,” she said with a slight smile. Embarrassed, I struggled with my pants and simultaneously with the latch. “Joan,” Melinda said. “Calm down, unlock the door and I will help.” I reached for the latch with tears coming down my face. Unlocking the door I let my pants fall back down to my knees. Melinda gently reached and lifted my fallen chin and with a warm smile wiped my face. Again she pleaded with me to calm down as she knelt down to help with my pants. “You need a little cleaning up,” she said gently reaching for some tissue and wiping. I - I think I should go home." The boys watched awkwardly as she put her clothes back on, Jake trying hard to look at her face as Chris stared drunkenly at her perfect tits, drinking in the sight of her creamy soft skin and still hoping to see more. "Maybe another time?" Jake stammered "I mean, just if you want to fool around time?" Emily sniffed back tears, looking away in shame as she slipped back into her top. Both voices in her head were silent, and she was alone with her thoughts. She felt empty inside. "I have to go"***** Alone in his bedroom, the man leaned forward, his face inches from the computer screen. Sweat poured down his forehead in rivulets as his hand pumped furiously up and down his large cock. His eyes were glued to the screen, the image of a pale young girl writhing as he pounded into her. Her head and hands were hidden, locked on the other side of the wooden stocks, but her tiny, petite young body was all he had needed. He may never know who she was, but he.
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Follow the lights and you’ll find the port. Nothing else makes as much sense. Be that as it may, the feel of her feet in his hands overcomes his mind, though not his eyes. Like an airport beacon, his eyes are fixed on the prize, but he’s occupied with the landing gear, so to speak. He’s never had so much feet to play with. She IS big, wonderfully big. A little scrawny, but a lot of scrawny goes a long way. His hands are consumed with the angles and textures; here the instep, there the arch, now the ball, crunch the toes. Feet are the Job of the body - burdened always, barely loved. Women, at least, adorn them now and then while men simply ignore them, if they can. Stub a toe, get an ingrown toenail, contract athlete’s foot, slice your foot wide open as he had in his youth, and you might be dumb enough to wish you didn’t have any. But the absence of pain is unremarkable and, in the best of times, so are the feet. But not to him. He is making love to her in a way she’s never known..

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