She closed her eyes. Then opened them again, feeling she should keep watch for anyone who might be approaching. Then, unable to resist, closed them again as he gripped the side of her foot and kneaded it with the fingers and heel of one hand, and worked his way along her arch with his other thumb.
Mmmm… No one had ever done this for her. She hadn’t felt anything so nice since she used to lie with her head in her mother’s lap and her mother would stroke her hair and forehead, something that hadn’t happened in a long time, longer than she could remember. Before the bad times began, though, she was sure.
Now both his thumbs were on the sole of her foot, working their way upward from the heel.
Now he was holding her foot in one hand, gently stretching and twisting each toe, one at a time. One of the toe knuckles cracked, and it sounded to her like a gunshot. She quickly opened her eyes and looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard anything so she closed them again.
Now the heels of his hands were slowly working their way down the sole while his fingers seemed to be delicately loosening the bones on top. She felt as if her foot must be faintly glowing with pleasure.
He began to massage the tendon behind her ankle between the thumb and forefinger of one hand while working the ankle itself with the other, then continued slowly up her calf, kneading the muscles so deeply that it almost hurt. It felt so good that she wanted to purr like a cat.
By the time he had reached her knee she was in a trance, almost, and hardly noticed when she felt her sock being slowly lowered to her ankle and removed–that felt nice, too, the fabric sliding along her leg, the cool air on her foot. She wished he would pick up her other foot and repeat everything he’d done.
Now she felt the tips of his fingers gliding along the back of her leg, cool and delicious, tracing slow circles around her ankles, weaving delicate patterns on her foot, then floating, featherlike, up to her knee to begin again, over and over. She felt as if everything below her knee had turned into pure sensation, that she would sit there forever if only he would continue.
Then she felt her foot being cupped in his hand and lifted again, and while the other hand continued to stroke the back of her leg she felt a warm, lingering touch on her instep…then another, near the first.
His lips.
Immediately, in her mind, the picture of him–sitting cross-legged on the floor, bent forward as if bowing, holding her foot to his mouth and kissing it so tenderly–flooded her with sweetness. She wanted to slide out of her chair and onto the floor, to stop even pretending to be doing anything else and melt into the sensation.
He continued to kiss her instep, moving slowly upward.
Now he had reached the ball of her foot, lingering there for a moment, then continuing on until he had reached the very tip of her big toe. When he kissed her there she felt just the slightest touch of his tongue, and it seemed to shoot a small electric current up her leg.
Then she felt his lips open slightly and felt her toe surrounded by moist warmness down to the first knuckle. He teased it with his tongue for a moment then took it all the way into his mouth, licking it deeply, as if it were an ice cream cone that was melting.
Instantly a vision appeared in her mind, like a light being switched on in a dark room: kneeling on cold tiles, her mouth full to choking with a warm, salt-sweat taste, wetness between her legs. Oh god!
Her eyes snapped open and her hand flew to her mouth just in time to stifle another gasp. She kept her face down, feeling herself flush so deeply that tiny beads of perspiration prickled her forehead. Oh god, there was moisture between her legs, she could feel it!
Then his tongue slithered between her toes.
She had to reach under the table, grab him, make him stop–but she couldn’t move! And even if she could she wouldn’t be able to reach him without making a scene–Oh, stop…please stop…
He stopped–and she felt her toe being slowly released from his mouth.
She breathed.
After a moment she felt him shifting position, then her leg being drawn out almost to its full extension. Her foot was cradled in his left hand and his right hand continued to caress the back of her calf, so she knew he was facing her instep. Especially when he began to kiss it again.
But this was a different kind of kissing. His lips never really left her skin, and with each kiss his tongue would trace a delicate line on her skin before moving on to the next place, and the next.
Always a little higher.
She felt as if every atom of energy inside her was rushing to the place where his tongue touched her. She cradled her forehead in her left hand, hoping that she looked as if she were concentrating very hard on her book, when in fact she was concentrating very hard on breathing quietly through her nose. It wasn’t easy when every touch of his tongue on her reminded her of her tongue on him.
As if in a fever dream she felt him slowly making his way up the inside of her calf, leaving little electric touches of his tongue, until he had reached her knee.
He stopped.
Was he done? She had no idea how she felt about that. She felt as if there was nothing left of her but her skin. He gently returned her foot to the floor. That was it then. Okay, she thought, maybe I have had enough of a reward for one day.
She heard him shifting around again. Then suddenly felt both her feet being lifted, then set down again, about three feet apart. Then his shoulders, brushing her knees as he edged his way forward, forcing them even further apart.
Oh god, he’s looking right up my skirt, she thought, suddenly aware of a great deal of dampness there and hoping it was too dark for him to see it. And why on earth had she worn those stupid, stupid panties?
But then she felt his lips again, and his tongue.
On the inside of her thigh.
And now it wasn’t just little touches of his tongue, either. There were fewer kisses and longer wet tingling tracings and his hot breath on her skin. Her skirt beginning to bunch up toward her waist. Then just his tongue, as if he were using it to sign his name on the skin of her thigh. His full name. Taking ownership of her yet again.
She could almost hear him asking her, What are you?, as his tongue drew closer and closer to the top of her thigh. And herself replying, as if hypnotized: Your slave.
She started to repeat it to herself like a chant, silently, her lips moving slightly: Your slave… Your slave… Your slave, your slave, your slave…
She felt her hips of their own volition slowly slide forward in her chair, almost to the edge of the seat. Her legs, opening wider. Her feet, rising up on their toes. And her right hand, reaching under the table, grasping her skirt and drawing it the rest of the way up to her waist, just below the table.
Giving him her answer.
He had finished his signature and was just beginning to trace, with excruciating slowness, the line of her panties along the inside of her thigh. She felt a quivering between her legs, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. If he touched her there, she thought, she would explode.