Tell him to lie back down

"How do they smell?" You giggle, kicking your heels toward his head.

"Not fantastic." he admits, and you drive your heel sharply into his nose again.

"I mean, amazing!" he hastily corrects himself, tearing up from the stomp you've delivered to his face. "I love them."

You nod, satisfied with his response.

"Well, since they smell so much, they need to be washed..." You begin, smiling down at him. "You have a tongue, you're here..."

You trail off as he sighs and picks up your foot again, lifting it to his mouth.

"Wait!" You cry, stopping him dead in his tracks.

"My shoes first." You order, smiling as he picks up your heels. "Smell them too, and then clean them."

He begins to smell the black shoes, pressing his nose right against the bottom, where your toes rested all the way through your flight and concert. You can see the sweaty mark your toes left on the shoes, and he is obviously overwhelmed by the smell. He sticks his tongue out and begins to lick, up and down the sole of the shoe, licking up all the sweat your feet left on the heels, through the entire day.

It's oddly satisfying to watch, and you slip a hand into your panties before you catch yourself and refrain from pleasuring yourself in front of him. No need for him to know you're turned on...

After the heels have been sufficiently cleaned, you order him to stick his tongue out. As he does, you run your foot down his tongue, from the heel to the tip of your toes. He grimaces at the taste of your sweaty feet, but doesn't close his mouth, instead allowing you to complete the action several more times before shoving your toes in his mouth.

"Suck them." You order simply, and he begins to do so, running his tongue between each of your sweaty toes.

You allow him to work for the most part, occasionally shoving your foot deeper into his mouth and making him **** on your toes for a brief moment. You're actually becoming fairly relaxed by the time he moves on to your left foot, and repeats the process.

It's almost midnight by the time both your feet are clean, and you've become too tired to hold your eyes open.

You're about to go to bed and send him out of the room, but instead your bladder begs you for a brief release. A sick, twisted thought crosses your mind. He's already done so much, there's really no changing that... Would it really matter?