Kyoko Church - For Her Pleasure

His mind raced. Raced. Everything in his brain screamed how wrong this was, how they were the two people in the entire building most aware of the wrongness, charged as they were with informing the entire company on the intricacies of how wrong everything about a man touching a woman’s foot in a work setting was.

Especially when that man was pitching a tent in his trousers.

But he absolutely could not stop. His dick screamed back at his brain to shut the fuck up, just shut up for once and let me have this one.

Well, what harm would a little consensual foot-rub do? That was the key word, right? Consensual. He began to massage slowly.

‘Wait a second.’ He looked up. ‘Turn to me a little,’ she said. ‘That’s right. Now lift your knee up onto the couch.’ He did so and jumped as she placed her other foot gently but firmly against his crotch. ‘Keep rubbing,’ she commanded, gesturing at the foot in his hand. ‘I just want to make sure you’re not getting excited.’ Fire exploded in his face. He looked away from her, at her foot, then looked away from that.

She laughed. ‘It’s OK,’ she cooed. ‘I know you like my feet. And I do need a foot-rub right now. So you rub my foot.’ He hesitated. ‘Do it,’ she said, not laughing now. ‘But I just need to make sure, you know, for legal reasons, that you’re not being a disgusting pervert and getting all excited about my pretty feet. I need to make sure this foot-rub is just about you doing something I’ve asked you to do for me. All right? For massage therapy purposes.’

How could he be so confused and at the same time his dick be growing? Did she mean it? Of course she didn’t, but he couldn’t be sure.

He rubbed, obediently trying to clear his mind, trying to think of anything but her slim foot in his hands. But there was also the pressure of her other foot against him. And then she started making little noises. Little whimpers, groans of pleasure. ‘Mmm, that’s right,’ she purred. ‘Ooh, right there, that feels so good.’ He was helpless. He sat helplessly rubbing her sexy foot while his cock grew with a mind of its own.

‘Oh, my God, what is going on?’ She looked at him. ‘I can feel you, you know,’ she said, wiggling her toes against his stiffness, only worsening matters. ‘God, what horny little thoughts are going through your head? Was it the noises I was making?’ she chided. ‘I was only enjoying the foot-rub! You weren’t thinking that’s what I sound like when I fuck, were you?’ Oh! To hear that word. To hear that word come out of her mouth. It hung in the air, like a spark, like an echo. A mere half-hour ago she had been standing in the conference room lecturing on what constituted inappropriate language in the workplace! But he could not deny that he had never heard that word sound so fucking sexy ever before. A hard slap of a word, and when she said it he immediately wanted nothing more than to do it. With her. Now.

He stared into his lap, unable to respond. ‘Well, if you are going to act like a horny little dog, then that’s how I’m going to have to treat you.’

This is how it was that the chair of the sexual harassment committee of X Architects found himself on all fours on the floor in front of this goddess, trousers around his knees, praying, hoping against hope that no one opened the door to his office that he didn’t think to lock, while he humped his straining shaft against her foot like some kind of human lapdog.

It was sheer and utter madness. And he was powerless against it.

Even though she didn’t make it easy for him, did things like swing her foot away, complain that he was going too fast, laugh, force him to keep all four limbs on the ground, to not use his hands – even still his little problem reared its ugly head.

He spurted, hips helplessly bucking, after two minutes.

Oh, no.

Here it comes.

He knelt in front of her and braced himself. He steeled himself against the familiar onslaught of feeling – frustration, anger, shame – that always raged through him like a firestorm, burning everything in its path. But instead of the usual reactions of disappointment, pity, anger or worse, the yawning silence, pregnant with judgments and unspoken resentment, there was something different.

Giggling. Like tinsel. Like glasses chinking together, crystal laughter.

‘My, my, my, we are the eager little beaver, aren’t we?’

Heat rose. He could hear the blood pump through the vessels in his head.

‘That’s OK, sweetie,’ she said and she leaned over and put her lips right next to his ear, so he could feel her breath on his skin. ‘Mistress has all sorts of ways of dealing with a horny little puppy like you,’ she whispered.

Oh, fuck.

‘Starting with,’ she said, dipping her finger in the creamy mess on her foot, ‘rubbing your nose in it.’ She swiped her finger across the space between his nose and his upper lip. A moustache of his own shame. The sharp, acrid odour immediately brought a fresh jolt of humiliation. ‘You may not rub or wash that off,’ she announced. She took his chin with her fingers, stared right into his eyes. His heart pounded in terror. ‘You will wear your disgusting mess on your face. It will be there for all of the rest of your meetings today.’ Oh, God. ‘And when you go home and kiss your wife.’ Oh, God! ‘And when you put your head on your pillow tonight.’ She sighed, closed those gorgeous eyes and smiled. ‘When you have your shower tomorrow morning you may wash it off then.’ He realised he wasn’t breathing and took in a gasping breath.

And suddenly he realised something else. Something astounding.

He was hard again. Harder than he had been the first time.

There was shame. But no anger. There was humiliation. But no frustration.

Pure humiliation. Not blazing, like the white-hot heat of the firestorm of his secret torment, but rolling in slowly, like molasses, covering him, turning his insides liquid, enveloping him in a mass of humility, shrinking him down, making him want to place his hard, needy little cock before her in an act of complete submission.

And what she did then made it throb and ache even more.

She leaned in and placed the tiniest kiss with her full, soft, pouty red lips right on the tip of his nose. Like the period at the end of a sentence.

There it was. Just like that. Turned a hair to the left. His torment died.

His kink was born.

* * *

She was having those feelings again. The ones that made her feel closed in on, made her breath come fast, made her start to sweat. Fine, it was fine, she told herself over and over. She ran a hand under the cold-water tap and pressed it to her forehead, squeezed her eyes shut tight. If she could just stop her brain from spinning.

Yes, things at work were bad. Hadn’t been anything but bad for five years, really. Ah, she remembered the heyday. When everything came so easily, money rolling in and her at the top of her game. But there was more to life than work. There was him.

That’s right. Things with him would be fine. She had herself a good one.

She was sure. She was pretty sure.

‘Oh, you’re home,’ his wife said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Yeah, just got here,’ he said.

‘Dinner’s ready. You want to eat now?’

‘Sure. Or, you know, whenever.’ His wife looked at him and he turned quickly to the fridge.

‘You OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, fine. Why?’ He took a beer out and reached for a glass.

‘I dunno. You just seem … weird. Edgy.’

He poured the beer. ‘You want one?’

‘Well, not really. It’s Wednesday.’

‘So?’

‘You know I do Pilates Wednesday nights.’ She peered over his shoulder. ‘OK, what’s wrong? Could you just –’ she touched him on the shoulder ‘– turn around so we can have an actual conversation?’