“He Let Me Worship His Feet”

I never thought he would let me do it. When his shoes hit the floor, I froze. The warm scent of leather mixed with the raw smell of his day. His toes flexed in front of me, veins visible, skin slightly damp with sweat. My mouth watered as I leaned closer, kissing his heel first, then tracing his arch with slow, trembling lips. Each kiss tasted of salt, masculinity, something primal I couldn’t resist.
He chuckled, tilting his head back, enjoying the show. His dominance was clear—he didn’t have to move, he just had to watch me worship. My tongue slid between his toes, savoring every drop of sweat, every secret hidden in that heat. He pressed his sole against my lips, harder this time, making me moan.
The roughness of his skin against my tongue, the weight of his foot on my face—it was intoxicating. I kissed, licked, surrendered. In that moment, his feet weren’t just feet… they were the center of my universe. My devotion, my lust, my addiction.

He didn’t need to speak. One gentle push and I was on my back, looking up at him. His bare feet landed on my chest, pressing me down, reminding me who was in control. The heat of his skin seeped into mine, his toes curling slightly as I kissed them one by one.

I ran my tongue across his sole, tracing the lines that told the story of his strength. The taste was raw, salty, intoxicating. His heel pressed harder into my chest, and I moaned, helpless under his touch. He leaned back, smiling, as if he knew exactly how deep my addiction ran.

I worshiped every inch, every toe, every rough spot of his sole. My lips trembled, my body ached, but I didn’t stop. In that moment, nothing else mattered—only his feet, his dominance, and my surrender to him.

© Copyright CARLOS CAM