Footsie Christmas

Cindy slipped the fresh toe socks over her painted nails. She wiggled each toe and watched how the fabric hugged every curve. Brad sat back, already hard from the sight. Cindy dropped between his knees and took him in her mouth, sucking in slow, greedy pulls that left his shaft glossy. He pulled the socks back down just enough to feel her bare soles against him. She stroked him with both feet, toes flexing, while her tongue kept working the head. Soon the socks hit the floor. Cindy climbed into his lap right there under the tree and sank down until he was buried inside her. The ornaments shook above them as she rode, her feet planted on his thighs for leverage, every thrust punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin.