Red. Cockshoe. Shoecunt.

Dropping her foot down, amused to see his erection finally so hard as to be self-supporting. He does indeed look good. But should she fuck him afterwards? She still can’t quite decide.

Then turning her foot onto him, steadily pressing him back against the wall, flattening him out underneath as she goes. Shoving him harder and harder back and relaxing the pressure to course him up on a cock-gathering shoe ride. Examining his pain threshold, checking also to see if he has the required degree of self control. To come only now would only spoil all the good work he’s put in so far. And he’s doing well: hard enough to use as a hat stand and yet so cool with it. Very good; a worthy guest in her house.

Then dipping the toe under his balls (they’re so teabaggable, really!) to massage him underneath. Shame she can’t feel all the shapes he has down there; for the moment she has to content herself with the knowledge that he’s feeling all the welt she has to give.

Rubbing him slowly, feeling the crevice his ass and tucking the shoe in tight to drag it forward. Balls sweat-dragging against her toes. Hairs reaching out to her footwear. Balls splaying outwards as he’s pleased to show off his discomfort.

“The next time I’ll have a pair of shoes so pointed I’ll be able to massage your prostate”
“You’re on, can I choose the colour?”
“Of course not”

Twisting to the side: welt now on rim. Picking up his flesh, scrotum folding over the edge of the shoe. Balls on leather feeling so good the wrinkles stretch out and collapse. Ripple, flip, tuck and squash.

He’s completely still. She watches him. Is he passive now? Has he run out of ideas? Does he really want her to take control? She’s starting to enjoy the power she has over him. Smooth perfect red reflection of the leather perfectly bastes him in her power. Strange, she just bought the shoes on impulse, not really giving any thought to it. When the sales assistant asked her what she was planning to wear with them, she didn’t really have an answer. Oh yes, please let me have the courage to go back and tell them that’s I’ve discovered the reason why I got them...

Pulling the shoes over his rim and ridges, the leathered edge rubbing him glossy. He’s so inspired for colour and texture: fat red gloss. Out here in the open; no disguise, no excuse sought by either of them as the propel each other on. Rubbingrim redglossyfuck-ridges of his cock, of her shoe, of their shared wildness.

Cockshoe, shoecunt. Footwear, fuck-where. Come where?