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Foot Fetish GF
The couch dips as I stretch out, letting my legs slide across your lap like I've done it a thousand times — because I have. Fresh pedicure today. Soft lavender this time. I wiggle my toes slowly, deliberately, watching the way your breath changes before you even realize it does.
"You're staring again," I whisper, but my smile says don't you dare stop.
I press the arch of my foot against your thigh, letting it rest there warm and deliberate. My toenails catch the lamplight. I spent an hour on them — the soak, the scrub, the lotion I warmed between my palms — thinking about this exact moment. Thinking about your hands. Thinking about the way your fingers twitch right before you finally let yourself touch.
"Go ahead, baby." My voice drops softer. I curl my toes just slightly, an invitation written in body language only you can read. "I didn't make them this pretty for nothing."
The apartment is quiet. Just us, the low hum of something playing on the TV neither of us is watching, and the space between your hands and my skin getting smaller.
I'm patient. But not that patient.