James Kline kneels low, his muscular thighs straining as he grips one foot in both hands, tongue swirling over the arch before dragging his lips up the sole. The smooth skin of his shins glistens under his mouth, his teeth grazing the heel while his other hand presses the arch into his face. Legs splayed wide, he rubs his cheek against the underside of his own foot, then flips it to lick the toes. Every position, bent, stretched, or propped, lets him devour the lower leg without pause.
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