The Cafeteria Boy Wouldn’t Stop Looking at My Feet

It was close to six in the evening, and the heat was finally beginning to ease off. A block from my building there’s a café that’s always packed, one of those places with a couple of little tables and stools outside on the sidewalk, where you can sit and watch people go by and let the noise of the street wrap around you. I go every now and then, usually with a friend. When I go alone, I bring a book or lose myself in my phone and let the afternoon drift by.

I won’t deny that sometimes a stranger comes over to chat. But they don’t ruin my afternoon; I take it in stride and rarely play along. Those are moments I give myself, nothing more. I ordered my usual cappuccino and had it with a cigarette, watching the smoke dissolve in the golden light falling between the buildings.

That’s when I noticed him. A guy of about twenty-two was waiting for the bus a few meters away, at the stop. Student face, backpack over one shoulder, that hunched posture of someone who doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. He was looking at me with clumsy subtlety, convinced I hadn’t noticed. But I noticed perfectly well.

I don’t mind being looked at. I like to look good wherever I go, and not because I overdo it, but because I like everything to be in its place. I turned my head the other way and crossed my right leg over my left, slowly, unhurriedly. I pretended to be distracted. I enjoy provoking that effect, and I’m also curious to know how long I can keep it going.

I knew the thin-strapped navy-blue blouse flattered me. Since my apartment was just around the corner, the convenience had given me the confidence to go out wearing little more than tiny shorts and a pair of little bathing sandals, the kind that leave the foot almost bare and draw the whole line of the leg. Two buses went by and the guy was still there, letting his bus pass. And he kept looking. But he wasn’t looking at my face.

With my leg crossed, I started bouncing my foot up and down slowly, letting the sandal hang just off my heel. I looked straight at him, without warning. In that instant he lifted his gaze, met mine, and turned his head so fast he nearly dropped his backpack.

I’ve got you.

I went back to looking focused at my screen and, as expected, his gaze returned to the same place as before. I let him look. I didn’t want to scare him off, so I didn’t confront him. I kept moving my foot for him, setting a rhythm, like someone hypnotizing a nervous little animal. I was almost done with my coffee. I started gathering my things to leave, and the shameless brat still wouldn’t look away.

I got up and walked straight toward him. The boy lowered his eyes immediately, fixed on my feet, on how the sandals struck the pavement with every step. I came closer and he grew stiffer and stiffer. I think he thought I was going to wait for the bus beside him. He adjusted the collar of his jacket and looked toward the corner, pretending. But I had already decided to confront him.

—Hey —I said, in a firm tone that didn’t quite become a challenge—. Do you like my sandals?

—Sorry… —he stammered, and the color rushed up to his ears.

—You’re not the only one. A lot of people like them —I was having a wonderful time with the face he was making.

—I didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that I think you’re very pretty, that’s all.

—Do you think I’m pretty, or do you like my sandals?

—You… all of you is beautiful —he said, not daring to hold my gaze.

—What you won’t admit is that you were looking at my feet. —He went speechless, the poor thing, swallowing hard.

I let the silence hang for one more second, just enough for him to understand there was no escape. Then I pointed toward my building.

—Come with me. My apartment’s right there. I have some new shoes I want to try on, and I want to know if you like those too.

I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned around and walked, knowing he would follow. I heard him quicken his pace behind me, like a little dog that doesn’t want to fall behind.

***

In the hallway I opened the door and gestured for him to come in. He, with an almost heartbreaking shyness, let me go in first, all manners. I went inside and he came in behind me, closing the door carefully, as if afraid of making noise in someone else’s house.

—Relax —I told him, setting my keys on the table—. No one’s going to see you. I’m alone for now.

I kicked my sandals off and walked barefoot over the cool floor. I felt his gaze drop at once, glued to my bare feet. I took my hands to my blouse and pulled it off over my head, ending up in my bra. My tits were almost bare, pressed into black lace, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down from swallowing so much. The boy opened his mouth to say something and nothing came out. I sat on the couch in the living room, one leg over the other, and left him there, standing, not knowing what to do with his own body.

—See that box over there? —I pointed to the corner—. Those are my new shoes. Bring them to me.

While he went to fetch them, I started pulling down my shorts, unhurriedly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. I was left in a thong, with my legs still crossed, and I noticed a hard line forming in his pants the moment he turned his head.

—I don’t like wearing heels with shorts —I said, as if I needed to justify myself, though we both knew I didn’t.

He came back with the box in his hands, so nervous he almost dropped it. He had the slightest idea what was expected of him. I let him suffer a little longer before speaking.

—I haven’t even put the shoes on yet and you’re already hard —I said, looking without hiding at the bulge straining his pants—. So it was me you liked, not the sandals or the shoes. Kneel.

He did it instantly, dropping to his knees without taking his eyes off me, as if afraid any wrong move would ruin the game. I stretched one foot out until it was level with his face.

—I want you to smell them —I ordered, handing him one of the sandals.

He smelled them, first with embarrassment, then with want, going over every side of them. I didn’t need to give him any more instructions: he surrendered on his own, with a devotion that gave him away. He savored each breath, eyes half-closed. I started to enjoy seeing him like that, undone, while I brought my other foot closer and rested it lightly on his thigh.

Between sniffing bouts he began to give it soft kisses, just the faintest brush of lips. I encouraged him to keep going, not to stop. I told him to lick me more, and he obeyed at once, slowly running his tongue over the instep, up to the ankle and back down until he slid it under the soles.

—Between the toes —I ordered—. Faster.

He slipped his tongue in one by one, sucking my toes as if they were something else, taking them into his mouth with it open and a thread of saliva running down his chin. I was soaked from the pussy just watching him like that. I saw that with his free hand he had opened his pants and pulled his cock out, thick and red at the tip, and he was starting to stroke himself, more and more urgently. He was jerking it with a closed fist, his wrist moving up and down in short strokes, while he kept sucking my foot without looking up. I let him go on a little, watching him masturbate while he licked me, seeing the tension in his jaw and the shine of his own spit and drool on the tip, and then I set my other heel on his hand and stopped him dead.

—Nobody cums here —I told him, smiling—. You’re here only to look at my shoes.

I pressed his cock against his belly with the sole of my foot, feeling it pulse under the skin, hard as iron, and he let out a long moan. He loved that I cut him off. I saw it in the way he breathed, in the way he bit his lip, in the thick drop slipping from the tip that wet his toes. I like that exact moment, the one where I tighten them right before letting go, leaving them hanging on the edge.

***

—Take off my thong —I said, lifting my hips just slightly off the couch—. And smell it.

He slid it down my legs with an almost reverent care and brought it to his face. He smelled it from the front and the back, burying his nose in the middle, where the fabric had soaked up all of me, and I noticed his breathing picking up with every inhale, getting hotter with every one of my scents. I saw him stick out his tongue and drag it over the wet fabric, licking up my juices with his eyes shut, like it was the tastiest thing he had ever tried in his life. I let him get lost in it for a moment before I took the garment from his hands and put him back to work.

—Now put the shoes on me.

He enjoyed it just as much as everything else. He fitted each foot into the shoes with clumsy delicacy, showing his inexperience but also his eagerness to do it right. I made him fasten the tiny heel buckle and, to my surprise, he did it with steady fingers, focused as if his life depended on it.

I stood up, already wearing the heels, and looked down at him from above. I bent down, grabbed his hair, and brought him on all fours into my bedroom, slowly, feeling him follow without a single complaint. His cock swung between his legs as he crawled, still hard, wet at the tip. In the bedroom I took the clothes I had left lying on the chair the day before —a used thong, a T-shirt with the smell of my sweat— and brought them to his nose.

—Smell —I told him.

I rubbed the dirty thong over his face, pressing the middle of it against his nose and mouth, and he inhaled it like his life depended on it. I ran my tongue over his lower lip and told him to lick it, and he obeyed, sucking the fabric with his eyes rolled upward. I realized he got even harder with strong smells, with the most intimate, unvarnished things. It was like discovering his buttons one by one, seeing what turned him on. And each thing he tried pulled him deeper into that surrender.

I sat on the edge of the bed, opened my legs, and brought his head closer without letting him press in all the way. I was wide open, with my pussy lips swollen, shining wet, the clit peeking out hard between the folds.

—Smell me —I ordered, pulling him downward.

I held him a couple of inches away, feeling his warm breath hit me while I got wetter and wetter. A thread of fluid was running down to my asshole and he stared at it fixedly, mouth parted. I brought his face a little closer until the tip of his nose brushed my clit. Then he dared to stick out his tongue. He started moving up and down over my clit, hesitating at first, then with more resolve, sucking it with his lips as if it were a little candy, and the first moan escaped me.

—I love your pussy —he said against my skin, his voice broken, and he buried himself even deeper.

I grabbed his head with both hands and pressed it against my cunt, rubbing him from top to bottom, flattening his mouth against my open lips.

—Take it all in —I demanded—. Fuck me with your tongue.

He did. He shoved it inside me, hard, and started to go in and out, fucking my pussy with his tongue as if it were a little cock, while his nose pressed my clit with every thrust. Then he climbed up, sucked my button with closed lips and started flicking it with the tip of his tongue at full speed, and I felt everything inside me clench. He went back down, parted my lips with his fingers and licked every fold, sucking, swallowing my juices, burying his tongue to the root. I felt him lick me all over, inside and out, with a hunger I hadn’t expected from someone so shy.

—Suck my ass too —I told him, grabbing his hair and pushing him downward—. Put your tongue in there.

I pressed my face to my asshole and felt the tip of his tongue test it, first with embarrassment, then with hunger, pushing inside. With his mouth there he sucked me and with his thumb he circled my clit, and I started moving against his face, setting the rhythm with my pelvis, holding him by the hair so he wouldn’t move away even to breathe. We let ourselves fall to the floor and I put him on his back to sit on his face. I rode his mouth with all my weight, crushing his lips against mine, feeling his tongue thrust in every time I dropped my hips. I rode him with stronger and stronger movements, rubbing my soaked pussy all over his face, dripping juices down to his chin, moaning without holding back, looking down at him as he surrendered without air.

I grabbed his cock with one hand, without stopping fucking his mouth with my cunt, and started stroking it in time with the motion I was keeping on top. I felt it throbbing against my palm, wet with his own juice, hard enough to hurt. He moaned into me, and that vibration shot through my whole body. My orgasm burst from deep inside, tight and long, and I soaked his face and neck, leaving a puddle of my fluid under his jaw. I let go of his cock just before he came too, squeezing the base to stop his orgasm dead. His whole body shook, his back arched, and a moan escaped him in pure suffering.

Just before I finished getting off him, I stopped. I leaned forward, resting my hands on his chest, my cunt still pressed over his mouth.

—I’m going to warn you about something —I said, looking him in the eyes—. I’m about to piss.

I expected him to get scared, pull away, make a face. Instead he held my gaze with a look of desire I hadn’t seen on him all afternoon, opened his mouth as wide as he could, stuck out his tongue, and almost pleading, asked me to piss on him.

I stayed there for a second, looking at him, a slow smile spreading across my face. I’ve got myself a new man. One willing to do anything, who had happened upon a bus stop by chance and was ending the afternoon on his knees, utterly surrendered, mouth open, waiting for whatever I felt like giving him. Something told me this wasn’t going to be the last time the cafeteria boy came up to my apartment.