I don’t have foot fetish. I don’t exactly think feet are gross, they just don’t do anything for me. Then with the aid of a man, they do all kinds of things for me. They make me giggle, make me gasp, make me sigh, and make me moan.
It is rare that he plays with my feet, and honestly I am a little grateful for that.
When he does though, it is special. It is when he has decided to take his time making love to me. It is when he tells me to “relax, just enjoy.” When his hands move slowly, down my legs, they way his lips tend to follow, the air hitting the moistened spots left by his flittering tongue. His trimmed nails dragging lightly, driving me crazy. It is sublime, watching him work my nerves. His fingers tapping my instep, playfully, teasing me. It tickles, I giggle. He does it again to the other foot and I squirm under his vices. He captures, and stills me. As if I didn’t know it was coming I gasp when the warmth of this tongue touches my baby toe. I moan when he starts to suck after moving on to the next toe capturing it between his lips. From there my pleasure builds, with each toe, one by one by one.
When he unleashes Thor, taking him in his hand, and he starts to stroke him. Power in his right hand, me in his left. It almost my undoing, watching him go through ten toes.