Donte’s a local legend here—literally everyone in this town knows him on Facebook. Born and raised here, he’s the guy who chats with the whole city. When he saw my Stories, he slid into my DMs uninvited, already hyped to participate. A first for me.
At 43, he’s that rugged, mature type. The foot pics he sent? Chef’s kiss—I was ready to sniff, lick, and dig my tongue between every toe.
Luck or curse? His feet were my first in months. Lucky for him—I went all out. Unlucky for him—I went all out.
He showed up in beat-up baby blue Kenner flip-flops. Even through the rubber, I could taste the toe sweat, the stink baked into the soles. Perfection.
We spent 3 hours filming. I was so addicted—throat-fucking his soles, his reactions—that I turned off the camera and stayed under his feet for 40 extra minutes while he smoked all my weed. Let him fully abuse me. Eight beers deep, I only kicked him out because I was too wasted—otherwise, his feet would’ve owned my face all night.
