Her toes—painted a soft pink—traced up my calf with agonizing slowness, teasing me. I shot her a sharp look. She just smiled, all innocence, sipping her juice like an angel who hadn't just started a war.

"So," Ivy said, piling fluffy scrambled eggs onto her plate, "it's supposed to rain later. Like, all afternoon. I was gonna hit the park, but…" She shrugged, reaching for the salt.

"Stay in," Delilah said smoothly, her foot sliding higher, nudging my knee apart with gentle insistence. "Movie day. I'll make popcorn. Extra butter."

Ivy rolled her eyes, but there was a grin tugging at her lips. "Mom, you say that every time it rains. It's your default setting."

"Because it's true," Delilah replied, voice light. Her foot found my inner thigh now, pressing just enough to make my breath hitch. I shifted in my chair, trying to keep my face neutral, but my cock was already stirring. "Besides, you've been studying too hard. You need a break. Your brain's gonna melt."

Ivy laughed, cutting into a strip of bacon. "Maybe. Evan, you in? We could binge that new sci-fi thing. The one with the alien parasites and corporate cover-ups. Trailer looked dope."

"Uh—" Delilah's toes pressed firmly against the growing bulge in my jeans, rubbing in a slow circle. "Sure. Sounds good." My voice came out tighter than I wanted.

Her foot was pure magic. She'd slipped off her sandal silently; the arch of her foot molded perfectly to my shaft through the denim, flexing and releasing in a rhythm that made my pulse race. She rubbed slow, up and down, like she was stroking me with her sole, each pass sending sparks up my spine.

I gripped my fork tighter, knuckles whitening.

Ivy buttered a piece of toast, completely oblivious, humming under her breath. "The effects look insane. And the conspiracy vibe? Total mindfuck. I love that shit."

"Same," I managed. My voice cracked on the last word. Delilah's toes curled, pressing hard against the head of my cock through the fabric. A bead of pre-cum soaked into my boxers instantly. I swallowed hard.

Delilah reached for the salt shaker with one hand, the other resting casually on the table. Her foot never stopped. "Pass the jam, honey?" she asked Ivy, voice sweet as syrup.

Ivy slid the jar across without looking. "You two are weirdly quiet. Everything okay over there?"

"Perfect," Delilah said, her smile serene. Her foot slipped lower, heel grinding gently against my balls, rolling them in a way that made my vision blur for a second. Then back up, tracing the rigid ridge of my cock like she was memorizing every inch. "Just hungry. Starving, actually."

Ivy snorted, pouring syrup over her pancakes. "Mom, you ate, like, three pancakes already."

"Hey, I'm your mother. Shut up." Delilah teased, winking at her daughter.

Her toes pressed harder, insistent, and I couldn't take it anymore. My free hand dropped under the table, fingers fumbling with my zipper. I pulled it down—slow, silent, praying the soft rasp didn't carry. The button popped free. I reached in, freed my cock from my boxers, and let it spring out into the open air beneath the tablecloth. Hard, throbbing, already slick with pre-cum.

Delilah's foot found me instantly, bare skin on bare skin. Her sole was warm, soft, and impossibly smooth as it slid along my shaft. She flexed her toes, curling them around the head, then dragged them down to the base in one long, deliberate stroke.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from groaning, tasting copper.

She trapped me between both feet now—soles soft and warm, stroking in perfect unison. Slow at first, then faster, twisting at the head with every upward glide. One foot pumped the shaft in long, firm pulls; the other cradled my balls, rolling them gently, squeezing just enough to make my hips jerk.

Ivy poured more syrup, licking a drip off her thumb.

Delilah leaned in with a casual smile, like she was sharing neighborhood gossip. "Did you know Evan actually moved into a penthouse? Top floor, the whole deal."

Ivy's fork froze halfway to her mouth. "Wait, what? A penthouse? How did you even swing that?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady while Delilah's foot kept gliding. "My girlfriend, Nala—she's the new CEO of TechForge. I just… moved in with her."

Ivy's eyes went wide. "The Nala Nolin? Guy's sister? Holy shit, Evan. That's insane."

"Yeah," I managed, hips twitching again as Delilah's toes circled my slit, smearing pre-cum down the shaft in gentle strokes. "Big opportunity. Learning a lot."

"So," Ivy said, finally cutting into her eggs, "how's the new place? Penthouse life treating you okay? Must be wild."

"It's… intense," I said, my hips twitching involuntarily. "Lots of space. Great view. Uh—city lights at night are something else."

Delilah leaned forward, elbows on the table, giving Ivy a perfect view of her innocent, motherly smile. Under the table, she sped up—one foot stroking the shaft in long, firm pulls, the other massaging my balls with gentle, rolling pressure. I was leaking like a faucet, pre-cum dripping onto her arches, making every slide smoother, filthier. The tablecloth hid everything, but the risk was electric.

Ivy stabbed a piece of bacon, chewing thoughtfully. "Mom still won't tell me what that accident was, though."

"Just a minor thing," Delilah said smoothly, her heel pressing hard against my balls now, rolling them in slow circles that made my toes curl in my shoes. "Nala's girlfriend saw me and she helped me to get a room. I guess, in a way, I should thank Evan."

I gripped the table edge with one hand, fork trembling in the other. "Happy to help," I choked out.

Ivy grinned, reaching for her coffee. "You're, like, the family hero now. Should we get you a cape?"

Delilah's foot twisted, stroking faster, her soles slick with my pre-cum. Her eyes flicked to mine—dark, wicked, gleaming with triumph. She mouthed, slow and clear: 'Cum for me.'

I was close. So fucking close. My balls tightened, pressure building like a storm.

"Rain's starting," Ivy said, glancing out the window. Droplets streaked the glass, tapping softly. "Guess movie day it is. Blanket fort mandatory?"

"Perfect," Delilah purred, her voice velvet. Her feet clamped tight, pumping in short, relentless strokes—up, down, twist, squeeze. "We'll make a blanket fort. Like old times. Pillows, fairy lights, the works."

Ivy laughed, shaking her head. "Mom, I'm twenty-one. I'm too old for blanket forts."

"Never too old for blanket forts," Delilah said, her toes curling over the head of my cock, squeezing hard.

I came. Hard and silent.

My cock jerked violently between her feet, thick ropes of cum shooting across her soles, splattering her arches, dripping in heavy globs onto the floor beneath the table. She milked me through it, slow and thorough, draining every pulse, every drop, her feet never faltering. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, vision tunneling, breath locked in my throat.

Delilah smiled, serene and untouched, and kept eating her eggs like she hadn't just made me explode under her daughter's nose.

Ivy reached for the syrup again, oblivious. "Pass the butter?"

Delilah nudged it over with her elbow, casual as ever. Under the table, she lifted one cum-slick foot, wiped it discreetly on the inside of my jeans, then slipped back into her sandal like nothing had happened. The other foot followed, leaving a warm, sticky trail on my thigh.

I sat there, spent, heart hammering against my ribs, cum cooling on my skin, pooling in my lap. My cock twitched with aftershocks, still half-hard from the sheer audacity of it all.

Delilah caught my eye across the table and winked—slow, smug, victorious.

Breakfast continued as if nothing happened.

Ivy kept talking about the movie, the rain, her classes. Delilah nodded along, laughing at the right times, passing the jam, sipping her coffee. I managed to grunt responses, my voice still rough, my mind replaying every second of what just happened.

The risk. The thrill. The fact that Ivy was three feet away, laughing, eating, completely clueless while her mom jerked me off with her feet… damn.

"Hey, Ms. Komb," I said, pushing my plate away. "You told me there was some lag on your computer, right? Want me to check that now?"

Delilah's eyes flicked to mine, a quick smirk flashing across her lips before she smoothed it into a neutral smile when Ivy glanced over.

"Oh, right," she said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "Yeah. I'll show you after breakfast."

"We should just buy a new one, I swear to God," Ivy muttered, stabbing the last piece of bacon. "Always something with that computer, Mom. Just retire the old bastard."

"New ones are expensive," Delilah shrugged, but her foot brushed my ankle again under the table, a silent promise.

We finished eating in comfortable silence—forks clinking, coffee sipped, rain starting to patter harder against the window. Ivy stacked the plates with a sigh. "I'll do the dishes, then."

Delilah stood, smoothing her sundress. "Come on, Evan. I'll show you the problem with my keyboard."

"Sure, lead the way," I said, rising.

Ivy waved us off, already heading to the sink. "Don't break anything, nerds."

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