A Stroke of Luck

They tell me to get naked. I do. My cock is already hard. Their eyes flick down to it with amusement.

They tell me to lie down. I start towards my bed, but they tell me, "No. The floor."

I do.

They leave the room for the moment, into the adjoining bathroom. I literally lie in wait. Right as I'm starting to wish that I'd vacuumed the rug before I invited them over, they come back.

They're wearing one of my button shirts. It hangs big, but not long, on their tall, slender body, narrow band of nakedness between their small breasts down to the fiery swirl of pubic hair above their vulva.

God.

Out of everyone in that bar, what a stroke of luck to have picked them to strike up a conversation with. What a stroke of luck that the conversation turned to sex, that we'd shared such peculiar interest.

What a stroke of luck to walk into the bar at that time, to have sat on that stool.

Next to them.

They walk over to me and stand next to my head. Lying down, looking up at them from my vantage point, they look like a giant.

They lift one small foot. Briefly, I catch a glimpse of hairy labia, just a hint of clitoral hood nearly as pale as the surrounding flesh. Then all I see is leathery sole, held steady just above my nose.

"Go on," they say.

Without hesitation, I extend my tongue. I brush them with the narrow tip of it, just below the ball of their foot. They giggle, but they don't flinch. The tough skin tastes sweaty and a little dusty.

Definitely should have vacuumed.

"Open up," they say. "Like you're smoking a cigarette."

I pooch my lips out, slightly agape.

"Good boy," they say.

They tip their foot, sticking their big toe in my mouth.

I take their foot in both hands and gratefully suck on the toe, a tiny cock between my lips. They push it in and out, playing up the theater of ersatz fellatio.

"Mmm... clean me," they tell me. "Get 'em in between."

"Won't it tickle?"

In response, they press their foot into my face. Instinctively, my hands release them, my body going limp. My head goes sideways, sandwiched under the gentle pressure against the dusty rug.

"Let me do the worrying," they say, grinning. "No thoughts allowed in that pretty little head of yours.

I take their foot into my hands once more.

Methodically, fastidiously, I snake my tongue up and down the length of each toe and in between, tasting their tough skin, learning to love the funk and sweat of the day.

"Mmhmm," they murmur. "Very good."

I finish their foot off by thoroughly fellating each toe, one by one. If they could ejaculate, I'm certain my belly would have five loads of cum in it.

They put their foot down, gingerly, sighing as the moist skin touches the floor, as though the sensation is all there is.

"Now, the other one," they say.

I reach for it, but they shake their head.

"No. Over there." They indicate the bed.

They grab the pillows and the blankets and make them into a pile, which they recline against. Their beautiful long legs open up to display the pale, red-wreathed treasures in between.

They raise their other foot.

"Come," they say.

I kneel on the bed and take the foot into my hands.

They walk me through as I perform the same slow, sensuous procedure, licking the bottom from heel to ball until the whole sole of their foot is moist. I suck off each toe.

All the while, I can't help but stare as their tiny hand makes its way down their long belly to their pubis. They slip two fingers between their hairy labia. Just below their clitoris, they begin to swirl.

As I give the final imaginary orgasm to their baby toe, swallowing the cum I wish it could produce, they slide their foot from my grasp and let it trail wetly down my chest and belly.

They brush it against my touch-starved cock. I almost jump out of my skin.

"You gonna play with yourself for me?" they ask. "Or are you just in a watching mood?"

I reach down, clasp my cock in my hand, and start to jerk off, the bulging tip of me pressed hard against the sole of their foot. Its pressure, its roughness, is maddening against my hungry skin.

They watch me and I watch them, each enjoying the gaze of the other while we play. They seem so unself-conscious, so utterly themself, while I do that thing where I try to look good and put on a show.

They notice. And they stop.

"Can you do it just for me?" they coo gently. "I want to see the real you."

Sheepishly, I change my grip, my posture, even whatever I'm doing with my face. I let go of the kabuki and let my hand do as it will. Satisfied, they return to their pussy.

By the time I'm close, they're strumming in earnest, their foot pressing into my dickhead--involuntarily--? while their fingers making slick sloshing noises on their gaping, pulsing vulva.

"God--" they grunt.

My body starts to clench, its great payload straining to break free, their impending orgasm spurring me towards mine and vice versa. A one in a million occurrence.

A stroke of luck.

"Should I--" I begin.

"Just do it. Do it on me. God, you're so warm..."

My dickhole is smothered by their leathery skin; my semen has nowhere to go but everywhere. I give a halting grunt as hot droplets hit my hand, my belly, my legs, splashing off the underside of their foot.

And they cry out, heralding their own orgasm, their foot slipping away from me and landing on the bedsheet, leaving footprints of cum as their toes clench for purchase and their narrow hips roll in the air.

My cock squeezes out a few more dribbles. I wipe the last of it on their instep as their body comes to a rest upon the nest of pillows, blankets, and rumpled, cum-dappled bedding. They sigh a deep sigh.

They shower, alone, then me. ("I think I'd like to see you again, but I don't think we're co-showering just yet," they explain.) I come out in a towel. They're already dressed.

We go downstairs. My laundry is in the kitchen; they sit at the table and hail a rideshare on their phone while I put the bedding in the machine and switch it on.

"So this wasn't a one time thing?" I ask, hopefully.

"I'm kind of already in a relationship," they say. When my face falls, they quickly add, "I can still see you. It's just not going to be that kind of thing, you know?"

I nod.

"My girlfriend does a lot for me," they say, "just not this."