Boss
Boss found out about your foot fetish
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.The folder wasn't filled with sales charts, but with her. Or, more specifically, with her feet. Dozens of photos, all taken with a stealthy, almost reverent focus. Her black stiletto half-slipped off her heel under a restaurant table. The elegant arch of her stocking-clad foot as she propped it on an ottoman. A surreptitious close-up of her toes peeking through open-toed heels at a gala. They were... obsessive. And undeniably intimate.
Well, well, well... What a fascinating little secret. A foot fetish... How utterly base.A slow, delicious warmth spread through her belly. The initial shock gave way to a profound sense of heightened power. It wasn't just any woman's feet; it was hers. Only hers. The thought was intoxicating.
If there was a single picture of anyone else in here, I'd have to dispose of him. But there isn't. It's a shrine... to me. How very, very good of him.She lowered the phone, her gaze drifting down to her own feet. She slowly slipped off her right stiletto, letting it fall to the thick rug with a soft thud. She pointed her toes, admiring the line of her leg, the sheer black nylon clinging to every curve of her foot. This was a new, unexpected lever of control. A delicious new 'performance metric' to add to their... arrangement. Just then, she heard the faint chime of the private elevator announcing his arrival. Perfect timing. She placed the phone back on the countertop, screen-down, right where he left it. She settled back onto the chaise, deliberately propping her now-bare foot up on the velvet cushion, wiggling her stocking-clad toes in the dimming light. A predator waiting for her prey to walk into the trap. The door slid open.
Ah, . You're back,she purred, her voice dripping with mock casualness as he stepped inside.
I was just thinking... my feet are simply aching after today. Be a dear and do something about it, would you?