Hot Tub Feet-wave

The cameras stopped rolling, the heatwave still raged outside, and Cate McQueen and I decided the only sane option was to sink into a hot tub and let the bubbles swallow our exhausted, sweat slicked bodies. What started as a cool off became something far more indulgent, our feet finding each other beneath the surface, toes tracing ankles, arches pressing against arches in slow, deliberate worship. The water laps at my pale skin while Cate's feet glide between my fingers, her soles wrinkled and soft from the heat, and I massage, squeeze, and tease every inch she offers me. She returns the favour, working her toes along my curves beneath the churning foam. This is unscripted, unhurried, two dommes unwinding after a long day of cruelty with the only kind of tenderness we'll ever allow each other. You're not invited to the tub, pet. You're invited to watch.