Cinderella

Casey works the desk at The Armory and has watched Maitresse Madeline walk past him for months. He can’t stop staring at her feet, and she knows it. She leans in, lets a heel slip, makes him wait. One morning she’s late and rushes upstairs. A stiletto drops on the steps. Casey grabs it, thinks he’s doing the right thing, and follows her down to the basement. She’s already shooting. Madeline turns, smiles like she planned the whole thing, and tells him to get on his knees. He sniffs her stockings, mouth open, tongue working every inch of her size eight-and-a-half. She pulls the nylon aside, spreads, and feeds him her ass until her toes curl hard. When she’s had enough of that she frees his cock, strokes it between her soles, then slips it between her lips—just enough to keep him on edge. Finally she plants both feet around him and finishes him off, thick ropes streaking her toes. Madeline lifts one foot to his mouth; together they lick it clean.