Anklets to the Feet

I love feet. Look at them, listen to them, touch them, smell them, taste them.

What can you do with a look?

Most women like to say that what attracts them most in men is their eyes.I think this is a tremendous lack of imagination.

My greatest strength, more than my feet, my horniness as a man and as a novelist, is to penetrate the minds of people, to enter into them, to know who they are, what they are, how they became like that and what they will become.I can not imagine any writer who does not have that primal appeal.And to enter into someone, the gate is the eyes.

But eyes excite my curiosity, probably my love, but not that primordial horn that snatches the dick.

Eyes are for love, not for sex.Eyes attract me, but they do not excite me.After all, what can you do with a look – other than looking at it back?

I am very little visual and overly synaesthetic. What comes to my eyes will rarely excite me.I need everything, together, all the time.

So if I like feet, then, it’s because of the following:

Feet are to be seen

I like to see feet.

I admire the sharp curve of the bow, the folds in the soles, the blue veins in the chest, the lively movement of the fingers.

The more alive the little fingers, the more my horny.A woman wiggling her toes might make me quit anything.Visually speaking, only hands and hair have both movement and feet.Movement is life, movement is sex.

I even have a favorite position in the picture above: it seems to me that the feet get more sinister like this, as if prepared for evil.Malu did this to pinch me with my feet, and it was a delight: a way of using my toes to be evil.And I love wicked women .

Nothing makes sense to me that these women who balance their shoes in little fingers and dangling know exactly what effect it has on poor men.I’ve been more than once immobilized and mesmerized in public places, unable to take my eyes off a sandal that swayed back and forth, a strip of leather neatly curled into a nice big thumb.

What also hypnotizes me: those anklets with pendants, that sway to the rhythm of the floor, and that put me like a silly dog ​​accompanying the bone in the owner’s hand. Here at answermba you can get more different models and styles. Not to mention, of course, the always delicious toe rings, another delicious fashion that seems to be fading.

I love nail color, especially when living and exotic, silver, blue, green, yellow, orange, black, purple.The color of the enamel says a lot about a woman: anyone who paints the nail of a basic rosy is passing a message different from the one that paints in black.(And who does Francesinha? What’s the message? “I want to drive men mad”, it can only be.)

One of my favorite rituals with Mariana was going out to buy nail polish, laugh at the names, decide the weather, choose colors.A horny one.

Nothing sexier (though sometimes tacky) than nail designs, with the most different messages, Japanese ideograms, club colors and even a skull.Evil skulls seduce me, always.

The sudden glimpse of a pair of feet on the dashboard of a car, or worse, a pair of tiny feet sneaking out of the passenger window has already caused more than one death in traffic.I’m glad I do not drive anymore.

The sole of the foot has color.I love the yellowish soles and little bird of Lucia, who walks very barefoot.I love the contrast between the white and the dark skin of Myali.And you want something sexier and more beachy than the Hawaiian strip mark on the breasts of beach rats’ feet?

I live in Rio and just look at the feet of the girls to know that we are near the beach: the little fingers of the Cariocas are much more open and separate than those of the paulistas or New Yorkers.There is always a generous space there between the big toe and the second finger that is not seen in many other cultures.The girls who wear boots and shoes closed for decades and decades have their fingers much closer and tight than the beach rats who, in this blessed city, go to the theater and fine dinners from outside fingers.

(The prehistoric shoes have disappeared, but we know when the human being began to wear shoes precisely because of the changes they make in the feet of those who wore them.)

Feet are to be heard

I like to hear feet.

I am excited by the sound of the soft footsteps of barefoot, playful, the plaque-plaque of sandals from the beach, the imperious and sinister step of the heels, the delightful claque of the wood of the clogs.

I already lived in a building with a marble floor corridor.When Gláucia came to visit me, always in high heels, I was already beginning to hear her from the elevator, fifty yards away, her firm and determined steps echoing along the corridor walls.Before I even arrived at my door, I was already salivating more than Pavlov’s dog, cock in hand, completely conditioned, ready for all.

I’ve written a detective novel in which the mystery is solved because the detective, a cardiac podiatrist, can distinguish between the sounds of various types of women’s shoes.(Something the poor assassin had never imagined, fool, that a straight man could do!)

Feet are to be touched

I like to touch feet.

Threading the gauge between each finger, feeling the wrinkles and ripples of the sole, rubbing the nails in the callosity of the heels, moisten the tips of my fingers and slowly pass them on the sensitive and thin skin of the bow.

I like it even more to feel that sole on my face, walking on me, these boots are made for walking , to lie on the floor, to close my eyes and to delight myself with a woman walking on my body, treading carefully on my back and thighs, feeling the Step that begins with the contact of the heel and goes down, until she spread her fingers on my body and drum them on my skin, rub her soles against my beard to do, savoring delicious tidbits, and step on me as if I were Your particular rug.

Give me a sole and I’ll give you a bio.

Nothing can be more different than the soles of the foot of a well-behaved urban girl, who grew up in the house, always in stockings and a little flip-flops, and the soles of a young woman’s foot that goes to the beach, Hot with bare feet.

The solinha of the first one, white and lisinha, sometimes can hardly be touched of so sensitive, suffers of many tickles, but it is easy to make it enjoy only with the tongue.Already the solinha of the second, deliciously rough and small, is a constant challenge, it requires all my experience and expertise to be stimulated.And they are both equally beautiful, hot, horny.

Our body is our history.

Feet are to be smelled

I like to smell feet.

The sexual power of smell is impressive.Few things make me go from zero to one hundred so fast, it looks like one of those comparative car tests:

“It’s impressive, my friends, she took off her shoe in his face and the man was a dick, his cock twisted in less than two seconds!”

The scents of a foot out of a leather shoe and a plastic melissa could not be more different – and more delicious.

Ah, the rare pleasure of taking off a sneaker after work, or a boot after the nightclub: it’s like unwrapping a present, picking up those warm, pulsing, so vivid little hands. The mere movement of the little fingers, suddenly free and happy, is enough to lift that truly divine aroma to my nose and immediately put me in the mood for sex.

After a hard day at the office, Amanda always visited me at the end of the file. Over time, without me ever asking, it always came from Melissa. Tolinho, I thought it was a coincidence, until one day I went to travel and she commented:

“Eba, I’ll wear sandals all week!”

Melissa’s full-day work was not just a fondness for me but also pure self-interest: according to her, the effect on my libido and sexual performance was off-scale.

Melissas deserved a chapter apart. The worst thing about being single is not having someone to chew.

Feet are to be tasted

I like to taste feet.

I pass my fingers between each little finger, and then I stuff them one by one in my mouth, as if I had just scraped a can of young milk.Next, it is time to run my tongue directly between each finger, delicately caressing that sensitive and rarely touched skin.

I suck each little finger individually, sipping its flavor as if it were a bullet, and the taste ends quickly, soon I can only taste my own saliva, but as long as it lasts, ah, there is no delicacy of the gods that compares.

Worst thing: before going out with me for the first time, Keila researched my tastes and prepared to please me.Result: I finished the night frustrated, with taste of acetone and sneakers baruel on the tongue.Argh.

There are better flavors, such as licking a little bit around the beach and feeling the soft taste of salt, sea, iodine on the tongue.

I bite the hard skin of the heel, and I step the tip, just the tip of my tongue, all over the soles, feeling that sensational taste, and touching each little touch, each ripple, in order to finally put my whole foot in my mouth and feel my little fingers Stirring happily inside.Large feet are good as there is more surface to lick;Small feet are good, because they fit whole in the mouth.

A complete sensory journey.

And that’s just the beginning.Then I begin to climb up the ankle.

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