Nora’s Game

Nora gave me a mischievous little wink and put one hand on her thigh as she leaned down over the edge of the bed, and my eyes scanned across the pale, creamy white of her skin. She was sitting cross-legged wearing an elegant, tasteful set of lacy black lingerie, the effect of which was offset only slightly by the thin, worn, and dirty striped socks she had kept on when she had undressed a few minutes before.

I had returned her smile as she pulled off her pale blue jeans and her brown and yellow ringer t-shirt, and I must admit I was surprised by what she was sporting underneath. I had always known her as a playful, upbeat, and down-to-earth personality with an active sense of humor, but I had sensed here and there little hints of what I knew must have been a deep and vibrant sexuality. We had known each other for years, since high school even, and along the way she had made this joke or that one, laughed a little too hard at this one or that one of mine, and always there was this latent, indirect level of winking innuendo that colored our interactions.

She was on the shorter side, maybe 5′ 5”, with a kind of tomboy-ish style and long, straight brown hair that was usually worn up in a ponytail. In our little group of friends back in the day she had acted more or less like one of the guys, but she had grown into a strong, confident, independent woman, and underneath her old jeans and homemade inside joke t-shirt her breasts were medium-sized and perky, her legs were thick in all the right places, and the rest of her body was almost effervescent with her spirit.

She reached down beneath the bed skirt and pulled out a shallow wooden box with a hinged lid and a small latch, and she sat it on the bed in front of her and turned it towards me. She kept eye contact as she felt for the latch and undid it and, putting her hands on either side of the lid, said, “Why don’t you pick something to play with?”

I knew from her passing remarks in the past that she had an affection for sex toys, and I guessed at what would be inside; as she lifted the lid I saw that I wasn’t wrong, but instead of the two or three things I expected to see, I was slightly shocked to see the box was nearly full, containing a slick blue dildo, a pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, a few different sizes of anal plugs, a small bullet vibrator, a single grey feather, and, nestled between these in the corner, a single red, translucent die.

I reached into the box and picked it up to examine it. It wasn’t part of a “sex dice” set, the cheesy kind with LICK, KISS… LEGS, CHEEK on them. It was just a simple, ordinary six-sided die with white dots, the kind that you’d see at a craps table or that comes packaged with a deck or two of cards. I rolled it over in my hands and looked back at her, and as soon as our eyes met she snapped the lid of the box shut.

Very interesting choice,” she said with a little grin, and she leaned back down to slip the box back where it came from. Not entirely sure I had made my decision, but that apparently being the case, I asked her what it was for.

She laughed a little to herself, taking it from me and holding it between her fingers, and said, “This is one I actually haven’t gotten to use yet, because it’s new and it only works with a partner. It’s a little idea I had a few weeks ago. You see, this is a very special die. It tells the future.”

She looked down at it with another little smile, and said, “As you can see, it has dots representing numbers going from one through six.” She paused a moment and then snapped her eyes back to mine. “You’ll roll it, and for every dot that’s shown you’ll spend ten minutes with your face under my feet.”

I felt my eyes widen and my mouth open slightly. I had no idea what to say. I looked down past her crossed knees to her faded black socks, ringed with pencil-thin stripes of red, purple, and blue. They were hanging loosely and bunched down around her ankles, as though they used to go up to her calves but had since lost some of their elasticity. She wiggled her toes slowly and then flexed them back. I looked back at her eyes again, searching for that perennial grin, but this time her expression was subdued and I could tell that for once she was completely serious.

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” she said, looking down at her feet as she pulled them out from under her knees and sat them flat on the bed in front of me. “And yes. I’ve got them nice and stinky, as a matter of fact. I’ve been wearing these socks for four days straight.” I looked down along the side of the bed at her beat-up black skater shoes, faded almost to the same color as her socks, and then back at her.

“It’s simple really. You’ll get my feet in your face, you’ll sniff them when I say, you’ll kiss them when I say, you’ll lick them when I say, you’ll suck them when I say, and if you make it the full length of time I’ll reward you.” The grin returned. “What’s the matter? Haven’t you ever worshiped feet before?”

I was stuck for a reply, because of course I hadn’t, but she didn’t seem to need one. She reached down and placed the small red token in my hand, crossed her legs again and put her hands back on her knees, and said, “Alright. Ready to play?”

I paused for a moment, looking at her face and letting the moment sink in. Five minutes ago I had been so thrilled that we were finally going to be together this way after all these years, and had been so ready to do whatever it was that she wanted to do, but now…

I felt my fingers close gently around the die, and in spite of myself I began to shake it. Roll low, I thought, roll low, roll low, roll low, roll low. I opened my hand and let it fall to the bed, and it bounced once before coming to rest. My heart sank.

“Ooph,” she said. “5. Unlucky.” She put her hands behind her and pushed herself back to the top of the bed, setting the die on her nightstand and laying back against the pillows, and she grabbed the extra one by her side and tossed it down to me. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said, pointing to her feet with one hand and grabbing her phone with the other. She set a timer and then turned it around so I could see. “We’re gonna be here a little while.”

I laid the pillow down at her feet and she rocked them back and forth quickly, and then crossed her legs at the ankle as she reached for her book on the nightstand. I don’t know what came over me; I should have told her I didn’t like this game, I should have said I didn’t want to smell her feet, but instead I just laid down diagonally opposite her and put my head down just inches from her dirty socks. She smiled, opened her book and took out her bookmark, held the timer up so I could see, and then lifted her feet onto my face.

For the first (maybe) ten minutes, or maybe it was longer, that’s all there was. She just held them there, each one just covering one side of my face, blocking out about 95% of the light. I felt the foul, moist griminess of her socks against my skin, but gradually I got used to them. Or so I thought. After a while she began sliding them, slowly, up and down my face, making me feel every inch of the semi-soft, semi-rough, semi-wet, semi-dry fabric. I could almost feel her sweat soaking into my skin.

Then, without warning, she lifted them up about two or three inches from my face and my eyes opened. My vision was filled with the image of those old, ratty, dirty socks hovering just above me, and I became aware both of the way they clung to the soles of her feet and of the fact that those pencil-thin stripes of color weren’t exactly straight and made a series of tiny little zig-zags where they came to meet on the bottom. Both of these conspired to accentuate the shape of her arch, which became dramatic as she lifted her heels and raised her toes, and I heard her voice again: “You’ll kiss them now.”

I became aware of my lips again, which had formed into a plaintive, dejected pout that felt very much on the verge of a whimper, and I pulled them in for a moment as I looked up at her feet and prepared. Her feet parted slightly, and I could suddenly see her face between her butterflied knees and behind her lowered book. “Didn’t you hear me?” She brought her right one down until it was almost brushing my mouth. “Kiss!”

My eyes flitted suddenly from one foot, to her face, to the other, and back again, and then all at once I was overcome, and I reached out my lips and kissed. I saw her smirk as I did this, and she brought her feet back together and lowered them both to about an inch off of my face. “Go on,” she said, “Keep kissing them. Kiss ’em all over.”

I did as she said, and she made me kiss them over and over again for a few minutes, I guess until she got tired of holding her legs up. Then she stuck her feet back where they had been, each covering one side of my face with my nose in between, and she pressed them into me, pushing my head down into the pillow. Then she held the pressure with the outsides of her feet and lifted her insteps, slowly sliding them together to meet in the middle, and nestling my nose in between her toes.

“Okay,” she said. “Now you can smell them.” It was what I had been trying to avoid this entire time, even from when we had been sitting close on the bed and I had caught a faint little whiff of them, and now, buried beneath her feet, I had very little choice. Still, though, I hesitated, not wanting to take a full breath of her stink. She shook my head side to side. “What are you waiting for? Smell my feet!”

I finally did whine now, losing what precious air I had saved, and then my lip quivered softly as I relented, and smelled. The stink hit me hard and I shook my head and tried to pull it back, but I was trapped. Her scent was powerfully, terribly strong, and it was sour and sweet and musty all at the same time.

“Harder!” she said, tapping the sides of my nose quickly with her toes. “I want to hear you sniffing.” I moaned now as my even minor sniffs pulled her stink into me, and yet, somehow, I felt compelled to obey. I breathed out through my mouth, and then sniffed them hard. The smell invaded my entire consciousness, and my head began to swim as I did it a few more times.

“Okay, okay,” she said, wiping my face from forehead to cheek with one foot before returning it to its place next to the other. “Relax. Just smell gently now.” I felt grateful for this minor concession, and I closed my eyes again and sniffed softly, over and over and over again. “That’s right,” she cooed. “Smell those stinky socks.” She held me like that and made me smell them for a long time. A long time, maybe twenty minutes or more, and every time the smell faded and I thought I was getting used to it, she’d shift her feet or wiggle her toes and I’d be swimming in the stench all over again. At one point my eyes began to well up, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I wanted to cry or just because the smell was so strong.

When she was satisfied with my sniffing, she lifted her feet again and held them over my face. “Stick out your tongue,” she said. Again I hesitated, knowing what she probably had in mind, but this time I acquiesced without further prompting, slowly opening my mouth and laying my tongue out on my chin.

She parted her feet again to see whether I had done it and I caught another glimpse of her face, which was somehow looking more and more radiant every time I saw it. This time she had a wicked, teasing expression, and she pulled back her right foot as she lowered her left onto my tongue. She wiped it back and forth several times, and instantly I tasted the salt of her sweat and the other indefinable tastes from her shoes. I must have made a helpless face, because she laughed softly as she switched feet and began wiping my tongue with her right.

“Now it’s time to lick,” she said, bringing her feet back together over my face. “Take my feet in your hands and lick my socks.” I gingerly raised my hands up and took her ankles, looking again at the worn bottoms her dirty striped socks, and I closed my eyes and began licking. I licked until my tongue was dry and then some. She made me lick them again and again, and then finally said, “That’s enough. Now put your hands back by your sides and open your mouth.”

She pulled back both of her feet as I did it, this time without hesitation, and then she laid down her book and leaned forward to look down at me. She gently and carefully gripped my chin with the toes of her right foot. “Wi-der,” she almost sang, pulling my mouth open further. Then, in one fluid motion she lifted her foot, pointed her toe, and stuck the whole thing straight in my mouth.

I tried to protest, but my words were completely muffled as she filled my mouth with foot. Her only response was to push it in deeper and shake it a little from side to side. Then she picked up her book again and used her other foot to cover my eyes. “Suck now,” she said. “Suck it like you mean it.” I sucked, and tasted her stink again in a new way. She made me suck it for maybe five minutes before switching to the other one and making me do the same to it. Then she pulled it out and used both to cover my face the way she had done in the beginning and ran out the rest of the clock.

When I finally heard the alarm ring, she stretched her toes across my face, pushing the balls of her feet over my eyes, and then gave my face a light slap with each one before lifting them off quickly. She sat up and pulled her legs into her body like a pin-up girl and inspected her feet. I slowly sat up too, feeling dazed and humiliated, and she was looking at me with that grin again.

“Wow,” she said, “I didn’t expect you to make it the whole way on your first time! You did really well!”

I wasn’t sure how to take this, but I reached up and wiped at my face, feeling sure that my skin had absorbed a good deal of her sweat and stink. To my surprise she leaned in and kissed me, briefly introducing her tongue into my mouth, and then sat back with another smile.

“Now, I told you if you made it the entire way you’d be rewarded.”

I nodded and gave an exhausted smile back to her. I got ready to take my underwear off and even reached for my waistband.

“Are you ready?” she asked. I nodded again, more ready, in a strange way, than I had ever been before.

She held my gaze for a moment, an elegant, sexy brightness blooming over her face, almost searching for something in my eyes, and then suddenly she whipped around, grabbed the die from the table, and turned back to face me.

“You get to roll again.”


© 2017

Nora's Game cover (JPG)


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