elegant table setting

Part 1 | Part 2

I got way more requests to make a part 2 than I expected. I love you all and I actually cried when I saw how many notes Part 1 got! Im???? So emotional??????? Anyway here’s part 2 I hope y'all enjoy:


Baz has been acting weird all morning.

I woke up to an empty bed which is normal, but what’s not so normal is that Baz was nowhere to be seen. I’ve slept over before and shared the same bed with him, but every time I wake up he’s there. Not always in bed, per say, but there. He would be walking around, getting dressed or brushing his teeth as he went about. But this morning he was nowhere.

I moved the plush comforter off of me and sat up to stretch. “Baz?” I called. No answer. I furrowed my eyebrows together. This was…odd, to say the least. Baz never not answered me before, despite his mansion of a house. His hearing was amazing; he could probably hear a pen drop in America from here. So why wasn’t he answering?

I stood up from the bed and made my way down the hall toward the stairs. Maybe he was in the kitchen making breakfast? He likes making breakfast when I spend the night. Once he even made me a whole batch of sour cherry scones, and that was when we were 14! Ever since then, I’ve been a little bit in love with him. And his scones, of course.


I entered the kitchen and it was dead silent. The scent of scones and bacon wafting through the air were but a memory in the back of my mind, a craving for food and time with Baz. I padded into the dining room, grand chandelier dangling above the centerpiece placed on the seemingly endless dining table. At the very end of that table sat Baz.

He was dressed in his usual weekend attire - black fitted v-neck and dark blue jeans. I’ve always loved seeing him in jeans. He looked so much more relaxed and comfortable compared to his stiff persona at school in uniform.

Seeing him sit there by himself reminds me of when I first saw Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. I was 11 years old in a taxi going down yet another unfamiliar road into a grand neighborhood with extremely large houses. It all seemed so surreal, but one house in particular caught my attention. The dark brick and mahogany wood house with grand stain-painted windows was a dark contrast from the surrounding lighter houses with their white woodwork and elegant window etchings. Amongst the great houses and well-trimmed lawns, I saw a boy. He was thin and dark with sleek black hair that was only a little longer than mine. He was standing in a window, eyes closed with a violin elegantly tucked between his chin and shoulder. I didn’t know why, but I was drawn to him. Instantly, I wanted more than anything to meet him and be his friend.

Maybe even his best friend.

Eventually I arrived to my designated home, which was conveniently yet painfully across the road from the boy’s. I got out of the taxi and stared up at the house, its elegance and grandeur sending out a message saying that it was untouchable and unapproachable. I took a sharp inhale when I looked back through the window where the boy was playing and saw no one there. I thought I had imagined him, or that maybe a ghost lived there. I got chills thinking about it and a heavy feeling of disappointment in my chest.

A couple hours after, I had finally made my bed and stuffed my suit case into the too big wardrobe. The amount of space made my clothes look so small and sad compared to the amount of space I had, my 2 shirts and 1 pair of jeans hanging lamely on the rail. As soon as I had closed the wardrobe shut, the doorbell rang. I answered the door expecting the taxi driver bringing back something forgotten - even though I had nothing to be left behind. Instead stood the boy accompanied by a tall, sharp woman who looked nothing like him. I wondered if she was even related to him, that maybe he was another foster kid that was coming to live in the same house as me.

The woman smiled politely, introduced herself, and asked for my foster parents, and I told her they were out getting groceries. The boy was intensely staring at me with dark grey eyes, a fragile looking dish balancing in his hands. I could feel his gaze like it was fire - warm and intense. I could feel myself blush when I locked eyes with him, his gaze never wavering as the woman took the dish out of his hands and let herself in. I stuck out my hand because how else was I supposed to know his name? The woman did nothing but bring him along. He took my hand and gave it a firm squeeze, so I squeezed back.

“Hi. My name is Simon. Simon Snow,” I said and gave him the same smile I had used at every adoption interview I’d been through. He smiled back at me and it was like looking at the night sky with no light pollution, stars shining through the pitch blackness of the murky void beyond them. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” he said. My head spun at that. I had heard some interesting names while in foster care, going home to home with too many kids per bed and not enough food, but never had I heard such a posh name like that.

I giggled and let go of his hand, despite every fiber of my being protesting. “That’s too much for me to say - or remember. How ‘bout I just call you Baz?” He blushed a beautiful color, turning his cheeks a darker brown with a dust of pink on his cheekbones, and looked down at his shoes. He nodded and looked back up in time for the woman to appear once more. “Well we’ll be on our way then. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. er-”

“Simon Snow.”

“Mr. Snow. Just know if you need anything, anything at all, we are right across the street. Come along, Basilton.”

She took Baz’s hand in hers and lead him away. A pang of disappointment shot through me as he walked away with her. We stared into each others eyes until Baz turned his head toward where he was walking. I continued to stare until they were back in their house.

Now here we are, 6 years later in that dark old house across the street. More foster kids moved in after me but never too many, but when it all got to be too much I came here. Baz would play his violin until I fell asleep or read me a book by the fireplace. He always knew what to do and what to say, how to push my buttons and care for me. He was the best friend anyone could ever have, and I got ridiculously lucky.

“Baz?” I whisper. He doesn’t move, only stares out the window behind him. He clearly heard me whisper his name, how couldn’t he? I was only a few feet away and don’t know how to whisper properly (Baz always did say I could never be quiet, even when I tried). Dry leaves dance in the wind outside, and I think about making a leaf pile later to play in; maybe drag Baz along if he would just pay attention to me. “Baz,” I say, louder. Firmer. No question. I see his ears twitch, clearly hearing me. He still says nothing. Does nothing. I’m starting to feel irritated.

“Baz, what the hell is going on? Why won’t you speak to me!”


He’s yelling now. Good. He should hate me for the way I feel, for the way I’ve tricked myself into thinking we were something more. What kind of friend does that? What kind of person tricks their best friend into doing romantic things with them without telling them their true feelings?

I’m a monster. There’s no point in hiding it or denying it. Merlin, I should let this go. Let him go. He’d be so much more happier with a girl, living the white picket fence life with 2.5 kids and a dog. Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he just leave me to wallow in my self-loathing and hatred.

He deserves the whole universe, but I can only give him the void that holds the stars. I can only give him me.

He’s still yelling…


“Answer me, dammit!”

I can feel my eyes start to sting with tears. I haven’t cried in years, not really, ever since my mother died when I was 5 and my father abandoned me at a video store two towns from home 9 years ago. Tears roll down my cheeks and the salty taste invades my mouth. I breathe heavily and try my best not to sob.

It doesn’t work.


Oh christ I think he’s crying ohfuckohfuckohfuck what I do what do I do


He’s there in an instant, warm arms wrapping around my shaking form. “Shh,” he coos. “It’s alright. I’m right here, see? I’m here.” I sob once more and cling to him, his cedar and bergamot shampoo rolling off of him in a comforting, familiar way. I bury my face into his chest, tears and snot getting all over his pristine shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I look up at him, dumbfounded. Why is he the one apologizing? I’m the one who just started to break down in the middle of his dining room because he wouldn’t answer. Honestly, I must look like loon right now.

I back off a little and shake my head, but don’t let go. I don’t think I can ever let go.

“Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who just broke down for no reason.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at me. “Yeah but I ignored you. What kind of best friend does that?” I shrug and sniffle a little, “A git of a best friend.” I offer him a small smile to break the tension.

He smiles back, just a little, and then lets go. He reaches for a napkin off of the table, disrupting the elegant table set, and hands it to me. “Here,” he says. I take it and wipe my face. When I’m done, I look up at him, grateful for him to be in my life. Where would I be without him? In another home, probably. He was the only thing keeping me here, keeping me out of fights and trouble.

I’m about to tell him this when his smile disappears and a sad frown replaces it. He’s gone as soon as he came, and he’s out of reach entirely. He’s back where he was, picking up the chair I hadn’t even noticed he knocked down.

“Simon,” he says, cold and cutting. He never calls me Simon, not really. It’s always been “Snow,” sometimes “Si” when we would get drunk on his father’s whiskey. It feels odd and bittersweet to hear him say my name, like he was hugging me sweetly while stabbing me in the side with a sharp knife.

Chills run down my spine. He looks at me and I know he’s going to say what’s on his mind, what his thoughts are telling him. I know it from when I would hold him at 3 in the morning with him crying on my shoulder and muttering how he would never be good enough. I hate that look and always will. I brace myself and stare at him steadily, ready for whatever he is about to say and ready to help him however I can.

“Simon,” he says again, eyes like a wilting fire on the verge of burning out. “I’m sorry, but…I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

A sharp, cold pain runs through me. Did he just say what I think he said?


Thank you for reading!! There WILL be a part 3, so do not fret. Sorry this took so long to make, but hopefully I can get part 3 done within the next week or 2. Anyway, thank you all! I would’ve never thought this would’ve gotten so much feedback and support as it did. I love you all and can’t wait for you to read part 3!!

Edit: since tumblr is being weird, here is part one, just take off the +


Edit 2: hello! Part 3 is finished!! Read it here:


Lunch Hour

Author: Christopher Trevor

Note from the author: This is one of my “Classic” foot and socks fetish stories. Hope you enjoy…

It was eleven thirty AM; I was famished, so I decided to take an early lunch, figuring I would take the paper work I was working on with me. At that early hour the restaurant would not be all that busy. I would request a table toward the back of the place, away from the lunch time conversations and business deals and quietly get some work done while I ate. I stood up, rolled the sleeves down from my elbows on my white dress shirt, buttoned the cuffs, straightened my B silk green necktie, and shrugged into my blue pinstriped suit jacket. As I walked out of my office with my attaché case in hand I told my secretary that I would be taking an early lunch. She looked up at me, smiled warmly, and told me to have a good lunch. I always got the feeling that Janice wanted more than to just be a secretary for me but I am a junior vice president who does not believe in mixing business with pleasure. Even though she is beautiful, single, and the same age as I, twenty-five. Also, I don’t need any scandals or sexual harassment suits brought against the brokerage firm I work for. They had hired me three years ago right out of college and gave me the chance of a lifetime. I was not about to do anything to fuck that up. My name is Bill Reston; I work for a highly respected brokerage firm on Wall Street in Manhattan. I am as I said, twenty-five years old, one of the youngest junior vice presidents my company has ever taken a chance on. I have short cut dark hair, brown eyes, and no facial hair at all. A clean-shaven guy, that’s me. I am exactly six feet tall and my body is well toned and lean from the daily workouts I put myself through at the gym on a regular basis. So, dressed in a blue pinstriped  suit, a white dress shirt, green silk tie, highly spit polished size eleven black  lace-up wing tips, and knee length black nylon dress socks I headed off for an early lunch. Just for the record it was a Monday morning and would prove to be the most interesting lunch hour of my life.

The restaurant I frequent most often is called “Anne’s Bistro.” It is very near to the office building I work in, the food is great, and the service is fantastic. In the afternoons the restaurant is filled to capacity with the business crowd from around the Wall Street area. At eleven thirty in the morning it is pretty much still empty. When I walked in the headwaiter instantly approached me with a leather-bound menu tucked under his arm.

“Ah, Mr. Reston, and how are you today?” he asked politely. “A little early today Sir?”

“Yes I am Mr. Gordon,” I replied equally as politely. “I’m rather hungry and also need to get some work done. If you could please show me to a table in the back where I could have some privacy I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Right this way Sir,” he said and I followed him through the restaurant toward the back of the restaurant.

The place is extremely elegant all the tables properly set with wineglasses, silverware, and cloth napkins. Each table is covered with linen tablecloths of white and beige that extend all the way down to the floor. And thank God for that, as you will soon understand why I say that. As I followed Mr. Gordon through the restaurant I could feel waitresses and also some of the waiters drinking me in with their eyes. I’m rather modest about it but I suppose it could be said that I’m a pretty good-looking young executive.                                                                                           At the back of the restaurant the headwaiter showed me to a table that overlooked the restaurant but was yet pretty much out of the way. A few feet from the table I saw a muscular young construction worker just finishing a job of applying a coat of plaster to the wall. I looked at the construction worker and then at the headwaiter.

“We had a small mishap during the night and he’s here to just patch it up,” the headwaiter explained to me. “He won’t disturb you at all and he’ll be done in a few moments.”

Wouldn’t disturb me? Nothing was further from the truth, let me tell you.

“No problem,” I said as he placed the menu on the table and pulled my chair out for me.

I sat down, placing my attaché case on the floor next to me.

“Your waiter will be with you in a few moments Mr. Reston,” the headwaiter said to me. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you Mr. Gordon,” I replied and he walked away.

It always sends me on an ego trip when a headwaiter or store salesperson remembers my name. It makes me feel like the executive I am. Before picking up my menu I glanced over at the construction worker, still a few feet from where I was sitting. He looked to be no more than nineteen or twenty years old. He was dressed in a worn looking pair of blue jeans, a string black tank top, and very scuffed up mustard colored lace-up work boots. I guessed his height to be around five feet nine inches tall. He must have sensed me staring at him because he turned to look at me. He grinned at me from ear to ear and then quickly returned to the job he was just finishing up. He had dark short curly hair, very deep dark eyes, and his body was extremely muscular. Obviously this guy did a little more than just construction work. I guessed that he worked out at the gym on a regular basis as well. His back muscles rippled as he squatted and began piling things into his big toolbox. I turned my attention to the menu and began looking at the lunch choices. I crossed a leg under the table, letting my foot dangle a few inches just above the floor.

“Would you like a drink before you decide on what you would like for lunch Mr. Reston?” I heard a male voice say to me.

I looked up and saw a waiter standing over me, pen poised over his waiter’s pad.

“Uh yes, thank you Mike,” I replied. “A glass of red wine, shiraz please.”

“Very good Mr. Reston,” he said, wrote it down, and walked away from my table.

I turned my attention back to the menu. When I heard the construction worker’s toolbox close I again glanced over at him. This time he was looking at me, still squatting on his knees.

“All done,” he said to me, indicating the wall in front of him.

I pursed my lips and smiled at him. I turned to look at my menu again. I decided on the chicken breast with mixed vegetables and put the menu down on the table. As I reached for my attaché’ case to get some of my paperwork out I felt eyes staring at me, drinking me in. A feeling of utter intensity came over me. I looked over at the construction worker and saw that he was still squatting over his toolbox, looking at me hungrily. I looked back at him questioningly as I took a small stack of papers from my attaché case along with my gold pen. I placed the papers on the table in front of me and quickly looked back over at the construction worker. He was now not just squatting; he seemed to be in a sort of crouch. Like a football player ready to run across the field. A shudder coursed through me as I saw him look around to make sure no one was watching. Then, he ran in a crouch toward my table ending up under it.


“H-holy shit,” I whispered, sitting there shaking now.

I quickly scanned the restaurant but the few patrons of the place and the employees of the restaurant didn’t seem to notice that I now had a construction worker under my table. The main question I asked myself was why was the guy under my table? As I sat there with a look of nervousness and apprehension on my square jawed face my waiter was approaching my table with a glass of Shiraz on a silver tray.

“Here we are Sir,” the waiter said, placing the glass of wine in front of me. “Are you ready to order now?”

“I,uh, I,” I began to say, prepared to report the fact that there was a construction worker crouched under my table, but when I felt a meaty hand close around my dangling socked ankle the words would not come out. “Yes, I will have the breast of chicken with mixed vegetables,” I replied, a look of shock on my face.

“Would you care for rice or pasta with that Mr. Reston?” the waiter asked me.

Before I could reply I felt the construction worker’s big hand moving up my leg, under my pants leg, the tips of his strong fingers squeezing my socked calf.

“R-rice,” I responded.

If the waiter noticed anything awry with the expression on my face he didn’t say a word about it. No doubt he just saw me as another stressed out young executive.

“Very good Sir,” he said, jotted down my order and turned to walk away from my table.

“Uh, Mike,” I said huskily, pointing at the tablecloth covered table.

“Yes Sir?” the waiter asked, quickly turning back to me.

I then felt a pair of lips pressed against my socked calf as the construction worker under my table held my dangling wing tipped foot in his big hand, his other hand slid up under my pants leg.

“Uh, on second thought I changed my mind,” I said, trying to act as natural as possible. “I was going to order an appetizer but decided against it.”

“Very well Sir,” the waiter said and walked away.

My breath caught in my throat when I felt big wet kisses being planted on my black socked calf.

The construction worker held my dangling foot by the heel and I heard sniffing sounds emanating from under the table. The fucking pervert, he was sniffing my damned sock and kissing it. Now, just for the record I am straight as a fucking arrow, but what this guy was doing to me had me in a dizzy spell of sorts. His hands moving over my foot and leg were driving me crazy. I thanked God that the tablecloth covered the entire table, but then again if it didn’t he wouldn’t be under there fondling me the way he was. I reached for my wineglass and took a long very much-needed sip of it. I placed the glass back on the table and looked down at the stack of paperwork in front of me. I was determined to do my best to concentrate on it, even though a pervert was feeling me up under my table. As I began reading over the terms of the contract in front of me I suddenly felt the lace of my dangling shoed foot being undone.


“Oh my God,” I whispered breathlessly. “Just what the hell are you planning to do to me under there?”

My wing tip was slipped from my foot and before I could pull my socked foot away from him he grabbed it in his very strong hand by the ankle and held it fast and tight. I again scanned the restaurant; not wanting anyone to notice the expressions of ecstasy mixed with fear etched on my face. God, I was being felt up by some sort of foot pervert. I heard sniffing sounds again emanating from under the table and somehow I knew that he was sniffing the inside of the shoe he had just taken off my foot. I took another sip of my wine and then looked down at the paperwork in front of me. The words on the paper were just that, words. I could not concentrate on the task at hand. When I felt a tongue moving over the top of my foot I nearly gasped loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear me. I quickly squashed the sound before it escaped from my mouth. Looking straight ahead I saw that more patrons were entering the restaurant, men in suits and women in business attire as well. Luckily I saw no one from my office. At that moment I did not want anyone joining me for lunch. Actually, someone had already joined me for lunch. Actually, I was his lunch. A busboy approached my table with a basket of bread, bread-sticks, and butter. As he placed the bread- basket in front of me a look of awe filled my face.

“Are you okay Sir?” he asked me.

“Uh, yes, I was just thinking over something about my work here,” I said, indicating the paperwork in front of me, pointing at the table.

“Okay then,” he said and walked away from my table.

I was about to call him back when I felt lips wrapped around the last three toes of my socked foot. I felt a tongue flicking over the gold material of my gold toe socks. I felt my socked toes being sucked as hands caressed the bottoms and tops of my dangling foot.                                                                                   “Oh lord, this is too much,” I whispered. “Fucking guy is sucking my damned toes. God, but my socks must stink something awful.”

As the construction worker lovingly sucked my toes I felt his hands moving up and under my pants leg again. My breathing was short silent gasps. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck. I leaned forward in my chair, shucked off my suit jacket, and hung it over the back of my chair. When he moved his mouth and lips over the tips of my gold- toed socks and slurped my big toe and the second toe into his mouth I grabbed the knot in my tie. I was sweating big time under the collar now. I gulped hard and reached for a slice of bread. Trying as normally as possible I spread butter over the slice of bread. As I put the slice of buttered bread into my mouth he sucked my two toes deeper into his mouth, so deep, as if he were deep throating my cock. Actually, he would get to that as soon as possible, as I would soon find out. I chewed heartily on the bread, swallowed it, and gulped a big sip of wine. When I reached for the second slice of bread he let my toes slip from his mouth. He caressed my foot bottom and top as I slathered butter on a second slice of bread, my hand trembling like crazy in the process. He stretched my leg out under the table and pressed the tip of his tongue against the bottom of my foot. Then, I felt his nose and mouth against the bottom of my foot and he was sniffing heartily.


“You fucking pervert,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “You’re driving me batty. Who the fuck are you? And why me? My God, why me???”

Slowly, he lowered my socked foot to the floor, placing it next to my other one that was still flat on the floor, but not for long.

“Here we are Mr. Reston,” I heard a voice say and I looked up.

Mike, my waiter was standing over me with my food order on a silver tray.

“Oh, good,” I said and sat back so he could place the food in front of me.

A plate of chicken breast served over rice with mixed vegetables on the side.

“Mmm, smells great,” I said to Mike.

“Enjoy it Sir,” Mike said. “And if there’s anything else I can do for you please don’t hesitate to ask.

Anything else he could do for me??? Yeah, he could do something else for me; that was for sure. He could get this foot pervert out from under my table so I could get my shoe back on my foot and get some work done while I ate my lunch. But it seemed that was not meant to be.

“Say Mike, what happened to that construction worker that was over there earlier?” I asked the waiter. “Seems he left his toolbox behind.”

As Mike and I looked over at the toolbox sitting there unattended I felt a hand grip my calves, almost in anger.

“Yes, it would seem like that,” Mike said, looking back down at me. “I’m sure he’ll realize it and be back for it. Enjoy your lunch Mr. Reston.”

As Mike walked away from my table my feet were lifted a few inches off the floor. The construction worker under there then pulled my feet a few inches apart. I didn’t need three guesses to know what he was about to do to me.


“No, no,” I pleaded in a whispered tone, but, ignoring me he slammed my socked foot and my shoed foot against each other. “Owwwwwww…” I seethed as quietly as possible through clenched teeth.

I heard the words “Start eating your lunch” whispered up at me and then felt my other shoe being unlaced.

“Shit, shit, you bastard,” I whispered and picked up my fork and knife.

I shoved a piece of delicious chicken into my mouth and as I chewed my other shoe was taken off my other foot.

Going for the other one now huh?” I whispered down at him.

The smell of sweat from my feet and socks wafted up to me and mixed with the smells emanating from my lunch. I took another slice of chicken into my mouth and chewed it heartily. Any chance of getting any work done at all I had abandoned at this point. Fuck, whoever this guy was he was making me crazy. I mean, I was literally being held prisoner in full view of everyone else who was at that restaurant. The construction worker under the table lifted my other foot and holding it firmly by the center and the heel he rubbed my socked toes over his nipples, alternating from side to side. From what I was able to gather his nipples were pretty erect and hard. Looked like playing with and licking my feet had him pretty turned on. And there was no denying that I was sporting a pretty big boner in my under shorts as well. Fuck, I had never even entertained a scene like this and now here some pervert playing with my damned, socked feet was turning me on. He continued rubbing my socked toes over his nipples. A few times I scrunched my toes around one of his nipples. He seemed to like that and showed his appreciation by squeezing my foot tight. But then, as I chewed a mouthful of vegetables it was back to slurping and sucking my toes and foot. I felt his tongue moving over the side of my foot as he held it aloft under the table. As he slurped heartily at the sides of my foot his hand was moving up and under my pants leg, really feeling me up like crazy. He squeezed my leg tight and tugged my sock down a little. I nearly gagged on the rice I was swallowing when he gobbled the last three toes of my foot into his mouth. He sucked them like crazy, chewed on them, and slurped the rancid sweat out of my sock. It seemed that the more he serviced my feet the more he wanted of them. I wondered if the fucker had done this sort of thing before. I ate slowly, knowing that he would not let go of me for quite a while yet. He was having too much fun with me. Next, he put my feet down on the floor a few inches apart. He ran his hands over them a few times. Then, he began folding up the bottoms of my pants legs, hiking them up revealing more of my black dress socks. I wiggled my toes in anger under those socks that he seemed to be totally in love with.


“Fucker, what are you up to down there now???” I growled down at him in a soft tone of voice.

When my pants had been hiked up to just over my calves I felt the construction worker’s big hands moving over them, roaming up and down my calves, sending chills through me. Never thought that some guy playing with my socks could drive me so fucking crazy. I took a sip of my wine, which was almost gone at that point. I usually allow myself one glass of wine with lunch every once in a while. On this particular day I thought I deserved a second one. As I forked a piece of chicken into my mouth my feet were lifted together off the floor. He held them closely together and sucked my two big toes into his mouth. I nearly gasped but managed not to. I glanced at my watch, saw that it was now twelve PM. The restaurant was already filling up. No way to get out of this now. If I did get up and move from the table people would see that my shoes were missing. If I caused a scene people would realize that the guy had been under my table for quite a while at that point. Actually he had been under there and at my feet for almost a half-hour at that point. My head spun as I gulped the last of my wine and the bastard sucked and slurped greedily at my socked toes.


“Fuck man, why don’t you leave me alone already?” I whispered down at him.

He of course ignored my plea. My cock raged hard in my briefs. I could feel it oozing pre cum. When I saw Mike taking an order at a table near mine I held up my wineglass to get his attention. When he was done taking the other table’s order he dashed over to me.

“Another glass of wine Mr. Reston?” he asked me.

“Yes please, I think I need it,” I said as he took the empty glass from me. “Could I also have a tall glass of ice water when you have a moment?” I asked him.

“Of course Sir,” Mike said and stepped away from my table.

As I spoke to the waiter the construction worker under the table had gotten himself into a kneeling position with the heel of one of my feet directly over his mouth. Sort of looked like a foot shaped cork in his mouth. He swirled his tongue all over my socked heel, sending chills up my leg and up my spine. I tried again to look over some paperwork but it was totally impossible. The guy had my undivided attention. At the moment my second glass of wine and ice water was placed on the table the guy again lowered my feet to the floor. I felt his hands moving up my legs, getting closer and closer to my family jewels. When he pressed his mouth against my crotch and sniffed at my balls under there I quickly took a gulp of my wine. His fingertips toyed with my socks as his mouth was pressed harder against my crotch. With his fingers he was slowly tugging my socks down. Then, his hands abandoned my socks and I felt them moving over my crotch, his fingers slowly pulled my pants zipper down.

“Oh God no, no, you wouldn’t,” I whispered desperately.

When my zipper was down he reached into the fly opening of my BVDs and brought out my long, thick, sausage sized cock along with my plum sized balls. His fingers squeezing my cock and balls made me breathless. I sat there totally in his power. When he slurped my hard pulsing cock into his mouth I thought I would leap out of my well-licked socks. He held the tip of my cock captive between his lips and poked my slit with the tip of his tongue, torturing me erotically.

Ohhhh God, God,” I whispered and leaned back in my chair, my legs spread wide in front of me, my socked feet resting on their sides on the floor.

Slowly he slid his mouth down further over my pulsing hard erection. He drooled over it but before his saliva could hit the floor he slurped it heartily off my cock. I forked a large piece of chicken into my mouth and chewed like crazy as my executive cock was sucked under the table, unknown to the crowd that was slowly forming in the restaurant. Breathless and feeling helpless at the same time I tugged on my silk tie. It wouldn’t take long for me to shoot my load, not the way this guy was sucking me. His fingers again on my socks, tugging them down as he sucked my cock into his throat, my balls pressed against his chin now.


“Oh my God,” I whispered breathlessly. “You fucking bastard, I-I’m going to cum any second now.”

He moved my cock back into his mouth and then it happened, I shot my load into his greedy mouth. I gripped the sides of the table, hung my head down to make it appear as if I was looking at my paperwork and panted as silently as possible as the greedy pervert sucked me till he got every drop of my sperm. When I couldn’t cum anymore the miserable bastard teased the fuck out of my cock hole with the tip of his tongue. That got me pissing long and hard, right into his mouth. As he gulped down my stream of piss and I sat there sweating I felt my socks leave my feet. He had what he had sidled under my table for. The bastard had intended to steal my damned executive socks, jeez!! He let my cock slip out of his mouth and quickly packed it back into my suit pants, zipping me up.


“You bastard,” I whispered down at him. “You just fucking made me cum…”


“Finish your lunch,” he whispered with an air of authority in his voice.

Not having much of a choice I leaned forward and spooned a mouthful of rice into my mouth. I felt my shoes being slipped onto my bare feet and laced up. Fuck, the bastard was stealing my damned socks. I would have to buy a pair on the way back to my office. When I was done eating Mike cleared my table and handed me my lunch check. I in turn handed him my credit card after adding on the usual hefty tip. He thanked me and walked away to process my order. I packed my papers back into my attaché case and clicked it shut. When I glanced over at where the construction worker’s toolbox was I saw that it was no longer there. I gulped hard and quickly pulled the tablecloth up.  He was gone, as if he had never been there. Looking at my feet under the table minus my socks was the only evidence that he had been there not to mention my hiked up pants and the tingling feeling in my cock.

“Did you lose something Mr. Reston?” Mike asked me, suddenly at my table with my credit receipt for me to sign.

“Uh, no, I thought I dropped my pen,” I said and quickly lowered the tablecloth, lest he see my sock-less feet.

He handed me my receipt on a small silver tray along with a pen, I signed it and handed it to him. He politely thanked me and walked off. I inconspicuously reached under the table to lower my pants legs back down. I stood up, shrugged into my suit jacket, and picked up my attaché case. I walked slowly toward the exit of the restaurant. My sock-less feet felt funny in my wing tips. When I got outside there was not a sign of the perverted sock stealing construction worker anywhere in sight. I walked quickly to men’s clothing store and purchased a pair of knee length, black nylon dress socks. When I got outside a mailman approached me.

“Excuse me Sir,” the mailman said to me, holding out a blank sealed envelope.

“Yes, can I help you?” I asked him.

“A construction worker just gave me this and asked me to give it to you when you came out of that store,” the mailman said to me and handed me the envelope.

“Did you see where he went?” I asked the mailman.

“Got in his mail truck drove off,” the mailman said. “I have to go Sir.”

He walked off, leaving me standing there with the envelope in my hand. I put my attaché case down on the ground, opened the envelope and read the note that was in it. The note read “I will get those socks too you handsome fuck. Let’s do lunch again soon.” I stood there trembling, looking up and down the block for him….

                                                                      /The End/





Your hands knit together in your lap, the gentle clatter of a a teacup resting against the saucer once more causes your ears to twitch.

This is the first time you’ve officially met her, or seen her for that matter.

She has Damian’s cheekbones and lips, or really he has her cheekbones and lips. You can see where he gets his thick mane of hair from as well, you almost sigh at how much she reminds you of him. She’s only had a blank expression on her face since you invited her in, but even in that you can’t help but see Damian’s face.

Suddenly her eyes move up to meet your own, a finely groomed eyebrow pulling up. 

“Is there a reason for why you’re staring at me?” There’s an undertone of hostility in Talia’s voice, but you’re so overcome by how much she looks like him, that you don’t quite register it. You’re slightly flustered, automatically looking down in your lap, a sheepish grin curling onto your moth.

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Dramione Christmas Aesthetic

Draco: Softly falling snow on Christmas morning, packages wrapped in shiny paper, heirloom ornaments passed down through generations, expensive pea coats, figgy pudding, hot apple cider with anise stars, green peppermints, an elegant dining table with silver settings

Hermione: Knitted stockings hanging over the hearth, colorful Christmas cards arriving by post, strands of twinkling lights, thermal pajama sets, gingerbread men cookies, oversized mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows, candy canes, trees trimmed with red and gold baubles

Family Dinner

A/N: Used as a tiebreaker for Defense-Against-The-Drabbles application.

Lily twisted her hair into a low bun, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. James’ parents had invited her over for a dinner to “get to know her,” and she knew well enough what that meant. They probably didn’t approve - why would they? They were rich, and pureblooded, while she was just a poor little muggleborn. After her parents had died - dammit, Lily, stop thinking about that! - she’d been left with debts to pay off and a sister who offered no support.

Closing her eyes for a moment to remove the worries from behind, the redhead turned away from the vanity by the wall and into the bathroom she and James shared. A tube of muggle foundation, a mascara brush, and a stick of lipstick - were neatly organized on her side of the sink, while James’ razor, toothbrush and hairbrush - why did he even need that, for heaven’s sake? - were all scattered on the opposite side.

Uncapping the brush, Lily applied some mascara - she had never been one for make-up, but Marlene had taught her how - and then grabbed the lipstick. It was, as indicated by James, a black-tie event (she’d never known the wizarding equivalent of the phrase - black-robe event, maybe?), so she decided to make an effort.

“You look amazing.”

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Masquerade, Chapter 21

TITLE: Masquerade


AUTHOR: Losille2000


GENRE: Romance

FIC SUMMARY: It started with a sly glance across a Venetian ballroom during Carnivale, even though both parties should have ignored it.  However, it most certainly cannot go beyond the confines of anonymous, masked revelry… or can it?

RATING: Mature (sexual situations, language)

AUTHORS NOTES:  I don’t think words can accurately describe how thankful I am to all of you reading.  But THANK YOU anyway!  Please enjoy.  Some light usage of French in here.  Hopefully it’s correct!

WARNING: The views expressed of fans and fandom in this chapter of Masquerade are not the views of the author, or what I think Tom or Ben thinks about their fans.  It’s only for the sake of the story. :D

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Chapter 21

I took advantage of the silence in the limousine on our way to the restaurant to fidget uncomfortably in my seat, pick at my fresh manicure, and check my mobile for messages and missed calls about a dozen times.

And that was only about five minutes into our ride from the hotel.

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