The Pact of Going Barefoot That He Sealed with His Tongue

Renata hadn’t worn shoes for three years. The only things adorning her feet were two thin silver rings, one on the index toe of each foot, and nothing else. No sandals, no stockings, no leather soles like any other woman would have used to cross a wet sidewalk. She went barefoot through the apartment, through the patio, across the cold tiles of the laundry room, and over the warm asphalt of the street when she went down to buy bread.

She didn’t do it as punishment. She did it because at the end of every day she knew what the reward would be.

Tomás was waiting for her. And when she came in through the door, the soles of her feet darkened with the dust of the day, he was already kneeling, ready to lick every footprint from the path she had walked, his cock hard and straining the front of his pants before she even closed the door.

I walked more than usual today, she thought that afternoon as she climbed the three flights of stairs with no elevator. He’s going to have work to do. And then he’s going to fuck me until he leaves me speechless.

Neither of them considered themselves the other’s master. She wasn’t his submissive in the sense people who look from the outside understand it, and he wasn’t her owner. There were no contracts, no written rules, no safeword noted on any piece of paper. What they had between them was something else, older and simpler: respect, love, and a hunger to fuck that hadn’t worn out with time.

***

The pact had been born almost by accident, one summer night.

Renata had gone out for a walk barefoot, half as a joke, challenging herself to feel the neighborhood under her skin. The tiles still held the sun’s heat, the puddles from the afternoon rain soaked her heels, and the sand from the construction site on the corner worked its way between her toes. When she came back, her feet were a mess: gray, rough, with a little crust of dirt stuck to the arch.

She expected Tomás to laugh. Instead, he looked at her for a long, steady second, knelt down without saying a word, and took her right ankle in both hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked, not moving.

“Let me,” he said, and that was the only thing he said.

What came after didn’t resemble anything she had ever felt before. Tomás’s tongue traced the whole sole, from heel to the base of her toes, slow, without disgust, almost reverently. He cleaned the dirt from the arch with his lips. He took each toe into his mouth, one by one, and lingered on the little toe as if it were the most valuable thing in the house. He sucked with hunger, with his mouth open, letting a thread of saliva run down his wrist.

Renata held on to the doorframe. She didn’t understand why her heart was pounding like that, or why heat was rising from the nape of her neck until her cunt was soaking beneath her skirt, but she didn’t ask him to stop. When she looked down and saw the dark stain in his pants at the fly, she understood she wasn’t the only one who’d caught fire from it.

That night they promised each other things. Fidelity, first. Complicity, after that. And finally, the strangest thing and the most theirs: she would live barefoot, for him and because of him, and he would care for and worship her feet every night, without exception, as long as what they had lasted.

At first it was strange for both of them. Renata had to learn to step differently, to calculate where she put her weight, to recognize a shard of glass by touch before by the sole. Tomás had to accept that this wasn’t some one-night whim, but a way of loving each other they were going to sustain with their bodies. The first few weeks she came back with her feet hurt and he healed them with the same mouth that afterward adored them. With time her skin toughened, calluses formed on the points of support, and those rough patches, far from frightening him off, became what he sought most with his tongue.

***

Three years later, the ritual was still intact.

That afternoon Renata shut the door behind her and leaned against it. Tomás was already in the living room, with a towel folded over the armrest of the sofa and the jars lined up on the low table: the thick cream, the almond oil, the thinner one that smelled of eucalyptus. He had everything ready, as every night. He was already in his underwear, and the bulge pulled the fabric forward, dark at the tip from the drop that had come out of him just from hearing her climb the stairs.

“Come here,” he said, patting the sofa.

She crossed the room leaving faint marks on the floor, sat down, and stretched her legs over his lap. Tomás took her left foot first. He lifted it to the level of his face, turned it slowly to look at the dirty sole in the lamp light, and something in his jaw tightened.

“You walked barefoot by the construction site again,” he murmured.

“Just along the side,” she answered, with a smile that was anything but innocent. “I knew you’d like it. I knew you’d fuck me hard for it afterward.”

He didn’t answer with words. He lowered his head and ran his tongue over the heel, where the skin was hardest, more weathered by three years of going without protection. Renata closed her eyes.

Tomás’s mouth worked with a patience she knew by heart and that still surprised her every time. He traced the edge of her foot, climbed up the arch, lingered on the calluses on the ball of her foot as if he wanted to soften them with sheer saliva and attention. He gently nibbled the hard skin of her heel, not hurting her, just enough for her to feel the edge of his teeth after the heat of his tongue.

There’s nothing like this, Renata thought. No one else in the world knows what I’m feeling right now.

He cleaned the dirt from between her toes with the tip of his tongue, one by one, and when he got to the big toe he wrapped it entirely with his lips and sucked. Renata let the air out through her nose. The silver ring felt cold against his hot mouth, and that contrast—metal and tongue, cold and fire—ran through her like a current that went straight down to her cunt. She felt her panties grow wet, felt the warm slick beginning to run down the inside of her thigh.

“The other one,” she said softly.

Tomás let go of her left foot and took the right. He repeated everything with the same devotion, unhurried. The sole, the arch, the heel, the toes. He ran his flat tongue between her spread toes, sucked them one by one again, took two into his mouth at the same time until he choked on them a little, eyes closed and nostrils flaring like an animal. When he finished cleaning them with his mouth, only then did he reach for the oil.

***

The massage was something else.

Tomás dripped a few drops of almond oil into his palms, rubbed them together to warm it, and began pressing his thumbs into the arch of her foot. Renata felt something come undone inside her. His hands knew every point, every tendon, every knot the day had left behind. He squeezed her heel with the base of his palm, slid his knuckles along the sole, carefully pulled each toe until the joint gave with the faintest audible crack.

“You have the prettiest feet I’ve ever seen,” he said, without looking up. “And they’re prettier like this, worn down, than the day I met you. They get me hard just looking at them.”

“They’re yours,” she answered, and lowered her hand to his fly, and squeezed his cock over his underwear. She felt it pulse against her palm, thick and hot, with the wet patch already spreading. “And this is mine. That’s why it’s like this.”

He lifted his head when he heard that, and for an instant they looked at each other. There was nothing submissive in her eyes, and nothing dominating in his. There was mutual surrender, an agreement the two of them upheld in equal parts and that neither of them could quite explain. She kept squeezing, measuring his length through the fabric with her hand, and he swallowed.

The oil now glistened on her insteps. Tomás kept moving his hands downward, kneaded her calves, opened her knees slightly. Renata felt the shift in the air before he said anything. She took off her panties herself, with a quick motion, and let them fall to the floor. When Tomás looked down and saw her cunt wet, shining under the lamp light, with the lips already swollen and parted, he let out air through his nose as if someone had hit him in the chest.

“Lick me first,” she asked, and shoved the toes of her right foot into his hair, pushing his head down.

Tomás lowered himself without resisting. He ran his whole tongue over her cunt, bottom to top, slowly, gathering with the tip all the warm slick she had. He lingered on the clit, wrapped it with his lips, and sucked it like he had just sucked her toe, with the same patience and the same hunger. Renata let her head fall back against the sofa and pressed his nape with the sole of her foot.

“Like that,” she panted. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

He slid two fingers inside her while he kept licking, and curled them upward, hunting for the spot he knew by heart. Renata felt everything clench, the walls of her cunt squeezing his fingers in a long spasm. Tomás didn’t move: he let her come apart over his mouth, his tongue working her clit all the way to the end, until Renata yanked his hair to tell him to stop because she couldn’t take it anymore.

***

She lay back on the sofa and let him lift her legs. Tomás settled between her thighs, on his knees on the floor, and rested both her feet on his shoulders, their soles still warm with oil facing the ceiling. He pulled down his underwear. His cock sprang out, hard, red at the tip, the thick vein marked along it. He took it in his hand and guided it to the entrance of her cunt.

That was always how it ended. With her feet on his shoulders, he leaned forward and entered her slowly, all the way, holding her by the hips. Renata arched her back and gave a long moan when she felt him go in completely, widening her centimeter by centimeter. The brush of oil against his skin, the weight of her own body folded in two, the heels resting in the curve of Tomás’s neck: everything added up into one dense sensation with no name.

“Fuck me hard,” she told him through clenched teeth. “Like you like it.”

He moved with the same patient cadence he used to lick her. No rush, measuring each thrust, attentive to every change in her breathing. He pulled almost all the way out and drove back in with a shove to the hilt, until his pubis slapped against hers with a wet sound. Every so often he turned his head to nip the edge of her foot, to run his tongue over the sole once more, without stopping fucking her, and every time he sucked one of her toes she felt her cunt tightening around his cock as if the two things were connected by the same wire.

“Faster,” Renata begged, her voice breaking. “Put it all the way in.”

“I’m not stopping,” he said. “Never.”

He grabbed her hips with both hands and started fucking her for real, with deep thrusts that shook her entire body. Renata felt the dull impact of his balls against her ass, heard the sloppy sound of her wet cunt swallowing his cock again and again. Her feet slid on his shoulders from the oil, and he set them back in place, never stopping his pounding.

The tension kept building in silence, like a tide. Renata dug her fingers into the sofa fabric, felt the heat gather in her lower belly and overflow all at once. She bit her lip not to scream and still a rough sound escaped her throat when she came, her cunt walls squeezing his cock in waves. Her legs trembled on his shoulders, her toes curled near Tomás’s mouth.

Tomás followed close behind. He pulled her feet off his shoulder, brought them to his face, took her right big toe into his mouth and sucked hard while he kept fucking her. He drove deeper, faster, until his whole body went rigid and he came inside her with a low grunt and a long sigh, his face buried against the arch of her right foot, barely biting the callus on her heel like someone biting something they love. Renata felt the hot spurts filling her cunt, one after another, while he trembled over her with his cock still buried to the hilt.

When he finally pulled out, a thick thread of semen ran down the inside of her thigh to the sofa. Tomás lowered his head and, without saying anything, ran his tongue along the inside of her thigh, collecting it, slowly climbing back to her cunt to suck it from there too.

***

Afterward they stayed still, she stretched out on the sofa and he still kneeling, his cheek pressed against her ankle, semen shining on his chin.

Renata stroked his hair with her foot, slowly, sliding her sole over his nape.

“Tomorrow I’m walking to the market,” she said. “The long way.”

Tomás smiled against her skin and kissed her instep.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he replied. “Like every night.”

And she knew that would be so. That the next day she would go out barefoot again, with her two silver rings and nothing else, to gather dust and dirt and the neighborhood’s footprints on the soles of her feet. Not out of obedience, nor punishment. But because at the end of the road there he would be, kneeling, waiting to worship every step she had taken away from his mouth, and to fuck her afterward like only he knew how to fuck her.