Warehouse Kinks

Draven Torres drops to his knees and starts unlacing Shane Frost’s dusty work boots. The first whiff hits him hard—rubber, leather, and stale sweat trapped in the treads. He peels each boot away, burying his nose inside the warm leather, then presses his face to the thin socks that cling damp to Shane’s arches. He keeps the socks on just long enough to suck a few toes through the fabric, tasting salt and grit. Then everything comes off in one motion: socks, shirt, work pants. Shane spits into his palm and starts stroking his thick uncut dick while Draven pries his tongue between bare toes, sucking each one like he means to swallow it. Every few seconds Draven slides up and swallows Shane’s cock to the root, lips slick, before dropping back down to the feet. Shane’s free foot finds Draven’s hard-on; he rubs the sole along the shaft, then grinds his heel into Draven’s nuts, keeping pressure just shy of mean. Draven’s tongue drags broad, wet stripes from heel to ball of Shane’s foot. Shane’s fist blurs, and he shoots in thick ropes across his own sole and instep, leaving Draven to lap up the mess while Shane’s spent toes twitch against his tongue.