Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee. Lana Fox

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      Oh, that gaze of hers was bold as brass. Inside my knickers, I burned. And as I mumbled a thank-you and turned away, I suddenly wondered if she’d stolen the shoes I was wearing and licked them while I wasn’t around. Well, why wouldn’t she? She’s done it before. And the image of her staring at me with her tongue sliding over my heels made my pussy ache so much that I rushed to the bedroom and, with my back against the door, slipped my fingers into my knickers and rubbed myself hard. Just thinking of the burn in her stare made me come in moments. And just like every climax I have when I think about Janey, it was so hot and deep and hard that I cried out loud.

      See, Kitten? I’m like the Story of O. (But without the whipping, obviously.) This girl is young enough to be my own daughter. Is this my future sex life? Me getting older, while my tastes get younger?

      Anyway, I have to dress up now. I’m meeting Gladys for drinks this evening. She’s been dating a swish American man called Guy, so there’s bound to be gossip. I’ll spill the beans when I get back.

      10.50 p.m.

      Oh, Kitten, what a night! I don’t know whether to be excited or embarrassed! See, the ‘thing’ Gladys said she wanted to show me turned out to be – but wait. Let me start from the beginning.

      I arrive at the Queen’s Head expecting a girls’ night out, but, when I spy Gladys over in the corner, she’s sitting next to a man in a swanky suit. Oh, God, I think to myself. She’s brought the guy she’s been dating. Typical Gladys. Her boundaries are so stuffed up. Anyway, as I strut towards her, feeling hot-as-heck in my silver stiletto heels, I’m not so sure it is her man. Gladys is a flirt-and-a-half, and men always enjoy her, but she’s sitting upright in her ‘teacher’ pose. She’s wearing an Eastern-style dress, which works beautifully next to her dark skin. It’s a stunning shade of red with gold-and-white dragonflies embroidered on it, but it doesn’t meet Gladys’s criteria for a ‘fuck-me dress’. For starters, it’s buttoned up to the throat, with zero cleavage, and for seconds, she’s wearing jeans underneath – a big no-no for Gladys when it comes to seduction. Her black hair is in hippie-style bunches, and, of course, her fingernails are perfectly painted. At the age of forty-nine, she’s more ‘Indian goddess’ than ever. Even with the fine lines that spread from the corners of her eyes, and the laughter-lines that deepen when she laughs, Gladys Patel is still a forty-something going on twenty-nine.

      And the men she dates are young – often early thirties. Take this guy she’s with, for instance, with his gleaming brown eyes and broad jaw. He’s the one who sees me first and mentions me to Gladys, who rises and welcomes me with a squeeze. With one arm around my waist, she introduces me to her ‘friend’ Guy, who gives me a saucy sideways grin before taking my hand and kissing my cheek. He smells delicious – of aftershave and gin – and, as he turns away from me, he gives me a quick wink. And oh, my, Kitten! What a wink it is! It gets me all wet and squirmy.

      ‘Now,’ says Gladys, once Guy has smoothly produced a chair for me, ‘I want to introduce you both because of your interest in shoes.’

      I gawp at her. What on earth is she talking about?

      And, typical Gladys-style, she announces: ‘He likes shoes in the sack, Debs. A foot fetishist. Like you.’

      Like me? ‘Gladys, I’m not a fetishist!’

      Gladys raises her eyebrow as she lifts a half-pint to her lips. ‘You once said you’d rather screw shoes than men. If that isn’t a fetish, I don’t know what is.’

      I immediately flush. I don’t even remember saying such a thing! Typical fucking Gladys to spill my intimate blurts, then tell the world about them.

      Guy laughs and places a hand on my arm. A firm, warm hand – and very nice it is too. ‘Gladys knows I love shoes,’ he tells me, ‘and apparently you work in the shoe biz.’ His American accent is leisurely and smooth, and his eyes – oh, his eyes! – they’re boring into me, as if they’re seeing my fantasies.

      I tell him I manage Pussyfoot Shoes, in town.

      ‘I’d love to hear more about that,’ he says, his pupils growing bigger as they pull me in. ‘In fact, I’d love to see your style.’ He glances down towards my feet. ‘Show me your foot, Debs.’

      When he says this, Kitten, several things happen. My whole face burns – as does my pussy. (See how easy that word’s become, Kitten? If I’m not careful, Playboy will ask me to tea.) Gladys gives a snort, slams down her beer glass, mutters ‘excuse me’ through a snigger and runs off towards the women’s loos. Guy twists towards me in his chair, then bends downwards and cups his hands as if to take my shoe in them. And his stare is so penetrating that I slip off my shoe and hand it over.

      Now brace yourself for the weird bit, Kitten.

      Guy gives a tiny groan as he takes the shoe. I might as well have placed my breast in his hands, the way he drinks it in, all ravaging and fierce. ‘Perfect,’ he says, softly, turning it and running a finger down the stiletto heel. He slips a hand inside it and feels up the inside, and I’m surprised to feel tingle in-between my thighs, as if he’s fondling my … pussy. (Oh, God, Kitten, whatever porny language will I let slip next?) ‘Oh, yes,’ he says, softly, and in the heave of his voice, I can tell he’s hard. Then he cups the back of the shoe in his palm and holds it up to observe the whole thing. ‘Oh, fuck, yes,’ he murmurs in a kind of private dream, and then he looks at me like a wolf, his pupils swallowing the browns of his eyes, and says, ‘You have exquisite taste. If you wear these in the bedroom, your boyfriend is a lucky boy.’

      Of course, I’m so on the edge of my seat because of this captivating man that I blurt, ‘I’m single,’ like some kind of trollop.

      ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to dinner. Tomorrow.’

      ‘Tomorrow?’

      Suddenly, Gladys is back, giving me a private wink. ‘Do you two lovebirds need some time alone?’ she says, looking like she might explode with the giggles.

      ‘Don’t be daft,’ I tell her. ‘I haven’t even ordered my drink yet.’

      Staring at me, Guy says, ‘I would offer to go to the bar, but I’m so horny right now it would be indecent.’

      Of course, Gladys thought this was a riot! And that’s how it was all evening. Guy making hot little comments as he glared into my eyes, and Gladys giggling away or nudging my elbow, telling me Guy and I should date. And all the way through, as we talked about this and that, I’m imagining him throwing me down on the table and fucking me, as glasses and silverware crash to the floor. Besides, I was so hot and wet that it wouldn’t have taken much to make me come. One thrust, two thrusts, three thrusts, Kitten, and I’d be high as a kite, soaring on an orgasm, as he fucked and fucked with my foot in his hand.

      See what you’re doing to me, Kitten? Penthouse, here we come.

      Anyway, at the end of the night he asks for my number, and before I’m even home he’s texting to arrange dinner. I accept his offer with as СКАЧАТЬ