As the taxi passes landmarks such as Pudding Lane, the scene of the Great Fire of London, Jess explains that the hotel is in the city’s financial district; pricey during the week but discounted rates over the weekend. I mean to ask her how long she’s going to be around for, things progressing between us and all, but my liquor clouded, dehydrated brain soon forgets as Jess talks.
Once in the room, I don’t know quite how to behave or what to do, so just go to the bathroom and have a drink from the faucet, being mindful to hydrate myself as instructed, before using some of Jess’ toothpaste to brush my teeth with my finger.
When I get out I find her taking a spare pillow and blanket from a cupboard, then laying them on the floor next to her bed, explaining – “Like I said before, I don’t make a habit of picking up cute boys on the underground. I’m still some of a lady, and need to be treated as such.”
I’m kinda disappointed, but in my heart of hearts know that at some point in the near future I won’t be just relegated to the floor.
My phone pings with a text message causing Jess to turn to me with raised eyesbrows. “Katie?” she asks. “Seeing if you’ve been eaten alive yet?”
“Yeh, she says she bets I’m at your place, and that she hopes you’re going to tuck me in,” I say smiling. I wasn’t joking either.
“Well if you get yourself in like a good boy then maybe I’ll do that,” she says, also with a smile as she heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
Jess takes an interminable time in the bathroom, and I give up waiting to confirm if that’s what she really really wants, instead just hoping under the blanket on the floor naked. Kilts and latex don’t make good sleep wear after all.
Despite taking a good amount of time in the bathroom, it turns out she hasn’t even changed out of her own fetish-wear yet. I see that the usual bright red lipstick and her makeup removed though. It doesn’t detract from her beauty inmy eyes.
Jess walking to the foot of my makeshift bed, there’s a pause as she looks at me and I figure she’s about to say something, but then slinks further on, still in her heels, before sitting on the edge of her bed, directly above where my head is resting on the pillow on the floor.
“Man these Louboutins are killing me,” she says grimacing, her legs crossed, waggling a siletto heeled foot in front of my face.
“Can a girl get a foot massage?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, more than happy to oblige.
I’ve never had a thing for feet. They don’t gross me out or anything, but they’ve just never done anything for me either. Not until now anyway. I guess them being cocooned in nylons give them a whole different perspective!
Holding the foot with my left hand, I exam her big toe, which I’m happy to see is remarkably dainty looking. Everything else about Jess is so perfect it would be a shame for something like a toe to spoil it.
Then, going from thebig toe to the pinkie, I gently pull on them, followed by lightly squeezing each one in turn.
Next, using my thumb finger, I slide it in the gap between each toe – spending time moving it back and forth – rubbing the base.
It’s at this point I realise her feet are growing on me. I just didn’t realize how erotic a foot massage could be!
Splaying her toes make me thing of playing her legs, and a rather vanilla image comes to mind of me playing her legs between my torso. It’s a fleeting image though, as my position makes it easier to imagine her instead putting the sole of her foot on my face, before opening up my mouth with her toes and digging her foot in.
It’s a peculiarly appealing thought. So much so that I realize I’m in the process of pitching a tent of the biggest circle in the world type proportions! Man, I wonder if she’s noticing it, or whether she’s concentrating on her foot!
“Mmmm,” is all I get from Jess, clearly concentrating on the massage. Maybe even has her eyes closed. I move further onto my side to try and hide my boss, and think of the Redsox winning the World Series to distract myself.
Carrying on with the massage, now almost not looking at the foot for fear of being turned on again, I figure I’ll treat her to a real comprehensive session: placing my fingertips in the channels between each long bone on the top of the foot, I gently slide all four fingers up and down between them.
Back to conventional techniques, and holding the side of the foot with both thumbs placed on the inside center of the arch, I apply pressure via the thumbs up and down the foot.
Turning my attention to the long muscle of the foot which begins near the achilles tendon and ends at the knee, I have her straighten out her leg, my right hand pushing the foot back up towards her knee. I massage her calm with the left.
It’s torture for me, and I also wonder if maybe I’m taking liberties and making it too sensitive, so justin case, I get a bit more mechanical.
Performing ankle rotations, I hold the foot up, and use one hand to rotate the foot around the ankle.
I’ve apparently relaxed Jess and relieved the disappoint; her eyes half open and glazed over; so much so that it takes a minute or so on me finishing the massage before she realises it’s over, her eyes opening with a flurry of blinks and a quizzical head turn.
“Thanks Pete,” she says when she awakens fully, sitting upright. Her benign demeanour changes though, as I see a thought pass over her face, her eyes and browser becoming set with it. She’s clearly got a mind to get something out of her system.
“Look at me Pete,” she commands. It’s an order, definitely, but it’s firm rather than overly aggressive, so doesn’t perturb me too much.
I was looking up at her anyway from the lying position on my side that I’d adopted when massaging with both hands, but now feel compelled to push myself up on one forearm. My eyes look intohers earnestly.
Lifting her feet up off the floor, she parts her legs fully in order to place the soles of her feet around my face.
“On your knees’ she commands, and she leans back, using her feet clamped around my cheeks to swing me up onto into a kneeing position before her.
The sensing of her soles in the slippery nylon material against my face is no less stimulating than it has been her hands. I breathe heavily, not just prompted by the sensitivity of her touch, but by the tension of what is going to happen.
Her legs apart as they are, I now want to look at her crotch too, imagining the close up view of her latex covered mound, but her previous wish to look at her take precedence.
“You do everything I say don’t you?”
I figure she’s stating something rather than asking, so stay mute.
“That’s not necessarily what a guy would normally do,” she continues, her feet still controlling me.
“Even now you’re looking at me like bambi, whileI’m subjugating you.”
I figure she’s probably correct. My baby browns are probably staring at her wide eyed right now. I can feel it, and I can’t help it. And yes, I’m well and truly being subjugated. There’s no doubting it.
She seems to look into my soul through my eyes as she says, “You haven’t put a stop to anything I’ve done or said that has put you in a submission position the past couple of days.”
My heart is beating with regular thuds. I’m just not used to talking about this kind of stuff.
“A girl could be forgiven for making inferences from a man’s acts or omissions you know,” she says cryptically, before elaborating with “Someone could subjectively just take you for a doormat. But I know there’s more to it than that. You’re a man, but a man hardwired in a special kind of way. “
I flush as her eyes bore into me, the heat increasing around ears. The current awkward pause in her dialog leaving me to concentrate on my own temporal pulse I can feel from the pressure of her feet.
“It’s just as well I have the female intuition to read what’s on your mind.”
I’m too embarrassed to speak, and an attempt to move my head away from her gaze and powerful grip leads to failure.
“Well, that and your body speaking volumes to me.” And with that she moves her feet off my face, sitting upright again. Placing her feet either side of a bulge in the covers, she smooths the covers down, revealing the obvious silhouette of my erect cock.
Her feet clamp it, leading to my absolute paralysis;. My only ability to perform any other sort of physical function is an unconscious gasp and gulp.
“Maybe we need to take things to another level?” she asks, though more omino statement than question.
“And, I’ve got just the thing too,” she says in delight.
“I’ve actually got a present for you Patrick. Call it a reminder of our relationship.”
My mind races.
“A present?” I ask, eyes wide.
“Oh yes, butI need you to take a cold shower. It’ll be ready for you on the pillow when you get out. I want you to wear it for me.”
The cold shower is certainly invigorating and perking me up from my slightly drunk state. It also has the effect of cooling my ardour slightly, which I presume is what Jess wants.
I hear her shout through the door over the noise of the shower, “Would you like Some hot chocolate sweetheart?”
The aura of domesticated bliss is just weird, but I roll with it, responding with a – “Yes please,” – thinking a non alcoholic drink wouldn’t go amiss.
Exiting the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me, we ‘tag-team’ via her quick care of my supposed as she heads back in there for something or other.
Finding two cups of hot chocolate on a small hotel bedside table, I take a sip from the full one, the other half-drunken already. Its then I spot something shiny on my pillow, its closer inspection revealing what my educated guess, again from previousinternet ‘research,’ tells me is a male chatity device.
Fine motor skills slightly outta wait, I clumsily don the silver metal chamber around my cock, struggling to get the key in and self-impose chatity upon me, but once the chamber activates and clicks into place I’m satisfied at a job well done.
Feeling tired, I figure I’ll crawl into bed and wait for Jess to come out of the bathroom to see what’s up next. Happy. Reasonably drunk. Tired though. Very tired in fact. Tempted just to close my eyes for only a mo …
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