The slippers

I sat on the wooden floor with the worn ballet slippers in my hands. Black turtleneck. Silver hair in a low bun. Hugh closed the door with his shoulder and did not fill the silence. I am fifty-two. He is fifty-five. My partner. The slippers are from my last years on stage, adult years, and I like holding them before I give him my actual feet. I wanted the afternoon slow. I told him that when he sat down across from me.

He nodded. I set the slippers aside, not on him, not a costume. Then I stretched one bare foot into his lap. These, I said. This is what I want kissed. He took my foot in both hands. His thumbs are careful. He rubbed the arch until I sighed, then he looked up. May I. Yes. He kissed the sole, unhurried, a man with nowhere else to be. I felt fifty-two and starving in the best way. My cunt warmed. I did not rush the fuck.

Other foot, I said, after a long while. He switched. The floor was cool. The light was good. I pulled the turtleneck off and let him see my breasts while he worshipped my feet. He said I was beautiful. I said I know, and I still like hearing it. He smiled against my ankle. I opened my trousers myself. Fingers on my cunt first, I said. Slow. Keep kissing.

He stroked my clit in lazy circles and kissed the arch in the same tempo. I came quietly, a long roll, his name in my mouth, one hand on the slippers beside me like a paperweight, my cunt fluttering under his fingers. Then I wanted his cock. I lay back on the wood and drew him over me. I said, fuck me slow, all the way in my cunt. He set his cock in my cunt slow and fucked me while we both breathed. I kept my bare legs around him and one foot stroking his calf. Do not speed up until I say.

When I said now, he went deeper. I came again, clutching his back, cunt tight on his cock. Cum in my cunt, Hugh. He came with his face in my neck. After, he kissed both feet and set the slippers in my hands. We drank tea on the floor, my soles on his thigh.