Chapter 10: The Turkish Toes
The ache was a permanent resident now, a deep, bruised throb in his groin that colored every movement. Two days had passed since the night in Kubara’s crimson sheets, two days of serving coffee with a strained smile, his body screaming with unslaked need, the ghost of her fist and the taste of her feet a constant loop in his mind.He jumped whenever Kubara looked his way.
The text came during his lunch break, as he listlessly pushed a fork through a salad.Unknown Number: This is Evana. Jasmin gave me your digits.Be at my place.7pm.Don’t be late. Address below.
A chill, different from Kubara’s smoldering dominance, slithered down his spine. He knew of Evana only through Jasmin’s mocking stories—her best friend, a brat with a cruel smile and a shared appetite for control.
The apartment building was new, sleek and anonymous. He took the elevator to the 12th floor, the silence ringing in his ears.He knocked.The door opened to a blast of cool, conditioned air. Evana stood there, leaning against the frame.She was smaller than Jasmin, but her presence filled the space. She wore expensive-looking black leggings and a cropped white t-shirt that showcased a flat, tanned stomach and the dramatic curve of her hips. Her dark hair was piled in a messy bun, a few strands framing a face of striking, sharp beauty. Her smile was wide, but it didn’t reach her dark, assessing eyes.
“Right on time,” she said, her voice a melodic lilt touched with mockery.“Come in, big guy. Let’s see what Jasmin’s been keeping on such a short leash.”
Her apartment was a study in minimalist contrast to Kubara’s den.Polished concrete floors, cold and unyielding underfoot.White walls. A single, low-slung floor lamp cast a sterile white light, creating long, geometric shadows that seemed to slice through the space. The only furniture was a large, deeply cushioned sofa, its grey upholstery slightly rumpled, and a sleek glass coffee table. It felt like a gallery, and he was the exhibit.“Shoes off,” she commanded, already padding barefoot toward the sofa. “The concrete is cold. You’ll feel it.”
He toed off his sneakers, the chill of the floor seeping instantly through his socks.
She had arranged herself on the sofa, not sitting, but reclining like a odalisque, one leg extended along the cushions, the other bent.She had removed her socks.Her feet were small, high-arched, with slender toes. The nails were painted a gleaming, metallic silver. They looked delicate, almost fragile, but he knew better.“Over here. Kneel.”
He walked over, the cold floor finally reaching his knees as he sank down before the sofa.She studied him, her head tilted.
“Jasmin says you’re good with your mouth. That you like to… worship.” She wiggled her silver toes.“She says you particularly like feet. Is that true, you big German pervert?”
“Yes,” he whispered, the word sticking in his dry throat.
“’Yes’ what?”
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Pathetic.” She let her foot dangle off the edge of the sofa, just above his eye level. “Well, let’s see if your German peasant mouth can appreciate something finer.These,” she said, rotating her ankle, “are Turkish perfection. Every curve, every nail.A thousand years of civilization in these arches. And you,” she sneered, “you’re just a big, blond beast from the forest.Reduced to what? Licking my shoes?No.Licking the ground they walk on.Start with the left one. Kiss my instep.”
He leaned forward, his nose almost brushing her skin. He pressed his lips to the smooth, warm arch of her foot. Her skin smelled of almond lotion and something clean, almost surgical.“Use your tongue.Don’t just peck at me like a bird. Taste it.”
He extended his tongue, flattening it against her arch, and dragged it slowly from her heel to the ball of her foot. The taste was subtle, clean skin with a hint of salt.He did it again, and again, his eyes closed, the humiliation a familiar, burning brand.
“Good.Now between the toes.Each one. I want them soaking wet.”
He took her foot in his hands, his large fingers seeming clumsy against her delicate bones. He started with the big toe, pushing his tongue into the space beside it, licking deeply, then sucking the toe itself into his mouth. He moved to the next, and the next, his mouth working methodically, each tiny digit greeted with sucking, lapping attention.A soft, wet sound filled the quiet room.
Evana watched him, her breathing slightly deeper. “You see the difference, don’t you?My skin, my scent… it’s superior.You can tell. You’re just a dumb animal, but even an animal knows quality.” She shifted, pushing her foot deeper into his mouth.“Take it. All of it.”
He opened wider, letting her slide her foot past his lips until his nose was buried against her sole. He gagged reflexively, his throat convulsing.“Swallow it, you bitch,” she said, her voice hardening. “Swallow my foot.That’s all you’re good for. A fucking foot-rag.”
Tears sprung to his eyes from the strain. She held it there for a long, torturous moment before pulling it out with a slick pop.“Now the other one. And I want you to lick my sole until it shines. Make it a mirror for your own worthless face.”
He switched feet, his devotion absolute. He lapped at her sole with broad, desperate strokes, coating every millimeter, from the silver tips of her toes back to the delicate heel. He worshipped the arch, tracing its curve with the very tip of his tongue until she shivered. His own cock was a rigid, painful intrusion in his pants, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, a desperate, ignored plea.
When her foot was glistening, she pulled it back and sat up. She swung both legs off the sofa and stood before him, looking down. She placed one wet sole against his cheek, smearing his own saliva on his skin.Then the other. She wiped her feet clean on his face, on his forehead, on his lips.“Stand up.”
He struggled to his feet, his knees protesting. His erection tented his pants obscenely.Evana’s wicked smile returned. “Jasmin said you got denied the other night. That you’re all backed up.” She reached out and palmed him through his jeans, a rough, squeezing grip. He whimpered, his hips jutting forward.“Such a desperate, leaky little thing. You’d come in your pants if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
He could only nod, breath hitching.
“But I’m not going to tell you to.” She removed her hand. “Jasmin wants you frustrated.She wants you aching.So you’re going to leave now, just like this. You’re going to walk all the way home with this huge, stupid hard-on, and you’re not going to touch it. You’re going to think about my silver toes in your mouth, and you’re going to wonder what it would feel like if I ever let you fuck me.” She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper.“Spoiler: you never will. You don’t get to fuck. You only get to serve.”
She stepped back, her expression dismissive.“Get out. I’m done with you for tonight.”
He stood there, trembling, drowning in the savage injustice of it.
“Now!” she barked, the sound cracking through the sterile room.He turned, fumbled with his shoes, and stumbled out into the hallway. The elevator ride down was agony. Every step of the twenty-minute walk home was a torment, his denim chafing against his swollen flesh, the cold night air doing nothing to quell the fire. The taste of almond lotion and clean skin was a taunt on his tongue. The memory of her words—you never will—echoed, a sentence passed not just for the night, but seemingly forever.As he finally let himself into his own dark, empty apartment, his phone buzzed. A message from Jasmin.Jasmin: Evana sent me a clip. You looked cute on your knees.Sleep tight.Don’t get any ideas. Remember, your bank card declines after 10pm. Sweet dreams, pig.