The last

Leo texted from the street. I told him the side door was open and the client hours were done. I am thirty-two. He is thirty-six. He is my boyfriend. Nobody was buying anything tonight. I had a camel blazer on and nothing else I cared about, and I was sitting among the wooden lasts with one bare foot stretched out. I wanted him to see the foot before he saw the new prototype.

He stopped in the doorway and did not joke. Good. I pointed my toes, then relaxed them. The sole was clean. I had washed it. Come put your mouth on the arch, I said. I want that before you touch the shoes. He crossed the room and knelt between the lasts. His hands framed my foot like it was a sample he was not allowed to scuff. I liked that care.

He kissed the ball of my foot. I felt it up the back of my leg and straight into my cunt. I told him slower, and he went slower. His tongue traced the arch. I kept the other foot in a mule, the contrast I like when I am designing and when I am turned on, which tonight was the same heat. I opened the blazer. No bra. I wanted his eyes to flick up and then go back to my foot, because I said so.

I slid forward on the stool and hooked that bare foot over his shoulder. Eat my cunt, I said, and keep a hand on my ankle. He did. His mouth was hot and exact on my clit. I held a last in one hand like a silly anchor and rocked on his tongue. When I was close I told him to fuck me over the bench. He stood, checked my face, and I nodded. His cock went deep in my cunt and he fucked me there. I kept the bare foot against his chest so he would feel it with every stroke.

I came looking at the row of lasts, his name in my mouth, my cunt tight on his cock. He asked if he could cum in my cunt. Yes, I said. I want that. He did, groaning into my shoulder, one hand still wrapped around my foot. After, he kissed the sole once more and stayed.