Skittle-Toes, A Short Girl , Story

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“Skittle-toes? SKITTLE-TOES?” Katie stood at the entrance to my cubicle, indignant.

It was my own fault. At the office happy hour last Friday, I had one beer too many, and jokingly told “Loose-Cannon Ken” about my secret nickname for Katie. I had no-one to blame but myself for saying something like that to a blabbermouth like Ken.

It was next Monday evening, and the office was almost empty, except for me, and apparently, Katie. “Um. You see,” I tried to explain. I was flustered. I had spent the day hoping that perhaps Ken hadn’t said anything, but obviously he had.

“I didn’t mean,” I babbled, pausing to stare at my office-renowned jar full of Skittles, “… Well, you call me Skittle-man, right? Skittle-toes was just a term of endearment! Skittles are great, right?” People really did call me the Skittle-man. Sometimes I even thought people only talked to me because they wanted Skittles.

Katie was a petite natural blonde, five feet tall, with adorably tiny feet. And most days, she wore the cutest strappy-style mule shoes, four straps covering just the bridge mecidiyeköy escort of her foot, leaving her slender ankles and toes fully exposed. And her nail polish colors always matched up with a Skittles color. Red most of the time, but sometimes purple, and occasionally playful shades of green, orange, or even yellow to match her outfit. This week had been red, and I involuntarily glanced at her feet and toes for a moment.

I had also been in love with her from the moment we started working together two years ago, but the circumstances were never right. Plus, our relationship based on constant good-natured bickering was so perfect, I didn’t want to ruin it either.

It was several awkward seconds of glaring, before I noticed a smirk forming at the side of her mouth. She said, as she often did with pauses between each syllable, “You’re dis-gus-ting!”

I shrugged in agreement. Relieved and emboldened, I looked over to my jar of Skittles, reached out and opened it, and pulled out four or five merter escort red ones. I took one skittle, leaned down and forward to her foot, and put it next to her middle toe. The nail was almost the exact same size as the skittle, and the colors matched perfectly too.

“Skittle… Toe….” I added my own inter-syllabic pause for effect, as I jokingly glared back at her.

“I suppose,” she huffed in concession.

“Sit.” I rolled my chair back to provide space, and pointed to a spot on my desk next to the Skittle jar.

She sat. I rolled my chair back in front of her, took her left foot in my right hand, and slipped her shoe off. With my other hand, I gently pulled her big and second toe apart and positioned the skittle horizontally between them, aligned with her nails. I did the same with three more skittles, creating a beautiful sea of red polished toes with matching skittles between each one. I tried not to notice that propping her foot up like this was also giving me a partial view up her flared skirt.

“Skittles, mutlukent escort are the most wonderful things on the planet,” I said, as I lifted her foot by her ankle toward my mouth. I aligned my top and bottom lip with the first skittle, millimeters from the toes of my dreams. But I was the Skittle-man. I had my priorities. I pulled the first one from between her toes, chomped twice, and it was gone.

She was looking at me as if I was absolutely insane. But she wasn’t stopping me.

“Well, maybe the second most wonderful thing on the planet,” I said, briefly looking up. Then I returned to her toes, getting the remaining skittles first, relishing the incidental lip to toe contact, then finally tugging her three middle toes fully into my mouth and sucking hungrily and passionately. The preposterousness of it all, I thought to myself. Something better than Skittles?

Katie raised her other leg, resting her heel on the edge of the desk, deliberately showing me her hair-free everything. I looked up momentarily, our eyes meeting as years of suppressed feelings exploded.

I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect moment. That was, until she took her equally exquisite middle finger, slipped it in, and rapidly and audibly fingered herself. overwhelming my senses with tastes, sights, sounds, and the pheromones from her feet and everything else up that skirt of hers.

I’ll get back to those eyes later.

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