Her soles are really one of the best...

just look at her slightly dry soles absorbed by the well worn insoles smell and imagine the intoxicating scent ;-)

You can tell from her slightly dirty soles that she has been wearing those high heeled well worn wedgies the whole day the sweet aroma is just irresistible!!! Care for a sniff A lick? Something else?

Another friend of mine doing a 'show'

OK now... those are probably her hottest slides so far. When she puts them on I know its going to be very hard for me not to go out of control - I know its going to be hard for you as well ;-p

Comments are highly welcomed.

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

How about that nice French pedicure and those smelly dry and sweaty heels? No doubt - this bitch is a foot fetish heaven ;-)

Dirty from barefootin

Her dry soles needs some lotion but she is short in cash - any volunteers???

;-D

Any takers for a long sniff after wearing them the whole day?

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

After walking the whole day with her well worn wooden slides... pure sole sniffing fun.

The best scented area is that semi dry part of her heel - fantasticccccccc!!!

What would YOU like to do to them???

Damn... those sexy 40 years old MILFs knows how to tease

 

Forget your shoes? Fuck it.

Acte 6 Retribution

Sub titled : Just Desserts

 

Still back in time before the Police Constables disconcerting discovery, we rejoin the small party in the alleyway. Sir Edmund had just fallen faint on the pile of alleyway rubbish where he ended up after his rather unfortunate misadventure with the Gypsy youth called Josey, who hiself his sneaking back up in the shadows. . Lord Edmund’s wife, The Mistress , unawares of her Husband’s fate, is still being led by Josey’s older companion deeper into the shadows of the very same Alley.

  

The now impatient Mistress found herself being led about 25 feet further down the darkened alleyway from where they had left Josey and her husband, the Lord Edmund. Suddenly the tall bearded Gypsy youth stopped, turned, and led her down into deserted court yard, surrounded by backsides of tall, empty looking brick buildings. The place reeked of old garbage , stale beer, and worse smells best left undescribed. The scurrying feet of tiny rodents could be heard , but not seen, in the dim light.

  

Well, where’s the girl!, the Mistress demands, looking around at the barren courtyard, failing to see anyone else around.

  

Well mum you see, that’s the bit of a trick I was tellin you bouts, and from his waistband they Gypsy lad draws a long knife, its blade gleaming wickedly as it is caught by the Moon lite just now peeping through the parting dark clouds.

Put that thing down young man, and get me the girl, The Mistress shrilly commands him, unfazed by the blade, not truly understanding what is taking place( the curse of a privileged, overprotected childhood).

  

Silence, the young gypsy bellows, spitting the words in her face, then leaning in whispers evilly into her ear, his lips moving her shiny dangling earring…lets have that purse now mum. Finally The Mistress realizes the Gypsy lads intent.

 

Now, never in her life has anything like that ever been dared tried on her, and an even newer, at first unrecognizable feeling is felt, as dread washes over her, making her cower before the youth, no older than her husband’s stable boy, Tim, who had felt her strap earlier that morning. A surrendering moan escapes her lips, no she states, never!. Unheeding her commands, The purse she is holding is callously wrenched from her slippery gloved fingers grasp. She just stares at him, unable to find her tongue as he opens the small purse with its rhinestone clasp, and looks through it, lifting up a ring of keys with rising interest.

  

At this time the gypsy girl appears out of the shadows behind The Mistress, wearing the sparkling diamonded bracelet, and nonchalantly swinging the gold watch by its chain as she holds its gold fob, coming around she is smiling mischievously at the Mistress, who straightens up as she catches sight of the imp.

  

The Mistress, loses any vestige of her panic, and in anger and rounds upon the girl as she stands mockingly in front of her. Why you thieving harlot, The Mistress hisses, attempting to smack the girl, who jumps just out of reach. Suddenly The Mistress words are cut off with a meek squeak as the point of the lad’s very sharp knife is pressed under her chin, forcing The Mistress to raise her head, effectively shutting her up. Apologize The Gypsy male snarls wickedly in The Mistress ear, apologies now, tell her you are quite sorry Mum…!

  

The Mistress stands frozen, a stern look upon her puckish face, her lips pursed in defiance, even with the knife pressing threateningly under her chin. Teach you some manners I will he hisses again, as he raises his hand, slapping her on the cheek, the Mistress’s dangling earrings fire bright glittering salvo as her head is whipped to the side, the point of the knife opening a thin scratch along her chin, which quickly wells up with crimson blood.

  

She turns her face forward, facing the pair of young hooligans, glaring at their insolence to someone of her high stature. She is stubbornly holding her ground, all feelings of distress replaced by arrogance and superiority. Well now, the Gypsy Lad says to the Smirking Gypsy girl, as he points the knife in between The Mistress’s breasts, its prickling point effectively quelling any more feelings of retribution. Looks like what words she won’t give to you, will have to be given in some other manner. The Mistress listens, confused by his words, then what he says next, makes his attentions all too crystal clear.

  

For lack of an apology my girl, he says to the petit gypsy lass, let’s say we accept some other compensation, shall we? The young girl beams, as her eyes dart to the Mistress, looking her up and down , eyeing the gemmed jewelry the Mistress is wearing, sparkles of which are reflected in her coy doe wide dark green eyes.

  

The mistress still mute with rage, her hands clenched, her arms rigid at her side as she looks into the Gypsy male’s stern eyes, as he moves his knife up, once again pressing up into her chin. Suddenly, her arms are grabbed by a pair of strong hands and pulled behind her back. Ello, took your sweet time about it, the Gypsy youth holding the knife says to the unseen newcomer. No names are said, and whoever is now holding her remains mute, but the Mistress assumed it was the one called Josey. The Mistress tries turning her head, put is prevented by the knife. Where’s my Edmund, she manages to squeak out the words, but receives no satisfaction.

  

The Gypsy lad holding the knife reaches out his free hand, grinning! Leave me alone, the Mistress orders him, trying admonish him into obedience, bur the gypsy boy just smirks as he methodically , briskly gropes along her body, admiring and inventorying her plentiful jewels, opening her sable, and the satin Bolero, as he checks her over for anything hidden from view. He misses nothing, even her hair is carefully raked through, undoing the braided bun in the process as a diamonded clip is pulled off and handed to the gypsy lass. Her ladyship, shirking back from his touch, now begins to whimper, no, not my jewels! He reaches up, his eyes bugging, as his hand snakes up between her ample breasts and lifts her necklace, admiring it as she tries to shake her head no, but is unable to do so because of the knife. She tries to say more, but the words of discipline stay dry in her throat, choking her as she realizes, finally, the futility of her predicament. The Gypsy boy then nods to the girl, handing her the purse, the honor is yours he says….

  

The young girl taking the open silver clutch purse, smirking, her eyes ablaze with delight, reaches up her free hand and takes hold of the necklace, pretty thing this, she says sweetly, mimicking her earlier words. She pulls the necklace from around the Mistress throat so the clasp comes forward, then nimbly she flicks it open with the fingers of one hand, and pulls it , swishing freely along the satiny fabric, until it falls from the gowns’ neckline. Thank you mum, the Gypsy girl whispers as she places it inside the purse, and reaching up touches a dangling earring, I’ll have those next she says, almost like she is talking her herself, and yanks off both, one after the other. She than gets into her work, and soon the Gypsy girl’s invading fingers friskily finish stripping the Mistress quite clean of all her shimmering, expensively large collection of jewels; rings, bracelet, brooches, the entire glittery roster. It had all been carried out like some bizarre rendition of reverse trick and treating, with the Gypsy girl peeling away and placing the jewels into The Mistress purse. When she finishes, the Gypsy girl steps back, looking with interest inside the now bulging purse, now containing a small fortune, quite unseen for the likes of them who inhabit this rea of the great city.

  

Suddenly The Mistress’s hands are let go, and before she can properly react, male hands briskly grab and slips off the sable from her back. Then the satin bolero is also peeled off and she sees both passed to the waiting hand of the gypsy girl. Still held in her place by the point of the Gypsy’s knife,The Mistress’s eyes grow big with dread, as she feels the back of her long slick gown being unzipped, and allowed to fall freely down to her feet, piling up in a shimmering pool.

This exposes the long, luxurious purple slip she is wearing, complete with small rhinestones decorating its straps and bodice. As the Mistress is standing there, frozen in awe struck disbelief , the knife is taken from her chin, and used to slice each of the rhinestone slips straps, and the mistress grabs the top of the now free hanging slip, and holds if fast to her chest in an effort to preserve whatever remained of her quickly waning dignity.

  

The Mistress tries to find words of protest, but she is too unbelieving that she , a lady who considers herself to be far superior to common folk of their ilk, is absolutely dumbfounded that they are daring to treat her like this, fails to be able to give any words their proper voice.

  

The older gypsy lad holding the knife steps back. Now he says, shouldn’t leave a lady standing, and he points his knife to a stack of crates. She stands there glaring. Move it on now mum, he suggests , his voice carries with it a with mocking tone of fake obedience. The Mistress unwillingly does so, and moving to a crate, sits down, the smell of something rotten permeates her nostrils as she faces her aggressor. The other two have seemingly, cowardly, disappeared somewhere into the shadows she notices with thoughts of righteousness.

  

The Gypsy lad mocks her, there, cannt say we didint leave you nufing, eh mum.( indicating her slip, gloves and high heels)! And by the ways, apology accepted he added sarcastically, mimicking a curt bow.

  

Then almost immediately her eyes are blindfolded from behind ( they hadn’t run after all) with something made of cloth that reeks of decaying meat, and she hears the pratfalls of several pairs of feet running off. And then, all is silent, except for the beating of The Mistress heart from a mixture of rage and incredulity.

  

As all is once again quiet around her, and believing she is now alone, The Mistress continues holding up her slip with one hand, while with the other reaches in back, groping for the blindfold. Suddenly her whole being jolts as something furry with sharp claws runs over her feet, and a noise, not quite a scream, but close, gurgles from The Mistress’s dry throat.

  

Ere now, the mistress hears the voice of an old lady, , whose there? , no rat by the sound of things, she continues on, approaching. What have we here, the old lady says to herself, a damsel in distress by the look of things, whit no dress, and she cackles at her bit of humor. Her dearie, lets get you up and The Mistress feels a pair of cold hands helping her shakenly to her feet.

  

Then her ladyship feels those hands, not giving her aid, but quite the opposite, as cold fingers began going over her. Then, with a dry cackle, and the old hags words reach the Mistress ears, left you with nothing dearie but a shiny slip, too bad, but old Chizzy will check anyways. The Mistress balks as the pair of cold hands grope her figure, the second time that evening! The Mistress recoils, knowing the old hag is looking for anything of value, when quite unexpectedly the Hags hands shoot up into the Mistress underarms, and The Mistress raises her arms automatically as nerves are pressed, and the slip falls down her figure gathering into a slithering heap at her feet. The Mistress tries to protest, her hands going to her blindfold, but she is pushed, and falls over the crate into a pile of cold ashes. Each of Her hands are lifted and she feels her long satin opera gloves pulled off, and then her high heeled shoes are yanked from her feet before she can begin to offer any type of resistance..

  

Thenk you dearie! the Hags voice close enough now that the Mistress can smell the wispy oders of whiskey and old pipe, as it reaches her nostrils. Old Chizzy thenks ye, for your contributions this evening, Honey. The Mistress hears the old hags cackling laugh as ‘Chizzy” makes her get away with the last of the Mistress’s pretty possessions.

  

For a few minutes all is again silent, The Mistress lays upon the pile of asses, dazed by what has befallen her, but then, the cesspool like orders from the garbage surrounding the ash pile start to overwhelm her making the Mistress snap back into the cold reality of her situation.

  

It was then, that , for the second time, the sound of shuffling feet is again heard approaching, and the Mistress tenses up, now expecting more ill fortune, not that she really had anything left of value to lose.. But then a familiar voice, Edmund’s, calls out. Dear, where are you? The Mistress tries to answer, but, her voice dry and choked has trouble making words. Finally she does manage to call out to her husband, but her voice is noticeably missing its’ usual sharpness.

  

Edmund comes to her aid and helps her up. After he undoes the blindfold, she finds herself looking into his questioning eyes, and she actually hugs him. Edmund, startled at the long forgotten display of affection, finds that it takes him a few seconds to regain himself. Hear, cants having you catch your death of cold, he says, almost lovingly. He helps The Mistress find coverings from the piles of old trash in the form of a couple of rough sacks of old, mildewing burlap.

  

Hair disheveled, streaks of dirt and ash covering their figures that are covered with dirty, rancid rags they make their way down the alley, to where they believe their car and chauffer are still waiting. Edmund and the Mistress are both a smelly, reeking mess, moving slowly as their bare feet hobble tortuously along the cobblestone path. But as they make their way, The Mistress tells Edmund what had conspired. As she does, The Mistress feels more of her old self returning, and begins to chastise the three gypsy youths, and how she will make them pay for their rude indiscretions’. Edmund is in total agreement.

  

As they make it back to the alleys’ entrance, a figure appears out of the mist. The Mistress squeals in startled shock at the dark figure standing at the end of the alleyway, she grabs Edmund and pulls him in front of her as one would a shield.

----

 

As the dark figure peers into the alleyways entrance, he suddenly see’s two shadowy forms emerge from the misty pool of light given off from the relit street lamp. The pair is both tottering like being quite intoxicated, smelling like something a rat would have dragged out of the garbage, faces streaked with ashes and muck, barely half dressed. Suddenly, spying him, one of the figures makes a quick move, placing the other in front.

  

At that moment the figure raises his hand and suddenly the night’s silence is completely shattered by the shrill wails of his street constable’s police whistle.

 

End of Acte 6,

 

Watch for the final two actes of this woeful saga;

Acte 7 (Harbinger) and Acte 8 (Footfalls - including the obligatory Epilogue), coming soon….

*************************************************************************************

*************************************************************************************

 

Look at the toeprints on the front of her shoe...

I was lucky to taste them that evening

 

Kah Kit Yoong----Thanks forstopping by...love your

work.....Knottyy (Darien Chin) pointed me in your direction....Not HDR

 

Standing on the Precipice (James watkins)

 

Standing on the precipice-

balanced at junctions,

space and time-

there are no excuses here

no explanations or rhymes.

 

Locked in lavish rhythm

far beyond the brink-

hid from help or rescue-

on jagged edge distinct.

 

Weighty voices-

tomorrows bearing-

form forces by the day...

Wound tight

in folds of failure-

by faltering historic foray.

 

Naked standing truth-

whirl winded and filleted-

open now -

body bleeding-

clean by choice-

ruthless rights parlayed.

 

Ring round the

restless righteous-

tormented tongues

twisted and advanced.

Weapons trained-

fitting filled-

hopelessness entranced.

 

New toys

for large little boys-

clicking clocks

in finest fashion.

Positioned perspective-

poisoned possessive power-

from places unimagined.

 

Whining women-

worn-out white wheezers-

talking days on end-

endless hours

of wasted words-

useless air-

precious spent.

 

Children torn

apart at seams-

families drugged

and drenched...

Callous toned

nightmares

running wild-

seeds scattered

in the wind.

 

Lost by generation's

darkened doubt-

aflame

the fearless world-

tossed aside by

hellish schemes-

now rampant-

flags unfurled.

 

Gone the green

and yearning years-

foundations

fairly laid-

of priceless pearl

in wisdom grown,

crown jewelry

on parade.

 

But new

the turning earth begins-

choice

once again delayed.

Come cold and calm

courageous men-

run boldly

to your fate.

 

And stand in

earnest errand bare,

an era

at the end-

now bind yourselves

betrothed and braced-

to finish

without fear. (James watkins 2004)

Best Large-

 

Every season has its own glory (James Watkins)

 

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

 

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Stagnant and stale.

 

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

 

I have seen new stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Filled up by frameworks

In perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

 

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

 

There are the voices lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled commotion emotions prevail.

 

Beacons of quiet in last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Perfect and pure

Though slandered and wasted

Displayed in transitional

Smoldering awe.

 

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections, stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

 

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

 

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

 

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that never will fall.

 

James Watkins 09-01-08

Any volunteers for a long aromatic sniff from those smelly soles after she was wearing those flipflops the whole day?

MMMHHH HHHH - check the sweaty well worn, stinky insoles... long toenails... dry heels... HEAVEN

Just imagine the intoxicating scent after walking around in those well worn slides the whole day. She'll be glad to hear what you'd like to stick in there ;-)

Wouldn't mind getting some treatment from those toes ;-p

 

This is how her feet looks like after a long and hot day of walking in her flat slides.

I got my bonus at the end of the day... what would you ask if you were me?

Dirty and sweaty from wearing them the whole day - I bet you can imagine the intoxicating scent... any takers?

Her long toenails are killing me... one of the longest I've seen. Hope to get the chance to do something with them soon, bet you'd like that as well ;-p

Care for a sniff?

You can't even start to imagine the aroma... hehehe lucky me ;-)

Callousing up and then on to some propagating medium.

Calloused soles

I think that this snap is one of my best ever.

It always reminds me two open mouths that are eagerly waiting for my hot <vm... and yeah - she have got it ;-)

What do you think?

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

WOW, what can I say... one of my favorites

This pictures got it all - toes, heels, ankles, worn wooden slides and highly aromatic soles after walking in a hot summer day.

to all you slides fans - a sexy teasing shoeplay treat.

Hope you all agree.

When I see this picture I don't know what to do first - sniff lick or spray ;-)

She'll be glad to know what you think.

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? you can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

This bitch knows how to tease...

One of my favorites, red long toenails, sexy dry soles after wearing those leather sandals the whole day - perfect for sniffing and ... you are most welcomed to complete the sentence

You should know she is a real bitch but I bet you wouldn't mind to sniff her rough aromatic soles and drench it with your <vm... don't ya?

One of her hottest posing ever - don't you agree?

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

Every season has its own glory (James Watkins) not hdr

 

Every season has its own glory,

Every purpose has its own time,

Every moment has its own story,

Every story has its own line.

 

I have walked deep into cities,

Shining brightly never to fail,

Listened to heart cries,

Lost in the morning,

Standing on corners

Now stagnant and stale.

 

Where is the hope

That brought forth the laughter?

Where is the song?

The music unveiled?

Why are the choices so

Wasted and bitter?

Gathered in hatred,

Broken and pale.

 

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,

Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-

Fired by the framework

Of perfect perspective,

Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

 

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,

Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-

Come and behold the delicate balance

Of seasons and reasons and rhythms

And birth.

 

There are the voices once lost in confusion,

Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-

Calloused and cold the circling convenience,

Crippled commotion emotions prevail.

 

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,

Heralded nature in singular cause-

Perfect and pure

Though wasted and slandered.

Washed by confession

In smoldering awe.

 

Severed connections, squandered projections-

Revered reflections by stammering tongues-

Coined by controlling contriving convections,

In different directions now written in stone.

 

Now is the time to look to the heavens,

Now is the moment to take up the cause,

Now is the voice of blazing amazement,

Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

 

Listen to stream, listen to forest,

Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-

Listen to voices rolling like thunder,

Come drink of the waters

And dance with the dawn.

 

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,

Facing the force of the burgeoning call-

Strong in the seasons of life and creation,

Firm on foundations that never will fall.

 

James Watkins 09-01-08

 

Bet you want to bury your head and sniff until you <vm... don't ya?

 

LET ALL DAYS ARE " INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY "

'

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ FEMME . MULHER . WOMAN . MUJER . FRAU . DONNA . ЖЕНЩИНА .!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  

EmPower HER , Let SHE Illuminate and thus Brightens the life of HIM too.

 

THIS IS A GLORIOUS AND POWERFUL CROWN, OR A CROWN OF THORN, WOMEN ONLY KNOWS.

 

In Our Country, The So Called "Largest Democracy In The World" There Are A Few powerful women!!!! Power without Responsibility and Power without Answerability, Power without Transparence. THE RESULT IS CORRUPTION. CALLOUSNESS, CHAOS, AND CRIMINALITY.

 

Let Women take absolute power and more than absolute responsibility.

50 years old hot as hell, willing to do EVERYTHING!!!

Those red long nails driving me insane... what about you?

Ain't she got a perfect pair of feet?

Wish I could stick my nose or my di<|< between her heel and those slides every time she wears them

For 4/20. Some faves after a long and dusty walk. Felt so good I wanted to share.

She has been wearing them all day before I took this picture.

Her slightly dry rough heels are making me crazy each time I see them.

What would you do instead of me after taking this picture?!?

 

Want to see more pictures of her modeling and shoeplaying with well worn wooden slides and clogs? You can find much more pictures in:

www.flickr.com/photos/80193706@N08/

That scrunch... those sexy well worn slides that leaves gorgeous aroma on her sweaty soles... those long toenails... what can I tell you... I just want to stick my ***** inside... what about you?!?

The wonder of walking barefoot...

A special treat for you today: one of the best scented soles I've ever encountered on the western coast.

Her anklet says it all ;-)