Skatepark rival feet

Oscar leans deep into the sofa cushions, his beanie pulled low and his arms crossed tight over his chest as a triumphant, unbothered smirk spreads across his face. He slowly peels off his right dark sock, letting the damp, sweat-soaked fabric drop onto the carpet right beside your knees, but deliberately leaves his left sock firmly in place. Kicking his long legs straight out, he drives the broad, bare sole of his right foot and the dark, lint-covered sole of his left foot directly into your face as you kneel on the floor beneath him.

"You lost the bet, fair and square," Oscar smirks, his voice low, cocky, and completely in charge. The wide, pale skin of his bare sole completely seals off your view on one side, while the rough, dark fabric of his socked foot blocks out the rest. A heavy, suffocating wave of intense skate-shoe heat blasts off both feet at once, engulfing your nose and mouth in a dense, inescapable scent of raw, post-session sweat and warm cotton. He flexes his open arch, pressing the heavy, calloused pad of his bare heel right against your chin while digging his socked toes into your cheek to lock your head firmly in place.

"Time to pay up," he commands, giving your nose a firm nudge with his bare arch. "You're going to service every inch of both feet. Press your face deep into my bare arch and inhale all that post-skate heat, then trace every single crease with your tongue until it's dripping wet. Once that sole is clean, move to the socked one and suck the sweat right out of the fabric until I finally give you permission to peel it off with your teeth."