Damien Roux Worshiped By Riley Mitchel
Damien Roux slumps on the locker room bench, his breath ragged, sweat dripping from his chiseled frame after a workout that left his feet screaming. Every muscle trembles, but it’s his soles—raw, throbbing—that draw Riley’s attention like a predator scenting weakness. Riley’s smirk is feral as he drops to his knees, palms cradling Damien’s abused feet, thumbs pressing into the arches with reverent brutality. “Felt it in these, huh?” Riley rasps, his voice thick with hunger. “Let me fix that.”
His tongue traces the sweat-slick ridges of Damien’s soles, swapping salt for spit, his lips sealing around a big toe to suck like a cock. Damien’s groan is guttural, half-relief, half-agony, as Riley’s mouth ravages his foot. But Riley’s cock strains against his shorts—needy, desperate—and he whips it free, slicking the shaft with pre-cum and Damien’s sweat. “You want relief?” Riley growls, positioning Damien’s foot against his dick. “Take it.”
The first thrust is a primal rhythm—Riley’s hips pistoning, his cock sliding between Damien’s toes, the slap of skin echoing off the lockers. Damien’s exhausted protests dissolve into shocked gasps as Riley’s pace quickens, a ravenous beast chasing release. Cum erupts in thick streaks across Damien’s ankle, painting his skin with Riley’s worship. Riley collapses back, grinning at the mess, while Damien glares, half-annoyed, half-aroused. “Next time,” Damien mutters, dragging a towel over his sticky foot, “you’re the workout.”
