Dressed to kill

Veronica steps into the room wearing nothing but a wicked little scrap of lace that barely covers what it should. Bill's eyes drag over her, and the second he sees her standing there, he's hard. She knows it. She smiles and sinks onto the couch, then raises one slender foot and presses it right against him. The sole slides along his cock in slow, deliberate strokes, warm skin and painted toes working him up until his breath catches. She keeps going, twisting her ankle just enough to make him twitch, then adds the other foot, trapping him between her arches and squeezing. When she senses he's close, she pulls back, spreads her legs and touches herself, rubbing her clit in quick circles until her thighs shake and she comes with a sharp little cry.