Fanchon's Book(41)

There. It was done.

But was it? Then why should I feel so guilty? As if I had caught myself in a breach of faith, somehow, an unwitting act of treason. I had obeyed punctiliously but hardly more than that; surely I could do a better job of showing how much I wanted to be her slave. Her willing slave.

I knew I had to do it again. But earnestly this time de bonne grace, and humbly, not as a duty but as a privilege: her beautiful feet were inside those starkly austere pumps… I lowered my face slowly, taking lingering consolation m my sudden sensation of humility, and then at last pressed my open mouth to the leather…

It warmed to my moist contact; there was a tiny movement, a wriggling of toes, an obviously amicable acknowledgment of the penetrating heat of my kiss-and abruptly, like an instantaneous reflex, I felt the familiar tug-and-strain in the pit of my belly. The sex urge. Pure lust. Incisive and overwhelming, even though my lips were barricaded from the essential stimulus of my beloved's bare flesh.

Strange?

Not really. Novel, yes, but far from ambiguous: it was only another benchmark in the broad latitude of my sensuality. If I could find pleasure in pain (and my martyred nipple still tingled!) then why should I be mystified by the discovery of a flair for fetishism?

I licked the leather assiduously, polishing the smooth surface with my tongue. In a burst of wanton initiative I lavished a profusion of kisses upon the slim heel-and had she so indicated, I would have sucked it into my mouth avidly. Perhaps I might even have swabbed and swallowed the dust from the sole, that was how aroused I had become, how deeply I had sunk into the unfathomed inferno of this new and deliciously degrading form of slavish devotion. But her feet remained rooted to the floor and I could only transfer my attention to the other shoe, treating it just as zealously, just as obsequiously, just as"Fanchon… " A whisper.

Her hand slipped beneath the table. Throbbing anticipation turned my answering moan into a quaver; I thought she was going to hoist her skirt and grant me the ultimate joy. How eagerly I would have scrambled between her thighs and nosed my way up into the scented softness! But no, her cupped palm stopped in front of my face and I heard her voice again, curiously calm, a soothing murmur.

"Eat this, dear."

I tasted it. Sticky sweet-the dessert, a blob of it-and I suffered a quantum of queasiness: I had no need of such sugary mush, overly rich, cloying; my palate was prepared for a more pungent prize. But it was there, and she ruled me even when her tone was gentle, and I lapped the gooey mess from her hand.

"You can come out now, Fanchon. Uh, wait. Let me make sure no one is watching. Okay, all clear. Get back up on your chair."

It seemed like a long haul, but I got there speedily enough. Out of breath, I sat for a long moment and then picked up the napkin to wipe my mouth.

She frowned. "You didn't like it?"

"Sorry, darling. Not the sweet stuff."

"Oh? My mistake, then. I was only trying to be nice to you. I gave you some of my dessert just to kill the taste. After all, well, shoe leather… "

"Is that why? I wondered. But darling, they were y our shoes. I didn't mind kissing them. When your toes wiggled, I even got excited; couldn't you feel me using my tongue? Everything of yours tastes good."

"Really? Everything? I must remember that. Although I doubt if it's true." Then, with a mischievous giggle, "What's that you're drinking? Cognac? Let me try some."

"Of course. I can order another one if-"

"No. I want yours. Uh-huh… " Still smiling impishly, she took the glass and sipped. "Not bad. But I'll make it even better. Just for you."