She Still Plays with Dolls

She Still Plays with Dolls

She Still Plays with Dolls

by

Twerp

Man oh man, is she ever fly. 18, lean and not to

mean. It's hard to beleive the same girl used to tug on my sleeve. She was

always cute, no doubt about it. You knew from an early age she was gonna break a

few hearts. But mine? Nah! Yet here she was. Well, there she is. Teasing,

tormenting, tempting. Incouraging my intentions. I used to sit at this very

window and happen a glance or two towards the pool where her mom used to sun

herself. But now somebody else has captured my attention. Four years of college

and not once did a lesson ever mention this. How the hell did she grow up so

quick?

Ashley loved the sun. It gave her life, nourishment, sustenance. And an enviable

skin tone that was the perfect compliment to her beach blonde hair. She basked

in all her feminine glory as the sun paid his goddess homage. Asley felt like a

Queen during her daily rituals. And has was the routine, her dolls were

strategically placed at her divine feet.

She still plays with dolls. What the hell was that all about? Was it one of

those security blanket deals? But why the hell would a vision of such imposible

beauty have insecurity issues. I remember she used to carry them with her

everywhere as a child, but i mean c'mon. She was a kid, that's expected. But

here was this woman, with Barbie and Ken prostrated at her feet. Wierd.

Intriuging, but wierd. And her feet. Now that I've noticed, i never noticed how

beautiful they were. While away at school i developed a certain affinity for the

female extremeities, and hers were quite striking. Even from way up here, this i

could tell. Like they were designed to be noticed and attract attention. Nails

unpainted, but glossed and buffered to an immaculate shine. A ring adorned the

middle toe on her left foot, and when wiggled and flexed to the appropriate

postion, it would deflect a sunbeam right into my iris and nearly blind me.

Ashley knew she was beautiful. The product of good genes and a posh upbringing.

She wasn't arrogant she was just right. Since she was a little girl she felt

like the rest of the world was somehow beneath her. An inflated sense of self

worth for sure, but for some reason it seemed appropriate. She was aware of the

stares. Her ample bosom and healthy back side provided peace of mind. But she

admired her feet has her greatest asset, and she flaunted unabashedly, without

the slightest hint for shame. She knew. And this fed her desire. Pedicures twice

weekly, always free.

She had had her feet worshipped by many a willing tounge. Male, female, friends,

family, teachers. She didn't discriminate. She demanded. Yet she wanted, no, she

desrved more. Absolute power, total domonation, the whole world groveling at her

magnificant feet. For now though, her two little dolls complied.

I wish i were one of those dolls right now. I envy their position of utter

servitude. I have places to go and people to meet, but all i want to do is

worship Ashleys feet. The girl i used to babysit has enslaved my being. And i'm

feeling like believing in Ashley. My Goddess. i want this.

That's it Mike. This is all you need. Just stare and believe. Believe in me as

your supreme being. Your trust is in me, and your world is my feet. Now set

yourself free, for your tongue is the key.

I want this my Goddess, your body erotic. My thoughts are encompassed by visions

of you as a giant.

Giantess.

Our eyes fianlly met. It had been so long. She motioned for me to come down, and

i did.

'It's been a long time Mike.'

'You look amazing Ashley.'

'Always the little Romeo.'

She stood up, and i mean she stood up.

Her two peice pink string bikini screamed at me, has i stare face to nipple.

'%&%&%'

'My setiments exactly little Mike. Things seemed to have changed since last we

met. For the better i hope?'

'Wow

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