The Pedicure

Amirah shoots Lutro that sly look over her shoulder, curls wiggling like she knows the exact effect she’s having. Her foot slides up the front of his boxers, playful as a cat batting at a string. It doesn’t take two seconds for his cock to jump, thick and obvious, and she grins like someone who just won a bet she didn’t even bother placing out loud. Already slick between her thighs, she rubs her soles along the hot length, picking up the faint taste of sweat and soap off his skin. When she presses both feet together, toes cupping the head, Lutro actually groans like the sound slipped out without permission. She laughs—soft, wicked—then bends her knees, lifts those glistening folds into the air and wiggles her hips in the most inviting yes-please motion imaginable. Her pussy catches the light, shiny and clenching at nothing while she still strokes him slow and easy with her arches. “C’mon,” she breathes, wiggling her toes for emphasis. “I’m soaked, and you’re the only thing big enough to fix that.”