When did it happen, that subtle switch, when did Emily learn that her nylon covered feet could be used to punish me, to tease, rather than to reward?
Was it the tenth time I told her how good she looked in stockings? The hundredth?
Was is day after day of her putting her feet in my lap and receiving a foot massage without asking?
Was it the first time she 'wasn't in the mood' for sex and I begged her to just let me lick her all over even if I didn't cum?
Or was it that pattern that started to get established, her orgasms being of paramount importance, mine, inconsequential. "If you want pamper me, be my guest," she'd say, "but I'm not in the mood to screw, so don't expect to screw."
Which slowly transformed to, "so don't expect to cum."
Which slowly transformed to, "here, let me lock it up."
Which slowly transformed to, "no, I'm not unlocking it today," and then, "this week," and then, "this month."
Yes became no which became yes but still no.
Yes for us became no, then yes for her and maybe for me, and finally yes for her and no, no, no.
And her feet, still her feet, I love them, I adore them, but her feet, which used to be a prelude to sex are now a reminder of something different, my devotion to her, my worship of her, things I do not to get something in return, but to show her how much I love her, how much I care.
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