The Businessman Who Knelt at My Feet

I met him at one of those dinners my father’s partners organize when they want to close a deal without it looking like they’re closing a deal. Linen tablecloth, glasses worth more than my rent, boring conversations about investments and properties. I went because my mother had asked me to, not because I cared about any of it.

His name was Aurelio. He was in his late fifties, with graying hair slicked back with a precision that cost money. Dark blue suit, heavy watch, that air of a man people are used to going quiet for when he speaks. When they introduced us, he shook my hand firmly and held my gaze a second too long.

I sat across from him, almost diagonally. I was wearing a short black dress and thin-strap sandals that left my feet bare. That same afternoon I had painted my nails a deep red, without really thinking about why.

I didn’t take long to notice.

Aurelio talked about margins and funds with his usual confidence, but his eyes kept wandering. Not to my neckline, not to my mouth. To my feet. Every time I crossed my legs under the table, his gaze would drop as if pulled by a magnet, linger a little too long on my ankles, on the instep, on the red nails, and then climb back up with a guilt that fascinated me.

I’ve got him, I thought.

I started to play. I uncrossed my legs slowly. I let one sandal dangle from the tips of my toes, swaying it just a little. I stretched my leg out under the table like someone loosening up. Every movement I made was a sentence meant only for him, and he read it all, over and over, while pretending to listen to my father talk about interest rates.

—So what do you do? —he asked me at some point, trying to regain control of the situation.

—I observe —I replied, and held his gaze until he looked away.

Dessert arrived and I let my napkin fall. It wasn’t an accident. I pushed it with two fingers to the edge of the table and watched it slip to the floor, right beside him.

—Allow me —he said at once.

He bent down. And for a second, his face was level with my feet, no more than a handspan away. I watched him inhale. I watched him close his eyes for a split second, as if he wanted to keep something. When he straightened and handed me back the napkin, his cheeks were flushed and a pulse showed in his neck. I also felt, between my legs, my panties suddenly soaking wet: not because of him, but because of the power I was starting to feel over him.

—Thank you —I said, smiling faintly.

Now I was sure.

***

Dinner went on late into the night. The house where we were staying that evening was enormous, one of those country residences with an interior garden and far too many rooms. When the others began to retire, I said good night too, but I didn’t go up to sleep.

I waited half an hour in my room, barefoot, my heart beating faster than I wanted to admit. I took off my panties and left them on the bed. I wanted to feel the cool air between my thighs, I wanted to go to him with my cunt bare under my dress, knowing what I knew and knowing he wouldn’t know until I decided he would. Then I went downstairs.

I found him in the garden, just as I’d suspected. He was standing by the dry fountain, smoking, jacket off and shirt open at the neck. Moonlight was falling across his face. When he heard me arrive, he turned, and something in his expression changed: the businessman’s confidence had gone to bed with the others.

—You couldn’t sleep —he said. It wasn’t a question.

—Neither could you —I replied.

I approached slowly. The grass was cool under my bare feet. There was an iron chair beside the fountain and I sat in it, unhurried, crossing one leg over the other so my foot would be on display.

He said nothing. But his gaze went there again, exactly where I wanted it.

—You’ve been staring at my feet all night —I said softly—. You thought I didn’t notice?

Aurelio put out his cigarette against the stone rim. His hand was trembling slightly.

—I don’t know what you mean.

—Yes, you do.

I stretched out my leg and rested the sole of my foot, gently, on his thigh. I didn’t push. I just left it there, a light pressure, a statement. Under the fabric of his trousers I immediately felt a hard, throbbing bulge, his cock already swelling from something that hadn’t even started. He went completely still, as if any movement might break the spell.

—You can touch them —I said—. If you ask nicely.

He swallowed. I saw him fighting against himself, against years of being the one who gave orders, the one who decided, the one who signed. And I saw him lose.

—Please —he murmured—. Let me… let me touch them.

—Lower.

—Please.

I moved my foot away a couple of inches, just enough for him to understand that I was the one granting permission. Then I rested it again, this time closer, right over the hard cock beneath the cloth, and nodded. I pressed just a little with the sole, and he let out a rough moan, as if it hurt with pleasure.

His hands closed around my ankle with a delicacy I hadn’t expected from such a big man. He held it the way you hold something fragile and expensive. He ran his thumb along the arch, slowly, following the curve. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding for God knows how long.

—They’re the most beautiful feet I’ve ever seen in my life —he said, and his voice broke a little.

—I know —I answered.

***

He knelt without my asking.

A man in his fifties, one of those who walk into a room and everybody stands up, kneeling on the damp grass in front of an iron chair, at my feet. The sight ran through me completely, a hot current that surprised me with its intensity. I felt my cunt clench in a spasm and a warm trail of wetness slide down the inside of my thigh. It wasn’t only that he was surrendering. It was how much he needed it, and how much I needed it too, even if from the other side.

He brought my foot to his mouth and kissed it. The instep first, then the ankle, then each toe one by one, with a devotion that seemed religious. He opened his lips and took my big toe all the way into his mouth, sucking it like a little cock, circling the red nail with his tongue, blowing me with obscene slowness. He moved to the others, one after another, salivating over them, swallowing my toes up to the knuckle. His hot tongue climbed along my arch, sank between my toes, licked my whole sole from top to bottom, and a shiver shot through my cunt like a whip crack.

He bit gently at the edge of my heel, gasping, and his hands kept trembling as they held my ankles. He brought my other foot up to his face and rubbed his cheek against the instep, then against my lips, and went back to sucking, this time all the toes at once, mouth open and drool running down his chin.

—You have no idea what you do to me —he murmured against my skin—. Tell me what you want. Anything. Just let me keep going.

I leaned forward, without taking my foot out of his hands.

—I want you to understand one thing —I said—. This isn’t free.

He raised his face. There was confusion in his eyes and, beneath it, something very much like hope.

—Whatever you want —he said.

—You like this. Serving. Worshipping. Being underneath, for once in your life. —I brushed his lip with the tip of my big toe and he kissed it by reflex, then sucked it whole, eyes closed—. And it’s going to cost you. Because the things that are worth something get paid for.

—Yes —he said, almost relieved, with my toe still sliding between his lips—. Yes, anything. Ask me for anything.

Something in the way he said it lit me up inside. It wasn’t humiliation he was feeling. It was freedom. For one night, he didn’t have to decide anything, didn’t have to be anyone. Just obey. And I liked discovering how good I was at giving orders.

I leaned back against the chair and opened my legs slowly, letting him see for the first time what was beneath the dress. No panties. My shaved cunt, shining with wetness in the moonlight, the lips parted and swollen. I watched him lose his breath all at once.

—Look at me properly —I told him—. You’re not touching this. Not with your hand, not with your mouth. This is for looking. Feet get sucked. Understood?

—Yes —he panted—. Yes, ma’am.

I brought one hand down and stroked my cunt lips with two fingers in front of his face, spreading them, showing him my swollen pink clit. I pushed them inside for a moment and pulled them out shining, strings of slick hanging between them. I brought them up to his mouth.

—Open.

He opened. I shoved my two fingers all the way to the back of his throat and he sucked them with a guttural moan, tasting me, breathing through his nose so he wouldn’t miss a single drop. I pulled them out slowly, with a wet smack.

—That’s all you’re going to taste of that tonight —I said—. Now keep going with the feet. And don’t stop until I say so.

***

He obeyed with a hunger I had never seen in anyone.

He licked my feet as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world. He moved from one to the other, kissing them, sucking them, burying his face between my toes and breathing deeply, lost. He slid his tongue between my toes as if he were eating my cunt, coating me in saliva until my ankles were shining with spit. He took three of my toes at once into his mouth and sucked them with sunken cheeks, moaning, while his other hand went to his fly.

He opened his trousers without asking, clumsy, and pulled out his cock. It was hard, thick, the tip red, wet with a viscous fluid that glistened on the head. He started to masturbate with one hand, jerking himself off in a desperate rhythm while he kept sucking my toes with the other mouth occupied, moaning against my skin a low, animal sound that bounced through the garden’s silence.

I watched him from above, absolute owner of that moment. I pressed my foot gently against his chest and pushed just enough to remind him who was setting the pace. Then I lowered the other foot and put it on his cock, pressing it against his belly with the arch. I felt it hot, hard as iron, throbbing against my skin.

—Take your hand off —I ordered—. Now you’re going to jack yourself off with my feet. And only while I let you.

He let go of his cock at once and left it trapped between my two feet. I began to move them, slowly, one foot underneath and the other on top, sliding over his wet cock, squeezing it with my soles, wrapping it with my arches. The tip peeked between my toes, red, dripping. He was trembling, hands open in the air not knowing what to do with them, mouth open, a string of saliva hanging down to his shirt.

—Look at me —I said.

He lifted his eyes, glassy, mouth parted and wet.

—Do you like being like this? —I asked—. On your knees? Asking? Jerking off with the feet of one of your partners’ daughters?

—Yes —he panted—. I’ve never… I’ve never felt anything like this.

I squeezed harder, sliding my feet up and down his cock, faster, feeling the whole length tense, the foreskin sliding up and down over the soaked head. I put two fingers in his mouth and he sucked them without hesitation, eyes closed, while his cock pulsed between my feet. He was right on the edge. I could feel it in the way he shook, in the way his breathing broke into pieces, in the way his balls tightened.

—Not yet —I said, and pulled my fingers out, and suddenly separated my feet, leaving his cock exposed, throbbing, alone, with nothing touching it—. You’ll come when I allow it. And you’ll do it where I tell you.

—Please… please, I can’t hold it…

—You can.

He stayed there panting, cock bare in the air, trembling from head to toe, not daring to bring a hand to it. I let him suffer for a long minute. I enjoyed his impatience, the way that man who was used to waiting for nothing was now hanging on a single word from me, his hard red cock dangling, dripping pre-cum onto the grass.

Then I opened my legs wider, stroked my clit slowly with two fingers in front of him, letting him watch me come without being able even to bring his face close. I took my time. I rubbed in slow, tight circles until my cunt started to throb. I slid my fingers inside and pulled them out streaming, slapped my clit with the palm of my hand, moaned softly just for him, knowing every sound I made was a knife in his desperate cock. When the orgasm surged up my legs, I arched my back against the iron chair, clenched my thighs and came in silence, biting my lip, my eyes locked on his.

I came down from the cloud slowly. I brought my feet together in front of his face, pressed them against each other, forming a cradle with the soles and insteps, and lowered my voice.

—Now. On my feet. And while you do it, don’t stop looking at me.

He grabbed his cock with his hand, closed his fist around it and started to jerk off over my feet, fast, brutal, without dignity, mouth open and eyes fixed on mine. Three, four, five strokes and he was done. With a muffled groan that seemed to tear something out of him from very deep inside, he came in shudders, never once breaking eye contact with me. I felt the first hot jet slap against the instep, then another over my toes, then a third that slid down his hand and filled my arch. His cum was thick, white, abundant, much more than I would have expected from a man his age.

He, even so, kept kissing them, licking his own semen off my toes, swallowing it, murmuring between gasps that they were the most beautiful feet he had ever touched in his life, thank you, please let him come back. He ran his tongue over my instep, cleaning me, sucking every drop off me, and I let him because I liked seeing him like that, humiliating himself all on his own, without needing me to ask.

When he finished, he stayed there, on his knees, exhausted, his forehead against my leg and his breathing ragged, his cock still out of his trousers, already soft and dripping the last threads onto the grass.

***

I let him recover for a few seconds. Then I lifted my foot calmly, stood up, and looked down at him. He was still on the ground, disheveled, shirt open, the powerful man from dinner turned into something entirely different.

—That was nice —I said, smoothing my dress.

—Can I… can I see you again? —he asked, and there was something almost childlike in the question.

I bent just enough to be level with him and held his chin with two fingers.

—If you want to touch them again —I said slowly, so each word would stay carved into him—, you’re going to have to beg for it. And you’re going to have to pay for it. Double.

I saw his eyes flare again, that desire that didn’t go out even when emptied. He nodded, like someone accepting a deal he didn’t want to escape.

I straightened, turned my back on him and walked barefoot back to the house, feeling the cold grass under my feet and his semen still warm drying on my instep, and his gaze fixed on me until the very last step.

That night I learned something about myself I could never forget: it didn’t turn me on to be wanted. It turned me on to decide.