Ascension

Mrs Murgatroyd strode confidently through the building as if it was her own. Her shoulder length, copper-coloured hair bounced rhythmically as she walked, but the style remained obediently constant. She was Director of Human Resources, and everybody held her in a certain awe. At her whim entire departments could be closed down, and since most people had mortgages and families to maintain, her power over redundancy notices made her particularly fearful. As she was a widow and unencumbered with such weighty luggage as a family, and owned her home outright, she cared little for the plight of individuals with the only exception of herself.

She was an attractive woman in her early-thirties, whose physiognomy and physique did not give the impression of having experienced any of the ravages a stressful career seemed to wreak on lesser beings. As she promenaded through the lobby most of the men noticed her legs, they were particularly long and shapely, and the stilletto-heeled shoes she wore enhanced their appeal still further. Many women teeter desperately in high-heeled shoes, whereas Mrs Murgatroyd appeared to bave been almost capable of running a marathon in them. Her skirts were invariably on the shorter side of respectable, reaching half way down her sculpted thighs, and her jacket fitted exactly, displaying the braless curve of her firm breasts.

Generally speaking she liked men to notice her sexually, and was more than aware of the attention she attracted, although she maintained an unattainable distance from all but a few chosen individuals, while her imperious dignity was augmented by her confident, graceful carriage.

Arriving at the end of the lobby, she summoned the lift, and ran a manicured hand through her shiny hair, while waiting for its arrival.

The doors opened, and a handsome young man in a bell-boy suit, stood to attention, as she walked past him, and took her place at the back of the elevator. Another man, a junior executive, sought to follow her, but she looked at him sternly and pointed in the direction of the stairwell. Knowing it was wise not to cross the Human Resources Director, he followed the direction of her finger, and disappeared up the stairs, just before the elevator doors closed.

Alone in the rising lift, the frightful Mrs Murgatroyd pointed abruptly at the floor in front of her, and the lift boy, James, prostrated himself at her feet. Lovingly he began to lick the dust off her shoes. He should have been an engineer for the firm; he had a doctorate in Mathematics from Oxford University, but the Human Resources Director had her own plans for his career.

For Mrs Murgatroyd, all interviews are seductions. The right canditate has to be attracted to the firm. James was more than the right candidate. He was also young, fit, and attractive. After the interview she took him to dinner, teased him mercilessly with suggestions of what she was capable of in bed. Hurriedly she led him to a hotel room, before stripping him completely naked and handcuffing him to the bed. She promised him the rapture of his life, if he would join the firm. Then she left him to escape his bonds as best he could, and to pay the bill. Sensing he was her type, she knew she had not repelled him by her actions, but only whetted his desire.

James still awaited the promised rapture. It was the first of Mrs Murgatroyd's many unfulfilled promises. The reward would always come after the next indignity. So her repeated bland reassurance would attest. Yet he believed her every time, and so unquestioningly he did her bidding, which was, for the time being, attending to the lift, and polishing her footwear.

Her feet were dainty and small, and the black stilletto shoes formed a narrow point at the tip, upon which James placed gentle kisses. He could taste the unpleasant chemicals she used to clean them. He knew that Mrs Murgatroyd would not feel his attentions through the stout, matte leather, but he had to express his love for her and that was all that mattered.

As his mouth ventured around the shoe, he tried to get as close as he dare to her foot. From this distance he could see the detail of her black nylon stockings, which which shone metallically. The weft formed tiny squares, each one framing a small area of Mrs Murgatroyrd's sacred flesh. He wished so much he could come into contact with that flesh, but he knew if he took more than she was prepared to give, if his lips came into contact with her foot as opposed to her shoe, it would be over and he would be sacked, never to see her again except in his dreams.

In these dreams she was more pliable to his desires than in reality, and yet he needed the sight of her every day, as if to be reminded of what a beautiful woman she was. He needed to renew the invisible bonds that tied her to him, and that made him lie down flat in the large lift where he worked, and to clean her shoes with his mouth, picking off the specks of dust with his lips.

With his mouth on her shoe, his nose picked up the faint traces of the lemon-scented soap with which she had washed herself that morning. He imagined her in a luxurious bathroom, applying soap liberally to her naked body as powerful shower jets played across her bare breasts and legs.

His penis swelled, making it difficult for him to lie comfortably, face down on the floor. Her feet tormented him. He had done this job for only a month, and every working day he had prostrated himself before her, and yet could not touch the woman he loved. In utter desperation he let his lips brush against the nylon-covered top of her foot, where it met the leather of the shoe.

His actions confused himself. He wondered if she felt the caress of his lips. He wanted her to feel it. He hoped it would please her. At the same time, hoping she would not notice, in case she sacked him then and there.

There was no response from above. Emboldened by what he wanted to interpret as tacit assent, he tried again. This time he placed his lips fully upon her foot. It was an unmistakable violation. Suddenly the lift stopped. With fear he looked up at his mistress. She had pressed the emergency stop button. To his surprise, she smiled benignly, and eased her dainty feet out of her shoes, which stood erect beside her now stockinged feet. The shoes looked brand new and unused. Their gold lining shining in the flourescent light of the lift.

She leant against the wall of the lift with her unshod feet together. From his prone position, James saw a glorious landscape of delicate slopes. He looked at her elegant ankles, the inner ones touching each other, like the breasts of two women in a delicate embrace. He surveyed the triumphal arches of her high insteps which, as her feet were so close together, resembled a woman's sex. He imagined it to be that of his love. Then he saw the dark red of the painted toenails, showing through the transluscent web of the stockings, suggesting decadence and sensuality.

Reverently he took her feet in his hands, as if they were ancient family china. He held her heels firmly and kissed the upper sides of her feet. Each in turn. He cursed the illusion of fine denier hosiery, which appeared to reveal some of the flesh of the woman he loved between the weft, and yet he could feel none of that flesh though his lips, only the harsh dryness of the nylon, which formed hard lines of thread that dug into his lips.

The only suggestions of the vibrant body underneath the material, was a vague sensation of warmth, and the smell of her lemon soap. Nevertheless his tongue continued its adventure, slowly penetrating the false vagina of her joined insteps. His lingual explorations skirted around the outer edges of her arches, as it they were her labia. He wanted to prove to her that he could give her sexual pleasure, if only she would let him caress her sex with his mouth.

For her part Mrs Murgatroyd stood impassive. She gave no indication that she felt any pleasure, and the truth was that she did not particularly. She did however enjoy his humiliation, and his devotion to her. He had been a cocky oxbridge type when she had met him, but it had taken her a very short time to deflate his overconfidence. He loved her, and she could tell. Yes he would do, she decided and started the lift again. With an careless kicking movement, she pushed James away.

As he stood up to his full six feet, she stepped into her stilletto-heeled shoes again, and although still shorter than James, he felt insignificant beside her.

"It's time you were promoted," she said, without emphasis. Her voice was deep, yet feminine and exuded a kind of calmness. Its texture like velvet, but its tone was however authoritative. "You're going to be head of finance."

James choked in surprise. He did not know how to respond.

"You will pay me three quarters of your wages, you will do exactly what I tell you, and never question my expenses." She added.

He understood. He was her slave, and she was to profit from him. Maybe money would make her love him as he loved her, and wondered if his elevation in the workplace, would result in an equivalent elevation of his status in her affections. As if reading his thoughts she helpfully clarified the point.

"I may ask you to stay at my house from time to time." She added. The phrase was chosen carefully, so that it allowed James to construct whatever elaborate fantasies he desired upon the foundation of this unsteady ambiguity. It seemed to have the desired effect, as he looked happy, thinking he had obtained his ultimate reward, the fulfillment of her many unkept promises. Those who had visited the house of the frightful Mrs Murgatroyd however, would know to be rather less optimistic.