Chapter 36
36
GERARD
S trolling into my room, I plop down in my desk chair and open my laptop. I honestly didn’t think the Ice Queen would listen to me and stop mentioning Elliot on her blog. She sounded really unhappy about it in her Thanksgiving post, and I was fully prepared to cut all ties with her.
But she came through, and I couldn’t be more proud. Of course, that means I have to send her pictures of my feet now. I don’t know what I was thinking with that suggestion, but since I’m a man of my word, it’s time to put my best foot forward.
I lift one foot and rest it on the edge of my desk, taking a moment to examine its size. My foot is enormous, easily dwarfing the wireless mouse beside it. I never thought about my feet as anything more than what gets me from point A to point B. I mean, I get the appeal of a nice butt or a strong pair of hands. But feet? They’re just…feet. Right?
I rotate my ankle, watching the way my thick Denver Broncos socks— Elliot got me them for Christmas! —slowly pull down, revealing a thin dusting of blond hairs.
Flexing my toes, I watch the tendons ripple beneath my skin, visible even through the comfy cotton. I trail my fingers over the top of my foot, gently massaging it.
Suddenly, I see my feet in a whole new light. They carry me effortlessly across the ice and propel me at breakneck speeds. There’s an undeniable eroticism to them that I’ve never appreciated before.
I carefully peel my socks off and drop them on the floor. I make a mental note to pick them up before Elliot returns from lunch with Jackson.
My bare feet are even more impressive. They’re tanned, and my toenails are neatly trimmed. Each toe is perfectly proportioned and looks like a big nub carved from marble.
Dang. I have sexy feet.
Propping my heel on the edge of the chair, I position the camera to get the underside of my foot. The rough, callused skin is proof of the countless hours I spend on my feet. I trace a finger along the edge, shuddering slightly at the unfamiliar sensation. It’s ticklish…but in a good way.
I press my thumb into the thick pad below my big toe, and a low moan escapes my lips as I knead the sensitive flesh. Electric tingles shoot up my leg, making my cock twitch with interest. I had no idea my feet could be this responsive.
Putting my phone down, I get lost in the intoxicating exploration. My head falls back as my other hand slides up my thigh almost of its own accord, drawn to the growing bulge. I palm myself through the fabric, hips thrusting forward eagerly.
I force my eyes open and refocus on the task before getting too carried away. I snap a few more photos before bringing my foot to my face and examining it up close. The earthy aroma of clean male musk fills my nostrils.
I breathe it in deeply, savoring its raw, primal scent. My tongue flicks out to wet my lips as I fight the sudden urge to shove my toe in my mouth and suck on it as if it were a binky.
Yeesh. I’m really getting into this.
I didn’t think I had a thing for feet, but the evidence is undeniable and throbbing between my legs. The thought of the Ice Queen poring over these photos, touching herself as she drinks in every detail, is enough to make me fully erect.
I push back from the desk, and my cock strains almost painfully against my sweatpants. I need to get more comfortable.
Traipsing over to the bed, I flop down on my back, the mattress creaking under my weight. I arrange myself with my head propped up on a few pillows so I can still see my feet.
My sweats are tented like a circus big top. I’m harder than I can ever remember being, and it’s all because of playing with my feet. Who knew?
Lifting my legs, I point my toes toward the ceiling and admire how my ankles align. The position also makes my calves flex. God, that’s hot.
I grab my phone again and zoom in, capturing it forever. I’m so lost in my lewd foot worship that I don’t hear the door open.
Elliot’s voice cuts through the haze of lust. “Hey, Gerard, I just got back from…uh…”
He stops mid-sentence as his eyes take in the scene before him: me, spread out on the bed with a massive ten in my sweats, holding up my large feet as if presenting them as an offering to the Lord.
I freeze, my phone still aimed at my toes.
Elliot blinks at me behind his glasses, his mouth hanging open. I can only imagine how this looks. His eyes flick from my beet-red face down to my impossible-to-miss boner and then up to my feet hovering above me.
“What are you doing?” he asks faintly.
What the heck do I even say? “Oh, hey, Elliot, I discovered I have a thing for my feet. Wanna see some pics?”
Slowly lowering my legs, I scramble to sit up and ball my hands in my lap to hide the evidence of my arousal. There’s not much I can do to hide my massive erection, but it’s instinct.
“I, uh…” I stammer eloquently, my mind spinning its wheels in the mud. “I was just…you know.” I vaguely gesture at my feet as if that explains everything .
“You were just admiring your feet. As one does.”
My face burns with mortification, the red spreading down my neck and across my chest. I take a deep breath and try to gather my scattered thoughts. I guess there’s nothing for it but to come clean.
“Okay, look. I kind of made a deal with the Ice Queen. I told her I’d send her pictures of my feet if she agreed to stop writing about you on her blog.”
Elliot’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, eyes widening behind his glasses. “You did what now?”
I pick at a loose thread on my comforter. “I know, I know. It was a stupid thing to do. But I couldn’t stand the thought of her continuing to invade your privacy.”
I risk a glance up at him to gauge his reaction. To my surprise, he doesn’t appear angry or disgusted. If anything, he’s intrigued.
“Alex mentioned you’ve been in touch with her.” Elliot takes a step closer to the bed. “I didn’t realize it was quite this often.”
I shrug one shoulder, my blush deepening. “I wanted to protect you.” Suddenly, I feel absolutely foolish. “Fat lot of good that did, though, huh? Now I’m the one making a spectacle of myself.”
Elliot hums thoughtfully, closing the distance between us. The mattress dips as he settles on the edge of the bed. I swallow hard, suddenly extremely aware of his proximity and my still-raging hard-on.
“Can I see them?” Elliot asks softly, nodding toward my feet. “The pictures you took?”
My heart stutters in my chest, and a jolt of arousal zips down to my balls. “Uh, sure.” I fumble for my phone with shaking hands, nearly dropping it in on my boner. “They’re not that good, though. I’m no photographer.”
Elliot smiles and plucks the phone from my grasp. “Let me be the judge of that.”
He swipes through the photos with an unreadable expression, and I try to decipher his thoughts as he zooms in on one particular shot. The one of my soles with the arches on full display. My breath catches in my throat as his index finger traces the curve, mirroring the path mine had taken earlier.
“These are pretty good,” he murmurs, low and appreciative. “But it still doesn’t explain one thing.” His gaze flicks pointedly down to my dick tenting my sweatpants before meeting my eyes again. “What’s up with that?”
I rub the back of my neck sheepishly and scramble for an explanation that doesn’t make me sound like a total perv. “Well, uh, the thing is…every time I’ve taken pictures for the Ice Queen of my body parts and stuff, I kind of get really, um, excited.”
“Excited? Really?”
“Yeah, first it was the butt pics, then the hand shots. Now, even my feet are enough to get me rock hard.”
“Interesting.” He sets my phone down and leans in, bracing one small hand on my massive thigh. I nearly jump out of my skin at the contact. “So, what do you do about it? After you take the pictures, I mean.”
I usually like to wrap my hand around my aching cock and stroke myself to thoughts of Elliot’s pretty pink lips and tight little body. But I can’t say that, not to his face. “I, uh, I don’t really do anything. I always get interrupted before I can, you know…”
I make a vague jerking-off motion with my hand, feeling like a complete tool. Elliot’s eyes widen slightly, his lips parting on a soft “oh.”
He stares at me from under his lashes. “That must be really…frustrating. Getting all worked up and then being unable to finish.”
“Dude, you have no idea.” I shift uncomfortably as my trapped erection throbs insistently. “It’s the worst case of blue balls every freaking time.”
Elliot tilts his head, considering me with those big brown eyes. “What if you didn’t have to stop this time? What if you could…you know, take care of it? While I watched? ”
I choke on my spit, my eyes bugging out of my head. Did I hear that right? Holy cheese on a Ritz cracker.
“You want to watch me?” My voice cracks the same way it did when I was going through puberty. “Like, watch me touch myself?”
“Yeah, if you want to, that is. It’s only fair since I interrupted you and all.”
I can’t believe this is happening. Elliot is offering to watch me beat my meat. It’s like every wet dream I’ve ever had come to life.
I gulp audibly, my Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat. “Uh, yeah, okay. If you’re sure that you want to see that.”
Elliot smiles, slow and wicked, and it sends a bolt of pure lust straight to my dick. “Oh, I’m sure,” he purrs, settling back against the headboard. “Go ahead, Gerard. Show me how you pleasure yourself.”
Screw me sideways. I think I might die of horniness. With trembling hands, I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my sweats and lift my hips, shimmying them down my thighs. My cock springs free, slapping against my abs with a meaty thump.
Elliot’s eyes widen as he takes it all in. I know I’m big, but he’s staring at my weeping dick as if it’s a foot long. “I love how huge you are, Gerard.”
I preen at the compliment. “Yeah, well, makes sense since I have big feet, right?”
Elliot doesn’t laugh. He’s too busy staring at my dick like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. I wrap my hand around the base, my fingers barely meeting. A fat drop of precome appears at the tip, glistening in the light.
“Fuck,” Elliot whispers, watching as it dribbles down my shaft and over my fingers. “You know what, screw it. I’m sucking you off.”
He bends down and takes me in his mouth. I throw my head back with a hoarse cry, my hands scrabbling at the sheets from the sudden shock to my system.
I stare down at him in awe. Elliot’s pretty pink lips are stretched, drool already gathering at the corners of his mouth as he tries to take more of me in.
My feet, settled on the hardwood floor, slip and slide as he bobs his head, his tongue fluttering along the underside of my shaft. It’s sloppy and inelegant but so, so hot.
Saliva dribbles down his chin, and my balls draw up tight, the pressure building at the base of my spine.
“God, your mouth,” I groan, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Feels so good, Elliot. Don’t stop.”
He hums around me, and the vibrations nearly send me through the roof. My feet come off the floor, abs clenching hard as I fight the urge to thrust into his throat. I’m already so close, my cock throbbing between his hollowed cheeks.
Through the haze of pleasure, some distant part of my brain registers that the bedroom door is still wide open. Anyone could walk by and see us. But I can’t find it in me to care, not when Elliot is taking me apart so thoroughly with that magical mouth of his.
He pulls off with a lewd pop, gasping for air. His lips are shiny and swollen, and his glasses sit askew on his nose. He looks downright raunchy.
“You close?” Elliot rasps, his voice wrecked. All I can do is nod frantically, my balls drawing up into my body. He grins and licks a stripe up the length of my shaft before sinking back down.
Elliot’s fingers travel below my balls, and my breath catches in my throat as he grazes my perineum, sending electric shocks through my body.
I’m reminded of the last time Elliot was between my butt cheeks. When he rimmed me, making me moan and writhe under his tongue. It had been hot as fudge.
Elliot’s finger knocks on my hole, and I let out an “ack!” as my whole body tenses. He pulls off my cock to ask, “Can I finger you?”
I hesitate for a split second, but the need coursing through me is too strong to deny. I nod, biting my lip as a moan escapes my throat.
Elliot sits up and reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand. My heart pounds in my ears as he flips the cap open and drizzles some over his fingers. The cool liquid trickles down his hand, and he warms it by rubbing his fingers together.
He looks at me for confirmation one last time. I spread my legs wider in response, giving him access. My cock stands tall and angry, bobbing with each beat of my heart.
Slowly and carefully, Elliot circles my entrance with a slick finger. The pressure is gentle at first but enough to make me squirm. He applies more force, and I feel him start to slide in. My muscles clench around him instinctively, and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Relax,” he soothes, leaning down to kiss my inner thigh. “It’ll feel good if you relax.”
I will my body into submission, focusing on the heat of his breath and the softness of his lips as they trail along my leg. Bit by bit, the tension eases, and Elliot’s finger sinks deeper.
A low groan rumbles from my chest as he curls his finger inside me, exploring. It’s an odd sensation—not painful, but unfamiliar and intense. Sparks shoot up my spine with each little movement he makes.
“How does it feel?” Elliot asks.
“Different,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “Good different.”
He smiles at that and leans back down to take my cock in his mouth again. The dual sensations of his warm lips and probing finger are almost too much to handle. My hands grip the sheets tight enough to tear them as he works me over.
Elliot pumps his finger in and out, finding a rhythm that matches the bobbing of his head. Pleasure mingles with the strangeness, and my hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of the delicious friction he’s creating. I’m so close that every stroke feels like it could tip me over the edge .
And then Elliot’s finger finds something inside me that makes my vision go white. I yelp like a startled puppy, my whole body jerking as if I’ve been electrocuted.
“Holy shit!” I shout—half in disbelief, half in pure, unfiltered ecstasy. And then it hits me.
I just cursed.
I’ve never—My mom would—Oh gosh.
Elliot pops off my cock, his lips glistening. “Found it,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face before he realizes the same thing I just did. “Did you just swear?”
I’m too stunned to answer. The thought of me cursing is almost more shocking than the pleasure still coursing through my body. Almost.
Before I can process what it means or how it’s even possible, he applies more pressure to that magic button. My cock twitches violently, and a rush of precome spills out, sliding straight down Elliot’s throat. He takes it all without flinching, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Fuh—” I bite down on my lip so hard I taste blood. The word had been right there, ready to burst out again. What is happening to me?
Elliot’s mouth works with renewed fervor, his tongue swirling around the head of my cock before sucking like a Hoover.
His finger continues to massage that spot relentlessly, sending wave after wave of unbearable pleasure through me. My hands fly to his shoulders, not sure if I want to push him away or pull him closer.
“Elliot,” I gasp, my voice unrecognizable even to myself. “I’m gonna?—”
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up, his mouth and hand working in perfect, torturous harmony.
I’m beyond words now, reduced to a series of guttural moans and whimpers. My toes curl tightly, and my legs tremble with the effort to stay grounded.
Elliot knows exactly how close I am. He pulls off my dick, letting the cool air hit my wet skin. My hips thrust up, desperate for the warmth of his mouth again. He strokes me with his free hand, his fingers slick with my fluids.
“Ready?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer.
He presses hard on my prostate, and I say it. “FUCK!”
I explode with a force that leaves me shattered. Hot cum shoots out of me in thick spurts, each one accompanied by a violent contraction of my abs and a hoarse cry from my lips. It splatters against my chest and stomach, dripping down to the sheets like melted candle wax.
He milks me for every last drop. My breathing comes out in ragged gasps, and sweat pools in the hollows of my collarbones.
“Fuck,” I say again, not sure if it’s an exclamation or an order at this point.
Elliot studies me with those warm brown eyes of his as he casually asks, “How do you feel about swearing now?”
I don’t even know where to start. “That was amazing,” I rasp, my voice sounding like I gargled gravel. “ You’re amazing.”
Elliot’s smile widens, and he leans in to kiss my jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself, big guy.”
I laugh, still trying to wrap my head around this turn of events. My eyes roam over Elliot’s face, drinking in every detail as if I were seeing him for the first time. He’s beautiful, and it makes my chest ache.
Something catches my eye as I stare at him like a lovesick fool. My phone lies on the bed next to us, still open to one of the pictures of my feet. Seeing it jars something loose in my brain—a half-formed thought.
I frown, pick up the phone, and squint at the screen. The photo is a strangely artistic shot, almost sensual in its composition. The kind of picture the Ice Queen will love.
The Ice Queen.
My eyes dart from the photo to Elliot’s face and back again, my mind racing to connect the dots .
Could it be? Could Elliot be the one behind the blog, the mysterious figure who’s been lusting after my body parts for months? It seems impossible, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
The things the Ice Queen loves—my ass, my hands, my feet—Elliot loves too. I mean, he’s got a self-proclaimed hand kink, for Pete’s sake. Elliot also loves to write, and what better way to practice than on a blog?
But no. It can’t be him. Elliot loves his privacy. He wouldn’t “out” himself to the entire campus. It could be a great cover, though.
I glance down at him as he closes his eyes. He looks peaceful. Serene. Happy.
Elliot is not the Ice Queen. I know it in my heart of hearts.
But she is someone I know.