Who is the fairest of them all?

Chanel Preston likes having the upper hand. She knows she looks good, and she uses every inch of it. Right now that means sliding one stockinged foot out of a glossy heel, pressing the sole against his chest, then slowly dragging it higher until her toes rest at his mouth. She watches him with a half-smile, eyebrow lifted, waiting. When he leans in and breathes her in through the nylon, she makes a satisfied sound and lets the other heel dangle from her toe before it drops to the floor. She keeps him there, kneeling, until she’s had her fill of his tongue tracing the seam of her stockings, sucking each toe through the sheer fabric. Only then does she recline, spreading her legs just enough to show him what else he’s expected to handle. He fucks her the way she tells him to—hard, steady, eyes locked on hers—while she props one foot on his shoulder, the other stroking his thigh with lazy, possessive pressure. Every time he slows, she reminds him with the ball of her foot exactly who is running the show.