My Wife, Chapter 3, Episode 2: - Nooner
(Posted on Wednesday, October 11, 2000)
This story was submitted by Blueboy.

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My wife is off during the summer and works half days on Mondays during the school year. I work in computer systems for a large corporation and work at home when I’m not traveling.

My office doubles as the family study. The room has built-in cabinets and a continuous desktop below them that is L shaped. When I’m sitting at my desk, the printer is to my left followed by another desk area. To my immediate right is the inside corner of the desktop and past that about 3 feet is the family PC. When someone is sitting there, their left side is directly behind me. That portion of the desktop with the PC on it is about 3 feet deep and there are no cabinets above it because it faces windows.

My job is very demanding, but time flexible. Frequently, I will work late at night and sleep in the following morning. The first thing I do when I get up is start my laptop and run e-mail. Then I make coffee and have a cup while I go through the e-mail. If the phone starts ringing, I can be at my desk non-stop from then to sometimes 3p.m. There have been days when I’m first showering and dressing when the kids come home from school, so it’s not uncommon for my wife to get home at noon and find me still in my gym boxers and tee shirt.

On this particular Monday, I was still in my baggy aqua gym boxers and gray tee shirt when my wife arrived home at noon. As usual, she put her books and such on the dining room table and came in to the study to check her e-mail. She was wearing a long denim jumper (about mid-calf) and a turtle neck top under it. She had on pantyhose and her shoes were woven leather which covered the front of her foot, but were open in back with about 2 inch heels. She likes them because they’re comfortable and I like them because I get to see a lot of foot and she can slide her feet out of them easily.

She sat down at the PC and logged on to the net. She must have had e-mail because she started typing like she was answering someone. I was concentrating on my work, but my concentration was broken by the sound of nylon brushing against nylon. My wife had apparently slipped her feet out of her shoes and was rubbing the sole of one on top of the other foot. This sound absolutely drives me crazy.

But it didn’t last. In a minute she had logged off the net, slipped her shoes back on and pushed in her chair. As she walked out, I signed off my e-mail and slid my chair back so that I could slouch down and play a game of solitaire to relax a bit. I heard the refrigerator door open. Then I heard the sound of her setting the timer on the stove. She was probably preheating the oven for something. Then she called in, “I’m heating some leftover lasagna. Would you like some?”

“Sure.” I replied.

Suddenly, she was back in the study. She walked over to the PC, but to my surprise she hopped up on the desktop, slid over so she was immediately at my right side and put her feet, which were now shoeless, on the arm of my chair. She said, “My feet are sore. Would you massage them for me?”

Naturally, I obliged her and said, “OK.” She put her right foot on my right thigh as I took her nylon clad left foot in both hands. It really wasn’t moist at all, probably because of the woven shoes and half the foot not even being covered by the shoe. I loved her pantyhose. It was something in between nude and suntan and it was extremely soft and silky. She had told me once that she stopped buying the cheap ones because they just didn’t last. Whatever brand she chose, I thought that she had made a great choice!

The foot felt great in my hands and I massaged it well for about 5 minutes as she leaned back on her hands. This was great. Her skirt hung over her knees but I had a ringside seat to her lovely feet, ankles, and lower calves. As I massaged, my manhood was springing to attention. It was poking its head very near the left leg opening of my boxers.

When she removed her left foot from my hands I quickly took the opportunity to adjust my shorts so my dick could point to the heavens like it wanted. I took her right foot in my hands and began to work on it as she rested her left foot almost on my right pelvis bone near my groin.

As I massaged her right foot, I could see my boxers below it with a wet spot beginning to form from the pre-cum. With her legs and skirt in the way, she could not see this. Then the timer on the stove went off. In the preheat mode, it sounds three tones, then pauses for about a minute and sounds three tones again. It continues this until you turn it off or reset it for what you’re cooking.

She said, “Well, I better put in the lasagna.” As she pulled her right foot away from me, it brushed against my now rock hard manhood. When she swung her legs to the left to get off the desktop, she looked down and saw my shorts, which were now looking like a pup tent. The wet spot had grown to about the size of a quarter. She said, “It looks like you enjoyed the massage more than me!” She smiled and said, “The lasagna’s going to take 20 minutes. Don’t move. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She slipped her feet into her shoes and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the oven door open, a dish go in, and the oven door close. Then I heard the sound of the timer being reset. In just a few seconds she was back in the study.

She slipped off her shoes and hopped up on the desk again, but this time she pulled up her skirt and spread her knees. She placed her hands on the edge of the desk just outside her thighs and supported herself with them as she leaned forward so she could look between her legs and see what she was doing.

Her left calf was resting against my stomach and chest and it slid down as her arch and sole moved in on my manhood. Her right foot converged from the opposite direction. Her feet stayed outside my shorts and squeezed my dick in its tent. Both feet worked on my dick in various ways. First they stroked it up and down between the arches. Then they squeezed the head between the soles and stroked in opposite directions front and back so that it was being rolled like putty between two hands. As they worked it, it was moving around inside my shorts and little wet spots were beginning to appear everywhere it went.

Then her left foot held it upright and she turned her right foot so that her heel came toward me and pointed her toes down with her sole facing my dick. She pressed it up against me and her sole stroked the underside of my erect dick as her toes did the same to my balls. She continued this for several minutes and could obviously see the affect she was having because the wet spot was growing and it was getting slimy wet as the pre-cum was really flowing now.

I was breathing harder and more rapidly. Then she took out her right foot and positioned it, sole down, with the underside of her toes directly on the wet spot and rubbed her toes back and forth over the tip, allowing them to soak up the pre-cum from my boxers as she drove me wild.

Then she moved her right foot to my thigh near my knee and used her left toes to push the waistband of my short down to the base of my dick. She rested her weight on her right foot as her hands came down between her legs and tugged at the legs of my boxers to get all of the slack in the front. Then her hands went back to the desktop to support her, and her right foot found its way inside the right leg opening of my baggy boxers.

As her left foot rested and held me upright, her left foot resumed its massaging of my balls. The feel of the soft nylon on me was almost electric. I wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this. As it turned out, I wouldn’t have to. Her right foot stopped its motion, but remained in position with her sole against the underside of my shaft and balls. She leaned forward a little more and turned to check the clock on the wall to her left. She apparently knew about when the timer on the stove would go off.

Then she turned her attention back to me. Holding her right foot in position against me, she wiggled her left foot under my waistband and into my shorts. Now my manhood was sandwiched between the soles of her two nylon-clad feet. She alternated them. First her left foot remained steady as her right foot stroked me. Then her right foot stopped and her left foot went to work. Then both of her feet would both work for a fews strokes. I was going to go mad if she didn’t finish me soon.

She paused for a moment, balanced herself and reached down with both hands and grasped her ankles. Her right foot was lengthwise with her toes at my balls and sole firmly against the underside of my shaft and her left foot was perpendicular to my shaft and the arch had it pinned against her right sole. Then she began to move her feet with her hands in strokes as long as she could manage with my boxers on. The strokes were firm and rhythmic. They became shorter and firmer as her left arch had the head of my dick pinned against the heel of her right foot and my boxers strained with each upward tug of her hands.

I could take no more. It was ecstasy as I watched her nylon-clad legs work up and down while her magical feet were hidden under my boxers. I exploded and the cum was bubbling up through my boxers. My boxers were soaked, but I continued to cum in gushers as she continued her pumping in rhythm to my volleys. I could feel the hot cum that was unsuccessful getting through the boxers on my shaft and her feet. Not only were my boxers soaked, but her feet were soaked as well. The last couple strokes of her hot, slippery, cum soaked nylons were like heaven.

She stopped on a down-stroke but held her position for a minute as I went limp. I was totally drained. As she pulled her feet from my shorts, I couldn’t believe it. They were totally soaked with gobs of cum everywhere.

She said, “We’ve got about 10 minutes to clean up before the lasagna will be ready.” Then she looked at my boxers and said, “Those needed washing anyway,” and disappeared from the room as I caught my breath.

About a month went by and I was working on a Monday morning in my boxers again. About 11:30 a.m. I got an e-mail from my wife. It read, “I’ll be home about noon. My feet are sore again. Are you ‘up’ for a massage?”

Believe me.  I was up for it.