Backstage with Clara G.

Clara kicked her slippers off the second she saw me and pointed those bare soles my way like a dare. God, it’d been months since we messed around like this. She knew exactly why I called, and her grin said she’d been waiting. Her feet flexed, toes spreading as she leaned back on the couch, one ankle crossed over the other, soles aimed at me like an invitation wrapped in a challenge. I dropped to my knees, hands wrapping around her warm heel. The skin there’s always a little softer than you expect, a little warmer too. She sighed when I pressed my thumb up the arch, slow and firm, the heel twitching just a fraction in my grip. Clara reached down, tugged at my shirt collar, pulling me closer. “Missed that mouth,” she whispered, wicked like always. I kissed the ball of her foot first, tasting clean skin, then dragged the tip of my tongue along the crease under each toe. She curled them, gave a little gasp, but her free foot snaked between my thighs, pressing with unmistakable intent. I bit my lip, shifting to let her foot stay where it wanted. My tongue worked between her toes now, tracing the sides, sucking each one slow and wet. The slight salty hint hit the back of my tongue. Clara’s toes spread for me, flexing and spreading in a lazy, teasing rhythm that sent little sparks down my spine every time. Her other foot slid higher until it nudged my crotch again, pressing down, getting me hard in quick little pulses as I mouthed her arches. She moaned, light and throaty, rubbing up and down against me through my jeans, never breaking her rhythm. I switched feet, this time licking a slow stripe from her heel all the way to the tip of her big toe, rolling it between my lips, sucking until her breathing turned shaky. Her other foot lifted just enough to work at my zipper with surprisingly nimble toes, tugging and pushing until the front of my underwear stretched over me, wet patch already blooming. I groaned against her sole, teeth just barely grazing her instep, hips bucking slightly into her foot’s teasing pressure. Every movement, every slip of her skin on mine feels filthy and fond all at once, the heat between us curling like smoke. I suck two of her toes into my mouth at once, tongue swirling, saliva slicking over her skin while her other foot strokes up and down my shaft, taking its sweet time, pushing me right to the edge of shaking. Clara laughs low in her throat, content and filthy, toeing my cock now, dipping her toes into the slick mess at my tip, then sliding back down with a devil-may-care flick. I never get tired of this give and take—the twisty thrill of her every deliberate little caress. She draws it out with obvious delight, making me chase every touch.