The Heel on His Tongue

The shoes were still on. That was the point.

Ida was thirty-nine and had not let Max take the black heels off, or the stockings, or the suspender belt. He was forty-two, on his knees on her rug, cock out, looking up like a man who had asked for this and was getting it.

"Lick the heel," she said. "Then the sole. Then you can have my cunt."

He licked the leather. She pressed the toe under his tongue and watched his cock jump. When she was satisfied she sat, opened her thighs, and let him mouth her through the stocking gusset until she told him to pull it aside. He licked her properly then. Ida came with the heel on his shoulder and her hand in his hair.

"In me. Stockings stay on."

He pushed in. The belt framed her. He fucked her on the rug, her heels digging into his back, and she told him he did not get to come until she had again. She did. He followed, deep, grateful, filthy. She made him kiss the shoe before she let him up.

"Next week the boots," she said. "You'll polish them with your tongue before I sit on your face."

Max did not get up when she said he could. Ida kept a heel on his chest and made him lick the leather clean of nothing but her attention, then sit on his face with the stockings still on. He held her thighs and licked her until she came again, grinding, the suspender belt shifting. She stroked his cock with her foot, stocking on skin, and he nearly lost it.

"Not yet. In me. I want the heels in your back."

He fucked her on the rug a second time. She came. He came. She made him kiss the shoe, then the inside of her ankle, then her mouth.

"Boots next week," she said. "Tongue first. If you're good I'll let you come on the leather."

"I'll be good," he said, and meant it.

"Yes," he said.

Ida kept Max on the floor. She sat on his face in the stockings and came grinding on his tongue, then stroked his cock with her stockinged foot until he begged. She let him fuck her with the heels in his back. He came deep. She made him kiss the shoe, the ankle, then her mouth. "Boots next week," she said. "Tongue first. If you are good you can come on the leather." He was good. The next week he polished the boots with his mouth and came across the toe when she said so, then licked it off while she watched, wet, already planning the week after.

The boots happened on a Wednesday. Ida made Max kneel and lick every inch of leather before she let him see her cunt. He was hard and leaking and not allowed to touch. She sat on his face with a boot by his ear and came twice, then put the toe under his cock and told him to finish on it. He did, messy, grateful. She made him lick the leather clean and then fuck her with the boots still on, heels in his back, her hand on his throat. He came inside her. She kissed him after, which undid him more than the boots.

"Keep them here," she said. "You can visit the leather even when you cannot visit me. Ask first." He asked by text that night. She said Friday. He was early.

Friday Max was early and Ida made him wait on his knees while she finished an email. Then the boots. He licked the leather until it shone, licked her cunt until she came, and came on the toe when she allowed it. She had him lick it clean and fuck her on the rug, heels in his shoulders, her hand in his hair. He came deep. She kept the boots by the door. He texted from the car, ruined. She replied Sunday, tongue first. He was early again. She sat on his face in stockings and did not let him come until the leather was wet and she had come twice. He thanked her with his mouth. She allowed it.

Sunday Max licked the boots until Ida was satisfied, then licked her until she came, then came on the leather when she pointed. She made him clean it and fuck her with the heels on his shoulders. He lasted longer than he wanted and came when she said. She kept him on the floor after, a heel on his chest, and stroked him hard again with her stockinged foot. He begged. She allowed a second mess on the toe and watched him lick it. Friday stayed in the diary. He stopped pretending it was anything but the point of his week.

Ida kept a diary only she could read. Friday boots. Sunday stockings. Wednesday heels if he had been good. Max was good. He licked leather, licked her, came where she pointed, and fucked her with the heels in his back until she was shaking. She let him sleep over once, boots by the bed, and woke him with her cunt on his mouth and a heel on his chest. He came on the leather before coffee. She called that a successful morning. He asked for a key. She said not yet, ask each time. He asked. She said yes. The rug had a permanent shine in one spot. Neither of them mentioned cleaning it.

They did it again before they slept, slower and filthier, and neither of them pretended the night had been an accident. The door stayed locked. The want did not. She kissed him once more and kept him there.