Act of Foot Fetish
Act Of Worship
He could have bought and sold countries in the boardroom, but he was on his knees before her now, as calm and reverent as though he knelt before the marble feet of a saint. This was his clarity, his peace, his worship.
Lena stood there, clad in a black robe of expensive Chinese silk that fell to mid-thigh. Below the hem, her legs were bare, their curves smoothly swaying down to her bare feet. She had just washed them, and they were still pink from the bath.
As he pressed his lips to the top of one delicate foot, he could smell the scent of the bath salts she had used, a faint mix of citrus and lavender. Beneath it though, the earthy scent of her still clung, that scent he loved, the scent that rose from her like the scent of beeswax from candles.
It clung at the nape of her neck, under her arms, in the shadow of her groin, and here, at her feet, soft and poised and perfect. Each toe was perfect, he could have counted a rosary on the shell beads of her nails. He kissed each one with a prayer in his heart.
At last his marble saint thawed. She reclined upon the loveseat, in the flickering candlelight, and brought her feet up for him to worship. Her robe parted, revealing the sweet ripeness of her breasts. Her auburn hair burned across one shoulder. The whiteness of her skin was nowhere more perfect than on her feet.
He kissed the undersides, so pink and tender, the light skin that pulled into wrinkles when she curled her toes under, the delicate sweep of her arch crinkling as he ran his tongue over it, kissed it. She pressed her other foot to his cheek with a sigh, leaning back, knees parting. Her hand was inside her robe, pleasuring herself. Of course, a goddess takes pleasure in worship. Her scent drifted out from between her thighs, ripe and rich.
He had himself in hand now, his cock aching hard and almost purple with lust. His tongue flirted along her toes, diving under each row and between them, his mouth caressing them softly until her low purrs of ticklish pleasure rose to little gasps. His thumbs rubbed and caressed her instep, his palms cradled her heels.
She touched his shoulder, and he drew closer, staring with wonder into her eyes. She lowered her feet to his lap, pressing them to his cock, rolling it between her insteps. His eyes closed and he pushed forward, between her feet as she held them pressed together for him. Her knees were drawn up tight, pressed together. He held them for balance, his hands sliding on the smooth warm silk of her skin. The pleasure her feet gave him was profound, tight pressure and friction. He moaned.
Lena parted her knees. He swept his hands down to her ankles, helped her keep the pressure steady as he gazed up at her pussy. She had her hand there, stroking herself, the fur of her cleft, light and gingery, billowing out around two sticky fingers. The smell of her was like sacramental incense.
He thrust between her feet, caressing them with his hands even as they stroked his cock, he was in an ecstasy of pleasure. Her thigh muscles flexed, calf muscles bunched, her feet felt smooth and warm and alive under his hands, flexing and pressing. She was Woman, gorgeous, serene, and perfect. He was the lusting serpent, now crushed under her heel.
When he came, it shot out of him in a lance of pleasure, and he looked down to see his semen gushing in jets over her feet, across the soles, over the tops, even between her toes as she rubbed them over the head of his twitching cock.
At last he slumped, spent, the smell of his offering mingling with her scent, and lay upon the floor in drained pleasure. She toyed one foot over his cock, rolling it from side to side, pressing her sticky foot against it until it rose again.
She descended, a goddess from on high, to receive her due of pleasure from him, and all that he gave, he gave gratefully. As she moved to straddle him, one of her feet planted to either side of him, he grasped her ankles and felt himself the very earth upon which she walked, exalted by the touch of her holy foot.
– Alexandra Rose
