Black Lace, Red Passion

Mary Frost settles back against silk sheets, legs drawn up just enough for those perfect feet to come into play. Her toes curl around Semen’s shaft, tracing slow lines up and down the rigid length, testing pressure with every flex. The dark lace framing her body rides higher with each shift of her hips, exposing the swell of her breasts, heavy and natural, nipples tight. He watches her, breath catching, while she works him with deliberate care—rolling the ball of one foot over the head, gripping again with slim toes until his cock jumps against her skin. She slides one foot lower, massaging the base, then brings the other up to press her arches together, sliding the warm, supple grip along his full length. His hand drifts between her thighs, fingers parting wet folds, easing inside with patient strokes that match the rhythm of her feet. Mary moans softly, pushing into his touch, and when she can’t wait any longer she leans forward, breasts brushing his thighs, and takes him into her mouth, lips parting around the head, tongue flicking while her hand replaces one foot at the base. The lace strap slips off her shoulder, baring more skin as she sinks deeper, the air thick with breath and heat.