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intrepidabigail
Moon
- Joined
- May 1, 2013
Respond here or if shy of course send a PM, but the question is about the whole foot thing. Since this is a writing forum please write an answer to the story setup below. It's just an innocent query no judgement. Just curious. Really. Of course a valid answer is, if you have to ask, you'll never know. I guess I could see that too.
She entered his office in her short pencil skirt and white silk blouse and without asking closed the door. She locked it and looked across the couches, the coffee table, and the paired guest chairs over at his executive desk. She smiled. Her high strappy heels clicked and clacked on the stone floor surrounding the rug in the center of the coffee table area. She looked at a large painting on his wall by the door and feigned interest in its depiction of demons reaching out from volcanic cracks in the earth to grab the feet of naked fearful sinners.
She looked briefly over her shoulder. “My name is Annaka,” she said in a Russian accent so thick that Lenin would sit up in his tomb if his body were still on display. She looked back at the painting keeping her rear aimed at him. “I saw you staring at me today as the negotiations were done.” She reached down to the hem of her short skirt and began to pull it up. It was so snug and tight that it inverted revealing the satin lining underneath as it sheathed its way up and over her butt. She wore nothing but shear pantyhose underneath. It encased a perfectly shaped rear. She looked over her shoulder again. She turned and sat on the long cabinet of drawers under the painting. Slowly crossing her long legs, she said, “More specifically, I noticed you staring at these.” She looked down at her feet in open toed high heels built mostly of the straps and their tall narrow stilettos.
“I rub and oil them to keep the balls of my feet soft and subtle. Even the pinky toes have perfect pedicured nails. I abhor reinforced toed pantyhose because they don’t show my toenails when my closed toe shoes are off. But these shoes are open toed. Aren’t my little nails pretty in deep red even under the stretched shear pantyhose? I have heard things about you. I don’t understand the fetishes you have, so I offer myself to you, but only on the condition that any move you make, any touch of my body, you must explain the thought and how it ties into your, shall we say, fascination.”
She leaned back on her hands and switched the way she crossed her legs. During the entire movement of her legs sliding together, she never broke eye contact with him.
“If I feel at any time that you are inept at describing or making me understand, I scream and I leave. If that frightens you. If you can’t handle it. Then just keep gaping at me like you are now. But I think I make the good and equitable offer. Do I not?”
If smoking were still a thing today, something that people did in the workplace, she would have taken a drag from a long filtered cigarette and blew a perfect ring that somehow would have found a cylindrical cloud of smoke to tightly wrap around as it ascended into the air.
She shook the her lower leg posed on top the other leg and looked down at her high heeled foot bobbing up and down waiting for him and his words. “Make me understand.”
She entered his office in her short pencil skirt and white silk blouse and without asking closed the door. She locked it and looked across the couches, the coffee table, and the paired guest chairs over at his executive desk. She smiled. Her high strappy heels clicked and clacked on the stone floor surrounding the rug in the center of the coffee table area. She looked at a large painting on his wall by the door and feigned interest in its depiction of demons reaching out from volcanic cracks in the earth to grab the feet of naked fearful sinners.
She looked briefly over her shoulder. “My name is Annaka,” she said in a Russian accent so thick that Lenin would sit up in his tomb if his body were still on display. She looked back at the painting keeping her rear aimed at him. “I saw you staring at me today as the negotiations were done.” She reached down to the hem of her short skirt and began to pull it up. It was so snug and tight that it inverted revealing the satin lining underneath as it sheathed its way up and over her butt. She wore nothing but shear pantyhose underneath. It encased a perfectly shaped rear. She looked over her shoulder again. She turned and sat on the long cabinet of drawers under the painting. Slowly crossing her long legs, she said, “More specifically, I noticed you staring at these.” She looked down at her feet in open toed high heels built mostly of the straps and their tall narrow stilettos.
“I rub and oil them to keep the balls of my feet soft and subtle. Even the pinky toes have perfect pedicured nails. I abhor reinforced toed pantyhose because they don’t show my toenails when my closed toe shoes are off. But these shoes are open toed. Aren’t my little nails pretty in deep red even under the stretched shear pantyhose? I have heard things about you. I don’t understand the fetishes you have, so I offer myself to you, but only on the condition that any move you make, any touch of my body, you must explain the thought and how it ties into your, shall we say, fascination.”
She leaned back on her hands and switched the way she crossed her legs. During the entire movement of her legs sliding together, she never broke eye contact with him.
“If I feel at any time that you are inept at describing or making me understand, I scream and I leave. If that frightens you. If you can’t handle it. Then just keep gaping at me like you are now. But I think I make the good and equitable offer. Do I not?”
If smoking were still a thing today, something that people did in the workplace, she would have taken a drag from a long filtered cigarette and blew a perfect ring that somehow would have found a cylindrical cloud of smoke to tightly wrap around as it ascended into the air.
She shook the her lower leg posed on top the other leg and looked down at her high heeled foot bobbing up and down waiting for him and his words. “Make me understand.”
