Peachy Delight

Simone Peach stayed clueless about the origins of her thing for feet. Maybe she was born with it, maybe she just liked the feel of something thick and heavy resting across her arches. Either way, she didn’t ask questions when the urge hit. She was twenty-something, skimpy shorts hugging her hips, and already barefoot by the time the guy dropped his pants. The sight of that swollen cock got her grinning. She slid her soles together, warm and smooth, then lowered them over the head like she was pulling a blanket across a leaking faucet. Her toes spread, gripped the shaft, and worked with an almost casual rhythm, one sole stroking upward while the other pressed down. No clumsy fumbles, no hesitation. The slick sound of pre-cum sliding between her arches filled the room, and she kept the pace steady, arching her back slightly so she could watch the tip peek out every time she lifted her feet. Whenever his breathing hitched she would slow, cup just the head between both big toes, and roll it like a lazy marble. A quick squeeze, a drop of spit, and she started again, milking him with the same easy expertise that comes from loving the act more than needing the approval. By the time he spilled across her pink-painted nails she was already smiling, sticky streaks dripping off her heels. She lifted one foot to show the mess, wiggled her toes so strings of cum stretched and snapped, and gave a little contented sigh. "Told you I’m good at this," she murmured, still massaging the softening shaft between her arches like she had all night to play.