Late checkout

The lobby was mine after the night manager took the desk. I had clocked out. I texted Martin to come down only if he still wanted what we talked about at dinner. He did. I am thirty-eight. He is forty-seven. A guest, yes, but not my boss, and this was not my shift. I chose him. I sat in the burgundy blazer and the black heels on a marble bench and waited with my knees together.

He arrived in a clean shirt and stopped a polite distance away. Thank you for waiting, I said. Lock the side door. The front is already on the night latch. He did. Then he stood until I pointed at the floor. Kneel. I want you to take the heels off like it is a privilege. He knelt. His hands hovered. May I, he said. Yes.

He slipped the first pump off. My foot flexed in the cool air. He held the shoe in one hand and my heel in the other and looked up. Kiss the ankle, I said. Then the arch. He followed the list. The marble made his kneel look formal. I liked that. My cunt is wet already, I told him. From you, on your knees, doing exactly what I asked. He breathed out hard and kissed the sole.

Second heel. Same order. Then both shoes set neatly beside the bench. I opened my knees and drew one bare foot along his chest, light, no cruelty. I want your mouth on my clit and your hands around my feet. We can go to the sofa in the back office. It is private. He said please. I walked him there barefoot, blazer still on. On the sofa I pulled my dress up. He licked my cunt while he cradled both feet, devoted, steady.

I came with my hand in his hair, telling him he was perfect at this. Then I pulled him up and sank my cunt onto his cock. I fucked him slow, my bare feet on the cushion behind him. He asked if he could touch. Yes. Hold my ankles. He did. I came again, cunt tight on his cock, and I told him to keep fucking me. He warned me. In my cunt, I said, while you hold my feet. I want it. He came holding my feet.