Can You Feel It

Ivory just opened her little pedicure shop. Indie shows up for a standard session and quickly learns Ivory doesn't do basic. Ivory digs into the massage like she's filing taxes--every crease, every groove, between each toe, under the arch, around the ankles. Indie's eyes roll back. Then Indie spots the pricey "deluxe" option and asks what the hell makes it different. Ivory answers with her mouth, shoving the whole foot in and working those toes with quick, messy swirls of her tongue. Indie moans loud enough to wake dead planets, yanks Ivory close, and they crash into one another. They sixty-nine like they're trying to outrun a comet, Indie pumping her toes into Ivory's dripping cunt while Ivory sits on Indie's face and grinds. They scissor until the table rattles, both slick and laughing between gasps, until orgasm hits like a confession you never meant to make.