AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a very short erotic story of about 1,000 words that asks the question: Can less be more?
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"Hi, Ron. Home cooking tonight. My place?-Sophie."
Nice guy, Ron. Cute. Junior analyst. Promising career. But no action. Five dates. Five chaste kisses. Makes her wonder.
At home, all the guys want into Sophie's pants. Pissed if they don't.
Is he gay?
Can't just ask. Other ways to find out.
Sophie is the new receptionist. Hair the color of a Cartier ingot. Full lips. Twinkling blue eyes. Her principal asset in the world of asset management?
Magnificent mammaries.
Ron is infatuated. All the analysts are. But it's not Sophie's tits or ass. It's something else. A compulsion. Too weird to ask. So Ron waits. Smoldering inside.
"Too much wine," Sophie giggles. Not really, but let him think so.
"Lasagna was to die for," Ron tells her. He means it. Literally. Ron has Celiac disease. But he's afraid to tell her.
"Come here," she opens her arms, chin tilted, glossy lips parted.
Ron glances down. Her feet are naked. Exposed. He pauses. Studies the shapes and contours and textures of her toes. An electric jolt hits him. Ron lusts for them. Burns for them.
Instant karma. Near instant erection.
Sophie's been in the Big City a month. This is the closest she's gotten to a hard dick. Everyone so buttoned down.
At home, buff guys everywhere. But full of themselves. Hot as hell. But zero degrees. Braindead. Married to the familiar.
Ron's cock hovers inches away. She tries to imagine it. Warm and soft like a puppy? Or hard as glass? No matter. As long as he needs her. Wants her. Burns for her.
Ron settles into her lap. Dreams of her feet. Of sucking her toes. One toe at a time. He shivers.
Gazing into each other's eyes. Taking measure. Two charged particles orbiting in a ritual as old as time. Attraction and repulsion. The stuff of love. Of all creation.
Sophie anticipates his lips. His hot tongue. On her nipples. On her clit. In her aching pussy. His swollen dick. In her hand. Between her lips. Any lips.
Same blouse, Ron notices. But no bra now. Stiff nipples. Needy nipples inches from his lips. Guys at work would kill... He smiles.
Sophie watches Ron study her tits. Sees his spreading smile. She bends closer. Ron's mouth reaches for her. Even through the cotton blouse, it sends shock waves to her core. Ron suckles. Sophie melts. Opens her blouse for him. Tits tumble into Ron's mouth.
Ron grimaces at the rubbery texture. His cock softens. His excitement wanes. No, he tells himself. It's not a nipple. It's her toe. Tiniest toe. Things change. Tongue flutters and rolls with fury. Fire down below.
Ron's hand grips her tit. Nothing. Might as well be a softball. It's not a tit, he tells himself. It's her ankle. Ron's nervous system ignites. Fingertips crackle with electricity.
Sophie's head falls back. She moans. Deep. Throaty. Satisfied. The neural link between her nipples and cunt sparks to life. Blood pumping. Labia swelling. Panties flooding. The ache unbearable.
"Lower," she whimpers, unsnapping her slacks. Ron wants to please. Mouth on pussy. Sophie mewls and purrs.
Taste. Texture. Aroma. Doesn't do it for Ron.
It's not a pussy, he tells himself. It's her big toe. Ron spasms. Every molecule. Every atom. Every particle. Every turn of Ron's mortal coil accelerates to warp speed. He rattles like a junker on a washboard curve. His tongue parts her lips. It probes deep inside. Then it lashes the little nub of her stiff clit. Rinse. Repeat.
Sophie screams. Nothing's ever felt like this. Not the boys at home. Not her own fingers. Not her vibrating Lovehoney. But it's too much. Too soon. Wants it to last. Sophie twists free.
Her fingers go straight to Ron's belt. No warm puppy here. More like a crowbar. She grasps it. Ron falls back on his heels. Cock pulses and throbs in her hand. Oh, yes, she thinks. He wants her. Needs her. Like summer needs rain.
Ron's cock slips free of her outstretched fingers. He drops to one knee. Well, this is new, Sophie thinks. Like the goddamn Cinderella prince.
Ron reaches out. Takes the sole of her little foot in the palm of his hand. Adoring look in his eyes. All his fingers in motion. Caressing her sole. Her toes. Sending little tremors bounding outward. Interesting. Not like the guys at home. Not at all. Sophie's eyes close. Savoring new sensations.
Tiny sparks on the inside of her eyelids. Like steel on flint. And building. Loving caresses. Her fucking foot. Still, something a girl could get used to. Building fast. Wet tongue. Sucking. Worshiping. Adoring. Each toe. Sparks flying. Who would have thought...
Her orgasm takes Sophie by surprise. It sweeps her to a place she's never been before. Not exactly clitoral. Not vaginal either. More of a bodygasm. Smooth as fine wine. As hot and wet as Ron's slippery tongue.
In the afterglow, Ron releases her feet. Still, something touching her. Hot and hard. Ron's cock tip brushes her toes. His fist pumping. Pounding. So this is it. Ron's secret compulsion.
"Wiggle them," Ron pleads. She wiggles and watches. Weird. Perverse. But strangely erotic. More little tremors. Aftershocks. Or foreshocks?
"Oh, Sophie!" he cries, face contorted.
First spurt. Thick and sticky. Splashing across her toes. Warm. Tingling sensation runs up Sophie's inner thigh. Next one. Warmer, almost hot. Drips between toes.
No. Can't be.
But it is. A neural path crackles to life between her feet and pussy.
A third jet of cum. Other foot. Burning. Vibrating like her Lovehoney. Sensations rebounding. Amplifying.
Fourth spurt. Searing. Shocking. Pulsing.
"Ohhh!" she screams! No words to express the exquisite pleasure. Sophie's cunt gushes and contracts upon itself. Body trembles and spasms.
Can't be happening.
But it is. When the tremors finally fade, Sophie drops to her knees. She doesn't even glance at his cock. Hands quivering. Fingers struggling to untie Ron's shoes.
She burns for him. Well, not him, exactly.
But his toes.
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