“There seems to be someone here.”
He smiled at Delores. She was several years older than him, perhaps
even a decade, but her body still fit the mold her corset made for
it. Harrold reached for the laces hanging from the base of it.
Crack. Harrold's hand snapped back.
The erection that had been flagging rose again in his trousers.
“You think to touch me, sir? You
think I'm still one of these girls for you to take on your knee?”
Crack. Harrold shuddered, sinking to
his knees.
“Yes, kneel for me, gentle sir.
Show me how low I can bring you.”
Crack.
“Kiss my slipper.”
Had he known, he'd have approached
Delores sooner. This. This is what he wanted, what he needed. The
freedom to be as low and as vile as he could. To be the opposite of
what filled his days.
On his hands and knees, he put his
lips to the embroidered fabric covering her foot. The feet slipped
out of his sight and another slap of the belt landed on his bottom.
“Remove these.” Delores lifted
the fabric from his rear, a cool breeze running over his warm, red
skin.
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