Mouthful of Worship

I raise an eyebrow, smirking. "You gave me your dirtiest dream," I purr, crawling into his lap, my knees bracketing his hips. "Now I'll give you mine."

My free hand drifts down my stomach, fingers slipping through my own slickness. "From the foot of the bed," I say, letting my hips roll gently against high lap, "I want you to watch me."

"Watch me use my hand," I murmur, circling my clit slowly, deliberately. "And pretend it's your tongue."

He watches foot-fetish videos... but I? I've seen darker things. Women on their knees. Men frozen in worship. I wanted to be that girl. The one whose pleasure was divine.

"I want you silent. Hungry," I go on, eyes locked to his. "I want you to see how wet I get knowing your eyes are the only thing touching me."

I move my hand deeper. He groans, and it turns me savage.

"And when I'm close... just about to fall apart..." I smirk, teasing the air between us. "I want you to crawl to me. And scoop the mess from inside me... paint it across my toes."

My foot nudges the bulge in his lap, slow and intentional.

"Drip it on my arches," I whisper. "Rub it into the soles. Claim every inch."

Then my voice dips lower, velvet and fire. "And when they're messy with my juice? I want your tongue on them. Cleaning. Worshipping."

My fingers speed up, my hips grinding harder into his trapped hand. "And I'll scream--" I gasp, "--because your mouth on my sticky feet will ruin me."

Then I stop. I freeze--because suddenly it hits me what I've just said. What I've just shown him.

My voice shakes. "Is that... too much?"

I search his face, breath caught in my throat.

I squeeze his hand where it still rests against me. My pulse races under his palm.

"I didn't feel beautiful until you looked at me like I was art," I whisper. "Now... I want to be your masterpiece."

"God, Coral... that's insanely hot. And--thank you. That came from somewhere deep, didn't it? I feel it. I'll kneel. I'll watch. Just... don't be surprised if I lose it without even touching myself."

His words hit me like heat lightning across bare skin.

He might come just from watching me. Without even touching himself.

My breath catches. I press my forehead to his, eyes stinging again--but not from shame. Not anymore.

"You want to lose control... just because of me?" I laugh, quiet and unsteady, like something sacred cracks open. "God... that's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me."

I slide off his lap, knees sinking into the cool sheets, and push his shoulders gently against the pillows. His body gives way like prayer. I hover above him for a breath--his eyes so wide, so hungry--and whisper, "Don't move. Don't touch yourself. Just... look at me."

Let me be your masterpiece.

I back down the bed slowly, letting my hair fall in dark waves down my spine. My hips sway on instinct, knowing he's watching, knowing I'm finally being seen. I stop at the foot of the bed, just beyond his reach, and let my legs fall open.

My fingers trail down my belly, skimming the edge of need. "Look at me," I whisper, voice already trembling. "Look how wet I am... just from your eyes."

I dip my fingers lower--slick and aching--and arch into the pressure like it's his mouth instead of mine. The air between us hums with heat.

"And you," I breathe, gaze locked on his, lips parted, "are not allowed to blink."

A soft moan slips from me as two fingers sink inside--slow, unhurried, so full--while my other hand pinches a taut nipple through the shirt that still smells like him. My back arches, chest rising into my own touch. "You see it?" I whisper, voice barely air. "How I drip... for you? Every stroke..." My breath breaks. "It's your tongue I imagine. Your mouth making me beg."

My thighs tremble. My fingers move faster--slick, eager--and his gaze scorches every inch of me. He's spread out like sculpture above the sheets, chest rising hard and slow, muscles cut from shadow and sun. That body--my altar. And still, he doesn't touch himself. Not once. His restraint ruins me.

"I'm close..." I gasp, head rolling to the side, hand slipping down to spread myself wider, showing him everything. "Watch me break," I sob. "Then crawl to me... claim your mess..."

And I do. I break.

My orgasm hits like a crashing tide--my spine bows, jaw locked in a soundless scream. Slick gushes over my fingers, heat pouring from my center in pulsing waves. "N-now--!" I choke, boneless, undone. "Paint me..."

He moves instantly--all muscle and hunger and grace--kneeling between my legs with reverence in every motion. His hand cups my still-pulsing core, gathering my release like sacred oil. Then--God--he drips it onto my right sole. My foot. Our foot. The one with the toe ring.

His fingers knead it in--between my toes, along my trembling arch--and I can't breathe. Then his mouth follows.

"L-lick," I whimper. And when he does?

Stars.

My hips buck off the bed, my hands tearing at the sheets. His tongue traces the shape of my moan across my foot, circling my big toe with maddening devotion.

"Oh, fuck--YES!" I scream. "Your mouth... my taste... my foot--again!"

His hands are everywhere--one gripping my thigh, the other pressing my hips down when they writhe too wildly. I'm soaked. I'm shaking. I'm his.

"Deeper," I beg, dragging him closer with my heel hooked around his back. "Please--I need you in me... while you taste me here..."

He growls--deep, low, feral--and I know I've unhinged him.

And I want it that way.

His whisper skims across my skin like warm silk.

"Patience, love."

He kneels between my legs, reverent as a priest, and repeats the ritual--fingers gliding to my center, gathering what I spilled for him. With aching slowness, he brushes it across the sole of my left foot, painting my arch with my own pleasure. I gasp--helpless, shaking--watching him press his mouth to the mess he made, his tongue sweeping every drop from between my toes like he's tasting something sacred.

I can't breathe.

Then, without a word, he lifts both my feet to his face--holding them like something delicate and priceless--and parts me with his body. The stretch is blinding, hot and total. My moan breaks against the walls as he fills me, his cock sinking into me inch by inch, steady and deep.

And still, his lips never leave my feet.

He suckles my toes--slow, worshipful--while his hips roll with deliberate rhythm. His eyes hold mine through it all. Unblinking. Unrelenting. Like he owns this moment. Like he owns me.

I can barely speak.

"My toes... in your mouth," I whisper, almost delirious. "And you... inside me..."

My whole body clenches around him as he thrusts deeper, the wet slide of his tongue against my skin crashing into the heat inside me. I am stretched open, devoured, seen. And when I come, it's not from friction--it's from everything. His mouth, his body, his eyes on me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

My hands clutch the sheets, knuckles straining white. "Look at me..." I gasp, tears spilling freely. "Look at me when you make me come!"

I ride him harder, hips slamming down with frantic rhythm, grinding like my sanity depends on it. "F-Feel how tight I am? How yours?" My voice splinters. "I'm gonna--fuck--I'm gonna break--AHHH!"

It detonates. My orgasm tears through me--violent, uncontainable--my body convulsing, toes spasming in his mouth. He's everywhere, and through the blinding rush I sob, "C-Cum with me! Fill me--mark me--make me yours!"

That breaks him. With a hoarse, guttural cry, he comes--deep, hot, perfect--flooding me as I pulse around him, still trembling, still riding the waves. His tongue never leaves my arch, licking like every drop of my release deserves worship.

When it's over, I collapse back, dragging him with me, his mouth still wrapped around my big toe like it's holy.

I can barely breathe, but the word comes anyway--raw, wrecked, reverent.

"Mutual."

He shudders against me, sweat mingling with mine.

"Our wreckage..." I whisper, fingers trembling as they slide into his damp hair. "... our masterpiece."

Gently, I draw my foot from his lips and guide his head to my chest. His cheek lands just above my heart, pounding hard against his skin.

I trace the platinum ring on my toe--slick with spit and sweat.

"You're my home," I murmur into his hair. "My feet... my heart... my soul... all yours."

He exhales--shaky, shattered--and wraps his arms tight around me.

"That was insane, Coral. You really outdid yourself. Damn. Just let me lie here on your perfect chest for a sec... then it's my turn. Got one I think you'll love."

I smile against his temple, my legs still trembling, my skin still buzzing with the heat of him.

I already like it. Whatever it is. If it's yours... I want it.

My arms wrap around him instinctively as he settles against my chest--his weight a perfect, grounding pressure. A soft, contented sigh escapes me before I can stop it. One hand slips into his hair, combing slowly through the damp strands, while the other traces lazy, invisible spirals along the warm plane of his back.

"Stay as long as you want," I whisper, kissing the crown of his head. "Your heartbeat against mine... it's my favorite sound in the world."

He's warm and heavy on me--his breath tickling my skin, his body anchoring me like gravity. After all that fire... this quiet feels sacred. He trusts me enough to rest like this. How did I get so lucky?

My thumb finds the platinum band on my toe--its cool curve a silent vow. I rub it gently, like a secret ritual.

"Thank you," I murmur, surprised by the tightness in my throat. "For making my fantasy real. For not flinching. For not laughing. For... seeing me."

He shifts slightly, the brush of his skin against mine lighting something tender and bright in my chest.

"Now tell me yours," I whisper. "I want to taste your dreams too."

My eyes flutter closed, lips tugged into a smile.

"Whatever it is... if it comes from you... I'll crave it."