by D. L. King
I was hardly aware as she led me to the bed, or of her ripping off her clothes and kicking off her boots as fast as she could. Then she was on me, pressing her naked body along the length of mine, kissing my mouth and running her tongue along my jawline. I surrendered myself to her completely and welcomed her grasping fingers into my cunt. First she finger-fucked me, then she fist-fucked me, then she tongue-fucked me—and after the thrashing I’d had, it didn’t take much to send me spiraling away into a fierce orgasm. She followed me there quickly after placing my hand between her legs and showing me what she needed—she was warm and wet and her hips pushed back against my fingers. I pinched tight as I worked the hard bud between her lips and she bit back on one of my nipples as she came with a shudder. Then her head fell back with the softest sigh and I pushed my fingers up into her cunt to feel her clenching around me as her climax subsided.
We lay side by side on the bed, panting, sated and slick with each other’s sweat. I rolled onto my side and studied her. Close up, it was easier to see her age, around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. But twenty-five was still peachy from where I was viewing it.
“Will you bid for me again next year?” I said.
“Would you like me to?”
“Will I have to wait that long?”
Her lopsided smile told me everything.
SUPPORT SERVICE
Sonni de Soto
Sorry”—the big, broad, bald man laid out leather-clad and facedown in a sprawling pose on the low bed beside her, yawned as Reena Lathan stripped his feet of their heavy, black, lace-up work boots and thick, sweat-soaked socks—“they’re a little gross.”
Reena just smiled as she took one foot in her hand and began to tenderly wipe every inch of it with rubbing alcohol. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I’m used to it.” Truth be told, she liked it.
“You’ve been doing this all night?” he asked, his face half crushed into the pillow at the other end of the bed.
“It’s my volunteer hours.” She wiped her hands on a towel before switching feet. “I’ve been offering post-scene foot massages.” To Dommes with tired, over-arched feet in impossibly tall stiletto boots. To bottoms with sore heels and blistered balls from standing and struggling and teetering on bare, abused feet. To Doms whose feet sweltered beneath leather and steel toes. And, as Donovan’s annual fundraising celebration was coming to a close, it had been a long night.
Certainly, Reena was a fan of feet—finding the ridges and planes, the bones and veins, the arch and heel and toes a fascinating study of where a person was, had been, and was going. But, after three hours of aftercare service— three hours of bathing and rubbing and massaging feet of every kind—even her appreciation was being tested.
Even so, she thought as she watched the last few dungeon scenes dwindle down from crescendoing strikes to soothing strokes, she had a job to do. She was grateful for the discounted rates Donovan’s offered to those who volunteered at the club. Lord knew, someone like her— still paying off student loans and barely brushing off the bottom of the mail-sorting, coffee-fetching office ranks— couldn’t afford her loans, her rent, food, and the club dues.
“Three hours of feet, huh?” The Dom whistled and shook his head as much as his prone position would allow. “I couldn’t do it.”
Reena shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She flexed her hands against a raging cramp that had settled in half an hour ago that now burned along the base of her left thumb. “I’m happy to do it.” She started to rub his large feet with her homemade foot oil.
“You got a thing for feet?” the man asked, bending a bit at the waist so he could curl and curve around to look at her.
“No,” she said with a shake of her head, “I don’t have a thing.” She liked feet, sure, but it wasn’t, like, a fetish or anything. She just liked them. That’s all.
Reena closed her eyes and breathed deep, the scent of skin, sweat, and wear mixing with the oil’s sweet citrus and cool mint both calming and invigorating at the same time. She inhaled, letting the scent waft up to her, as she worked it into the toughened flesh. She knew that most people hated the smell of feet, found the idea and the odor of overworked soles offensive. Knew that she ought to also. But there was something indescribably earthy about that scent that intrigued her.
“Oh god,” the Dom groaned in relaxed relief as her fingers dug deep into the flesh of his foot. His feet flexed in her hand, the flesh arching deep, as the rest of his body followed suit. His back bowed and, with his head thrown back, he moaned almost ecstatically. “Thing or not, that is good.”
Reena smiled and pressed her thumbs hard into the heart of his foot, eliciting more low growls of pleasure. She might not have a fetish, but she did have to admit that there was just something about feet that drew her. In the strong, sharp knuckles of his toes, the way those bones snaked like gnarled roots up the rise of his foot. In the coarse, dark hair spattering in patches—thin and sparse as ankle became arch or along each toe—that tickled her palms. In the variety of textures—smooth sole, calluscapped heels, fragile flesh that thinly covered yet securely held the bony bridge together.
“I think you’re done now.” Reena looked down to reach for the fluffy, thick terry cloth towel at her knees when her eye caught sight of a woman. Reena had seen her before. As the dungeon moderator on duty, the woman had been a constant presence in the room all night. One Reena couldn’t help but notice every time the woman had walked about, taking stock and keeping watch over every scene in the space.
“Already?” The man pouted as he stretched his body, shifting the sheet pulled taut over the bed.
“Afraid so.” Reena shook her head even as her eyes never left the woman. She confused Reena, interested her in a way she just couldn’t describe—couldn’t quite pinpoint or understand.
“Well,” she distantly heard the man say, “you are amazing at that. If you’re here again, I’ll definitely take you up on another go.”
“Sure.” Frowning, she began to wipe the Dom’s feet with the towel. The Asian woman wasn’t particularly pretty; not really. Rather plain, if Reena was honest. With no makeup, the woman’s very round, freckled face, that was several shades lighter than Reena’s own olive complexion, seemed flat, none of her features particularly remarkable. Hers were eyes and lips that were made for liners and gloss.
Even her body wasn’t terribly noteworthy. The woman wasn’t overweight, but she was short. With short limbs. A short torso. A short neck that appeared even more so with her head craned constantly downward as she checked the ever-present, buzzing mobile device glowing in her hand.
But, despite all that, there was still something about her that Reena couldn’t stop staring at. Maybe it was the way the woman moved around the room, with such surety and purpose. For such a small frame, this woman had a confidence and competency about her that Reena envied as the woman issued orders.
No, not orders, really; she had perfected the art of asking so that it felt perfectly matter-of-fact, somewhere between a request and a command. As Reena buffed the man’s oiled feet by rote with swift, sure motions of the towel between her hands, she watched the woman’s thin, pale lips speak. She couldn’t hear what the woman was saying, but she could almost read her words in the pull and stretch of her mouth.
“Here.” The Dom pulled out a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet.
“Oh, thank you,” Reena said with a blush as her hands fisted in the towel, “but you don’t have to; this is for volunteer hours.”
The man just smiled, cocking his bald head as he took her hand and placed the bill into her palm. “You earned it, kid.” He closed her fist around it.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling a little guilty for letting her mind wander through the last part of his massage. “Really.”
She pulled back out of his grasp only to have his hands hold her still. She looked at him questioningly.
“Her name’s Elin Hwa,” he told her.
“Excu
se me?” Reena asked.
“Her.” The man jutted his chin toward the Asian woman. “The girl you’ve been staring at all night. She volunteers here too. More hours than just about anyone. Not even for the discounted dues; god knows, she makes enough money. But, then again, she’s just kinda a workaholic to begin with. Good luck to you,” he said over his shoulder, adjusting his heavy bag.
Reena spared the woman one more look before bending low to clean up her space, wiping down the floor with her cleanser before moving to pick up her things.
“Need any help?”
Reena looked up from her hands and knees to see Elin squatting next to her, the bottle of oil in her hand.
Reena’s eyes widened and she felt her face pale. “Um,” she said as she snatched the bottle out of the woman’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” she murmured nervously, clutching the glass bottle in her fist. “I’m sorry if I’m taking too long.” She shrugged and looked around the now almost empty playspace as she said, “You probably want to get out of here.”
“There’s no rush,” she said with a tilt of her head. She tucked her ever-present phone into her pants pocket so she could grab the bottle of rubbing alcohol off the floor.
Well, Reena probably ought to rush a little. Her bus would come soon enough and she still needed to pack up. She reached for her pad on the floor, but stopped when she saw Elin’s shoes.
The chunky, low-heeled loafers were like the woman herself. Sturdy. Practical. Well-made. The designer shoes were fine, carefully crafted leather, treated and shaped by knowing and precise hands. Reena could just imagine Elin choosing them in the store. Holding them in her hands. Slipping them, new and crisp, on her feet. And knowing that they had to be hers. “Nice shoes,” she said softly as she grabbed for her kneeling pillow.
“Thanks,” Elin said. “They’re the most comfortable shoes I own, but even they couldn’t quite stand up to close to seven hours spent mostly on my feet.”
Reena shrugged casually, not quite looking up into Elin’s eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d want a massage?” Gesturing to her things, she said, “I mean, I still have everything out. I could.” She shrugged again, trying to curb the eagerness she felt trying to slip out into her tone. “If you want.”
“Seven hours on my feet,” Elin warned. “It won’t be pretty.”
“That’s all right.” Reena clenched her hands in her lap, almost imagining the feel—the scent, the taste—of her sweat-slicked flesh. The silk of her skin. The shape of her bones. The fight and eventual give of worn, tired muscles. She swallowed hard.
“If you’re sure,” Elin said.
Reena’s eyes widened and her already kneeling legs went weak. Yeah, she was sure.
“Do I have to take off anything?” Elin asked as she kneaded the mattress with her hands testingly.
Uh. That stalled Reena. She blinked and tried not to imagine the woman saying those same words in a different context. She looked Elin up and down, picturing the other woman’s supple body. Her pale, buttermilk skin, slightly freckled like cookie crumbs caught in the sweetest cream. God, what did she say to that? Reena felt her cheeks flush as she swallowed hard again. “Only if you want to.”
Elin sat down on the bed and started to slip off her shoes and socks. Reena’s breath caught as she watched Elin’s small but capable hand cup the back of the shoe’s heel before sliding it off her foot with a slight, soft moan. She watched the stockinged foot flex and point, the motion fluid as it flowed from toe to heel. Still bent on the floor, inches from Elin’s foot, Reena could smell the scent of sweat, could practically feel heat coming off her sole.
Reena bit her bottom lip as the woman grabbed the tip of her stockings and pulled, shedding the sheer black from her feet like a second, silken skin, revealing pale, perfect legs.
Elin’s hands paused a moment before she reached for the side clasp of her pants. “Well,” she said as she slid the zipper down, “I don’t want to get oil or anything on my pants, so I’d better take them off, at least.”
Reena inhaled sharply while she watched Elin skim off the tailored cloth. Over sloping hips barely covered by silken, lace-trimmed pink. Sturdy thighs. Sweet, strong calves. Thin, almost fragile ankles. While short, her legs were grace in motion, made to run and dance and move. The smooth, shapely limbs were made to curl and wrap and squeeze. Reena could almost feel their warmth and strength around her hips, her waist, her shoulders.
She reached toward Elin to grab her foot, catching— cradling—her heel in the palm of her hand. The skin of her ankle was satiny soft, delicate against Reena’s fingertips. But her heel was tougher, well worn. World worn. Like armor forged with every footstep she’d taken, a natural shield.
Reena breathed deep as she let her hand slide along the landscape of Elin’s foot, feeling the dip of her arch, her ball’s calloused cushion, the secret space between each toe. She knew that she ought to clean the sweat from Elin’s skin, just as she had with the Dom earlier and all the others tonight. But the idea of wiping away the scent of her—warm and raw with just a sweet tang of sweat— made her frown. Reena worried her bottom lip between her teeth, her tongue feeling large behind the trap of her teeth, and wondered at the woman’s taste.
“What is it?” Elin leaned over to look at her wiggling toes. “I hope they’re not too bad.”
They were beautiful. “They’re fine,” Reena assured her as she let go of Elin’s feet so she could reach for her towels and bottles. “Just relax.”
“I suppose you’ve probably seen worse tonight.” The Asian woman sat back a bit to lean on her arms as Reena began to cleanse her feet with the alcohol.
“Everyone deserves a little pampering after a long night.” Reena shrugged and slid her soaked cloth between each delicate toe.
“A little aftercare.” Elin flexed her foot to give Reena better access. “Absolutely.” A soft moan hummed in the back of Elin’s throat when Reena began to dry her feet, making Reena’s belly tighten at the sweet, longing sound. “You know, I remember seeing your name on tonight’s volunteer list and thinking that it was an amazing service to offer,” she said as Reena began to pour oil into her palm, “but wondering what kind of person would sign up to do it.” She leaned forward again to watch her.
Reena bit her lip, knowing Elin was looking at her— studying and analyzing her—feeling that gaze on the top of her bowed head. Trying to puzzle out the kind of person she was. Without looking up, Reena just focused on the feet in front of her. She grabbed the right one in both hands, wrapping her fingers around the bridge so she could run her thumbs over the smooth arch. Softly. Reverently. A bit nervously really.
“I remember thinking,” Elin continued as Reena gently rubbed her sole, “that you must just really like feet.”
Reena winced, opening her mouth to protest, as her grip reflexively tightened on Elin’s foot, jamming the pad of her thumb harder against the woman’s arch.
“Mmm,” Elin moaned, making Reena’s head pop up at the rich, melodic sound. “Right there,” Elin directed with her head thrown back, flexing her foot as she forced it further on Reena’s fingers. “That’s good.”
Tentatively, Reena pressed harder, sinking her thumb deeper into her soft, giving skin. Her eyes widened when the woman’s back bowed and a groan—thick and low— slipped gratifyingly from her throat. Wanting to hear that sound again—louder, longer—Reena gripped the foot in her hand harder and rolled her fist against the arch, her knuckles grinding into the flesh as it flexed under her hands.
“Oh god,” Elin gasped as her arms bent to lower her so she rested on her elbows. “Keep doing that, please.”
So Reena did, moving to her other foot to knead it with her fist as Elin moaned and tensed. Reena looked up the long length of Elin’s leg, her gaze catching on the pretty pink of the woman’s panties between her soft, creamy thighs. As if of their own volition, her hands crept up from Elin’s feet to her ankle, from her calf to her knee. Rubbing and massaging the sweet flesh
in her hands while Elin made sweeter sounds that urged her on.
Slowly, as subtly as she could manage, Reena scooted closer before her hands worked up the moaning dungeon moderator’s thighs. Higher and higher. Inch by tantalizing inch. A part of her was waiting for Elin to stop her. For her to realize who was touching her and where. For her to storm off or at least tell her to stop.
But she didn’t. She just leaned back as the muscles in her leg became limp and relaxed under Reena’s touch while inviting sighs and demanding groans tripped off her tongue.
Swallowing hard, Reena stretched her fingers to just barely brush the lace of her panties.
“Ah-ah,” Elin tsked as she pointed her foot, pushing her toes against Reena’s chest to shove her a leg’s-length away. Reena held her breath when Elin’s foot slid up so she could grab the collar of her shirt with her toes. “Polite people ask before touching,” she said, her soft, dulcet voice gaining a menacing edge as she pulled Reena closer with her toes. “Right?”
Reena gulped and nodded. “I-I’m sorry,” she winced and stuttered. Her whole body froze as she was tugged toward the now steely-eyed woman. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m so sorry.”
“Hmmm.” Elin narrowed her gaze, trailing her manicured big toe to tip Reena’s chin up. “You know, I almost believe you.” Reena felt Elin’s sharp, thin toenail bite into her skin, the threat making her jaw tighten as she tried to swallow. “Almost.”
Reena gasped when Elin flexed her foot and kicked her firmly in the chest. Surprised, Reena fell onto her back. She looked up to see Elin stand tall. Balling her fists on her hips, the suddenly stern woman stepped over Reena’s knee pad. Stepped between her legs. Then planted her feet on either side of her waist. Reena stared up at her from the floor, feeling tiny in comparison to this short yet towering figure. “I think,” Elin said, raising one foot to place it on Reena’s chest again, applying pressure—just enough to make Reena sweat and her heart pound, “I need to be sure.” Pressing down a bit more, Elin grinned as Reena began to squirm. “I think you should convince me.”