Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

It was the same night. The very night I’d walked out of school with them hidden in my bag — my pulse thrumming, my thoughts a frenzied blur. I had them. Her shoes. Her real shoes.

I barely made it through the front door, muttering something vague to my mum upstairs before slamming my bedroom door shut and locking it. I didn’t bother unpacking anything else. My bag hit the floor and I crouched beside it like I was handling something sacred. Because I was.

My fingers trembled as I pulled the zip.

There they were.

Miss Clarke’s flats. The very ones she wore every day. Black, soft, crumpled from use. The toe areas collapsed from her weight. The fabric around the heel blackened and shiny with wear. There were faint toe imprints inside each one — clear enough to tell where her feet had pressed most often. Years of wear and no socks, no tights. Her feet, bare and perfect, pressed into them day after day.

I picked one up slowly. It was warm. Or maybe my hands were just so flushed I imagined it. I turned it in the light and stared. The shape was beautiful. The soft, worn interior, the flecks of old skin, the glint of faded sweat. My cock was already painfully hard. But I didn’t unzip yet. Not yet.

I brought the flat to my face and took a small sniff.

I nearly gasped aloud.

The scent hit me like a hammer — thick, deep, unmistakably foot. Musky, cheesy, warm. My eyes rolled closed. I pressed the opening of the shoe fully to my face and inhaled slowly, deeply, my lungs filling with everything she had left behind in them. bursa escortlar It was indescribable. The strongest foot smell I’d ever known, and it was hers.

It was hers.

I whimpered and pressed the shoe harder to my face, rubbing the rim along my cheeks, over my lips, smearing the scent across my skin. I licked it–just once–and tasted the stale salt of her sweat. The bitter tang of dried foot grime. I held it there as long as I could, then set it down gently and picked up the other.

This one was worse. Or better.

The heel had frayed slightly. The smell even stronger. My body shivered as I took another long, breathless inhale. My cock twitched, leaking into my boxers. I was dizzy with lust.

Still, I didn’t touch myself.

I couldn’t rush this. I needed to sink into it. I placed both shoes on the bed and stripped completely naked, kneeling in front of them like a worshipper before an altar.

Then, slowly, I picked up the first flat again.

I began kissing the rim — soft, open-mouthed, reverent kisses. Along the inside edge. Down to the heel. Up to the toe box. I tongued the entire arch, dragging my tongue from heel to toe, catching that bitter, gritty taste in every flick. It made my eyes water. My cock strained with every lick.

I crawled into bed, cradling the shoes against my chest, breathing them in as I pulled the sheets up like I was tucking myself in with her. My fingers gripped the worn heel of one flat, bringing it to my face and burying my nose so deep inside I bursa escort could feel the crusted fabric against my lips.

That’s when I unzipped my jeans.

Finally.

My cock sprang free, red and throbbing, veins pulsing. I was already soaked with pre-cum, aching with need.

I wrapped one hand around myself and began stroking slowly, barely moving at first, just letting the sensation build while I sniffed and kissed the inside of her shoe.

Sniff. Stroke. Sniff. Stroke.

I switched shoes.

I ground my face into the second one, licking deeper, sucking on the toe area like it was her big toe in my mouth. I moaned softly, trying not to be loud, huffing her scent like a man addicted.

She had no idea what she’d done to me.

All those years. The way she kicked them off under her desk. The way she’d sigh on hot days and mutter, “My feet are boiling today.”

The times she slipped them off, wiggled her toes, and rubbed one foot against the other while she explained cell division like it was just another Monday.

I remembered one time in particular. That day she said, almost joking, “Don’t come near me under this desk — my feet might kill you. These flats stink.”

I nearly passed out from the way my cock throbbed at the memory.

I humped the mattress with both flats pressed to my face now. One over my nose, the other trailing down my neck. I used one hand to jerk myself harder, the other to grind the sole of one flat directly over the head of my cock.

The smell made me lightheaded. The taste left a sour burn on my tongue. I was groaning now, whispering her name, saying things I never thought I’d dare.

“Miss Clarke… you’d laugh if you saw me like this… you’d fucking tease me, wouldn’t you? You’d watch me hump your shoes like a filthy little pervert and just smirk…”

I sniffed again — harder.

Pressed the shoe so deep into my nose that I could feel the scratch of dried sweat inside. My hips bucked into the mattress.

My body was shaking now.

I switched back to the other shoe — tongue fully inside it, slathering every inch of the insole with my spit, as if I could taste her sole through the fabric. I began humping harder. Faster. I could feel it coming, the build-up of everything, years of frustration, obsession, fantasies… all of it boiling to the surface.

I moaned her name again, louder.

“Miss Clarke…”

Then I grabbed both shoes and slammed them to my face.

I sniffed as hard as I could.

Deep. Animal. Shameless.

And I came.

It hit like a fucking explosion. My entire body tensed, and I cried out into the flats as thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed across my stomach, my thighs, the mattress. I kept sniffing. I couldn’t stop. I was moaning into the shoes, twitching, thrusting weakly as every drop spilled out of me.

I kept grinding my cock against the sole of one flat, dragging it across the tip as I shuddered through the aftershocks.

I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to stay buried in her scent forever.

Finally, I collapsed.

Breathing heavy. Sweating. Covered in cum.

The flats rested beside me, damp with my spit, my cum, and everything they carried from her.

And I’d never felt more satisfied.

Or more desperate for more.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32