1. Searing heat and dexterous feet


    Date: 8/23/2015, Categories: Fetish, Author: Alexandra_A, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    slowly, deliberately, sensually, tossed him off. My feet were more sensitive than they had ever been in my life: the connections he had forged with his masterful manipulations now worked both ways, so that, by minute adjustments of my fabled appendages, I could suck him, lick him, take him deep in my throat, invite him between my tits, my buttocks, and finally my tight, slippery cunt lips, beyond whose strangling grip he nudged the muscled mouth of my womb with his bulbous crimson tip. A muted squeal and he was shooting, squirting, emptying his bloated bollocks in a frenzy of pelvis thrusts and rasping cries. I felt his thick juice spatter my shins then dribble, pool, cool and coalesce in the rounded ridges and muscly undulations of my ankles and feet. His final contractions produced a creamy stream that flowed beneath my toes, luxuriously lubricating their final movements and soothing my heat-seared skin. In the sudden calm, and with an unexpected reverence, he raised each foot to his mouth in turn and sucked on each tired toe, nuzzled every inch of fetishy ...
    flesh, licking his manly mess from my balls, arches, ankles, heels and shins. I heard him swallow, imagined perfectly his heavenwards rolling eyes, the tactile tongue that travelled across his full, soft lips, and the inner joy that creased his kind old face into a satisfied smile. Within such cloistered proximity, the natural completeness of our extraordinarily intimate cycle became simultaneously evident to both of us. Our parting words were whispered in unison. 'Thank you.' He quickly rose, kissed me gently on the cheek and, with a clicking catch and a rush of cool air, the man was gone. At last, I opened my eyes. I knew they were bloodshot, knew too my young skin was rash-streaked and blotchy, my hair a sweaty matted mop. With a wry smile, I gazed once more at the pale-planked walls, the stepped slatted seating and the glowing stove, before taking the weight on my arms and sliding groggily from my shelf. Weary feet welcomed the relative coolness of the tiled floor and, after clumsy fingers had clicked open the door, softly padded towards the showers. *****
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