Candy toes

Candy slips her foot forward, toes pointed like she already knows what you want. She flexes them slowly, lets each one stretch and curl so you can study the smooth arch, the high instep, the polished nails. The foot stays in motion because she likes being watched, likes hearing the breath hitch when she spreads her toes wider. She leans back on one hand and lifts the leg higher, presenting the sole the way other women show cleavage. Fingers drift down, stroke the ball of her foot, trace the line where heel meets ankle. She sighs, pleased with herself, and drags her fingertips between the toes, pulling them apart, showing the soft skin inside. Every stretch is deliberate. Every angle changes just enough to keep your eyes following. She rubs the sole against her own calf, leaves a faint sheen, then brings the foot close again so you can see how the toes bend, how they could close around something thicker than air. Candy smiles without hurry. She has exactly what you came for, and she plans to give it to you one toe at a time.