Chapter 3: N’s penthouse (part II)

But it’s she who makes the move. N’s white spider grabs my ankle and places my heel on her tucked legs, pulling the foot balls against her belly. Her swift muscular fingers take control, play her hard-core Mudras on me, pull my toe joints apart, rub the soft flesh in the arch rising sparkles of warmth up my leg across the spine. I lean on the wall, stung by the poison of her laser pupils, but somehow break the spell and set myself in action. Unfold her leg, letting her marble endless toes at my expense. Should I be conscious of the game I had surrendered right away, but the very same spell she had cast on me gave me the strength to pick the fight. Gnawed the soft balls of her toes, leaked the sensitive skin in between. She retaliated blow by blow, vigorously spreading the bones in my foot like a lady’s fan, and chewing my powerless toes one by one. By nibbling her puffy little toe I got the upper hand. Her pupils got cloudy, her porcelain nostrils twitched. Somehow I was managing to cope with her masterful rubbing, and send the sensual will-cracking waves back through her stretched limb. I use my free foot to dig under the skirts of her oversized male shirt.

‘Not fair,’ she complains, and sends my explorer away her reign. Her voice is sweet but her hand so firm I got clear she’s determined to set the rules. I stick to them, committed to beat her at her favorite game, and tongue-attack the delicate insertions of her toes. Her pupils grow wider, her fingers stronger, her skills mightier, and I feel I’ve unlashed a Bengal tigress I’m locked with into a tiny penthouse on the sea front.

I’m aware it may sound unbelievable, but I swear I don’t remember who won the foot-liking contest. Might be me, since my next memory is N leaping at my crotch, using her languid fingers to fish my beast and drew it out of its den, to get blasted by the sunlight. By first time her tenuous lips called my name. ‘Val, I wanna make you mad, my sweet, but I want you to hold on, no matter what I do to you, ok?’

The stiff monster rose up proudly and little N slapped it tenderly, as the rider of a muscular mare ready to race. Before I blink she had wrapped the monster and started pumping. I grab her wrist and reset the grip by placing her fingers one by one around my hungry cock. She grins, purses her lips, and pumps off with renewed enthusiasm. I correct her time after time till her job is so devastating I feel I’m the only male on Earth who can put on with it.

With her accurate Mudras contortionism and uninhibited naive curiosity under my dressage, N’s hand-job becomes a masterpiece. Her performance was prone to as many variations as the main theme from a Bach’s cantata. She may strangle the shaft and simply test how much pressure my monster can tolerate, and suddenly use her flying phalanges ended in short-cut trimmed nails to tickle every sensitive spot in the congested head. I have to restrain her spontaneous eager, keep her off the too sensitive parts her fit fingers otherwise could hurt. She picks up every trick instantly and the wonder is ... I can resist!