Sam stood in the cramped kitchen of his apartment, focused intently on the nascent sandwich before him.
"You sure you don't want one, honey?" He called. "You need to eat."
No response. Until Sam felt soft arms wrap around his stomach and a kiss on the back of his neck.
"I'm fine, really," Amber said. His blonde girlfriend and roommate stood on tiptoes to reach him. "Stop worrying."
Sam smiled and wiggled out of her grasp.
"Fine," he said, dabbing barbecue sauce on her nose. "More for me."
Amber yelled, smiled and hit her boyfriend. She padded back to their living room and settled in to watch TV.
On that couch, Sam thought. She's on the couch where...
None of that. It was a weird fluke, not worth thinking about. Sam went back to the sandwich.
He and his girlfriend spent the rest of the day together. As they did most days. As they had for years of uninterrupted bliss.
But now things were different for Sam. And Amber didn't - couldn't know.
When Amber's best friend Melissa stopped by the apartment two weeks earlier, she had raised doubts about the relationship Sam didn't know he had. All it took was a foot massage.
Well, it was a bit more than that, he thought more than once as he replayed the encounter in his mind. Amber was drunk, asleep. Melissa was alone with me, and her feet...
Her feet. Those pale, perfect feet. Melissa had asked Sam for a foot rub, completely unaware of what that meant for him. He had been so aroused he could barely speak.
But she did know. At some point, Amber had told her friend about Sam's foot fetish. And Melissa had used that to her advantage, working Sam over with pretty purple toes until -
Okay, that's not fair, he would always tell himself. She let you suck her toes. She gave you the best footjob of your life. But nobody put a gun to your head.
Less than an hour after the girls entered the apartment, Sam sprayed cum all over Melissa's bare, spit-drenched soles. And about five seconds after that, he panicked, wondering how the hell he had lost his mind and cheated on the greatest woman he'd ever met.
Melissa seemed conflicted, too. She'd canceled two dates with Amber since that day, and Sam's girlfriend didn't know why.
Amber didn't seem to think anything was wrong. Her and Sam still slept together, ate together and made love constantly.
But Sam had doubts - not just about his commitment to Amber, but about Amber herself. Because when he thought hard about it - and he tried very much not to do that - he wanted Melissa.
He wanted more than another chance to worship her feet. He wanted time with her, the girl whose self-deprecating charm was so different from Amber's confidence. The woman whose tall, full figure stirred him in ways Amber's small body never had.
But he loved Amber. Sam had been paralyzed for two weeks, unsure of what to do.
Finally, the next night - it was a Thursday, he was at the gym - Melissa did something for him.
"hey foot boy :)"
Sam didn't know who had sent the text message, but he didn't have to guess.
"Hey Melissa. What's up?"
"just having some wine and thinking about our ... adventure."
Sam cringed. He saw what was coming and felt too weak to stop it.
He decided to ignore her. Melissa was gorgeous, but she wasn't worth risking things with the woman he loved. Sam kept at his workout and tried to think about something else. Anything else.
The whole thing should have ended right there. Would have. If Melissa hadn't been so persistent.
"cum over :)"
"If I wasn't dating your best friend, I might."
Then nothing. Sam was surprised at how much disappointment mixed with his relief.
Until a picture showed up on his phone.
"but I got a pedicure just for you..."
And she had. Sam's cock sprung when he saw her long toes painted bright green.
"im drunk sam. want my address?"
Sam had a hard time changing in the locker room. Everyone noticed his throbbing cock.
Melissa lived alone in an apartment near her university. Sam almost crashed his car on the way there.
"It's unlocked," she whispered when he knocked.
Sam took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Close it, quick!" Melissa giggled. She wore nothing but a pair of black leggings.
Melissa attacked him as soon as he closed the door, pressing her full breasts against him and kissing hard.
Sam, losing any resolve he had left, kissed back - tentatively, then stronger. Fuck it, he thought. I want her.
They stood kissing for more than a minute, Sam wrapping his arms around Melissa's bare back. She stood just a few inches shorter than him.
Melissa broke the kiss and looked up at Sam with big brown eyes.
"I'm so glad you came," she whispered. "I've been thinking about you."
Sam smirked, dragged a finger along her stomach.
"Oh yeah? What about me?"
"Well, I'm not a good dirty talker, but..." She pressed closer, close enough to feel how hard Sam was. "I think a lot about your cock."
Melissa giggled and drummed her fingers on Sam's belt. He smelled wine on her breath. How drunk was she?
"How good it felt between my feet," she breathed. "I've never done that before."
Sam cast his eyes to the floor. Melissa noticed, giggled and scrunched her toes on the wood.
"Is that all you think about, foot boy?" She kissed him again, then wiggled out of his grip. Melissa took one of Sam's hands and placed it on her warm breast.
"What about the rest of me, Sam?"
He wordlessly bent and kissed her breast. Melissa moaned as he started to suckle.
Then, as soon as his warm mouth enclosed her nipple, Sam was gone. Melissa opened her eyes, confused. She shrieked as her best friend's boyfriend threw her over his shoulder and walked into the apartment.
"Where's your room?"
"Hehe! It's -" she pointed, realized he couldn't see her upside-down and behind him - "Uhh...left. No, my left!"
Sam flopped the drunk woman onto her bed, taking a moment to size up her room. Surprising amount of pink. He hadn't taken her for a girly girl.