The Heart System

Chapter 852: Chapter 852

"No. You’re not pegging me, Emma."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

I stood in the doorway while Emma faced me in nothing but an oversized t-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. She’d called me over because she "needed" me for another "project." I’d assumed it was another footjob video request, so I’d driven all the way from the penthouse. Instead she was trying to talk me into getting pegged on camera. There was no, no, NO fucking way.

"Fine." She exhaled, clearly disappointed. "Another footjob video, then. But the same customer said he’d pay extra if you got pegged."

"We’re good without that bonus," I said. "I’d rather keep my backdoor shut."

"The strap-on is only four inches," she offered. "We could even maybe..."

"No, Emma. No."

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Emma rolled her eyes, then pulled the oversized t-shirt up and over her head in one smooth motion.

Underneath she was wearing a simple outfit: a tiny white bralette that barely contained her soft tits, matching white panties that sat high on her hips, and a pair of long white socks that reached mid-thigh. The socks had a little lace trim at the top. Combined with her short green hair and that usual half-lidded, deadpan expression, the whole look was quietly, unexpectedly sexy.

"Here. The masks."

"Thanks."

We walked into the same small bedroom as last time. I already knew the routine, so I started undressing without being told, shirt, pants, boxers, until I was completely naked. Emma checked the camera on the tripod, adjusted the angle slightly, and made sure the red recording light was ready.

I lay down on the floor in the same spot as before. My cock was already half-hard just from the situation and the sight of her in those socks.

Emma knelt beside me, reached over to the bed, and grabbed a small bottle of oil. She poured a generous amount into her palm, then wrapped her slick fingers around my cock and started stroking. The oil made everything smooth and shiny. It only took a short while before I was fully hard and throbbing in her hand.

She gave me one last slow stroke, then sat on the edge of the bed, lifted both legs, and rested her white-socked feet against my cock. She looked at the camera, then at me, and counted down silently with her fingers.

Three.

Two.

One.

She started the footjob.

At first it was slow and gentle. She pressed the soft soles of both feet together around my shaft and stroked upward in long, smooth motions, the oil making the fabric of her socks glide easily. Every time she reached the head she gave it a gentle squeeze with her toes before sliding back down to the base.

After a minute she changed technique. She used one foot to stroke the shaft while the other cupped and gently rolled my balls, the warm sole massaging them in slow circles. The dual sensation made me exhale sharply through my nose. She kept that up for a while, one foot steadily stroking, the other playing with my balls, before switching feet and repeating the process on the opposite side.

She varied the pressure constantly. Sometimes she squeezed my cock tightly between both soles and stroked fast and short. Other times she barely touched me, just dragging the tips of her toes lightly along the underside of the head until my hips twitched. Then she would suddenly press harder again, sandwiching my cock between her arched feet and pumping in long, firm strokes that made the oil squelch softly.

Five full minutes passed like that.

Emma never broke her deadpan expression. She just kept working my cock with her socked feet, stroking, squeezing, massaging my balls, occasionally using her toes to tease the head, while the camera recorded everything in silence. My breathing had grown heavier. Precum was steadily beading at the tip and mixing with the oil, making her white socks glisten. Every time she focused on the sensitive spot just under the head or rolled my balls under her sole, a low sound escaped me that I couldn’t quite hold back.

Eventually she slowed the strokes, then stopped completely, still holding my cock loosely between her feet.

"Okay," she said in that same flat voice. "Let’s take a small break."

We both stood up. I pulled my boxers back on while Emma walked over to the camera and stopped the recording. Then we left the bedroom and went into the living room, sitting down on the same modest couch as last time.

"This is the same guy?" I asked, leaning back.

"Yeah. He liked you." Emma’s eyes stayed half-lidded as always. "Lucky me."

"Hmm."

"Thank you for doing this," she said, voice low and flat. "I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find a new partner. You came in just in time."

"Yeah, this whole thing is weird, but... I guess I’m doing you a favor." I shrugged. "You better repay it, though."

"With money? Or sex?"

"No. I was joking." I exhaled, a little disappointed she even asked.

"I was too."

A small, sly smile briefly appeared on her usually expressionless face. I stared at her for a couple of seconds, not used to seeing her smile at all. Then I chuckled under my breath. Yeah... she was definitely strange. Not Cora-level strange, but strange in her own quiet way. In a sense she was already repaying me by giving me these free footjobs on camera. And she was extremely good at them. Years of practice, I supposed.

"When did you decide you’d start doing this?" I asked after a moment.

"I can’t remember exactly," she said. "I used to overhear girls in my class talking about sending nudes to guys online. So I thought... why not?"

"You planning to keep doing it, or...?"

"I don’t know. I’m just living in the moment." Her eyes drifted to the coffee table. "We’ll see."

"Hmm."

Silence settled between us for a while. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through social media, memes, short videos, nothing important. Emma stayed quiet beside me, still staring at the coffee table, absently fidgeting with her fingers.

After a couple of minutes I glanced over. "You okay?"

"Huh?" She looked at me. "Yeah. Yeah."

"Sure?"

"It’s just..." She hesitated, eyes meeting mine. "The things you said to me on this couch last time... uh. Thanks, I guess."

"About that whole ’losing your virginity on camera for money’ thing?" I asked. "Nah, don’t even mention it. You didn’t deserve that kind of deal."

"Yeah... thank you."

Something else flickered behind her usual deadpan expression for a second, something softer, but she hid it quickly. I didn’t push. I just nodded, locked my phone, and set it down on the coffee table.

"Before I go fully soft," I said, standing up again. "Shall we continue?"

"Yeah. You’re right." Emma stood as well. "Let’s go."

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