Slippery and wet, he traces around my lips with his big toe.
“Open up,” he commands. And I do, letting him push his toes in until my lips are straining and the taste of him fills my whole mouth.
He laughs as he flexes his foot, forcing my mouth even wider.
“You look good like this, Oppa.”
I shudder, my fingernails scraping at my thighs.
My own heels drag back and forth on the rug around Carey’s leg.
The sock falls from my face to my shoulder.
He digs deeper, his toes wiggling against the back of my tongue until I gag and saliva is dripping down my chin.
Unintentionally my hips jerk, and I seize—my eyes squeezing shut because I’m terrified he’ll take his foot away from me.
“It’s okay,” he says, soft and condescending. Then retreats, taking his foot back until his toes slip free of my lips and he’s dragging thick spit from my mouth and down my neck until he’s back against my chest.
I want to tell him it’s not fair. That I didn’t mean it. That one small slip up shouldn’t warrant this kind of punishment, but as I sit there silently festering, doing my best not to squirm, he smiles at me. All teeth. All cocky control as he pins me with his foot and stares at me with those fucking misaligned eyes, deeming every argument I could make completely irrelevant.
“It’s okay,” he says again, wiggling his toes against my throat. “You can touch, now.”
At first I grip tighter to the denim covering my thighs, assuming it’s a test. But when his head dips to the side, I move. Slowly.
My right hand reaches for the hem of his chords. Just like his slippers, they’re wet and cold from the snow, and I push them up to bare his calf. Gripping his flesh with my left hand, I curl the fingers of my right around his ankle and look at him with misty eyes.
“You’ve got one minute.”
So eager it would be humiliating if I didn’t feel so safe, I jerk his foot up and wrap my lips around his filthy heel like I’m starving for it. The first taste shoots through me like lightning.Licking and sucking, I work the ball of his foot, then the arch, then his toes until I’m tasting him with every breath. Then, as soon as it started, Carey pulls his foot back.
The sensory shock of all, then nothing, is made even more jarring by Carey kicking off his other slipper, peeling off his other sock, then squatting in front of me.
At eye level, he rocks his head from side to side, cracking his neck as his forearms rest casually above his knees.
Sock in one hand, he takes the other from my shoulder and balls them together before shoving them in my mouth.
It’s an all consuming fullness.
A sign of utter disrespect.
After a soft kiss against my forehead, Carey stands back up and strips his torso bare.
“Get up!” He barks, his voice back to pure command.
I scramble to my knees.
My head swims as Carey holds my eye contact, then starts palming his dick right in front of my face.
He unbuckles his belt, pops the button of his pants and unzips the fly.
I bite down on the cotton wedged between my teeth as he removes his pants and underwear.
I watch Carey gather the spit in his mouth then let it drip down onto his perfect cock that I still haven’t been given permission to look at. Then, like he’s twisting the knife already in my back, he starts pumping.
His scent is everything.
He’s so close his fist bumps against my chin.
