Lavender Salts And Apricot Kernels

I come through from the kitchen carefully carrying the bowl of nice hot water with the lavender salts in, all dissolved, making the water smooth and silky. Fragrant steam rose from it and I inhale deeply. I set the bowl down on the floor at her feet.

She sits in the big armchair, slumped rather into it, her legs stretched out. Her work jacket is slung over the arm of the chair and she's undone the top buttons of her blouse, her beautiful cleavage revealed. I pick up her feet one at a time and carefully slide off her shoes. Today she's wearing her black ones, shiny and severe with 4 inch spiky heels. She sighs as she stretches out her feet, wiggling them, presumably glad to be free from their restraint. I kneel down and reach up her long muscular legs, deftly undoing each stocking from its fastening on her red and black suspender belt. I catch a glimpse of her red satin panties as I do so. Slowly I roll down the black glossy stockings and carefully take them all the way off. She stretches her feet out, I love the way she can spread out the toes on her left foot, but not on the right.

I move the bowl closer and she slides her feet into the cloudy scented water, letting out a soft and sensual sigh, her entire body relaxing as the gentle heat penetrates her feet. I collect up her stockings, shoes and jacket and go back into the kitchen. I put the kettle on to boil and go into the utility room. I give her shoes a quick wipe over, unable to resist kissing each pointed toe as I do so. I wash her stockings out, being sure to use the delicate washing liquid, rinse them and then I peg them delicately up by the toes to dry. Back in the kitchen I make the tea, Earl Grey, and leave it to brew a couple of minutes. I take her jacket and shoes upstairs and bring down the rest of the things I need.

I pour out the tea, a little milk for her and none for me. She takes her tea from me with a smile and clutches the mug to her with both hands. Back on my knees I take one of her feet out of the cooling water and squeeze some foot scrub into my palm. The scrub is pale brown in colour and has tiny flecks of dark brown in it. I smell the burnt sugar vanilla fragrance and feel the tiny grains of exfoliating apricot kernels grating between my fingers as I spread the mixture onto her feet. I take my time and make sure that I rub it in all over, especially the patches of hard skin on her heels and under her big toes. I slide my finger in between each toe and underneath her curled up toes. I rub gently at the lines left on her tender feet by the shoes she's been wearing all day. I wash each foot in turn and then rinse them off in the water.

Pushing the bowl to one side I reach for the little fluffy towel. I place it across my thighs and place her feet on top. I dry them slowly and methodically, rubbing them all over with the towel, making sure to dry thoroughly in between her toes. I gently dry her sweet toes, her smallest toes scarred red from childhood chilblains, the nails hardly there at all. I dry her heels, raising her feet to my lips to kiss the scar tissue there from ill fitting shoes worn as a vain teenager. Wiping the splashes from her calves I decide that I'll shave her legs for her tomorrow. I trim the nails that need it. I wish I knew how to do a proper pedicure. I'm sure it would be so much better for her than my current amateur efforts.

I take away the bowl of now cold water and our empty tea mugs and then return to her, settling back down on my knees. With her feet resting on my thighs I open the pot of moisturiser. The same scent as the foot scrub, but warmer and thicker, I scoop out some of the rich white caramel cream with my fingers. I dab some on her sole and on top of her foot. With her foot still resting on my thigh I massage the cream in. Strong positive movements, I know better than to tickle, my thumb stroking the sole in long slow ovals. I love the arch of her foot, so predictable, but I can't help myself, to me it's the epitome of sexiness. Once again sliding my fingers in between her toes I make sure I moisturise everywhere. I feel the large veins on the top of her feet and the strong tendons at her heels. I do one and then the other.

I take each of her delicate feet into both of my hands, the soles of her feet resting on my fingertips. I rub the tops of her feet with my thumbs making small, circular movements from her toes up to her ankles, rubbing the thick cream into every inch of her sexy feet. At the same time, my fingertips massage the balls of her feet to her heels, strong, deep, yet gentle rubbing away the stress of her day.

When the first foot is done, she lets it slide down my thigh and she wiggles it up a little so that she covers my denim clad bulge with the sole of her foot. I can feel the strength and warmth of her foot as she presses slightly against the heat and hardness inside my jeans.

I close my eyes and concentrate on enclosing her foot with my hands, wrapping them up in my warm slippery strong hands. Cradling her feet like two fragile baby birds I press them to my lips and gently kiss them, relishing their warmth, their softness, their individual character. As I look up at her she opens her legs and shows me that she has removed her panties and I carefully let her feet fall and lean forward.