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'May I Kiss Your Feet?' (Part Four)

First time foot cookie discovers the eroticism of feet.

Discussing the past was bringing down the mood, so I asked Marcus what I really wanted to know.

"Why me? Why did you ask me?

He was quiet, saying nothing for a long moment, though a soft smile rested on his lips. His fingers stroked my foot in his lap so delicately that it tickled, and when he did speak, he was shy again, at first.

"You've always been nice to me. You say my name when you speak to me, and you never acted as though I were 'just a kid', even when I was 'just a kid'. But..." Marcus looked at me, "it feels like you are on the outside of everything, the same as it is for me. I don't know you, yet it seems that way, and I thought you might understand. I thought you wouldn't act like I was messed up."

Marcus slipped his shirt off, revealing his muscular, if wiry, physique. He smiled to see me looking.

He lifted my foot up, and breathed heavily against it as he rubbed it on his face and mouth, a moan escaping before he began to passionately lick and suck the outside edge. It felt wonderful, and his own arousal showed the love for what he was doing. I thought briefly about touching his penis, but this was his show, and right then he looked directly at me with eyes glazed over in desire.

Without moistening it first, Marcus plunged his tongue between the two smallest toes. The sensitivity was higher at that initial touch, and I gasped, a lush rush flooding my pelvic area, especially around my clit.

His touch on my foot now was less exploratory, and he stroked his penis through the fabric of the underwear with one hand a few times, which made me feel even more turned on. As he sucked the middle toe, I felt close to climax, and my hips pumped in tight circles. He took both the second and third toe into his mouth as he had on my other foot, and as soon as he began tongue fucking between them, I came hard, my hips grinding into it. He kept going, and I came again, and then Marcus stood, facing the soles of my feet as he had earlier. He lifted my other foot again, kissing, licking, and sucking the soles of both, then rested the first foot against his body as he put the large toe into his mouth from the second foot. He sucked and licked it feverishly, moving up and down on it, and it was surely sex, it was. He stuck his hand into his underwear, somehow adjusting himself, making the position of his penis different. At the point of my climax, he brought both of my feet together in a V shape and placed them on the area where his penis was located. He held my feet there, rolling his pelvis to repeatedly thrust again them, bumping and grinding into me, and grunting and moaning with effort, and with gratification.

It was so visually stimulating to see his body, now damp with perspiration, moving with complete abandon, getting closer to his own orgasm.

I reached down to put pressure against my own crotch as we watched each other, then came within seconds. He smiled as he rutted hard on my feet, and seconds later, he hugged my feet hard onto him as he came, pumping his hips into them, releasing into his briefs. I felt it, and slight moisture, before he pulled my feet away. Some was on his abdomen.

I stood unsteadily, opening a package of the blue paper towels used at the fuel pumps, handing him some. "Mmm, thanks..." he said.

I turned my back to him and told him I wouldn't peek if he needed to slip out of the underwear, and he acknowledged quietly.

"Okay, thanks. Cool."

He was fast, wiping up with the towels the best he could, slipping on the shirt, and his jeans without the underwear, which I saw he had wrapped in towels once we faced each other.

I asked, "Would it be weird to hug? I feel like I want to hug you."

He smiled and opened his arms, and our bodies were finally close together for the first, and last, time.

He thanked me, and I thanked him, too, as we held one another briefly.

A final squeeze, and then we exited from the storage into the cool night, walking towards the last row of pumps, where he tossed his undies into the trash.

I asked if he needed to call a ride. He shook his head, telling me he lived in the last row of homes before the next stoplight.

"Oh, maybe a quarter mile, not bad... Goodnight, Marcus."

"Goodnight, Lara."

He smiled, not likely knowing that he had passed the torch of desire to me for something I still enjoy almost 20 years later.

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'May I Kiss Your Feet?' (Part Four)
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