Updated: Feb 7, 2018
4:30pm. Thirty minutes until closing and thank fuck because the air con is broken and the June heat is testing everyones’ nerves. There’s a threatening passive-aggressive vibe on the shop floor, even though we get on well as a team we’re doing our best to avoid each other and making any excuse to go to the stock room. The shop is empty apart from a mother and daughter in the kid’s trainer section and one middle-aged woman paying at the till.
I’m straightening up the trainers in Men’s and dusting the small acrylic shelves they’re displayed on when he walks in. He has a shaved head, broad shoulders and tanned glossy skin underneath his kaki vest and cargo shorts. I’m guessing he’s size 11+. I realise he’s not wearing socks just before he lands in front of me with an expectant expression on his face. My colleagues seem to have disappeared at the sight of the new customer this close to the shop closing.
“Hey, could you show me where your Tom’s are?”
“Sure, sir, they’re just over here,” I take him over to where the Tom’s espadrilles stand is.
“Great, could I try the grey ones and… the blues ones… in size 12,”
“Yeah sure, I’ll go grab them from the back for you, won’t be a minute,” I head to the back and realise I'm clammier than the heat should be making me. I pick out the Tom’s in grey and blue in his size and head back to the shop floor. He’s sat on the mirror-bottom seat taking off his trainers and rubbing off his feet when I arrive back.
“Do you want to try the grey or blues ones first?”
“I’ll try the grey, cheers,”
“No worries,” I pass him the grey Tom’s. He bends over to put the first grey shoe on and winces.
“Here, I can help,”
“Ah, thank you,” he’s quick to lean back and point his toes out. My eyes float down from the sphere of his tense calf, to the thick of his ankle and across his smooth caramel feet. His big toe is bulging, masculine. The pink of his short toenails makes the caramel more prominent. My mouth waters.
I take his foot by the heel and rest it on my knee. I take the first shoe out of the box and place it on slowly, using as much of my hand to touch the top of his foot as possible. He doesn’t seem to mind me taking my time.
“That’s great, comfortable,” he presses his foot down on my lap hard. I can feel the head of my cock reaching out to him under my shorts. “Put the other pair on,” his demand makes me shiver and I realise my hand never left his ankle.
I take off the grey espadrille and place it back in the box. Still no one else on the shop floor. I chance a finger along bottom of his foot. He moans and lifts. Without taking my eyes off it I run my shaking tongue from his ankle across the arch of his foot to the tip of his big toe. He shoves it closer to my face. I take it with both hands and draw my tongue along the warm organza of his sole and stab between his toes. I feel a wetness on my thigh and I know my pre-cum is visible in my pale shorts. He grunts, reaches behind my head and keeps me from moving my face away. I strike again, slower, tasting and sniffing deeper than before.
I open my eyes and notice the jersey veiling his erect nipples. He lifts his feet, guides my knees to the ground and I feel his toes crawling up to my shaft. He presses down hard and starts rubbing. I take his ankles with both hands.
“Fuck…” I let out a breath as he’s kneading me.
He bites his bottom lip and takes a look around. He's trying to make me cum. I’m pulling him by the ankle to push harder, he’s crushing my balls. My face is prickling, sweat falls onto his foot and I want taste. He nods and I nod in return. I keep my eyes from rolling back and focussed on his feet as I release under the pressure of both of them working a 1-2 on my shaft and head. He pulls back from my crotch with a thin silvery chain and a jeweling solitaire of my semen on his navicular. Taking him with both hands again, I land a kiss on the drop and take a taste in thanks. He smirks at me then nods towards the public toilets across the street on the corner.
"Is there something else?” I breath.