Kiss My Feet Emily
Emily kept her head down, her fingers flying across the 10 key pad as she calculated the final lines of the Henderson audit.
It was past 8:00 PM, and the heavy silence of the empty office was broken only by the rhythmic, sharp tapping of her keystrokes.
She was determined to have this file perfect before morning.
More than anything, she wanted her manager to see that she could handle the pressure of her first tax season without breaking a sweat.
Under the desk, Emily had already kicked off her black leather pumps.
She rubbed the sole of her right foot against her left calf, her toes stretching inside her sheer, nude nylons.
Her feet were petite, with high, delicate arches and neatly manicured toes painted a soft, pale pink that faintly peeked through the tight mesh of the hosiery.
It was a small comfort after a ten hour day in heels.
"You're going to make the rest of the staff look bad if you keep staying this late, Emily."
The sudden, smooth voice from the cubicle entrance made Emily jump. She instinctively tried to hook her feet back into her abandoned shoes, but her manager was already leaning against the partition, watching her.
Kaitlyn Vance was thirty six, commanding, and possessed a quiet authority that kept the entire department in line.
Tonight, she had discarded her tailored blazer, and her silk blouse was unbuttoned just enough at the collar to reveal a hint of collarbone.
To everyone at the firm, Kaitlyn was the untouchable, happily married senior auditor.
But Emily always felt a different kind of energy from her which was a heavy, deliberate attention that went far beyond typical professional interest.
"I just wanted to make sure everything was taken care of for you, Ms. Vance," Emily said, her voice dropping into a naturally eager, deferential tone.
She sat up straighter, smoothing down her pencil skirt, acutely aware that her bare, nylon-clad feet were still completely visible under the desk if Kaitlyn looked down.
Kaitlyn did look down.
Her gaze dropped straight to Emily’s feet, anchoring on the elegant curve of her exposed arches and the slow, nervous curl of her pink tipped toes against the carpet.
A sharp, familiar heat tightened in Kaitlyn's stomach.
At home, Kaitlyn played the role of the submissive, traditional wife to her husband, entirely starving her true nature.
But here, looking at the raw, desperate-to-please vulnerability in Emily’s eyes—and the perfect canvas of her feet—Kaitlyn felt an intense, possessive urge to dominate.
"The file can wait," Kaitlyn said, her voice dropping into a low, resonant register that made a shiver chase down Emily's spine.
She stepped fully into the tight space of the cubicle, her warm scent of amber and jasmine instantly crowding out the sterile office air.
"Put your shoes on, Emily. Let’s go to the breakroom. You need some coffee."
"Yes, Ms. Vance," Emily murmured. The sheer command in Kaitlyn's tone didn't intimidate her; it made her stomach flutter with a strange, intoxicating need to obey.
Emily quickly slid her feet back into her heels and followed Kaitlyn down the darkened hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The breakroom was cold, lit only by the dull glow of the vending machines. Emily stepped to the counter, her hands slightly unsteady as she poured the steaming dark roast into a ceramic mug. "Black is fine for you, right?"
"Perfect," Kaitlyn said, leaning back against the heavy oak table in the center of the room. She crossed her arms, her dark eyes tracking every nervous, deliberate movement Emily made.
Emily turned around to hand the mug over, but as she stepped forward, her heel caught the edge of the rubber floor mat.
The mug tilted wildly.
A wave of hot coffee splashed directly down the front of Emily's white button down shirt. The thin fabric instantly absorbed the dark liquid, turning translucent and sticking flat against her skin, mapping the contours of her bra and the sudden, hard peaks of her nipples from the shock of the heat.
"Oh my god!" Emily gasped, dropping the mug into the sink with a loud clatter. "I’m so sorry…I’m such a klutz, Ms. Vance, I’m so…"
"Stop moving," Kaitlyn commanded.
The sheer authority of the words cut Emily off instantly. She froze, her hands hovering near her wet chest, her cheeks burning with absolute mortification.
Kaitlyn pushed off the table, stepping into Emily’s space until they were inches apart. Her eyes weren't on the mess; they were locked onto Emily’s face, reading the complete submission in the girl's wide, panicked eyes. The professional boundary vanished entirely.
"Don't apologize," Kaitlyn murmured, her hand reaching out to firmly grip Emily's chin, tilting her face up. "Look at me."
Emily swallowed hard, her breath hitching as she stared into Kaitlyn's dark, intensely focused eyes. "Ms. Vance..."
"In my office. Right now," Kaitlyn said, her voice leaving no room for a single word of protest.
Emily didn't walk to Kaitlyn’s corner office; she followed like a scolded child pulled along by an invisible leash.
Her wet shirt felt cold and heavy against her skin, the translucent fabric clinging to her chest in a way that made her feel utterly exposed.
She kept her eyes glued to the carpet, listening to the rhythmic, confident click of Kaitlyn’s heels ahead of her.
Kaitlyn opened her heavy oak door, stepped inside, and waited for Emily to cross the threshold. The moment Emily was in, Kaitlyn closed the door behind them, the soft but definitive click of the lock engagement echoing in the quiet room.
"Stand right there," Kaitlyn murmured, gesturing to the center of the plush Persian rug.
Emily obeyed instantly. She stood with her arms pinned slightly to her sides, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. The office was dimly lit, illuminated only by a modern desk lamp that cast long, dramatic shadows across the mahogany furniture.
Kaitlyn walked around her desk, her movements fluid and entirely unbothered by the late hour.
She reached into a small executive closet, pulling out a thick, oversized cashmere sweater.
It was a rich charcoal gray, heavily textured, and clearly expensive.
She walked back over to Emily, holding the soft fabric in one hand while her eyes slowly raked over the younger woman’s ruined clothing.
The coffee had soaked completely through Emily's white blouse. The lace pattern of her bra was perfectly visible, and the stark outline of her hardened nipples showed clearly through the wet, darkened cotton.
"Take it off," Kaitlyn said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a heavy, unyielding weight.
Emily’s breath caught. She looked up, her wide eyes searching Kaitlyn’s face for any hint of professional detachment, but she found none. Kaitlyn’s hazel eyes were dark, focused, and entirely serious.
"M-my shirt, Ms. Vance?" Emily stammered, her voice trembling.
"Did I stutter, Emily?" Kaitlyn stepped closer, the warm, intoxicating scent of her amber perfume enveloping Emily completely. "The coffee is soaking into your skin. Take off the shirt."
A rush of heat flooded Emily’s face, but deep in her stomach, a strange, intoxicating thrill bloomed. She liked the command. She liked that she wasn't being given an option. With shaking fingers, she reached for the top button of her blouse. Because the fabric was wet, her fingers slipped clumsily.
"You're shaking," Kaitlyn observed, her tone softening just a fraction, though her gaze remained intensely predatory. "Let me."
Kaitlyn’s hands replaced Emily’s. Her fingers were cool against Emily’s flushed skin as she deftly unbuttoned the wet blouse from top to bottom.
Emily stood perfectly still, barely daring to breathe as Kaitlyn parted the fabric, brushing it off Emily’s shoulders and letting it drop carelessly to the floor.
Emily stood there in just her pencil skirt and her lace bra, her skin shivering from the cool air of the office. She instinctively started to cross her arms over her chest to shield herself.
"Hands at your sides, Emily," Kaitlyn commanded softly, her hand lightly tapping Emily’s wrist.
Emily dropped her hands immediately. She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she exposed herself entirely to her manager’s scrutiny.
Kaitlyn didn't immediately hand over the sweater. Instead, her gaze traveled down Emily’s body, tracing the curve of her waist, the tight fit of her skirt, and finally landing on her feet. Emily was still standing in her black pumps, her posture tense.
"Kick off your shoes," Kaitlyn said, her voice dropping into a low, husky register. "You look uncomfortable."
Emily gladly slipped her heels off, stepping out of them and letting her feet rest flat against the soft, thick fibers of the rug. The sheer, nude nylon tightly encased her petite feet, emphasizing the high curve of her arches and the neat, pale-pink painted nails beneath the mesh.
Kaitlyn’s eyes lingered on Emily’s feet for several long, quiet seconds. The sight of her new hire being half naked, standing bare foot on her office rug, completely submissive to her directives was driving a deep, possessive ache through Kaitlyn’s core.
Slowly, Kaitlyn raised the charcoal sweater and slid it over Emily's head.
The wool was incredibly soft and warm, instantly banishing Emily’s shivers.
The sweater was far too large for her; the hem reached past the bottom of her pencil skirt, and the sleeves completely swallowed her hands.
It smelled intensely of Kaitlyn which consisted that sophisticated, rich blend of jasmine and amber.
It felt like being wrapped in her manager's authority.
As Emily’s head popped through the collar, she found Kaitlyn standing mere inches away.
Kaitlyn reached up, gently pulling Emily’s blonde hair out from beneath the sweater's neckline, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of Emily’s neck.
Emily let out a soft, involuntary sigh, her eyes fluttering shut at the touch.
"Do you like the sweater, Emily?" Kaitlyn asked, her thumbs lightly tracing Emily’s jawline, tilting her face up once more.