“You okay?” Emilia continued. We had sort of an unspoken understanding regarding my admiration of her footwear. She tolerated it if it meant she got to wear whatever she liked. But there was a twinkle in Emilia’s eye, as if she was urging me to voice the obvious and confirm what we both already knew: I liked Emilia’s feet, not just her shoes.
“I’m just a little tired,” I said, completely chickening out.
“Don’t work so hard then,” she replied with a wink. Moments later she was in her seat ready to type, and not a glimpse of her feet was given for the rest of the day.
Emilia wore the same flats again the day after, and by the third day of those flats completely denying my ogling of her feet I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know why she wasn’t letting me look at those feet; how could she be so cruel? She got to wear her fashionable shoes to work, and I would get to admire how they looked on her. That was the unspoken agreement, right? I had to know why she wasn’t playing ball anymore. It was a concern I may have crossed the line and creeped her out. Either way I had to know, it was too frustrating seeing those pretty feet hidden away all day.
Once court was over and everyone else had left, I ambled over to Emilia as she packed away her things. “So, won’t we all be seeing your excellent taste in shoes anymore Emilia?” I tried to voice it like everyone in court had noticed, rather than it being my sole observation. I also said it in a friendly manner, hoping she wouldn’t pounce and out me for what I was.
Emilia spun in her chair and offered me the biggest smile I’d ever seen on her pretty face. “Missing them, are you?” She teased.
I shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot before Emilia’s intense stare, thinking of something witty to retort but nothing came to mind. I wasn’t expecting her to be so forthright.
She seemed to enjoy my squirming before putting me out of my misery. “Things have been a bit tight actually,” she sighed. “I haven’t been able to afford my regular pedicure this week. It blows.”
“Aren’t you able to paint them yourself?”
“Oh, no way,” she said with mild shock. “I never paint them myself. My toes deserve the very best, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Emilia. They do.” The words had left my mouth before I’d really given them any thought.
There was a moment of silence between us, as if she was genuinely bemused that I would outright admit such a thing; her mouth hung agape. Meanwhile, my lips were sealed in embarrassment between two reddening cheeks. Emilia cocked her head slightly, as if weighing me up, then that knowing smile returned.
“So what are we going to do about that, Judge?” She finally asked, seemingly sensing her chance had been laid before her. I could see the amusement strewn all over her face. She was teasing me and enjoying every second of it. But there was something more than that too; she was testing me. Further prodding followed. “Don’t you like seeing my feet all nice and pretty in my shoes?”
“I suppose I could pay for your pedicure, if that would help?” I immediately looked at the floor after the words had left my mouth. I was so ashamed, a woman in my respected position offering such a thing to this young court typist. First, I let her strut her beauty around my courtroom, and now I was going to contribute to it.
“Really?” Emilia replied, in genuine surprise. She slipped her feet from her flats and stretched them out along the floor. Her toes were indeed unpolished, though still very beautiful; at least in that regard she was being honest. “You really want to do that for me?”
I looked down at her pretty feet. Was getting to see them a reward for offering to pay for her pedicure? If so, it did the trick. “Yes, Emilia,” I said sheepishly. My eyes lingered from the floor to those nude toes.
“Better get your purse then,” she teased.
I didn’t hesitate and Emilia left the office that evening with my money firmly in her grasp. It wasn’t a lot in terms of my salary, but there was a deeper meaning to it. It was symbolic. We both knew what it meant and things would never be the same after that day.
The next morning Emilia rolled in sporting a pristine French pedicure, a ring on the second toe of each foot and a gold anklet. The wedges of choice were her sexiest yet, and they really showed off the muscular tone of her calves. She was a vision from head to toe. I knew straight away it was money well spent.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her shoes as she took her seat, and I even caught one of the lawyers checking her out below the ankles. She often got looks, but usually they were focused on her pretty face and svelte figure. I felt a sense of pride that it was my money that had made those feet look so perfect.
Throughout the day she teased me relentlessly, turning in her seat frequently and crossing her legs, kicking her foot up and down. I knew I was being rewarded for pleasing her.
Once the day was over Emilia approached me at the bench and asked if I liked her pedicure. I almost salivated over myself as I took a closer look and nodded intensely. Again, I felt that sense of pride, though blushed at Emilia’s familiar knowing smirk.
Every day that we worked together for the next fortnight, Emilia wore a different pair of shoes to show off that French pedicure. Not much else was said between us regarding her footwear, and it was never mentioned that I had been the one to pay for her pedicure. It felt a bit naughty that it was a secret between us, that no one else in the courthouse knew of. If she mentioned it to anyone, I’d be unbearably humiliated and unable to offer any explanation to my behaviour. Thankfully, not a word was said by her to a single soul though the possibility of her spilling the beans was always hanging over me. I just let it flow and hoped things would pan out, putting any doubts to the back of my mind. Emilia would show off her feet every day, and I would get to look at them once again. That was the unspoken agreement between us and I relished every moment.
I was enjoying work more than ever until the end of that fortnight when Emilia turned up to the court in those ballet flats again. Not a word was said, but the message was clear. All day I tried to be strong and resist giving in to her, but as she packed up her gear at the day’s close, I walked up to her money in hand.
“Thanks, Judgey,” she said whilst snatching the notes from my grasp. Her smile gleamed at the unspoken submission I had just offered up to her. I cringed at being called that name but couldn’t find the right words to stand up for myself, with having just handed her money for her pedicure a second time.
It was now official, I had become Emilia’s pedicure provider, and from that point forth she’d expect me to fulfil my responsibility whenever she required it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be seeing those feet.
The next few months saw that trend continue. I got to see Emilia’s feet in her sexy shoes every time we worked together, and when the flats made an appearance I knew it was time to fulfil my duty. I didn’t let her down once. She even let me pick the colour of her pedicure on one occasion.