A Thing For Stockings

Shelley Bliss stretches out, her red hair spilling across the pillow, and offers Kristof Cale a quiet invitation. He takes it. He brings her foot to his lips, kisses the arch, and then draws each painted toe into his mouth, slow and deliberate. The sound she makes is low, almost surprised by how good it feels. When he finally moves up her body she’s already wet for him. He pushes inside with one steady thrust, hips rolling deep while her legs stay open, toes curled against his shoulders. She meets every stroke until he pulls out, shudders, and spills across the tops of her feet in thick white ropes that slide between her toes.