The Making (By Onewhoadores)

            It had been a disappointing night, but that had not been unexpected.  I had reluctantly gone to the party only after the repeated urgings and pleas from my only close friend, who was the host.  He was throwing his annual extravaganza, and I guess that he felt that my being somewhat well known, and occasionally mentioned in the media as being ‘enigmatic’ and even ‘mysterious’, would somehow enhance his already very large attendance list, which actually already included much better known and regarded personages.

 

            I was in my late thirties, and years earlier had been in the right place at the right time with the right innovation in the information tech explosion, and had made a fortune that would keep anyone beyond financially comfortable and secure for many lifetimes.  But I had no desire in becoming one of those tech oligarchs absorbed primarily in accumulating ever more wealth and power.  Of a surety, some few did good works along the way, but that was usually ancillary to what had become their major focus.

 

            I had always been far more interested in creativity and innovation, with their frequent and inevitable failings, which became less and less acceptable as greater success was achieved.  And so, when I reached that point, well after my financial status had been somewhat serendipitously attained, I withdrew from the power corridors of the ever growing tech colossus in which I had been an early part, and began to dabble once again in the thought processes that had originally set me on my way.  I also began to search out and quietly fund research and start-ups of those with similar strivings and ideas.  And, as is usually the case, my money itself begat even more money, which also allowed me to set up and help support a number of philanthropic organizations.  It was only all of this that gave me any semblance of satisfaction in life

 

            It had never been understood to the public who might be interested, why I had so voluntarily ceded my position in that world.  I had become, and could have always been a growing Master of that Universe.  Descriptions of me as being aloof, arrogant, even a recluse, abounded.  Enigmatic and mysterious were the kinder labels.  In truth, being a master of any universe was the opposite of my nature.  And while I was in no way a recluse, in reality I was totally socially inept, much of that due to my innate shyness, and my ever present sense of personal unworth.

 

            “You have to come this year.” My friend had cajoled me.  “Do it for me.  And who knows, with the number of people coming, maybe you’ll finally find Miss Right.”

 

            Ah yes, Miss Right.  I knew, of course, that he wanted my attendance more to burnish his own image and reputation as a power broker who could get difficult things done.  But he was a long time friend, one of my few, and I had refused him too often in the past. So, in a moment of weakness I finally had acceded this year to his request.

 

            But finding Miss Right?  I knew that was never likely to happen.  Not that I didn’t have such a desire, or that I was anything other than hetero.  I had had a few forays into interpersonal relationships over the years, and they had always been disastrous. And I have always been able to acknowledge that the fault for such has ever been my own, and lay within me.  Try as I might, I had never been able to get beyond my one driven passion for one particular desire.  I have an insatiable and all-encompassing fetish for a woman’s feet.  I am in awe of them, in reverence of them, and seem to want nothing more in my sexual being than to worship and care for them.  This one need always overwhelms any ability which I might have to interact in any meaningful and compatible way with any woman I am with.  Needless to say, once this becomes readily evident to any of the few ladies with whom I have made the attempt, it rapidly leads to a quick end.  Whether this is because they are disgusted by its underlying nature or not, they accurately perceive that this could never be the basis for an ongoing relationship.  And so, in recent years I have made no further attempts, and except for an occasional dalliance with a professional, which slightly fills a need but never the void, I have relegated that aspect of my life, no matter how yearning it may be, to views on the internet, and the cold comfort of my hand.

 

            It was thus with no expectations that I attended my friend’s party.  He had over two hundred guests, and the party extended into most of the lower floor rooms of his rather large estate.  In one of the bigger rooms, he had a small ensemble providing pleasant background music.  Most of the other rooms also had their own makeshift bars with bartender, and there was a never-ending supply of circulating attendants with a variety of finger foods.  Other than exchanging some superficial pleasantries with the few people there with whom I was personally acquainted, I soon set about to spend the rest of the next several hours in awkward tedium waiting for an appropriate time to leave.

 

            And then I saw Her.  There was certainly no paucity of attractive, and even gorgeous women in attendance, and there were a few upon whom I did cast momentary surreptitious peeks downward.  But she was different.  As so many others there, she was not unattractive, indeed she was stunning in her simple yet sleek black dress that fell just below her knees. But what made her inordinately special to my eyes was what came below … flawless bare legs that tapered down to alluringly slender ankles, and the most divine feet I had ever encountered.  They were perfectly proportioned, from her heels through her high arches to her exquisitely pedicured toes.

 

            She wore thinly strapped, open-toed, low back, four-inch, not quite stiletto heels.  When I first saw her, she was sitting on a high barstool lightly conversing with a gentleman next to her, with one of her legs crossed over the other, and her shoe dangling and swaying in a slow, almost sensuous rhythm as she talked.  The effect was hypnotic, at least to me, and I had to wrench my attention painfully away before it became too apparent.  But when she stood and began to move around to other rooms to interact with others, I found myself following at a distance, trying to catch further glimpses of her glorious peds.  I never sought to engage her and thus ruin the spell with my social inadequacy.  Finally, after many such wanderings behind her, I broke away to stop torturing myself with unachievable longings.  I entered one on the smaller rooms, where the crowd had markedly thinned, and sat down at the far end of one of the corner couches to await the time when I could more comfortably feel that my obligation had been filled and I could leave.

 

            It was in the blind contemplation of counting down the minutes to that time, staring at the side wall, when I was startled out of my oblivion by someone sitting down next to me, barely an arms-length away.  When I turned to see, I was even more stunned.  It was her.

 

            “May I sit down here?” she asked, which seemed more than strange, as she already had.

 

            “Um … ah … yes … of course” I stammered incoherently in reply.

 

            “Thank you.” She answered with a small smile.  I became even more flustered as an expectant silence seemed to grow between us, as I could think of nothing more to say.  She finally took the reins of our encounter.

 

            “I have to admit that I couldn’t help but notice how you have been gazing at my feet all evening.”

 

            I was taken even further aback.  Gazing?!?!  Furtively glancing perhaps.  Or, I guess, maybe not so furtively at times, as I had become so entranced this time that my usual peeping had not been so diligently covert as usual.

 

            “No … ah … I mean … I’m sorry … I mean … ah … please forgive me.” I stuttered out.

 

            “It’s alright.” She said, and then with a more encouraging smile, asked, “Do you think I have pretty feet?”

 

            Caught out as I was, I had no ability to deny.  “They’re beautiful.” I breathed.

 

            Her smile became dazzling.  “Thank you.  I like to think so as well.”  She paused for a moment before continuing.  “I do so appreciate a man who admires a woman’s feet.  I suspect there are many such out there, but so few seem to act upon it.”  Her smile now turned to a small frown.  “That may be though because too few women let themselves overcome their initial reluctance and allow themselves to recognize the joys that can come of it.”  Her smile returned.  “But I am not one of those.” She declared. “I am always ‘stimulated’ when a man pays attention to my feet, and fully embraces all that comes with it.”  She paused once again, and then.  “My name is Sariana, by the way.  And you’re …?”

 

            “Rhett.” I answered.

 

            “As in Rhett Butler?” she inquired mischievously.

 

            “My mother was a huge fan of that movie.” I smiled somewhat sheepishly.

 

            “So was my Mom and Gram.” She exclaimed.  “Now we have something else in common.”

 

            I tingled internally as I tried to wrap my mind around that last statement, and what it might portend.

 

            “Well, it’s been very nice meeting you, Rhett,” she added suddenly, “but the party does seem to be winding down, and I have to arrange for an Uber to take me home.”

 

            Just as suddenly, not wanting this meeting to end, and shocking myself, I blurted out. “I have my car here, and I’d be happy to drive you home.”

 

            She looked at me intently for a long moment.  “How very gallant of you. I think I would like that very much” she concluded.  “Shall we go?”  With that she rose off the couch and began to walk away, and I hurried to follow.  A short minute later we were giving our thanks and bidding our goodnights to our host, and after she walked by, he gave me a grin and a small thumbs up.  Surprising myself again, I began to hope that it wouldn’t become a big thumbs down from her later.

 

            It was about a thirty-minute drive to her home, and the time passed in a blink and a blur.  We talked the entire way, mostly with her asking me questions about myself, and I was astounded at many of the things that I related that I had never discussed with anyone before.  Maybe it was not so startling, as she already seemed to know my innermost secret.  She also revealed a few things about herself, that she lived alone, that she had no siblings, that her father had died the year before, her mother a number of years earlier, and that she now ran and was growing a small business that her father had started several years before.

 

            Her house was of modest size, in a very nice neighborhood.  After I pulled into her driveway, I hopped out of the car and hurried around to open the car door for her to let her out, much as I had done at the start to let her in.

 

            “Gallant once again.  Thank you.” She said as she stepped out.  She paused a moment before giving me a very warm smile.  “I just want to say once again, Rhett, that it has been very nice and I have enjoyed meeting and talking to you tonight.  But these heels have been killing me though.  They may look nice but they’re very uncomfortable, and after being in them all night my feet are very tired and sore, so I need to say goodnight, and get inside to get them off and rub down my feet.”

 

            “I can help you with that.”

 

            I was instantly mortified with this almost involuntary outburst, even as such thoughts had been in the back of my mind for the entire drive.  I just never could have imagined that I would ever give a voice to them.  She regarded me for several long seconds before her smile brightened even more.

 

            “Oh my.” she enthused.  “That would really be lovely.  I think I would like that very much.  Come, follow me.”  And with that she turned and proceeded to her front door.  It took me a stunned few more seconds before I hastened after.

 

            The inside of her home was cozy and warm.  After giving me a brief tour of the first floor, the kitchen, dining room, and den, we finally entered a rather spacious living room.  She went over a sat down in one of the plush easy chairs, settled back and crossed one of her legs over the knee of the other, and let her shoe dangle off the front of her foot.

 

            “I do believe that you offered …” she indicated.

 

            I needed no further invitation.  I went down onto my knees before her, and carefully removed both of her heels.  I then took that first foot into my hands.  It was warm and slightly moist from its long enclosure.  Using all of my other fingers to hold the top of her foot, with both of my thumbs I began to slowly press and rotate with increasing firmness, first on the ball, then after some time, down into the arch, followed later around her heel before proceeding up the outer side back up to her toes where, with my thumb and forefinger I gave each one individual attention.  I repeated this process a number of times before doing all the same with her other foot.

 

            It was while on her second foot that I heard her first contented sigh.  My entire focus had been on her feet to that point, but I then risked a glance upwards to find that her head was held back and her eyes were closed, with a look of total serenity on her face.  A palpable thrill ran through me that I could be providing her such comfort, and spurred me to redouble my efforts, as I alternated between both of her feet several more times, before she finally stirred and brought her foot from my grasp and placed it on the floor.

 

            “That was truly heavenly, Rhett.”  she offered.  “I don’t think that my feet have ever felt so … relaxed.  How can I thank you?”

 

            I knew how, without a shred of doubt, but it took all of my courage to ask.

 

            “May I … may I please… possibly … kiss your feet?”

 

            Her smile was now one of beneficence.

 

            “I think you’ve certainly earned that.” she answered.  “You may.”

 

            Exhilarated beyond coherent thought, I slowly bent down toward the floor and brought my lips gently, reverently, to the top of her foot.  I let it linger there as long as I dared, inhaling in her scent as well as her taste, before moving on to perform the same obeisance to her other foot.  As I finally … achingly … forced myself to pull up and away, she spoke once again.

 

            “A girl could really get used to all of this very quickly.” She said softly.  “Might this all be something you’d like to do again, Rhett?”

 

            “Oh God yes, Sariana.” I practically moaned.

 

            “So would I, I think.” she replied.  She took several long moments, as if trying to decide and then, “Why don’t you come back here next Friday evening, say around 7.  I think that after a long week at work, my feet will be more than ready to be pampered so again.”

 

            “I’ll be here.” I promised.

 

            “Wonderful.” She said.  Another long pause.  “There is one condition, though.” she abruptly added.

 

            “What is that?” I immediately asked, trying desperately to keep the edge of panic from my voice that it all may still fall away.

 

            “I can see by the bulge in your pants how excited you’ve been through all of this.”  I felt my face reddening.  “I think I would like it very much if you didn’t try to relieve yourself of that tonight after you leave.  Indeed, if you didn’t relieve yourself in that regard at all for the entire week until you return.  That would please me a great deal, and I think it will make the experience for both of us next Friday all that much more … enticing.  Do you think you’ll be able to do that?  For me?”

 

            “I will.” I swore.

 

            “Good.  Very good.  That will make me very happy.” she concluded.  “And now Rhett, I think it really is time to say goodnight.  Until Friday, then.”

 

             I fervently agreed.  “Until Friday.”

 

***********

           

            It didn’t take me long to realize how difficult it was going to be for me to keep that final pledge, both that night, and for the rest of the week.  Especially as the events of that evening kept playing over and over again in my head.  My mind was in an almost continual state of arousal, and my body not very much less.  I tried to distract myself with my tech research, both my own and of others for whom I might give support.  But I found it impossible to maintain the concentration needed for such intricate considerations.  Minutes now passed like hours, and hours seemed like days.

 

            In this heightened state, which at times often bordered on frenzy, I began to seriously question the necessity of this excruciating self denial.  This was a woman I had known for a mere few hours, although I had to admit she had already planted roots in my psyche.  Would she ever even know?  With a sudden clarity, I came to understand the reality …  I would know.  She had given me a task and I had sworn to comply.  To do so would prove that I could.  And would.  To me.  And for her.

 

            Finally, blessedly, Friday came.  Parking several blocks away, I arrived on her street a good hour before the appointed time, taking no chances that I would be late.  At precisely 7 o’clock I rang her doorbell.  She promptly answered.

 

            “Ah, right on time, Rhett,” she greeted me.  “Punctuality is something else that I very much like.  Please, come in.”

 

            Was it my imagination, or did she seem as excited as I felt.  She looked enchanting, wearing a midnight blue kimono, belted at her slender waist, and falling just below her knees.  Once again, her sublime legs were bare, drawing my eyes irresistibly down to her open-toed, slipper clad feet.  Seeing the direction of my attention, she smiled knowingly and turned away, beckoning me to follow.  This time she went directly to her living room, and settled back immediately into her easy chair as I stood before her.

 

            “it’s been a long week, Rhett.“  If she only knew.  “And my feet are in dire need of succor.”

 

            Just give me the word, I implored internally.

 

            “But while I know that we’re both dying for you to begin your exquisite ministrations, don’t you think that the experience will be greatly enhanced  … “ she paused in almost gleeful anticipation,  “… if you were naked while doing so.”

 

            I remained rooted in place, stupefied.

 

            “Well, don’t you?” she prodded.

 

            I snapped out of my daze.  “Yes … yes … of course.” I stammered.

 

            “Well … “ she continued, with a small frown of annoyance at the delay.

 

            I hastened to disrobe where I stood, sensing that she would not be pleased if I moved to do so elsewhere.  In less than a minute I was totally exposed before her.

 

            Her lips curved back upwards in seeming appreciation as she took her time to scrutinize me from top to bottom, finally settling with a prolonged regard halfway back up.

 

            “Delightful.” She opined.

 

 I wasn’t sure if it was due to my acquiescence or my appearance.  As much as I might hope, I strongly doubted it was the latter.  She handed me a small bottle of scented body lotion, and leaned back in her chair, lifting one of her feet slightly off the floor.

 

“You may begin.”

 

And I did.  Once again going down onto my knees, I first removed both of her slippers.  Generously pouring an amount of lotion into my hands, I rubbed them together to warm it, and then picked up her first preferred foot, gently applying it into every area, including around and between each and every toe.  Then I more firmly massaged it in to the entire foot, before repeating the entire process with her other one.  Once completed, she lifted her first one up and straight out.

 

“Leg.” was all she said.

 

With more hand-warmed lotion, I worked my way around her ankle and up her perfectly formed calf to the hem of her kimono, just below and around her knee.  I made sure to intently massage each area along the way, and when done she put that leg down and raised the other.

 

When the same moisturizing and massaging of that leg was complete, I lowered it down and resumed my more serious kneading of both of her feet.  As before, she lay her head back, and with her eyes closed, her face took a dream-like appearance.  I pressed and rubbed and rotated around every spot over and over and over again, eliciting more than a few sighs and moans.  After what may have been approaching close to an hour, in a very distant back of my mind I could sense a groaning of my knees after being so long upon them, and a growing ache in my ever moving and gripping hands.  But this had little impact or influence on the delirious feeling of purpose and joy that I had as I continued to give the comfort that she so desired.  I felt that I could and would go on indefinitely, but she finally slipped her foot from my hands and sat forward.

 

“I think you’ve eliminated every ache I’ve accumulated in my feet over the past week, Rhett.  I also think you now deserve a bit of rest while I relax some more.  But before that, you may have your kiss.”

 

As I had done the week before, I slowly bent forward to bring my face down to the tops of her feet.  With trembling lips, I softly paid homage to them both.  “Thank you.” I whispered in gratitude.

 

“You’re very welcome.” she said from above.  “And now you may lie down on your back here in front of me, so we both may enjoy some rest.”

 

As I did, and relief flooded into my knees, and my hands relaxed at my sides, I wondered what she had in mind.  Almost immediately she placed both of her feet on my chest, mere inches from my reclining face.

 

Apparently with a remote control, she turned on her stereo to play some quiet music.  We both remained unmoving as such for some unknown length of time.  With my eyes cast downward toward my chest, I drank in the beauty of her feet as they rested upon me, and my consciousness entered a place where nothing else but they existed, and I knew beyond all doubt that at that moment in time, there was no place in the world that I would rather be.

 

At some point I must have been so entranced that I didn’t realize that my eyes had closed.  I was subtly jarred from this state when I felt her toes softly caressing the side of my face.  After tracing them around my jaw and up the other side, she slowly ran them up and around my eyes, across my forehead, and up to rummage around and about my scalp and hair.  When she had had her fill of that, she brought her big toe to rest upon my lips, moving it lightly to and fro along them.  I couldn’t help but slip the tip of my tongue out to taste it.  She encouraged me further by slipping her toe inside between them, which I greedily began to suckle.

 

As I did, I suddenly became acutely aware of her other foot as it gently brushed down my belly, around my groin, and with a feather like touch, lightly stroked up the bottom side of my manhood, which had standing upright and rigid, in tribute and supplication, throughout.  I couldn’t suppress a shudder and involuntary groan.

 

“So, were you able to honor my request not to relieve yourself this week, Rhett?” her question came from on high.

 

“Yes, Sariana.”  I hoarsely replied.

 

After a moment, she simply said, “I’m glad.”

 

With those two words, all of my agony of the past week was washed away in exhilaration.

 

“You like all of this, don’t you Rhett.” She further queried, as she continued to slowly slide the sole of her foot around my face, and oh so gently run her toes up my shaft.

 

“Oh, yes, Sariana”

 

“You would like more of it, wouldn’t you?  To spend more time with my feet. To do more for them.  Care for them more.  Pamper them more.  Be devoted to them in every way.  Wouldn’t you?”

 

“Oh God yes, Sariana.”

 

The stroking with her lower foot and toes became firmer.

 

“You want even more, don’t you.  You want to become a slave to my feet.”

 

“Yes. Yes. Sariana.”

 

“I think that under those circumstances, it should be Miss Sariana, don’t you agree?”

 

“Ahhh … yes, Miss Sariana.” I moaned in utter submission.

 

“Ask me, Rhett … Beg me.”

 

“Please, Miss Sariana … PLEASE.”

 

“Please, what?”

 

            Her attentions to my phallus became more insistent and rapid.

 

            “Please let me become a slave to your feet.” I pleaded.  “I will care for them … comfort them …worship them at all times … I will do anything … and everything for them.  Please, Miss Sariana … I beg you.”

 

            “I think that I would like that very much, Rhett.”  She now brought her foot that had been on my face, down to anchor the top side of my pole, while squeezing the underside up and down with the sole of her other foot.

 

            “Yes Rhett, I accept.  I accept you as my foot slave.  I will allow you to care for my feet in any and all ways that I desire.  And I will allow you to worship them whenever I deem that you have earned it.”

 

            Her two feet now surged up and down in unison, as the part of me that made me a man was securely imprisoned where it belonged, between them, and I felt any remaining control that I had rapidly slipping away.

 

            “Tell me.” Her voice rose.  “Tell me Who you are.  Declare to me What you are.  Swear to me in an oath greater that the one you’ve already kept.  TELL ME.’

 

            “I’m Rhett…” I panted.  “I’m your foot slave… ”,  I was on the verge.  “I swear by all that I am that I’ll always be a slave to your FEE ... AAAARRRRHHHHHH!!!!!!”

 

            Great geysers of my passion shot high into the air, in spasm after spasm, as I bucked and thrashed and cried out uncontrollably, but remaining firmly within her grip.  After what seemed almost unending time, the torrents began to subside, until I was completely spent and done.  She graciously granted me time to silently recover and come back into myself.

 

            “That was quite an impressive expression of your pledge.” she finally spoke.  “ … if a bit messy.” she added with a grin.

 

            I looked up at her in wonder.

 

            Her face grew more serious.  “You did mean everything that you said, didn’t you?”

 

            I sensed in her voice not only hope that I did, but even a touch of fear that I might not.

 

            “Absolutely.” I ardently professed.

 

            She let out a long breath that had not been apparent that she had been holding.  “Good.” she concluded.  “Now that that’s settled, you can perform your first new duty by cleaning this up,” she indicated, holding one of her cum covered feet over my mouth, “and when you’re done with both, we have a lot to discuss.”

 

            I had never tasted my spunk before, and it wasn’t all that pleasant.  But given from where I was licking it, it was more than palatable.  After what she deemed a thorough job, we did indeed discuss, although given our new relative stations, it was more than a bit one-sided.

 

            She readily acknowledged that we both had our own lives to lead, but that we would both set aside time together for this new special relationship, “to scratch this itch” that we shared as she put it.  She thought that every Friday evening would continue to be an excellent time, but as my service as her foot slave would encompass everything related to her feet, such as the meticulous care of her voluminous shoe collection, and the hand laundering of her stockings and socks, she would give me a key to the house so that I could arrive in the afternoon, several hours before she got home from work, so that I could attend to such, and any other necessary tasks.

 

            She also made it clear that she expected me to continue to honor my original promise of self-denial.  While she wouldn’t guarantee that events such as had culminated this particular night would occur every time, as it would have to be earned, and would be rewarded only upon her whim, she believed that such a hope and anticipation would be a further inducement to me to perform all of my duties at a peak.  Given that I had never before experienced such a mind blowing climax as I had that night, I certainly had to agree.

 

********** 

 

            And so, our new routine was established.  I would get to her house each Friday around 3, and let myself in.  My first order of business was the care and maintenance of her footwear.  She hadn’t been kidding about how large a number of boots, pumps, heels, sandals and slippers she had, and kept on multiple racks in her closet.  She apparently wore a different pair every day, sometimes probably more than one, and would leave them all in a jumble on the floor, awaiting me to clean, polish and buff them all, before precisely restacking them in their proper place and order.  She had purchased a smaller, separate laundry hamper just for her stockings and socks, and I would hand wash the week’s-worth, and then set them to dry on a laundry rack in the wash room, to later collect and put all away before I would leave for the night.

 

            She wanted me to remain clothed while I performed these chores until she arrived home, usually around 6.  I would greet her at the front door, kneel down to remove whatever footwear she was wearing, and place slippers upon her feet.  She would then go to freshen up and change into more comfortable evening clothing while I would await her in the living room with her favorite glass of wine.  As she always liked to actually watch me disrobe, I would then do so in front of her upon her return after she had settled into her easy chair.  I would then begin to ease out the cares of her week with my vigorous massage of her feet.  Unlike the first two times, when she had lain back to luxuriate in my ministrations, now she would most often talk to me as I rubbed, about her day, her week, or anything that came to her mind, and would invite me to discuss mine as well.  I was truly humbled that she seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  She would often make me laugh with stories that she told, which greatly surprised me, as I so rarely laughed much before.  The time would just seem to fly by before she would call an end to her massage, and have me apply lotion to her feet and legs.  It was then time for her weekly pedicure.

 

            She had taught me early on how to thoroughly remove the previous week’s polish from her nails, then carefully file each of them to maintain their perfect shape.  After placing cotton balls between each toe, I would proceed to meticulously apply the lacquer of her most recently chosen color.  It had taken me weeks to master the even application to all of her toes without any falling upon her surrounding skin, and I was thrilled on the day she finally pronounced herself fully satisfied with my efforts.

 

            While I would always begin the drying by softly blowing on them, she preferred to complete the process by further air drying them as she rested her legs and feet upon my back as I knelt on all fours before her.  Once finished she would have me turn over to lie on my back, and bring her feet to then rest on my chest.

 

            During this time she would do any of a variety of things, read a book, talk or text with friends on her phone, or often just watch TV or a DVD.  One evening, as a special salute to our forebearers, she even took in the whole of ‘Gone with The Wind’.  When her feet weren’t resting upon my face, I could have turned my head to watch along with her, but I was far more entranced by the sight that was planted on my chest.

 

            To many, if not most, it might seem that the hours I would remain as such would be crushing in boredom.  Nothing for me could be farther from the truth.  It is almost impossible to describe the transcendent realm that my mind would enter, knowing that she was doing things that gave her pleasure, while her greatest pleasure might actually be that she was enjoying them while literally having me underfoot.

 

            These weren’t the only joys during these times.  Her feet were seldom stationary for any extended period.  They would often randomly roam over much of me, as if unconsciously searching for new ways and places to further enthrall me.  And it never failed to do so.  As she would text on her phone, her toes might find my mouth, and have me lave and suck, to later wipe them dry on my face.  My body would thrum as her other foot would glide up and down my thighs, reaching a crescendo when it would playfully alight on my sac.  Such touches would ebb and flow, bringing me back and forth from a state of almost unbearable yearning.  As our night together would draw to a close though, she would almost always draw forth that final explosion on my desire.  Almost always.  She never wanted me to come to expect such largess.  She had to have something ‘to ensure continued exemplary service’ as she put it.  I ever strove to prove that this would never be an issue.

 

            After my mandatory clean-up, she would allow me to kiss her feet in gratitude, and then dress.  As she would see me to her door for my departure, she would always end the night by saying, “Thank you, Rhett.”

 

            The very first time I had replied back, “Thank YOU, Miss Sariana.”

 

            “No, Rhett.” she had stated on that occasion.   “When you’re clothed, I’m Sariana.  It’s only when you’re naked that I’m ‘Miss’”.

 

            My heart bounded even more in gratitude.

 

********** 

 

            As the weeks rolled by, I found it easier and easier to withstand the tension of my self-enforced denial between Fridays.  It became such a small price to pay for the far greater rewards that I was granted.  This lessening of the almost single-minded obsession that I had been experiencing since the night we had met, helped me to clear my mind and refocus on all of the other aspects of my life.  Indeed, it actually seemed to sharpen and enliven them, particularly my interests in technology creativity, mine and others, and in my various charitable concerns, all of which had been flagging for some time.  It was as if I was being repurposed with a new energy.

 

            I also began to wonder more about Sariana, and her life beyond those few hours that we shared each week.  Yes, we talked on a great number of topics during those times when I massaged her feet, including some superficial elements of our lives.  But did I really know much of her at all, her hopes and dreams, what made her happy and content, apart from that particular facet which ensnared us both together for that short time each week.  And I was surprised that I really did want to learn these things, even as I clearly understood and believed that I had no right to such knowledge except of that she might wish to impart.

 

            Still, there were certain mundane things that began to mystify me.  One small one in particular was that she never ate anything while I was there.  It didn’t seem that she would have time to eat anything substantial before she got home from work, as I was able to do before I arrived there hours earlier.  Maybe she would have her dinner late, after I left, or she got by with a big lunch.  Neither of these seemed to me to be a good situation, so I resolved to investigate at least this small matter a bit the next time I went.

 

            I had never actually been in her kitchen before, as there had been no need to do so for the completion of my explicitly charged responsibilities.  But I had never been given any prohibition against it.  Yet it was with some trepidation as I then did so.  Entering, I found more than a few used and uncleaned dishes and utensils in the sink and on the counters.  Her fridge and freezer were filled with ready to eat, microwaveable meals, and her cupboards only with prepackaged edibles and little else.  Looking into her kitchen trash bin, there were only the remains of such.

 

            Being something of a gourmet myself, who enjoyed concocting and preparing my own meals, one of the few personal things in which I took pride, I suddenly felt the great need, at least this one night, to do something like that for her.  As I had come a few hours earlier on this occasion, I believed that if I marshalled my time crisply, I could do so.  Without shirking in the quality of my regularly assigned duties, I did not dawdle in my usual prolonged enchantment with them.  Finishing then well before I usually did, I was able to hurry out to a local market to purchase all that I needed to make something fast but, I hoped, good enough to be to her liking.

 

            Having seen that many of her pre-prepared meals were seafood oriented, I made a main dish of jumbo shrimp oreganato, with sides of fresh spinach sautéed in olive oil and garlic, and a baked potato stuffed with fresh dill-infused sour cream.  I was successful in having it all done just in time to greet her at the door as she arrived home.  As I removed her mid-calf high boots and placed on her slippers, she quickly sensed that something was different.

 

            “What is that … very nice smell?” she asked, seeming not sure if she should be annoyed at the possible variance to our routine.

 

            “I, ah … well,” I hastened, poorly, to try to explain.  “I’ve noticed that you never eat dinner the nights that I’m here, Sariana.  I eat before I come, and maybe you do so after I leave, but I worry that you might not eat at all, and I don’t think that that’s good.  So, I took a chance and may have overstepped my place, but at least for tonight I tried to make you a home cooked meal.”

 

            A long moment passed during which she appeared bemused.  Finally … “You’re right.  I usually do grab a small bite after you leave.” She paused a few seconds more as if trying to explain.  “I’m usually too hyped up anticipating our evening together to notice how hungry I might be.”  Another few seconds.  “But something smells so delicious that I’m suddenly ravenous, and I think we can delay our usual ‘activities’ a bit so that we can take care of that.”

 

            “I hoped you’d say that.  Thank you.  Everything is about ready, and I’ll get it on the table.”

 

            “Okay, let me go change while you do that.”

 

            When she returned back to the dining room, all of the food was set out before her.  She quickly noticed the single place setting.

 

            “Well, I guess you did say that you eat before you come.” She offered.  “And I can serve myself, Rhett, but we don’t want you idle as I do.  So, why don’t you crawl under the table and worship my feet while I eat.”

 

            I couldn’t conceive of anything that I would rather do.

 

            My oral adoration was further stimulated by her occasional comments while she ate, which were clearly intended for me to hear.

 

            “Absolutely scrumptious.” was one.

 

            “The best home-cooked meal I’ve ever had.” was another.

 

            And, as she was finishing her dinner, “You know, after my feet, the next best way to this girl’s heart may be through her stomach.  And right now, I’m getting the best of both.”

 

            After several more beats, “Well slave, now that I’m done, you’re going to have to work awfully hard for the rest of the evening to try to surpass all this.”

 

            I did try to the best of my abilities.  And I was exquisitely rewarded for it at the end.  Before I dressed to leave for the evening, I completely cleaned up the kitchen and put away all the cleaned and dried stockings and socks.  As she walked with me to the front door, she stopped me for a moment.

 

            “I can’t thank you enough for that fabulous meal tonight, Rhett.”

 

            My heart jumped.

 

            “I was wondering if you’d like to make another next Friday.”

 

            “With great pleasure, Sariana.”

 

            “There is one thing, though.” She conditioned.

 

            “What is that?” I responded with a touch of concern.

 

            “As much as I enjoyed your worship while I ate,” she continued, “I’ve frankly become very tired of always eating alone.  So, I think that I would like it very much if we dined together next week.”

 

            It had been pure heaven for me as I had adored her feet, but this, of a sudden and to my surprise, seemed all the more alluring.

 

            “With even greater pleasure, Sariana.” I avowed.

 

            She graced me with one of her dazzling smiles as I left.

 

**********

 

            And so, our Fridays now always started with our sharing together another sumptuous dinner which I had made.  We would talk and often laugh throughout, and the conversations would continue through her foot massage.  Besides my meal preparations, I began to also do a number of other small things before she arrived home.  I had noticed that her bed was never made, so I started making it.  Next to the smaller one with her socks and stockings which were my assigned charge, her larger laundry hamper always seemed full, so I took to adding that to my washing, her delicates with those I already hand washed, and the rest in the washer and drier.  I always made sure to fold and put them all away when done.  Along with any that I used, I also cleaned and stacked away any other dishes and utensils left behind.  And I tried to straighten up any of the rooms that needed it.  It was small things that I did, but I had the time for it, as she clearly did not, and I was happy to do so.  Some few Fridays after I had commenced these efforts, as we ate dinner together, she looked at me pointedly.

 

            “So, Rhett,” she began, “it seems apparent to me that you’re looking for a promotion.”

 

            “A promotion?” I answered, puzzled.

 

            “It hasn’t escaped my notice that these past few weeks, on the days that you come, that my bed is made, my laundry is done, and the place is tidied up quite nicely.  So, it appears to me that you must be trying to hint to me that you’d like a promotion from being just my foot slave … to being my house slave.”

 

            That hadn’t been my intention at all, and the very thought of it had never entered my mind.  But my member below the table top, almost always excited in her presence, did begin to twitch.

 

            “Uh, I … I don’t think of any of that as a promotion.” I tried to explain.  “it’s only a way for me to try, uh … to try to earn the privilege of remaining your foot slave.”

 

            She leaned back and laughed.  “Earn the privilege.  I like that.  I like that very much.  As busy as I’ve become at work, I really don’t have the time or energy to maintain this place as it should be, so I think it’s a wonderful idea of having you come, let’s say for a full day on Saturdays, so you can earn that privilege by taking care of all of this for me.”

 

            She obviously seemed to have given this all some thought recently.  She leaned forward, her face full of anticipation.  “So, what do you say, foot slave?”

 

            It took only a moment to know what my answer had to be.

 

            “My Saturdays are full.” I answered.

 

            “Oh.” she replied quietly as her face fell, reflecting her disappointment.

 

            “In my new position as a house slave.” I finished.

 

            Her smile lit up the room.

 

            Before I left, after another captivating evening, she gave me my instructions for the next day, and all the Saturdays to follow.  She clearly had given this some previous thought, and had planned for the possibility.  I was to arrive at 8 AM and let myself in.  A list of chores would be written out and waiting for me.  As she liked to sleep in a bit on Saturdays, I should do quiet ones first so as not to disturb her, but she would expect a breakfast to be ready for her when she arose.  She expected complete and respectful obedience for any task that she set out for me while I was there, and I should understand that these would be full work days in her service, and nothing more.

 

            And so they were.  Of a necessity I was allowed to be clothed when doing outside work, such as mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, or sweeping the porch or patio.  My inside chores, however, were always to be done in the buff, frequently under her discerning eye, as I scrubbed the bathrooms clean, mopped or vacuumed all the floors, changed and washed the bed linens, and dusted and polished all of the furniture.  More than a few times, as she would walk by me, she would give me a firm pinch, or a playful yet sharp smack on my bare backside, to further encourage my ongoing diligence.  Neither of us was interested in any corporeal activities beyond that, for which I was ever thankful, but these few did serve to accentuate the difference in the status of our positions.

 

            Before I would leave for the day, I would always make, and we would then eat another dinner together.  There was never any repeat of Friday night activities.  Those were reserved for that night alone.  After I cleaned up the dinner mess though, I was allowed to pay homage to her feet as a reward, before I dressed and was encouraged to go.  It almost seemed as if she always had something more to do on Saturday nights.

 

**********

 

            This continued as such for the next several months before on one Friday evening as I was leaving, she informed me that she didn’t want to eat in the next day, but instead wanted to go out for dinner.  And she wanted me to accompany her, as her arm candy.  This took me quite by surprise, especially the last part.  Although I had a fairly average physique, and worked out regularly to try to maintain it, I had always considered myself plain looking at best.  Nondescript, I suspect, would be how most might kindly describe me.  That someone as beautiful as her would consider me as suitable arm candy was outside my comprehension. “Where would you like to go” I stammered.

 

 “You’re the one who knows food.  Surprise me” she replied with a grin.

 

            The next morning I arrived promptly at 8.  For the first time, she was already awake, and greeted me at the door.  I had brought a breakfast of her favorite pastries and we shared them together before I then set about at my instructed full day of work.  All of it this day was indoors, and under her more constant, scrupulous, and, at times, almost hungry appearing gaze.  Around 4 in the afternoon, she announced that she was going up to get ready, and that I should finish up what I was doing, and then do so as well.

 

            Putting away my bucket and brush when I was done, I cleaned myself up a bit, and then donned the black suit with the light violet shirt and dark purple tie that I had brought along.  And then I waited for her in the living room.

 

            It was still some time before she made her entrance.  As I stood, my eyes were instantly drawn to her enchanting burgundy colored heels.  But to my own amazement, they didn’t linger there long, but instead were swept up to take in all of her, in her shimmering red dress.

 

            “Stunning” was all I could murmur, in awe.

 

            “You look quite fetching yourself” she responded with a broad smile.  “It appears that I made the right choice of arm candy.” 

 

            Her words were beginning to almost have me believe.  “Let’s go” she decreed, as she led me to the door.

 

            I had urgently utilized some power connections to obtain an almost impossible reservation at one of the best, and best known, restaurants in the city.  When we arrived there, her initial reaction was, “Wow, I’m not sure I can afford this.”

 

            That had never even entered my mind.  How could she even think.

 

            “Dinners are part of my duties, Miss Sariana.” I asserted, probably more boldly than I should.  “Please do allow me.”

 

            “Well, it was my idea, so I just thought … but if you put it like that, how can I refuse” she conceded.  “But remember how we are now, Rhett.  Please, just Sariana.”

 

            “Thank you … Sariana”, as I offered her my arm to enter as her arm candy.

 

            It was a delightful dinner, and even more so as an evening.  As I escorted her to her front door to say goodnight, she become pensive, and asked me to come inside for a moment.  In her living room she asked me to sit on her couch as she sat on the edge of one of her chairs across from me.

 

            “I’d just like to say what a wonderful time I had tonight, Rhett.”

 

            “It was for me too, Sariana.”

 

            She looked down at her hands, and then back up.

 

            “I’m glad.  And so, I’d like to offer you a real promotion then” she added quietly.

 

            I blinked.  “What do you mean?”

 

            She gave me a tentative smile.

 

            “Well, in addition to being my foot slave, I’d, ah …. like you to also become … my body slave.”

 

            More than a little confused and shocked, I ventured, “How so?”

 

            “Oh Rhett” she sighed, as if trying to figure out how to explain.  “You know that we both get incredibly aroused by what we do on Friday nights.  And I do try to bring you to the ultimate of that excitement most of the time.  But for me, it’s just not the same trying to reach the ultimate later, on my own.”

 

            It had always been unfathomable, and even dismaying to me, that my entire sexual being and passion seemed exclusively rooted on women’s feet.  And I could never seem to get beyond that.  But of late, as Sariana was giving me over and over, the extraordinary gift of quenching that previously insatiable thirst, I found myself yearning and dreaming for something more.  With … and for … Her.  Even as I could never dare conceive it to be possible.  But it was at that moment that I realized how blind and selfish I had been.  After all she had done for me … if she wanted … needed … me as her body slave … there was only one answer.

 

            “I’m yours, Sariana.  In any way that you want.”

 

            She closed her eyes briefly.  “Good” she said just above a whisper, and then opened her eyes.  “Go upstairs, get naked, and kneel by my bedside,” she quietly commanded. “And wait for me.”

 

            I did as she bid.

 

            I waited on my knees for 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes.  And then another 15 minutes before she unhurriedly entered the room.  She walked over to stand in front of me, and then turned around so that her back faced me.

 

            “Undress me’ she said simply, and bent her knee back so that her heel dangled off her foot before me.  I carefully took it off, and she put that foot down and raised the other for me to remove.  I stood up to unzip the back of her dress, and eased it down for her to step out from.  Rising up again, I unclasped and removed her bra.  There was only one item left.  Returning to my knees I slowly slid her black silk panties down and off.  They were already damp.  Without turning around, she lay face down fully on her bed.

 

            “Massage.  All of me.”

 

            I spied her scented body lotion on her night table, and standing by her bedside I started, of course, with her feet.  With long, leisurely strokes, I worked my way up her calves, and the back of her thighs until I reached the luscious mounds of her buttocks.  I kneaded these fully.  With lotion-laden palms I progressed up her back and sides, eventually coming to her shoulders and neck, where my fingers extensively prodded and pressed out any knots of tension that continued to exist.

 

            After a prolonged sigh, she turned over onto her back.  My breath hitched, and I was momentarily paralyzed, as I took in for the first time her utter perfection.  She drank in and savored my rapt regard, and then reached up and guided my hands down onto her breasts, one for each.  I luxuriated in their shape and feel, my fingers spiraling around their pliant softness as she groaned in response.  I could have continued as such for eons, but she suddenly had more urgent needs.  Bending her knees up, she spread her legs apart.

 

            “I’m sure you know what to do” she murmured.

 

            I shrank back in terror internally.  I truly did not know what to do.  I had never been with a woman this way before.

 

            “With your mouth only” she quickly amended.

 

            I quailed as I knew that any of my ignorant and clumsy efforts were likely doomed to disappoint.  But I had no choice but to try.

 

            Positioning myself between, I brought my lips to the inner part of one of her knees, and lightly drew them deliberately up her thigh until my face came fully before the glory of her womanhood.  More than a bit fearful that I was presuming wrongly, I timidly brushed her luscious labia with the tip of my tongue. A moan and a slight shimmy of her hips encouraged me onward.  My tip then probed between and up and down the length of that portal several times, producing even louder moans.  I then extended my tongue a bit more, to better explore the inner recess within.

 

            Unsure how forcefully to proceed, I pushed forward very tentatively at first.  When more fully within, I curled my tongue up and back, touching something that caused her to shudder strongly as she let out an almost agonized groan, and I realized that I had likely discovered a hidden treasure.  Emboldened by her response I began to slide my tongue over it, in and out, and her hips began to undulate up and down in rhythm, as her breathing became ever more ragged.

 

            “Deeper, slave” she panted loudly, “and faster.”

 

            I picked up my pace, and stretched my tongue in further.

 

            “Harder” she exhorted, and I stiffened it as much as I was able, thrusting it forward like a piston, as she bucked in unison.  Suddenly she leaned up and with both of her hands, grabbed the back of my head, clutching my hair as if in a death grasp, entrapping me as her juices burst forth to engulf my tongue, my lips, my face, in gush after gush, until, finally, her fountain of ecstasy was drained to its last drop.  Her hands released my imprisoned face as she fell back onto her back and lay unmoving.

 

I remained in place between her legs for a long and uncalculated time before she began to stir.  She softly called for me to come lie beside her.

 

            “That was fabulous, Rhett” she purred as she curled into me.  I basked in her praise.  “Stay with me tonight.  Please.”

 

            For her, this might have been a simple wish, but for me it was a command that I could never refuse.  Though my own physical need remained unmet, this shriveled in significance to the contentment that I felt in helping to meet at least some of hers. 

 

We slept until late the next morning.  As I rose to go to make breakfast, she stopped me.  “I think I’d much prefer to go out on a picnic” she said.

 

            My marching orders given, we dressed, went out to obtain the necessary provisions, and then she took me to a secluded, tree enclosed bluff overlooking the river, with a spectacular view of the valley and hills beyond.  I am not a particular lover of nature, but even I had to admit, as we sat together on the blanket after we had eaten, that the setting and vista was beautiful.  But it paled in comparison to the one with whom I was with.

 

**********

 

            And so, our weekends evolved.  Friday nights remained dedicated to her feet.  My workdays on Saturdays continued as ever.  In the evenings I would take her out to dinner, then almost always followed by events of her choosing … concerts, shows, even to my initial consternation, ballets, though under her tutelage I came to appreciate and embrace all of her choices, as long as they were with her.  We even occasionally would to go to parties given by her friends, some with whom we began to socialize.  I ever served as her arm candy at these gatherings, but I came to truly sense that it was me who was envied by any other male in attendance.  And when we would arrive back at her home, I would devote myself to propelling her to ever greater heights of joy, always, at her continued insistence, only with my mouth and tongue.  I scoured the internet to further learn and refine my techniques, and she never failed to applaud the efforts of my research.  Sundays were then reserved for outings together, hikes, sightseeing, visits to museums, or anything else that piqued her interest.

 

            It was an otherwise typical Friday early afternoon when I let myself in and was surprised, even slightly shocked, to find her at home, waiting for me at her front door.  I recovered myself and quickly started to prepare my required presentation.  She laid her hand on my arm.  “No, Rhett, I’d just like us to talk a bit.”

 

            Seeing once again a pensive look on her face, which had only been evident to me once before, a nugget of unease began to form in my gut.  She led us to the living room and had us sit in chairs facing each other.  As if uncertain how to proceed, a silence hung in the air, before …

 

            “Do you like being my slave, Rhett?”

 

            How could she even doubt?  “I believe I was born to it.” I conceded, especially maybe even to myself.

 

            A small smile formed on her lips.  “I suspect that is likely so” she agreed.  “But we both know though that slavery in our outside world is illegal,” she continued. “And that in our personal lives it can only be sustained, as we do, by desire.”  She looked down at her folded hands, and went on in a much lower voice… 

 

“And desire can wane.”

 

            The nugget of unease now became a knot of dread.  The fear that I had harbored, almost from the beginning, which I had constantly tried to wall off in the back of my mind, came crashing to the fore.  Was she losing interest?  Was the desire in her fading?  Yes, she might enjoy our mutual foot play.  She likely appreciated having her housework being done, and having an escort to social activities.  And finally, having someone at least once a week scratch and relieve her sexual itches and tensions.  All of these were no doubt pleasurable … but could they fulfill a life.  Especially if they began to lose their luster.  My knot of dread was turning into panic.

 

            She looked up from her hands.  “There are two ways by which it can all be maintained though” she began again, still, however, seeming hesitant.  “The first is actually legal and designed to be binding.”  She gazed at me expectantly.

 

            There are a great many things that I am not, but one of the few positive ones is that I’ve never considered myself a simpleton.  I stared at her in disbelief.

 

            “You would … would you really … marry me?”

 

            She laughed, breaking the tension that had enveloped us both.

 

            “Oh Rhett, how so very like you to put it like that.  As if you’re not worthy of it … of me.”  She paused for a second.  “Let me share with you a secret that I haven’t let on to you before” she continued.  “I didn’t know it when we first met, or for some time after, but I finally came to learn that you were the one who helped my father achieve his professional dream.  You put the seed money up so that his technological creations could come to life and become real.  He died too young, but he saw it all get off the ground, and now it has become my professional dream and obsession, and it continues to grow.  And it all happened in large part because of you.  And you’ve done that, and so much more, for so many others as well.  I know that you will, and I want you to continue with all of that, because that is what makes you … You.   So, I really think that the real issue might be … whether I am worthy of you.”

 

            She allowed me some time to digest this, and then continued on as if she really was talking to a simpleton.

 

            “But that’s not what this should be about, Rhett.   Marriage has to be a partnership between two equals.  What all they are willing and desire to do within it then is up to them, and that may indeed wax and wane and change over time.  But marriage provides the structures and boundaries to keep it all in place.  It is the second thing though, that is far, far more vital.”

 

            Her voice became much more animated.

 

            “Rhett, I love that you worship my feet.  I love that you want to be my household servant.  I love that you make my body soar to places I never before imagined.  But much, much more important than all of that, Rhett, is that … I LOVE YOU.  Everything about You.  All of YOU.

 

            She paused as if to collect herself.  And then more quietly.

 

            “But that’s only my half of it, Rhett.  Can you … can you love more than my feet … can you want to be more than my domestic drudge … can you love more than just my body.  Can you … Do you Love Me … Everything about Me … All of ME?

 

            Now it was her being the simpleton.

 

            “With everything, ALL that I am, Sariana.”

 

            She laughed gaily. “Then let’s get married.”

 

**********

 

            And so, we did.  The very next day.  At City Hall, with only the Officiate and our two witnesses present.  She liked the idea of being enigmatic and mysterious, even as a couple.  My Best Man was the friend at whose party we had first met.  At the ceremony he gave me another, but much bigger, thumbs up, and this time I more than happily returned it.  Her Maid of Honor was her best friend whom she had known since childhood, and who, she assured me, like everyone else, knew nothing of our ‘other’ relationship.  But, she said smiling enigmatically, she someday might.

 

            That night at home she quickly led me up to the bedroom.  So very much had changed, but it was still a Saturday night, and I knew my duty … which was also my ardent desire.  Under her intent and eager gaze, I shed my clothes, and then helped her remove hers.  She lay back on the bed and allowed my hands, my fingers, my lips, to roam at will over her entirely, before I nestled between her legs, facing her font of joy.

 

            Using all of the lessons I had learned, I softly blew and then grazed her opening with my lips before extending my tongue within.  I delved deeply, seeking all of the pathways to her pleasure, as she began to squirm beneath me.  These soon became shivers, and then shudders, as I re encountered her precious jewel and began to lavish it with express attention.  I felt her rising rapidly to the brink and I strove mightily to drive her over.  But she abruptly grabbed my arms and pulled me upwards.

 

            “It’s time for our true love, my love” she quivered.  “Come into me.”

 

            It was a command I had craved for so very long.

 

            I pressed my manhood against her, but despite her already being so extremely wet, it was more arduous at first than I would have assumed.  She grimaced as I slowly pushed forth, but neither of us were to be denied.  As I was fully within, we both gasped, and her visage became one of pure delight.

 

            “You are my first … and only, Rhett.”

 

            Overwhelmed, I replied.  “As you are mine, Sariana.”

 

            “Let’s keep it that way, always.” She concluded.

 

            And we would.

 

            We began our new dance slowly, searching for our rhythm together.  But it didn’t take long before we were grasping and clawing, churning and thrashing, relentlessly surging onward and upwards, finally rising to our ultimate together, far beyond what we had ever reached before on our own.  And we did so again … and again … and again.

 

**********

 

            Much later, as she slept, snuggled tightly to my side, I lay there quietly and reveled.

 

            I reveled that I would adore and care for her feet always.

 

            I reveled that I would ease and assume all of the mundane burdens of her everyday life, except for those for those of which she might wish to share with me, or do on her own.

 

            I reveled that I would be the sole vehicle for all of her carnal passions, and that she would allow me to ride with her to the heights of our ultimate, together.

 

            But most of all, I reveled that she had chosen me… had molded me … had, in so many new and important ways, helped to more fully develop and create me.  And went on to completely give me her all-encompassing love.

 

 As I had for her.

 

            Now and unending.

 

            Her fully Made Man.

 

            … and forever slave.