My Aching Feet

It was a lunch date for business. Considering whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. Just gullible I guess. Besides, not that many people are willing to try me. Chuck always did have more balls than brains.

I arrived a 12:15, just as they were receiving soup and salad. The soup looked perfect. I would have some later. I looked over G Sean Richards. About 40, middle tall, fair, dark haired, blue eyes. Not handsome, but dignified, assured. Charles suggested that he might be a candidate for my clientele. I had doubts. Mr Richards was almost everything Charles was not, neat, precise, impeccably groomed. Charles has his own virtues, but it was clear that Mr Richards was there for business, not for Charles’ company.

But business is business, so I introduced myself and left a card. I gave it only a one in three chance. Pity. Mr Richards (for some reason he was Mr in my mind. Charles was never Mr) came across as someone I would like to meet. His eyes did not seem to miss any detail. I was suddenly glad my grooming was beyond reproach.

Well the bait was in the water. Time would tell. At least the soup looked promising.

* * * * *

The call came in just before closing. Normally I like to do introductory things early, before the regular clients start to people the changing area. I generally make a better impression in their absence. Mr Richards received the last slot on Thursday. I don’t know why. Perhaps I wanted extra time if I needed it. This one would be different. Again I did not know why.

* * * * *

Thursday 3:45. I had cut John short to make sure that he was gone before 4:00. My behavior was irregular for no reason I could identify. I felt like a teenager on audition day. I hadn’t tried out for a role in years

I pulled my look together and went to the reception area precisely on time. So was he. I greeted him and began the pitch without a conscious thought. It was a good thing. All the butterflies came back. Years of habit had come to my rescue. He was so very THERE. My knees were weak. I asked about his expectations. Charles might have told him almost anything. But he hadn’t. I laughed, half in relief. I make a much better first impression than Charles. I slipped back into the pitch almost without thinking. Soon I was showing him around.

The first places are always so boring, that I started to relax. By the time we reached the main room, I was confident enough to take his arm. I led him into my world. His eyes widened as he took it in. Everyone does the first time, even those who know what to expect. I was smiling to myself as he picked up a pair of handcuffs.

"Want to give it a try?"

" I surely do." He turned to me and smiled. That was unexpected. Having him clap the cuff on my wrist was a total shock.

"But I didn’t… I mean…" I could feel my blood pound. I hadn’t been this far out of my depth since I left Herr Gruber’s studio in disgrace at 17. And Herr Gruber had only music and step, not handcuffs and… I shuddered as I thought of my inventory of tools.

"Come. Come. You offered me the use of the room. And your services. Were you serious, or being rude?"

"Serious of course. But…" What else could I say?

"Very well. We may begin. Now, lets choose a place." Without even realizing it I put myself fully in his hands. Just as he required. Waves of peace floated down on me. The Master was setting the beat. I had only to follow it. It really was not hard to figure what was required. I had required it of so many others. It was after all a dance of sorts. I knew dance if nothing else.

He led me to the restraint wall. Muttering something about facing forward he bound my hands to the wall. My heart began to race as I thought of what might come next. He stepped back to look me over. It must have been a sight. Control was the last thing from my mind just then. It had to be a change.

He stepped close and breathed deeply. I could feel myself flush. It was if he could smell my lack of control. The room seemed very warm. A part of my mind made a note to lower the thermostat during sessions. I hoped I didn’t ruin my outfit. Silk stains.

"We cant have you perspiring all over that fine silk shirt." Was he a mind reader too?

He came close and pushed my jacket back. I pressed feel his strength. He tolerated it for a moment then stepped back. Almost absently he removed my tie and patiently unbuttoned my shirt. Whatever else, he was in no hurry. It was too late in any event. The shirt was spotted with my perspiration.

"Ah well. I suppose we must have it off to get it cleaned."

His calm was inspiring. Inspiring of terror. Without hurrying, he turned to look for something. It turned out to be the key to the handcuffs. So soon? I normally will not release a client until the end of the session. Only very experienced clients can be trusted free of the restraints.

"We will have to get this suit off before it wrinkles, my dear. Hold still." I was doing my best. He surprised me again by unlocking both wrists. Did he trust me?

"Step forward. Remove your arms. Step back." Carefully, precisely, exactly as instructed.

Off came the shirt and jacket together. I hoped he didn’t just drop them. While I was worrying about my suit, he surprised me again. This time he put the cuffs on just above the elbow. I could not control a gasp of pain, concern, and startlement. He did not miss a step.

"Tsk, tsk my dear. And you were doing so well. We will have see about that in a minute."

With concern I would have appreciated in other circumstances, he pulled the shirt out of the jacket and shook both out. He laid them carefully over my stretching bar.

"Lets get the rest of this." Of what?

He came close again and reached around to undo the corset. This is no simple task. I had maybe three clients I would consider capable of it. Julian’s corsets are a study in contradictions. Incredibly free to wear, they are the devil to get into and out of. I was glad I had eaten more than three hours before. After a big lunch the corset would have to be surgically removed.

As all these thoughts flitted through my mind, I became aware of his distinctive scent. Hand cream, good quality aftershave, and HIM. I could take more of this. Halfway done, he stopped and stooped to undo the stockings. He returned my compliment, inhaling deeply of my pubis. Standing, he reached around to undo more stays, or started to.

"My dear, such tension. We must see to that." Oh he was good. Firm, exact, sensitive. The pain went out of my shoulders as he massaged his way down my back. Every few moments he would undo another hook. I didn’t even realize it when he reached the bottom. I was too lost in the rapture of his fingers. He demonstrated once again the need to remain attentive. His hands came up out and down. That quickly the corset was at my ankles. I gasped.

"Dear, dear, that’s twice now." Oh shit.

"Step. And the other. Thank you my dear. Your foot." I stepped out of the corset and lifted my foot. He removed my shoe. I was ready to give him the other shoe when he stood. Oh shit again. I would never have thought of that one. I stood in one shoe and one tip toe and waited. For a while it seems.

"I need to know where to hang these. You may speak."

"My locker is my office. That door."

"Thank you my dear. That will be all for the moment."

"But…"

"Oh my. Three times. This will not wait." My big mouth.

I soon found out not big enough. He picked a glossy red gag ball. I hate that color. I chose it to clash, when clashing is called for. This was not a time I would have chosen.

"Open." I did. It forced my jaws apart painfully. If nothing else I was aquiring a new appreciation of my own methods. He paused as he fastened the strap behind my neck.

"I would like to see your hair, but I realize that it may be inconvenient for your next appointment. Nod if you would like to have it down." I did.

"Excellent."

I have good hair. I didn’t mind him seeing. Odd. I never show it to clients. He liked the smell. He seemed to like a lot of smells. He carefully collected the pins and put them on the counter. Polite. He treated my things like his own. He even seemed to appreciate what those pins were. One was 200 years old and had cost $500. And a bargain at that price. We would have to discuss esthetics some time. Very odd. I don’t look forward to social contact with most of my clients.

"Lovely. You must let me play with it sometime." Played with it then. And me too. Then he picked up a lock and tickled my nose. I didn’t start like before, but I flushed from the effort. He didn’t miss that either. I turned an even darker shade of red. I had been years since I blushed, now three times in one day.

"My dear, you must show this side to me more often. It is really most becoming. Well, I shall return shortly." The brute.

As soon as he turned to leave, my attention came back to my aching calves. He had taken my pump a good couple of minutes before. My leg was telling me about it. I could stand flatfooted with my left knee bent. My back and shoulders screamed while metal cut flesh in my elbows. This would not work long. Back up on point. Stand on my left leg while I flex my right foot. And back. And forth. For an eternity.

Finally the door to my office opened again. Suddenly I didn’t notice my aching feet. Suddenly I was bound naked in front of a strange man. Anxiety rushed through my like a train through a tunnel. He was maddeningly calm as he came forward carrying my suit and a clean shirt. He hung the suit on the wall beside me. Then, standing before me he stooped once more.

I expected something. He did not disappoint. He inhaled my reeking wet cunt. Then he blew on it. Oh shit. I shivered as I struggled for control. He leaned forward and flicked his tongue up my slit. Explosions. Electric shock. Had I not been braced, I would have shrieked. Every muscle in my body clenched. He chuckled and I didn’t have the strength to hate him for it.

"Foot." I gave him my tortured right foot. Was that a flicker of embarrassment? Did I give him the wrong foot?

Oh sweet Lord. Those hands. He soothed the knots out like a baker rolling dough.

"Other foot." He could do this for an hour. I wouldn’t object. At least both pumps were off now.

"Stand." I did. Hell with the circulation in my arms. I could put the shoulders back in their sockets later. It was heaven to stand down again. He was looking at me.

"You were a dancer. A good one, but you overdeveloped." Oh Lord. Didn’t he miss anything? I always thought I had a career. My tits thought otherwise. Herr Gruber never gave me any slack. He didn’t spare me that day either. Not my talent, my body.

"Well you shall dance for me. You have one punishment remaining. When I release you, you will go to the bar and place one ankle over. Grasp the bar with both hands and stretch out fully while I administer the discipline." Really? This I could do.

Off came the cuffs. Needles of returning circulation. I ignored them. I had a task which I could do well. And which I intended to do very well. Stretch the ankle. Grasp the bar. Stretch.

"We will call this first position. Practice it daily, alternating legs. Now to business."

It was my favorite short lash.

"One. For hating your body." Laid it across my left ass cheek. Was it that obvious?

"Two. For despising your talents." This across the right cheek. Huh?

"Three. For despising your left breast, which is beautiful." Backhand. Of course I hated it. Look what it had done to me. Beautiful?

"Four. For despising your right breast, which is equally beautiful." Across the other teat. Is he serious?

"Five. For believing you are as small as a single art." At the split of my legs. Shit that one hurt. What does he mean "single art"?

"Six through ten. Because you think you deserve it and because I am unable to tear such foolishness from you physically." Back and forth up the back. Of course I deserved it. Didn’t everybody?

"And finally, because I wish to." He bit my ass. That at least I could understand.

"You may stand and dress. This session is complete."

I pulled off the bar. "You really think they are beautiful?" Really?????

"Yes. As does everyone." I had no idea what to think. He obviously had taste. Shit.

"Same time next week?"

"Not if you expect to pay me." What? Did I say that? He smiled. Yes maybe I did say that.

"Send me the bill for the dry cleaning."

He was gone. It could not have happened as fast as it did, but it did. At 4:00 he walked into my studio, by 4:53 he had turned my life upside down and left. At least he had left with a smile and a promise to return. And permission to dress. That was good. Not likely. Not before a shower. Good move Sheila: a long shower, a stiff drink, a tape in the VCR. Tape. My Lord, the tapes.

I didn’t breath til I had my hands on the control. There was his face in beautiful digital color. I played it through. I played all 4 tapes through. Then again in slow motion. That couldn’t be me. I stopped at one still frame. I was bound to the wall by my elbows, wearing only my stockings and one shoe, gagged with that horrid pink ball, standing on that one black 4 ½” pump and one aching pointed toe. There was a glisten of moisture on my pubic hair. Without thinking, my hand went to the spot. Oh my stars and heavens. I almost passed out. My cunt was running like a rare steak. My clit felt the size of New Jersey. I staggered back against my desk and orgasmed all over the light bill.

When the room stopped moving, I looked around. Something was wrong. The light. It was dusk, almost dark. But it was barely 5:00 o’clock. No, it was almost 9:00. I had been standing in one place watching myself, and let us not forget him, Mr Richards, for almost 4 hours. In my stockings and nothing else. Talk about foreplay. I giggled. Time for that shower and drink.

I turned back to the machine. I had spent a fortune on this fancy equipment, but it was paying for itself through the stills the clients wanted to buy. I wouldn’t be wondering why quite so much anymore. Though I might still question their taste on occasion. I hit print. Mr Richards didn’t even know about the tapes. We had never gotten to that part of the disclosure. I zoomed in a little, so my head was no longer in the print frame. I hit print again. Mr Richards would be getting a sample with his disclosure forms.

I looked at the finished shot. He was right. With my hair draped over them, my breasts didn’t look half bad. I found myself humming as I made copies of the tapes to take home. Go figure, my feet were killing me.