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Pretty Johnny By Katy Terrega |
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At first the other girls thought it was funny. “Merrilyn’s got a groupie!” one of them trilled in a sing-songy little voice the day after I’d first invited Johnny backstage. They thought it was silly and kind of stupid; after all, dancers like us weren’t supposed to fraternize with the common folk. Of course that was before I’d let on about Johnny’s many talents, before I’d told them exactly what he did for me in my dressing room after a performance. Or told them, at least, about some of it, about how Johnny would rub my aching legs and feet for hours, until they tingled with renewed energy. About how Johnny would draw all the tension out of my muscles, so overworked after a long, hard night of dancing, my kicks flying high over my head. About how satisfied Johnny could make me and about how much I now looked forward to each performance, knowing what was in store for me afterward. Of course I didn’t tell them the rest, I kept that for myself. They didn’t need to know all the other things that Johnny did for me, all the other ways he had of pleasing me. They didn’t know that he liked to lick my long legs from painted toe-tip to sweaty thigh-crease, adoring and suckling every inch in between. And they didn’t know that he practically lived to peel my soaked stockings from my tired legs, inhaling my thick scent and lapping sensuously as he went. And they sure didn’t know that, if Johnny had done a particularly good job of probing my arches with his long slender fingers that I might allow him to probe the refreshed soles of my feet with his thick and meaty cock. They were still jealous, though, even though they didn’t know the half of what Johnny did for me. Catty little bitches. Of course if they hadn’t been so uppity, so full of themselves being part of the most famous line-dance troupe in the country, they would have known that they, too, could have had a Johnny of their own. It wasn’t hard to see that there were more like him, after all. It was obvious enough which ones were only too eager to please, as, flushed and sweaty under the hot lights, we stretched our toned thighs high night after night. It was hard not to notice them in the front row, their eyes glazed, their mouths open, their hands sometimes discreetly (or not) placed on their lap. You could tell that they lived to see us, that they ached to touch us, to show us their appreciation. Usually, though, you could also see that most of them were losers, pitiful in their slobbering adoration. But not Johnny. He stood out from the rest. I spotted him the very first night he came to see us, right away I noticed his longish blond hair, his youthful, lean body, his pretty-boy face. I watched him as I twirled and stepped, watched as he looked at us almost shyly, almost reverently. He was so beautiful that I could hardly keep my eyes off of him that night and so of course I noticed when he came back the next night, and the next. And I definitely noticed when he began to always sit in front of my spot in line, noticed that his gaze never left my face, except to travel longingly up and down my long legs, from the crotch of my sweating costume to the tips of my pointed and high-heel clad toes. And I especially noticed that he never, not once, not even discreetly, touched himself as he watched, though sometimes I could see, even from the stage, that the fabric of his pants bulged up painfully. In the end it was that, his respect even under duress that led me, that fateful night, to invite him backstage. I told one of the stagehands to bring the pretty boy back to my tiny private dressing room after the show and somehow I knew that he wouldn’t refuse. I was breathless with anticipation as I kicked and strutted my way through the rest of the routine. I smiled at my front row boy as my thighs strained with the high kicks, flashing my already dampened panties at him. Only this time they were wet with more than sweat, and I wondered if he could tell. He sat, still as stone as usual, watching my every move, but I thought his hands seemed to clench more tightly on the arms of his seat. When the final bow had come and the curtain had gone down I restrained my eagerness and chatted with the other girls, taking my time, making him wait in the small, cramped quarters of my room. I could imagine him trembling as he took in his surroundings, my stockings and garter belts draped over every surface, the smell of my sweat permeating the close air. When I finally made my way down the dark hallway I found that I was breathing quickly, my desire building. Perched on the small, hard stool I reserve for visitors, he jumped as I threw open the door and entered the small room, flinching visibly before giving me a small, tight smile. His shyness pleased and intrigued me and I shut the door softly as I asked his name. “Johnny,” he said quietly, his voice was no more than a croak. He straightened a little and repeated his name more forcefully this time and I liked the sound of such a surprisingly deep voice in such a pretty boy body. I smiled at him, welcoming him graciously into my world and I could see him relax slightly at my friendliness. “I’m Merrilyn,” I said, reaching my fingers to him and allowing him to bow his head slightly and kiss my fingertips. “I know,” he said, his face flushing scarlet in the dim light as he reluctantly let go of my fingers. His demeanor increased my growing fondness for him and it also ignited a deeper yearning elsewhere, in my rapidly juicing pussy. Lightly, I reached forward to stroke his face before stepping back to undress. “You like me, don’t you, Johnny?” I said softly as I began to unhook the clasp of my right garter. He swallowed hard and nodded as I quickly released the stocking and began to peel it down, the sweat from the night’s dancing making it sticky and difficult to remove. I glanced at him as I slid the silk slowly down my thigh and past my knee. “Do you like to watch?” I asked, my voice silky, knowing full well what his answer would be. Once more I was rewarded with a nod and a gulp as the stocking slid to my ankle, catching at the strap of my obscenely high heel. “Would you like to do more?” I asked, almost casually, as I raised my tired leg to the crotch of his pants, pressing the sole of my shoe against his hardness. This time Johnny’s eagerness overcame his shyness and his fingers fumbled with the strap as he whispered, “Oh, yes, Merrilyn.” I sank into an overstuffed chair in front of him and he worked the clasp of my shoe until it slid deliciously off of my sweaty and swollen foot. The aroma of my overworked toes filled the room and Johnny closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled before slipping my soggy stocking off of my aching digits. I could feel his cock now, fat and hard under his pants and I rewarded him with a squeeze of pink-painted toe. His eyes widened at my touch but he indicated my other leg with a nod of his head. “May I?” he asked, rather hesitantly, as though he thought I might actually say no.
I tried to restrain my own eagerness as I gratefully placed my other burning foot in his lap, stretching it to ease the tightness in my calf. The truth was that Johnny’s tentative ministrations were causing my smooth little pussy to sweat even more in my hot little satin panties. The truth was, the feel of his long and delicate fingers slithering down my legs as he slid the silk hose down my legs was enough to make me shudder with lust. Johnny was inhaling my essence again as he reached the end of his mission, dropping my leather shoe gently to the floor and gathering both of my feet into his long, but now surprisingly strong hands. His fingers began to stroke me then, deep into the strained and aching muscles of my arches, before moving outward to rub my toes sensuously between his thumb and finger. Unconsciously I groaned into his touch, the muscles of my hot, tight feet loosening deliciously and causing a welcome loosening elsewhere. Acutely aware that Johnny was watching, I reached down to the sodden crotch of my panties and moved the wet fabric aside. Johnny’s fingers stopped suddenly as I exposed my shaven mound, which I knew must be glistening with a combination of sweat and pussy nectar. But he didn’t falter for long as I stroked the smooth skin of my labia. Instead his strong fingers crawled higher, easing away the tightness of my slightly swollen ankles. I closed my eyes and as my finger began to stroke at the nubbin protruding greedily from my puffy lips he moved higher still, stroking his thumbs deep into the weary muscles of my calf. I moaned a little as he stroked higher, but whether it was because of his touch or my own, I wasn’t sure. I opened my eyes to look at Johnny’s pretty face and was rewarded with a look of total adoration, his gaze longingly and lovingly fixed on my swollen pussy. I spread my legs wider for him, caresses the swelling under his pants with the soles of my feet as his fingers worked their way up my inner thigh. Expertly he kneaded the sore muscles, his nostrils unconsciously flaring as he inhaled the hot scent of my sweat, of my sex. “Take out your cock, Johnny-boy,” I said huskily, wanting to feel his smooth skin under my toes before he went any farther. One hand still stroking my thigh, he fumbled briefly with his zipper before his very thick cock sprang up free. I smiled in approval as I took him gently between the still sweaty soles of my feet, feeling the tickle of his sparse hair as I slid my way up his long shaft. Urgently he returned to my by now quivering thighs as I continued to stroke him and I smiled again at his eagerness to please. As his surprisingly strong hands squeezed and massaged the tight muscles my legs spread even more until I was wide open before his longing eyes. With one hand, I spread the lips of my very slippery cunt and with the fingers of the other I continued to flick my swollen nubbin, watching as Johnny licked his lips. Dipping one finger deep into my juicy snatch I used it to swirl cunt oil around my slippery clit before offering it up to Johnny. With a groan, he suckled at the greasy digit, his eyes closed in ecstasy as he continued to probe his fingers into my thighs. He tugged at my finger like a baby and his wet and sucking mouth started a hot flame somewhere deep in my belly. “Do you want to suck on my pussy, baby?” I crooned as I slowly withdrew my finger. Johnny’s eyes flew open. “Oh, yes, Merrilyn,” he said, his voice tight with eagerness, his eyes bright with anticipation. I slid down into the soft chair, opening my snatch to his ready mouth while my feet continued to stroke his raging hard-on. I heard him gasp as I took his tender balls between my toes and massaged them softly. But then I didn’t hear much more because his cool tongue was on my hot and sweaty snatch and I was too busy wallowing in his ministrations to pay attention to anything else. Expertly – especially for such a young and pretty boy, I thought - Johnny lapped at my swollen clit, sliding his probing tongue deeply into my pussy before bringing it back, coated with my slick juice, to suckle on my nubbin. His fingers still worked their magic on my inner thighs, probing and squeezing the sensitive and sweaty creases of my thighs, digging into the tight and sensitive undersides of my knees. I groaned as his tongue began to assault my sensitive clit, flicking it frantically back and forth and I cried out as I felt the first stirrings of my orgasm begin to invade my senses. Unconsciously I ground his thick, fleshy cock between my powerful dancer’s toes as I felt the pressure build inside of my cunt, until my clitty exploded under Johnny’s quivering tongue, sending me arching toward his mouth and screaming as my feet clutched at his cock. Dimly I felt him harden and tense as I pressed my snatch hard against his luscious tongue and I thought I felt his cock stiffen and squirt under the pressure of my grinding feet. But it wasn’t until I’d finally stopped moaning, until the spasms in my pussy had begun to die down, that I realized that Johnny was looking at me shamefacedly, embarrassed by the jiz he’d sprayed all over my pretty toes. “Kiss me, Johnny,” I said, reassuring with a smile as I licked my own juices off of his lips. His mouth was soft and wet and eager and was soon sliding it’s way over my satin costume, nibbling lightly at the distended nipples poking through the corset before moving lower, and then lower still. 
There's Plenty of Girl on Girl Lesbo Leg Action at LegSex.com! With a small moan, he began to lap at my feet, licking the dried sweat and cum out of every sensitive toe-crease before sucking each digit deep into his mouth. And then, when he was done, his tongue began another slow trek upwards, pleasuring every inch of my body again and again. I lost track of how many times Johnny made me cum that night, but it didn’t matter because I came again the next night and the next. I cum every night now. Because now pretty Johnny sits - always polite, always discreet - taking in my every show. He sits and patiently waits until I allow him access to my tiny room, allow him to pleasure my aching muscles, my sweat-soaked feet and my always swollen pussy. The girls don’t say much to me anymore, they’re too jealous of my “luck.” Sometimes I think that maybe they sense the kind of pleasure that Johnny really gives me. I’ve caught them looking at him more than once, batting their big made-up eyes at him, raising their legs high in his face to reveal their damp crotches. But I don’t care, let ‘em flirt. I know that Johnny only has eyes - and fingers and a tongue and sometimes, if he’s very lucky, a nice fat cock - for me. |
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