Lebron Toes Novels & Stories

****** By mid-morning, the house had found its rhythm. Soft movements. Zippers closing. Drawers emptying. Voices drifting faintly from one room to another. Leo had long given up questioning everything. Now, he sat on the floor, surrounded by shoes, trying to make sense of them. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “What doesn’t?” I asked, leaning against the doorway. He looked up at me. “How do you have this many shoes?” “I wear them.” “All of them?” he asked, skeptical. “Yes.”

He was a vessel for Marcus’s will, a toy for his amusement. Leaning forward on his hands and knees, Leo lowered his head until his face was just inches from the gleaming leather of Marcus’s shoe. He could see his own distorted reflection in the polished surface. He closed his eyes, stuck out his tongue, and gave the cool, hard leather a long, slow lick.

I said, sticking my foot out of the long dress. "Oh shit shoes," Leo said, "I forgot about shoes." "You don't have any?" I asked. "Do I have any ladies ball shoes small enough to fit you...?" he asked, "Um, no?" "You had a fucking dress," I replied. "Do you have any shoes?" "I have my old converse," I suggested, "That's it." "You know what the dress is long, no one will know," he said with a shrug. "Yeah, and I can't even walk in high heels anyway.”

He just rolls his eyes. “Ain’t no way I was missing out on pedicures and shopping with you lot today”. Liam eyes him, “you actually want to do these things?”. Lee wiggles his toes in his flip flops, “yes my boy! How do you think I keep my feet so soft?!”. We all crack up laughing, continuing our military formation into the salon.

Leo handed me gloves and I quickly wore it. Another thing so much weird is that leo never lets me touch any plant with my bare hands, he always makes sure that my hands are covered. He said it's because some of the plants here are poisonous and other plants might has some insects on it but I know that's not the only reason. I have seen fear in his eyes about it but I have often shrugged it off thinking, maybe I am thinking too much.

“Why… why do the heels look only an inch wide?” “Barely half an inch wide,” Pepper corrected then smiled. “They’re called stilettos. Now, take those chunky shoes off then wear that. We need to continue.” Valentine took off the shoes and handed it over to Missy. She stretched her toes, curling them to tiny balls then pulled the toes up toward the ankles. They felt sore, like they were non-existent. “Never mind. Hand me back those stilettos,” Pepper commanded.

At this time, Cassie did not want anything to happen, even if her toes hurt, she did not want to break the atmosphere. "Really?" Does your feet hurt?" "Ugh ... It hurts ..." Cassie really wouldn't say that, because the ten fingers are linked to the heart, even the toes are linked to the heart! It hurt so much. Lennon reached out to support her, walked to a chair and sat down, then squatted down. "Let me see." "No ... Nope." Cassie was a little embarrassed. Lennon comforted her, "I was just looking." Cassie could only nod her head and give the foot that was injured to him. She was wearing a pair of white shoes, but her white socks were clean.

There was a slight red mark at the corner of her small toe. Lovingly, Leo stroke it and walked into the bathroom. He took off the coat, shoes and wore slippers . He opened the buttons of his shirt one by one revealing a beautifully toned body to his wife. she was looking at him with so much love as she took in his every action. He switched on the hot water into the tub. He didnt entirely remove his shirt but his chest was exposed. There was a knock at the door. He didnt look suprised at all and walked out of the room to open the door. He walked to the door just as sexy as he was in front of his wife. At the door stood a young beautiful maid holding a huge box as well as other shopping bags

"Mommy... it’s dark. My toes... they hurt." Leo’s voice was a tiny, wet rasp. He was curled into a ball beside me, his tailored charcoal coat—now a singed rag—pulled over his head. He wasn't the King who had silenced an army. He was an eleven-year-old boy with a stuffy-nose congestion and blue-tinged lips. I reached out with my right hand—my human hand—and pulled him closer. His skin was freezing. The golden cracks on his palms had settled into dull, silver scars, as lifeless as the hearth across the room.

As he looked ahead at the snowy road, he spoke, "Leroy used to go to the gym at this time every week, and he would play by himself, without any companions, so there wouldn't be any unnecessary distractions to make it more difficult." The floor of that stadium was non-slip, but his shoes were not. "And then?" Leila heard it a bit confused.