It occurs to me that I’ve never told you about Clive, but before I do I need to tell you about Alex. You might recall from my earlier posts Steve 1 and Pete 1 where I told you about my mum having had a couple of strokes. In those posts I also told you about Alex, my mum’s other half.
‘Have you got a shiner Alex?’
‘No love,’ he said. ‘It’s sun damage.’
My mind immediately jumped to melanoma.
‘Sun damage…’ I repeated.
‘Yeah, that’s right. The dermatologist has given me some cream for it.’
‘And that’s all it is… sun damage?’
‘Yup. It’s from all those years I spent working on the land,’ he said. ‘Not to mention when I did my National Service over in Cyprus.’
I couldn’t get it straight in my head.
How can you have sun damaged skin and it not be cancer!
I decided not to press it and to look into it when I had the time. Needless to say though, it worried me for reasons I’m not proud to admit. Even though I care about Alex I couldn’t help wondering what the impact would be if anything happened to him. In other words, if Alex died, what would happen to Mum? Even though she’s much better now, and apart from some occasional tingling sensations in her left hand, thankfully there is little residual physical effect. Her memory however is not good and I’m not sure she’d be safe looking after herself without Alex to keep an eye on her.
So, if Alex died, what would be the impact on Jamie, and me!
Oh my god. I feel so selfish writing that!
But regardless of that, it is always a possibility that something could indeed happen to Alex – after all, he’s not a young man anymore.
I really don’t know what else I can write about this without making it seem like I’m a totally selfish bitch.
Having said that, it’s been a long while since we’ve all sat down and had a ‘what if’ chat – you know the type I mean – where we discuss what we will do if the worst happens.
We’ve had them before and both Alex and mum have said they don’t want to be a burden and that they would both go into a home. But we’ve also had chats where they’ve both said they wouldn’t want to go into one too.
I’d guess mum’s strokes will have affected how they see their futures and as such it’s time we had another ‘what if’ chat. I must arrange that with Jamie.
In the meantime I’m rather selfishly hoping and praying Alex is okay.
I’ve been cleaning Clive’s place on a fortnightly basis for several months now. At first he was never at home, but then they closed his office in a cost cutting exercise and now he mostly works from home.
Clive designs shoes!
That’s right, he’s a shoe designer, although I think the technical term is footwear designer.
Okay, so he’s no Jimmy Choo or Manolo Blahnik.
Clive works for one of the more well-known high street stores – you’d know it if I told you the name but in the interests of discretion I’ll leave you wondering.
Anyway, as I say, he now mostly works from home, meaning he’s there when I go to clean his place. Clive is a good few years older than me – I’d guess 15 to 20 years. He’s very neat.
When I say neat I mean fastidiously neat. You know the character Greg Kinnear plays in As Good As It Gets, Simon? Well Simon is going out with a character called Frank played by Cuba Gooding Jr. Frank is the epitome of what I mean by ‘neat’ – hair immaculately cut and sporting a tailored suit with patent leather shoes.
Clive is very much like Frank.
When I’m working from home you’ll find me in a t-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms or combats – you’d never see Clive wearing anything quite so… I don’t know what word to use, so I’ll go with relaxed.
I certainly haven’t.
Every time I’m there he is impeccably turned out. His short blonde hair is always styled with product and side parted; his skin looks freshly washed and moisturised and his attire is always a suit (which looks tailored) finished off with a pair of leather shoes.
He might well have been styled by Frank, and today is no different.
‘Looking dapper Clive,’ I say, appraising his attire admiringly.
‘Thank you miss,’ he says.
He looks me up and down and realises he can’t compliment my t-shirt and combat slacks.
‘Is there anything in particular you want doing today?’ I ask, hanging my coat up on the coat stand in his hallway.
‘No not really,’ he says. ‘Just the usual.’
‘I’m working in the lounge today, so it would be good if you could give my office a clean.’
‘Yup, I can do that,’ I say, nodding.
‘But, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t move any of my designs around.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’ll work around them.’
His office is really a converted large spare bedroom. It’s more of a studio than an office, although not like Kat’s artist’s studio which is kind of messy with paint splashes adding to the ambiance and feel of the room.
Clive’s ‘office’ is more like a design studio, the type with an angled work desk, large sheets of paper and fine tipped pens in a multitude of colours. There’s a desk and PC and even though he does a lot of designs on the PC, he also likes to do a lot by hand. He says it gives him more of a feel for the shoe. I think I know what he means… I think.
I often find myself in a bit of a quandary when it comes to having customers around while I work. On one hand it can be nice to have the company (depending on who it is of course), but on the other hand, especially if they’re working, I feel like I’m a distraction, even more so when I fire up the vacuum cleaner.
I decide I’m going to make cleaning the office my first job and hope he moves out of the lounge and into the office once I’ve finished.
‘I’ll do the office first,’ I say, looking at him for approval.
‘That’s fine by me. I’ll be making a coffee shortly, would you like one?’
‘Oh yes please, milk, no sugar. Actually scratch that, I will have one sugar today.’
‘What?’ He says.
‘Oh, mostly I don’t have sugar, but sometimes I feel like a bit of a treat.’
‘Okay, whatever,’ Clive says chuckling to himself.
I’ve got into the habit of always taking my outdoor shoes off when I enter a customer’s house. Mostly I work in flip-flops that I keep in my caddy, although sometimes I wear heels depending on whose house it is.
Today it’s flip flops.
I’m not wearing socks and as I slip my trainers off I catch Clive watching me slide my feet in my flip-flops.
‘Are you okay Clive?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away then,’ he says coming out of some sort of reverie. ‘Coffee,’ he mutters and heads off towards his kitchen.
I grab my caddy and head off towards his office, grabbing his vacuum cleaner from the storage cupboard under the stairs on my way. It doesn’t take me long to get his office finished because most of the surface space is indeed covered with new designs.
I like seeing his work and yes, I have a good peruse.
I know, I’m a nosey sod!
Clive designs ladies shoes, so I like to see what he’s working on, then when I wander round the shop in question I look to see which of his designs made it into production. It’s kind of thrilling when I recognise one, knowing that I saw it when it was just a developing idea in Clive’s mind.
Seeing his designs in the real world is a little bit magical.
Today he’s working on some summer sandals and also a smart shoe with a kitten heel. The latter is not the kind of thing I’d wear, but the sandals look like they might be cool.
As I say, his work surfaces are pretty much covered up so there is little to do there, so I wipe down the skirting boards, clean the legs on his office chair, and finally give the plush carpet a good vacuum.
When I enter the lounge Clive is sat at a small table in the corner working away on his laptop.
‘Your coffee is in the kitchen,’ he says.
‘Wonderful, thank you.’
One of the things I love about most of my customers is they buy good coffee.
I hate that crap instant stuff.
‘I’ll do the kitchen next,’ I say. ‘Then I’ll come in here and do the lounge.’ I’m hoping this will give him a nudge and prompt him to move into the office before I start in the lounge.
The coffee is indeed good and I take a few moments to savour a few mouthfuls before getting back to it.
While I’m working in the kitchen I listen out to see if I can hear Clive relocating, but at no point is there any sound of movement from the lounge, just the constant tap tap tapping of fingers on a keyboard.
It takes me around a half hour to get the kitchen done. I even fire up the vacuum cleaner, which I normally do at the end of my shift, in the hope it encourages him to move. But as I head back to the lounge he’s still sat working away.
‘Shall I do the bathroom next to save disturbing you?’ I ask.
‘No, it’s fine, carry on,’ he says, not looking up.
I let out a quiet sigh and resign myself to carrying on while Clive works away.
Should I make conversation?
Should I just leave him to work?
Should I ask what he’s working on?
I hate being in situations like this.
With my spray bottle and cloths I begin damp dusting the furniture.
Given that Clive is the impeccably groomed type, you might imagine his home to be the same way, and you’d be right to do so. I haven’t said anything yet about Clive’s place, so here goes. He lives in a 3 bed, detached semi in an affluent area of Leeds. The interior is mostly decorated in simple colour schemes with painted rather than papered walls. The lounge is a soft yellow and his wooded furniture fits in nicely, giving the room a warm feel.
His TV is amazing.
He used to have one of those large black ones on a corner unit with standalone surround sound speakers. He recently got rid of that when the latest Samsung ‘Art’ TV came out. I know he paid a small fortune for it – far more than I ever would on a TV, nevertheless it is beautiful and can display pictures or artwork when not being used as a TV. The surround is a soft grey colour which I much prefer to those big black eyesore units. He’s even managed to get matching grey, flat panel speakers that are attached to the wall. The whole set up is quite amazing. If you’ve seen any of those sci-fi films where the wall is basically a display panel often depicting soothing outdoor scenes, well these TVs are the closest thing we’ve currently got, except these look like works of art rather than TVs. Today there’s a beautiful mountain scene on display.
I’m dusting the top of the wall mounted speakers.
‘That’s a beautiful scene Clive,’ I say, turning to look at him.
He’s staring at my feet.
‘I’m sorry’ he says. ‘What did you say?’
Was he really staring at my feet?
‘I said, that’s a beautiful scene,’ I say, nodding towards the screen.
‘Oh that, yes,’ he says. ‘I took that myself.’
‘Really? Where is it?’
‘It’s in the lake district, near Windermere,’ he says.
‘It looks stunning.’
‘It really is,’ he says fondly. ‘It’s one of my favourite places. Every so often I like to get away for a break from the pressures and deadlines, and that’s my retreat. I always stay at the same little guest house. I love it, and the proprietors have gotten to know me now.’
I imagine that the guest house owners had some fun getting to know Clive and his little ways.
‘I love to go walking in the hills and mountains,’ he continues. ‘It makes me feel at one again.’
I’m not sure why but it surprises me to hear Clive talking this way. I just don’t see him as the outdoor type. I see him more as the fancy parties and soirees type, sipping champagne and fake laughing at the bad anecdotes his friends are coming out with.
I’ve really misjudged him.
‘You look surprised,’ he says, smiling, seeing the wide-eyed expression of surprise on my face.
‘I just never imagined you as the outdoor type,’ I say. ‘You’re always so immaculate that I couldn’t imagine you getting…’ I search for the right expression, one that I hope won’t cause offence. ‘I guess I can’t imagine you getting your feet dirty.’
Clive laughs heartily.
Heartily – what on earth does that even mean!
Does that ever happen to you, where you say or write a word, then wonder what the word really means? Like, what does ‘heartily’ actually look like, or sound like?
I’m off on one again aren’t I?
‘I can understand that,’ he says. ‘I know I always dress well, even when at home. I find it helps get my mind into work mode. I’ve tried working in casual wear, but somehow it affects my mind and I don’t feel as focussed.’
‘I get that,’ I say. ‘After all, if I was going out on the town with Beth, I wouldn’t feel good wearing what I’m wearing now.’ I gesture at my attire – combats, t-shirt and flip-flops.
I catch him glancing me up and down…and there it is…
He’s looking at my feet again.
It’s not much, just a fraction of a second. You know like when you fancy someone, or they fancy you, and when you look at each other you feel like you’re staring, even though in reality it’s only the smallest moment… yeah that. Scientists have proven that our eyes linger fractionally longer when we look at people we like.
Well, Clive just did that prolonged glance thingy looking at my feet.
Give it up Carla.
He designs shoes for fucks sake.
He’s probably just wondering what a design might look like on your blokey feet.
‘Yes, so you get it?’ he says.
‘It makes sense to me,’ I say with a smile.
I shake off the funny feeling I have and finish damp wiping his furniture. Clive returns to tap tap tapping on his laptop.
‘I’ve finished dusting now. I’ll go and do the bathroom and come back later to vacuum so I don’t disturb you.’
I’m hoping that he’ll have vacated the lounge by the time I come back.
‘No, don’t worry,’ he says. ‘You might as well vacuum now while you’re here.’
I plug the vacuum cleaner in and start at the point in the room furthest from him, working my way systematically over the carpet. I quite like vacuuming. The noise of the cleaner blocks out surrounding noise and strangely makes me more aware of my own thoughts. It doesn’t take long before I’m thinking about Richard and especially my last visit.
It was amazing!
I’ve never squirted before, at least not like that anyway. I’ve had spectacular orgasms when I’ve felt my foo-foo clench up and become really wet…really, really wet, but it’s never been so strong that my arousal has gushed out, forcing my lover out of me at the same time.
This is where I think Beth has got it wrong. Richard and I definitely have a special connection.
She just doesn’t know him.
How could she though… I mean, I only ever see him when I clean his place. I’d like to see him outside of our professional arrangement but I’m not sure how to go about that. Besides, I think he should be the one to do the asking. Maybe I’ll drop a few hints next time I’m there and see if he bites.
I start picturing all the different outings Richard and I could go on together. There’s the obvious like cinema and pubs and meals out, but it would also be nice to go for weekends away in nice hotels. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t, at least there’s no reason I can think of.
He just needs a little prompting.
I drift out of my Richard reverie and back to reality and realise I’m getting close to where Clive is working.
He’s looking at my feet again.
Without looking directly at him I’m sure I can see Clive out of the corner of my eye, and I’m sure he’s looking out of the corners of his eyes at my feet.
What the hell is he up to?
I turn the vacuum cleaner off and snap my head round to face him. He quickly turns away looking flustered.
‘Clive…’ I say. ‘Is something wrong?’
He lets out a deep sigh and looks a little sheepish. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Why do you keep looking at my feet? I’ve seen you doing it several times today… what’s going on?’
‘I… I… I just think…’
‘What?’ I demand.
‘I just think…well… you’ve got beautiful feet.’
What did he just say!
‘I beg your pardon,’ I say, feeling more than a little surprised.
‘Carla, you’ve got really beautiful feet.’
It’s Clive’s turn to look surprised.
Shit, I’ve gone too far.
‘I’m sorry Clive, but what the fuck are you talking about.’
‘Look,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry for staring, but I just think you’ve got really beautiful feet.’
I manage to stop myself swearing at him again.
‘Clive, I’m really sorry for swearing at you, but you’ve really caught me off guard here. Why the hell are you fascinated with my feet.’
He sighs again and turns to face me.
‘Can we talk?’ He says. ‘There’s something I’d like to get off my chest.’
I nod and he gets up and moves to the sofa, sits down and pats the sofa indicating I should sit next to him. I’m still feeling a little unsettled but I join him.
He takes a deep breath in and lets it out, slowly. ‘There’s a reason I went into designing shoes Carla,’ he says. ‘And it’s not necessarily a good one.’
‘What do you mean?’
I’m passed feeling perturbed and have to admit to now being curious more than anything else.
‘There’s a good reason I chose shoe designing as a career path Carla,’ he began. He sighed before continuing. ‘I guess you could say I have a fascination with feet.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘It’s more than that.’
‘In what way?’
‘Oh god. I can’t believe I’ve never told anyone about this, and here I am telling you. Look… feet… well, they turn me on.’
‘Oh,’ I say. It wasn’t a short oh, it was one of those long ones, you know the ones, the type people let out when the penny has finally dropped. ‘Oh, I see. You mean you’ve got a foot fetish?’
His eyes pucker and confused frown lines appear on his forehead. ‘You mean there’s a name for it?’
‘Yes, foot fetish. I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.’
All the concern and worry seems to drop from his face, replaced with a huge grin.
‘There’s an actual name for it?’ He says.
‘There’s more than just a name. There are internet groups, porn sites and everything. Hell, it’s not that unusual.’
‘Holy shit. I’ve spent all these years thinking I was some kind of freak.’
‘Well you are I say,’ with a cheeky laugh.
He looks at me and when he sees I’m pulling his leg he laughs too.
‘Can I use your laptop?’ I ask.
‘Sure. Just let me…’ and he gets up and grabs his laptop. ‘I’ll just save and close this down,’ he says, parking himself next to me and placing the laptop on my knees.
I open Google up.
What the hell would be do without Google eh!
And I search for top foot fetish websites.
Clive is mesmerised. His world has clearly just got a whole lot bigger.
‘I can’t believe I never thought to do this,’ he says. ‘Why didn’t I think about looking on Google before now!’
‘Maybe a combination of no knowing exactly what to look for and also feeling a bit foolish or naughty?’
‘Maybe,’ he says thoughtfully.
I’m scrolling through page after page of foot fetish sites, clicking on occasional ones with different themes, mostly to give Clive a quick ‘look through the window’.
‘There’s a lot out there,’ he says. ‘Clearly there are a lot of people like me.’
‘It’s a pretty big thing,’ I say supportively.
‘The thing that appeals to me most is bathing, washing and massaging feet.’
‘Oh, like reflexology?’
‘It’s a form of therapy based on foot massage. Have you not heard of it?’
He says he hadn’t and so I give him a brief overview whilst searching reflexology on Google and clicking through a few pages.
Clive has clearly lead a very sheltered life.
Then, out of the blue he says, ‘Carla, can I wash your feet please?’
Who the hell am I to deny him the pleasure of washing my feet!
Besides, they could do with it.
‘Yes, okay,’ I say.
‘Really?’ he says. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ I say with a little laugh. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ he says. ‘I’ll go and fetch everything. You wait here.’ And with that he scoots off into the kitchen.
Amidst the sound of running water I hear Clive gathering a few things. The running water stops and he dashes out of the kitchen.
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he says.
‘Okay. There’s no rush.’
Clearly for Clive there is as he sprints upstairs. I hear him pottering about for a few minutes before he returns.
I can’t hide my surprise as he enters the room having completely changed clothes.
‘What?’ he says. ‘It’s not like it would be practical to wash your feet wearing one of my good suits.’
He’s wearing grey jogging bottoms and a tight white t-shirt that highlights his toned physique wonderfully.
Sheesh! He’s actually pretty hot.
I’ve never really seen Clive that way before. To me he always seemed… well, as I’ve already said – Cuba Gooding Junior from As Good As It Gets; Cuba’s character is gay in the film. Don’t misunderstand me, while Clive looks good in a suit, but I’d say he looks gay good, if you know what I mean.
Oh god, I’m in danger of coming across as a homophobe.
I don’t mean it that way, I just mean he wasn’t on my radar because I’ve always thought he might prefer men.
Yup stereotyping one oh one!
‘I’ve never seen you in a t-shirt before. It’s a good look on you. Especially the white, it makes your pecs look great.’
He glances down as though he can see what I’m seeing.
‘Thank you,’ he says, smiling, clearly happy with the compliment.
It’s only then I notice his hands are full.
‘Oh, this,’ he says, noticing my curious expression. ‘I thought I might massage your feet afterwards so I’ve got some towels and oils.’
‘Wonderful,’ I say. ‘What are we waiting for…’
He hands me the towels and oils and I place them on the floor beside me while he fetches a bowl of water from the kitchen.
At this point the mood became kind of Zen like. Clive kneels in front of me and carefully places a towel under my feet and then the bowl inbetween. Then he rolls up my trousers up my legs a little, before lifting each leg and placing my feet in the warm water.
This feels lovely.
I started to relax and settled back into the sofa, resting my head on the back and closing my eyes, all the while Clive is gently lathering and washing my feet. After the washing he moves the bowl to one side and lets my feet rest on the towel he’d placed on the floor, folding and wrapping the edges over my feet to absorb the excess water.
‘How was that?’ He asks.
His question stirs my restful state. ‘It was lovely,’ I say with what probably looks like a relaxed, dopey smile.
‘Good. I’m going to massage them now.’
He reaches behind him for a footstool, positions it and sits on it in front of me. Having placed small, dry hand towels over each thigh, he gently cups my ankle, lifts my leg and places my foot on it. Then he opens a bottle of oil and takes a whiff.
‘What are you in the mood for?’ He asks. ‘A relaxing oil, or a more stimulating one?’
‘I didn’t realise there’d be a choice,’ I say.
‘I bought these a while ago but I’ve never had the chance to use them. They’re from The Body Shop.’
‘Considering I’ve still got to drive home I’d better not get too relaxed.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘The more stimulating one it is.’ He puts the lid back on the one he was sniffing and opens the other, pours a little into his hands and rubs them together to warm it. Then he takes my foot in both of his warm hands and rubs the oil all over until it’s fully covered.
I settle back into the comfort of the sofa again – my only intent now is to savour this experience.
Clive has a wonderful touch.
Even though he’s never heard of reflexology, he really ought to study it.
I regularly post a Tweet about reflexology and how the middle & upper sole can send waves of sexual energy to the breasts & nipples, but I’ve never experienced it… until now. Until now it was just a fun sex fact I’d researched and shared.
Oh my god, this is amazing.
I hold back from letting out little moans as his fingers work their magic on my foot. He gently massages his thumbs over the top, between the tendons that run down from my ankle to my toes, and as he does he holds my foot gently massaging the sole with his fingertips. I don’t know how it works but my nipples feel alive and I’m aware of them getting harder. The problem is, my nipples being aroused has the knock on effect of giving me that low down, warm, feeling of arousal.
I’m so glad I wore panties today!
Clive continues with his firm but sensitive massaging and the more he does so the more turned on I get. I sneak a peek at the front of my chest and see my engorged nipples protruding through my sports bra and t-shirt. At times like these I sometimes wish they weren’t quite so large.
And he hasn’t even done the other foot yet.
‘How was that?’ He asks resting my foot on his thigh.
‘Absolutely wonderful,’ I say, and I mean it.
His eyes pause ever so briefly, clearly noticing my excited nipples pushing through my t-shirt. It’s like they’re screaming for attention.
Is that a bulge in his trousers?
I’m sure that’s a bulge in his trousers.
He takes my other foot and repeats the same wonderful process, which only heightens my stimulation.
I decide I’m going to do something about it.
I’m having to keep my other leg a little tense to stop my foot falling off his thigh, so I decide to relax it a little. I slowly allow my foot to slide down until it reaches the seat between his legs and I let it relax into his crotch.
Oh yes! That’s definitely bulge.
It seems I’m not the only one who’s incredibly aroused.
Clive flinches as I rest my sole between his legs. He looks down quickly to see what’s happening but immediately returns his attention to massaging.
Ever so gently and with small movements I begin stroking him, trying to curl my toes around the girth of his bulging length. Knowing he’s so turned on only makes me feel even more horny and I slide a hand under my t-shirt, up towards my breasts.
I can see Clive is doing that thing where you try not to look, but really you’re using your peripheral vision to keep an eye on what’s going on around you.
When my hand reaches my breast I give it a squeeze to satisfy the sexual ache and tension building up inside it.
I’m so glad I wore a sports bra today!
The soft fabric means I can grasp my nipple unhindered and I pinch and squeeze it between my thumb and forefinger.
Oh god, that feels good.
My breathing has become slow and deep and I’m aware that I’m biting my lower lip.
It’s time for more definitive action.
I press my foot a little harder onto his penis and Clive responds immediately by letting out a little moan. He reciprocates by lifting my foot a little higher and lowering his head, taking my toes into his mouth one by one he begins slowly sucking them. It’s much more stimulating than I ever thought it would be.
His cock is truly hard beneath the sole of my foot and all pretence that this was just a foot wash and massage has evaporated.
‘Why don’t you take those off,’ I say gesturing at his jogging pants.
‘Erm…okay. Would you mind if I move onto the sofa?’ He asks. He still sounds a little apprehensive.
‘Of course,’ I say, and with a giggle I add, ‘it is your house and your sofa.’
‘I know… I just…’
I move my legs giving Clive room to stand.
‘This wasn’t what I was expecting to happen,’ he says, hitching his thumbs into the top of his joggers.
‘Me either,’ I reply with a coy smile. ‘But it has and it’s fun.’
He drops his joggers to the floor revealing his arousal pushing against a pair of loose-fitting boxer shorts.
‘You might as well take those off too.’ I nod at his boxers and he looks a little embarrassed, but he does as he’s told.
His manhood is quite magnificent being slightly longer than average and somewhere between medium to thick in girth. It reminds me of one of those German frankfurters. It comes as no surprise that his pubic hair is evenly and neatly trimmed.
‘It looks like you’re enjoying this I say,’ I say, flashing him my coy smile again.
‘To be honest I feel a little embarrassed and… well, ashamed.’
‘Really?’ His words take me by surprise, but I guess they shouldn’t given that up until today he’s been pretty much in the closet about his fetish.
He nods. ‘Yes. Are you sure you’re okay with this?’
‘Of course sweetie,’ I say. ‘We’re both consenting adults and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Look, if it makes it any easier, we’ll have a little fun today and then never talk about it again. The next time I come it will be like it never happened.’
‘Are you sure?’
He nods and looks a little more reassured, so he takes a towel and places it on the sofa between us.
‘It’s so the oil doesn’t mark the fabric,’ he says in response to my questioning look.
I nod my understanding. ‘Sit opposite me, and open your legs.’
He does as I say and I position my legs between his, shuffling my hips forward a little so I can reach him with my feet. He reaches forward and places his hands on my shins.
‘Ah ah,’ I say shaking my head. ‘No touching. I want you to sit on your hands, so you’re not tempted to use them.’
‘Okay,’ he nods and obliges.
I try running my toes up the insides of his thighs, but they don’t have the same dexterity my hands do, so it feels clunky and cumbersome. I think I scratch him more than sensualise him, nevertheless, he doesn’t seem to mind but I do, and I decide I am probably better off focussing on the centrepiece; even so, I want to make it as sensual as I can.
‘Would you rub some more oil into my feet please? Especially the soles.’
He doesn’t need asking twice and pretty soon my feet are nicely oiled up.
‘You can massage any residual oil onto that,’ I say, giving him a cheeky wink and nodding towards his rock hard length.
He gently takes hold of himself and rubs the remaining oil on his hands into his hard cock.
‘You might as well add some more,’ I say. ‘Pour some on.’
As he pours the oil over the end of his engorged helmet he gently pulls his foreskin back and forth. It makes wonderful squelching noises that take me back to how wet I was the last time I was with Richard. This turns me on so much and I feel a burning arousal building between my legs. I’m longing to reach down and pleasure myself but apart from the fact I’m wearing trousers I want to make this more about Clive.
Shift your focus Carla…shift your focus.
After he’s put the oil to one side and sat back on his hands, I begin gently tickling his length with my toes. I find this easier than trying to stimulate his inner thighs, partly because it’s directly in front of me, but mostly because I can simply rest my feet on the sofa giving them a stable base. I curl one foot round his shaft and pushing it gently
against his body in slow up and down motions. I lower my other foot so my toes can tease his testicles. His hips buck and twitch as my oily feet tantalise him and Clive throws his head back letting out a soft low moan.
‘Is that good?’
‘It’s amazing,’ he says facing me. He watches what I’m doing in fascination, his hips continuing to twitch involuntarily.
I love it that he’s so turned on.
‘It’s working for me too,’ I say and momentarily stop what I’m doing to him so I can lift my t-shirt off over my head, taking my bra with it at the same time. My breasts feel free and it feels wonderful. I can’t help myself and I grasp them both and pinch my nipples hard, twisting them between my thumb and fingers.
While I’m stimulating myself I curl both my feet around Clive’s arousal and gently masturbate him.
‘Oh god Carla, I never realised how stunning you are, until today.’
My oily feet slide freely up and down his lubricated cock and as I play with him he stares at my feet, watching the way they’re moving. He seems transfixed. I find it surprising how sensitive the soles of my feet are and I feel him throbbing and pulsing against them which gets me even more horny. I can’t stand it anymore and I unbutton my combats, push the zip down and slip a hand into my panties, gently running my forefinger and ring finger up and down the sides of my outer labia while my middle finger glides easily between my wet folds.
Sheesh, I am soaking down there.
I avoid my clitoris because I don’t want to cum just yet. It’s more important to get Clive there, and from the feel of it he’s not far off. His hips buck a little and he pushes himself onto my feet, which I keep in place letting him determine the pressure on his hard penis.
‘Oh, fuck,’ he says, still staring avidly down between his thighs. ‘I’m going to cum soon.’
Thank fuck for that!
I’m so glad because as much as I’m enjoying teasing my foo-foo with my fingertips, the build up with the foot washing and massage was intense and I’m ready to reach my own pleasure point.
‘Oh, oh, oh,’ he moans as his hips thrash against my feet and thick spurts of semen shoot from the tip of his excited cock onto his t-shirt. His body judders, shaking the sofa, shaking me and amplifying the feeling on my clit.
It’s my time!
With one hand still on my breasts I squeeze my nipples hard. This always has the amazing effect of making my clitoris even more sensitive. I let my middle finger loose on my lubricated little love bud. As soon as I touch it my body tingles with electric. I’m so wet it slides easily and I’m so turned on it’s not long before excitement and arousal give way to my orgasm. My head is thrown back as it takes control. My legs shake involuntarily and somewhere in the distance I can hear Clive groaning and feel him moving away from me.
‘Jesus!’ He says.
‘Carla,’ I say, panting. ‘My name is Carla, not Jesus.’
He laughs. ‘I think we both enjoyed that.’
‘That was really intense,’ I say.
‘For you too?’
‘I was so turned on watching you get turned on. I think because I was feeling honoured… it made things more intense.’
‘Yes. I feel really honoured that you shared your secret with me Clive, and that I was able to help you appreciate how it’s okay to like feet.’
He nods slowly. ‘Actually, that was quite a big thing for me to get off my chest.’
‘I can tell.’
‘I’m not sure if it’s just the sexual release,’ I say. ‘But the expression on your face has changed dramatically. You look so much more relaxed.’
And he did. And I’ll be interested in my future visits to see how this experience continues to affect him.