I acknowledged the barista with a smile but remained focused on my phone. In less than a minute a large smoothie was placed next to my latte. I slipped my phone into my purse.
"John!"
He moved toward the counter and I deliberately mirrored his steps. Feigning distraction, I accidentally reached toward his smoothie. My hand brushed his, and we both pulled back. I reached across his body with my left hand to grab my latte and placed my right lightly across his back. The nipple of my right breast pressed into his upper arm.
"Sorry." I mumbled. "I don't know where my head is this morning."
I turned toward the condiment station. My flower-print sundress was gossamer soft, and with nothing but a thong underneath my unrestrained breasts and ass jiggled hypnotically as I walked. John followed like a puppy, and I again felt his eyes on me. He stopped a few steps behind me, staring as I sprinkled cinnamon on my latte and walked toward the window. I stood for a moment, legs slightly parted, looking out the window, letting the sun flow through my dress. In the reflection I saw John watching. His head cocked unconsciously to the right, eyes looking through the dress at my body's silhouette outlined by the morning sun. I felt like a goddess.
I turned and sat on the edge of the warm leather, knees and ankles tightly together. John looked around and seeing the table with a potential view, moved to sit facing me. I placed my coffee on the ledge and my bag on the floor. Bending over it I rummaged slowly, eventually pulling out a copy of Marie Claire and a pair of Audrey Hepburn sunglasses. I slid back, sinking into the cushion and carefully crossed my legs, sliding right over left. I slipped on the sunglasses, adjusted the hem of my dress and opened the magazine to a story I did not intend to read.
To my delight, John sat on the edge of his chair, legs open. The paper lay flat on the table and he technically was reading the front page above the fold, but his eyes drifted to my legs with increasing frequency. He seemed captivated with my feet, and particularly enamored with my French-pedicured toes. Through the sunglasses, I watched his face as he watched me; it was a perverse variation on Pavlov's dog, combining a sexy game with field experiment in human behavioral psychology. The analytical part of my brain catalogued stimuli and responses, observing intensity and consistency of reaction. I slowly rotated my right foot at the ankle. John's eyes tracked the motion, tracing almost imperceptible circles. Under the table, his penis began to swell.
Pointing and flexing my foot was catnip to John; decorum and discretion deserted him. He would lean forward, weight on his forearms, feet pushed back under the chair, head tilted slightly to his left. Point, circle, flex, relax. With each repetition his entire being was drawn closer. I held the point, bouncing only my toes. His lower lip slipped between his teeth, his hands gripped his paper trembling slightly, his breathing became irregular, almost gasping. Slow circles from the ankle. John's hips wriggled, and his thighs pressed together, but whether to massage or rearrange his hardening penis I couldn't tell. I relaxed my foot. His lip slid from his mouth and his eyes drifted back to his newspaper. Point, small bounce from the knee. John's eyes were immediately dragged from his paper. I combined the leg and foot motion tracing lazy figure eights in the air, first one direction, pause then reverse the motion. I was relentless. Every time John would tear his eyes away, an extended point or slow toe-wriggle brought him back under my control. His erect penis strained against his shorts. The sense of power was intoxicating.
Feigning an itch, I lifted my right leg, bringing the right ankle onto my left knee I dug my nails into my arch, scratching then massaging its gentle curve. John's eyes flitted between my pink-nailed fingers which caressed my foot and the view of my right leg clear up to the soft swell of my ass. I lowered my leg again and John forced his eyes back to his newspaper. However, they did not stay. His gaze was soon drawn back to my foot gently bobbing in time with the music. Unconsciously, his head bobbed along.
My eyes twinkled behind my sunglasses, and the corners of my mouth twitched as a sense of power and hunger filled me. John had been transformed into a puppet whose movements were controlled by invisible strings attached to my toes, feet, and legs. His loss of control, the lust growing in his eyes, aroused me deeply. I felt my face flush slightly and my heartbeat quicken. Against the thin print of my dress, my nipples tightened and extended, while my areolas puckered and darkened. My labia engorged and pressed against the soft fabric of my panties. My vagina began to throb, fluid oozing from the swollen flesh-that delightful, squishy slipperiness of arousal. I reached down and slid the strap off my heel leaving the sandal dangling from the thin leather strap across my toes. John's eyes were transfixed, unconsciously flickering back and forth as even the slightest motion of my foot or leg caused the loose heel to bounce and sway.
I uncrossed my legs, still holding ankles knees and thighs tightly together. My dress had ridden well up my thighs and I watched John as he struggled to see my panties under the hem. Feeling wicked I laid the magazine down and curled the fingers of both hands under the hem innocently as though I was just readjusting my dress. But I lifted my hands, stretching the material up as I pulled the dress down and briefly held the hem taut above my thighs. I felt hot sun on my thighs and a cool air-conditioned breeze flow across my panties and over my hipbones. John's whole upper body unconsciously dipped, trying to maintain the view as I lowered my skirt. I quickly brushed my hands several times across my thighs to smooth my skirt, then picked up my magazine again. To my delight, John's right hand slide under the table to rearrange his penis and give it a brief but powerful squeeze.
I slipped the strap off my other heel, slid out of my sandals and gently set them to one side. I stretched out my legs, extended my feet and curled my toes underneath. I began a cycle of sliding my pointed left foot up and down along my calf, always holding my thighs tightly together. This drove John crazy. He seemed unable to decide whether to lean to his right for a view of my left thigh, or to his left in hope my dress would slip and provide a momentary view of my panties. As a result, his head would wag back and forth. He was so cute.
I put my shoes back on, placing ankle on knee as I slipped the sandal over my foot and pulled each strap over my heel. John nearly killed himself trying to see between my legs. As I put my left shoe on he leaned right, head tilted but bobbing up and down as he tried to decide whether the view was best over or under my leg. When I switched to the right foot my dress rode up my thighs, he leaned left and seemed to find a sweet spot. I heard a poorly suppressed moan and looking up I saw his thighs tighten. His penis extended and rose, tenting the soft cotton of his shorts.
I carelessly slid my legs back to a more ladylike position and leaned over to rummage in my bag. I felt the cool breeze flow under my ass as my cheek lifted off the chair. John leaned forward. His knees dipped down, feet sliding back on either side of the chair. His penis slid along the left leg of his sweats, the distinct shape of shaft and head clearly visible through the thin material. His eyes were locked on the small space between the chair and my leg where it disappeared under my dress. Watching his face, I uncrossed my legs, thighs held tightly together. My right knee slid over my left, then down until both feet were on the ground, ankles touching. I raised my knees, pointed my toes and hooked the heels of my shoes over a piece of wood trim that ran along the bottom edge of the chair. I leaned back, my ass inched forward; the morning sun crawled up my thighs, slipped under the hem of my dress, and warmed my panties.
John briefly rubbed his eyes with his right hand. It trembled as it returned to the table. He squinted, struggling to focus through the sheer yellow panties to the dark curls beneath. His lower lip had again slipped between his teeth. He seemed oblivious as his incisors sunk into the soft red flesh.
I switched my gaze to under his table. With each irregular breath John's hips rocked forward. Driven by this unconscious fucking motion his penis slid down his legs then back. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I watched, mesmerized by the sight of his mushroom-shaped head sliding back and forth. A small patch of the gray cotton darkened, then glistened as pre-cum saturated the thin material.
A naughty idea arose in my brain. I rose, leaving my latte and magazine, but grabbing my purse and headed toward the merchandise displays. I smiled at John and touched his shoulder as I passed.
"I have to get something. I'll be right back; would you watch my stuff?"
