My Friend's Wife

Jasmine gave the guy one look around their living room and rolled her eyes. His tissues, crusty and wet, were still sprawled on every surface. She told him flat out, either make himself useful or hit the road. First order? Peel her high heels off. She wanted the boy to see those bright-red nails and the long slinky toes they topped. Once the shoes were gone she shoved both bare feet in his face. The scent was hot and heavy, the skin still tacky from a long day. Go on, smell it, she told him. Then she slid each toe between his lips, warm, sweaty, curling against his tongue like she wanted him to know exactly who was in charge now.