He kissed Francesco’s left foot, right on the toes — he wore loose-fitting prison slippers, his knobbly hairy toes protruding because the slippers were too small for him, just like his pants. He had crude feet like an ogre, just like his face, which Miles adored. There was visible dirt on his toes, and his nails were disgusting — again, that was something Miles adored.
“Oh… Okay.” Francesco chuckled nervously. “You into my feet?”
Miles nodded. Those slippers tasted like steel and soil, with a little foot funkiness underneath all that. Miles pulled them both off. Francesco plopped down on the staircase. He stretched his long legs to give Miles easy access.
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MN Manmacker's mansploitation