Swiping Right on Darla’s Sexy Feet

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“Go to the store and pick out a nice nail polish” her text commanded.

She’d just gotten a professional pedicure a few days ago and the rich pearlescent blue looked so hot with her new silver toe rings from a recent trip to India that I couldn’t imagine she would have me paint over them already. It’s not my place to argue, but I was enjoying the blue toes so much I couldn’t help a slight feeling of loss.

Her beautiful sexy feet had taken center stage lately as her main profile photo on a popular dating app. After twenty-something years of marriage and raising kids, her wild oats were determined to find an outlet of expression.

Her female co-workers, all a decade or so younger, were already swiping right and sharing their fuck stories which made her even hornier for some fresh dick. I was curious about dating apps too having missed this whole phenomenon myself, so we agreed to both sign up for an account.

The need for discretion spawned the birth of her online alter ego, Darla, Age 51, occupation: Sapiosexual, profile: “Intelligence and unconventional wit are the way to get my attention and other things. Sassy, self-assured, and a bit of a tease. If only Mensa had groupies. Pithy banter will keep me on the hook until I’m ready to play.” That part was all true but Darla couldn’t post any face shots of course, what would the neighbors think?

We uploaded a series of foot photos instead; bare feet, painted toes, in sexy heels, a nice long-legged shot in yoga pants, and later added an up-close shot featuring the new collection of six toe rings against the sexy, brilliant, ocean-blue pedicure.

In a matter of hours, Darla had hordes of eager horny men swiping right on her feet. I couldn’t help feeling instantly defensive and protective as if the hundred guys were already lined up at the front door waiting for their turn to fuck my wife.

I eagerly checked my own app, crickets. Fuck! I guess this is what I should have expected, but seeing the truth hurt; If my wife wanted to get laid she could have her pick in an instant, but for me, it was going to be a lot more work and effort.

After a few days of messaging back and forth with the three women that were willing to swipe right for “Joe’s” landscape photos, I deleted my account.

The truth is I don’t want to sleep with another woman. None of them come even close to being as hot as my wife so why bother? I’m pretty sure it would end up causing a rift between us if I headed out for a real date, “hey honey, going out to fuck some strange broad. I’ll be back later to your loving and understanding arms to pick up as if nothing happened.” I’m pretty sure I’d unleash some passive/aggressive blowback.

However, I still have to admit I’m turned on by the idea of her getting fucked by another man, and she’s always openly admitted she has no issues holding a double standard.

“Did you get the nail polish?”

“Yea, I’ll go get it,” I answered.

When I returned to the bathroom to present the tiny jar of glossy metallic maroon to ask what was she going to do with it, she responded, “It’s not for me,” followed by a long pause as she looked me in the eye tilting her head waiting for me to “get it.”

“For me?”

I was both somewhat relieved that she wasn’t going to ruin the blue high I’d been on, lusting after her bejeweled sexy feet, while simultaneously digesting the ramifications of what she’s telling me.

“Sit down and paint your toes with it,” she ordered.

I relaxed back on the closed toilet seat and pulled my first foot up to start painting. A devilish laugh erupted as she watched and I felt a subtle sting of humiliation. She’s never tried to sissify me in the past in any way so this came as quite a surprise. She had read some articles I’d sent her recently on femdom and was inspired to try a few things out on me.

“Pretty,” her mocking laughter continued.

My manly feet were turning pretty with each brush stroke and my mind was having trouble processing the vision. It’s only nail polish, but have to admit it was disturbing on some deep level to see a crack in the masculine image I’d spent a lifetime fostering. It felt dangerous. What if someone saw me like this? My kids would freak. Other men would laugh at the sight and label or ostracize me. What if I got in a car wreck or pulled over and went to jail for a traffic violation? There’s no way I could ever leave the house like this, it’s too risky and feels like a dirty secret.

“When can I take it off?”

“No time soon,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“What about yoga tomorrow?”

She shrugged her shoulders as it was now my problem. I guess I’ll have to keep my socks on.

Over the next several days Darla’s feet became very popular and simply sifting through the matches was a chore, although she had quite a few conversations going with guys that made her first cut.

Her stated policy on the fling idea was that she would give me full disclosure on what was going on, never cheat behind my back, and give me a final veto if I didn’t karaman escort want her to do it. On the full-disclosure part, she was keeping me in the loop and offering frequently to let me read her conversations.

One thread really stuck out as her kind of guy. His profile said he was “just looking for a fun playmate with a kinky streak, nothing serious,” and the cadence of his texts with bits of wit thrown in here and there made him stand out from the rest and come across as intelligent – Darla’s

request. What turns her on much more than a buff photo is the art of lively and innuendo-tinged conversation.

“I think this is your guy,” as my inner hackles were raised at the truth of what I was telling her.

My wife has always been a flirt and I pointed out to her years ago that most of her crushes tended to be slightly sad lawyers.

“Oh my God, you’re right,” she agreed, “I think I just want to cheer them up.”

A day later he would reveal, guess what, he’s an attorney. The rest of the prospects started to flame out one by one, “hey baby send some pics so I can see the rest of you,” – Delete, while this guy played it slow and cool. He had no face pics either. “Too many other lawyers on Tinder,” he explained, “I own my own practice and looking for discretion.” Can we blame him?

“Can you believe he’s a fucking lawyer?” I shake my head further confirming my first suspicions that this may be a real match.

“I know right?” she said with the added glee and clarity that comes from knowing your avatar and what you’re looking for. Just by pointing this out many years ago, I’ve instantly given this guy the lead and a much better chance than he would have had otherwise to fuck my sweet, precious, up-to-this-point-faithful, loving wife.

MEET THE FEET

“He wants to meet me,” she informs.

After a good week of texting back and forth with this guy and passing all of her early tests without being eliminated, I feared an in-person meeting was inevitable.

“I’m not just going to go meet a stranger from an app by myself,” she added, “it’s dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, “this is what it’s for, single women are doing it all the time.”

“They’re crazy, you’ll have to come with me.”

Now, this was a shocker. I’d been trying to get my head around what it would feel like when my beautiful super hot wife was heading out the door to go fuck some stranger and wondering if I could handle it.

“In what capacity? Drop you off somewhere and wait outside while you fuck this guy?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” she assured me.

Even though I was in on the original agreement to get the dating app, and admittedly at the beginning excited to have one too with thoughts of going off the reservation myself, I was secretly annoyed at how much time she spent on her account.

Usually, when she wakes up in the mornings before getting out of bed, she checks her phone, email, reads a few articles, and sends texts, etc. Lately, however, I could see the phone rhythmically bobbing ever so slightly; I know she’s over there surreptitiously swiping…before breakfast. I felt left out, my deep-seated fears of abandonment were rising to the fore.

I’d always imagined if we did something kinky it would be a threesome or wife swapping and I’d be included in some way. This experiment was testing the limits of my willingness to let her have “just a few flings while my ass still looks good.”

I was trying to be supportive and understanding, giving in to her position that she’s only slept with 3 men total in her life. Hell, I’ve slept with 3 men myself in addition to 11 women or so. I get it, you only live once.

I’d even bought her a thong with “My Husband Doesn’t Mind” printed on the front. I told her she’d have to wear these if she ever went on a date and eventually added it to her profile pictures to spice things up, not that she needed any more help. The new matches were continuing to pour in daily with just feet pics. There’s a lot of guys out there with a foot fetish apparently.

“I asked him ‘how do you feel about husbands getting involved?” she added.

“What did he say?”

“He said he was ‘open to it, what did I have in mind?’ I told him I wasn’t sure, just that you’d have to at least be present.”

Wow, I’m back in! Instantly the entire jealous dynamic of my imagination shifted. Instead of feelings of inadequacy, betrayal, and resentfulness that were lurking under the surface, I now felt included and more loving, and supportive of her. I had the urge to cheer her on, “sext the guy up, go for it, make it happen.”

I installed a private chat app on her phone so she could exchange pics when the time was right. I was no longer obsessing and pestering her for updates about her conversations, and instead, let her dormant wannabe inner slut bloom naturally. She knows her power, just hasn’t had the freedom in a long long while to use it, other than on me.

My obsession focused back strictly on her and kars escort her intoxicatingly sexy feet that she was dangling in front of me. The toe rings made me realize I had a serious foot jewelry fetish that I’d never realized.

“Present how?” I asked, struggling with these distractions to keep up with the conversation.

“Maybe watching from a chair in the corner or possibly getting involved since you’re there anyway,” she floated teasingly, “We’ll see.”

“Here put this extra ring on your pretty painted toes,” she ordered and laughed with glee at the growing feminization of my feet.

ALL WORKED UP

There was no denying that all of this sex talk was making us both hornier than ever. We went from roughly twice a week on average to hardly being able to skip a day. I’ve always tried to temper my needs and not become a pest, but now every subtle test of her mood was met with an eager readiness, no matter the time of day or night. We couldn’t get enough. We might fuck the night before, but I’d still wake up horny and start rubbing up against her soft naked body. Within minutes I’d be erect and oozing precum, leaving a dot of it on her sweet perfect ass or she’d swipe it with her finger and make me taste it.

“Oh my God, you are so fucking sexy, can I jack off on your feet?” I asked.

“Sure, if you clean it up,” she’s now going along with almost every request, no matter how bizarre, and so am I.

It’s 6 a.m., kids will be waking up soon and here I am kneeling up on the bed hovering over her legs whacking away while she lays there savoring her final moments of sleeping peace. “Uh, Uh, Uh,” it doesn’t take long and soon I’m crouching down to make sure the whole batch lands on her feet and not the sheets. I aim with each tug and watch as my cum dribbles down between her toes and oozes over the toe rings.

“I should take a picture of this and add it to Darla’s profile,” I joke. What a beautiful sight.

“Taste it,” she says pointing her foot up at me.

I dab my tongue for a salty sample before removing the gooey toe rings and cleaning between her toes with tentative licks and wipes of tissue.

“How is it?” she asks.

“Not bad really.”

Even if nothing ever happens, just this heightened state we’ve worked ourselves into would be worth the whole effort.

DARLA’S DATE

We started referring to the lawyer as “your new boyfriend” in jest and waited for some real pics to see if he’d clear the next hurdle. He did. She thought he was “pretty cute,” 5’11” and a fit 45-year-old with a nice dick pic which looked an average size or so. Darla worked it out for us to meet him on a Friday night for drinks, and all agreed to a no-pressure, let’s just see if there’s any chemistry between them. We lived about 75 miles away from his town, so I rented a condo for the weekend about 3 blocks from the small restaurant/music venue where we agreed to meet.

We drove down and checked in to our place. After an extended two-and-a-half hour date prep, Darla stepped out hot and ready. Her full C-cup tits never looked better spilling out of the low cut white Free People t-shirt. Those guys know how to make tits look good. Her ass was rocking the form-hugging Rich & Skinny jeans and she finished off the foxy look with super hot bootish Vince Camuto split vamp heels. Ironically the only thing not on display was Darla’s feet that brought us all together in the first place. I guess their work was done.

We walked into the tiny establishment and Chris, formerly “your new boyfriend”, was instantly recognizable. He had grabbed a small hi-top table, nursing a bourbon and obviously bracing for our arrival.

It was awkward for sure and after introducing myself offered to get drinks from the bar and give them a moment for some one-on-one time. I tried to take as long as I could before walking back slowly balancing the drinks. He was a good looking guy, very professional, and gave off a nice, casual, laid-back vibe.

Could I imagine him fucking my wife? Not yet, but there was nothing about him that was waving any red flags for me. Ultimately it would be up to Darla, I was not going to be exercising my veto power tonight.

In our first year of marriage, we had a MMF threesome with one of my friends. He wasn’t our first choice but was the first one willing. My wife was not attracted to him but we went forward anyway which is probably the reason it’s taken over 20 years to get back to this point. I promised her if we ever did it again, she would pick.

By the end of the first drink, I could tell Darla was in. She’s a bit of a lightweight and alcohol definitely loosens the linchpin on her libido. She’s quite frank sober, even a hint of tipsy brings out her provocateur. Chris was handling all of her verbal “grenades” deftly and had her laughing at his witty retorts.

“Do y’all want to go back to the condo for the next round?” I offered as my sign of approval.

Darla looked over at Chris inquisitively.

“Sure, I’d like to see the place. kıbrıs escort It sounds great,” Chris once again playing it cool.

Being a gentleman, he subtlety guided Darla down from her barstool, and I let them step ahead together to exit. The street scene was a lively stretch of music venues, bars, and restaurants with a nice crowd spilling out onto the sidewalk and edges of the street.

I intentionally fell a few steps behind in the chaos to give them some space on their little romantic stroll and pretended to look interested in the goings-on whenever either one happened to glance back to see if I was still there.

The closer we got to the apartment, the more the crowd and noise thinned. Now I felt like a chaperone on surveillance following too close with no bushes to hide behind. The most awkward part, however, was walking up the building’s entrance stairs behind the new couple, watching my overly-friendly wife in super-flirt mode shake her ass up each step, and having to squeeze past them at the last moment to unlock the apartment door.

“Please come in,” as I stepped aside, finishing the thought in my head, “my wife’s pussy.”

We migrated the length of the hallway of the shotgun style condo to the open kitchen and sidled up to the counter to mix another drink. I knew my wife’s second drink would kickstart an invisible timer on a very brief and wild window of opportunity for any and all interested parties. Alcohol is not her thing and then again it is her thing. Cheers!

Darla took the lead by setting her half cocktail on the marble top counter rail and stepped in to kiss Chris. I took a nervous sip. Chris took his cue and pressed back against her returning the French kiss and cupped his hand in the crease where her ass met her thigh. Sip. I was free to stare with Darla facing away from me and Chris politely closing his eyes to let me evaporate and pretend he wasn’t self-conscious.

Watching your wife rev things up with another man in front of your eyes has a surreal quality to it that makes it seem like it’s not actually happening even though you’re seeing it. There’s a huge part of me that’s totally turned on by the kink factor and another part saying “no, no, no, why the hell are you going along with this?” I found myself thinking, “this wasn’t a good idea, we should quit,” but something else sprung from my mouth.

“Wouldn’t y’all be more comfortable on the sofa.”

They stopped kissing for a moment to consider my suggestion and communicated purely by facial gesture to make the decision. In an attempt to not feel like a third wheel I twisted around toward the bank of light switches and dimmed the entire open kitchen and the even larger living area connected to it.

Chris walked around to slide back on the deep-seated mid-century modern sofa and rested his arms across the short sofa back while Darla climbed up to straddle him face to face. Just a tilt of the chin would bring Chris’ face deep in cleavage. They continued to make out in the new “more comfortable” position, thanks to me. Good job me.

Darla was swiping right on his lap with her tongue buried deep in his mouth. Somehow watching her kiss another man seemed more personal and intimate than sex. She’d pause her kisses, tilt her head up, and press her tits just under his chin while grinding out a few lap strokes before resuming her tongue action.

I sat on the kitchen side of the raised counter which allowed me to watch the show above the sofa’s horizon line but still feel like I was in a different room. I turned back to lower the kitchen lights completely to disappear from their view and awareness, settling in for the feature.

Darla let herself slide off the couch to her knees and began unzipping his pants like a Christmas present. He levered up so she could tug the back of his pants down and peel his underwear forward revealing the first fresh cock she’s seen in a long time. She likes sucking dick. She certainly seemed to like Chris’. Enthusiasm is the word that comes to mind. The noises coming from her were eagerly expressive, maybe for my benefit, maybe his. Chris liked Darla.

She stood up and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her right fist, stepped down out of her shoes, and unzipped her own jeans. She peeled them down past her hips and lifted each leg to pull them off from the bottom hem one by one. Pantyless, she took the time to fold and hang them over the back of a chair, taking nice care of her clothes even in the heat of the moment while Chris and I stared.

She reached down to pull his loafers off, then slacks, and finally his dress socks, tossing them all to the side with much less care. Darla climbed to the side of Chris longways on the sofa, slipping one leg between him and the sofa back and scissoring her right foot in front on his bare thigh as she reclined completely back. A brief glimpse of her toe rings stabbed me with reality “this really is my fucking wife over there.”

Slow-play Chris had the perfect wet and warmed-up pussy being presented to him but chose to massage her foot first. I’ll cut him some slack since he’s probably been haunted by those feet for more than 3 weeks now. Rubbing her foot at chest level parted her thighs even farther apart which would have had her sweet pussy gaping wide open and glistening. If only the sofa back wasn’t blocking my view.

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