Tiffany's Feet

Her invitation hung in the air, impossible to decline. Tiffany’s toes curled around the shaft with a grip that was both delicate and insistent, sliding from base to tip in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The arch of her foot pressed flat against him, warm and smooth, while her heel rocked against the underside in a teasing pulse. Each stroke lingered, every brush of skin a promise of what her mouth could do next. She leaned forward, tits heavy and bare, and took him between her lips, her tongue working the head in lazy circles while her feet kept their steady grip below. She sucked deeper, spit glistening along his length, then let her mouth slip free so she could kiss the head and watch her own toes take over again. She smiled as the grip tightened, the soles flexing, the rhythm quickening until his breath caught and his hips lifted to meet every stroke of her perfect, hungry feet.