Heart/Sole

He wanted to put my toes in his mouth. “You’ll like it,” he mused, “before long you’ll be begging me for it,” he teased. I rolled my eyes.

I answered his Why Not?’s and he satisfied each of them. My last Why Not was “but my feet are dirty!”

This was what happened next:

He scooped me up with ease and sat me on the kitchen counter. I pulled my skirt up as he placed my feet in the sink. He rolled up his sleeves without breaking eye contact. He tested the temperature of the water and washed my feet, one at a time.

Bubbles and blushing, kisses on my knees and lips whenever he could sneak them in. I squirmed when he soaped between my toes. He lifted my feet up, one by one, and used the fluffy towel to dry them. He took his time.

All my little buttons, my pillow princess buttons, all my worship-me love-me care-for-me buttons were pushed, pressed, pounded. Fuck.

The things we do that aren’t fucking, but are so much more than fucking, are the things that drive me crazy.  

Then:

He carries me to the couch, says I’m too precious to touch the floor. He leans me back against the arm rest, and sits on the other side of the couch, my feet in his lap. He is so serene, he lifts my foot and caresses it gently. His eyes watch mine, curious, I don’t look away.

His tongue slips between my toes and I gasp. An electric current runs straight to my clit. I didn’t know that connection existed until he showed me, while I protested.

He knew I would like it, even though it embarrassed me. “Stop!?!?” I squeal, my cheeks burning a little as I hide my face with my hands. He knows I don’t mean it. He feigns surprise. “Why baby, does it feel good?” He knows it does. He knows it’s that shameful unexpected kind of good.

I watch again now with wide eyes as he slips my tiny toes into his mouth and sucks slowly, his gaze lowered like it’s holy, my cunt pounds from the sensation. If I give him enough time he’ll make every inch of my body his.

Words (reworked) from 2016/2019 - Photo 2024