Alice 22

Chapter 1- The Seduction

Fish On

A shaft of late afternoon sunshine shone through the window, landing like a spotlight on her legs under the barstool. He could not stop staring. The exquisitely shaped legs were clothed in semi-sheer black stockings, whose sheen sparkled and danced in the sunlight at every movement. When crossed, the legs showed just more than a hint of the reinforced welt at the top of the stockings. Sometimes she flexed an ankle, and one of the five-inch pumps would slide off her heel and dangle from her toes. The stocking would gather a bit at the top of the ankle, the fabric there becoming more opaque. Where stretched around her heel, the stockings were almost fully sheer. He was entranced by it all.

None of this was an accident. He was doomed.

He was in Her Majesty's Secret Service, an MI6 veteran of more than 30 years. A most valuable asset. He knew so much. His head was full of secrets: codes and plans and the names of all of the assets and moles and handlers and bagmen. Unfortunately for him— and the service—his head was also full of deeply submissive fantasies, including most assuredly a foot and stocking fetish of the highest order. Or lowest, if you will, as he constantly pictured himself groveling at the feet of beautiful, severe women. And she knew this.

She was not in Her Majesty's service, or anyone else's. She had her own agenda and was available for hire whenever a man needed breaking. And was she ever good at it. The best. One look from her heart melting green eyes could stop any man in his tracks and tear down all his defenses. She could read people, and soon enough she would she would know where her target was most vulnerable. Or sometimes, as in this case, her client would have already filled her in. So, as I say, it was no accident that she had decked her gorgeous legs in one of her finest pair of French silk stockings and—what else?—a little black dress that showed a generous amount of thigh.

When she had entered the bar and seen where he was seated she immediately spotted the shaft of sunlight and knew just where to sit. As she eased up onto the barstool she could feel the hem of her short dress ride slightly higher up her silk-clad thighs and she knew he would be watching. After ordering a glass of Dom Perignon Brut, she glanced over in his direction. She had figured her ploy would work, but she was a little taken aback that it had worked this well this quickly. Her mark's tongue was not literally hanging out as he stared fixedly at her legs. But it might as well have been.

He seemed to rush his drink down for courage, then made his way to the bar. He slid in alongside of her and ordered a drink. She could feel that he wanted to say something, but couldn't. All he could do was look down, mostly locked on the view of her legs, but occasionally averting his gaze. She thought he was probably afraid he would be noticed, or maybe he had some vague notion of where this was going and he was trying desperately to regain his self-control. If the latter, he was failing badly. She decided to set the hook.

She stretched out her leg and grazed his calf with the toe of her pump. "Oh, I'm sorry. Clumsy of me. I hadn't seen you there." This was the last apology he would ever hear from her. It was not in her nature.

"N-n-no worries. I-I didn't even notice," he replied. This was a lie of course. He had been staring at her foot as it touched him and the simple touch of the leather toe through his pant leg had sent a shock through his system. She thought that maybe she would remind him of that lie later.

He then just stood there like an idiot, staring down and shooting glances at her legs, no doubt wishing she would do it again. It was clear that he was too dumbfounded to pick up the conversation.

"Are you here alone?" she asked.

"Y-y-yes, ma'am," he stammered. Jesus, she thought, you're twice as old as me and you're calling me "ma'am?" Really? This might be too easy. At least he had torn his attention away from her legs. Now he was hopelessly lost in the cool green waters of her eyes. He seemed terrified, but also couldn't help but smile. She was simply so beautiful.

"Oh, you don't have to be so formal. Call me 'Alice,'" she said. "I hate sitting at the bar alone. May I join you at your table?" She stuck out her arm to steady him. It looked like he might drop.