THE FOOTMAN OF L.A. (3/7)

*Tuesday*

The next day. I'd showered, cleaned up. But I felt filthy. I thought everyone could see what I'd become. But, in reality, they couldn't. Nothing had changed. To all the other guys, I was still a gung-ho partner, a go-for-it business chieftain, setting the agenda, eyes fixed on greater goals. They didn't see me as a cringing footslave to a thirty-year-old temptress. Jennifer had no illusions, of course. And I feared that Valerie, Fiona, and several others of the female mafia were in the know. There were little hints, smirks, private jokes.

Jennifer called, right before lunch. "I can't do it today," she said without preamble. "I've got a meeting. And a 2pm, a 3pm. . .um, okay, can you get over here at 5? Good. See you then. . ." So much for being a partner, the guy-in-charge, etc. I was there, on the dot. Her PA, Yolanda, had left for the day, things were thinning out in the office. Our culture is such that late-stayers get left alone to play whatever catch-up they're involved in. . .people don't stop by to schmooze till it's well into the evening. She let me in, closed the door.

"Okay, slaveboy. Out of those duds," she commanded. "Hang 'em up, if you want. There's a hook on the door." I quickly shrugged out of my clothes. She hadn't brought a videocamera, but she did have a small autofocus 35mm waiting on her desk. She clicked off a full two rolls of film of me undressing before I was naked and comfortably perched in her guest chair, my legs spread wide, knees up over the chair arms, and my hands gently stroking my cock.

"Ready for Phase 3?" she asked, smiling happily. "One and two were a groove, so let's see. . ." She presented me with another ziplock bag, this one containing a bedraggled, off-color training bra. "Did you like the stinky socks?" she asked. "Well, this dates back to college days. Like field hockey, basketball, jogging. . .it's well aged. And I've worn it running every morning since your little exhibition on Friday. . .Enjoy it, huh?"

Today she wore a silk blouse with cutaway sleeves, ideal for this brutally hot climate. She motioned me to stand.

"Over here, and kneel down by my chair," I was told. "You can lick my armpits this time. Hope you like 'em a little damp. . ."

She wasn't kidding: her armpits were stubbly, moist, fragrant. After she had enjoyed my tongue for fifteen minutes on each, she said: "Alright. That's enough. Now, you can wank on my feet, Brad dearest. Go ahead. Start pumping. . ." She kicked her shoes off.

I bent over her beautiful feet, and hurried myself to a climax. She told me to take it steadily, and to tell her a story, a fantasy, one that showed my devotion to her. That did slow me down, because I'm not much of a storyteller. But she seemed pleased as I whispered filthy promises to her. When I'd squirted all over her feet and ankles, she gave a smile and said: "Now, lick it off, every drop. Ultraclean, so you'd never know you'd done it. . ."

*Wednesday*

The next day, I couldn't wait to hear from her. The day dragged. Once or twice, I saw her in the distance. I decided to hold out in my office, knowing she'd get to me at some point. Around 5:30pm, the E-Mail cue dinged.

Dreading what might happen if I had any surprise visitors, I closed my blinds, undressed, folding my clothes carefully. A soft knock at the door. I waited, listening intently, then quietly asked: "Yes?" Her voice, impatient: "Come on, don't fuck around. Let me in." I let her slip in, hiding my nakedness behind the door. She shook her head disapprovingly. "Oh, don't push your luck. . ." she warned, steering me back against the wall, and reaching down to give my penis a solid squeeze. It was the first time she'd touched me so intimately, and my eyes filled with tears of gratitude, of love.

"You've got to get used to surrendering and being ready for me, slaveboy, or I'll force the issue bigtime and take you for a tour of the office on a leash, with not a stitch on." Somehow, crazy though it seemed, I believed she might. Even crazier, I almost wanted it. How was it she was able to find and bring out this exhibitionist streak in me? She stared into my eyes, still holding my cock, and said softly: "Oh, feel that thing stiffen up! Well, now I get it, Brad. You'd actually *like* to be exposed and humiliated, you filthy thing! Oh, you're making good progress. . ."

She let go of me. "What's on for tonight?" she smiled, as she unbuttoned her blouse, then, to my delight, took off her bra. Her small, perfectly formed breasts stared at me, nipples dark, and hard with desire. "Ready for Phase Four?" she cooed.

I nodded eagerly, lost for words.

"Then, tongue out. I want to be suckled first, then you can give my tits a good licking. They're pretty sweaty, as I'm sure you'll see. . ."

Having me tongue her nipples made her very horny, but she resisted any further pressures by me to get my tongue into play elsewhere. She kept her hands on my head, steering me to what she wanted. I got the impression she was trying hard to surpress an orgasm, from the little gasps of delight she let out. She liked this, I could tell. After twenty minutes or so of furious, diligent lapping, she ordered: "Okay, that's enough. Get up on the desk, kneeling. Good. Now, you can squirt all over my breasts. I want to hold that dork of yours between them when you come. So don't go off half-cocked, ha ha! Tell me when. . .Understand?"

And, she did. Leaning forward to offer her breasts as a masturbation aid. Squashing my penis between them as I ejaculated, giving a little squeal of delight as I fountained. The rest, you guessed it. She made me lick her breasts again, and slurp up the messy puddle that she held trapped in her hands. Some she kept and painted over her nipples, experimenting with its viscousness and sniffing her fingers. I got to suck that off too. When she was sure I'd licked her as clean as possible, she dabbed herself dry with my shirt before dressing.

She looked at her watch. "Uh oh, I'm running late here. You should stay naked another half-hour, but I've got to run. . ."

*Thursday*

What was next? Phase 5? I'd been speculating about it, and indeed about the other phases, since the first time I'd heard her speak of them. Jennifer was being quite methodical in leading me on to more degrading experiences. Not that I wouldn't have voluntarily done anything she asked. But it seemed to amuse her to proceed this way. So, I went along quite happily. Thursday lunchtime, I found out what was next. She invited me to her office again, and rather disappointingly, simply had me groom her bare feet. With me completely nude, of course. But nevertheless, this seemed a rather retrograde move, even though her feet were dirtier than usual.

Then, to my surprise, after twenty minutes or so of footlicking, she produced one of her ubiquitous plastic zip closure bags. In it, a pair of white cotton panties. I was already hard, and ready. She laughed with delight at my eager expression.

"Oh, this is going to be real popular, I can see. . ." she giggled. "Well, let me give you some history, first. Then I'll give your nose a treat."

She told me with a serious expression: "As you must know, I have a regular boyfriend. That's why you only get to have these interesting experiences during working hours, your poor thing. Believe it or not, I have a relatively normal life outside of here, and away from you. Oh, don't be offended. . .what you and I do is quite enjoyable, and fits other needs I have, quite nicely. But anyway. . .

"I've not made a secret of what you and I do, Brad. Carl knows, and finds it quite amusing. As he says, if it makes me feel better, what's it to him? In fact, it benefits him. . .cos it makes me hornier. Much hornier." She grinned cheekily, then said: "And here's some proof for you. These here, are the panties I put on Tuesday night to go on a date with Carl. . ."

She saw me swallow nervously, and tilted her head. ". . .and, let me tell you, a nice hot date it was too. Drinks, dinner, horny movie, serious grope in the car, back to his place, and *lots* of sex. They got quite sticky before I got them off, I must confess. I, uh, stayed the night, then didn't have time to change yesterday morning. . .when I was still pretty runny from the night's entertainment. All that spunk! Oh, I was dripping! They had to, uh, soak up a fair amount of fluids, as you can imagine. And, yes, they're also the knickers I was wearing when you licked my tits and wanked all over me yesterday . . . which, I think you must guess, got them even gooier. Sucking my nipples always gets my pussy wet. I met Carl after work, and we ended up at my place last night, after some fun. . .so these are triply used, and wet through round the crotch. Too disgraceful for me to let my maid take care of when she does the weekly wash. Whatever would she think? She'd be disgusted at me. I'd normally handwash, or trashcan something as grungy as this. . .Well, all in a good cause. Now I have you to amuse, don't I? I hope you like them. . ."

I looked at her anxiously. "May I. . .please?"

"Sure," she said, checking her watch. "Open it up, and I'll show you what I mean. . ."

With fumbling fingers I opened the bag, and took the white cotton briefs out. "These are so much better than lace, far more absorbent," she told me. I placed them on the desk before me, and spread them out, so the soiled gusset face upward. My head was spinning. The scent from the panties was very strong, unmistakably female, sexually explicit. A couple of curly black hairs clung to them, glued to the milky discolorations. The splodges were ringed in a faint yellow. They were still damp, it was plain.

"Go on then. Get face down in them, Brad," Jennifer said, gently. "Don't be shy. Don't pretend you don't want to, huh?"

She was right, I wanted to so much, even as I felt a revulsion about the idea. But I immediately bent over them, sniffing like a hound dog on the trail.

"You can hold your prick -- just hold it, nothing else! -- if you lick them, Brad," she purred, lifting them to my face and making sure she wrapped my nose in the damp material.

I moaned with desire, intoxicated by the smell. She hadn't done teasing and told me, eyes twinkling: "I had to wait in line for the bathroom a couple of times, a bit too long in fact, so they're a little bit pissy too. . .I can certainly smell it! But, that doesn't bother you, does it?"

No, it didn't. With this luxurious smell of her excited pussy filling my nostrils, I was in heaven.

She watched, smiling mysteriously, as I rubbed myself more and more vigorously, snorting at her scent and looking up adoringly. "You can come, if you talk," she told me. I didn't need to be encouraged, blurting out my fantasies of taking my tongue to her pussy, for real. Of her using my face as a bicycle seat. She nodded happily. "All in good time, slave," she assured me as I splashed myself with a fountain of hot semen. "Now, mop that up quickly. And get dressed. There's an audit committee meeting I'm supposed to be at it ten minutes. . ."

When I got back to my office, I found a brief e-mail:

Val had been like a different person all week. Less volatile, constantly busy. I buzzed her. She was in my office doorway in a minute or less. We looked at each other, with me wondering what this was all about. I began, nervously, "Uh, Jennifer Lagrande says you. . ."

"Yes," she smiled thinly, pushing the door tightly closed behind her. "Out from behind the desk. Down on your knees, Brad."

I stared, dumbfounded.

"You heard me. Come on. Jennifer has told me everything. . ."

I moved as if in a trance. She stood over me, scorn written across her face.

"So, you're a foot guy, huh? What a freak! And what about. . .?" She pointed to her crotch.

"I. . .Uh. . .Valerie, please. . ." I croaked.

"You want to smell it, yes? Pantie boy!"

And with a moan, I nodded. Her skirt was lifted, waist high. She wore nothing underneath. Her tightly trimmed blonde bush tickled my nose as she thrust her hips forward.

"Sniff it then. And sniff it good."

As you might imagine, she had been anticipating me, and was extremely wet. She giggled happily at my twitch of surprise as I inhaled the first musty, fishy cloud of vapor.

*Friday*

Would Jennifer let me see her pussy, maybe even lick it today? I was in turmoil, from the moment I arrived in the office, around 6am. I'd spent a lot of the evening before mooning over her socks, her bra, her knickers. They were arrayed on my dining room table, like an offering in a shrine. And challenging my air conditioner to keep the place fresh.

Wy was I so agitated? Because I wanted to ask her permission to lick her more intimately. I wanted to make her come. Frustration, I guess. Valerie had tempted me, a ten-minute ordeal, without allowing me to put my tongue in contact with her highly fragrant sex. You wonder at me being horny?

Fridays are very slow in the summer -- lots of vacation time gets burned -- and I wasn't scheduled for any meetings. My message light was blinking. It was her.

I dialled her extension. Very crisply and efficiently she said: "Turnbull's out all week. Meet me in her office in five minutes." And hung up. Was there some problem? Had we been detected? Had she changed her mind? Why there? Why so early? I grabbed a folder, wandered down the empty corridor, ducked into Turnbull's drab, tiny office -- a windowless cubicle with a door -- and waited, with the door shut. Jennifer arrived a minute later, swept in, and locked the door behind her.

"Well?" she asked. "We have a while. . .Oh, and why are you dressed? Off with them, Brad. . ."

She wore a cute little light grey suit with a rather short skirt. She watched with sparkling eyes as I quickly undressed. I decided to risk asking her.

"Jennifer?"

She raised an eyebrow. Obviously, she expected a question.

"I. . .ah, listen. . .I need to taste you. . .please. Let me lick your pussy. . .please. . ." It sounded so idiotic.

She smiled thinly. "Oh, I *know* you do. That's why you're here now, so early. While I'm fresh from my shower, Brad. . ."

I nodded eagerly. "Oh, please. . ." I was stepping out of my shorts, my cock bobbing rudely.

"But, no. It's not going to be just yet, you eager thing. You should know by now, I like things done my way. When and as I want them. And knowing that, you should have figured this out . . .You're more likely to find yourself kissing my ass first, aren't you?" she said with little tremor. I must have given a twitch, because she smiled that special smile of hers, and nodded. "Ah. . ." Then, with a snippy expression she ordered: "So, yes, let's do that. Ready? On your knees. . ."

I couldn't believe she meant what she'd said. But, oh, she did. I sank to my knees. With my whole body trembling, I watched as she turned her back to me, lifted the hem of her skirt waist high, and let her silk panties slide down to her upper thigh, baring her tight, rounded, totally feminine little backside. She bent forward, pushing it towards me, looking back over her shoulder with a little grin of anticipation.

"I'm perfectly clean," she told me with a confident little pout. "And if I'm not, hey tough. . .that's your job now. . .think how much I can save on toilet tissue from now on, huh?. . .hahaha. . .Stop looking so shell-shocked. Kiss my ass, you dirty, dirty thing. . ."

I didn't know how to react, so I did as I was told. I smooched her buttocks in turn, then heard her impatiently growl: "No! Not like that! Get into my crease, you idiot! Find my *asshole*! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She shuffled her feet apart. I quickly probed her backside with my tongue. She shivered and said: "That's much better. Yes. Ooh, that tickles! Stay back there, away from my pussy. Understand? Now, let's feel it go exploring, huh?"

Trembling, I lapped and licked, feeling my tongue rasping on her anus and the short hairs round it. Neutral and soapy in taste and smell, I was relieved to find. She wriggled with delight. I could detect a scent of female excitement, but didn't dare go exploring further.

I'd been holding her lightly at the knees, wondering if I should start masturbating, or wait for her orders. She said: "Hands on my hips, please. Hold my skirt up." A few seconds later, I could tell why. Her hips were shaking gently, and as she squatted down a little and opened her thighs a bit wider, I could smell her. It was obvious. She was rubbing herself. With a tremor in her voice, she said: "God! You're the filthiest man I've ever met, do you know that? You're actually licking my asshole, do you realize that?"

Of course I did. She was murmuring: "Oh, it's good. Uh. . .yes, that's good. Come on, don't be shy. Put your tongue right out. . .Ah. Yes, good boy. . .now, push it right inside. . .in. In. In. . .oh, yes. . .deeper, deeper. . .Yes, wriggle it. Uh. . .really ream it out. Make like you're french kissing me. . .roll it around. Suck! Oh, yes, that's it. . ." There were several satisfied moans, some excited wriggling. And the scent of her body grew stronger.

When she'd had enough of my attention to satisfy her curiosity, she pushed my hands away, pulled her panties up abruptly, and turned round, dropping the skirt. She looked down on me with a huge smile of triumph. "Good boy, Brad. I think you know what that means., symbolically. There's foreplay. And there's fetishism, and some of it can be kinda strange. But tonguefucking my asshole? A whole different thing. Quite disgusting. Real slavery stuff. You've really crossed an important borderline there. . .And don't worry, it won't be the last time you go in the fudge tunnel, darling. . ."

I knelt there, blinking. Stunned, in a way. How could I have sunk so low?

"Now, open your mouth," she said. "Wide."

And into it, she put her fingers, fragrant and sticky with her pussy juice. She began spooning it. Thick and milky, like a handful of shampoo. Shrimp flavored shampoo. I sucked gratefully, mumbling my total devotion to her. She looked down with an icy smile. "No, Brad. You're not going to get any closer to my twat today. . .Even though it is absolutely steaming, hmmm?. . .after all, I know where your tongue has been, don't I? Dirty, dirty, dirty! Let's show some respect for the elementary rules of hygiene, eh? But, doesn't my cuntjuice taste just great? Even better than you'd guess from my dirty knickers, I bet. . ."

My hands were drawn to my aching prick. She pushed them away with the toe of her shoe, scolding: "No you don't. That can wait till later today. Get dressed, and go and make yourself useful, brown-nose. I'll call. . ."

She left, I dressed, went to the bathroom and washed and cleaned my teeth. The day dragged by. Around 4:30pm, real late for a Friday here, my E-Mail dinged me.

"See you at Devlin's in a half-hour. Get a booth in the back. J."