Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

The sun had only just begun to lower in the sky when I left the house, but the heat hadn’t gone with it. The air was thick with summer warmth, heavy and slow, pressing into my skin as I walked. My bag was nearly empty–just my phone and keys. I didn’t need anything else. I knew exactly where I was going.

Every step felt ritualistic. The street stretched out ahead of me like a procession route, each step drawing me closer not just to her home, but to something deeper–something darker. I felt exposed, even in the open air, like I carried her scent on me already, like I was marked.

Her house looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same. I saw the front door and my body responded with a jolt of heat and nervous tension. My mouth was dry, my hands damp.

And then, without knocking, without a sound, the door creaked open.

She was there.

Barefoot.

Framed in the dim, late golden light, she didn’t speak. Her expression was unreadable. She just looked at me, then stepped aside.

I entered.

The scent hit me like a drug. There was a faint trace of air freshener, of something floral and polite–but under it, thick and earthy and humid, was her. Her real smell. The scent that lived in her skin, her sweat, the base of her toes. A worn, sour-sweet heat that curled into my brain.

“Upstairs,” she said.

Her voice was soft. And absolute.

I climbed the stairs, legs tense with anticipation.

—

Her bedroom was dark, quiet. Curtains drawn. A small lamp on the bedside table cast long shadows across the room. The air was still, and it carried something–intimate, old, and warm.

Miss bursa escortlar Clarke watched me. She didn’t speak, didn’t give me orders. Not yet. She just let me kneel there in the carpet’s warmth, breathing it all in. My body buzzed, blood thick with heat and want. But I didn’t dare touch myself. She’d made that clear.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” she said finally. Her voice was low. Distant. “You know that, don’t you?”

I nodded, mouth dry.

She smiled–dark and tired and wicked. “But it is.”

She spread her legs a little wider.

“You know what started this?” she murmured, rubbing a slow circle over her clit through her underwear. “That night in the back of the classroom. When I let you sniff me. I wasn’t even sure I’d really done it until afterwards. I couldn’t believe myself.”

She slid her panties down, inch by inch. I didn’t move. I watched.

“But the second I got home, I touched myself,” she whispered. “I came so hard, remembering your breath. Your mouth. The way you trembled. You looked like you were praying.”

She tossed the panties aside and spread herself open.

“And now look at you.”

I was on all fours again, crawling toward the foot hanging off the couch. That same foot. The one that had pressed against my face so many times. The one that had been in my mouth. The one I could smell across the room. It smelled worse now–more pungent. More intimate.

More perfect.

She slid two fingers into herself, slowly, wetly. Her moan was soft and guttural. She didn’t close her eyes. She watched me as I pressed my face against bursa escort her foot.

I kissed it. Soft at first. Then deeper. Longer. I let my lips part and my tongue drag across the arch. I inhaled between kisses, as deep as I could, letting the thick, sour warmth of her foot flood my sinuses.

She shivered.

“Talk,” she said. “Tell me what you smell.”

“I smell you, Miss. Your skin. Your sweat. The hours you walked barefoot. The dirt. The heat. The way you haven’t washed. It’s all here. It’s all yours.”

She gasped, her fingers quickening.

I licked under her toes, into the creases where the strongest scent lingered. My tongue flicked through the spaces, and my nose pressed hard into the base of her toes. I sniffed loud, unashamed, greedy.

“I smell the day,” I said breathlessly. “I smell the classroom. I smell everything you did with your shoes off. I smell the floor and your sweat and your power.”

She groaned. Her back arched.

“I can taste it, too. I taste the salt. The bitterness. The filth. It’s thick, Miss. It coats my mouth.”

“Good,” she breathed. “Fucking good.”

Her other hand moved to her breast, pinching her nipple through her top. Her thighs clenched. Her stomach fluttered with each inhale.

“Tell me more,” she hissed.

“I want to live here,” I whispered. “Between your feet. Beneath them. I want to sniff you until I’m sick. I want to suffocate in your stink. I want you to rub your soles across my face and not stop, no matter how hard I beg.”

“Say that again.”

“I want to suffocate in your stink.”

She cried out, fingers slapping wetly now. Her clit rubbed raw, swollen with need. She was panting, hips moving in wild jerks.

“I want to lick every step you’ve taken,” I whispered. “Every drop of sweat, every piece of dirt your feet collect. I want it all.”

She moaned louder.

“I want to be the floor beneath you. The rug you wipe your soles on. I want to smell your feet when they’re at their worst. When you’ve walked for hours. When they’re soaked. When no one else would go near you.”

She was close now. Her eyes fluttered shut, then open. Her chest rose and fell like she was drowning.

“And I’ll thank you for it,” I whispered, pressing my nose harder into her arch. “I’ll thank you every time you let me sniff. Every time you wipe your sweat on me. I’ll beg for your stink.”

Her mouth dropped open. Her voice cracked.

“Again.”

“I’ll beg for your stink.”

She let go.

Her body spasmed violently. She screamed into her palm, biting down hard to silence it. Her thighs clamped shut around her hand. Her feet kicked. Her toes curled. Her hips thrust into the air.

Her orgasm lasted forever.

And I knelt there, face pressed into her sole, cock twitching and denied.

When it was over, she slumped back, panting. Her skin was slick. Her eyes were glassy.

Her foot remained against my mouth.

Neither of us spoke.

She pulled her foot away and sat up slowly. Her legs trembled.

Then she looked at me, lips curling into something between a smile and a smirk.

“Come to mine tomorrow. Same time.”

She leaned forward, pressing her foot one last time against my chest.

“Let’s see how far you’re willing to go this summer.”

I said nothing.

But my breath caught.

Because I knew.

I’d go as far as she wanted.

As far as her feet would take me.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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