Porn Regarding Feet
?"Raccoons are nasty," the bunny used to always joke, I think because he knew it'd make me blush. "Always have to wash things before they'll put 'em to their lips," he'd say, as if he were making the teasing polite for public conversation, though no one else were around, "but under the surface they're just dirty little things." And I'd blush, my obsessive need for impeccable cleanliness only quietly reaffirmed for the obvious lies in his jokes. If I felt he were serious, I might have reacted with one of my more distempered social quirks, but he was never more than playful with it. Sometimes I would've preferred to get angry, really, because it had a subduing effect on me no matter what my mood was. It made me comfortable, even, just the fact that he joked with me. Too many of my roommates before had been so professional. Like business partners. They treat you like flowers treat sunshine so they can pay the rent two weeks late and have an arsenal of justifications for it. Aloysius was as lighthearted as you expect any bunny to be. Living with him had been fun, even before he'd stumbled upon my affinity for him through his gentle teasing.
He had his habits. While I spent most of my time working from the home, which I was using then as my office before I could afford a real space, he had a regular job lifeguarding at a gym in the city. A couple days a week he coached a youth swim team for a local church after his shift. He did it volunteer, but he was good. He really was good. He would talk about his athletes when he came home, how they were improving, how much he felt he'd be able to teach before competitions. One of the universities would be paying him to do it in just a couple years, I knew it for a fact, then. Those days he would be out late, well past when I finished all my work, and I would lounge by myself in the spacious apartment appreciating the privacy, but while growing increasingly anxious for him to come home with his one ear half flopped over in an exhaustion that made him seem nearly drunk, though it didn't temper his enthusiasm for joking.
The first time, Aloysius didn't know what he was doing, really. It's just as genuine now as it ever was, but the first time, he won me over before he realized he'd been trying. I fell into his lap, really. The first time- I mean, it wasn't the first time he had come home on one of those long nights and collapsed into a soft chair before pulling off the loose sandals he wore to the gym and back so he could knead the tension out of his tender feet. He was usually audaciously candid about the fact that men were drawn to him, and to different parts of him, but it amazed me when he took off his sandals and rubbed his feet that he didn't seem to recognize his own beautiful feet. He propped his wide, soft paws on on the sofa and pressed his fingers into the delicate pads, and I couldn't take my eyes off of it any more easily than if I were catching a glimpse of him in the shower. It felt lewd to me, but I figured that was just my own taste, and I wanted to deny him when he asked me to rub them. I didn't think for a second he was sincere. He was teasing me, he always teased me. But I stammered something guttural, took a bracing breath, and said "Sure." I didn't plan on it, really. I figured he'd withdraw the offer myself. Or I'd find some immediate excuse to shirk the responsibility. But his ears perked up when I agreed, and after thanking me effusively, he leaned back into his sofa, his eyes buried under pillows so that I didn't even try to hide my surprisingly stiff cock pressing against my khaki shorts.
And I pressed my palms against the soft pad beneath his toes with a lust that felt secretly gratuitous. I wasn't massaging anything, I was fondling him, really, and all he likely knew about it was that my hands were still a little cold. It was the lack of recognition from him that made it feel so secret, so kinky. And like I said, I fell into his lap. I never felt like I had any kind of say in it. He comes home one day and four words after he gets through the door I'm rubbing the plush pads of his feet and threatening the burst the zipper of my pants. It just happens like that sometimes, I'm okay with it happening to me. It's just not the most comfortable, assured way of indulging your fantasies. I was a bundle of nerves as I massaged the tender feet, my eyes filtering over the soft white curves under his fur. His fur was white as bleach. He seemed almost sanitary, the only color on him the lively pink in his ears and in the pads of his feet.
When the bunny seemed comfortable enough under the pillows that I figured I could get away with it, I leaned my nose in close to his pads and slowly huffed in the scent of his feet. It swirled in my nose like a fine alcohol, enticing me. When I exhaled the warm breath onto the pink pads, his toes curled and he moaned to dramatize the tension easing out of him. I kept my eyes intent on the crotch of his pants. His package bulged the tight, thin pants he wore. He seemed eminently relaxed with his paws kneaded between my fingers, but I was hoping for a sign of the kind of surging lust I was exhausting through increasingly greedy and less conspicuous huffs at the heady scent of the bunny's feet. I tried to ply him toward desire, rubbing the soft feet the way I'd hope to have mine appreciated and nurtured if someone were so affected by them. It did myself no favors. I could hardly keep from moaning as I wrapped my hands around the strong paws, squeezing the toes gently between my fingers. I ran out of ideas for what to do to the lovely appendages and resorted to simply admiring their sturdy construction while my fingers did whatever they did. I watched the bulge in his pants with distant hope, feeling cornered where I was. I felt if I kept rubbing his feet too long, he'd know what I was up to. I figured if I stopped right away, put my hands inside my pockets and slunk back to my room to jerk off, he wouldn't be any less suspicious. My only saving grace would have been to see the bunny's cock begin to stir in its tight package, to see a sign in him of what was already fired in my gut like a blast furnace. The bunny might have become inured to displays of affection long ago. To me I was almost outrageous in how openly I coveted the bunny's paws. But he accepted it with a placid comfort, like an emperor receiving his tribute.
And as I was paying tribute to him, I kissed his foot. Once, soft, respectful. Right on the soft pad below the toes. A rush burst through my spine when I did, as if it had been the reptilian portions of my brain that pushed my snout against his paw in the first place. I stole a greedy huff of the intoxicating scent when I did, and then I kissed them again, and then he sat up. I caught his eyes, dipped like half-moons in a sleepy state of ease, and he smiled. He pulled his foot away, but it wasn't like a punishment. He smiled silently, his legs curled up against his body, and I looked at him a face I wasn't proud of. I was used to feeling this way, for sure. Wasn't as used to emoting it. "You raccoons," he said, extending his paws back down to me, "I never remember how dirty you little devils are until you remind me." And I had my lips on his toes then, as soon as he gave them back. I wanted to tell him it wasn't dirty, that his fur made him seem bleached clean if anything. But it didn't seem the time to take up an argument against a belief he must have formed with another guy way back the line. Maybe he wasn't as unused to having his paws appreciated as I imagine many guys are. But I was just grateful I had the delicate little nubs on my tongue, and before long he'd unzipped his pants to give his cock the space to breathe.
I grabbed onto the lithe, toned thighs and burrowed my face in his crotch. It looked ridiculous, I'm sure, but I nestled the bridge of my snout against his package and delighted in the way he writhed with satisfaction. He sunk his fingers into my hair and held on, and it was surprisingly reassuring. He didn't so much as threaten to yank my hair, he seemed interested only in keeping me anchored where I was, where I was getting comfortable myself. His dick was straight-stiff then, and the pink head of his cock atop the white shaft gleamed like it was freshly polished. I got my lips around it and I did what I knew. I wasn't exactly practiced then, I'd say. My tongue rolled slowly along its length as I savored it. I liked how it felt, really. My tongue cradled the heft with a tenderness owing to devotion, and all the while Aloysius slowly rocked his hips back and forth, sometimes pressing the head of his prick into the back of my throat, sometimes pulling it out just before my lips so that they felt out for it. He didn't say much, when he got into things.
I didn't say much, and neither did he. This might have been the first time he'd stopped teasing me. I enjoyed the silence while I sucked his cock, I really did. I could hear myself think. I could hear my lips smack. I could the rurr in his chest as he breathed in deep through his nose, his eyes closed yet concentrated such that they still seemed to focus on something far off. He seemed far off. The bucking of his hips felt automatic, ebbing and flowing pangs of lust. I felt far off, too. My prick ached inside my pants but nothing seemed proper about taking my hands off the bunny's thighs. I was already too familiar with my own body to take my attention off of his.
"Goddamn," he huffed as I tongued his balls, "You raccoons-" he wanted to say something smart, his fingers digging into my fur as he searched for something. He grabbed his stiff prick, stroking it slowly as he composed his barb. "You're all so sly, so secretive-" he was biting his teeth, trying to subdue himself as the writhing of his hips became more fevered. "No one ever knows what you raccoons want until you've already got it."
And he busted his nut, as if right on cue. I was so surprised I could've gasped, the timing on it seemed like too much. But he gasped without affectation, his ears flopped over his eyes, and he popped his cap. His cum smeared across my face like splashes of acrylic paint and left me subdued. I had my fingers dug into his haunches, the only real thick muscles on him. My tongue gathered what it could, lapped out like a desert traveler in a storm. And I slurped thick globs of the pristine-furred bunnies sweet tasting cum. He squirmed as his dick spurt, and I sat still and patient, like the bunny's tether, as his cum splashed on my face.
He followed me into the bathroom. He led me into the bathroom, actually. I was blushing as he helped me clear his spunk off my eyes. I took off my splattered shirt, finally, in just the pants where the tent in the front had almost begun to crease the fabric. While I toweled myself off, he grabbed my prick through my jeans. "Filthy creatures, really," he mused, and shut the bathroom door behind him.