I Dominated Him With My Feet Until I Made Him Beg

I was lying back on the edge of the bed, my legs open just enough for him to understand the invitation without me having to say a word. The lamplight fell sideways across my skin and made the black nylon shimmer as it climbed halfway up my thighs. Above it, only a lace bra that didn’t quite manage to cover anything. I knew exactly how I looked from where he was standing at the foot of the bed, and I liked that he knew it too.

—Do you like what you see, Damián? —I asked, and let the question hang in the air.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight and his breathing a little faster than he would have liked to admit. That was exactly the part that interested me: the moment a man realizes he’s no longer the one in charge.

—You know I do —he said at last, in a low voice.

—Then stand still. Tonight I’m not touching you with my hands.

I saw him swallow. Just like that. That was what I was after: making him wonder what I planned to do and letting that not-knowing make him harder than any caress could.

***

I lifted my legs slowly, straining my muscles, until I brought my feet up to his hips. The stockings accentuated every line, and he couldn’t stop looking at them. I pressed the soles of my feet to the sides of his erection, still without pressing down, letting him feel only the faintest brush of fabric against skin. That first friction drew out a deep groan from his chest.

—Don’t you dare move —I warned him.

With my toes I started tracing him from base to tip, unhurried, setting a rhythm that was mine and no one else’s. I could feel him growing beneath the nylon, responding to every pass of my toes. I had him at my mercy, and we both knew it.

—Like this, huh? —I murmured, curving my lips—. You like it when I decide.

—Yes —he said, almost without a voice.

I pressed a little harder, closing my soles around him, sliding up and down. The rough texture of the stockings against his skin made every movement different, more intense. I was wet too; I could feel it, the heat throbbing between my legs with every moan I dragged out of him. But tonight wasn’t about me yet. It was about watching him lose control little by little.

I liked looking at him from below, from my feet, from that angle that made him seem small and surrendered. Damián was a man used to deciding, to leading the way in everything else, and that was why the image of him like this, quiet and waiting for whatever I wanted to do to him, had something almost addictive about it. Every muscle in his abdomen tightened when I moved up, loosened when I came back down, and I read that map with the soles of my feet as if I knew every inch by heart.

—Look at me —I asked—. I want you to watch me while I do it.

He opened his eyes and locked them on mine. That connection, held there while my feet kept working, was as intimate as anything else we could do. I held his gaze without blinking, marking with that too who was in control of the night.

***

My toes played over him with calculated precision, drumming, releasing, squeezing again. I watched his face so I wouldn’t miss anything: the narrowed eyes, the way he bit his lip every time I moved up to the tip. Each time I let go for a second, I saw him lift his hips just a little, searching for me, and each time I shifted away just enough that he couldn’t reach me.

—Stay still —I repeated, and he obeyed with a frustrated groan that I loved.

The room’s air had grown heavy. Outside, the sea could be heard, waves breaking slowly against the sand, and that sound mixed with his broken breathing. We had rented that house beside the beach just for this: to have whole nights without anyone hearing us.

—Tell me what you want —I asked him, stopping completely, with my toes barely resting on him.

—For you not to stop.

—That’s not asking. Ask properly.

I watched him struggle against his own pride for a few seconds. Then he gave in, and that was the best part of all.

—Please —he said—. Please, keep going.

***

I smiled and started moving again, this time firmer. I lowered one foot toward his testicles and stroked them with the top of my foot, feeling the weight of each one against the fabric. He let out a deep, long sound, and I saw his whole body tense. With my other foot I kept tending to his erection, alternating pressure, not letting him get used to a single rhythm.

—One hand —I told him—. You can use just one hand. Touch your balls while I take care of the rest.

He obeyed at once. His hand dropped and started massaging himself slowly, syncing up with my feet, and the sight of him surrendering like that made me even hotter. I could feel the lace of my panties soaked through, stuck to me, and I had to squeeze my thighs together for a moment to bear the want.

—You’re not coming until I say so —I warned him.

—Selene… —he protested, using my name like a plea.

—Until I say so.

***

I stretched toward the edge of the bed, where I had a bottle of lubricant within reach, without taking my eyes off him. I opened it with a click and poured a good amount over the nylon covering my feet. The liquid felt cool at first and then quickly turned warm, silky, perfect. I dripped a few more drops over him, watching them slide slowly all along his length.

—You’re going to like this even more —I said.

When my feet went back to him, now slippery, everything changed. Every glide was smoother, deeper, with no friction to cut through the sensation. He threw his head back against the pillow and a moan escaped him that he couldn’t contain.

The lubricant made my feet move over him like over silk. I wrapped him with both soles, let him slip away, caught him again. Every so often I slid one foot up to the tip and turned my toes just slightly, drawing slow circles right where I knew it was hardest for him to hold on. Every time I did it, he let out his breath in a rush and my name slipped out between his teeth.

—God, Selene, that feels incredible —he said through clenched teeth.

—I know —I replied, amused—. That’s why I’m doing it.

I sped up, sliding my feet up and down in a steady rhythm, pressing right on the tip every time I got there. I knew him well enough to know where his limit was and how long I could make him wait before he broke.

***

—I’m close —he warned me, his voice taut—. I’m really close.

—Not yet —I ordered, deliberately slowing down, leaving him at that exact point where pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

I saw him tremble, saw him clutch the sheets with his free hand, saw him look at me with a mixture of desperation and desire that made me feel more powerful than ever. That was my favorite part: having him right on the edge and deciding when to let him fall.

—Please —he repeated, and this time the word came out broken.

I leaned in a little, without letting him go, and spoke softly to him.

—Tell me who’s in charge tonight.

—You —he said at once—. You’re in charge.

—Good boy.

***

Only then did I speed up again, this time without restraint. My feet moved with controlled urgency, each glide aimed straight at the center of his pleasure. I could feel him throbbing against my soles, feel his whole body contracting, feel the moment I had been managing for so long drawing near.

—Now —I told him, looking him in the eyes—. Now let go.

He needed nothing more. With a long, broken groan he gave himself over completely, his body shaking beneath my feet as he came. I felt the heat of his pleasure spilling warm over the black nylon, and the sight of it —the contrast against the dark stocking, the way he came apart— made me clamp my thighs together and bite my lip so I wouldn’t come right there too.

I kept moving slowly while he finished, drawing out every second, until the last tremor left him sunk into the bed, breathing hard, eyes closed.

***

—Incredible —he murmured when he’d gotten some air back—. You’re incredible.

I lowered my legs slowly and settled onto my side to look at him. He had that defeated-man expression I liked so much, his face relaxed, his pride tucked away in some corner it wouldn’t be coming out of for a good while.

—I told you I wasn’t touching you with my hands —I reminded him, smiling.

—And you didn’t.

—I always do what I say.

I moved closer until I was a hand’s breadth from his face. I could still feel everything pulsing between my legs; the night had only just begun for me, and he knew it. I ran one finger slowly across his chest, marking the path of what would come next.

—Rest for a minute —I whispered in his ear—. Because that was only the beginning. The part where it’s my turn hasn’t come yet.

Outside, the sea kept breaking against the sand, steady, unhurried, as if we had the whole night ahead of us. And we did.

—Tomorrow too —I added, before kissing him—. And the day after.

He laughed softly against my lips, still trembling, already surrendered to the idea. No more needed to be said. We both knew who was going to decide everything from there on out.