The barre

The barre light was the only one left. Owen locked the street door. I am twenty-nine. He is thirty-four. We date. The evening class is adults who come to dance, and I do not grade him. He is not under my authority. He is the man I chose. I told him to stay. I wanted his mouth on my feet before anything else.

I stood in the black leotard, white shirt open. One heel was still on. The other sat on the floor by the barre. My soles were hot from the work. I like them seen that way. I pointed at the bare foot. Start there. Tell me it is pretty. He said it plain. No joke in it. I felt my face heat, and I wanted more of that.

He knelt and took my foot in both hands. His thumb stroked the arch. The pull went straight to my cunt. Kiss, I said. He kissed the arch, the ball, each toe. He was slow with the smallest toe. Good, I said. You are so good on the floor for me. He made a low sound and stayed.

I slipped the other heel off and sat back against the barre. Both feet bare. I opened my thighs and told him to keep his mouth on my foot and fuck my cunt with his hand. He did. Two fingers worked my cunt, slow, his tongue under my toes. I held his hair. Yes. Like that. Say you love my feet. He said it. His cock was hard against my calf. I believed him.

I came with my sole at his mouth while those fingers fucked my cunt. I said his name out loud. Then I stroked his cock while I pressed my foot to his stomach, gentle, no pain, just skin. Cum on my arch if you want, I said. He asked. I said yes. He shot his cum across my arch and then kissed my ankle and thanked me. I thanked him back. We turned the light off. I wanted his hand at my waist on the walk home. I got it.