Chrome and Magnets
By Teasure
Chrome toenail polish. Sounded good. When I first heard of it, I thought, “That’s gotta look awesome on a pair of beautifully sexy feet!” You see, I’m what you would call a “foot-man”, and I do so enjoy the sight of a pair of shapely, well-pampered, freshly pedicured, feminine feet, with gleaming toenail polish on delectable toes.
When I first heard of chrome polish, my first reaction was (if I may be so modest) ecstatic excitement! I just had to see: ten temptingly tasty toes, gleaming with shiny, clear-as-mirrors chrome. Just picturing it was pleasing to the gray matter.
So…imagine my disappointment, when, upon actually witnessing this marvel of fetishistic science, I was rudely betrayed by the conspiracy between marketing hype and my own expectations.
Chrome? That’s not chrome! That’s…puddly silver polish! What’s going on here? Who are you trying to fool? Yeah, I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night!
I was mad! Mad, I tell you! I now had this inevitable desire to see “ten temptingly tasty toes, gleaming with shiny, clear-as-mirrors chrome!
And, by God, I was going to see it, if I had to create it myself! But I’m no chemist. I don’t have a chemistry lab, and I don’t know the first thing about making toenail polish. But those chrome toes kept dancing deliciously in my mind…chrome toes dancing…chrome toes…and that’s when the light bulb went on.
Like a beacon it went on! You see, as well as being a “foot-man”, I’m also a tried and true, card carrying, don’t-know-how-I-got-this-way ticklephile. And teasing ten tantalizingly ticklish toes until their owner is a molten, melting mass of girlishly, giggling goo, is my idea of a wonderful way to spend an evening. And I do have a very healthy imagination, when it comes to thinking of, designing, and building devilishly deviant devices for restraining ticklish feet and toes.
And so, proudly wearing my two fondest fetishes, (feet and tickling) like elegant furs, I headed for my workshop.
Now comfortably in my zone, it occurred to me that no polish was ever going to satisfy my expectation of chrome toenails, simply because I expected to see chrome toenails!
Then it dawned on me; why not create actual chrome toenails? Women go to the salon all the time to get artificial nails--why not artificial, metal, chromed nails? Besides, with actual metal nails…hmm…magnets? Yes, that could solve the ever present pesky dilemma of trying to tie ticklish toes back, without cutting off their circulation, or covering too much of the incredibly ticklish surfaces of the toes. Thus, I was off and running.
After spending some time brainstorming ideas, I visited a nail salon to do some research, and there, I met a lovely young lady named Jima, who was more than eager to provide me with information on artificial nails.
Over the next few days, I spent quite a bit of time in and out of there, researching (and flirting) with Jima. She was just adorable, and she found my idea of making actual chromed nails quite interesting, as she too was disappointed when she first experienced the so-called chrome polish.
She explained to me that many of her customers had expressed disappointment as well, and if I could come up with something that was manageable and affordable, she had customers that would pay to wear them.
Was it business or me that interested her? I decided to invite her to dinner the following evening. She blushingly accepted, and we agreed that I would pick her up at the salon at 8:00pm.
The idea of a possible business partnership was intriguing but the majority of my excitement was definitely personal. Jima was a very beautiful, very petite, Asian girl, 29yrs old, 5’2” …maybe 103lbs…with a delightful smile and cute, deep dimples on her blushing cheeks. Her jet-black hair was straight, and fell to the nape of her neck in back and softly descended to her jaw line at the sides, accenting her beautiful face and her well-proportioned frame.
I was particularly anticipating seeing her away from work, because, curiously enough, even though she was in the nail business she never once wore sandals or flats to show off her own pedicure. She always had on (albeit stylish) boots, which usually rose to just below her knees.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way complaining about seeing a beautiful Asian woman in high-heeled black leather boots. She looked fantastic in them. It’s just that, being the fetishist that I am, I found myself looking forward to spending an evening admiring, what I anticipated would be (given her beauty and the business she was in) extremely pleasing feet and toes.
My hopes, though, were only half-dashed, as, upon picking her up, I was greeted by lovely Jima, in, what had to be a pair of the sexiest, black high-heeled pumps I’ve ever seen, a tight fitting, black skirt which ended at mid-thigh and a black silk, sleeveless blouse, with thin straps over her delicate shoulders.
Now, the order in which I mention these articles of clothing is important, because it was in this order that I noticed them. Try as I might, when Jima first opened the door, I was immediately aware that she wasn’t wearing boots, and my eyes were gravitationally drawn down to her feet.
Once there, they locked onto the sight of those beautiful, black, high-heeled pumps that were cut so low as to show miles of toe-cleavage. These shoes seemed designed for her feet alone. It seemed as if they were specifically tailored to cover just the polished toenails with barely a whisper of crimson red color peeking out. The sides were cut very low, revealing delicately soft and incredibly high arches, which seemed to climb and climb in soft pink flesh, only to steal away and hide, what I imagined to be, delectable heels into the backs of the shoes.
My eyes then drank in her wonderfully sculpted ankles, which rose to nicely shaped calves and gently dimpled knees. Her lovely thighs disappeared into that well-filled skirt, which tapered off to an incredibly trim waistline, above which, peeked a very cute innie. Above this adorable belly button, began a soft, black silk blouse, which clung to her skin very closely, and hugged her ample bosom.
As my eyes reluctantly let go of her fine frame and blushingly rose to her face, I was pleasantly greeted with a gorgeous smile as her eyes sparkled in delight at having enjoyed my enjoyment of her lovely vision.
“Good evening, you look fantastic!” I smiled into those lovely eyes.
“Why, thank you.” She then extended her small hand, which I took and pressed to my lips, placing a gentle kiss there. She smiled again, and I escorted her to my car, opening the door for her and helping her into the seat. I reached for the seatbelt saying,
“We wouldn’t want you to escape, now would we?” She smiled yet again and gave me a wink. I buckled her in and then drove to a nice little Italian restaurant, where I had a comfortable and cozy table reserved.
We began with a bottle of wine and some bread and olive oil. We touched glasses in a toast, and I again complimented her on how lovely she looked and apologized for the slow drink of her beauty at the salon door.
“I couldn’t help but notice how much you liked my shoes”, and a smile played on her lips.
“Shoes? You’re wearing shoes?” I smiled back. “It seems your perception has failed you, because it’s what’s "inside" those shoes that I like!” Her eyes twinkled as her smile increased.
As we drank and talked, I explained my attraction to beautiful female feet as much as I understood it, and she seemed delighted in listening. She seemed particularly fascinated as I described how I did indeed like the shoes she was wearing, because they teased me with just a hint of the delicious toes nestled within, and that this made me want to see them all the more.
I told her how I positively adored her toe-cleavage, and upon seeing her quizzical look, went on to explain what that was, and what effect it had on me. This seemed to delight her immensely, and I suddenly felt her foot being gently placed in my lap beneath the table.
“Now, you’re not playing fair!” and I pretended indignation. She smiled and made no move to withdraw her foot. “You’d better be careful.” Her eyes playfully widened, and she smiled again.
I took a deep breath, and, moving the tablecloth, looked down into my lap to see the expanse of that beautiful arch as it left the heel of her shoe and traveled in a hypnotizing curve down to the ball of her foot, and then disappeared into the toe of the shoe. She then pointed her foot forward, and I was blessed with the sight of her lovely cleavage and smooth instep. Releasing the tablecloth, I looked up into her sparkling, inquisitive eyes. “Well, I’ve just decided what I’d like for dessert!” Her eyes beamed, and her smile grew even wider.
We spent most of the evening talking and enjoying our meal. I told her the business proposition I had in mind, and that with her help I would try to create some lightweight, highly polished, chrome nails that she could sell to her customers. We would enter this business as partners, but that I would foot the bill, (pardon the pun) on the initial cost of creating a set of nails.
She liked the idea, and as we excitedly discussed things, we both came to the conclusion that a proper set of nails would have to be tailor made to each client’s toes. We agreed that she would be our first model for the original set.
“So…in order to get a good fit, I’ll require an intimate knowledge of your toes.” And I smiled.
“Yes you will.” she immediately responded, as she again placed her foot in my lap. Just then, our waiter showed up to ask if everything was all right, and if we’d like to order dessert. Suppressing our knowing giggles, we both smiled at each other. She then turned to the waiter, “ I believe the gentleman has already decided what he’s having for desert. If you would be so kind as to bring us some whipped cream topping, I’ll remove my shoes and serve him!”
I almost choked on my wine when I heard this, and we both began laughing as the waiter looked confused and embarrassed and excused himself to the kitchen. We continued laughing for a few moments afterwards, and it was absolutely wonderful listening to her deliciously musical giggles.
“You should have ordered caramel. It’s thicker and it takes longer to finish.” I said.
“I was only joking.” She said nervously. “He’s not going to bring whipped cream, is he?”
“I don’t know. You ordered it. I think he will.”
“No, he knows I was only joking.” She shifted in her chair…agitated.
“I thought you were serious. Are you sure you were just joking?”
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” ----And then she said it! --“That would tickle like crazy!”
“Mmm…you mean to tell me, that not only is this foot incredibly beautiful, but it’s incredibly ticklish as well?” I slowly and exageratingly closed my fingers around her delicate ankle.
“Y…yes?” she said, almost as if questioning herself on answering. The look now on her face was absolutely priceless!
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you. If you’re right, and he knew you were joking and he doesn’t bring the whipped cream, then you’re safe. But if I’m right and he does bring it, then I get to order caramel as well, and you’ll let me enjoy your sweet toes for dessert.”
“Yeah right, like you’re going to lick caramel off my toes right here in this restaurant!” she challenged.
“Do we have a deal?” I was calm, anticipating victory.
“Deal.” She thought she was calling my bluff. Only I wasn’t bluffing! The only thought in my mind at that moment was "Please bring the whipped cream!!!"
I smiled into her eyes as she smiled back, unfazed.
“So tell me, exactly “how ticklish” are these cute feet?” I asked with a Cheshire grin. She was confident, and so she played back.
“Oh, they’re sooo ticklish! In fact, just thinking about you licking my toes is making them even more ticklish! Being tickled is my worst nightmare! If you wanted to torture me for information, tickling would make me tell you anything you wanted to know. It’s a good thing I’m going to win, because I wouldn’t be able to stand it!”
She was being quite playful, as she picked up on how much this teasing conversation was turning me on, (and I could tell it was turning her on too) but I could also tell that most of her genuine confidence was coming from the belief that I was truly bluffing. She could not control what the waiter would do; yet she still felt sure of what I wouldn’t do.
“Hmm… wouldn’t be able to stand it. Huh? Well, it’s a good thing you’re sitting and not standing, because, and by all means, correct me if I’m wrong, but, isn’t that our waiter headed this way with what appears to be…”
“That’s not our waiter,” she said.
“Yes it is, and he’s got whipped cream!” My excitement was hard to contain. My mind was now swimming in victory and anticipation as he approached the table and set the bowl of whipped cream down. I looked up smilingly from the bowl into her own victory-laden smile as she said,
“I win.”
“What do you mean, you win?”
“That’s not our waiter.” She said, with a winning smile. I looked up to realize that indeed this was another waiter.
“So? He brought the whipped cream. Our deal was whether or not our waiter thought you were joking and...” My conviction was slipping.
“No. You said if I’m right, and he knew I was joking, and he doesn’t bring the whipped cream, then I’m safe. And he didn’t bring it! It is possible that he didn’t believe me, but told the other waiter, and he took it upon himself to…” She was pulling out all the stops here, but I knew she was right. She had won on a technicality and I had to admire her for that, because I would have used every technicality to get her toes into my mouth.
As she giggled blissfully in victory, and I pouted stubbornly in defeat, I suddenly smiled and said, “So where does this leave us? We still haven’t had dessert.”
“How about some Key-lime pie and then a night cap at my salon?”
“The night cap sounds good, but it would be a shame to waste all this lovely whipped cream…”
“How about we put it on top of the Key-lime pie?”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll have to do.” as I smiled into those beautiful eyes.
We order Key-lime pie, and enjoy that together with our whipped cream and then I pay the check, being sure to leave a great tip, and we head out to the car.
“That was a very good tip you left.”
“You think so?” “You should have seen what I would have left had the right waiter brought that whipped cream!”
She smiles and quickly spins in front of me stopping me in my tracks and our lips meet in a very pleasant and passionate kiss.
“Mmm, boy, the valet guy’s gonna love having parked my car tonight!”
She spins quickly again and we both grab each other in what can only be described as a ravenously ferocious kiss!
“If we can ever get to the car, that is.” And we both start kissing each other as if we’d never kiss again!
For the life of me I have no idea how I was able to say this, because at that moment I never wanted nor intended to ever remove my lips from hers, but I suddenly found myself saying:
“Will you marry me?”
Luckily for me, what actually came out of my mouth was:
?
To be continued...
~I have a request. If you enjoyed this story and would like it to continue, please leave a comment and a suggestion for the questionmark. After reviewing the suggestions, I'll select one and continue the story from there. All comments and criticism are welcome! Thank You.~
~Teasure
By Teasure
Chrome toenail polish. Sounded good. When I first heard of it, I thought, “That’s gotta look awesome on a pair of beautifully sexy feet!” You see, I’m what you would call a “foot-man”, and I do so enjoy the sight of a pair of shapely, well-pampered, freshly pedicured, feminine feet, with gleaming toenail polish on delectable toes.
When I first heard of chrome polish, my first reaction was (if I may be so modest) ecstatic excitement! I just had to see: ten temptingly tasty toes, gleaming with shiny, clear-as-mirrors chrome. Just picturing it was pleasing to the gray matter.
So…imagine my disappointment, when, upon actually witnessing this marvel of fetishistic science, I was rudely betrayed by the conspiracy between marketing hype and my own expectations.
Chrome? That’s not chrome! That’s…puddly silver polish! What’s going on here? Who are you trying to fool? Yeah, I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night!
I was mad! Mad, I tell you! I now had this inevitable desire to see “ten temptingly tasty toes, gleaming with shiny, clear-as-mirrors chrome!
And, by God, I was going to see it, if I had to create it myself! But I’m no chemist. I don’t have a chemistry lab, and I don’t know the first thing about making toenail polish. But those chrome toes kept dancing deliciously in my mind…chrome toes dancing…chrome toes…and that’s when the light bulb went on.
Like a beacon it went on! You see, as well as being a “foot-man”, I’m also a tried and true, card carrying, don’t-know-how-I-got-this-way ticklephile. And teasing ten tantalizingly ticklish toes until their owner is a molten, melting mass of girlishly, giggling goo, is my idea of a wonderful way to spend an evening. And I do have a very healthy imagination, when it comes to thinking of, designing, and building devilishly deviant devices for restraining ticklish feet and toes.
And so, proudly wearing my two fondest fetishes, (feet and tickling) like elegant furs, I headed for my workshop.
Now comfortably in my zone, it occurred to me that no polish was ever going to satisfy my expectation of chrome toenails, simply because I expected to see chrome toenails!
Then it dawned on me; why not create actual chrome toenails? Women go to the salon all the time to get artificial nails--why not artificial, metal, chromed nails? Besides, with actual metal nails…hmm…magnets? Yes, that could solve the ever present pesky dilemma of trying to tie ticklish toes back, without cutting off their circulation, or covering too much of the incredibly ticklish surfaces of the toes. Thus, I was off and running.
After spending some time brainstorming ideas, I visited a nail salon to do some research, and there, I met a lovely young lady named Jima, who was more than eager to provide me with information on artificial nails.
Over the next few days, I spent quite a bit of time in and out of there, researching (and flirting) with Jima. She was just adorable, and she found my idea of making actual chromed nails quite interesting, as she too was disappointed when she first experienced the so-called chrome polish.
She explained to me that many of her customers had expressed disappointment as well, and if I could come up with something that was manageable and affordable, she had customers that would pay to wear them.
Was it business or me that interested her? I decided to invite her to dinner the following evening. She blushingly accepted, and we agreed that I would pick her up at the salon at 8:00pm.
The idea of a possible business partnership was intriguing but the majority of my excitement was definitely personal. Jima was a very beautiful, very petite, Asian girl, 29yrs old, 5’2” …maybe 103lbs…with a delightful smile and cute, deep dimples on her blushing cheeks. Her jet-black hair was straight, and fell to the nape of her neck in back and softly descended to her jaw line at the sides, accenting her beautiful face and her well-proportioned frame.
I was particularly anticipating seeing her away from work, because, curiously enough, even though she was in the nail business she never once wore sandals or flats to show off her own pedicure. She always had on (albeit stylish) boots, which usually rose to just below her knees.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am in no way complaining about seeing a beautiful Asian woman in high-heeled black leather boots. She looked fantastic in them. It’s just that, being the fetishist that I am, I found myself looking forward to spending an evening admiring, what I anticipated would be (given her beauty and the business she was in) extremely pleasing feet and toes.
My hopes, though, were only half-dashed, as, upon picking her up, I was greeted by lovely Jima, in, what had to be a pair of the sexiest, black high-heeled pumps I’ve ever seen, a tight fitting, black skirt which ended at mid-thigh and a black silk, sleeveless blouse, with thin straps over her delicate shoulders.
Now, the order in which I mention these articles of clothing is important, because it was in this order that I noticed them. Try as I might, when Jima first opened the door, I was immediately aware that she wasn’t wearing boots, and my eyes were gravitationally drawn down to her feet.
Once there, they locked onto the sight of those beautiful, black, high-heeled pumps that were cut so low as to show miles of toe-cleavage. These shoes seemed designed for her feet alone. It seemed as if they were specifically tailored to cover just the polished toenails with barely a whisper of crimson red color peeking out. The sides were cut very low, revealing delicately soft and incredibly high arches, which seemed to climb and climb in soft pink flesh, only to steal away and hide, what I imagined to be, delectable heels into the backs of the shoes.
My eyes then drank in her wonderfully sculpted ankles, which rose to nicely shaped calves and gently dimpled knees. Her lovely thighs disappeared into that well-filled skirt, which tapered off to an incredibly trim waistline, above which, peeked a very cute innie. Above this adorable belly button, began a soft, black silk blouse, which clung to her skin very closely, and hugged her ample bosom.
As my eyes reluctantly let go of her fine frame and blushingly rose to her face, I was pleasantly greeted with a gorgeous smile as her eyes sparkled in delight at having enjoyed my enjoyment of her lovely vision.
“Good evening, you look fantastic!” I smiled into those lovely eyes.
“Why, thank you.” She then extended her small hand, which I took and pressed to my lips, placing a gentle kiss there. She smiled again, and I escorted her to my car, opening the door for her and helping her into the seat. I reached for the seatbelt saying,
“We wouldn’t want you to escape, now would we?” She smiled yet again and gave me a wink. I buckled her in and then drove to a nice little Italian restaurant, where I had a comfortable and cozy table reserved.
We began with a bottle of wine and some bread and olive oil. We touched glasses in a toast, and I again complimented her on how lovely she looked and apologized for the slow drink of her beauty at the salon door.
“I couldn’t help but notice how much you liked my shoes”, and a smile played on her lips.
“Shoes? You’re wearing shoes?” I smiled back. “It seems your perception has failed you, because it’s what’s "inside" those shoes that I like!” Her eyes twinkled as her smile increased.
As we drank and talked, I explained my attraction to beautiful female feet as much as I understood it, and she seemed delighted in listening. She seemed particularly fascinated as I described how I did indeed like the shoes she was wearing, because they teased me with just a hint of the delicious toes nestled within, and that this made me want to see them all the more.
I told her how I positively adored her toe-cleavage, and upon seeing her quizzical look, went on to explain what that was, and what effect it had on me. This seemed to delight her immensely, and I suddenly felt her foot being gently placed in my lap beneath the table.
“Now, you’re not playing fair!” and I pretended indignation. She smiled and made no move to withdraw her foot. “You’d better be careful.” Her eyes playfully widened, and she smiled again.
I took a deep breath, and, moving the tablecloth, looked down into my lap to see the expanse of that beautiful arch as it left the heel of her shoe and traveled in a hypnotizing curve down to the ball of her foot, and then disappeared into the toe of the shoe. She then pointed her foot forward, and I was blessed with the sight of her lovely cleavage and smooth instep. Releasing the tablecloth, I looked up into her sparkling, inquisitive eyes. “Well, I’ve just decided what I’d like for dessert!” Her eyes beamed, and her smile grew even wider.
We spent most of the evening talking and enjoying our meal. I told her the business proposition I had in mind, and that with her help I would try to create some lightweight, highly polished, chrome nails that she could sell to her customers. We would enter this business as partners, but that I would foot the bill, (pardon the pun) on the initial cost of creating a set of nails.
She liked the idea, and as we excitedly discussed things, we both came to the conclusion that a proper set of nails would have to be tailor made to each client’s toes. We agreed that she would be our first model for the original set.
“So…in order to get a good fit, I’ll require an intimate knowledge of your toes.” And I smiled.
“Yes you will.” she immediately responded, as she again placed her foot in my lap. Just then, our waiter showed up to ask if everything was all right, and if we’d like to order dessert. Suppressing our knowing giggles, we both smiled at each other. She then turned to the waiter, “ I believe the gentleman has already decided what he’s having for desert. If you would be so kind as to bring us some whipped cream topping, I’ll remove my shoes and serve him!”
I almost choked on my wine when I heard this, and we both began laughing as the waiter looked confused and embarrassed and excused himself to the kitchen. We continued laughing for a few moments afterwards, and it was absolutely wonderful listening to her deliciously musical giggles.
“You should have ordered caramel. It’s thicker and it takes longer to finish.” I said.
“I was only joking.” She said nervously. “He’s not going to bring whipped cream, is he?”
“I don’t know. You ordered it. I think he will.”
“No, he knows I was only joking.” She shifted in her chair…agitated.
“I thought you were serious. Are you sure you were just joking?”
“Yes! Oh my God, yes!” ----And then she said it! --“That would tickle like crazy!”
“Mmm…you mean to tell me, that not only is this foot incredibly beautiful, but it’s incredibly ticklish as well?” I slowly and exageratingly closed my fingers around her delicate ankle.
“Y…yes?” she said, almost as if questioning herself on answering. The look now on her face was absolutely priceless!
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you. If you’re right, and he knew you were joking and he doesn’t bring the whipped cream, then you’re safe. But if I’m right and he does bring it, then I get to order caramel as well, and you’ll let me enjoy your sweet toes for dessert.”
“Yeah right, like you’re going to lick caramel off my toes right here in this restaurant!” she challenged.
“Do we have a deal?” I was calm, anticipating victory.
“Deal.” She thought she was calling my bluff. Only I wasn’t bluffing! The only thought in my mind at that moment was "Please bring the whipped cream!!!"
I smiled into her eyes as she smiled back, unfazed.
“So tell me, exactly “how ticklish” are these cute feet?” I asked with a Cheshire grin. She was confident, and so she played back.
“Oh, they’re sooo ticklish! In fact, just thinking about you licking my toes is making them even more ticklish! Being tickled is my worst nightmare! If you wanted to torture me for information, tickling would make me tell you anything you wanted to know. It’s a good thing I’m going to win, because I wouldn’t be able to stand it!”
She was being quite playful, as she picked up on how much this teasing conversation was turning me on, (and I could tell it was turning her on too) but I could also tell that most of her genuine confidence was coming from the belief that I was truly bluffing. She could not control what the waiter would do; yet she still felt sure of what I wouldn’t do.
“Hmm… wouldn’t be able to stand it. Huh? Well, it’s a good thing you’re sitting and not standing, because, and by all means, correct me if I’m wrong, but, isn’t that our waiter headed this way with what appears to be…”
“That’s not our waiter,” she said.
“Yes it is, and he’s got whipped cream!” My excitement was hard to contain. My mind was now swimming in victory and anticipation as he approached the table and set the bowl of whipped cream down. I looked up smilingly from the bowl into her own victory-laden smile as she said,
“I win.”
“What do you mean, you win?”
“That’s not our waiter.” She said, with a winning smile. I looked up to realize that indeed this was another waiter.
“So? He brought the whipped cream. Our deal was whether or not our waiter thought you were joking and...” My conviction was slipping.
“No. You said if I’m right, and he knew I was joking, and he doesn’t bring the whipped cream, then I’m safe. And he didn’t bring it! It is possible that he didn’t believe me, but told the other waiter, and he took it upon himself to…” She was pulling out all the stops here, but I knew she was right. She had won on a technicality and I had to admire her for that, because I would have used every technicality to get her toes into my mouth.
As she giggled blissfully in victory, and I pouted stubbornly in defeat, I suddenly smiled and said, “So where does this leave us? We still haven’t had dessert.”
“How about some Key-lime pie and then a night cap at my salon?”
“The night cap sounds good, but it would be a shame to waste all this lovely whipped cream…”
“How about we put it on top of the Key-lime pie?”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll have to do.” as I smiled into those beautiful eyes.
We order Key-lime pie, and enjoy that together with our whipped cream and then I pay the check, being sure to leave a great tip, and we head out to the car.
“That was a very good tip you left.”
“You think so?” “You should have seen what I would have left had the right waiter brought that whipped cream!”
She smiles and quickly spins in front of me stopping me in my tracks and our lips meet in a very pleasant and passionate kiss.
“Mmm, boy, the valet guy’s gonna love having parked my car tonight!”
She spins quickly again and we both grab each other in what can only be described as a ravenously ferocious kiss!
“If we can ever get to the car, that is.” And we both start kissing each other as if we’d never kiss again!
For the life of me I have no idea how I was able to say this, because at that moment I never wanted nor intended to ever remove my lips from hers, but I suddenly found myself saying:
“Will you marry me?”
Luckily for me, what actually came out of my mouth was:
?
To be continued...
~I have a request. If you enjoyed this story and would like it to continue, please leave a comment and a suggestion for the questionmark. After reviewing the suggestions, I'll select one and continue the story from there. All comments and criticism are welcome! Thank You.~
~Teasure
can't wait for more.
