CHAPTER 8

I found myself coming home to an empty house each afternoon when school was over.

Mom's real estate business usually kept her busy until around six. Aunt Martha had things to do at school and rarely got home before five. So I had the house to myself each afternoon. And decided to use those hours to catch up on Algebra and American History.

But one afternoon as I was coming out of the bathroom, I noticed the door to Aunt Martha's room standing partway open.

I walked over to it and peered inside. The room seemed dim and quiet, just like the rest of the house. I placed my hand on the doorknob and let the door swing back silently until it was completely open. Then, bowing to some secret impulse, I walked into Aunt Martha's room.

It was filled with a reverential hush. I stood there looking around. At the bed. The dresser. The rocking chair. The closed door of her closet. Feeling an odd sense of excitement stirring inside me.

This was where she slept. Kept her clothes. Dressed and undressed. The presence of her was all around me. I could almost hear her voice echoing through the silence. Tempting me.

To do what? To do what?

I walked over to her dresser and eased open the top drawer. The right side was filled with her stockings. Jumbled together in a heap of beige wispiness. The stockings that sheathed her legs and feet each day. Feeling silky and insubstantial as I ran my fingers through them. Her stockings. Whose sensual nylon sheerness made my cock stir.

I picked up one of her stockings and shook it out until it dangled full length from my hand. Its gossamer outline matched the shape of her leg. Tapering smoothly down from her thigh to her knee. Swelling outward to encompass her calf. Tapering down again to the slenderness of her ankle. Curving at a slight angle to follow the outlines of her heel and arch and instep and toes.

My cock was stiffening with excitement as I crumpled her stocking in both hands and buried my face in it. Inhaling its faint perfume. Filling my lungs with it. Again and again. Knowing this was the intoxicating perfume of her feet. Her long, graceful feet that drove me crazy every day in English class.

I unzipped my pants and took out my Steaming Hard Cock. Embraced it with her stocking. Felt the exhilaration of smooth nylon glide along my naked foreskin as I slowly stroked myself with her stocking. Imagining the thrill of having her Stocking Feet caress my throbbing cock. Embracing it with her soft arches. Rubbing it with her toes.

Oh God, Aunt Martha...

My body was almost ready to explode when I forced myself to stop stroking. I longed to ejaculate into her stocking. Let myself go and soak that sensual handful of gossamer nylon with Liquid Fire.

Did I dare?

No, no. How would I hide the results afterwards?

Suddenly, I had an idea.

I reached into the dresser drawer and found the stocking's mate. Hung both stockings side by side from the lip of the drawer so they just reached the floor. Closed the drawer to hold them in place. And adjusted them until I could almost imagine Aunt Martha standing there in her Stocking Feet. Encouraging me to jerk-off to the image of them I’d conjured up in my mind.

Then I had another idea. Walked over to her closet and opened it.

Her pumps filled the shoe rack on the back of the door. My eyes fell on the pair she’d worn in English class two days earlier. They had high heels and pointed toes. And their black kidskin was so well-worn and supple, they slipped off her feet with a carefree ease that left me breathless.

I took down one of the pumps. Marveling at how light it was. Ran my fingers over the smooth kidskin and stroked its slender heel. Then held it to my face. Pressing my nose into it and inhaling deeply.

The aroma was the same as her stocking, but more powerful. The perfume of Aunt Martha's feet filling my nostrils was so strong my cock surged and I began to feel light-headed.

I inhaled again and again. Almost tasting the tang of her toes. Which had spent endless hours cuddled in the embrace of that pump.

Finally I carried the pumps over to the dresser and placed them side by side on the floor beneath her stockings. Carefully stuffing the foot portion of each stocking into the pumps.

God, it was perfect. Just perfect. Like she was actually standing there wearing only her stockings and those pumps. Bending her right knee forward slightly and slipping her foot out of its pump. Just the way she did in class. Making my cock throb with eager passion.

I took off my pants and shorts. Grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her night table. And began jerking-off wildly to my proxy image of Aunt Martha. Seeing her do all sorts of thrilling things with her feet.

“That’s it, Bobby,” I could hear her say. “Do it to my feet. It’s all right…”

“Yes, yes…”

And I ejaculated quickly in a flood of pulsing Wet Fire that soaked the tissues in my hand. Feeling a great sense of peace steal through me afterwards.

I did the same thing the next afternoon. And the afternoon after that. I did it every afternoon as soon as I got home from school. Imagining in the heat of my passion that Aunt Martha was making me a Gift of her Feet. The Feet I worshipped as icons of her sensual glory.