ShadowMoon
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- Feb 17, 2023
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The polished marble floors of the Evergreen Hotel lobby were way too shiny, reflecting the blazing chandeliers right into my eyeballs. At twenty-one, I felt completely out of place—too rookie for this kind of business trip errand for my boss, and old to be standing around looking so lost. I shifted my weight on the hight stool swapping the leg with was streched touching the floor and the one resting on the stool foot rest. The silence so thick I could hear my own heartbeat over the distnat ding of an elevator.
The glass door hissed open and a guy walked in. Older than me, maybe late-thirties as pointed buy some gray hairs in his goatee and head, with this easy confidence that made me stand up a little straighter. . He had a single leather duffel and his eyes scanned the room, landing on me with a quick, appraising look. A small, almost secret smile touched his lips as he started walking over.
My first instinct was to look down, and that's when I saw it. My slim-fit chinos had ridden up, exposing a couple inches of my socks. Not my usual thick cotton ones. These were sheer, light gray, and faintly shiny—a "daring" gift from my sister. Right now, "daring" felt a whole lot like "mortifying."
He stopped a couple of feet away. His gaze was direct, but not mean.
Interesting sock choice," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through me. He nodded toward my ankles. "Sheer, right?"
A wave of heat flooded my neck and face. I could feel the blush burning my cheeks. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Just... trying something different." I cringed at how squeaky my voice sounded.
His smile widened. "I like it. It's a good look. Hot, even."
Hot. He said hot. My brain short-circuited. The word just echoed in the space between us, turning my blush into a full-blown inferno. I think I managed to choke out a "Thanks," but I wasn't sure.
He didn't seem to need more. He just tilted his head toward the elevators. "I'm in room 814. Come up for a drink. We can... talk about socks."
It was the craziest, most ridiculous line I'd ever heard. And every single sane cell in my body was screaming no. But the part of me that had chosen these socks this morning, the part that wanted to be a little daring, won out. I just nodded, my voice completely gone.
The elevator ride was a silent, mirrored nightmare of me watching my own stunned, red-faced reflection. I only 5'7" tall while Leo 6'1". Room 814 was nice—king-sized bed, a killer view. The guy—"Leo," he said—tossed his duffel on a chair and poured two whiskeys from the minibar, handing one to me.
"Make yourself comfortable,' Leo said pointing to the couch in front of the bed. His eyes doing that twinkling thing again. "Kick your shoes off."
Feeling like I was moving through a dream, I slipped off my 10 1/2 leather shoes. The cool air hit my sheer-socked feet, and I shivered. Leo sat on the couch right in font of me. He patted his thigs.
"Come on. Let me see those socks up close."
Hesitantly, I rest my ankes over his lap. His hand reached out and his finger traced a slow line over the top of my foot, right through the thin fabric. A full-body shiver racked me.
"They're very nice," he murmured. "But you know, the best thing about sheer socks..."
He paused. Then his fingers shifted, and started wiggling gently against the arch of my foot.
A completely undignified giggle exploded out of me. I tried to yank my foot back, but his grip was firm.
"...is that you can feel everything through them," he finished, a totally mischievous grin on his face. His fingers danced over my sole, light as feathers.
"Wait—ah! Hehe, no, that— that tickles!" I gasped, my body curling in on itself.
"I know," he said, his fingers finding the hypersensitive spot just below my toes. "That's the point."
He kept up the assault, his fingers dancing and scribbling across my sheer-clad soles until my giggles escalated into full-bodied, helpless laughter. I writhed, pulling against his armlock around my ankles, completely at his mercy. My body was a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming.
Finally, he stilled his hand, simply resting them on my trembling feet as I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. My chest was heaving. His gaze, which had been fixed on my face with a look of pure amusement, slowly drifted downward, past my stomach.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.
"Well, hello there," he murmured, his voice dropping to an even deeper, more intimate register.
My brain, still foggy from the tickling, scrambled to catch up. I followed his line of sight and my stomach dropped. The evidence of my... enjoyment... was clearly tenting the front of my chinos. The blush that had receded from my face came roaring back, hotter than ever. I instinctively tried to shift, to hide it, but with my ankles still pinned in his armlock, it was impossible.
"Seems like you're enjoying this even more than I thought," Leo said, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine. They were dark and intensely focused now, the playful twinkle replaced by something hotter, more possessive.
He didn't wait for my stammered, mortified reply. His hand left my ankle and slowly, deliberately, reached out. He didn't touch me there—not yet. Instead, he stoop up and approached, he laid the palm of his hand flat against the fabric of my shirt, right over my pounding heart.
"Your heart is racing, Kevin," he observed, his thumb brushing back and forth. "Is it from the laughing... or from something else?"
The question hung in the air, demanding an answer. My mind was a jumble of embarrassment and a thrilling, desperate need.
"B-Both," I finally managed to choke out, the admission feeling both shameful and liberating. "It's... both."
Leo's smile was a flash of pure, triumphant heat. "Good."
In one fluid motion, he moved his hands touching me towards my neck. His fingers went to the knot of my own tie, loosening it with an efficiency that spoke of practice. The silk slithered away from my collar with a soft whisper.
Then his hands went to the buttons of my shirt. His knuckles brushed against my heated skin with each one he popped open, from my throat down to my stomach. The cool air hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps, and I shivered violently. He parted the fabric and, without ceremony, pulled it down my shoulders and off my arms, tossing it on the floor.
He took my wrists—gently but firmly—and guided them together. The cool, smooth silk of my tie wrapped of my around them, and with a few efficient loops and a secure knot, my wrists were bound. He gave the tie a testing tug, and a fresh, entirely different kind of shiver ran through me. I was tethered to him. To this moment.
"Leo..." I whispered, my voice a mix of nerves and dizzying anticipation.
"Shhh," he soothed, letting his hands drift to my lips, which were wet. "Trust me."
His thumb brushed my lower lip, and I shivered. Then his hand moved down, over my chin, my throat, my chest, in one slow, possessive stroke. His eyes never left mine. He knelt then, his knees on the floor between my feet, putting himself at my eye level but making me feel no less powerless.
His hands went to my belt. The click of the buckle releasing was deafening in the quiet room. He didn't rush. He slowly pulled the leather through the loops, the friction a whisper against the fabric of my chinos. He tossed the belt aside, and it landed on the floor with a soft thud.
My breath hitched as his fingers found the button of my pants. He popped it open, then slowly, deliberately, drew down the zipper. The sound seemed to unravel the last of my composure. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my chinos and my underwear and, with a firm pull, peeled them both down my hips and thighs, past my knees, and off over my sheer-socked feet. He tossed the bundle of clothing onto the growing pile.
Now I was completely exposed, save for the light gray sheerness on my feet and the tie binding my wrists. The cool air was a shock against my heated skin. I felt a fresh wave of blush cover my entire body.
Leo stood up, his gaze sweeping over me with open hunger. He didn't say a word. Instead, he reached for the end of the tie that secured my wrists. He gave it a gentle, but undeniable, pull.
"Up," he commanded, his voice soft but absolute.
I obeyed, my legs feeling like jelly as I rose from the couch. He didn't pull hard, just guided me, leading me by my bound wrists the few steps to the side of the large bed. The plush carpet was soft beneath my socked feet.
With a firm press on my shoulder, he guided me to sit on the edge of the mattress. He looked down at me, a powerful, fully-clothed figure looming over my naked, bound form.
"Lie back," he said.
I did, scooting back until my head rested on the pillows. The comforter was cool and crisp against my bare skin. He stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes tracing the length of my body, from my tied hands resting on my stomach, down my torso, to my sheer-socked feet.
Instead of joining me, his hands went to his own neck. He loosened his tie and pulled it off with a soft whisper of silk. Then he knelt on the mattress, his weight dipping it beside me. He took my ankles firmly and pulled, sliding me down the bed. He brought my nyloned feet together, the sheer fabric slick against itself, and wrapped his tie around my ankles. He cinched it tight with a secure knot, the silk firm and unyielding.
Next, he retrieved my leather belt from the floor. He fed the buckle end through one of the ornate wooden slats at the foot of the bed, creating a leash. He looped the other end through the space between my tied ankles and pulled, drawing my legs down until I felt a gentle, steady tension. The buckle clicked shut, securing me.
A slow smile played on his lips as he then unbuckled his own belt and pulled it free with a sharp, deliberate sound. He took my bound wrists and raised my arms above my head, stretching my torso. He repeated the process, looping his belt through the headboard and then through the bindings on my wrists, fastening it and pulling until my arms were held taut.
I was stretched in a diagonal across the king-sized bed, anchored at two points. The gentle downward pull on my legs and the upward stretch on my arms left me completely open and unable to move even an inch. Every inch of me was on display, utterly helpless.
He moved to the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over the scene he had created. His gaze was a physical weight, and it settled finally on my feet, still sheathed in the light gray nylon.
"These really are the star of the show," he mused, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. He reached out and ran a single fingertip slowly down the sole of my right foot, from the heel to the ball.
A violent shiver racked my entire body. The sheer fabric amplified the touch, turning a simple caress into an electric current. A helpless giggle bubbled in my throat.
"They're so... expressive," he continued, now tracing idle circles on my arch. The sensation was maddening, a light, fluttering touch that promised worse. "They twitch and curl with every little thing I do. It's like they're telling me all your secrets."
His fingers suddenly shifted, scribbling lightly over the same spot.
"Ah! Hehe, wait—!" I gasped, my back arching off the bed as much as the restraints would allow. The laughter burst out of me, high and desperate.
"Wait?" Leo asked, his tone one of mock innocence. He paused, his hand hovering just above my skin. "But we're just getting acquainted." His eyes locked with mine, a playful, wicked glint in them. "Is my little business traveler ticklish?"
Before I could even form a denial, his fingers dove back in, this time using both hands to dance and spider across both of my soles simultaneously. The sensation was overwhelming. I was laughing uncontrollably, pulling uselessly at the belts and ties that held me fast.
"Please! Hahaha! Leo, oh god, that's too much!" I begged, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes.
He leaned forward, his face close to my feet, his breath warm through the thin nylon. "But you look so happy," he teased, his voice a husky whisper. "And the sounds you make..." He deliberately dragged his nails in a slow, torturous line from my heel to my toes.
I shrieked, my body jolting against the restraints. The touch was excruciatingly light, perfectly calculated to exploit every hyper-sensitive nerve.
"Such a pretty, ticklish laugh for me," he cooed, switching to a relentless, wiggling motion right in the center of my arches. "All because of a pair of silly socks. Who knew they'd be your undoing?"
He didn't let up, his hands moving in a devastating rhythm, exploring every inch of my nylon-clad soles, learning what spots made me buck and what spots made me scream with laughter. I was completely at his mercy, lost in a storm of sensation, with his teasing voice the only anchor I had in the dizzying, ticklish bliss.
"Please! Hahaha! Leo, oh god, that's too much!" I begged, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes.
He leaned forward, his face close to my feet, his breath warm through the thin nylon. "But you look so happy," he teased, his voice a husky whisper. "And the sounds you make..." He deliberately dragged his nails in a slow, torturous line from my heel to my toes.
I shrieked, my body jolting against the restraints. "AHAHA! NO! NOT THE-HEHEHEHE-NAILS!"
"Shhh, relax into it," he cooed, but his fingers betrayed the soothing words, digging in with a ruthless, wiggling intensity right into the tender arches of my feet. "That's it... just let it all out. Nobody can hear you but me."
My laughter turned breathless, punctuated by helpless gasps. "I ca-hahan't! I ca-hahan't breathe! Ple-hee-heease!"
"You can," he insisted, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that was somehow more terrifying than his shouting would have been. He spidered his fingers rapidly over the ball of my foot, just below my toes, and I saw stars. "Your body is doing exactly what it's supposed to. Look at you. So responsive. So perfect."
He paused for a fraction of a second, letting me drag in a single, ragged breath, my chest heaving. His eyes were dark pits of amusement.
"Are these little socks magic?" he pondered aloud, tracing the outline of my squirming toes through the fabric. "Or are you just this desperately ticklish everywhere?"
Before I could answer, he plunged both hands back in, his assault more focused and mean now, zeroing in on the very worst spots he'd already discovered. "Too bad we don't have time to find out. I'm having too much fun right here."
"LEO! STAHAHAHAP! MERCY! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" I howled, thrashing my head from side to side, completely overcome.
"Anything?" he repeated, his fingers never slowing their relentless scribbling. "But you're already doing everything I want. You're laughing, you're begging, you're blushing that gorgeous shade of red... What more could I ask for?"
His thumbs pressed hard into the center of my soles, rotating in deep, cruel circles while his other fingers skittered along the highly sensitive sides.
"GAHAHAHA! OKAY! OKAY! I'M TICKLISH! I'M SO TICKLISH!" I confessed, the admission torn from me between peals of hysterical laughter.
"I know you are, baby," he murmured, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I know. And we're nowhere near done."
His words sent a fresh wave of panic through me, but before I could form another plea, he suddenly stopped. The sudden absence of sensation was almost as shocking as the tickling itself. I lay there panting, my entire body tingling, watching him through tear-blurred eyes as he walked over to where my shoes lay discarded by the couch.
He returned a moment later, and my heart sank when I saw what was in his hands: the long, black shoelaces from my own leather shoes.
"An improvement to the staging," he said, his tone conversational, as if we were discussing interior design. He knelt between my splayed, belt-anchored legs, his focus on my feet, which were still twitching with phantom sensations.
He took my right big toe, then my left, his grip firm. I whimpered, already knowing what was coming. With practiced efficiency, he looped one shoelace around both of my big toes, pulling them together until they were pressed tightly side-by-side. He tied a secure, double knot, ensuring my toes were bound together, a single, helpless unit.
The effect was immediate and profoundly exposing. It forced my feet into a slightly pigeon-toed position, pulling the delicate, inner arches of my soles into even tighter, more vulnerable curves. The thin nylon of my socks stretched taut over the newly formed gap between my feet.
"Perfect," Leo breathed, admiring his work. "Now they can't even hide from each other."
His index finger slowly, deliberately, traced the newly stretched, hyper-sensitive skin along the inner arch that the binding had created.
I let out a choked squeal, my whole body tensing. "Oh g-god... no..."
"No?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in mock confusion. "But I just got them all dressed up for the party."
And then he attacked.
With my toes tied together, he could torture both arches with one hand, his fingers scuttling up and down the most sensitive area with a devastating, unified rhythm. His other hand went to work on the balls of my feet and my helplessly bound toes, tickling and wiggling.
The laughter that erupted from me was sheer, unadulterated hysteria. I was completely, utterly trapped, and the unique, double-barreled sensation of the new position was a fresh new hell of ticklish torment.
"HAHAHAHA! YOU'RE—HEHE—INSANE! UNTIE THEHEHEM!" I begged, my words dissolving into incoherent shrieks.
"Why would I?" he chuckled, his eyes alight with fiendish joy. "They look so cute together. And they're so much more... cooperative this way."
is fingers became a blur, spidering up and down the stretched inner arches that the shoelace had made so exquisitely accessible. The sensation was unbearable, a concentrated, unified tickling that sent seismic shocks through my entire nervous system.
"PLEE-HEE-HEASE! MERCY! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" I howled, my voice raw and cracking with laughter.
"Anything?" he repeated, not even pausing his relentless assault. "You said that last time. But you're not in a position to offer anything I don't already have." He dug his thumbs deep into the centers of my soles and made little circles. "This is the deal, Kevin. You provide the laughter, and I provide the... motivation."
"NO MORE! I CAHAHAN'T TAKE IT! MY STOMACH HURTS!" I gasped, tears now streaming freely down my temples and into my hair.
"Aww, does it?" he mocked, his voice a syrupy fake pout. He switched to a rapid, fluttering motion right over my nylon-clad heels, a spot that made me scream. "Don't worry, your abs will thank me later. Think of this as a very... specific... workout."
He leaned closer, his breath hot on my toes. "Look at them dance! They're putting on a whole show just for me. Do they always have this much energy, or am I just that good?"
"I HAHAHATE YOU!" I shrieked, though the words held no malice, only the sheer, desperate frustration of my complete helplessness.
"You hate me?" He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that was somehow more terrifying than his teasing. "Your body tells a very different story. These giggles sound an awful lot like love to me."
With a final, cruel flourish, he dragged the very tips of his nails from the tightly-bound base of my big toes all the way down to my heels, a slow, excruciating journey that frayed my last remaining nerve.
I exploded into a wordless, breathless, writhing fit, my laughter silent for a moment before a new, hysterical pitch erupted. I was completely broken, a sobbing, giggling mess on the bed, my world reduced to nothing but the tickling and his voice.
"See?" Leo whispered, his fingers still tracing light, possessive patterns on my destroyed soles. "You don't hate me. You just hate how much you love this."
Through the gasping, tear-filled haze, something in me broke. The last shred of resistance crumbled under the weight of his words and the lingering, tingling sensation. The truth, humiliating and undeniable, spilled out.
"OKAY! YES! YES, I LOVE IT! I LOVE IHAHAHAT! ARE YOU HAPPY?!" I confessed, the words a ragged, sobbing scream of surrender.
The effect was instantaneous.
Leo’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated triumph. A wide, predatory grin spread across his face. "Now that," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, thrilling rumble, "is what I've been waiting to hear."
And he descended.
If I had thought his tickling was intense before, it was nothing compared to this. My confession seemed to have unleashed a new level of fiendish creativity. He used his knuckles to drill into the arches, his nails to scribble frantic, shivery patterns over the balls of my feet, and his fingertips to flutter against the hypersensitive spots just below my bound toes.
"YOU SAID IT! YOU ADMIT IT!" he chanted, his voice rising with gleeful energy as my body convulsed. "MY TICKLISH, NYLON-CLAD BOY LOVES EVERY SECOND OF THIS!"
"HAHAHAHA! I DO! I DO! BUT PLEE-HEE-HEASE! IT'S TOO MUCH NOW!" I begged, the admission making my helplessness feel even more absolute.
"Too much?" he laughed, not slowing for a second. "This is a celebration! We're celebrating your honesty!" He zeroed in on the inner arches, the skin stretched taut by the shoelace, and wiggled his fingers with vicious speed.
The sensation was electric, unbearable, and utterly inescapable. My laughter was constant now, a high-pitched, breathless stream of hysteria. I was drowning in the sensation, my mind blank of everything but the tickling and the sound of his triumphant voice.
"Such a good boy for me," he cooed, the words a sharp contrast to the brutal, tickling torture he was inflicting. "Telling me the truth. You deserve a reward."
His idea of a reward was to lean down and blow a warm, sudden stream of air right through the thin nylon onto the damp, overheated skin of my sole.
I shrieked, my back bowing off the bed as a whole new wave of ticklish agony erupted. He just laughed, a dark, happy sound, and went right back to scribbling with his fingers, showing no mercy to the nylon-clad soles that had willingly confessed their love for this torment.
My body was a mess of conflicting signals—the agonizing ticklishness that had me shrieking with laughter, and the deep, throbbing arousal that the entire situation had created. In my helpless thrashing, my hips bucked involuntarily, and Leo’s sharp eyes caught everything.
His fingers slowed for a moment, not stopping, but transitioning to a slow, deliberate tracing of my arches as his gaze traveled up the length of my stretched body. It settled between my legs, and his smirk deepened into something carnal and knowing.
"Well, well," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. "Look at that. It seems your little confession wasn't the only thing that spilled."
A fresh wave of mortification, hotter than any blush before, burned through me. "N-No... hehe... I—"
"Don't you dare try to deny it," he chided, his fingers resuming their light, skittering dance, forcing another giggle from my throat. "I can see it. I can see everything." His eyes were locked on the evidence of my pleasure, a single, glistening drop betraying me completely. "Your body is so much more honest than your mouth, isn't it? It's screaming how much it loves this."
He increased the pressure, his thumbs digging into the tender spots right in the center of my soles while his other fingers fluttered over my bound toes.
"You're laughing until you cry," he stated, his voice a low, intimate growl that vibrated through me. "And you're so hard for me it's dripping. You are the most perfect, beautiful mess."
The juxtaposition was overwhelming. The tickling sent waves of frantic, desperate laughter through me, while his words and the undeniable physical proof of my arousal sent shocks of a different, deeper kind of pleasure. I was completely unravelled, caught in a storm of sensation where pain and pleasure had blurred into one unbearable, exquisite peak.
"See?" he whispered, his eyes burning into mine as his fingers never ceased their relentless, tickling torture. "This is who you are for me. My laughing, begging, dripping, ticklish boy. And we are nowhere near finished."
"See?" he whispered, his eyes burning into mine as his fingers never ceased their relentless, tickling torture. "This is who you are for me. My laughing, begging, dripping, ticklish boy. And we are nowhere near finished."
His words weren't just a promise; they were a prophecy. He shifted his position, kneeling more to the side, allowing him full access to my entire body. His left hand remained dedicated to its task, fingers dancing and scribbling across my nylon-clad soles with a renewed, focused intensity that sent me spiraling back into breathless, hysterical laughter.
"NO! HAHAHA! LEO, PLEE-HEE-HEASE!"
But his right hand, warm and firm, was already moving. It wrapped around my aching length, slick from the evidence of my own arousal. The touch was electric, a direct, shocking contrast to the frantic, nerve-shredding sensation in my feet.
The two feelings collided inside me, a sensory overload that short-circuited my brain. The helpless, involuntary giggles and shrieks from the tickling mixed with deep, guttural moans of pleasure as his hand began to move on me, his stroke slow and deliberate at first, then matching the relentless rhythm of his tickling fingers.
"You can't hide from me," he growled, his voice rough with his own arousal. "Every twitch, every laugh, every drop... it's all mine."
I was trapped in the most exquisite paradox. My body was trying to convulse away from the tickling torture while simultaneously arching into the pleasure of his hand. The sensations fed into each other, amplifying both until they became one overwhelming, unbearable peak. My world narrowed to the devilish dance on my soles and the perfect, firm friction on my cock.
My laughter turned into a choked, gasping sob as the pressure built, coiling tight in my gut. "I— I'm gonna— AHAHA! LEO!"
"That's it," he commanded, his tickling fingers digging in deeper, his stroking hand moving faster. "Let it go. Come for me."
The command shattered the last of my control. With a final, broken cry that was half-scream, half-moan, I came, my release spilling over his hand and onto my stomach in hot, pulsing waves. My body seized, my back arching violently against the restraints as the climax ripped through me, the tickling on my soles continuing to send frantic, secondary jolts through my shuddering frame even through the aftershocks.
Finally, blessedly, both his hands stilled. I collapsed against the bed, utterly spent, gasping for air, my body slick with sweat and spend, my tortured nylon clad feet still twitching. Leo leaned over me, his face filled with a dark, satisfied warmth. He brought his clean fingers to my lips, smearing a tear from my cheek.
"Perfect," he breathed. "Absolutely perfect."
I watched, dazed, as he moved and sat on the edge near my head, his back to me, and began to undress. First, he pulled off his 12.5 leather shoes, letting them thud softly to the floor. Then his shirt, then his pants and underwear, all discarded in a quiet heap. He was powerful, fully revealed.
Then he turned, and my breath caught. He swung his legs up, seeting on my thigs pressing me down. And that’s when I saw them. His feet, clad in sheer sweat black nylons, were poised just above my face. The fabric was a dark whisper against his skin, hugging the strong arches and his long toes.
"Breathe," he commanded softly.
He lowered his feet, the soft, sleek nylon settling gently over my nose and mouth. I exhaled a hot, shaky breath, and the fabric warmed instantly. I could feel the solid shape of his soles, the subtle pressure. It was an act of profound dominance, yet it felt strangely intimate.
"Now, kiss," he murmured, his voice a low vibration above me.
I didn't hesitate. I turned my head slightly and pressed my lips against the arch of his right foot through the fabric. The nylon was smooth and cool against my mouth. I kissed it again, then licked a slow, deliberate stripe from his heel to the ball of his foot. I could taste the faint, clean scent of leather and sweat, filtered through the whisper-thin barrier.
I heard his soft, satisfied sigh. I did it again and again, lavishing attention on both of his nylon-sheathed feet with a devotion I didn't know I possessed, kissing and licking until the fabric was damp with my saliva and my efforts.
He let me continue for a long moment before he slowly pulled his feet away. He leaned down, his face now inches from mine, his eyes dark with promise.
"That was very good," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my damp forehead. "You learn quickly." A slow, wicked smile touched his lips. "Do that for me again tomorrow, and I'll tickle those pretty nylon soles of yours until you forget your own name."
A shiver of anticipation, equal parts dread and desire, ran through my exhausted body. The words left my lips in a hopeful, breathless whisper.
"Do we need to wait until tomorrow?"
He grins, a flash of pure, predatory delight. "Certainly not..."
And then his fingers find my nylon-clad soles again, scratching and scribbling with a renewed, devastating energy. My laughter, raw and joyful, fills the room once more—a lovely, endless tickling torment.
The end
The glass door hissed open and a guy walked in. Older than me, maybe late-thirties as pointed buy some gray hairs in his goatee and head, with this easy confidence that made me stand up a little straighter. . He had a single leather duffel and his eyes scanned the room, landing on me with a quick, appraising look. A small, almost secret smile touched his lips as he started walking over.
My first instinct was to look down, and that's when I saw it. My slim-fit chinos had ridden up, exposing a couple inches of my socks. Not my usual thick cotton ones. These were sheer, light gray, and faintly shiny—a "daring" gift from my sister. Right now, "daring" felt a whole lot like "mortifying."
He stopped a couple of feet away. His gaze was direct, but not mean.
Interesting sock choice," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through me. He nodded toward my ankles. "Sheer, right?"
A wave of heat flooded my neck and face. I could feel the blush burning my cheeks. "Oh. Uh, yeah. Just... trying something different." I cringed at how squeaky my voice sounded.
His smile widened. "I like it. It's a good look. Hot, even."
Hot. He said hot. My brain short-circuited. The word just echoed in the space between us, turning my blush into a full-blown inferno. I think I managed to choke out a "Thanks," but I wasn't sure.
He didn't seem to need more. He just tilted his head toward the elevators. "I'm in room 814. Come up for a drink. We can... talk about socks."
It was the craziest, most ridiculous line I'd ever heard. And every single sane cell in my body was screaming no. But the part of me that had chosen these socks this morning, the part that wanted to be a little daring, won out. I just nodded, my voice completely gone.
The elevator ride was a silent, mirrored nightmare of me watching my own stunned, red-faced reflection. I only 5'7" tall while Leo 6'1". Room 814 was nice—king-sized bed, a killer view. The guy—"Leo," he said—tossed his duffel on a chair and poured two whiskeys from the minibar, handing one to me.
"Make yourself comfortable,' Leo said pointing to the couch in front of the bed. His eyes doing that twinkling thing again. "Kick your shoes off."
Feeling like I was moving through a dream, I slipped off my 10 1/2 leather shoes. The cool air hit my sheer-socked feet, and I shivered. Leo sat on the couch right in font of me. He patted his thigs.
"Come on. Let me see those socks up close."
Hesitantly, I rest my ankes over his lap. His hand reached out and his finger traced a slow line over the top of my foot, right through the thin fabric. A full-body shiver racked me.
"They're very nice," he murmured. "But you know, the best thing about sheer socks..."
He paused. Then his fingers shifted, and started wiggling gently against the arch of my foot.
A completely undignified giggle exploded out of me. I tried to yank my foot back, but his grip was firm.
"...is that you can feel everything through them," he finished, a totally mischievous grin on his face. His fingers danced over my sole, light as feathers.
"Wait—ah! Hehe, no, that— that tickles!" I gasped, my body curling in on itself.
"I know," he said, his fingers finding the hypersensitive spot just below my toes. "That's the point."
He kept up the assault, his fingers dancing and scribbling across my sheer-clad soles until my giggles escalated into full-bodied, helpless laughter. I writhed, pulling against his armlock around my ankles, completely at his mercy. My body was a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming.
Finally, he stilled his hand, simply resting them on my trembling feet as I lay there panting, trying to catch my breath. My chest was heaving. His gaze, which had been fixed on my face with a look of pure amusement, slowly drifted downward, past my stomach.
A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips.
"Well, hello there," he murmured, his voice dropping to an even deeper, more intimate register.
My brain, still foggy from the tickling, scrambled to catch up. I followed his line of sight and my stomach dropped. The evidence of my... enjoyment... was clearly tenting the front of my chinos. The blush that had receded from my face came roaring back, hotter than ever. I instinctively tried to shift, to hide it, but with my ankles still pinned in his armlock, it was impossible.
"Seems like you're enjoying this even more than I thought," Leo said, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine. They were dark and intensely focused now, the playful twinkle replaced by something hotter, more possessive.
He didn't wait for my stammered, mortified reply. His hand left my ankle and slowly, deliberately, reached out. He didn't touch me there—not yet. Instead, he stoop up and approached, he laid the palm of his hand flat against the fabric of my shirt, right over my pounding heart.
"Your heart is racing, Kevin," he observed, his thumb brushing back and forth. "Is it from the laughing... or from something else?"
The question hung in the air, demanding an answer. My mind was a jumble of embarrassment and a thrilling, desperate need.
"B-Both," I finally managed to choke out, the admission feeling both shameful and liberating. "It's... both."
Leo's smile was a flash of pure, triumphant heat. "Good."
In one fluid motion, he moved his hands touching me towards my neck. His fingers went to the knot of my own tie, loosening it with an efficiency that spoke of practice. The silk slithered away from my collar with a soft whisper.
Then his hands went to the buttons of my shirt. His knuckles brushed against my heated skin with each one he popped open, from my throat down to my stomach. The cool air hit my bare skin, raising goosebumps, and I shivered violently. He parted the fabric and, without ceremony, pulled it down my shoulders and off my arms, tossing it on the floor.
He took my wrists—gently but firmly—and guided them together. The cool, smooth silk of my tie wrapped of my around them, and with a few efficient loops and a secure knot, my wrists were bound. He gave the tie a testing tug, and a fresh, entirely different kind of shiver ran through me. I was tethered to him. To this moment.
"Leo..." I whispered, my voice a mix of nerves and dizzying anticipation.
"Shhh," he soothed, letting his hands drift to my lips, which were wet. "Trust me."
His thumb brushed my lower lip, and I shivered. Then his hand moved down, over my chin, my throat, my chest, in one slow, possessive stroke. His eyes never left mine. He knelt then, his knees on the floor between my feet, putting himself at my eye level but making me feel no less powerless.
His hands went to my belt. The click of the buckle releasing was deafening in the quiet room. He didn't rush. He slowly pulled the leather through the loops, the friction a whisper against the fabric of my chinos. He tossed the belt aside, and it landed on the floor with a soft thud.
My breath hitched as his fingers found the button of my pants. He popped it open, then slowly, deliberately, drew down the zipper. The sound seemed to unravel the last of my composure. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my chinos and my underwear and, with a firm pull, peeled them both down my hips and thighs, past my knees, and off over my sheer-socked feet. He tossed the bundle of clothing onto the growing pile.
Now I was completely exposed, save for the light gray sheerness on my feet and the tie binding my wrists. The cool air was a shock against my heated skin. I felt a fresh wave of blush cover my entire body.
Leo stood up, his gaze sweeping over me with open hunger. He didn't say a word. Instead, he reached for the end of the tie that secured my wrists. He gave it a gentle, but undeniable, pull.
"Up," he commanded, his voice soft but absolute.
I obeyed, my legs feeling like jelly as I rose from the couch. He didn't pull hard, just guided me, leading me by my bound wrists the few steps to the side of the large bed. The plush carpet was soft beneath my socked feet.
With a firm press on my shoulder, he guided me to sit on the edge of the mattress. He looked down at me, a powerful, fully-clothed figure looming over my naked, bound form.
"Lie back," he said.
I did, scooting back until my head rested on the pillows. The comforter was cool and crisp against my bare skin. He stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes tracing the length of my body, from my tied hands resting on my stomach, down my torso, to my sheer-socked feet.
Instead of joining me, his hands went to his own neck. He loosened his tie and pulled it off with a soft whisper of silk. Then he knelt on the mattress, his weight dipping it beside me. He took my ankles firmly and pulled, sliding me down the bed. He brought my nyloned feet together, the sheer fabric slick against itself, and wrapped his tie around my ankles. He cinched it tight with a secure knot, the silk firm and unyielding.
Next, he retrieved my leather belt from the floor. He fed the buckle end through one of the ornate wooden slats at the foot of the bed, creating a leash. He looped the other end through the space between my tied ankles and pulled, drawing my legs down until I felt a gentle, steady tension. The buckle clicked shut, securing me.
A slow smile played on his lips as he then unbuckled his own belt and pulled it free with a sharp, deliberate sound. He took my bound wrists and raised my arms above my head, stretching my torso. He repeated the process, looping his belt through the headboard and then through the bindings on my wrists, fastening it and pulling until my arms were held taut.
I was stretched in a diagonal across the king-sized bed, anchored at two points. The gentle downward pull on my legs and the upward stretch on my arms left me completely open and unable to move even an inch. Every inch of me was on display, utterly helpless.
He moved to the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over the scene he had created. His gaze was a physical weight, and it settled finally on my feet, still sheathed in the light gray nylon.
"These really are the star of the show," he mused, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. He reached out and ran a single fingertip slowly down the sole of my right foot, from the heel to the ball.
A violent shiver racked my entire body. The sheer fabric amplified the touch, turning a simple caress into an electric current. A helpless giggle bubbled in my throat.
"They're so... expressive," he continued, now tracing idle circles on my arch. The sensation was maddening, a light, fluttering touch that promised worse. "They twitch and curl with every little thing I do. It's like they're telling me all your secrets."
His fingers suddenly shifted, scribbling lightly over the same spot.
"Ah! Hehe, wait—!" I gasped, my back arching off the bed as much as the restraints would allow. The laughter burst out of me, high and desperate.
"Wait?" Leo asked, his tone one of mock innocence. He paused, his hand hovering just above my skin. "But we're just getting acquainted." His eyes locked with mine, a playful, wicked glint in them. "Is my little business traveler ticklish?"
Before I could even form a denial, his fingers dove back in, this time using both hands to dance and spider across both of my soles simultaneously. The sensation was overwhelming. I was laughing uncontrollably, pulling uselessly at the belts and ties that held me fast.
"Please! Hahaha! Leo, oh god, that's too much!" I begged, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes.
He leaned forward, his face close to my feet, his breath warm through the thin nylon. "But you look so happy," he teased, his voice a husky whisper. "And the sounds you make..." He deliberately dragged his nails in a slow, torturous line from my heel to my toes.
I shrieked, my body jolting against the restraints. The touch was excruciatingly light, perfectly calculated to exploit every hyper-sensitive nerve.
"Such a pretty, ticklish laugh for me," he cooed, switching to a relentless, wiggling motion right in the center of my arches. "All because of a pair of silly socks. Who knew they'd be your undoing?"
He didn't let up, his hands moving in a devastating rhythm, exploring every inch of my nylon-clad soles, learning what spots made me buck and what spots made me scream with laughter. I was completely at his mercy, lost in a storm of sensation, with his teasing voice the only anchor I had in the dizzying, ticklish bliss.
"Please! Hahaha! Leo, oh god, that's too much!" I begged, tears starting to well in the corners of my eyes.
He leaned forward, his face close to my feet, his breath warm through the thin nylon. "But you look so happy," he teased, his voice a husky whisper. "And the sounds you make..." He deliberately dragged his nails in a slow, torturous line from my heel to my toes.
I shrieked, my body jolting against the restraints. "AHAHA! NO! NOT THE-HEHEHEHE-NAILS!"
"Shhh, relax into it," he cooed, but his fingers betrayed the soothing words, digging in with a ruthless, wiggling intensity right into the tender arches of my feet. "That's it... just let it all out. Nobody can hear you but me."
My laughter turned breathless, punctuated by helpless gasps. "I ca-hahan't! I ca-hahan't breathe! Ple-hee-heease!"
"You can," he insisted, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl that was somehow more terrifying than his shouting would have been. He spidered his fingers rapidly over the ball of my foot, just below my toes, and I saw stars. "Your body is doing exactly what it's supposed to. Look at you. So responsive. So perfect."
He paused for a fraction of a second, letting me drag in a single, ragged breath, my chest heaving. His eyes were dark pits of amusement.
"Are these little socks magic?" he pondered aloud, tracing the outline of my squirming toes through the fabric. "Or are you just this desperately ticklish everywhere?"
Before I could answer, he plunged both hands back in, his assault more focused and mean now, zeroing in on the very worst spots he'd already discovered. "Too bad we don't have time to find out. I'm having too much fun right here."
"LEO! STAHAHAHAP! MERCY! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" I howled, thrashing my head from side to side, completely overcome.
"Anything?" he repeated, his fingers never slowing their relentless scribbling. "But you're already doing everything I want. You're laughing, you're begging, you're blushing that gorgeous shade of red... What more could I ask for?"
His thumbs pressed hard into the center of my soles, rotating in deep, cruel circles while his other fingers skittered along the highly sensitive sides.
"GAHAHAHA! OKAY! OKAY! I'M TICKLISH! I'M SO TICKLISH!" I confessed, the admission torn from me between peals of hysterical laughter.
"I know you are, baby," he murmured, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "I know. And we're nowhere near done."
His words sent a fresh wave of panic through me, but before I could form another plea, he suddenly stopped. The sudden absence of sensation was almost as shocking as the tickling itself. I lay there panting, my entire body tingling, watching him through tear-blurred eyes as he walked over to where my shoes lay discarded by the couch.
He returned a moment later, and my heart sank when I saw what was in his hands: the long, black shoelaces from my own leather shoes.
"An improvement to the staging," he said, his tone conversational, as if we were discussing interior design. He knelt between my splayed, belt-anchored legs, his focus on my feet, which were still twitching with phantom sensations.
He took my right big toe, then my left, his grip firm. I whimpered, already knowing what was coming. With practiced efficiency, he looped one shoelace around both of my big toes, pulling them together until they were pressed tightly side-by-side. He tied a secure, double knot, ensuring my toes were bound together, a single, helpless unit.
The effect was immediate and profoundly exposing. It forced my feet into a slightly pigeon-toed position, pulling the delicate, inner arches of my soles into even tighter, more vulnerable curves. The thin nylon of my socks stretched taut over the newly formed gap between my feet.
"Perfect," Leo breathed, admiring his work. "Now they can't even hide from each other."
His index finger slowly, deliberately, traced the newly stretched, hyper-sensitive skin along the inner arch that the binding had created.
I let out a choked squeal, my whole body tensing. "Oh g-god... no..."
"No?" he asked, his eyebrow raised in mock confusion. "But I just got them all dressed up for the party."
And then he attacked.
With my toes tied together, he could torture both arches with one hand, his fingers scuttling up and down the most sensitive area with a devastating, unified rhythm. His other hand went to work on the balls of my feet and my helplessly bound toes, tickling and wiggling.
The laughter that erupted from me was sheer, unadulterated hysteria. I was completely, utterly trapped, and the unique, double-barreled sensation of the new position was a fresh new hell of ticklish torment.
"HAHAHAHA! YOU'RE—HEHE—INSANE! UNTIE THEHEHEM!" I begged, my words dissolving into incoherent shrieks.
"Why would I?" he chuckled, his eyes alight with fiendish joy. "They look so cute together. And they're so much more... cooperative this way."
is fingers became a blur, spidering up and down the stretched inner arches that the shoelace had made so exquisitely accessible. The sensation was unbearable, a concentrated, unified tickling that sent seismic shocks through my entire nervous system.
"PLEE-HEE-HEASE! MERCY! I'LL DO ANYTHING!" I howled, my voice raw and cracking with laughter.
"Anything?" he repeated, not even pausing his relentless assault. "You said that last time. But you're not in a position to offer anything I don't already have." He dug his thumbs deep into the centers of my soles and made little circles. "This is the deal, Kevin. You provide the laughter, and I provide the... motivation."
"NO MORE! I CAHAHAN'T TAKE IT! MY STOMACH HURTS!" I gasped, tears now streaming freely down my temples and into my hair.
"Aww, does it?" he mocked, his voice a syrupy fake pout. He switched to a rapid, fluttering motion right over my nylon-clad heels, a spot that made me scream. "Don't worry, your abs will thank me later. Think of this as a very... specific... workout."
He leaned closer, his breath hot on my toes. "Look at them dance! They're putting on a whole show just for me. Do they always have this much energy, or am I just that good?"
"I HAHAHATE YOU!" I shrieked, though the words held no malice, only the sheer, desperate frustration of my complete helplessness.
"You hate me?" He threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that was somehow more terrifying than his teasing. "Your body tells a very different story. These giggles sound an awful lot like love to me."
With a final, cruel flourish, he dragged the very tips of his nails from the tightly-bound base of my big toes all the way down to my heels, a slow, excruciating journey that frayed my last remaining nerve.
I exploded into a wordless, breathless, writhing fit, my laughter silent for a moment before a new, hysterical pitch erupted. I was completely broken, a sobbing, giggling mess on the bed, my world reduced to nothing but the tickling and his voice.
"See?" Leo whispered, his fingers still tracing light, possessive patterns on my destroyed soles. "You don't hate me. You just hate how much you love this."
Through the gasping, tear-filled haze, something in me broke. The last shred of resistance crumbled under the weight of his words and the lingering, tingling sensation. The truth, humiliating and undeniable, spilled out.
"OKAY! YES! YES, I LOVE IT! I LOVE IHAHAHAT! ARE YOU HAPPY?!" I confessed, the words a ragged, sobbing scream of surrender.
The effect was instantaneous.
Leo’s eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated triumph. A wide, predatory grin spread across his face. "Now that," he purred, his voice dropping to a low, thrilling rumble, "is what I've been waiting to hear."
And he descended.
If I had thought his tickling was intense before, it was nothing compared to this. My confession seemed to have unleashed a new level of fiendish creativity. He used his knuckles to drill into the arches, his nails to scribble frantic, shivery patterns over the balls of my feet, and his fingertips to flutter against the hypersensitive spots just below my bound toes.
"YOU SAID IT! YOU ADMIT IT!" he chanted, his voice rising with gleeful energy as my body convulsed. "MY TICKLISH, NYLON-CLAD BOY LOVES EVERY SECOND OF THIS!"
"HAHAHAHA! I DO! I DO! BUT PLEE-HEE-HEASE! IT'S TOO MUCH NOW!" I begged, the admission making my helplessness feel even more absolute.
"Too much?" he laughed, not slowing for a second. "This is a celebration! We're celebrating your honesty!" He zeroed in on the inner arches, the skin stretched taut by the shoelace, and wiggled his fingers with vicious speed.
The sensation was electric, unbearable, and utterly inescapable. My laughter was constant now, a high-pitched, breathless stream of hysteria. I was drowning in the sensation, my mind blank of everything but the tickling and the sound of his triumphant voice.
"Such a good boy for me," he cooed, the words a sharp contrast to the brutal, tickling torture he was inflicting. "Telling me the truth. You deserve a reward."
His idea of a reward was to lean down and blow a warm, sudden stream of air right through the thin nylon onto the damp, overheated skin of my sole.
I shrieked, my back bowing off the bed as a whole new wave of ticklish agony erupted. He just laughed, a dark, happy sound, and went right back to scribbling with his fingers, showing no mercy to the nylon-clad soles that had willingly confessed their love for this torment.
My body was a mess of conflicting signals—the agonizing ticklishness that had me shrieking with laughter, and the deep, throbbing arousal that the entire situation had created. In my helpless thrashing, my hips bucked involuntarily, and Leo’s sharp eyes caught everything.
His fingers slowed for a moment, not stopping, but transitioning to a slow, deliberate tracing of my arches as his gaze traveled up the length of my stretched body. It settled between my legs, and his smirk deepened into something carnal and knowing.
"Well, well," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. "Look at that. It seems your little confession wasn't the only thing that spilled."
A fresh wave of mortification, hotter than any blush before, burned through me. "N-No... hehe... I—"
"Don't you dare try to deny it," he chided, his fingers resuming their light, skittering dance, forcing another giggle from my throat. "I can see it. I can see everything." His eyes were locked on the evidence of my pleasure, a single, glistening drop betraying me completely. "Your body is so much more honest than your mouth, isn't it? It's screaming how much it loves this."
He increased the pressure, his thumbs digging into the tender spots right in the center of my soles while his other fingers fluttered over my bound toes.
"You're laughing until you cry," he stated, his voice a low, intimate growl that vibrated through me. "And you're so hard for me it's dripping. You are the most perfect, beautiful mess."
The juxtaposition was overwhelming. The tickling sent waves of frantic, desperate laughter through me, while his words and the undeniable physical proof of my arousal sent shocks of a different, deeper kind of pleasure. I was completely unravelled, caught in a storm of sensation where pain and pleasure had blurred into one unbearable, exquisite peak.
"See?" he whispered, his eyes burning into mine as his fingers never ceased their relentless, tickling torture. "This is who you are for me. My laughing, begging, dripping, ticklish boy. And we are nowhere near finished."
"See?" he whispered, his eyes burning into mine as his fingers never ceased their relentless, tickling torture. "This is who you are for me. My laughing, begging, dripping, ticklish boy. And we are nowhere near finished."
His words weren't just a promise; they were a prophecy. He shifted his position, kneeling more to the side, allowing him full access to my entire body. His left hand remained dedicated to its task, fingers dancing and scribbling across my nylon-clad soles with a renewed, focused intensity that sent me spiraling back into breathless, hysterical laughter.
"NO! HAHAHA! LEO, PLEE-HEE-HEASE!"
But his right hand, warm and firm, was already moving. It wrapped around my aching length, slick from the evidence of my own arousal. The touch was electric, a direct, shocking contrast to the frantic, nerve-shredding sensation in my feet.
The two feelings collided inside me, a sensory overload that short-circuited my brain. The helpless, involuntary giggles and shrieks from the tickling mixed with deep, guttural moans of pleasure as his hand began to move on me, his stroke slow and deliberate at first, then matching the relentless rhythm of his tickling fingers.
"You can't hide from me," he growled, his voice rough with his own arousal. "Every twitch, every laugh, every drop... it's all mine."
I was trapped in the most exquisite paradox. My body was trying to convulse away from the tickling torture while simultaneously arching into the pleasure of his hand. The sensations fed into each other, amplifying both until they became one overwhelming, unbearable peak. My world narrowed to the devilish dance on my soles and the perfect, firm friction on my cock.
My laughter turned into a choked, gasping sob as the pressure built, coiling tight in my gut. "I— I'm gonna— AHAHA! LEO!"
"That's it," he commanded, his tickling fingers digging in deeper, his stroking hand moving faster. "Let it go. Come for me."
The command shattered the last of my control. With a final, broken cry that was half-scream, half-moan, I came, my release spilling over his hand and onto my stomach in hot, pulsing waves. My body seized, my back arching violently against the restraints as the climax ripped through me, the tickling on my soles continuing to send frantic, secondary jolts through my shuddering frame even through the aftershocks.
Finally, blessedly, both his hands stilled. I collapsed against the bed, utterly spent, gasping for air, my body slick with sweat and spend, my tortured nylon clad feet still twitching. Leo leaned over me, his face filled with a dark, satisfied warmth. He brought his clean fingers to my lips, smearing a tear from my cheek.
"Perfect," he breathed. "Absolutely perfect."
I watched, dazed, as he moved and sat on the edge near my head, his back to me, and began to undress. First, he pulled off his 12.5 leather shoes, letting them thud softly to the floor. Then his shirt, then his pants and underwear, all discarded in a quiet heap. He was powerful, fully revealed.
Then he turned, and my breath caught. He swung his legs up, seeting on my thigs pressing me down. And that’s when I saw them. His feet, clad in sheer sweat black nylons, were poised just above my face. The fabric was a dark whisper against his skin, hugging the strong arches and his long toes.
"Breathe," he commanded softly.
He lowered his feet, the soft, sleek nylon settling gently over my nose and mouth. I exhaled a hot, shaky breath, and the fabric warmed instantly. I could feel the solid shape of his soles, the subtle pressure. It was an act of profound dominance, yet it felt strangely intimate.
"Now, kiss," he murmured, his voice a low vibration above me.
I didn't hesitate. I turned my head slightly and pressed my lips against the arch of his right foot through the fabric. The nylon was smooth and cool against my mouth. I kissed it again, then licked a slow, deliberate stripe from his heel to the ball of his foot. I could taste the faint, clean scent of leather and sweat, filtered through the whisper-thin barrier.
I heard his soft, satisfied sigh. I did it again and again, lavishing attention on both of his nylon-sheathed feet with a devotion I didn't know I possessed, kissing and licking until the fabric was damp with my saliva and my efforts.
He let me continue for a long moment before he slowly pulled his feet away. He leaned down, his face now inches from mine, his eyes dark with promise.
"That was very good," he said, brushing a strand of hair from my damp forehead. "You learn quickly." A slow, wicked smile touched his lips. "Do that for me again tomorrow, and I'll tickle those pretty nylon soles of yours until you forget your own name."
A shiver of anticipation, equal parts dread and desire, ran through my exhausted body. The words left my lips in a hopeful, breathless whisper.
"Do we need to wait until tomorrow?"
He grins, a flash of pure, predatory delight. "Certainly not..."
And then his fingers find my nylon-clad soles again, scratching and scribbling with a renewed, devastating energy. My laughter, raw and joyful, fills the room once more—a lovely, endless tickling torment.
The end
