Destiny's New Talents

Destiny always brings more than a pretty face. Her real edge comes when her clothes hit the floor and she has a man in her hands. Today her hands take a back seat. Her feet do the work. She sits back, legs parted just enough, and guides a bare sole down the length of his cock. Slow strokes. She curls her toes, drags her heel across the shaft, watches how the skin slides and tightens. He pulses, she smiles. Then she leans forward, arches like a gymnast, and slips him past her lips without shifting her grip on his cock with her feet. Her tongue moves in steady laps, jaw loose, hair brushing his thigh with every bob. She rises, sinks, never letting the rhythm break between mouth and sole. Spit trails from her chin onto her toes and she smears it higher, working the mess up and down until his breathing turns ragged. One last, tight press of her arches, and he spills across her tongue, her lips, the bridge of her nose. Thick ropes streak her cheek, catch in a dark strand of hair. Destiny stays still, lets every drop land where it wants, then drags her tongue across her lower lip like she’s tasting something rare. The show’s over, but the heat still hangs in the air.