She leaned over the counter, slicing peaches for the cobbler she was making him. She knew he would be tired from the days work but hoped he had saved some energy for her. Smiling to herself when she heard the door open, she smoothed out the apron that covered only the soft flesh that was awaiting his touch. Her heart jumped when she felt his touch, pulling her hands behind her back and binding them with his tie. “Are you ready to play, little girl?”
He’d been a cobbler for many years. More than he’d like to admit he remembers. But when you love what you do, you can’t call it work. These shoes, and the delicate feet that will wear them, were special to him. He tilted one intricately beaded sandal on its side and stitched the last loop onto the small buckle, thinking how that buckle will fit snugly against her beautifully turned ankle. He caressed the instep, imagining her warm foot gliding into it, her sweet toes, painted a pearl pink to match the beading. His erection swelled and strained for attention as he thought of taking these beautiful shoes off her and caressing her long legs along the curve of her calf and the smooth white expanse of her thighs. Yes, he really loved his job.
Formerly, this was a challenge to make a word itself, one that wouldn't normally be thought of as "dirty" become something 'dirty." I have decided to change up the rules a little bit. Instead of posting a word and making it "dirty", I am going with a simple prompt, and you can use that for a theme for your piece. This is an adult content blog and if you are offended by such writings, or if you are under 18, you must leave. There are no restrictions on size, although we do encourage brevity. You may post the entry here, or put a permalink up to your own blog. Content must not be illegal. This is just meant to be good fun. Any post I feel oversteps the boundries will be deleted. There is a list of links to past prompts, and you are free to write on any prompt as the whim hits you.
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She leaned over the counter, slicing peaches for the cobbler she was making him. She knew he would be tired from the days work but hoped he had saved some energy for her. Smiling to herself when she heard the door open, she smoothed out the apron that covered only the soft flesh that was awaiting his touch. Her heart jumped when she felt his touch, pulling her hands behind her back and binding them with his tie. “Are you ready to play, little girl?”
He’d been a cobbler for many years. More than he’d like to admit he remembers. But when you love what you do, you can’t call it work. These shoes, and the delicate feet that will wear them, were special to him. He tilted one intricately beaded sandal on its side and stitched the last loop onto the small buckle, thinking how that buckle will fit snugly against her beautifully turned ankle. He caressed the instep, imagining her warm foot gliding into it, her sweet toes, painted a pearl pink to match the beading. His erection swelled and strained for attention as he thought of taking these beautiful shoes off her and caressing her long legs along the curve of her calf and the smooth white expanse of her thighs. Yes, he really loved his job.
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