Lusty legs

Clara G. slides in, blonde hair catching the light, and the rest of her follows. The shorts ride up to show every inch of those long, smooth thighs. She stretches out on the couch, and the legs are the first thing you notice. Lean calves taper to ankles so fine they could break a promise. One bare foot rests on the other. Light slips over the arch, the heel. She flexes her toes like she knows you are watching. She catches me staring. A small smile, nothing more. Then her hand trails down her stomach, over the hem of the shorts, and down to her knee. She draws a slow circle there with one fingertip. She lifts one leg, points the toe, holds it for a beat. The light traces the muscle underneath. When she lowers it, she presses the sole flat against my thigh. Warm. The arch flexes once, twice, testing. She watches my face for the reaction she wants. Her other leg hooks over mine. Skin on skin. The weight of her calf, the faint shift of muscle. She brings her foot higher, rests the ball against the front of my jeans. Gentle pressure. She rolls her ankle, the toes curling against denim. Her heel drags down. Another smile. The toe comes back up, tracing the line of my zipper. She knows exactly what she is doing. I lean forward, catch her ankle, and bring her foot to my mouth. The sole is warm. I kiss the arch first, then the ball, then each toe in turn. She sighs once, low. Her free foot slides up my chest, toes walking over my shirt. She spreads them when they reach my mouth. I take two toes at a time. She pushes them deeper, testing how much I will take. Saliva shines when she pulls them back out. She watches, half-lidded. The foot in my lap presses harder against my cock, heel now, grinding in slow circles. She switches legs without warning. The other foot is just as warm. She drags the sole up the inside of my thigh until it bumps my balls. A quick rub there, then higher again. Both feet working now, one at my cock, one at my mouth. Her ankles cross over my lap. The light hits the fine blonde down on her shins. She points both sets of toes at once, showing off the line of her feet from every angle. I run my tongue along the side of one foot, from heel to little toe. She laughs under her breath, a quick, dirty sound. Then she pushes her big toe between my lips and holds it there, rocking it in and out while the other foot keeps steady pressure between my legs. Her shorts are damp at the crotch now. She does not bother hiding it. One hand slips inside the waistband. Her fingers move in time with her feet. She bites her lower lip, eyes on mine. The legs never stop. They flex, they press, they own the space between us. The air is thick with the smell of skin and the faint, clean scent she always wears. Every time I suck on a toe she gives a small, approving sound. Every time she rubs her sole against my cock she spreads her toes wider, showing off the perfect, pink underside. She pulls both feet away at the same time, plants them on the couch beside my hips, and leans forward until her mouth is close enough to speak against mine. Her legs stay open. The light catches the inside of one thigh. She breathes once, slow, then closes the last inch between us.