Swimmer’s Feet

“Who gives their kids contacts, seriously?”

The cold of the wet concrete reached towards her bare skin. Crawling around on her hands and knees wasn’t helping Buffy’s mission to keep her red instructors’ swimsuit out of her butt.

Buffy had a good butt. The many years of swimming had kept her figure in shape, even when her life was in shambles. From breakups to her mother’s death to miscarriage, swimming was the only constant she could rely on. Becoming an instructor had been an epiphany moment. After dropping out of college and thus voiding her swimming scholarship, the classified in the back of the paper appeared at the perfect time. She couldn’t pass up the perfect offer of swimming for a living. And she got to work with kids!

“Urgh. I hate kids. Losing their stupid contacts on change room floors. Here Tommy’s invisible contact. Here contact. Where are you?” She murmured. The only thing that came closer was a funky looking jock strap.

The boys’ change rooms were disgusting. Socks and towels and boy-bikinis littered the floor and blocked the drains. A slick of water ran from the showers to the door, navigating the debris. Buffy was thankful it was empty of human life.

After many minutes squinting into the little pools of water, a tiny flick of light brought the elusive contact into her sight.

“Ah,” she exclaimed in triumph. The most gorgeous feet she’d ever seen appeared beneath a cubicle door just as she was readying to say ‘ha!’ The tendons were taut as he bounced on his nice rounded toes. The second toe of each foot stretched out ahead of the big toe. The big toe that made her just want to suck it. She was almost drooling over these perfect feet. And she saw a lot of feet. Her swimming instructor days were filled with feet watching, so much so she’d developed a fetish.

His towel flicked to the ground and a whistle dropped with a shrill clang against the concrete.

It wouldn’t be wrong if she accidently looked up, right?

The dust haired legs spread. He had strong, swimmers’ thighs. The whispering hairs coated the tanned legs, strong muscles silent beneath the glistening skin. Built in the right places. Legs that would grip her well if they were entangled during a few specific Kama Sutra positions.

Buffy’s eyes tracked up the legs to see the—

“BEST PENIS EVER!” It disappeared beneath short, black bike shorts.

“Hello?” There was only one person she knew with a British accent.

‘Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.’ Buffy scrambled up from the floor, contact lying peacefully in her palm.

She grouched all the way back to Tommy.

“Why did those toes have to belong to Spike?”

*

Swimming instructors weren’t bred to be competitive. Every instructor was equal, their classes of equal importance. Spike and Buffy never got that memo. For three years, their sessions produced the best swimmers. Buffy’s partner Tara had long stopped trying to distil their competitive tension. Tara had tried to tell Buffy that she and Spike were alike but the queen of stubbornness wouldn’t listen. Until now.

Because Buffy couldn’t stop contemplating how good his toes would fit with her.

For a week, the toes haunted her. It was stupid. The wrong part of anatomy to dream about, considering what else she’d seen. But she couldn’t help it, constantly wondering why God granted Spike the right kind of foot.

Tommy lost his contact again. She made sure Spike was with his afternoon class. Her quick glance to verify quickly turned into a starefest. Buffy’s mouth went dry as she watched Spike use his bodacious biceps to haul his delectably toned body out of the pool. The water droplets were drawn back into the pool, dripping slowly down the delicious muscles that made up his abs to rush down to his yummy toes. He stretched, the sun beams shooting down to earth just to make his wet pecs glisten.

Buffy had to remember to look away before he’d catch her staring rather than watching her charges. It was ...he was just so...gah .

“Tara, are you right to finish up? I need to go help Tommy.” Buffy saw the boy squinting into the sun.

Tara nodded her acquiesce and Buffy hurried into the men’s change rooms before Tommy walked into the pool.

The cement was colder than last week, Buffy’s teeth chattering by the time she made her way from the showers through to the cubicles. In the last cubicle, those haunting feet stood firmly apart.

But that was impossible! He was meant to be with his class. Buffy spared a quick glance at her watch to see many minutes had passed and Tommy would’ve already been picked up.

But Buffy was already down on her hands and knees, searching for the damned thing, so it really couldn’t hurt for her to look at those feet...ahh...in that cubicle. Yes. Not looking at the nice feet.

Spike’s towel dropped and she peered up from beneath the door. She looked up his naked body and right into his dancing eyes.

“Hellllllloooooooooooo, cutie.”

“GAH!”

Buffy scrambled back from the cubicle. She seemed to be doing a lot of running out of the men’s change rooms lately.

*

Spike caught up to her in the tiny room all the instructors shared as an office, behind the canteen. Buffy was punching out, trying to get away from the pool before the night crowd.

Her avoiding Spike had been on the agenda but he quickly cleared that when he grabbed her from behind.

“You were peeking up at the boys, little Buffy?”

She squirmed in a fruitless attempt to be freed from his grasp.

“You like the boys, Buffy? They were just...hanging...around.”

It took her two seconds to realise what he was saying, her struggles stopped as she puzzled it out.

“Oh, eww, gross Spike!”

He chuckled right against her ear.

“So, Buffy.” The way he whispered her name right against her neck had her thinking of his...feet. “Wanna peek again?”

“Ugh.”

His hand not holding her against his body began to trail down her arm.

“Yes,” she whispered and no sooner than a second later were her tracksuit pants ripped from her body.

She praised the heavens for Velcro.

Clothes were divested and thrown over the big monitor on the single desk and suddenly Buffy could see their feet. He’d bent her over the office chair. Her hands found the ground and her head hung over the seat.

Their feet were perfect together. He could hug her little size sixes with his big nice feet.

“Christ, Buffy. You’re soaking.” It wasn’t because of the pool.

His thumb flicked her clit and then suddenly she was full.

“Oh. GOD.” She hated him. She hated him so incredibly in that point of time. Especially because he hadn’t started moving.

He filled her up so good, gripping her shoulders as he slammed into her pussy. She watched as his feet spread to allow maximum thrust power. He grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his back, holding up her hips as he slammed in again.

Her breasts were pushed against the cushioned chair, nipples itching to be pulled as he pounded to a rhythm only they could hear.

She met each thrust, feeling his cock reach so far inside of her, she could almost swallow him.

“Harder,” Buffy breathed out and the chair rattled.

Spike acquiesced her plea, his teeth grinding as he submerged in the heaven of her pussy.

They came almost simultaneously, cum spoiling the black padding of the office chair.

Two seconds of heavy breathing and Spike broke the silence.

“Gave Tommy a fiver to say he lost his contact.”

“You bastard!”

He licked her ear as the chuckles vibrated between their bared skin.

“Yeah, but you like it.” He thrust the never-go-down back up into her and she sighed.

“Yeah, no. Wait. No.”

He helped her up, carefully sitting her on the sticky chair.

“Admit it, love. You like Spike.” Buffy blushed and looked away.

He grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes. “Hey now, no blushing. Spike likes you.” She slapped him and he tried to look contrite.

“Yeah well I’m only using you for your feet,” she said and pinched his butt to urge him back into action and into her.

“Feet, eh? Never have guessed. Suppose I’d better get rid of my flippers then.”

She didn’t answer because he’d lifted up her legs once more. She eagerly wrapped them around his waist, never once looking away from his eyes. Not even when the door clicked and swung open.

Tara walked in, one hand letting out her hair.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened as the naked pair tried to cover themselves. “Please tell me you're practising naked breaststroke."

Fin