***This is third in a series. The foot worship here is mostly implied but plays a central role in past and future chapters.***
"Good morning, sleepy head," Morrigan said brightly. "Happy New Year's."
Ron opened his eyes briefly and then squeezed them shut again, blinded by the light streaming around the woman's silhouette. It took him a couple of seconds to overcome the sense of disorientation. Why was his neck stiff? Why were his shoulders sore? Why had he been sleeping on his side on the hard floor of a bedroom closet?
Oh, that's right.
Groggily, he opened his eyes again and got up on one elbow. He squinted up at the backlit form of the woman standing above him, her hands on her hips, her feet shoulder-width apart on the bedroom carpet a scant yard in front of him. It was Ms. Morrigan, his college roommate's older sister, the woman who had dazzled and beguiled him just three months ago. He hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving, and he had beseeched her over his Christmas break to be able to spend New Year's Eve with her. Yesterday she had finally acceded. She had invited him over, and then left for a party, leaving him with instructions to do three loads of laundry and then to sleep on the floor of her closet.
It wasn't what he had envisioned; but something about the audacity of her suggestion -- no, her command -- was more intoxicating than a magnum of champagne.
"Good morning, Ms. M," he finally mumbled, and he was rewarded when she stooped down and ran one hand over his curls. She was dressed casually now, in jeans and a cable-knit sweater and fuzzy socks, and she smelled freshly-showered and lightly perfumed, always perfumed. What time is it, he wondered? It might be quite late. It had certainly taken him long enough to finally fall asleep, curled on the closet floor, surrounded by her shoes and with the hems of her dresses above him, all permeated with faint reminders of her fragrance.
"Let's get you some coffee," she offered, and she extended a manicured hand to him to help him to his feet. As he stood up, he was reminded that he was naked, again, as usual, at her request. He looked around the room and noticed that the sheets and towels that he had laundered and folded were still on the foot of her bed. It dawned on him that that meant that she hadn't slept here last night. The thought gave him a dull, heavy sensation in his stomach, but he also felt his penis beginning to thicken as well.
But meanwhile, Morrigan was heading to the kitchen, and so Ron dutifully followed. His eyes were drawn to the way the soft denim of her worn jeans caressed her lovely rear end with each step. This was only his third time in her apartment, and each previous time she had been dressed elegantly for a formal event -- which had always heightened the contrast and the arousal for him when she had had him disrobe and kneel naked at her feet. This morning, the contrast between his nudity and her casual dress had a similar but distinctive effect on him, like suddenly getting slapped on the other cheek.
By the time she poured them each a coffee, his erection was at full mast. She noted it with a smile, but said nothing ... except after she had handed him his mug, she used the forefinger of her free hand to give his knob a little tap, causing it to bob up and down like a drinking bird toy. He blushed, and she stifled a giggle. Then she took his hand and led him into the living room.
The curtains were open around the sliding doors to her balcony, and the bright January chill penetrated the room, so he was glad when she draped an afghan throw around his shoulders before encouraging him to sit on her sofa. Then she took a seat at the opposite end, tucking her legs underneath her, and sipping her coffee.
"Thank you for doing my sheets and towels," she began. "Although you didn't do a very good job folding the fitted sheets."
