Her feet are his destiny

Destiny looks like she owns the room, heels, curve-hugging dress, the whole lethal package aimed straight at Bill. The guy never had a prayer once she smiled that crooked little smile. She didn’t come to tease; she came to work them both into a lather, and her painted feet were the opening act. One leg lifted, tattoo ink rippling as her toes found his cock and stroked, slow then snappy, silk-smooth skin tugging and gliding. Bill groaned, hips bucking against the velvet press and pull of her arches. She watched his face flush, laughed under her breath, and rolled her sole over the head until pre-come glistened on her skin. Faster now, tighter squeezes between her toes, twisting, almost tickling, then heavy strokes that went straight from playful to no-mercy, until Bill’s thighs shook and he spilled hot ropes across her foot, pooling between her inked toes and sliding toward her ankle.