Most everybody has something that really turns them on — a personal fantasy they’ve cherished for years. For some guys, it’s the thought of a beautiful woman helpless in bondage or a dangerous dame’s hand with red-lacquered fingernails clutching the handle of a whip.

For me, it’s the dangler — a lovely woman sitting casually with her legs crossed. I can sometimes find her in a diner, on a park bench or in the office. She’ll be preoccupied with a book or her phone, barely noticing that one of her shoes is ever-so-slowly slipping off her foot. Maybe she flexes that foot so the shoe slaps rhythmically against her sole a few times, or she might just let the shoe keep sliding until it’s hanging on the very tip of one toe.

The shoe might be an elegant pump or a grimy flip-flop, but oh, I notice it. I’ll use every excuse I can think of to keep an eye on that shoe as it jiggles. Part of the fascination is in how much of her foot the dangle reveals. Her foot might be sheathed in a sleek silk stocking, or it might be gloriously bare. If she’s a “slapper,” I might even be blessed with a glimpse of her sole.

Some of these ladies are completely unaware of how dangling affects guys like me. Others know exactly what they’re doing. Diane, my wife, is a dangler, and she’s definitely of the “foot-tease” school. She knows she’s a beauty from head to toe, a luscious amazon who attracts the attention of every man who sees her. She likes that attention — and does everything she can to keep it. When we go out to dinner, we’re no sooner seated than the show begins. A long tablecloth is no problem. All Diane has to do is give her shapely butt a subtle half-turn in its chair to reveal her legs, and soon the eyes of every man in the place are glued to her foot. I’m by no means certain all of them are foot-men, either.

Of course, I’m the main recipient of Diane’s teasing talents, and not always when we’re out. Just the other night, for instance, I experienced my wife at the top of her dangling game. It involved a bit of roleplay, and a whole lot of sexy fun.

After dinner, Diane disappeared into our bedroom. It was a Saturday, so she had been dressed casually in jeans and a favorite T-shirt. But she reemerged looking like an auburn-haired goddess in a little black dress that showed off her curvy figure and long legs. She was wearing a new pair of shoes, stilettos that somehow captured my attention far more effectively than even her bare feet — and trust me, I love her bare feet.

“Hello, ma’am,” I said.

I myself hadn’t bothered to change, but I had my role down pat. I was to be a repairman, summoned by the lady of the house. “I understand you’ve been having some trouble with your wiring.”

“Oh, yes,” Diane said, picking up the cocktail I’d mixed for her while she was changing. “I think the problem is right there,” she said, pointing her immaculately shod foot at our television. “I’ll just be over here. Do let me know if you need anything.”

I got under the TV stand and made a show of looking around, pretending to examine the nonexistent wiring issue. While I was doing that, Diane relaxed on a nearby chair, sipping her drink and crossing her incredible legs.

When I say “nearby” that’s exactly what I mean. She was so close I could smell the leather scent of her shoes. Her dress rustled with her every movement. God, she looked beautiful! She was my perfect dream of an ultra-sophisticated woman. I was so focused on her that I almost forgot to keep up my charade of “fixing the wiring.” Fortunately, Diane got me back in the game with a little cough and the teasing words: “You seem a little preoccupied.”

At that point, she began the process of tensing and releasing the muscles in her foot, the one now hanging just over my head. I very nearly got preoccupied again. My eyes rose to take in the spectacle of her lovely foot loosening its shoe. In a moment, it came free with a soft popping sound.

Diane hadn’t showered before changing. This was by design, to ensure a little exhalation flavored with the warm, sweet scent of her foot would waft my way. I sighed with pleasure, straining forward to savor it. Her shoe’s heel presented itself to me, and it was all I could do not to simply reach up and slip it off. But that would have been highly unprofessional behavior.

I turned my attention back to my “work.” As you can imagine, I was getting extremely excited. My cock was achingly hard. I couldn’t help but fantasize about Diane’s bare sole pressing against it.

“What do you think the problem might be?” she asked suddenly, breaking into my lurid fantasies.

“E-excuse me?” I stuttered. My surprise wasn’t an act. I honestly wasn’t expecting her question.

“The wiring,” Diane asked coolly, taking another sip of her drink. “Do you think you’ll be able to fix it?” Her shoe was now in mid-dangle, that luscious point where the foot is freed up to the arch, and the shoe can truly be said to hang off it. Diane was now able to start slapping, a brisk, repetitive wap-wap-wap that irresistibly reminded me of the sound made during masturbation. It did my concentration no good, and I had to scramble for a satisfactory answer.

“Ah, the wiring, yes,” I said hurriedly. “I think I’ve found the problem.”

“Ah. And what might that be?”

“It’s… well, the fact is…”

“Is there something wrong with my foot?” she asked, cutting me off.

“Your… your…?”

“My foot. This silly thing at the end of my leg. See it here?” Wap-wap-wap. “I notice you keep looking at it.”

So cool, so faintly derisive was Diane’s voice that I felt my cheeks burning. If the little scene we were playing out had been real — and I actually were a stuttering dullard of a repairman desperate to please his client — I don’t think I could have been more acutely embarrassed. Amazing how a fantasy can turn startlingly real.

“I’m sorry,” I said humbly. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Yet I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my wife’s ped.

By now, Diane’s shoe had eased even further down her foot. It was hanging off her toes. There wasn’t any real risk of it falling yet, but it couldn’t be said to be on her foot any longer.

“My feet don’t smell, do they?” Diane asked in a sharp voice with a hint of faux worry.

“What? I’m sorry… no. No, not all.”

God, my stiff dick was absolutely throbbing within my jeans!

“Are you sure? Perhaps you could take a little sniff, and tell me what you think?”

Feeling like a dog, I rose up on all fours and let my nose brush her dangling shoe. I was hoping that would be sufficient to knock it off. It would bring our game to a premature end, but the next phase was sure to be a round of hot sex. I was dying for release, especially after I’d gotten a noseful of her lush scent.

In any event, her shoe remained in place, even though her smallest toe was now visible.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that,” she said, despite me not saying a word.

“It doesn’t smell bad at all. It’s lovely.”

“What a relief. Shouldn’t you be getting back to your work?”

I did — or rather, I pretended to. Diane had finished her drink and was paging through a magazine, continuing her dangling in a perfectly blasé manner. I confess I was going a little crazy as I went through my show of pretending to fix wires that weren’t there. I imagined myself covering the sole of Diane’s naked foot with kisses, sucking her toes and gently nibbling her heel.

The remaining four toes that held her shoe in place became three… then two. A moment later, it was only her big toe the shoe rode on. And then, suddenly… plop. The shoe fell to the floor, and I stared at it as though it had fallen out of the sky.

“Well?” she asked, a little coldly. “Aren’t you going to put the slipper back on Cinderella’s foot?”

I stood and picked up the shoe with trembling hands.

“On your knees,” Diane said, as though she were making a suggestion for an amusing party game. “Put it on my foot with your cock between my instep and the shoe.”

Diane often did this kind of thing when we played, suddenly breaking character and introducing a directly sexual order. I didn’t hesitate; I unzipped my pants and leaned my middle toward her tensed leg, fitting her shoe onto her foot and thrusting my cock between them at the last moment.

“Go on,” she ordered. “Fuck my foot. You’ve wanted to all this time. Haven’t you? Do it!”

And I did. I pushed against her, my hips bucking excitedly. My balls were tingling, and in a matter of minutes, I couldn’t hold in my load a second longer. I felt myself gush, filling the poor shoe with hot jism.

“Oh-hh,” Diane whispered. “Oh, you awful thing, you ruined it!”

She took the shoe from her now rather sticky foot, holding it up so I could see the ropey strands of my own come hanging from it.

“Just look!” she scolded.

I nodded, blushing hotly and whispering my apologies. But inside, I was glowing, enjoying an ecstasy that most, I suspect, wouldn’t be able to understand.

“I believe your website said you also handle shoe-cleaning in addition to electronics repair,” she said, a mischievous smile brightening her face. “I hope so, because I have a very important date tonight, and I need someone to clean this filthy shoe.”

I told her I would be more than happy to be of service, which was true.