Compromising Position

“Don’t you live close by?” Gen asked, moving her feet further up Trace’s thigh in the backseat of the car.

“I do,” he said, adjusting himself under her. He was clearly hard, and they were in a terribly compromising position as she snuggled up against him.

“Let’s just go to your place and order if you want?” she asked him.

Trace continued to massage her feet and gave new directions to the driver.

Back to his place.

He lived near her, but he lived in the fancier part of the neighborhood. He lived on the top floor of a tree-lined street closer to the ocean. The inside of his apartment overlooked the water and the entire stretch of the neighborhood. Gen was sure she could see her own place if she looked long enough.

She felt Trace stand behind her with his hands on her hips.

“It beautiful,” she said as he kissed her neck.

“It is, but it is more beautiful seeing it behind you.”

Gen moaned as he kissed down the curve of her neck and pressed her hands to the glass.

She stepped back and stepped on Trace’s toes as she did. He pulled her close to him, pulling up her dress and reaching between her legs.

“Come sit on the couch with me,” he said and took her hand.

As soon as she sat down on the couch, he sat beside her and placed her feet on his lap. Gen could not resist but caress him through his pants. Trace unzipped them, and she rubbed her feet up and down his shaft, but then he moved her feet away from his crotch.

“No,” he said. His accent was guttural. “I want to give you pleasure.”

She leaned back on the couch against the plush pillows, and Trace held her foot and kissed it. He caressed her foot and touched a pressure point that made her wet. It felt so good she was overcome with the sensation and lifted up trying to control it when she came. Her toes curled in his hand, and she looked at him sharply. He had a smile on his face.

“I think dinner is here,” he said, placing her feet delicately on the couch.

Gen arched on the couch, looking at him walk away. He looked sexy and undisturbed as if he had not given her a disturbingly good orgasm.

The crumpling of the bags of Malaysian food vibrated through her, and the smell of the food made her salivate. Trace started setting the table in the kitchen nook. When she felt like she could get up without falling over, Gen joined him and helped him set the table.

Barefoot.

When she sat down across from him at the tiny table, Trace placed her feet on his lap as they navigated the fragrant takeout food and as he poured wine for them one-handed, never letting go of her feet.

Gen bit her lip as he just touched the spot on her foot where he made he come. But this time, it was a minute detour, as he clinked glasses with her.

“Cheers,” she said softly.

This is the fifteenth story in a series. You can read the first one here and the last one here.