Soles to Soul

Emerald kicks back, soles up, giving Vince that look that says pay attention. Her toes curl and start slow-dancing along his shaft, slipping like little greased-up trapeze artists over every inch. He twitches, she smirks. The tempo picks up: flexing arches press together, letting the full length slide between velvet skin and heat, curling toes flicking his tip on every upstroke. Vince groans when Emerald presses the soft pad of her heel down, pins him to her instep, then drags the shaft back through the valley of damp skin. The room fills with wet, rhythmic noise and his quick breathing. She keeps the motion tight, lewd and delicate at once, working the sensitive head in small circles with her soft big toes while the others cradle and tug the rest. When his breath hitches twice and he warns her, she simply angles forward, grinning. Vince spills in ropes—hot, messy spurts covering every flex and dimple, painting her toes, streaks dripping down her arch as she wiggles the sticky mess for the finish.