Edwin and I married late in life--twenty-four. We've been married for thirty-three fortunate years during which I have kept myself slender and elegantly attractive. However, our sexual relations have become an infrequent, if once a month, boring occasion. Over the years Edwin collected a number of men's magazines he kept secreted in a drawer of the workbench in his woodshop, not suspecting that I have always known. The GALLERY and CLUB magazines have long since disappeared, but the copies of LEG SHOW are always current. One doesn't mature to my fifty-seven years without some knowledge and insight into the sexual desires and enjoyments of one's marital partner, however naughty they may seem at first. Edwin's interest in Legshow fantasies was apparent to me, and I complimented him by taking time to study the erotica he finds exciting as he had complimented me by reading my Agatha Christie literature early on, knowing my interest in discussing character development in the fine mysteries she wrote. I retired to our bedroom with a number of his issues for a quiet interlude. I was shocked at first, but pressed on for his sake, kindling my interest in a style of erotic photography and beautiful models I have not seen for a number of years. As I read I became hot and bothered. The dominant attitudes portrayed by the models in their high heels and the submissive postures they demand of their men aroused my passion in a way I would not have suspected. In my minds eye I imagined Edwin stroking himself until his thick member finally throbbed and spurted while looking at that magazine. My velvet fingers lingered sweet and slow along the moist furrows beneath my skirt. I have not delved my fingers so deeply or so long between my legs that way for some years. It was elementary to mentally justify my husband's fantasy to be teased and humiliated by dominant, taunting women. I found myself quite wet and sexually excited imagining Edwin's stiffened cock suffering slowly under the touch of my soft feet and teasing fingers, pleading to be made to come. I would smile down at him, withholding his male orgasm while petting him into delirium. I am not preternaturally cruel, however, it would be an interesting fantasy. I determined to play the part of the fantasy mistresses for him. If teasing and sexual torment was his desire, I could more than accommodate him. I writhed in orgasm under my own manipulations as I made my plans. Tease torture is by its very nature slow; a tedious process for the torturess--a timeless process for the tortured. I would be most deliberate, stiffening his manhood by slow degrees. There would be no hurry to empty his receptacles. He would suffer a good, old fashioned cock teasing with a few refinements to ensure it would continue as long as I wanted. I would be the wicked dominatrix patiently teasing and torturing his cock at length until I was ready to be finished with him. I would be the haughty masturbatrix slowly inflicting exquisite lingering torments upon his helpless and well oiled manhood, getting him worked up over and over without granting him relief until he lost his mind. He would be quite glad to beg for the privilege of sucking my tender toes, my fingers, my shoes, or anything else I might want sucked, in the hope that perhaps I would see fit to eventually drain his balls dry at my discretion. I made it my business to dress appropriately in a way guaranteed to stiffen him for a cock teasing. I made a trip through one of the city's shopping malls buying certain erotic clothing items. The centerpieces were red patent mules with tall spiked heels which showed off my red painted toe nails. I also selected black seamed nylons complete with French lace tops to showcase my legs elegantly. A matching black lace brassiere would lift my heavy sloping breasts. A sheer satin slip completed the outfit. I had some devastating surprises in store. "Come here and kneel." I ordered when Edwin returned home that Friday morning. I pointed imperiously to the floor at my feet with a rigid forefinger. He was instantly stunned. The draperies were closed tightly. A warm romantic fire blazed in the fireplace behind me. I was posed in his favorite recliner, a shapely leg sheathed in black nylon draped over the arm rest. The red shoes with their unbelievably tall spiked heels glistened in the firelight, carefully placed on the mantle above my shoulder. My costume erotically revealed my smooth naked flesh. I appeared slender and arousing. The silky satin slip was pulled up past my waist, hiding nothing. My warm white thighs were open to him, blatantly exposing my soft feminine parts before his eyes. It was my full intention to excite and tease by showing him my moist inner flesh and refusing him admittance. I pointed and wriggled my stocking toes meaningfully. Though shocked by my appearance, he became instantly aroused. That long cylindrical form swelled in its obvious excitement and jutted against his trousers. His cock was intimately familiar with the slippery depths of my slit and the hot grippings that had drained his sperm from him so often. He came forward to caress me with his hands but I denied him. He would be shackled and teased, allowed only to look and want, but not to have. His juices would be brought to the boiling point. Only I would control the heat. I had lessons to teach him he could not learn while gratifying his swollen member in the hot moist sheath between my legs. His cock was to be kept stiff and anxious, his receptacles full and overflowing. His engorged maleness was useless while enclosed within his trousers. It would be much more pleasant to observe his sufferings if it were freed. I ordered him to strip every stitch of his clothing and kneel at my feet beside my footstool. Edwin is very well hung with a thick venous shaft craning enormously out in front, and large, lightly furred balls swinging low between his thighs. I would tease them until he cried like a little boy. "Let's play a little game, Edwin," I coaxed as he knelt beside the stool in front of me. "Fetch those shoes from the mantle and finish dressing my feet for me." He hurried to comply. His warm hands fumbled just a bit as he reverently lifted each of my feet and fitted the sparkling, new patent mules over my red painted toes and soft heels. I offered the open toes to his lips as he finished each foot. "I'm not doing this to make you come," I told him sweetly as I bobbled his swollen organ with my toes. "I'm going to tease you so very long. You might even find yourself begging me to make you come. I'm going to take you so, so close to spurting, without letting you shoot. You will not be allowed to. I'm going to make sexual release your ultimate goal. Only I can give you that relief, and I won't." Edwin's sensitive meat stiffened even more under my toes. "If you do unfortunately manage to shoot, you have no idea the punishment I have planned for your balls." Edwin tried to question me, but I declined to answer. My legs were lewdly spread. I rather took delight in fingering my well-thatched feminine folds enticingly before his hungry gaze. Naked and aroused, he was not allowed to touch. His cock was magnificently red and swollen. His eyes were locked on my fragrant cleft open and waiting only inches from his face. How he longed to thrust his member inside there. He was an aroused male for me to toy with. I would be the one to decide when his cock received gratification and when it would not. He awaited my pleasures, and answering questions did not please me. I lifted my feet for his inspection, wiping my soles against his face. My toenails were painted a bright fetish red, peeking through the open tip of my mules. His swollen cock bobbed nicely in the air as in tribute to me. I instructed him to kiss my painted toenails through the dark nylon, not allowed to touch my flesh. I arched my feet and wriggled my toes against his lips as he kissed them, laughing at his discomfiture, noting the way his thick member shook with his desire even while being taunted. I dangled two pairs of handcuffs from a red nailed finger, clicking them enticingly at him. I made him put them on himself, one on each wrist. In short order he was spread out naked on the floor at my feet, ankle-tied to the base of a huge oak bookcase. I knelt on the floor and mounted astride him, snapping a cuff to one leg of the heavy recliner. I deliberately let my overflowing bra cups hang in his face while I leaned across to snap the other in place on the other leg of the recliner. Handcuffs solved a lot of the problems. The cuffs smacked tight when he tried to reach for me, surprised at discovering just what helplessness might mean to him under my hands. I stayed mounted astride his chest, leisurely reaching behind myself, petting his sensitive cock to rock hard stiffness by the inch, letting him test his strength against steel and solid oak. I was quite amazed to find it pleasantly delightful having his cock helpless beneath my fingers. It would have been so easy to goad him to spurting had it been my wish. I intentionally prolonged his arousal, enjoying my power over him. "I think you're enjoying this." He accused, helplessly watching me toy with my front bra clasp before his eyes. "Oh, you bet I am. Let me show you how much," I admitted. "Do these give you any indication?" My cups sprang apart revealing stiffened pink nipples protruding from my large breasts. He was aroused and shackled and it excited me to taunt him. I bent forward slightly, lowering my breasts closer to his lips. He strained toward a rubbery tip with his pointed tongue, obviously wanting to taste and suckle those big tits. He couldn't have them. How exquisite. Shortly, I closed my bra and resumed my seat above him. My womanhood grew more and more wet and excited watching his sensitive male cock throb and pulse untouched as he stared up at my legs. I reminded myself to be patient. Neither of us was going anywhere, possibly for hours. He was obviously distracted by the nearness of my legs but couldn't do anything about his male needs. As I fingered my nicely furred mound just out of his sight, I dangled one red patent spike heel above him, letting him see my soft sole and arch. I did not show him the toes yet. Slowly I slipped the red heel off and then on again, revealing myself almost to the toes, but not quite, showing him the dark cleavage, then hiding it again, over and over. It drove him frantic. He would have reached for me, caressed my soft delicate foot, perhaps suckled my sensitive white toes. However, chained at my feet, he must await my mercies. I extended my pointed heel and pricked the bloated head of his rigid tool. It jerked as if electrically shocked. I prodded it again, longer this time, pressing his shaft aside by the sharp pressure of my spiked heel against the knob of his cock. He groaned. I did not touch it again. Finally I slipped one shoe completely off onto the floor, letting him see my soft, nearly nude foot and red nailed toes as I arched, flexed and pointed. The captive animal between his legs shuddered visibly. I pretended not to notice his quivering arousal. I polished my slender stocking toes across the red patent leather on my other foot directly above his face. I could just as easily have been polishing his red knob and long shaft. It remained untouched. I could smell my own warm musk from between my legs and the fragrance from my patent shoes. I had been wearing the shoes and stockings for hours. I brushed my toes across his face and gave him my scent. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. It was a torture to him. He strained upward trying to kiss my toes as I stretched and flexed my legs, pointing and arching my feet above his eyes. I danced my smooth curves in the air just beyond his haggard face, allowing his lips to touch lightly on the tips of my toes for the briefest moment. I moved a bit forward and spread my legs to afford him a better view. He stared hungrily into the deep shadow under my slip. I pressed my soft, moist toes right into his open mouth. His eyes were wide with lust. I was delighted at arousing his tool for my pleasure then abandoning it to suffer its helpless need alone. Yet it had much to endure from me before I would consider granting the sweet release of its frothing fluids. Helplessly stiffened, my husband suckled my toes, his heavy plums swollen with juice, longing for grippings and squeezings I would withhold. I could not help thoroughly enjoying driving my husband crazy. A woman who has never patiently tantalized her husband's cock then calmly withheld sexual relief from him is missing quite a thrill. I am surprised Edwin had never presented me with a small gift box wrapped in pink paper and a big red bow, which when I unwrapped it contained a pair of gleaming hand-polished handcuffs. How many years of endless suckings and prolonged teasings I could have made him suffer. How many long hours could he have writhed helplessly in my hot embrace, unable to have me. Edwin lay naked and shackled at my feet, his stiffness bobbing in the air. I distracted him by tapping his heavy balls with the spiked heel of one glistening red shoe. His arousal grew even more enormous and erect, just as I intended it to. Nicely teased, an organ that size would cause him special frustration while kept undrained. I toyed with his distended cock between the polished soles of my red mules until he groaned, raking his length with my exposed toe nails. I smiled to see him so stiffened and aroused, but showed only disdain for his needs. This was only the beginning. There was a cruelly prolonged teasing in store for him. His male organ would suffer much down all the long hours ahead. I knew his desire. He hoped I would relent and slowly squeeze and stroke his member until he spurted his juices into my warm taunting palm, but he must learn to wait. I pressed his face down against the floor with my feet. My red mules were alluring on the carpet against his lips. As he lay there helplessly, I stretched my long legs above his face, pointing my toes and arching my feet. I briefly allowed him to kiss and lick my toes through my dark hose. He did not deserve to worship my bare soles yet. I loved his tongue working around each toe in turn. I smiled encouragingly at him as he suckled there, his hot tongue probing into the open toe of my red patent shoes. He was my footstool. His pole bounced up and down against my stockinged ankle. His penis was quite hot. I let it throb against my ankles, imagining myself gripping him mercilessly between the hard soles and dagger heels of my shoes. He would be absolutely forbidden to spill a drop of his hot liquid. I would frig and toy with him most cruelly, slowly stroking his burning flesh gently up and down at length between the soles of my shoes until he could no longer withhold his sperm. He could not escape my goading red spikes. He would groan and squeeze his muscles, helplessly trying to resist my urging feet, but his organ would be heartlessly stroked until forced to squirt. After his thick emissions had been teased forth, frothing out across his stomach and my tormenting feet, he would then be punished for having disobeyed my command not to come. However, I decided to do otherwise, removing my feet from his cock, leaving him to throb in the empty air. His hands were cuffed. He could not resist as I knelt across his face toward his knees, pinning his shoulders to the carpet. My satin slip fell across his eyes and mouth. His face fit nicely between the cheeks of my generous bottom. He could smell my moistened slit and bottom hole rubbing against his nostrils through the sheer fabric. It would increase his cock stand to lick me through my slip, unable to tongue between my thick lips. His breath was hot under the fabric as I ground my sensitized clitoris against his tongue. The thickness of his throbbing cock increased from the closeness of my fragrances. The color of his shaft deepened to a wine-red hue. His licking was easily controlled. I simply raked my fingers through his thick chest hair, locating his nipples. I pinched them sharply between pointed nails until his muffled groans bleated from beneath my bottom cheeks. His male nipples became little adjustment knobs to twist and tweak between my sharp red nails. I had intentionally filed them to exquisite red daggers for just such an opportunity. While his tonguings were sufficient, I flicked and rolled his hardened nipples gently, arousing those sensitive bundles of nerves. When I felt he could do a bit better I was quite cruel to the hard, rubbery tips between my glistening red nails. Under such torment, he jolted and twitched, chained and pinned beneath my nether globes. I dealt with his masculine points at length. I might have been a beautiful and evil torturess with questions and answers to pry from a shackled prisoner on my rack. Chained, naked, helpless and alone, in the timeless depths of my hot smoky dungeon, he would beg me to cease his torture and listen as he confessed all. My clitoris felt swollen to vast proportions and throbbed nicely against his lips as he suckled. I allowed him to satisfy me with a number of pleasant orgasms before I lifted my bottom from his face. My slip remained draped across his face to smother him in my hot musky fragrance. It would not do to have him see how his pointed tongue had affected me. I allowed him a few deep breaths of warm musky air before spreading my cheeks apart and enveloping his face with my bottom hole again. Smothered beneath my bottom, his groans were very effectively silenced. Edwin was obviously quite urgent to sperm but there was no need for it. I saw no reason to bring him to orgasm for some time. His helpless cock was not accustomed to being teased and goaded. He grew exquisitely frustrated as I patiently coaxed his large manhood to impossible swelling and sensitivity. I knew just how smooth and hard his hot penis would feel in my palm were I to begin leisurely pumping his foreskin to and fro, forcing his sperm from him. I did not desire to grip his penis yet, however. It was much more pleasant to observe the effects of the slow tantalizations I performed on him without causing his cock to soften by allowing it to squirt. His juices would simmer.