Which Pair Should I Choose?

Heather holds up two pairs of sandals like they’re deciding her fate. Gold or purple? Both scream “stiletto meets your worst decisions.” Danny’s on the couch, half-dressed and fully useful. “Vote,” she says, lifting one heel then the other, thigh flashing. Danny rubs his chin. “Tough. Try ’em on?” She slips her foot into the gold pair first, buckles the skinny strap, plants the sole on his crotch. He’s already tenting. She laughs. “Purple’s calmer,” he mutters, but his cock twitches like it prefers drama. She switches, plants that foot on him next—tiny purple gemstones catching the light, heel pressing down. Danny grunts, hips rolling up into the pressure. Heather smirks. “Need help closing the buckle?” she asks, pressing a bit harder. He groans something that sounds like yes, then no, then keep going. She plants both feet now, gold on his chest, purple on his dick, rocking slow while his hands slide up her calves. The rubbery squeak of new straps gives way to the wet slap of skin. Danny reaches down, frees his length, pumps it against her instep. Heather watches, amused. She nudges the head with her toe, paints a slow circle with a drop of pre-cum. “Still can’t decide,” she sighs, crossing her ankles, squeezing him between warm arches. He bucks harder. She tightens the vise. When he spills—hot stripes across her soles—she gives both pairs a once-over. “Gold sparkles more,” she decides. “Purple just got dirty.”