Anonymous - Eveline

"Good morning, Monsieur Dalmaine. Are my boots, couleur creme, ready? Have you completed the slight alterations to the bleu pale lace boots?"

"Both are at your service now, miss. I will try them on if you will step into the showroom."

There was a small well-arranged room behind the shop with several glass cases. In these were deposited boots which had been made for celebrities. They were by no means old or worn, but this extraordinary man had obtained them from the ladies in question after they had only served on a single occasion. Monsieur Dalmaine persisted that they did not please him. He thereupon supplied a second pair. He retained the first for his musee-as he called it.

I sat myself in the easy chair in which he fitted all his lady customers. It was a great event if he made a pair of boots in a fortnight. He had, however, prepared mine considerably within that period. He brought out both pairs. He held them up. He turned them about. His keen little gray eyes sparkled with evident delight.

"Les voila, mademoiselle! But they are superb! It is not often that I make for so beautiful a foot. Mon Dieu! One would say the foot of mademoiselle had been sculptured by Canova himself. It is a study."

He knelt before me. He placed my foot in its openwork silk stocking upon his knee. He gave one affectionate look at this object. He cast another at his work. He then proceeded to fit the artistic little boot in its place. Several times he inserted my foot. As often he withdrew the boot for some trifling adjustment. I tired of his minuteness. I amused myself in worrying the good man by avoiding his grasp. Sometimes I slipped my glassy, silk-covered little foot on one side-sometimes on the other. At last it slid from the approaching boot and was jerked between his thighs. There it alighted on the muscular development of Monsieur Dalmaine's most private personal effects. I distinctly felt a something pulsate beneath my toes. The artist in ladies' boots flushed. He was arranging the lace of the new chaussure.

"Please give it to me, Monsieur Dalmaine. I have not yet examined it myself. Is not the toe a little more pointed than usual? You know I do not wear those hideously impossible toes to my boots."

He handed it up, holding my ankle as he did so. I rubbed my wicked foot a little very gently against his person as I took it from his hand. At the same time, the man must have seen the half-comical, half-lecherous glance with which I met his eye. A sudden inspiration almost overwhelmed me. This artist cordonnier was a victim to his own creations!

He had fallen in love with his own work, like Pygmalion with his statue. The discovery set me on fire at once. What joy to play on this man's weakness! I allowed him to fit on the boot. He smoothed down the yielding kid as it glistened with its soft sheen on my foot, the perfection of chaussage-the delicate leg which attracted so many followers. His eyes followed his nervous fingers. His lips moved as though he longed, yet dared not extend his too-evident fascination into an actual embrace. I pushed my toe again towards his person. The quick blood of the nervous Frenchman was evidently stirred. There was an unmistakable enlargement in the region of his trouble. My warm foot did not let it subside. I was conscious of a certain throbbing against the sole of my foot.

"How long have you been in business? Monsieur Dalmaine, you have evidently a passion for your art. You are not like the ordinary shoemaker."

"No, mademoiselle, I am not so. I am a man different. I am one man by myself. No other man understands me. Sometimes a lady, she comes to me. I make the boots for her. I fit them to her. She like my work-she come again. More work-more boots. But-oh, no! She comprehends not. She knows not my heart!"

Monsieur Dalmaine pressed his hand upon the article in question- or as near to it as he could get. He bowed his head with its light curly hair over my legs as he knelt in the pursuits of his calling. His air was patient-if not pathetic. It seemed to say, "I suffer-I am content to suffer."

"What is the matter with your heart then? Is it so very susceptible? Or is it really a matter for a physician?"

"Ah, mademoiselle, can you ask? Can you doubt?"

My active toes were tickling gently all the time between his legs, where something very like a cucumber had gradually developed itself within the fold of his clothing.

"I am afraid your art is too much for you. You are too much engrossed with fitting the ladies. Why not work for the men?"

"The men? Me! Dalmaine make boots for the beasts? I am not a marechal-ferrant! What you call him? Farrier? I do not make shoes for the horses! Mon Dieu! What I no longer make the chaussures des dames I die! I go dead! I inspire-direct!"

In the agony of his desolation, good Monsieur Dalmaine had seized my foot and ankle in his nervous grasp. He even emphasized his anguish by raising my leg so that a portion of my calf was visible. I laughed so heartily that his confusion became even greater. Raising my other foot, I almost pushed him backwards in my assumed merriment. Thus he had a chance of a private view certainly not calculated to calm his excitement. His features proclaimed his delight. A sudden look of sensual longing spread over them as he saw my brown-stockinged legs. I let him enjoy the exhibition as long as he liked. My foot was all the time is contact with the cucumber. At last he could stand it no longer. He put down his hand. He himself pressed my little foot upon the sensitive spot.

"Ah! Mon dieu! You are the most beautiful young lady I make for! You do not know what you make me suffer. When I see-when I feel these lovely little boots, I am mad-I am mad! When I make them I have pleasure! When I see them on your beautiful feet, I go crack!"

I did not reply in words. I only raised my foot to his face as he knelt. He seized it again. He covered it with kisses. His white apron had slipped on one side. The violent erection of his limb was plainly visible in his loose blue cotton trousers. From the position he occupied, I am sure he could see above my garters. I made no scruple in encouraging his passion.

"Poor Monsieur Dalmaine! Are you so very bad?"

"Oh, you most beautiful! I must fook with you-or burst. Oh, dear! Oh, dear?"

"I should be sorry to make you suffer. Will it do you good, do you think?"

"I must fook you-I must fook! You are the angel of my dreams, I must-ilfaut que je m'assouvisse avant de mourir!"

His whole being quivered with excitement as he knelt, his hands convulsively clasping my ankles as I reclined in his fauteuil.

"Are we quite sure not to be disturbed? Poor Monsieur Dalmaine, you shall not be disappointed. Only be prudent. Pray do not hold my legs so high! How dreadfully indecent! Oh, really!"

"But first I must taste of your sweet parfum-of your essence divine. I must enjoy! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! My beautiful young lady! I have wanted you for a long time! Now! Now!"

In another instant he had separated my legs. Plunging forward, he inserted his head between. He forcibly opened a passage. Before I could oppose any resistance to his attack-even had I been so inclined-his face was upon my naked thighs. He pressed forward. In pretending to protect myself, I assisted his design. With a stifled cry of bestial delight, he covered my part with his lips. He drove in his long hot tongue. I felt him sucking my clitoris with all the fury of a satyr. The taste-the perfume-appeared to drive him to a perfect frenzy. Finding no further resistance, he clasped me round the loins. He continued his salacious gratification, steeping his mouth in the amorous secretion with which I liberally dosed him. I was almost beside myself with the pleasure he was giving me. I spent continually. Presently his right hand released me. I guessed his object. He raised himself from his recumbent position but without quitting his vantage ground. His face was red and inflamed with lust. Raging desire had taken possession of the man. I had led him on. It was not in my power to stay it now. I had not long to wait. He tore open the front of his trousers. I saw his limb fiercely erect-red-capped and ready to do its work. The lewd sight destroyed what little remained of prudence. He threw himself upon my willing body. I raised myself to favor his assault. We neither spoke, but with a great gasp of acute delight I felt the stiff insertion of the Frenchman's long member into my parts.