Spike

She slid one hand slowly, slowly, slowly down her leg, enjoying the smoothness of her skin and the way my eyes burned as I watched her.

She reached her shoe, a six-inch spike-heeled pump we call “trainers,” because they’re too tall to walk in without help. She slipped it off.

As I watched with the utmost intensity, she raised it slowly to her face. Our eyes were locked.

She held it close and licked her way slowly up the heel, inch by inch, as if loving the leather and the shape. She took her time, her tongue playing gently and urgently over the surface. That it was a promise, a surrogate for my cock, there was not the slightest hint of a misunderstanding.

That pretty much set the tone for the rest of the evening.

— Frenulum