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Please God No! Not that I can’t stand it, I really I can’t’
The words tumbled hurriedly out of Claire’s mouth as she struggled instinctively against the bonds that held her firmly to the chair. Peter was oblivious to her plea for mercy. In fact her hysterical pleading excited him even more.
He sat now on the edge of his chair. Inches away from him, Claire’s stocking clad feet wrinkled and stretched as if in some bizarre form of dance to elicit their escape, but there was to be none.
He rubbed his fingers gently together as if to warm them, and savoured the look of her shimmering stocking clad legs, bound at the ankles and knees, that stretched out in front of him.
He took a perfectly laundered white handkerchief from his pocket and gently mopped his brow.
‘Oh Claire you really must forgive me but…well this is quite magnificent, quite magnificent’ and as if in a trance he gently glided his fingertips across the arch of her left foot, at which point Claire became hysterical.
It had all started several months before. Peter was an elderly colleague of Claire’s. Refined and well spoken he was the ideal English gentleman.
There weren’t many of those left, and Claire had enjoyed his company when at work as he displayed a level of social etiquette that curiously seemed to belong to a bygone era.
It was a late afternoon when her curiosities had been aroused.
Whilst writing a report she had allowed her left shoe to dangle from her foot. Claire enjoyed flirting and teasing men, but this had been in all innocence. It had been a long day and she was writing up a report before going home.
She had glanced up from her desk, only to notice Peter staring at her foot and shoe. He seemed mesmerised, and it took Claire a few moments to realise that she was sharing the room with a ‘footman’.
Seizing the moment she had allowed her shoe to fall to the floor.
Peter’s attention remained fixed as he took in every detail. The arch of her foot, the contrast of the dark reinforced heel and sole of the stocking, and those erotic delicate crinkles that marked out pure nylon from the modern stretch inferior rubbish that so many women chose.
Claire captured his attention,
‘Do you like my shoes and feet’ she found herself asking more bluntly than perhaps she should have.
Peter coughed and stumbled through some sort of reply, but it was clear that she had found his weakness, and a plan for some fun was already forming in her mind.
Claire appreciated that most men were raised on a diet of bosoms and legs. She could never understand why, but most men would be embarrassed to have their foot fetish uncovered, and she knew that she would need to gain his trust in order to fully exploit this situation. It wasn’t to be long in coming.
It was late on a Wednesday afternoon and Claire had worked through the lunchtime. canlı bahis şirketleri She felt tired and had walked a considerable distance to meet with a client earlier in the day. She returned to the office at about 4.30 pm.
Most of her colleagues were already preparing for the homeward journey, and within 10 minutes only she and Peter remained in the office.
He had noticed her tiredness and had made her a cup of tea, delivered in a nice cup and saucer. She slipped off her shoes and complained that her feet were aching. She could detect the hesitancy in Peter, but his desire got the better of him,
‘Would you like a foot massage’ he asked with as much confidence as he could muster, whilst at the same time wheeling his chair toward her.
‘Oh please that would be lovely’ replied Claire with her warmest smile.
Taking Peter quickly by surprise she lifted her legs, in so doing showing a glimpse of stocking top, before resting both of her feet firmly in his lap. For a few moments Peter was dumbstruck, was this really happening? He gingerly stoked the tops of her neat stocking clad feet and was delighted the squeals which came as the response.
‘Im so terribly ticklish, but please don’t stop’ murmured Claire, who had now settled back into her chair with her eyes closed. For the next 15 minutes Peter was in heaven as his fingers, palms and eyes danced over every inch of Claire toes, ankles heels and arches.
During this time Claire purred with pleasure. This wasn’t lost on Peter, who much to his consternation found his own excitement rising through his Derby tweed trousers. Claire’s skill as a woman was second to none, and as Peter squirmed in his chair, she gently prodded his growing erection with the sole of her foot.
The sound of a cleaner entering the building caused an abrupt halt to the proceedings. Claire removed her legs from his lap, and stood to put on her shoes. Peter wanted to stand as well but his embarrassment was obvious, and he hastily placed a report book onto his lap, making a great deal out of studying the report. Claire smiled to herself. This was fun!
There had been many similar instances since. Those that Claire had enjoyed most occurred when in the company of others. She had made an art of dangling her shoe, or checking the straightness of her stocking seams, always within the view of Peter. In particular she enjoyed his flustered response, but it wasn’t all cruel.
On a number of occasions she had allowed him to massage and play with her feet after everyone else had gone home. As her confidence had grown, Peter had started to take more risks. Lately he had knelt before her, and had been allowed the privilege of removing her shoes, before slavishly licking and worshipping her feet.
She had enjoyed the sensuous way in which he had trailed his tongue around the edge of he reinforced sole.
On each new occasion canlı kaçak iddaa he would be asked to guess the colour of her nylons. The various shades made this game not as easy as it may sound. When right he could use his tongue and hands. When incorrect, Claire had forced Peter to kneel before her with his hands behind his back.
Reprimanded for being a ‘naughty boy’ she had made him sit absolutely still whilst trailing her foot across his face, whilst the other gently teased his groin.
On at least four of these adventures, Peters loss of self-control had been evident, and with a forced whisper of ‘Oh God’ it was evident that she had taken him over the edge.
Even then he had of course been the perfect gentleman, apologising profusely. Claire had loved every moment of it. This was power and fun combined; their little secret, and Peter enjoyed it too.
But then came the day: The end of a long day when Claire met Peter at the appointed time in his office. As she lowered herself into the padded leather armchair, she raised both of her legs onto the edge of the table, and like laying bait, kicked off her shoes until they were dangling on her toes.
As always Peter was overwhelmed. Rising out of his chair, he produced his customary starched handkerchief and mopped his forehead. It was by now his trademark.
He walked behind Claire, as if to get himself a drink from the whisky bottle that Claire knew was hidden in the bookcase. She was aware of him returning, but was suddenly surprised when the handkerchief was placed gently yet forcibly over her face. She was aware of a strange fragrance:then oblivion.
When she came too, her eyes took a few moments to focus. She could make out Peter sat the other side of his desk. He seemed to be speaking to her, but his words were distant and vague.
Gradually as she returned to full consciousness, she became aware of her predicament.
‘I do hope that your bonds are not too tight’
Claire had not fully grasped this until she tried to move. She was still sat in the chair, but her hands had been secured behind her. Several strands of silk like rope also encircled her legs, just below the knee, and similar rope had been used to secure her ankles together.
As she struggled to move she realised that the rope around her ankles had been secured to one of the desk drawer handles. In short, her situation was quite hopeless.
She noticed that her shoes had been removed and placed neatly together on the top of the desk. Peter was leaning across, his face and hands only inches from her sensitive and vulnerable soles.
‘You must forgive me please Claire, he began, but you see you have tormented me for months, Oh believe me I have gained immense pleasure form this, but do tell me are you ticklish?
The very mention of the word caused an involuntary shiver in Claire
Ah yes I see you are, canlı kaçak bahis splendid quite splendid’
Claire was a deeply sensuous woman. She knew that to be tickled would drive her insane, yet at the same time would bring her close to orgasm.
To be tickled was pain and pleasure combined, but this man knew what he was doing, and his touch was so soft. Unlike some of the clumsy fumblings she had experienced at the hands of some of her other less skilled male admirers.
We mustn’t waste time must we? Peter’s words brought her attention back.
‘To tickle you has been a passion of mine for so long, but somehow forcing it on you, to watch you scream and laugh, oh my darling Claire if only I could find the words to describe it’ and with that he began to gently pet the soles of her feet.
Within seconds Claire’s spirit had been broken. She giggled, laughed and screamed for forgiveness. Her hysterical pleading screaming and struggling acted as an aphrodisiac to Peter who chuckled away to himself as he experimented with some new fresh tickle torture.
At one point Claire was allowed to regain her composure.
Thinking that her ordeal was over she began to share with Peter her experiences of the pleasures that she too had experienced. Peter sipped his tumbler of whisky and replaced it thoughtfully on the desk,
‘Not quite over yet dear Claire’
He reached into the desk drawer. Slowly he withdrew a battery-operated toothbrush. Claire tossed her head from side to side,
No please not that please, I can’t stand it truly I can’t
Peter toyed with the instrument for a few seconds before flicking the switch that brought it to life. Peter watched in amazement as Claire became hysterical before he had even touched her. He chuckled like a mischievous schoolboy as he began to trace the sides of the brush up and down her soles in maddening slowness.
For close to ten minutes Peters attack was relentless. As he brushed Claire’s soles, he would take her toes into his mouth until every inch of her stocking clad feet had been licked and worshipped.
Claire’s screams were now just silent whispers, her lungs empty of air, and her head dizzy.
In a fantastic atmosphere of synchronicity Peter lost control of himself at the very moment that his tongue grazed the underside of the toes of her left foot. This too was the final touch for Claire. Her body instinctively struggled against its bonds as an orgasm tore through her with merciless zeal.
Some time later after they had both recovered, Peter became his old self. Clearly frightened that he had pushed things too far, he had sought Claire’s forgiveness, and was hastily delivering a pot of freshly brewed tea to her side.
Claire was not in the least angry; after all it had been fun for her too, if not slightly unconventional. As Peter knelt in front oh her to replace her shoes, she again traced her foot around his groin.
The tell tale bulge was growing again. Peter blushed red, and Claire took the initiative. ‘You are such a naughty boy and we all know what happens to naughty boys don’t we!’ It was going to be an adventurous evening!
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