He planted his tongue on the bare top of Goldforge’s left foot, and Miles let out a moan as the taste of footy funk assaulted his senses. Even before his tongue touched the foot, he could taste it and smell it, the freshly sweated scent ramming into him, bringing tears to his eyes.
The sweat had poured over his foot when he wore those boots, and now it was slick all over. Miles slathered every inch with his tongue. He spat up on to the top of the foot and then sucked his spit down, gasping at how deliciously nasty the taste was — it tasted like stale spit and a locker room and a bit of cum.
Miles’s nose pressed into the layer of hair on top of Goldforge’s foot — he had moved onto the fresh right foot, and this time, he didn’t lick the whole thing. He savored it, dragging it out. He just licked the hairy top surface of the foot, getting up all the sweat that was there before he moved onto the toes.
He loved toes. The cracks between the toes was delightful, it was where sweat collected and never went away. So Miles could taste everything Goldforge had done since the last time he bathed — which was weeks ago. He could taste the hours he spent in the forge and the metal he had worked over and over; he tasted scorching sparks and moist, mildewy fur boots, and spilled lager and whiskey.
As he moved on to the bottom of Goldforge’s foot, licking up all the dirt that clung to his skin, Miles’s eyes roamed upward. He had to laugh at the shocked look on Goldforge’s face.
“Zanzibar’s axe!” Goldforge said with an annoyed grunt. He hadn’t expected this to feel good. “You are… You are licking my feet?”
From The Filthiest Alphas in Boots, Sneakers and Sandals
Category: Miles Rompenhauer
Prison slippers
He kissed Francesco’s left foot, right on the toes — he wore loose-fitting prison slippers, his knobbly hairy toes protruding because the slippers were too small for him, just like his pants. He had crude feet like an ogre, just like his face, which Miles adored. There was visible dirt on his toes, and his nails were disgusting — again, that was something Miles adored.
“Oh… Okay.” Francesco chuckled nervously. “You into my feet?”
Miles nodded. Those slippers tasted like steel and soil, with a little foot funkiness underneath all that. Miles pulled them both off. Francesco plopped down on the staircase. He stretched his long legs to give Miles easy access.
Miles Rompenhauer
Miles is a foot fetishist.
Books
The Filthiest Alphas in Boots, Sneakers and Sandals: Miles is at it again, finding himself in the raunchiest of situations with the most filthy-footed men in history! He visits a cowboy, a rapper, a marine, a biker, a hobo and even a dwarven blacksmith, each with feet more disgusting than the one before!
Miles the Pervert: Miles loves feet! He loves dirty, nasty alpha men’s feet, and plenty of alpha men are ready to give him a taste of what he craves! In this tale, Miles gets down and dirty with the feet of a filthy hillbilly, a burly ladysman and a thuggish pimp. Can he satisfy them… and himself?!
The Filthiest Alphas in Boots, Sneakers and Sandals
Miles is at it again, finding himself in the raunchiest of situations with the most filthy-footed men in history! He visits a cowboy, a rapper, a marine, a biker, a hobo and even a dwarven blacksmith, each with feet more disgusting than the one before!
Miles the Pervert
Miles loves feet! He loves dirty, nasty alpha men’s feet, and plenty of alpha men are ready to give him a taste of what he craves!
In this tale, Miles gets down and dirty with the feet of a filthy hillbilly, a burly ladysman and a thuggish pimp. Can he satisfy them… and himself?!