Erogenous Podiatric Therapy

Melissa swings her door wide and there stands Robby Echo, the friendly cock smith, complete with dimpled grin and thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Doctor Echo,” she teases, waving him inside like he’s delivering pizza instead of clearing her pipes. They sit cross-legged on the living room rug, inhaling and exhaling like two cultists who moonlight as yogis. Melissa’s amused expression fades once Robby lifts one bare foot, thumbing the arch like it owes him rent. He dips, takes a toe between his lips, and gives a slow, indulgent suck that pulls a surprised giggle straight from her belly. One by one he works the other toes, tongue swirling between each like he’s tasting frosting on a little finger. Melissa’s back arches; her eyebrows do a little, what-is-happening dance. A shudder ripples up her calf, across her thighs, and lands right where the roadblock sits. Robby keeps up the wet attention until she’s breathing hot and fast, toes curled against his teeth, everything south of her navel officially out of neutral. She bites her lip, eyes daring him to move higher, and the tension he came to fix finally cracks open, warm, wet, and wildly cooperative.