Christina's Heavenly Feet

Christina sits back, dark hair spilling over the cushions. Her full breasts rise and fall with each breath, nipples already tight against the thin fabric of her top. She lifts one leg, stretching out that elegant foot, the toes pointed like a dancer’s. The sole is smooth and warm, the arch high, and the skin looks soft enough to bruise with the lightest grip. She draws the foot closer, traces a fingertip along the underside, slow and deliberate, then presses the ball of it against the growing heat between her thighs. A soft sound escapes her. She switches feet, letting the other slip forward, toes flexing as she rubs them together, savoring the way the friction shoots straight to her core. Her free hand slides up her body, cups one heavy breast, squeezes. She watches the toes curl, imagines a tongue sliding between them, teeth grazing the arch, breath hot on the skin. Her hips roll once, twice, grinding against nothing but the thought of it. Every motion is measured, every touch calculated to make her want more, until she can’t help the low moan that slips out and the way her hand slips lower, fingers seeking the wet heat she’s already created.