Carols Sole Seduction

There are women who age gracefully and then there's my lovely wife Carol. At 55, she defies time with a body that would put women half her age to shame.

Years of ballet carved her into something that defies description. I'd say it's poised and perfectly balanced between strength and seduction.

Her ass is a masterpiece, tight, high, and round from endless hours of Pilates and yoga, moving with fluid grace that demands attention.

Her legs, long and sculpted, taper down to the most exquisite size six and a half feet I've ever seen, textbook perfection with high arches, elegant toe alignment, and long, natural nails that curve exactly right.

She moves barefoot like she's still dancing on stage, each step deliberate, sensual.

Her breasts, firm and pear-shaped, sit high and proud beneath anything she wears, or nothing at all, my favorite outfit. And her hair, a rich brunette cascade, frames a face that still sparkles with youth and mischief.

Carol doesn't just walk into a room; she lights it up. She is temptation in motion, and every curve she carries was made to be worshipped.

I am a lucky dog.

Saturday evening got heated before we even left the house. Carol planned to go shopping for some new heels at a local boutique.

I heard the water shut off in the master bath, and moments later, Carol stepped out of the steam, wrapped in a short towel that clung to her like it was made just for teasing me. Her skin was still glowing from the heat, and the scent of her lavender soap made my head spin.

She stood by the bed, one leg lifted slightly, drying her calves with slow, swirling strokes. Her curves were divine, tight from yoga, soft in the right places, with a dancer's grace that made every movement hypnotic. Her breasts, firm and high, pressed against the edge of the towel. Her hips rolled naturally when she walked, and those legs... those legs had won a 'Sexiest Legs' contest at a Key West conference when she was in her thirties, and they were even more devastating now.

She dropped the towel slowly, revealing her full body to me without shame or hesitation. Her feet, dainty and elegant, stepped forward one after the other flawless, with perfectly arched soles and painted toes that made my heart race. I was already hard.

She stood naked in front of me, smirking. 'Help me get dressed, baby.'

I obeyed. Gently, I slid her panties up her long legs, pausing to kiss the top of each foot. She giggled, then placed one foot on my thigh and flexed her toes under my chin. 'Focus,' she teased. 'Shoes come later.'

I wrapped her in the red silk dress, then stood back, stunned. My wife was a vision, sensual, powerful, untouchable. And she knew exactly how she affected me.

She leaned in, kissed me softly, and whispered, 'Let's go turn some heads today.'

And just like that, we were out the door headed for the boutique, and for the firestorm she was about to unleash.

We arrived at the boutique.

It started with a smirk.

Carol stood in front of the full-length mirror, her delicate foot lifted onto the low platform, a gleaming black stiletto perched elegantly on her toes. She wore the red silk wrap dress I loved most, the one that barely skimmed her thighs and clung to her like it had been tailored for sin. Her long, toned legs were perfectly bare. I knew because she'd leaned over in the parking lot and whispered, "No panties today love."

Then she reached under her red dress and removed her panties in one swift action and put them in my pocket.

"You can sniff them later baby."

Now she was in her element.

The boutique was small, upscale, exclusive. Leather benches, warm lighting, and soft jazz playing overhead. The scent of polished wood, high-end perfume, and fresh leather filled the air. There were only two customers and two salesmen working the floor.

She'd picked one of the salesmen out immediately.

The tall one, clean-cut, Mediterranean-looking, early thirties with a jaw you could cut glass on. She gave me a subtle glance as he approached, and I knew. The game was on.

"Can I help you with your size?" he asked, voice warm.

Carol smiled at him, resting one finger on her lower lip. "I'm looking for something elegant. Something that... turns heads." She paused just long enough for his eyes to dip down to her legs. "Size six and a half."

He nodded, and she sat on the small bench beside the mirror, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately. Her dress rose dangerously high.

I sat in the nearby chair close enough to see everything, far enough to pretend I wasn't involved. My heart was already pounding.

I've loved Carol's feet since the day I met her. Delicate, narrow, high arches and dancer's toes from years with the Winnipeg Ballet. She still moved like a ballerina, fluid, controlled, sensual.

I used to sneak glances at her sexy feet in the early days. Now, years later, she knew. She let me smell her shoes when she got home. I'd cradle her feet while we made love. She'd rub her soles across my face, teasing me, controlling me.

And now, she was about to perform.

The salesman returned with a box and knelt before her. Carol uncrossed her legs slowly, her knees parting just enough to remind him intentionally that she wasn't wearing anything beneath that dress.

His hands hovered, then gently took her bare foot in both of his. I saw the flicker in his eyes. He noticed the softness, the perfection of her skin. I watched his fingers linger as he eased the stiletto onto her foot.

She let out a soft, feminine moan.

"Mmm... that feels so good."

I shifted in my seat.

He looked up, uncertain whether it was the shoe or the moment that pleased her. She smiled, just faintly, and turned her ankle for him to see.

"Can you help me with the other?" she asked.

"I'd be happy to help."

He took her second foot in his hands. Her legs were slightly spread now, the front of her dress open just enough to reveal a brief glimpse of the sexy shaved pussy between her legs. She didn't flinch. She wanted him to see. She flexed her toes as he slipped the heel on, then pointed her foot straight, like a practiced pose from years of ballet.

The salesman's breathing changed. Just slightly. Enough that I noticed.

Carol did too.

My cock was throbbing in my pants, rock hard. I didn't move. I didn't dare.

She leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of his neck as she adjusted the shoe.

"I used to dance professionally," she said. "Still do yoga every day. My feet... are sensitive. You know what I mean?"

He swallowed. "They're beautiful."

Her laugh was low and slow, and she looked over at me as if to say "Did you hear that, baby? He thinks so too."

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

The salesman's name tag read Marco, and he was obviously now fully under my wife's spell.

Carol uncrossed and recrossed her legs, slowly, deliberately. The silk of her dress shifted just enough to show the inside of her thighs and more, bare, and smooth. No underwear. She never wore any during these games. She said it was for convenience, but we both knew better.

"Would you walk for me?" Marco asked, clearing his throat, his voice just slightly hoarse.

Carol stood slowly. Her heels clicked against the boutique's polished floor as she took a few steps toward the mirror, hips swaying hypnotically, her calves flexing with each movement. From behind, I could see the dress cling to her perfect ass, high, firm, and made even more sculpted by years of yoga and pilates.

She turned, paused, and then tilted her foot, first the left, then the right, showing him the curve of the arch, the length of her toes, how she could balance effortlessly on the balls of her feet.

He was visibly flustered now, blinking more than he needed to, smiling but not speaking.

And then she sat down again and extended one leg toward him.

"Would you mind?" she asked sweetly, lifting the hem of her dress. "Help me take these off. Slowly. My feet are sensitive after too much pressure."

He swallowed. "Of course."

Marco's hands were steady, but barely. He reached for her foot and gently slipped off the heel, exposing her slender, smooth sole. Her toes flexed, elegant and teasing, and I watched one of them brush against his wrist as he held her foot in his hand a little too long.

She sighed again. Just loud enough.

Then she lifted her other foot into his palm.

He removed the second shoe even more slowly this time.

When it was off, she let her foot linger, hovering just above his thigh. She flexed her toes once perfectly and I saw him freeze.

"You're good with your hands," Carol said softly.

Marco looked up, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you."

Carol turned to me then, her eyes smoldering, playful, dangerous.

"Baby," she said, "do you mind coming here?"

I had to wait for the swelling in my pants to subside. I stood on slightly shaky legs. She slid back on the bench, patting the cushion beside her. I sat. Marco stood awkwardly, as if unsure whether to excuse himself or stay.

But Carol had already extended her bare foot into my lap.

"Would you rub them, sweetheart? You know just how I like it."

She turned to Marco without missing a beat. "He gives the best foot massages."

I looked at her, then at him. And I obeyed.

My hands cradled her dainty foot, my thumbs pressing into the ball and arch. She moaned softly, head falling back, lips parting slightly. I glanced at Marco, his eyes were fixed on my hands, watching me touch her. His face flushed.

I leaned forward, kissing the top of her foot, then the arch, then her toes, one by one. She giggled softly and wiggled them, then slid the sole across my cheek, rubbing it over my lips, dragging it down my jaw.

"God, your mouth feels so good," she whispered. "You're such a good boy."

She glanced at Marco again, then back at me, and said, "I bet he's wondering what else that mouth of yours can do."

Marco laughed nervously, but didn't leave.

Carol stretched her other leg across my shoulder, trapping me there gently between her feet, like a collar. She leaned close to Marco, her voice lower now.

"You've been such a gentleman," she said, "but I have a feeling you've been enjoying this almost as much as we have."

He didn't deny it. His mouth opened, then closed again.

"Would you like a closer look?" she asked him, tilting her head.

Marco looked at me, unsure.

I said nothing.

This was her game now.

The boutique had quieted down.

The soft jazz was still playing, but we were now the only customers left. The other sales associate had gone on dinner break. It was just Marco, Carol... and I left in the boutique.

Carol hadn't made a selection yet.

She stood near the mirror again, the box of stilettos under one arm, barefoot on the boutique floor. Her red dress clung to her curves, and her bare soles flexed gracefully with each step, making no sound, only the faint shift of silk and breath.

Marco hovered nearby, eyes tracing her legs again, his composure fraying.

"Do you like my feet, Marco?" she asked suddenly, teasingly, turning her toes toward him. "You've been staring since you slipped off the first shoe."

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then...

"Yes," he said softly. "They're... beautiful."

She stepped toward the bench again and sat between us, one foot resting in my lap, the other lifted toward Marco.

"Then show me," she said, her voice velvet.

I cradled her left foot, already hard again just from touching her. My fingers kneaded the arch I knew by heart, her perfect dancer's arch. I pressed kisses along the side, from heel to toe, my breath warm, worshipful. I could smell the delicious scent of her sweat. She sighed, and her body melted just a little more.

Marco hesitated but not for long.

He took her right foot in his hands, trembling slightly. He brought it to his lips and kissed the top of her foot, just once, testing the line.

Carol didn't stop him.

"Closer," she whispered.

He obeyed.

I watched, mesmerized, as Marco inhaled softly, audibly, his nose brushing just under her toes, taking in her scent. He shuddered, then exhaled slowly.

Carol gasped. "Oh wow... you like that?"

He nodded, almost breathless.

"I wore these heels all day just for this moment," she said. "I knew what I was doing. I knew I'd make someone crazy. You like smelling the scent of my sweaty feet, don't you boys."

Her voice had dropped to a near whisper. Sultry. Commanding. Her foot twitched slightly in my hands. Her toes wiggled in his.

I licked the sole of her left foot from arch to heel, then sucked her second toe into my mouth. She moaned softly and let her head fall back. Her hair spilled over her shoulder.

Marco now had her big toe in his mouth now, slow, careful, reverent.

We were both devoted to worshipping my wife's feet. One foot in each of our hands, lips, and breath.

"You boys," she said, "are addicted."

Neither of us denied it.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head.

"I want both of you," she murmured. "But right now... I want your mouths. Just like this. Until I say stop."

And we obeyed her.

We kissed. We licked. We sucked. Her toes, her arches, the soft skin of her soles. Her feet became our entire world. Nothing existed outside of that moment, just the heat, the scent, the worship.

Her breathing turned ragged.

I could sense the trembling in her thighs.

Her dress had shifted higher now, to her waist, and she didn't fix it.

I looked up at her. Her eyes locked onto mine, burning.

"If you're good," she whispered, "maybe I'll let you do more than worship later."

Marco pulled back just slightly, overwhelmed, flushed, panting.

I didn't move.

We were so beneath her spell.

Carol didn't leave the bench.

She placed a shoebox gently beside her, crossed her legs again, slowly, and let both bare feet dangle between us like forbidden fruit. Her toenails gleamed a soft blush-pink, immaculately manicured. Her soles were flushed from attention, still slightly glistening from our saliva.

She looked from me to Marco... and smiled.

"That was nice," she said, voice velvet. "But I'm not done with you two."

She extended her right leg toward Marco, the ball of her foot hovering just above his thigh.

"Spread your knees, Marco."

He froze for a second. Then obeyed.

Her foot descended slowly, ceremonially, until it came to rest directly on the bulging cock straining in his slacks. He flinched, just slightly but didn't move. She pressed into his cock, softly at first, then circled it with her toes, teasing his cock through the fabric.

His jaw clenched. His breathing hitched.

"Poor thing," she purred. "That must be uncomfortable."

She turned to me, her left foot already sliding toward my lap.

"And you..." she said, her eyes burning. "Your cock has been hard since I slipped off the first shoe."

Her sole met my lap, warm, soft, commanding.

She rubbed my hard rod through my pants, slow and deliberate, her toes curling against it, her heel digging gently into my thigh. I moaned slightly.

"You like that, baby?"

"Yes love, very much so," I breathed.

"I want to see how much."

Her foot slid up to the waistband of my pants and tapped twice.

"Unzip."

My hands trembled as I obeyed. My zipper came down, and my hard-on sprang forward, aching, and exposed. She gasped softly, half proud, half wicked.

She turned to Marco. "You too Marco, you shy boy."

He hesitated... then reached for his zipper.

Carol leaned back, resting her hands on the bench, her dress riding so high now it was around her hips. She stretched both feet extended, one for each of us.

And then she began to stroke us with her hands, slowly up and down both cocks at the same time. One in each hand. She then switched to her bare feet.

Her toes curled around the head of my cock, massaging me gently, rolling over the ridge, spreading my leaked precum with her arch. On Marco, she circled his shaft with her toes, rubbing the length, teasing the tip, brushing him so delicately it made him twitch.

I could barely breathe.

Carol didn't look at either of us.

She looked at herself.

In the mirror.

Watching herself stroke two cocks with nothing but her sexy feet.

"My feet are magic," she whispered. "You both want to come just from this, don't you?"

"Yes," we both answered in unison.

She giggled. "Good boys."

The boutique was silent, save for the faint jazz humming from the speakers and the raw, unfiltered breathing from the two of us, Marco, and I, sprawled half-dressed, cocks in the open, entirely at the mercy of my wife's skilled feet.

Carol leaned back, utterly composed, her red dress bunched scandalously at her hips, her eyes heavy with power and pleasure. Her soles, flushed, damp, glowing, were working us both with impossible skill. She switched rhythm effortlessly, circling Marco's swollen shaft with her toes, then pressing the arch of her foot against the tip of my cock, dragging it down with a slow twist that nearly broke me.

She laughed under her breath.

"You're both about to lose it, aren't you? I know you want to cum so bad."

I couldn't speak. Marco didn't even try.

She shifted her weight and straightened her back, sitting tall, elegant, queenlike.

"Here's the thing," she said. "Only one of you gets to cum. Only one of you deserves to explode on my feet."

Her feet didn't stop moving.

I gasped. Marco's hips twitched.

Carol bit her lip and turned her head slowly toward me.

"You've waited so long for this. Worshipped me for years. You love my feet like they're holy."

Then she looked at Marco.

"But you..." she said with a smirk. "You just discovered them. And you've been such a good little assistant today. Quiet. Obedient. Filthy."

She tilted her head and let silence fall between the three of us, her feet never pausing, only adjusting pressure, more here, lighter there, watching who whimpered first, who twitched hardest.

"I think..." she said finally, "my husband needs to learn a little patience."

My stomach dropped.

Her toes pulled away from my shaft with maddening grace. She left me there, cock exposed, desperate, trembling, pulsing in the open air, throbbing with need and no promise of release.

She turned to Marco.

"You, darling, get to finish."

His eyes widened. "I--"

"Shhh," she hushed him, pressing her toes firmly to the base of his cock. "You'll cum when I say."

And with that, she began again--slow, steady strokes with the sole of her feet, rubbing him from root to tip, her toes dancing over his crown.

Marco groaned, hands gripping the edge of the bench.

She whispered to him as he panted, "Look at my feet. That's it. Cum for them."

And he did.

Hard.

His hips bucked once, twice, and he moaned through clenched teeth as she stroked him to the end, cum spilling across his lap and her toes.

Carol smiled.

"Good boy."

She sat, toes glistening, pointed her cum covered feet in my face. "Baby you know how you like to clean my feet when you cum on them. I want you to lick Marco's cum off my feet."

I was in shock, and I froze.

"Do it baby for me and I'll take care of you tonight." She mouthed a kiss.

I was so under her spell. I grabbed both feet and began to lick all the salesman's cum from each foot. It tasted salty but her feet were delicious. I licked them clean and ended by kissing her toes.

Once I finished, Caro stood and walked toward the fitting mirror. I was still frozen in place, painfully hard, panting.

She turned over her shoulder and winked.

"You, my love..." she said, her voice like silk, "get to show me more of your devotion later. With your tongue."

She stepped into her heels, bare feet sliding back into the same stilettos that had started this entire scene.