Just a Kiss

I looked at my wife, her sheer hose, her sheer top, her bra visible. She was all but on display. "Please, can't I just...can't we...can't I even just kiss...just kiss your toes," I begged.

I wanted more, something knew, but we both knew what I wanted wasn't going to happen so I was left begging, literally, for anything. "I...I don't know," she said, sitting on the dressing table, crossing her leg, "you know how jealous he gets."

"I...I know," I mumbled, the humiliation flowing through me as I acknowledge what had to be absurd, that she was worried about her boyfriend's jealousy, not mine.

"Maybe just my toes," she said, looking at her foot. "But just a dry kiss." She held her foot towards me and I reached for it. "No touching," she said, pulling it back several inches.

"Angela," I moaned.

She pushed her foot forward again. "No touching and a dry kiss," she said. "In fact, hands behind your back."

"Angela..."

"Do you want to kiss it or not?"

I nodded. "You...you look so pretty," I said, hoping flattery would sway her.

She smiled. "He likes it when I show of my body," she said, "I can see it in his eyes when other guys look at me, how satisfying it is to him knowing I'm his."

"Can I..." I reached for her foot, hoping she was taking pity on me.

"No hands," she said, "and a dry kiss. Behave and I'll let you suck them later."

"Will you please," I begged.

She smiled. "There might even be something on them later," she said.

"S...something?"

"He likes it when I touch his cock with my feet," she said, "he leaks like crazy."