TOE CLAMP-CAMP CON'T - SOLEWRAPP'D WADS POST NUT AFTERMATH IGNORE - Sydney Size 10s Milk BBC Nut Again - PRT4
2020-10-25 – i had to change positions. not just to feel more—but so she’d see what i’d become. standing made it unavoidable. no hiding. no excuses. my intent wasn’t just need—it was psychological. i wanted the image seared in there: my long, black dick swollen, hanging, and drooling right at her feet—again—right in front of her scrolling thumbs. not asking. not teasing. just there. obscene. heavy. leaking. close enough to drip on her soles. i wanted inside her head. i wanted her to look down, even briefly, and know she’d done this to me again… and then go right back to ignoring it. that’s what ruined me. the quiet power in her detachment. letting me throb out in front of her—open, exposed—without even shifting her weight. no teasing. no smirk. just cold proximity. she didn’t say anything. just stayed leaned back, scrolling, those massive size 10.5s resting calmly at dick level—long toes curling as if the angle didn’t matter. she glanced. once. just enough to confirm it was leaking again. then went right back to her phone. i stayed there, exposed, pulsing against her arches while she worked me with the same slow grip i’d already failed to handle lying down. every stroke felt worse. i only told her to cross her ankles and pay me no mind... but she knew exactly what i meant. just let me hump. let me leak. let me twitch in peace. she adjusted without looking up and slid on over the other crossing her size 10.5s together—heels connected, toes slightly curled, neatly cradling my frustration where i stood. i fed myself between them. she kept scrolling. no change in pace. no acknowledgment of how bad it was getting. at some point, i asked her to turn over and “..keep your soles together.” she didn’t question it. just laid on her stomach, ponytail falling to the side, phone still in hand. her feet were so big they held me perfectly upright—my shaft trapped between them, buried in the wrinkles of both arches while she continued her mindless scrolling. i didn’t say much. barely made a sound. just shallow breath, low tension… and then it hit. a gut-wrenching eruption—one long, tight pulse after another. globs to thick and impatient, struggling to ooze out between her unapologetic grip. i stayed inside them the whole time—spasming in silence while she texted, unmoved. she didn’t even glance back after. leaving me to the business of casually smearing the mess between her toes while i sat behind her, slouched and silent. and even then—even after i’d just finished, emptied, exposed—i still couldn’t leave it alone. i hesitated at first, muttering something—quiet, awkward. the kind of thing i should’ve kept to myself. but i said it anyway. some twisted part of me needed her to know what it would mean if she just… stayed. let it sit. let it soak. and she didn’t flinch. didn’t shift. just stayed like that—soles crossed, still sticky. twenty minutes later, she was still there. still scrolling. and i had my answer.
