oh you know

Whether we're lying in bed, as entwined as two people can be together, and we do it because our hands can only cover so much ground...

Or whether we're out on the town, teasing each other unexpectedly with a brush on the leg, just to say "I love you"...

And I love when it turns into something more sinister.

How we could be out on a fancy candlelight dinner, dressed to the nines in our prettiest outfits, and while we decide what to order we send our cute little "I love you"s under the tablecloth.

Maybe we get a little competitive, pressing our feet together like we're fighting for territory. Pretending we're these well adjusted adults when we still play such silly games. But then you switch gears.

You let your foot travel up and down my leg, making me freeze. You chuckle and ask "what's wrong?" as if you didn't know exactly what you're doing.

I'd be very tense at first, but as your pretty new pump climbs higher and higher, I start to relax, sinking into my chair. You reach my knee and press onwards, pushing the hem of my dress back. I sink further, and for every inch of skin you cover, my legs spread a little further open. You call me a slut under your breath but I can only whimper in response.

You tease me about how cute and desperate I am, as the toe of your shoe presses against my panties, nestling into my balls. You press down ever so gently on them, until my quiet little squeals of pain stop being so quiet. We draw some curious glances, and I bury my face in my menu in an attempt to keep up the facade.

Once you're satisfied, you inch your way up so your sole is pressed against the bulge in my panties. You pump your foot into me, feeling the resistance change as I grow harder, needier.

You start to stroking my hardening cock with your foot, when our waiter returns. You let your foot fall, resting its weight on my balls. My legs twitch in shock from the sudden pressure, and I have to bite my lip as hard as I can to not make a sound. Our waiter asks if we're ready to order and you send them away with a "we're still looking."

Once they're out of earshot, you grab my attention by pressing down harder and give me two simple commands.

"Take off your panties"

"Take off my shoe"

You remove your foot just long enough for me to take off my panties, leaving them bunched up around my ankle. Then you let me take off your shoe, and I set it on the floor.

You press your nylon stockings against my dick and finally feel how wet I am. My tip is soaked in precum, and a hefty trail of it had dripped down my shaft and onto my balls. You chastise me for getting so worked up, but I've given up on responding. Instead, my mouth just hung open like the dirty little slut I am.

You start to play with me properly, slowly pushing your foot all the way up my shaft, before dragging it back down. Whenever you get to the top or bottom, you're just resting your foot, but whenever you move it, you press down hard to make sure I'll feel it. I start to buck my hips, but you warn me that if I don't let you take care of things, you'll stop pampering me. Reluctantly, I stop.

I can't do anything but sit there and endure the sensation, the humiliation, the *thrill*; being surrounded by so many people and still getting off. I can feel the pleasure mounting, and do everything in my power to contain my moans and still my hips. And yet, you know how much I love it from how my dick is pulsating against your sole.

You tell me how cute and pathetic I am for getting off to something like this, and I tell you to shut up, reflexively. You take your foot off me and ask "is that anyway to talk to your master?" I whimper, thrusting against the air trying to feel your warm touch, before shaking my head.

"That's what I thought", you say, as you press your foot in between my legs; not the one you were stroking me off with before, but the one still in the pump. You purposefully avoided my privates, pressing down right at the base of my dick. I instinctively thrust before you remind me to stay still; then you press down harder, as if to pin my hips in place.

You bring your bare foot back to my dick, this time pressing it into your shoe. The new sensation sends a shiver down my spine; my heavy breathing becomes a lot harder to hide.

You tease me, asking me "what's wrong?" again as you tap your toes against my dick, stretching them around it.

I respond, "nothing."

With a deceivingly innocent smile, you start to move your foot again, but not at the same torturous speed as before. You aren't pressing down as hard, but your speed more than makes up for it.

I start to moan, but you're quick to shush me, reminding me that if we're caught, I don't get to finish. I cover my mouth tightly with my hands, and that reassures you that I'm not gonna squeal (or, at least, no one else will hear it). So you don't hold back.

You rub faster, pressing harder, the perverted sounds of my dick nearly audible. My skin is on fire and my legs won't stop shaking. Your perfectly soft soles, your scratchy stockings, the rough leather of your shoe, even the rubber sole pressed against my skin... Everything mixed together to create a sensation that was too much to bear.

I double over the table as I rocket passed the point of no return. I try not to scream too loud as I shoot rope after hot rope out; no matter what I do, I can't stop myself from slamming my hips into your feet, splashing the underside of the table with my seed, the last few pumps dribbling out onto your sole and all over your brand new shoes.

Even then you keep going. You keep stroking me off until you're too tired to anymore; you even swap feet at one point, stroking my over stimulated dick with the sole of your shoe. I have to bury my burning face in the table and shut my eyes tight to keep myself from shrieking. It's almost too much to bear, but it was short lived, as you couldn't keep your legs up anymore. You bring them down and I shudder, finally free. By that point, tears are rolling down my face; my dick starts throbbing again, but the tank is empty. So I just whine pathetically until my dick stops twitching.

You take a moment to marvel at your accomplishment; me laying out on the table, exhausted. You give me a minute to catch my breath before you tell me "you're going to clean up this mess, right? These are new shoes, y'know."

I silently nod my head before slinking down under the table, to clean up the mess I made, and to worship you for being so good to me.

...