Blonde Adventures, Part 3 The Pageant Contestant
Peter de Ruthyn
I tapped on the door of his hotel room. I didn't have to wait long. He was expecting me.
He drew me in with a smile and kissed me. His lips were small and delicate, very gentle. I stroked his back through the thin white cotton of his T-shirt, guiding his tight body closer to me. I wanted to feel his denim-covered bulge press against mine. I did. He sighed quietly into me.
"You're not wasting any time."
"I've been excited about this since last night." He'd been wearing much more then, but his interest in me had been apparent in spite of the obstructions, and I'd returned it. "Besides, you said you have a meeting soon."
"In about an hour. That okay?"
"Plenty of time to make a sexual fantasy come true."
"Mmmm." He stepped back, pulling me towards the bed. I lifted my feet and let my brown leather flip-flops fall off them as I walked. Then he was lying down on his back, fully reclined, and I was kneeling down at the foot of the bed.
I massaged his feet slowly, working my thumbs in a circle over each of his arches. The skin shifted beneath the featureless surface of the white ankle socks he was wearing. He was still hiding them, still making me wait for it. He knew I wanted his feet. I had seen him expose them before in public, of course, bare for a world of hungry men to see. And he'd showed me them in our webcam sessions. Now he hid them so the last step would be up to me.
I took it. I pushed up the right leg of his jeans, let my fingers trace the soft crinkled skin behind his ankle, and curled them under the sock. It pulled away of its own accord, springing back into the smaller shape it had been stretched out of. My other hand repeated the process on the other side.
His feet were pale, the tendons well defined, the toes slightly separated. And soft like his lips. Just as soft as his lips, in fact; the soles of a boy who prized his beauty. I stroked them appreciatively, taking advantage of the opportunity to be this close. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him adjust himself. He was enjoying this as much as I was.
I kissed the top of each of his toes. Then I chose one for further assault and covered it with a series of additional kisses. They became wetter and larger until they consumed the whole toe and I was sucking on it, fellating it. It didn't swell in my mouth as his boyhood would have done, but he wiggled it against my tongue in a strange new parody of French kissing - or penetration. I tried the other of his big toes. The same thing happened. I felt aroused and excited by the way he so quickly filled my mouth with his phallic substitutes.
My tongue swept across his soles, retracting only when I kissed the arches of his feet between licks. The kisses were to show him how sexy and provocative I thought our shared fetish was. The moments where I attempted to suck as much of his foot into my mouth as possible were signs of my growing lust, my need to experience him as fully as possible.
I sat back on my heels and pulled off my shirt, the counterpart of his except that it was black instead of white. I leaned forward. His feet pressed against my toned chest. He began to caress my body with them, cupping my pectorals, teasing my nipples, making me shiver briefly from contact with my own evaporating juices. I looked him in the eye. He was trying to keep his hands away from his own erection, I could tell. But it was obvious that it was a struggle for him.
I climbed on top of him and kissed him again, this time with more passion and urgency. His soccer-player abdominals clenched under the thin fabric of his shirt. I felt them, tight and hard, as I groped for the edges of the garment. Then I found them and in a few more seconds, his torso was stripped bare. I tried to force my warm body into his as he did the same to me. We ground our hips together, denim and all, forcing our demanding erections to swell even more in their limited space, parodying intercourse with our movements. And down at the end of the bed, our feet rubbed against each other frantically as we enjoyed the sensations our naked soles and toes delivered right to our groins.
He fumbled at the buttons of his jeans. I grabbed them and tugged them off him, squirming out of my own at the same time. His released stalk stood up painfully from his smooth stomach. My shaved leg brushed against it as I climbed between his legs, which were just as glossy as mine. He sucked my toes into his mouth like a boy starved of his favorite sexual nourishment. I suppose, in a way, that's what he was. His boyfriend wouldn't do this to him. It was his boyfriend's loss, I decided as I began licking up and down the length of his foot again. These were so soft, so fine, so perfectly shaped for oral pleasure. So convenient for kissing while the boy they were attached to was kissing yours.
And doing other things, too. Somehow he found a free hand to begin manipulating both of our shafts at once. They were both covered in clear fluid that had been leaking from their tips ever since I walked into his room and slipped around easily between his fingers. The combined sensations from having him inside my mouth while I was inside his and we were both inside his stroking hand were overwhelming. Hot as it was, I forced myself to pull away from him. There was something I wanted more.
"Too close," I said to him. "I want to come on your feet."
He grinned at me. I stood up and pulled him over to the edge of the bed, leaving him lying on his back with his legs hanging off the edge. With an ankle in each hand, I lifted them up and brought the soles of his feet together. He rubbed them against each other appreciatively. There was a narrow gap between the arches, and into that narrow gap I slid my erection.
Slick with its own lubrication and the wetness my tongue had left behind, all I had to do was rock my hips and my shaft slid in and out of the tight, tight, smooth space between his feet with ease. It swelled and throbbed from the pressure. And the visual! This handsome blonde, admired by crowds of thousands and lusted after by them, was lying naked before me and allowing me to use one of his most intimate areas for my release. I saw the hunger in him, I watched him finger his own stalk as his feet pleasured mine. And as I watched him and realized that, I came to climax, still thrusting between his soles.
He beckoned me back onto the bed. Once again I climbed between his legs and took his right foot in my hands, massaging it and licking it. My right foot rubbed gently against his erection. I pressed it against his body and rolled it a little from side to side. I squeezed the head between my toes. I let my sole glide up and down its length. I held my foot steady against him and let him grind up into it.
But he wasn't quite there yet, not until he grabbed my ankle in one hand and his boyhood in the other, and began stroking himself while simultaneously polishing the head of his shaft against my sole. I began to stiffen again at the feeling, carried away by his excitement. He was moaning louder and louder. Then he began to curse, and I felt his heat shoot out between my toes even as I sucked his toes deeper into me, prolonging his reaction.
When I left his room, I didn't bother to wipe that foot off before putting my flip-flops back on and walking away.
Comments and feedback welcomed at peterderuthyn@gmail.com! Also look out for my upcoming collection "Toyboys and Other Stories".