Would you prefer FJ with or without socks

She already knows the answer, but she's asking anyway — bare feet wrapped around you, the arch pressing deliberately, toes curling with each stroke like she's measuring your reaction.

The socks option sits folded nearby, a small domestic detail that somehow makes the whole thing sharper, more intimate. Cotton cuffs against her ankles while everything else is exposed and focused entirely on you.

You realize the question isn't really about the socks. It's about watching you decide, watching your face when you answer. She adjusts her grip slightly, waiting.