Lick my feet and you'll be happy

Michelle Moist saunters into her private cinema. The air-conditioning hugs her bare legs and she wears nothing but a silk robe. David Perry is already on the ladder, adjusting the screen. She lets the robe fall open just enough to show where the lace ends and skin begins. “Shoes off,” she tells him. Her voice is quiet, certain. He steps down. She lifts one foot onto the velvet armrest and points her toes. He hesitates, then bends. First a kiss on the arch, then his tongue slides along each painted nail. She watches him, eyes half-closed, a little smile on her lips. The power in the room tilts. When he has licked every toe she draws her foot back and replaces it with the other. He obeys without a word. Her robe slips wider; she lets him see the trimmed triangle of blonde hair and the wet gleam between her thighs. She sits on the velvet ottoman, legs spread, and hooks two fingers under his belt. The leather opens, the zipper follows. Her hand wraps his cock and guides it straight to her mouth. She sucks slowly, deliberately, tongue swirling, never breaking eye contact. Saliva glistens down the shaft. When she has him fully hard she rises, turns, and slides her soles around him instead. She presses both feet together, soft arches forming a tight channel, and starts a steady rhythm. Her toes curl and release at the tip with every stroke. He groans, but stays on his knees where she left him. She speeds up, arches flexing, heels squeezing, the friction slick from her spit. When he starts to tremble she slows, letting him feel every deliberate drag of her skin. Only after she decides he has earned it does she stand, turn, and present her ass. He rises at last, slides into her in one smooth thrust. She meets every stroke with her feet still planted on the floor, toes gripping the carpet. She stays in charge even when her breath breaks into short cries and her walls tighten around him. He comes exactly when she allows it, her feet still cradling the last pulses between her arches.