Foot in the Throat, Saliva on the Face
Lying at Anita's feet, the loser stared up at her with wide, pleading eyes. She watched as he struggled to catch his breath, the muscles in his neck straining from the pressure of her foot against his throat. His mouth hung open, a thin ribbon of drool dripping from the corner of his lips.
Without a word, Anita pushed her toes deeper into the man's throat. He gagged, choking on the foreign object, but managed to keep his mouth open. Saliva flowed from his lips, dripped down his chin, and pooled on the floor beneath him.
Anita leaned in closer, her breath mingling with his. She spit on top of his tongue, watching as he swallowed reflexively. Her pupils dilated with excitement as she felt the warm, wetness of their shared saliva.
Grinning wickedly, Anita pressed her foot harder against his tongue, forcing it to the back of his throat. The gagging sound became wetter, louder, and more desperate. Her own saliva flowed down her foot, mixing with his.
Slowly, Anita lifted her foot from his throat, wiping the sole clean on his face. His eyes were filled with terror as he watched the trail of his own mixed saliva slide across his cheek. He tried to close his mouth, but it was too late. Her foot had left an indelible mark on his skin.
Without a word, Anita stepped back, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. The loser lay there, gasping for air, his mouth still clogged with her sweaty, dirty foot. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mumble.
Anita turned and walked away, leaving behind a trail of shocked silence. The loser lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the warm, wet emptiness in his mouth. He knew that he had just experienced something truly unique, something that would forever be etched into his memory.
