Footwork
He says he’s good with his tongue.
I’m not sure I believe him, because - yes - I’ve heard that many times.
But here he is, at my feet, willing to serve, ready to show me. He’s naked, the dress shirt, slacks, and underclothes already draped on a chair. He seems serious, and quiet as he kneels on a pillow before me.
Slowly, almost reverently he removes my shoes, sliding each one from my toes and setting it aside. He cups my heels in his hands and lifts my feet close to his mouth. He seems fascinated. I don’t think he looks at my face again until we are finished.
He begins what can only be called worship. Massage with his hands, and then his lips, gentle but firm. Teeth chewing along my instep, kisses on my heel and sole. Tongue tracing under the toes, poking between them, working down the line. Urgent sucking of one digit, and then two or three all at once, in and out of his mouth.
I watch. I resist the urge to close my eyes and revel, because I don’t want any of my senses deprived. I want the full benefit of sight as well as sound and touch as he expertly bathes and soothes and stimulates.
He doesn’t tire. He doesn’t change focus. He’s in the zone, and nothing else seems to exist. He utters no questions, no request for guidance; the only sound is my own breath, in and out in deep surprise as well as satisfaction.
I say he’s good with his tongue. Believe it.
Next Story-Where There's Smoke
Back to Other Activities
Back to Categories