At your feet

After a few missteps, I reached a door that a maid had pointed out to me in a contemptuous tone.

I knocked, precariously balancing the tray.

"Come in," came a feminine, authoritative voice.

I opened the door, which fortunately opened inward.

• So, little fool, I waited, put this there.

She was sitting on a woman, lying on a sort of sofa. I placed the tray as she had indicated.

She placed a book and gestured to sit at her feet.

• Kiss my feet, she took off her shoes.

I sat at her feet, my hands pleading, she placed her feet on them, and I removed the gag ball.

• Don't stop unless I tell you to.

Under her gaze and that of her submissive, I blushed because I felt an inexplicable attraction to this woman, almost jealous of the one who served as his seat. I pressed my lips to her feet, a little embarrassed, yet I felt my desire rising. Her feet were perfect, her scent heady and hypnotizing.

I applied my sweetest kisses; this moment lasted an eternity. I had never felt this way about this part of the human anatomy; it bordered on fetishism.

• That's enough, Teyla. Ginger told me good things about you and your potential. I often check the veracity of my partner and wife's assessments.

I stopped, surprised by this information and honored that Ginger recognized my potential. I kept my eyes lowered for my submissiveness.

• I'm going to assess you to see if I can push you toward certain clients who are above the norm, who demand the absolute. Do you feel ready to push yourself? It won't necessarily be worse than what you've experienced, but it will be much riskier in some ways.

I'm thinking,

• I'm yours body and soul, mistress. I have confidence in the agency, you, and Ms. Drake.