Friday Night Part Six by Anonymous

Friday Night  part six

She smoothed her hair as she glanced sideways at the boy.  Absorbed in his task, he didn't notice.  He bent over the silver silk shoe, carefully dabbing the sole and heel pad with a cloth soaked in matacide.  She never walked in these shoes. They were spotless. The soles gleamed. The gems encrusted in the silk sparkled under the bright light he'd focused on his work table.

She squinted at the dainty gold and diamond watch on her wrist.  Too vain to wear her glasses, the watch functioned as jewelry, rather than a useful time piece.

"What time is it, boy?"

"It's nearly seven o'clock, Padrona," he answered.

She smiled.  He used to call her "mistress", but recently she'd asked him to use the Spanish word instead.  He didn't roll the "r" the way her old servants did.  She'd have to remind him to improve his pronunciation.

Leaning back in her chair, she streched out her long legs.

"Are these stockings too greyish?" she wondered.  She asked the boy's opinion.

"It wont' be this bright in the dungeon.  I think they'll match to the shoes, when we're there."

"When we're there..."

Her voice drifted off.  She wiggled her toes and moved her foot to his thigh, inching up it to his crotch.

He felt her big toe poking him in the balls, gently, tickling him in the groin..  He tried to stay still, felt the blood rushing down.  Her feet were as supple, as dextrous as her hands. He should not be surprised by now, by her agility, but he was, every time.

He looked up from his work at her face.  She was still staring at her stockings. Her toe continued to move, though she didn't seem to be controlling it.  Like a blind worm, seeking to mate with his own blind worm.  Disconcerting.  He stiffened as the toe dug deep into his right ball.

"Are you nearly done with that?  We need to finish packing the bag; it's getting late."

"Yes, Padrona. Just done now."

He put the shoes in their matching silk bag, pulled the strings tight and set them inside the black leather bag on the table.

She nodded.  Her curly red hair swung around her shoulders as she stood up, looked for her coat and motioned the boy. He brought her street shoes, holding each one out for her to slip into.  He held up her coat, she slipped it on too.

They stood by the front door.

"Ready?" she said.
"Yes, Padrona"

He looked down at her street shoes and felt his balls aching. How much more they would they ache, when they returned?  The heels of her silver shoes would cut his groin, the weight of the spotless soles on his balls would be agony.  He smiled and opened the front door