SYNOPSIS: Alexa Miller charges her boss with sexual harassment, requiring him to endure an invasive interview and screening process administered by a beautiful and manipulative examiner.
NOTES: This work of fiction contains some sexual depictions, as well as tickling and foot fetish-oriented content. Characters are 18 or older, and similarity of characters to actual people is coincidental.
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<B>"Alexa's Executive Interview"</B>
Dylan Tyler walked by my cubicle on the morning of April 1st. At only twenty-five years old, he was the executive of Able Transport, a national-level shipping company. Compared to me, the single and apartment-dwelling Alexa Miller, I think that most readers would presume that Dylan Tyler was far more successful.
"Miss Miller," he said tentatively, worried about interrupting my focus on Excel.
"Adjusted incomes for March, Mr. Tyler," I said without a beat, swivelling to face him. He nodded and took hold of the papers, glancing a little lower than necessary. My bare feet, which I was idly stretching under the table, were the momentary focus of his attention. Once again I allowed him to believe I didn't notice. Each day was a test on him.
Two hours later, he would hear the page to his office phone from the front desk secretary, asking him to report to Conference Room D.
Waiting beside me in Conference Room D was my good friend, though I had referred to her in recent times as my lawyer and investigator, Miss Jessica Rodgers. She adjusted her light blue collar and glasses, taking a last read over one of her papers.
As Dylan entered, I saw him notice the room's furniture had been pushed to the walls, leaving ample room for one plasma presentation monitor, several chairs (including the special one which was intended for him), and a trolley of miscellaneous equipment.
"Miss Miller?" he addressed me, confused. I kept my mouth shut.
"Come in, Mr. Tyler," said Jessica. "Close the door, please."
He did so, but not before a moment of hesitation. Jessica continued on to introduce herself.
"My name is Jessica Rodgers. I represent Miss Miller in her sexual harassment charge against you."
I was watching closely for Dylan's reaction. His eyes widened and raised in astonishment to meet Jessica's, and I could see his mind begin to work as he sought to collect his thoughts. It was promising. Jessica was acutely aware of the fear with which all males in business had been increasingly indoctrinated regarding sexual harassment in recent years, and it would be our primary psychological tool against him.
"I beg your pardon?" he said, and then turned to me. "Miss Miller, I--"
"Please talk directly to me," said Jessica, with a tone suggesting little patience. "I will speak for Miss Miller."
He paused.
"I'm not aware of why a sexual harassment charge would be made against me," he said calmly.
Jessica held his gaze.
"Sit down, Mr. Tyler," she said, indicating the recliner-like chair. He walked warily around to occupy it. Jessica was so talented. In less than a minute, she had clearly gained control of the situation. The three of us were soon arranged in a triangle, with myself furthest from the others. Jessica took a breath.
"I'm going to try to be reasonable with you," she said, and Dylan's eyebrows relaxed a little. He would choose the smoothest course he could find, and I think Jessica was counting on that.
"You have been acting inappropriately toward Miss Miller since the start of her employment. It is not something to take lightly, Mr. Tyler, as you know. You have been suggestively and repeatedly staring at my client's feet since the start of her employment here."
Dylan blinked. This was a crucial moment, and it was interesting to see his poker face.
"What?" he said after a moment. But I think he realized that the moment was slightly too long. Jessica was an expert at reading mannerisms, and she wouldn't have missed the anxiety in his face even if she hadn't already investigated him.
"Do not insult my client, Dylan," she said, pushing up her glasses. He stiffened slightly at the first usage of his given name. "My client has kept a record of the isolated incidents, including the most recent at 11:05 this morning."
He looked at me. I played my poker face as well.
"I'm..." he started, about to talk to me. But he remembered his instruction, and turned back to Jessica.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but such a small number of... glances isn't enough to..." he started in defense. His defense wasn't very good.
"Have you ever visited the web site 'justwomensfeet.com', Mr. Tyler?" Jessica asked.
Dylan went silent.
" 'coedfeet.com'?" Jessica continued, picking up a paper and reading from it.
" 'ticklingforum.com'?" she asked. "These are only a few of the sites a recent warranted investigation revealed in your work laptop's browser history. You can check the rest of the list to see if any of the others ring a bell. I trust I don't need to begin reading the names of the YouTube videos you seem to have explored."
Dylan was somewhat whiter than a moment ago. His eyes avoided both of ours.
"Uh..." he said, blank-faced, and then closed his lips.
"My client has had to endure the direct impression-- direct, Mr. Tyler-- that you objectify her, sexualize her in your mind. Are you asking Miss Miller to continue working with you while you, what, fantasize about tying her up and tickling her feet?"
Jessica ended at a small crescendo, and the words hit Dylan sharply. His eyes stayed locked on whatever part of the room he had chosen.
"Do you know how easily we could win a court case with just this much evidence? This is not just a friendly series of glances, is it, Dylan?"
Jessica's eyes rested softly on his. She would not move them until Dylan offered an answer. It didn't look like an easy moment for him, and he stayed silent for almost half-a-minute. It must have seemed much longer to him, and his fingertips actually twitched with adrenaline. I don't think anything like this had ever happened to him.
"Miss Rodgers, I am... extremely sorry," he finally said, trying to rekindle his composure using his most heartfelt tone. "I assure you, I was genuinely not aware of... the explicit nature of my..."
He tried to finish his sentence, but words failed him. I could tell he wanted to explain directly to me, but he still dared not address me. He began again.
"I assure you, I am completely capable of acting appropriately. There is no problem here, Miss Rodgers. It won't happen again."
"Thank you," said Jessica, pushing her glasses up a little. "But it's a little late for that."
Jessica leaned forward and calmly placed her hand on his wrist.
"I already have a court summons for you," she said, indicating an envelope." Invoking the Sexual Harassment Investigation Act passed last year, I plan to bring you into the courtroom in view of the jury and open public, and subject you to a sexual deviancy analysis. It wouldn't be the best thing for your company's media presence, would it, Mr. Tyler?"
Her tone, though I hadn't noticed when Jessica had done it, had changed from that of a strong professional to something more like that of a sympathetic friend. She had already succeeded in taking him down a significant number of pegs, and it bordered between painful and fascinating to watch her utilize her conversational expertise to pull him back toward her. When she had placed her hand on his wrist, she had brought her own sexuality into the mix; another asset that she was practiced at utilizing. By the time her real plan began, Dylan would have a slight unconscious attraction to her.
The attraction to me was important too, but that didn't need to be planted. In my stillness, it was hard for me not to stretch my feet and toes, in their shoes, in covert celebration.
"But like I said," Jessica continued, "I am going to offer you another option. I have a background in psychology and sexual deviancy, and I'm qualified to administer some of the tests I would require you to take during the court session. I can test you here, now, with your permission. If you choose this option, then I will keep this matter away from the public court entirely."
Dylan was listening closely, and seemed greatly relieved at those last words.
"I would be very grateful," he said believably. She was so good.
"Very well." said Jessica, slowly. "I must make it clear that we will still be suing for the quantifiable emotional damage that you have caused Miss Miller already. I'm sure you understand."
Dylan nodded quickly.
"You claim that you are completely capable of acting appropriately."
"Yes. Of course," he said.
"The question is," she intoned, "whether you are telling the truth. These tests will provide the answer. If you demonstrate that you are capable of disinterest in situations similar to yours and Miss Miller's, then we will settle on a sum of one thousand dollars exactly. That is a very generous offer, considering the duress my client has experienced already, I think you will agree."
Dylan nodded with intent eyes and closed lips. Jessica was offering the diplomatic solution that he was seeking, and he would protect that option at all costs.
"If, however, the tests reveal that you are likely to continue behaving inappropriately, and that Miss Miller has any valid complaint about your conduct, then the settlement will be much higher indeed, depending on the severity suggested by the results."
I may have smiled minutely when she said that, but neither of them noticed.
"If you agree to these conditions I have proposed, please sign at the bottom of this form," Jessica concluded, handing the prepared document to him. It was a single, double-sided page with relatively small text. Dylan analyzed it with reasonable speed, breathing slowly, and finally signed and returned it.
"Thank you, Mr. Tyler," Jessica said, placing it aside and inserting another page into her clipboard. "Remove your right shoe and sock, please."
"... I beg your pardon?"
"I'm going to begin by asking you a few questions, during which I'm going to be stimulating and observing automatic responses in your feet."
Dylan looked oddly apprehensive. He suddenly complied in a systematic fashion, and I watched closely as his bare foot was revealed.
"Now, just relax your leg, just like that. Good."
Jessica's remote control, which she held in full view, was put to its first use. She pressed a single button.
Dylan was unaware of what was happening until it was too late. A padded, flexible strap protruded from the chair's leg, encircled Dylan's ankle, and automatically tightened until it held the limb securely. The chair's leg itself pivoted up in a deliberately slow motion, straightening Dylan's leg and raising the sole of his foot.
It was at this moment that I began to experience the first feeling of reward at this endeavour. Jessica's skill was remarkable, but watching Dylan while his bare foot was brought helplessly into position was even more fascinating. The sole of his foot looked boyish and cute, and as it was finally presented directly toward Jessica, and I saw him repress an attempt to struggle. He was embarrassed by what was happening. I felt my body produce an involuntary surge of wetness which surprised me, and I hid it.
"Good, Dylan," Jessica said with a more nurturing tone. "Now, can you scrunch your toes together, please, as hard as you can?"
Dylan awkwardly did so.
"Now flex your toes back as wide as you can," she said.
Dylan did that, too. It was so cute, the way his vulnerable bare foot looked in full presentation, trapped as it was, while he still wore his complete suit.
"Aah!" Dylan gasped suddenly, and his foot clenched and jerked to the side, trying to pull out. Jessica held a shall metal instrument the approximate size of a pencil, and she had just run the tip up his sole. She nodded approvingly at the response.
"Look at me, please," she said. Dylan did, nervously.
"Good, Dylan. How long have you been attracted to women?" she said, resting the tip of her instrument just above his heel. He gasped at the stimulus.
"Um... since the normal... you know, since I was about 13."
"All right. Stretch your toes back again for me, please."
He did so again, and I watched closely. I could see his eyes tensing slightly, preparing in dread for her to zip the item up his sole again.
"What do you find most attractive in women?" Instead of using the tool, she removed it, and began tapping the nails of one hand regularly just below his toes, more lightly and slowly than one would rap their nails on a table.
"Oh-- don't move your toes, Dylan," she said, as they reflexively closed to defend the area she had been stimulating. He tried to splay them again, but he looked like he was having trouble. His anticipation of Jessica's stimulation was exacerbating his defensive instinct. It took him about ten seconds to regain control and comply.
"Good, Dylan. Now, what you find most attractive in women?"
"Um... I mean, I... work with them a lot, so I admire their skills, and..."
"How old were you when you first noticed you were sexually aroused by the thought of being tickled by women?"
She resumed the tapping under his toes as she said it, and Dylan bit his lower lip. The corners of his mouth twitched, and I could see he was working hard to keep his toes back.
"Uh... well, I don't really... I mean... that's really personal..."
"Dylan, please smile for Miss Miller."
Jessica held Dylan's big toe, and firmly dragged the tip of her metal instrument around his heel in circles with firmer pressure. Dylan immediately winced and smiled broadly, simultaneously emitting an involuntary half-squeak. He looked at me, and I smiled back at him.
"That was very kind of you, Dylan. Now, please answer the question," she said, beginning to stroke his sole very lightly with alternating fingernails, just enough to forestall his ability to keep a straight face. "How old were you when you first noticed you were sexually aroused by the thought of being tickled by women?"
Dylan fell once again in a state of awkward silence, but this time it was tainted by an twisted smile that tried to overtake him.
"Dylan, one of the interesting things about this series of questions is that when the examinees choose not to answer, they find themselves starting to laugh."
"Mngh!!" Dylan grunted suddenly, biting his lip happily. Jessica had manipulated his foot in some way, but I was watching his face and had missed it.
"And they just love to laugh so much, that they keep laughing and laughing, even if they try to stop."
Jessica had continued to tease his skin in some way, and Dylan was struggling visibly. He suddenly emitted a powerful giggle which sifted through his nose like a gust through a bush, and I kept focused on his face with great interest.
"Miss Miller; why don't you ask Mr. Tyler to begin laughing for you?"
I looked at Jessica with excitement, and she nodded at me to affirm it. I smiled inside.
"Mr. Tyler?" I said to him kindly. I had momentarily forgotten that I was supposed to look detached, but it felt fine. It was, after all, a precious moment.
"Dylan, look at Miss Miller when she's talking to you. You've admitted you're in her debt; I suggest you treat her as politely as possible."
His eyes met mine with trepidation. Jessica had plenty of control over him, and it was a greatly amusing spectacle, the way he fought not to squirm. It inspired me in the proper direction; I let my face harden, as though to seem unimpressed that he wasn't taking this entire process more seriously, and if he knew what was good for him, he would sit up straight and look me in the eye properly.
I think the message took. He blushed as he tried not to squirm, and I was momentarily convinced that he was actually intimidated by me. Of course, it made sense when I thought about it. Jessica was the lawyer, but to his knowledge it was me who had the impetus to bring this legal action against him.
"Mr. Tyler," I ordered, "laugh, please."
His eyes widened halfway through my request, and within one second, Jessica had applied her fingernails to his foot-- again, I couldn't see exactly how-- in a way that completely defeated his attempts at composure. His hips twisted in the chair, and his face spread into a juvenile torrent of delighted laughter. He suddenly appeared remarkably more like a little boy, and he reached in futility for the strap at his ankle. Jessica caught his eye, cooed him slightly, and caused him to collapse into even more intense reactions, removing his ability to reach at all.
It was highly erotic to watch. Dylan Tyler, the CEO of Able Transport with corporate superiority over hundreds of employees, transformed to a helplessly laughing child by Jessica's effortless touch.
My mind raced. I hadn't fully realized the gift Jessica had given me by letting me "ask" Dylan to laugh. I felt like I had power over him, now that Jessica's had "made" him obey me. He felt it too, and I was confident that the feeling would stay with him like a mating scent.
I was tempted to speak out loud; to coo him and tease him, saying "what a cute, laughing boy you are," or "thank you for so kindly obeying my request, Mr. Tyler," or, "what's the matter, Mr. Tyler? Are your bare feet ticklish? You can't be completely controlled by a girl, can you?"
I didn't speak out loud, but I certainly thought it, and I loved the feeling.
Dylan was trying to articulate a request for Jessica to stop. It was even more fascinating to watch at this moment, since Jessica was idling on the single technique of tickling directly under his left toes with the lightest of stimulation from her nails. She was smirking with placatory amusement. She had him.
"Okay, please!" he yelled again. "Since I was--"
"Keep laughing, Dylan..." sang Jessica lightly, and he melted helplessly back into guffaws.
After furious repeated attempts to somehow untrap himself, he simply lay back and to one side with nothing to do but laugh. It was so beautiful.
Jessica finally calmed him down until he was merely gasping, and asked again: "how old were you saying?"
"Since I was... nine..." he said.
"Can you tell me about what happened to you then?" Jessica asked with the same calm.
"There was... a book I was reading... a fantasy book..." he said between gasps, "and the main character was lost in the woods, and was tickled by... a group of fairies."
"I see. Why didn't he just run away?" Jessica asked gently.
"He... couldn't..." he said. "They... several of them held him down."
"And what did they do to him?"
"The main fairy came up to him and said they were... going to have some fun with him," he recited. The tone of his voice became more child-like as soon as he began to quote the character, and his chin lowered slightly.
"And some of the others began to--" he started to wince and try to hold back another giggle. Jessica had continued to stimulate his foot while he spoke, and now she began lightly exploring the entire sole as he talked.
"-- just... began to tickle him. Tickle his feet, and eventually all over."
"Did reading that turn you on?"
Even though that had been alluded to since his arrival, he still reacted with concentrated shame at the direct question. His eyes dropped to the floor and his face reddened.
Presently, he tensed. I supposed he was waiting in expectation of another period of tickling at his inability to answer.
"Thank you, Mr. Tyler," she said, suddenly regaining the practiced tone of a lawyer, "this has been helpful, but I think that's all we need from you." I offered you the potential settlement of a thousand dollars, but I'm seeing indications of behaviours that will continue to endanger my client in the workplace. After what I've seen so far, I'm going to be requesting a settlement in the range of at least fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars. Now, please remove your left shoe and undo your pants."
Dylan immediately sobered.
"What? Twenty-five <I>thousand</I>?" he asked, regaining his own authoritative tone. It didn't last long. Jessica gripped his toes and exposed his sole with a professional firmness.
"Laugh, Dylan," she said with the focused voice of an animal trainer, and immediately, Dylan fought her talented stimulation again. The stakes were higher now, and he clenched hard to keep his composure.
"<I>N-no!!</I>" he actually shouted, and that was the last action he managed before exploding into laughter.
Watching him, I suddenly felt as though I was about to orgasm. I was completely surprised and took a sharp breath in to calm myself. Thank goodness it worked. It was extremely primal to me, the sheer eroticism of watching Jessica reduce Dylan, poised in angry defense, into giddy blissful joy with hardly more than a finger snap.
Even I hadn't realized that Jessica had not truly meant business until now. Dylan was acting as though electricity was passing through him. After half-a-minute, his body didn't writhe so much as gently convulse. He laughed continuously, his mouth in a wide open smile. All the while, Jessica smiled sweetly, watched him closely, and lightly played her nails under his toes.
I was impressed that he hadn't resorted to begging again, until I realized that he simply couldn't. Jessica's control over him was so complete that his body was taking instructions from her fingernails, and not from him.
"Were you trying tell us that you were offering to follow my instructions, Dylan?" asked Jessica, and gave him just enough leeway to nod weakly through his lingering smile.
"You would like us to remove your pants and underwear so that we can perform the next test on you?"
He exerted a desperate effort to nod a second time.
"Thank you, Dylan. You're doing so well," she said. "Place your arms on the armrests, please."
He did so, and Jessica brought her remote control into play again. Circular straps crept out of the arms, dolphin-dived around his wrists, and tightened to comfortable snugness. After removing Dylan's other shoe and sock, leaving him adorably barefoot, she undid his pants. It took only a particularly attentive glance to convince Dylan that raising his legs, making the removal of his pants easy for Jessica, was the wise course of action. Once his pants had been folded and placed out of his sight, she hooked her fingers around the belt of his white briefs. I watched very closely as she revealed his penis and testicles, and slid the garment off his feet.
"Stay just like that, Dylan," she said, as the straps secured themselves around both his ankles and effectively completed his fusion with the chair.
"We're going to need to make sure we can see your penis, Dylan," said Jessica, and pressed her next button. The chair's legs spread outward and upward, so that both soles faced the walls, and his legs were spread apart, forming almost a right angle.
It was so amazing to see. The head of a company, wearing one of his best suits, with his naked penis and testicles dangling beneath the hem of his buttoned shirt, and the soft, round, cute soles of his feet presented so neatly. I don't think I had ever been more turned-on in my life, but it was still important that I played the victim.
By the time Jessica's arrangement of Dylan was complete, she had returned with a new item. It was not unlike three links of a chain, but each link was a different material. The uppermost was a light plum elastic, and it was connected, by a small band, to a darker elastic ring. As Jessica placed her thumb and index finger inside the dark ring and opened them, it was clear that the shiny material was stronger than even a thick rubber band. The lowest and smallest ring was metallic and solid.
Dylan was recovering, and his eyes now followed Jessica as she knelt between his legs and focused with care on his genitals, which were now defenseless.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asked meekly.
Jessica stretched the uppermost ring open, lifted his penis with her hand, and placed it around the shaft, letting it rest at the very base. Then she stretched the dark ring wide and placed it around his scrotum. It was relatively tight, but apparently not painfully so, and his testicles hung loosely through it.
"You should be thanking me, Mr. Tyler," she said with professional sophistication. "This is your opportunity to stop digging this unfortunate hole for yourself. You were kind enough to inform us about some of your sexual interests. As you said before, no further adjustments to our settlement should be necessary if you can, indeed, demonstrate that you are capable of controlling them."
Jessica tugged gently downward on the small metal ring, effectively tugging downward on his scrotum and the base of his penis, now that the device was mounted on them. She attached it to a clip which sank into an otherwise invisible hole in the chair, located just forward of the position of his anus. A video camera, waiting on the trolley, was then positioned by Jessica for an acceptably close shot of his exposed private area.
"The testing procedure will be explained clearly in the video, Mr. Tyler," Jessica said, walking behind him. I watched her procure and apply a long, wide strip of material, which she wrapped around his mouth like a misplaced blindfold. Whatever the material was, Dylan immediately tested it and seemed unable to articulate any intelligible sound through his mouth. Exhaling was inhibited largely by the almost-adhesive thing, and when he attempted to breathe in, it sealed itself to his lips, and he hiccoughed. After brief experimentation, he was resigned to inhaling and exhaling through his nose.
Though she affixed it manually, the strap around Dylan's forehead seemed equally snug to the ones binding his limbs.
"Now, just relax and watch, Dylan. The test will take at least an hour, but we'll be here to monitor everything that happens."
Dylan's eyes widened at Jessica's time estimate, and he attempted to emit some kind of incredulous vocalization, which was quickly dissipated by the material around his mouth. The test would take him through his lunch break and into his afternoon; probably longer. He struggled with renewed desperation, as though just realizing that he was utterly helpless.
Jessica gave me a hint of a smile from behind his head.
She retrieved her final piece of equipment from the cart: a helmet, shaped like the protective headgear of a motorcyclist. Its smooth beak and modern design reminded me of the virtual reality helmets which had made brief appearances in amusement parks a few decades ago. Dylan calmed as it was placed on his head, committing him to darkness and, judging by the enclosing material around the ears, relative silence.
Jessica's remote seemed to control the headset as well, and after another press, an LED illuminated on the helmet's exterior.
"He can't hear us," Jessica told me.
"At all?" I asked.
"Not at all," she said, turning on the plasma screen. "And you are doing wonderfully, Alexa. I knew my confidence was well-placed."
"I feel incredible," I told her, almost shedding tears at the admission. "You are really good, Jess. Really amazing."
"Well, there's more to be done right now. Let's not keep Mr. Tyler waiting, hmm? Let's see how he likes the presentation." Jessica issued another command from her remote, and the plasma screen-- along with the screens aligned to Dylan's eyes inside the helmet-- illuminated to a soft grey.
The interior of a minimalist white studio followed. The click of heels was heard, and soon, an attractive, smartly-dressed personality entered the shot and faced the camera with an extremely kind smile.
"Hi. I'm Elyse," she said. "I work here at Insight Research, and today, I'm here to walk you through a customized Insight Screening Examination."
The video cut to a medium shot, focusing more closely on her upper body and face. She was more than an attractive host; she was enviably beautiful, and with such an innocently enthusiastic demeanor to boot, it was difficult not to be irrationally jealous of her as she stood centre stage and smiled. I allowed reason to remind me that her role was equally as important as Jessica's and mine, and prepared myself to relax and enjoy what was about to happen.
"This examination will measure your instantaneous sexual responses to visual and aural stimuli," Elyse continued. "Let me explain how it works."
The shot of Elyse was split-screened with a computer-generated image, depicting a dormant set of male genitalia sporting the three-ring device. It rotated slowly as she spoke.
"By this time, you have been fitted with a Insight Research wireless plethysmograph. Once an erotic image, sound, or scenario is presented to you, your brain will process it, and your penis will react accordingly. As the primary ring is stretched, the liquid inside it is displaced and the result is measured precisely and continuously." In the animation, a growth to full erection was depicted, and the tautness of the ring was indicated with a yellow glow.
The 3-D animation receded, and Elyse took a step into the centre of the studio. Her presence was still electric, bordering just on the clinical side of flirtatious.
"This method is more effective than the sexual interest inventory in the traditional questionnaire format, because male sexual response is primarily automatic; in other words, you can't help it. As the examination continues, we will gradually isolate the precise stimuli that produce the most significant penile responses."
The split-screen effect returned, but instead of a 3-D model, the left side of the screen was occupied by the live shot of his own penis and testicles, helpless and at rest.
"Let's begin with a simple example," said Elyse. She happily removed her jacket, unbuttoned her blouse, and stepped out of her skirt, leaving herself naked except for her high heels and solid black underwear.
"The Insight plethysmograph is so precise that it can measure even slight increases in circumference; so slight that you may not even be conscious of them."
Elyse began to remove her bra.
"In fact, it's important that you don't attempt to sway or repress the results, because nervousness and anxiety may actually augment your level of arousal," she said cheerily. "Just relax and let yourself react."
Her bra was removed, and her breasts were presented clearly to Dylan's eyes. It was a graceful display, and I found myself feeling amusedly sympathetic to Dylan's dilemma.
She glanced the camera with a smile of mischievous sophistication, and brought one hand to her breast. Her fingers contoured its curve, testing its sensitivity, and the fingers of her other hand were raised to their respective nipple. They caressed and then quickly squeezed the nipple, and Elyse's expression dissolved into an even more beautiful one. Her forehead tensed, and her chin raised as she inhaled.
I blinked suddenly. I had been so entranced by her routine that I had found myself wishing-- only to myself, of course-- that I might be able to do that to her. Or just to myself. I didn't know. Or care. This was really fascinating.
I just kept watching, transfixed by her eye contact with the camera. Her fingers played and twisted around the nipple, and she began to breathe in slow and visible waves. Her other palm squeezed her breast and tugged slightly, and her upper teeth pressed gently into her lower lip.
I glanced at Dylan in the chair. Though he was unable to speak and move, I could tell he was focusing on calming himself. His chest rose in a deep inhalation, and I watched his penis, with wide eyes, as it visibly perked up a little. It was so erotic to watch it begin to betray him.
The camera now framed Elyse's body from a lowered angle, producing the effect of an unnaturally tall depiction of her. The centre of her panties was now in the foreground as she leaned down to remove her right shoe. She smiled generously at the active camera, and presented her left sole directly to it. Her feet and toes matched the beauty of her hands and face.
The penis, still framed perfectly on the split-screen, now responded with a more decided reaction than a slight perk. Its foreskin stretched gradually but uniformly, and its angle raised steadily as the smiling host wiggled her toes flirtatiously. She brought her foot even closer to the camera, now representing the point of view of somebody trapped underneath it without many options.
Elyse was relentless in the sustained presentation of her foot, and Dylan's penis continued to silently rise until it pointed upward.
The shot switched back to Elyse's face and naked upper body.
"Glad you like me!" she giggled smoothly. "Now, I'm going to explain one more feature of the plethysmograph," she said, back to her salesperson voice.
"Wait," I said, looking over at Jessica. "Glad you like me? What if he hadn't responded to that?"
"The video sequence is software-based," said Jessica. "We've filmed and edited for every possible contingency."
Jessica's description of the program had been vague, and I was extremely impressed that it was so sophisticated. I had changed my disposition toward Elyse from jealousy to admiration.
"The plethysmograph is connected to a retractable cable in the chair. At strategic times, or when you've already been sustaining a full erection, we're going to be testing your unconscious responses to specific stimuli by pulling gently downward on your scrotum, like this."
Elyse directed his attention to the left side of the screen, where the action she had described, occurred. The small metal ring was pulled mechanically, a full inch, toward the seat of the chair and slightly backward. This had the effect of pulling downward on the scrotum, and applying indirect pressure to the base of his penis. Once the automatic pulling was complete, the excess downward pressure was released.
"This downward pressure is not enough to trigger flexion of your pelvic muscles in general, but if you're being presented with an image that turns you on, then it will be almost impossible to prevent a visible response. For example..."
The shot immediately cut to a close-up shot of six pairs of bare feet, soles facing the camera, toes wiggling playfully, and the sound of a group of young women giggling and laughing with amusement. Immediately, Dylan's scrotum was pulled downward. The angle of his penis lowered gradually with the force of the pull, and then his pelvic muscles contracted and it jumped wildly, pointing straight up in the air, and then relaxing as the pull subsided. It bobbed momentarily before coming to rest at full erection. The giggling women and their feet disappeared, and Elyse returned to the screen.
"So," she continued excitedly, "are you ready for your penis to put on a little show for us? Remember, just relax and let your body react."
She leaned in a little.
"Just remember," she whispered through a smile, "you can't help it." The floor-up shot returned, and Elyse splayed her toes in front of the camera as the restraints around Dylan's genitals tugged downward again, and his penis made another wild leap, held itself straight up for a full sexually-tense second, and bobbed again in the open air. Elyse wiggled her toes and giggled in delight.
Over the next while, I witnessed more video footage of attractive women displaying their feet to the camera than I knew existed. I was vaguely familiar with the increasing presence of disjointed clips on YouTube and remote pay-to-view web sites, but the quality was inevitably hit-and-miss. If the talent was impressive, the videos seemed guaranteed to lack a competent cameraman. If the production equipment was cutting-edge, then the cast members had sparse acting training.
These clips were different, and I have to admit that I would have been more impressed with the world of visual eroticism if I had known that videographers and actresses demonstrating such high quality and genuineness existed.
But all of that was a side-thought. As it played, it was Dylan's beautiful genitals that I was interested in, and the task of keeping him entertained seemed easy for the sequence of women in the video. The clips had become an episodic dream montage of erotic situation after situation.
A picture akin to my own was shown: a secretary at a computer, wearing black nylons with her ankles crossed on her desk, soles facing the camera. She typed, idly stretching them, and then looked at the viewer with a certain feigned shock. She wiggled her toes experimentally and smirked at the camera, and an automated pull on his scrotum caused Dylan's penis to flip into the air again. Each time it came to rest, it seemed to rest higher and prouder than before.
"Thanks for coming over to my apartment," said a blonde girl in a college sweatshirt, leading the viewer through a hallway. When settled in the bedroom with the camera facing upward from the floor, she apologized for the restraints, but she needed to "check his reaction to something." Her shoes were removed and held open to the camera, and the penile reflex was triggered once for each. The procedure was repeated with each of her socks. Finally, she smirked and placed one foot within two inches of the camera and held it there, wiggling the toes of the other foot behind it.
"I think someone's interested in being forced to smell women's feet," said Jessica, almost laughing out loud at the repetitive dance of his erection. I looked over at her in fascination; I had never given much thought to that facet of Dylan's interest, but it now dawned on me that he might have spent time imagining that I was in the position of the blonde girl in the chair. I took a good look at Dylan.
Smart suit. Cute bare feet, displayed helplessly to my view. Penis sticking proudly out from under his shirt, and now, it was bobbing ridiculously in the air almost every ten seconds. Dylan had entered this trying as hard as he could not to demonstrate any sexual response. I felt myself moisten further, even though my underwear was already palpably wet underneath my skirt.
Next, we appeared to be seeing the interior of a small booth, its wall decorated with drawings of cute and feminine anime characters and interspersed with colourful and bulbous Japanese writing. A coin slot was visible below, and a small and lovely female hand crept in from the right and placed a coin into the slot, with a mischievous flourish.
A soothing melody played to a light pop beat. A panel opened in the centre of the booth's wall at eye level, and an actual pair of small feminine feet alternately splayed and flexed in time with the music. They gradually approached the camera until they filled the entire screen, where they continued to display themselves. Just to the left, the image of Dylan's penis (which I had earlier remarked with amusement was now filling the entire height of its column of screen space) continued to jump again and again.
It was apparently time for Dylan to check back in with Elyse, who was sitting at an outdoor table in a flowing skirt. She was sipping a tall blended fruit drink, and her pretty feet rested on the table's surface, crossed at the ankles.
"Having a good time?" she said impishly, splaying her toes in feigned relaxation, and making his penis jump in response to the question.
"I'll take that as a yes," she giggled.
"We're detecting that you're approaching orgasm. As you know, if we provide you with too much stimulation, you will ejaculate and ruin the potential for finishing the test. So, when we detect that you're within a close threshold of that reaction, we're going to relax the stimulation just enough to allow you to continue providing data for the screening," she finished with an assuring lilt.
Another round of situations after humiliating situations played out before Dylan's eyes, and the involuntary reflexes of a highly entertained and uncontrollably erect penis played out in front of mine.
A nurse wiggled her toes at him while he was restrained to a medical bed.
A young, ponytailed woman in a wrestling ring hooked her leg behind his knee, immobilized him and throwing him to the floor, where she placed a bare foot on his face at her leisure.
A psychology professor had him come on stage with a female classmate to demonstrate a social dynamic, asking him kneel on the ground while she sat on a desk and dangled her sandals directly in front of his eyes.
A female dancer in a luxurious hotel suite pushed him gently to the floor, and made him watch as she danced her foot in hypnotic ways.
A group of girls wearing casual shirts and jeans at a bachelorette party ganged up on him, holding him to the floor and simultaneously making him smell their feet.
A stunningly delicate, fair-skinned princess knighted him, requiring him to kiss both of her snow-white feet in reverence. She extended them daintily, one after the other, smiling at him with the face of an angel.
A parade of exquisite fashion models took turns strolling down to the end of the catwalk, smiling down at the camera, removing one shoe, flashing her bare foot sexily, winking, and making way for the next model to do the same. Cameras snapped from all directions.
A young female police officer in an interrogation room attached a pressure cuff to his forearm, and instructed him to stare at the bare feet of an attractive assistant who rested her heels on a stool within one foot of his eyes, and displayed them in various positions.
The scenes continued this way for at least another hour. I would gladly have extended that if given the option.
As his penis flexed and held itself involuntarily in the air, Dylan would occasionally struggle and gasp through his nose. His member tensed silently in the air for such a long period that it seemed inevitable that he was about to be forced to orgasm, but after each precarious moment, the penis would relax and wait eagerly for further stimulation.
Dylan seemed not to know what to do. He was still humiliated and occasionally struggled, as though this useless measure might prove to be useful in some way he hadn't thought of. He knew that we were still watching, and his face seemed to flush and refresh its red glow every while.
I had conferred with Jessica about the closing of our meeting, and she was preparing to transition to it.
I watched the screen as Elyse, back in the studio, thanked him for his kind cooperation and assured him that he had provided enough data for a thorough analysis of his erotic interests. It was a touching note on which to end the adventure, but the automatic stimulation to the penis continued in regular intervals even as Jessica removed the helmet, leaving Dylan's mouth and head bound, but again free to listen and regard his surroundings.
I awaited the moment-- which occurred as soon as he had blinked through his adaptation to the room's light-- when his eyes looked in the direction of his genitals and saw the soles of my feet, resting one on either side of his crotch, wiggling my toes slowly. I had propped myself on the floor, and I wanted him to watch his own erection flex helplessly in front of him as I made direct and accusatory eye contact. I wanted to make him feel so humiliated that he would have a permanent memory of it.
"Mr. Tyler," said Jessica, returning to her chair. "I plan to have this examination data analyzed with full thoroughness, but I don't think either of us needs an expert analysis to see that we'd be well within our rights to issue a full harassment suit. I'm astonished, Mr. Tyler, that you chose to insult my client by insisting that you were capable of controlling your actions in her presence."
"Look at you. Look at Miss Miller's feet, Dylan," she said, her tone raising to a crescendo. "You should be handling this in a professional manner, and instead, you insist on waving your penis around like a flag."
She stopped to let her words sink in. In the silence, his scrotum was slowly tugged, and the penis jumped wildly once again. Jessica's eyes bore into his, as if waiting for him to answer for himself. Mine, also, were still fixed on his.
With snake-like elegance, my feet continued to communicate with his eyes as well.
He stared meekly at some spot on the floor and breathed in and out, as slowly as he could.
After ten more seconds of the thickest silence imaginable, his penis jumped again in the air between my feet.
"Mr. Tyler," I said to him plainly, with no change in the flexing movements of my feet.
"Would it surprise you to know that I applied to work at Able Transport <I>because</I> I was aware that you were the CEO?"
His eyes returned to mine, allowing him to regard my feet and his erection again. Another penile reflex asserted itself.
"I remember seeing you at the coffee shop on Fourth and Commercial," I said. "Somebody mentioned you were the head of Able Transport, and so I studied you as you read the paper. Even then, it was so easy to notice the way you looked at my feet."
I stretched my feet in luxurious tension, and his penis jumped again from fully erect to fully-tensed stiffness, this time without any aid from the mechanical trigger.
"I decided to call on my friend, Miss Jessica Rodgers, and before long, we knew exactly what files you stored on your computer, what special works of art and video clips you paid for, and what web sites you visited and at what time of day."
"It was pretty easy for us to tell, Mr. Tyler," I continued starkly, "that you longed for anyone to know what you could never tell another soul about. You, the executive. It has been the one thing that you can't afford, for the world to know that you, Dylan Tyler, are just a ticklish, submissive little boy."
Maintaining direct eye contact, I began methodically tickling both of his feet without any intention of stopping, while wiggling my own toes much more quickly in the air around his penis. His eyes widened and he started squirming and struggling, and grunting and giggling through his nose.
"Aren't you, Dylan? Look at me," I told him as he continued to struggle.
"<I>Look at me,</I>" I said much more firmly, dragging my nails deliberately from his arches to his heels, and his eyes shot back to mine.
"Look at my feet," I instructed him. I watched his eyes lower slightly, and I lowered my head slightly to keep him fully aware that I was watching him watch them.
"After I saw you that day, I knew that you were the executive I had been waiting for. I would apply for a job, earn it, and spend each morning causing you to provide me with evidence to justify a sexual harassment suit."
"And," I continued, "you've provided me with enough guaranteed settlement money to make my life quite leisurely and still pay a generous attorney's fee."
"But I'm not going to stop there," I said, and I stopped tickling his feet. His penis swayed left and right, and then pointed back at the ceiling. The regular triggering of his penile reflex had continued through my entire ministration, and it elicited another one now. I leaned a little closer and spoke a little softer.
"Because I'm going to give you one opportunity to get out of this whole situation, Mr. Tyler."
The room had returned to complete silence, and it was plain that I still had Dylan's full attention.
"I'm going to allow you to forget this entire sexual harassment charge, and give you the opportunity to offer me... a rape charge."
His eyes widened.
"Oh, I'm not going to do anything dramatic. All I need is enough of your semen to smear on the extra pair of underwear that I brought to this meeting. Once I have that evidence, I'll claim that you attempted rape and ejaculated on them in the process. The consequences are three years in prison and a rather significant fine, but if you're willing to offer me that option, then I'll be as reasonable as Miss Rodgers was, and propose a settlement. Approximately... twenty million dollars should be fair."
Dylan's eyes turned to saucers, and he suddenly seemed to go berserk with violent grunting and struggling.
"Oh, Dylan, Dylan..." I said consolingly. "You don't have to offer me the opportunity if you don't want to."
He breathed sharply in helpless and intense frustration of more than one kind.
"I understand, Dylan. We checked during our investigation, and I know that twenty million dollars is a little more than the value of this company. You might have to borrow from some other organizations, but I know you can take care of it. That's why you're the CEO," I said.
His penis, now harder than I could ever have imagined, flexed proudly again between my still-active feet.
"If you don't want me to do that, then just don't orgasm. If you can achieve that; if you finally demonstrate that you have the slightest control over your own penis, then we will forget this meeting ever happened. All that will exist is an extraordinary video of Dylan Tyler's penis dancing to a parade of women's feet, of which I promise you that every staff member of Able Transport will receive a prompt copy if you fail to forget."
Dylan's eyes were focused quietly on mine again.
"It's a simple decision, Dylan," I said softly, stretching and flexing my feet innocently. "You understand decisions. You make important ones every day."
I brought my forefinger and thumb to the head of his penis.
"Beep," I said, quickly squeezing and releasing it. The penis shot upward, almost pointing directly to his face, and then bounced around in the air before settling again into silent, willing stiffness.
Jessica had adjusted the video camera to frame Dylan's entire form, including his bare soles and his penis and testicles, and now she used her remote to cause the chair to recline until Dylan was lying flat on the floor.
He looked up at me as I stood over him, silently. Locked in wordless eye contact, I dared him to try to win. Everything was silent, and it felt like we were frozen in time.
After the long moment, I found myself smiling at him lovingly. He was so wonderful. He was so beautiful.
I lifted my right foot, slowly spreading and flexing my toes, and placed them gently on his nose.
"Smell my feet, Dylan," I said tenderly. Though I spoke calmly, I'm sure that my excitement was plainly visible underneath my skirt.
I waited and watched his beautiful, deer-like eyes as he ran out of breath, struggling, and inhaled.
I giggled softly. Even in my peripheral vision, I could see on the monitor that his penis had been again forced to flex of its own accord, and his eyes looked terrified. His penis held itself perfectly straight, quivering with supreme tension, as though the wisp of air from a butterfly's wing could cause it to take him over. This would be it.
I watched his eyes as they stared at me in complete desperation, and I stared at his. It was the most wonderful moment of my life, and I realized for the first time that I was in love with Dylan Tyler.
I raised my right foot so that my toes were suspended directly above his wide-open eyes, and wiggled them lightly, with no more intensity than a butterfly's wing.
I saw the response seize Dylan like a relentless hug. His eyes went strangely open, and his pupils dilated. The penis had decided that it would be taking him over now, and it swiftly hardened, recruiting the entire strength of his pelvic muscles to hold it at a perfectly right angle to his body, like an iron parking meter to a sidewalk.
He struggled to disengage his pelvic muscles, seeming to plead silently for his penis to relax. I could see it still clenching itself progressively harder. There was nothing he could do to stop it. His penis would eventually relax, but by no choice of his. It would happen automatically only when ejaculation was imminent. I watched as Dylan tried, with his entire being, to prevent that moment.
I lowered my toes enough to keep them in his field of vision, but enough to let him see my face. I smiled at him softly, and with my left hand, gave him the finger.
"Fuck you, Dylan," I said.
He started to whimper, but it came out as an animalistic grunt as air was forced through his throat and out his nose.
I winked at him.
Then, his penis suddenly relaxed, allowing him to enjoy a momentary Eden. After that moment, it seized him again, and contracted as hard as it could. Dylan's sperm shot directly up into the room, coming close to the ceiling, and landed on the lapel of his suit coat.
At that same moment, Dylan's face relaxed into an expression of cataclysmically primal tension and pleasure. He couldn't help it. His hips lunged and fell in waves, having no particular synchronization with his consequent blasts of sperm into the air.
I rested my foot on his nose and wiggled my toes playfully, knowing that Dylan's inward breathing would be frequent and deep, and far beyond his control.
"Smell my feet, Dylan..." I sang once more.
And in this way, I watched those beautiful eyes, driven to helpless, pleasurable madness, as I heard impact after impact of sperm against his coat, shirt and tie.
Time passed before the impacts began to quieten, and soon, Dylan's penis could be seen on the monitor ejaculating gently onto itself. Sperm ran down its length and rested in his pubic hair, and around his tightened scrotum.
I allowed my foot to rest on Dylan's nose until he had been forced to take several more deep breaths while recovering from the physical exertion. Finally, I stepped off, and slipped my shoes on.
"Dylan..." I said, as he looked up at me weakly.
"... It has been a pleasure manipulating you."
And then, Jessica and I left the room, and closed the door.
We eventually returned to the presentation room, of course. Once we had released Dylan, he lost no time in taking the most covert route possible through the hallway. I didn't blame him at all. No one wants to be seen with a stained suit.
We went through with the settlement, but with some adjustments. I allowed him to live through the afternoon preoccupied with his financial crisis, and then sent him an adjusted proposal.
My current situation is the result of Dylan's acceptance of that proposal. I wasn't so cruel as to demand twenty million dollars, but I did allow Dylan to start by funding the entire purchase of a special piece of equipment, which he would choose.
He's working on paying the remainder of the settlement in weekly installments which I won't mention since they're somewhat large. However, I'm confident that Dylan feels that the exchange is, in fact, fair. He visits each week to receive the special service for which he exchanges that payment.
This is the special equipment, here. There's something I like about the modern, round design that makes the man's bare feet, when they're sticking out the end, even cuter.
The other main design element is the contoured hole through a man's genitals plainly protrude. Aside from that, the body is completely contained within. Screens rest over the eyes, and isolation speakers around the ears; unless I care to remove them for any whimsical reason.
I also received a mysterious raise at work, and Dylan's daily check-ins at my cubicle leave me with the interesting feeling that I have quite a bit more authority over Dylan than he will ever have over me.
When he comes for his weekly visits, and I sit in front of his helpless and beautiful bare feet and genitals, I have the same feeling.
Many readers, as I said, would presume at first glance that Dylan Tyler had achieved a far greater degree of success in life than I. Looking over my own situation, I humbly beg to differ. But I keep that to myself.
NOTES: This work of fiction contains some sexual depictions, as well as tickling and foot fetish-oriented content. Characters are 18 or older, and similarity of characters to actual people is coincidental.
--------------------
<B>"Alexa's Executive Interview"</B>
Dylan Tyler walked by my cubicle on the morning of April 1st. At only twenty-five years old, he was the executive of Able Transport, a national-level shipping company. Compared to me, the single and apartment-dwelling Alexa Miller, I think that most readers would presume that Dylan Tyler was far more successful.
"Miss Miller," he said tentatively, worried about interrupting my focus on Excel.
"Adjusted incomes for March, Mr. Tyler," I said without a beat, swivelling to face him. He nodded and took hold of the papers, glancing a little lower than necessary. My bare feet, which I was idly stretching under the table, were the momentary focus of his attention. Once again I allowed him to believe I didn't notice. Each day was a test on him.
Two hours later, he would hear the page to his office phone from the front desk secretary, asking him to report to Conference Room D.
Waiting beside me in Conference Room D was my good friend, though I had referred to her in recent times as my lawyer and investigator, Miss Jessica Rodgers. She adjusted her light blue collar and glasses, taking a last read over one of her papers.
As Dylan entered, I saw him notice the room's furniture had been pushed to the walls, leaving ample room for one plasma presentation monitor, several chairs (including the special one which was intended for him), and a trolley of miscellaneous equipment.
"Miss Miller?" he addressed me, confused. I kept my mouth shut.
"Come in, Mr. Tyler," said Jessica. "Close the door, please."
He did so, but not before a moment of hesitation. Jessica continued on to introduce herself.
"My name is Jessica Rodgers. I represent Miss Miller in her sexual harassment charge against you."
I was watching closely for Dylan's reaction. His eyes widened and raised in astonishment to meet Jessica's, and I could see his mind begin to work as he sought to collect his thoughts. It was promising. Jessica was acutely aware of the fear with which all males in business had been increasingly indoctrinated regarding sexual harassment in recent years, and it would be our primary psychological tool against him.
"I beg your pardon?" he said, and then turned to me. "Miss Miller, I--"
"Please talk directly to me," said Jessica, with a tone suggesting little patience. "I will speak for Miss Miller."
He paused.
"I'm not aware of why a sexual harassment charge would be made against me," he said calmly.
Jessica held his gaze.
"Sit down, Mr. Tyler," she said, indicating the recliner-like chair. He walked warily around to occupy it. Jessica was so talented. In less than a minute, she had clearly gained control of the situation. The three of us were soon arranged in a triangle, with myself furthest from the others. Jessica took a breath.
"I'm going to try to be reasonable with you," she said, and Dylan's eyebrows relaxed a little. He would choose the smoothest course he could find, and I think Jessica was counting on that.
"You have been acting inappropriately toward Miss Miller since the start of her employment. It is not something to take lightly, Mr. Tyler, as you know. You have been suggestively and repeatedly staring at my client's feet since the start of her employment here."
Dylan blinked. This was a crucial moment, and it was interesting to see his poker face.
"What?" he said after a moment. But I think he realized that the moment was slightly too long. Jessica was an expert at reading mannerisms, and she wouldn't have missed the anxiety in his face even if she hadn't already investigated him.
"Do not insult my client, Dylan," she said, pushing up her glasses. He stiffened slightly at the first usage of his given name. "My client has kept a record of the isolated incidents, including the most recent at 11:05 this morning."
He looked at me. I played my poker face as well.
"I'm..." he started, about to talk to me. But he remembered his instruction, and turned back to Jessica.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but such a small number of... glances isn't enough to..." he started in defense. His defense wasn't very good.
"Have you ever visited the web site 'justwomensfeet.com', Mr. Tyler?" Jessica asked.
Dylan went silent.
" 'coedfeet.com'?" Jessica continued, picking up a paper and reading from it.
" 'ticklingforum.com'?" she asked. "These are only a few of the sites a recent warranted investigation revealed in your work laptop's browser history. You can check the rest of the list to see if any of the others ring a bell. I trust I don't need to begin reading the names of the YouTube videos you seem to have explored."
Dylan was somewhat whiter than a moment ago. His eyes avoided both of ours.
"Uh..." he said, blank-faced, and then closed his lips.
"My client has had to endure the direct impression-- direct, Mr. Tyler-- that you objectify her, sexualize her in your mind. Are you asking Miss Miller to continue working with you while you, what, fantasize about tying her up and tickling her feet?"
Jessica ended at a small crescendo, and the words hit Dylan sharply. His eyes stayed locked on whatever part of the room he had chosen.
"Do you know how easily we could win a court case with just this much evidence? This is not just a friendly series of glances, is it, Dylan?"
Jessica's eyes rested softly on his. She would not move them until Dylan offered an answer. It didn't look like an easy moment for him, and he stayed silent for almost half-a-minute. It must have seemed much longer to him, and his fingertips actually twitched with adrenaline. I don't think anything like this had ever happened to him.
"Miss Rodgers, I am... extremely sorry," he finally said, trying to rekindle his composure using his most heartfelt tone. "I assure you, I was genuinely not aware of... the explicit nature of my..."
He tried to finish his sentence, but words failed him. I could tell he wanted to explain directly to me, but he still dared not address me. He began again.
"I assure you, I am completely capable of acting appropriately. There is no problem here, Miss Rodgers. It won't happen again."
"Thank you," said Jessica, pushing her glasses up a little. "But it's a little late for that."
Jessica leaned forward and calmly placed her hand on his wrist.
"I already have a court summons for you," she said, indicating an envelope." Invoking the Sexual Harassment Investigation Act passed last year, I plan to bring you into the courtroom in view of the jury and open public, and subject you to a sexual deviancy analysis. It wouldn't be the best thing for your company's media presence, would it, Mr. Tyler?"
Her tone, though I hadn't noticed when Jessica had done it, had changed from that of a strong professional to something more like that of a sympathetic friend. She had already succeeded in taking him down a significant number of pegs, and it bordered between painful and fascinating to watch her utilize her conversational expertise to pull him back toward her. When she had placed her hand on his wrist, she had brought her own sexuality into the mix; another asset that she was practiced at utilizing. By the time her real plan began, Dylan would have a slight unconscious attraction to her.
The attraction to me was important too, but that didn't need to be planted. In my stillness, it was hard for me not to stretch my feet and toes, in their shoes, in covert celebration.
"But like I said," Jessica continued, "I am going to offer you another option. I have a background in psychology and sexual deviancy, and I'm qualified to administer some of the tests I would require you to take during the court session. I can test you here, now, with your permission. If you choose this option, then I will keep this matter away from the public court entirely."
Dylan was listening closely, and seemed greatly relieved at those last words.
"I would be very grateful," he said believably. She was so good.
"Very well." said Jessica, slowly. "I must make it clear that we will still be suing for the quantifiable emotional damage that you have caused Miss Miller already. I'm sure you understand."
Dylan nodded quickly.
"You claim that you are completely capable of acting appropriately."
"Yes. Of course," he said.
"The question is," she intoned, "whether you are telling the truth. These tests will provide the answer. If you demonstrate that you are capable of disinterest in situations similar to yours and Miss Miller's, then we will settle on a sum of one thousand dollars exactly. That is a very generous offer, considering the duress my client has experienced already, I think you will agree."
Dylan nodded with intent eyes and closed lips. Jessica was offering the diplomatic solution that he was seeking, and he would protect that option at all costs.
"If, however, the tests reveal that you are likely to continue behaving inappropriately, and that Miss Miller has any valid complaint about your conduct, then the settlement will be much higher indeed, depending on the severity suggested by the results."
I may have smiled minutely when she said that, but neither of them noticed.
"If you agree to these conditions I have proposed, please sign at the bottom of this form," Jessica concluded, handing the prepared document to him. It was a single, double-sided page with relatively small text. Dylan analyzed it with reasonable speed, breathing slowly, and finally signed and returned it.
"Thank you, Mr. Tyler," Jessica said, placing it aside and inserting another page into her clipboard. "Remove your right shoe and sock, please."
"... I beg your pardon?"
"I'm going to begin by asking you a few questions, during which I'm going to be stimulating and observing automatic responses in your feet."
Dylan looked oddly apprehensive. He suddenly complied in a systematic fashion, and I watched closely as his bare foot was revealed.
"Now, just relax your leg, just like that. Good."
Jessica's remote control, which she held in full view, was put to its first use. She pressed a single button.
Dylan was unaware of what was happening until it was too late. A padded, flexible strap protruded from the chair's leg, encircled Dylan's ankle, and automatically tightened until it held the limb securely. The chair's leg itself pivoted up in a deliberately slow motion, straightening Dylan's leg and raising the sole of his foot.
It was at this moment that I began to experience the first feeling of reward at this endeavour. Jessica's skill was remarkable, but watching Dylan while his bare foot was brought helplessly into position was even more fascinating. The sole of his foot looked boyish and cute, and as it was finally presented directly toward Jessica, and I saw him repress an attempt to struggle. He was embarrassed by what was happening. I felt my body produce an involuntary surge of wetness which surprised me, and I hid it.
"Good, Dylan," Jessica said with a more nurturing tone. "Now, can you scrunch your toes together, please, as hard as you can?"
Dylan awkwardly did so.
"Now flex your toes back as wide as you can," she said.
Dylan did that, too. It was so cute, the way his vulnerable bare foot looked in full presentation, trapped as it was, while he still wore his complete suit.
"Aah!" Dylan gasped suddenly, and his foot clenched and jerked to the side, trying to pull out. Jessica held a shall metal instrument the approximate size of a pencil, and she had just run the tip up his sole. She nodded approvingly at the response.
"Look at me, please," she said. Dylan did, nervously.
"Good, Dylan. How long have you been attracted to women?" she said, resting the tip of her instrument just above his heel. He gasped at the stimulus.
"Um... since the normal... you know, since I was about 13."
"All right. Stretch your toes back again for me, please."
He did so again, and I watched closely. I could see his eyes tensing slightly, preparing in dread for her to zip the item up his sole again.
"What do you find most attractive in women?" Instead of using the tool, she removed it, and began tapping the nails of one hand regularly just below his toes, more lightly and slowly than one would rap their nails on a table.
"Oh-- don't move your toes, Dylan," she said, as they reflexively closed to defend the area she had been stimulating. He tried to splay them again, but he looked like he was having trouble. His anticipation of Jessica's stimulation was exacerbating his defensive instinct. It took him about ten seconds to regain control and comply.
"Good, Dylan. Now, what you find most attractive in women?"
"Um... I mean, I... work with them a lot, so I admire their skills, and..."
"How old were you when you first noticed you were sexually aroused by the thought of being tickled by women?"
She resumed the tapping under his toes as she said it, and Dylan bit his lower lip. The corners of his mouth twitched, and I could see he was working hard to keep his toes back.
"Uh... well, I don't really... I mean... that's really personal..."
"Dylan, please smile for Miss Miller."
Jessica held Dylan's big toe, and firmly dragged the tip of her metal instrument around his heel in circles with firmer pressure. Dylan immediately winced and smiled broadly, simultaneously emitting an involuntary half-squeak. He looked at me, and I smiled back at him.
"That was very kind of you, Dylan. Now, please answer the question," she said, beginning to stroke his sole very lightly with alternating fingernails, just enough to forestall his ability to keep a straight face. "How old were you when you first noticed you were sexually aroused by the thought of being tickled by women?"
Dylan fell once again in a state of awkward silence, but this time it was tainted by an twisted smile that tried to overtake him.
"Dylan, one of the interesting things about this series of questions is that when the examinees choose not to answer, they find themselves starting to laugh."
"Mngh!!" Dylan grunted suddenly, biting his lip happily. Jessica had manipulated his foot in some way, but I was watching his face and had missed it.
"And they just love to laugh so much, that they keep laughing and laughing, even if they try to stop."
Jessica had continued to tease his skin in some way, and Dylan was struggling visibly. He suddenly emitted a powerful giggle which sifted through his nose like a gust through a bush, and I kept focused on his face with great interest.
"Miss Miller; why don't you ask Mr. Tyler to begin laughing for you?"
I looked at Jessica with excitement, and she nodded at me to affirm it. I smiled inside.
"Mr. Tyler?" I said to him kindly. I had momentarily forgotten that I was supposed to look detached, but it felt fine. It was, after all, a precious moment.
"Dylan, look at Miss Miller when she's talking to you. You've admitted you're in her debt; I suggest you treat her as politely as possible."
His eyes met mine with trepidation. Jessica had plenty of control over him, and it was a greatly amusing spectacle, the way he fought not to squirm. It inspired me in the proper direction; I let my face harden, as though to seem unimpressed that he wasn't taking this entire process more seriously, and if he knew what was good for him, he would sit up straight and look me in the eye properly.
I think the message took. He blushed as he tried not to squirm, and I was momentarily convinced that he was actually intimidated by me. Of course, it made sense when I thought about it. Jessica was the lawyer, but to his knowledge it was me who had the impetus to bring this legal action against him.
"Mr. Tyler," I ordered, "laugh, please."
His eyes widened halfway through my request, and within one second, Jessica had applied her fingernails to his foot-- again, I couldn't see exactly how-- in a way that completely defeated his attempts at composure. His hips twisted in the chair, and his face spread into a juvenile torrent of delighted laughter. He suddenly appeared remarkably more like a little boy, and he reached in futility for the strap at his ankle. Jessica caught his eye, cooed him slightly, and caused him to collapse into even more intense reactions, removing his ability to reach at all.
It was highly erotic to watch. Dylan Tyler, the CEO of Able Transport with corporate superiority over hundreds of employees, transformed to a helplessly laughing child by Jessica's effortless touch.
My mind raced. I hadn't fully realized the gift Jessica had given me by letting me "ask" Dylan to laugh. I felt like I had power over him, now that Jessica's had "made" him obey me. He felt it too, and I was confident that the feeling would stay with him like a mating scent.
I was tempted to speak out loud; to coo him and tease him, saying "what a cute, laughing boy you are," or "thank you for so kindly obeying my request, Mr. Tyler," or, "what's the matter, Mr. Tyler? Are your bare feet ticklish? You can't be completely controlled by a girl, can you?"
I didn't speak out loud, but I certainly thought it, and I loved the feeling.
Dylan was trying to articulate a request for Jessica to stop. It was even more fascinating to watch at this moment, since Jessica was idling on the single technique of tickling directly under his left toes with the lightest of stimulation from her nails. She was smirking with placatory amusement. She had him.
"Okay, please!" he yelled again. "Since I was--"
"Keep laughing, Dylan..." sang Jessica lightly, and he melted helplessly back into guffaws.
After furious repeated attempts to somehow untrap himself, he simply lay back and to one side with nothing to do but laugh. It was so beautiful.
Jessica finally calmed him down until he was merely gasping, and asked again: "how old were you saying?"
"Since I was... nine..." he said.
"Can you tell me about what happened to you then?" Jessica asked with the same calm.
"There was... a book I was reading... a fantasy book..." he said between gasps, "and the main character was lost in the woods, and was tickled by... a group of fairies."
"I see. Why didn't he just run away?" Jessica asked gently.
"He... couldn't..." he said. "They... several of them held him down."
"And what did they do to him?"
"The main fairy came up to him and said they were... going to have some fun with him," he recited. The tone of his voice became more child-like as soon as he began to quote the character, and his chin lowered slightly.
"And some of the others began to--" he started to wince and try to hold back another giggle. Jessica had continued to stimulate his foot while he spoke, and now she began lightly exploring the entire sole as he talked.
"-- just... began to tickle him. Tickle his feet, and eventually all over."
"Did reading that turn you on?"
Even though that had been alluded to since his arrival, he still reacted with concentrated shame at the direct question. His eyes dropped to the floor and his face reddened.
Presently, he tensed. I supposed he was waiting in expectation of another period of tickling at his inability to answer.
"Thank you, Mr. Tyler," she said, suddenly regaining the practiced tone of a lawyer, "this has been helpful, but I think that's all we need from you." I offered you the potential settlement of a thousand dollars, but I'm seeing indications of behaviours that will continue to endanger my client in the workplace. After what I've seen so far, I'm going to be requesting a settlement in the range of at least fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars. Now, please remove your left shoe and undo your pants."
Dylan immediately sobered.
"What? Twenty-five <I>thousand</I>?" he asked, regaining his own authoritative tone. It didn't last long. Jessica gripped his toes and exposed his sole with a professional firmness.
"Laugh, Dylan," she said with the focused voice of an animal trainer, and immediately, Dylan fought her talented stimulation again. The stakes were higher now, and he clenched hard to keep his composure.
"<I>N-no!!</I>" he actually shouted, and that was the last action he managed before exploding into laughter.
Watching him, I suddenly felt as though I was about to orgasm. I was completely surprised and took a sharp breath in to calm myself. Thank goodness it worked. It was extremely primal to me, the sheer eroticism of watching Jessica reduce Dylan, poised in angry defense, into giddy blissful joy with hardly more than a finger snap.
Even I hadn't realized that Jessica had not truly meant business until now. Dylan was acting as though electricity was passing through him. After half-a-minute, his body didn't writhe so much as gently convulse. He laughed continuously, his mouth in a wide open smile. All the while, Jessica smiled sweetly, watched him closely, and lightly played her nails under his toes.
I was impressed that he hadn't resorted to begging again, until I realized that he simply couldn't. Jessica's control over him was so complete that his body was taking instructions from her fingernails, and not from him.
"Were you trying tell us that you were offering to follow my instructions, Dylan?" asked Jessica, and gave him just enough leeway to nod weakly through his lingering smile.
"You would like us to remove your pants and underwear so that we can perform the next test on you?"
He exerted a desperate effort to nod a second time.
"Thank you, Dylan. You're doing so well," she said. "Place your arms on the armrests, please."
He did so, and Jessica brought her remote control into play again. Circular straps crept out of the arms, dolphin-dived around his wrists, and tightened to comfortable snugness. After removing Dylan's other shoe and sock, leaving him adorably barefoot, she undid his pants. It took only a particularly attentive glance to convince Dylan that raising his legs, making the removal of his pants easy for Jessica, was the wise course of action. Once his pants had been folded and placed out of his sight, she hooked her fingers around the belt of his white briefs. I watched very closely as she revealed his penis and testicles, and slid the garment off his feet.
"Stay just like that, Dylan," she said, as the straps secured themselves around both his ankles and effectively completed his fusion with the chair.
"We're going to need to make sure we can see your penis, Dylan," said Jessica, and pressed her next button. The chair's legs spread outward and upward, so that both soles faced the walls, and his legs were spread apart, forming almost a right angle.
It was so amazing to see. The head of a company, wearing one of his best suits, with his naked penis and testicles dangling beneath the hem of his buttoned shirt, and the soft, round, cute soles of his feet presented so neatly. I don't think I had ever been more turned-on in my life, but it was still important that I played the victim.
By the time Jessica's arrangement of Dylan was complete, she had returned with a new item. It was not unlike three links of a chain, but each link was a different material. The uppermost was a light plum elastic, and it was connected, by a small band, to a darker elastic ring. As Jessica placed her thumb and index finger inside the dark ring and opened them, it was clear that the shiny material was stronger than even a thick rubber band. The lowest and smallest ring was metallic and solid.
Dylan was recovering, and his eyes now followed Jessica as she knelt between his legs and focused with care on his genitals, which were now defenseless.
"What are you going to do with that?" he asked meekly.
Jessica stretched the uppermost ring open, lifted his penis with her hand, and placed it around the shaft, letting it rest at the very base. Then she stretched the dark ring wide and placed it around his scrotum. It was relatively tight, but apparently not painfully so, and his testicles hung loosely through it.
"You should be thanking me, Mr. Tyler," she said with professional sophistication. "This is your opportunity to stop digging this unfortunate hole for yourself. You were kind enough to inform us about some of your sexual interests. As you said before, no further adjustments to our settlement should be necessary if you can, indeed, demonstrate that you are capable of controlling them."
Jessica tugged gently downward on the small metal ring, effectively tugging downward on his scrotum and the base of his penis, now that the device was mounted on them. She attached it to a clip which sank into an otherwise invisible hole in the chair, located just forward of the position of his anus. A video camera, waiting on the trolley, was then positioned by Jessica for an acceptably close shot of his exposed private area.
"The testing procedure will be explained clearly in the video, Mr. Tyler," Jessica said, walking behind him. I watched her procure and apply a long, wide strip of material, which she wrapped around his mouth like a misplaced blindfold. Whatever the material was, Dylan immediately tested it and seemed unable to articulate any intelligible sound through his mouth. Exhaling was inhibited largely by the almost-adhesive thing, and when he attempted to breathe in, it sealed itself to his lips, and he hiccoughed. After brief experimentation, he was resigned to inhaling and exhaling through his nose.
Though she affixed it manually, the strap around Dylan's forehead seemed equally snug to the ones binding his limbs.
"Now, just relax and watch, Dylan. The test will take at least an hour, but we'll be here to monitor everything that happens."
Dylan's eyes widened at Jessica's time estimate, and he attempted to emit some kind of incredulous vocalization, which was quickly dissipated by the material around his mouth. The test would take him through his lunch break and into his afternoon; probably longer. He struggled with renewed desperation, as though just realizing that he was utterly helpless.
Jessica gave me a hint of a smile from behind his head.
She retrieved her final piece of equipment from the cart: a helmet, shaped like the protective headgear of a motorcyclist. Its smooth beak and modern design reminded me of the virtual reality helmets which had made brief appearances in amusement parks a few decades ago. Dylan calmed as it was placed on his head, committing him to darkness and, judging by the enclosing material around the ears, relative silence.
Jessica's remote seemed to control the headset as well, and after another press, an LED illuminated on the helmet's exterior.
"He can't hear us," Jessica told me.
"At all?" I asked.
"Not at all," she said, turning on the plasma screen. "And you are doing wonderfully, Alexa. I knew my confidence was well-placed."
"I feel incredible," I told her, almost shedding tears at the admission. "You are really good, Jess. Really amazing."
"Well, there's more to be done right now. Let's not keep Mr. Tyler waiting, hmm? Let's see how he likes the presentation." Jessica issued another command from her remote, and the plasma screen-- along with the screens aligned to Dylan's eyes inside the helmet-- illuminated to a soft grey.
The interior of a minimalist white studio followed. The click of heels was heard, and soon, an attractive, smartly-dressed personality entered the shot and faced the camera with an extremely kind smile.
"Hi. I'm Elyse," she said. "I work here at Insight Research, and today, I'm here to walk you through a customized Insight Screening Examination."
The video cut to a medium shot, focusing more closely on her upper body and face. She was more than an attractive host; she was enviably beautiful, and with such an innocently enthusiastic demeanor to boot, it was difficult not to be irrationally jealous of her as she stood centre stage and smiled. I allowed reason to remind me that her role was equally as important as Jessica's and mine, and prepared myself to relax and enjoy what was about to happen.
"This examination will measure your instantaneous sexual responses to visual and aural stimuli," Elyse continued. "Let me explain how it works."
The shot of Elyse was split-screened with a computer-generated image, depicting a dormant set of male genitalia sporting the three-ring device. It rotated slowly as she spoke.
"By this time, you have been fitted with a Insight Research wireless plethysmograph. Once an erotic image, sound, or scenario is presented to you, your brain will process it, and your penis will react accordingly. As the primary ring is stretched, the liquid inside it is displaced and the result is measured precisely and continuously." In the animation, a growth to full erection was depicted, and the tautness of the ring was indicated with a yellow glow.
The 3-D animation receded, and Elyse took a step into the centre of the studio. Her presence was still electric, bordering just on the clinical side of flirtatious.
"This method is more effective than the sexual interest inventory in the traditional questionnaire format, because male sexual response is primarily automatic; in other words, you can't help it. As the examination continues, we will gradually isolate the precise stimuli that produce the most significant penile responses."
The split-screen effect returned, but instead of a 3-D model, the left side of the screen was occupied by the live shot of his own penis and testicles, helpless and at rest.
"Let's begin with a simple example," said Elyse. She happily removed her jacket, unbuttoned her blouse, and stepped out of her skirt, leaving herself naked except for her high heels and solid black underwear.
"The Insight plethysmograph is so precise that it can measure even slight increases in circumference; so slight that you may not even be conscious of them."
Elyse began to remove her bra.
"In fact, it's important that you don't attempt to sway or repress the results, because nervousness and anxiety may actually augment your level of arousal," she said cheerily. "Just relax and let yourself react."
Her bra was removed, and her breasts were presented clearly to Dylan's eyes. It was a graceful display, and I found myself feeling amusedly sympathetic to Dylan's dilemma.
She glanced the camera with a smile of mischievous sophistication, and brought one hand to her breast. Her fingers contoured its curve, testing its sensitivity, and the fingers of her other hand were raised to their respective nipple. They caressed and then quickly squeezed the nipple, and Elyse's expression dissolved into an even more beautiful one. Her forehead tensed, and her chin raised as she inhaled.
I blinked suddenly. I had been so entranced by her routine that I had found myself wishing-- only to myself, of course-- that I might be able to do that to her. Or just to myself. I didn't know. Or care. This was really fascinating.
I just kept watching, transfixed by her eye contact with the camera. Her fingers played and twisted around the nipple, and she began to breathe in slow and visible waves. Her other palm squeezed her breast and tugged slightly, and her upper teeth pressed gently into her lower lip.
I glanced at Dylan in the chair. Though he was unable to speak and move, I could tell he was focusing on calming himself. His chest rose in a deep inhalation, and I watched his penis, with wide eyes, as it visibly perked up a little. It was so erotic to watch it begin to betray him.
The camera now framed Elyse's body from a lowered angle, producing the effect of an unnaturally tall depiction of her. The centre of her panties was now in the foreground as she leaned down to remove her right shoe. She smiled generously at the active camera, and presented her left sole directly to it. Her feet and toes matched the beauty of her hands and face.
The penis, still framed perfectly on the split-screen, now responded with a more decided reaction than a slight perk. Its foreskin stretched gradually but uniformly, and its angle raised steadily as the smiling host wiggled her toes flirtatiously. She brought her foot even closer to the camera, now representing the point of view of somebody trapped underneath it without many options.
Elyse was relentless in the sustained presentation of her foot, and Dylan's penis continued to silently rise until it pointed upward.
The shot switched back to Elyse's face and naked upper body.
"Glad you like me!" she giggled smoothly. "Now, I'm going to explain one more feature of the plethysmograph," she said, back to her salesperson voice.
"Wait," I said, looking over at Jessica. "Glad you like me? What if he hadn't responded to that?"
"The video sequence is software-based," said Jessica. "We've filmed and edited for every possible contingency."
Jessica's description of the program had been vague, and I was extremely impressed that it was so sophisticated. I had changed my disposition toward Elyse from jealousy to admiration.
"The plethysmograph is connected to a retractable cable in the chair. At strategic times, or when you've already been sustaining a full erection, we're going to be testing your unconscious responses to specific stimuli by pulling gently downward on your scrotum, like this."
Elyse directed his attention to the left side of the screen, where the action she had described, occurred. The small metal ring was pulled mechanically, a full inch, toward the seat of the chair and slightly backward. This had the effect of pulling downward on the scrotum, and applying indirect pressure to the base of his penis. Once the automatic pulling was complete, the excess downward pressure was released.
"This downward pressure is not enough to trigger flexion of your pelvic muscles in general, but if you're being presented with an image that turns you on, then it will be almost impossible to prevent a visible response. For example..."
The shot immediately cut to a close-up shot of six pairs of bare feet, soles facing the camera, toes wiggling playfully, and the sound of a group of young women giggling and laughing with amusement. Immediately, Dylan's scrotum was pulled downward. The angle of his penis lowered gradually with the force of the pull, and then his pelvic muscles contracted and it jumped wildly, pointing straight up in the air, and then relaxing as the pull subsided. It bobbed momentarily before coming to rest at full erection. The giggling women and their feet disappeared, and Elyse returned to the screen.
"So," she continued excitedly, "are you ready for your penis to put on a little show for us? Remember, just relax and let your body react."
She leaned in a little.
"Just remember," she whispered through a smile, "you can't help it." The floor-up shot returned, and Elyse splayed her toes in front of the camera as the restraints around Dylan's genitals tugged downward again, and his penis made another wild leap, held itself straight up for a full sexually-tense second, and bobbed again in the open air. Elyse wiggled her toes and giggled in delight.
Over the next while, I witnessed more video footage of attractive women displaying their feet to the camera than I knew existed. I was vaguely familiar with the increasing presence of disjointed clips on YouTube and remote pay-to-view web sites, but the quality was inevitably hit-and-miss. If the talent was impressive, the videos seemed guaranteed to lack a competent cameraman. If the production equipment was cutting-edge, then the cast members had sparse acting training.
These clips were different, and I have to admit that I would have been more impressed with the world of visual eroticism if I had known that videographers and actresses demonstrating such high quality and genuineness existed.
But all of that was a side-thought. As it played, it was Dylan's beautiful genitals that I was interested in, and the task of keeping him entertained seemed easy for the sequence of women in the video. The clips had become an episodic dream montage of erotic situation after situation.
A picture akin to my own was shown: a secretary at a computer, wearing black nylons with her ankles crossed on her desk, soles facing the camera. She typed, idly stretching them, and then looked at the viewer with a certain feigned shock. She wiggled her toes experimentally and smirked at the camera, and an automated pull on his scrotum caused Dylan's penis to flip into the air again. Each time it came to rest, it seemed to rest higher and prouder than before.
"Thanks for coming over to my apartment," said a blonde girl in a college sweatshirt, leading the viewer through a hallway. When settled in the bedroom with the camera facing upward from the floor, she apologized for the restraints, but she needed to "check his reaction to something." Her shoes were removed and held open to the camera, and the penile reflex was triggered once for each. The procedure was repeated with each of her socks. Finally, she smirked and placed one foot within two inches of the camera and held it there, wiggling the toes of the other foot behind it.
"I think someone's interested in being forced to smell women's feet," said Jessica, almost laughing out loud at the repetitive dance of his erection. I looked over at her in fascination; I had never given much thought to that facet of Dylan's interest, but it now dawned on me that he might have spent time imagining that I was in the position of the blonde girl in the chair. I took a good look at Dylan.
Smart suit. Cute bare feet, displayed helplessly to my view. Penis sticking proudly out from under his shirt, and now, it was bobbing ridiculously in the air almost every ten seconds. Dylan had entered this trying as hard as he could not to demonstrate any sexual response. I felt myself moisten further, even though my underwear was already palpably wet underneath my skirt.
Next, we appeared to be seeing the interior of a small booth, its wall decorated with drawings of cute and feminine anime characters and interspersed with colourful and bulbous Japanese writing. A coin slot was visible below, and a small and lovely female hand crept in from the right and placed a coin into the slot, with a mischievous flourish.
A soothing melody played to a light pop beat. A panel opened in the centre of the booth's wall at eye level, and an actual pair of small feminine feet alternately splayed and flexed in time with the music. They gradually approached the camera until they filled the entire screen, where they continued to display themselves. Just to the left, the image of Dylan's penis (which I had earlier remarked with amusement was now filling the entire height of its column of screen space) continued to jump again and again.
It was apparently time for Dylan to check back in with Elyse, who was sitting at an outdoor table in a flowing skirt. She was sipping a tall blended fruit drink, and her pretty feet rested on the table's surface, crossed at the ankles.
"Having a good time?" she said impishly, splaying her toes in feigned relaxation, and making his penis jump in response to the question.
"I'll take that as a yes," she giggled.
"We're detecting that you're approaching orgasm. As you know, if we provide you with too much stimulation, you will ejaculate and ruin the potential for finishing the test. So, when we detect that you're within a close threshold of that reaction, we're going to relax the stimulation just enough to allow you to continue providing data for the screening," she finished with an assuring lilt.
Another round of situations after humiliating situations played out before Dylan's eyes, and the involuntary reflexes of a highly entertained and uncontrollably erect penis played out in front of mine.
A nurse wiggled her toes at him while he was restrained to a medical bed.
A young, ponytailed woman in a wrestling ring hooked her leg behind his knee, immobilized him and throwing him to the floor, where she placed a bare foot on his face at her leisure.
A psychology professor had him come on stage with a female classmate to demonstrate a social dynamic, asking him kneel on the ground while she sat on a desk and dangled her sandals directly in front of his eyes.
A female dancer in a luxurious hotel suite pushed him gently to the floor, and made him watch as she danced her foot in hypnotic ways.
A group of girls wearing casual shirts and jeans at a bachelorette party ganged up on him, holding him to the floor and simultaneously making him smell their feet.
A stunningly delicate, fair-skinned princess knighted him, requiring him to kiss both of her snow-white feet in reverence. She extended them daintily, one after the other, smiling at him with the face of an angel.
A parade of exquisite fashion models took turns strolling down to the end of the catwalk, smiling down at the camera, removing one shoe, flashing her bare foot sexily, winking, and making way for the next model to do the same. Cameras snapped from all directions.
A young female police officer in an interrogation room attached a pressure cuff to his forearm, and instructed him to stare at the bare feet of an attractive assistant who rested her heels on a stool within one foot of his eyes, and displayed them in various positions.
The scenes continued this way for at least another hour. I would gladly have extended that if given the option.
As his penis flexed and held itself involuntarily in the air, Dylan would occasionally struggle and gasp through his nose. His member tensed silently in the air for such a long period that it seemed inevitable that he was about to be forced to orgasm, but after each precarious moment, the penis would relax and wait eagerly for further stimulation.
Dylan seemed not to know what to do. He was still humiliated and occasionally struggled, as though this useless measure might prove to be useful in some way he hadn't thought of. He knew that we were still watching, and his face seemed to flush and refresh its red glow every while.
I had conferred with Jessica about the closing of our meeting, and she was preparing to transition to it.
I watched the screen as Elyse, back in the studio, thanked him for his kind cooperation and assured him that he had provided enough data for a thorough analysis of his erotic interests. It was a touching note on which to end the adventure, but the automatic stimulation to the penis continued in regular intervals even as Jessica removed the helmet, leaving Dylan's mouth and head bound, but again free to listen and regard his surroundings.
I awaited the moment-- which occurred as soon as he had blinked through his adaptation to the room's light-- when his eyes looked in the direction of his genitals and saw the soles of my feet, resting one on either side of his crotch, wiggling my toes slowly. I had propped myself on the floor, and I wanted him to watch his own erection flex helplessly in front of him as I made direct and accusatory eye contact. I wanted to make him feel so humiliated that he would have a permanent memory of it.
"Mr. Tyler," said Jessica, returning to her chair. "I plan to have this examination data analyzed with full thoroughness, but I don't think either of us needs an expert analysis to see that we'd be well within our rights to issue a full harassment suit. I'm astonished, Mr. Tyler, that you chose to insult my client by insisting that you were capable of controlling your actions in her presence."
"Look at you. Look at Miss Miller's feet, Dylan," she said, her tone raising to a crescendo. "You should be handling this in a professional manner, and instead, you insist on waving your penis around like a flag."
She stopped to let her words sink in. In the silence, his scrotum was slowly tugged, and the penis jumped wildly once again. Jessica's eyes bore into his, as if waiting for him to answer for himself. Mine, also, were still fixed on his.
With snake-like elegance, my feet continued to communicate with his eyes as well.
He stared meekly at some spot on the floor and breathed in and out, as slowly as he could.
After ten more seconds of the thickest silence imaginable, his penis jumped again in the air between my feet.
"Mr. Tyler," I said to him plainly, with no change in the flexing movements of my feet.
"Would it surprise you to know that I applied to work at Able Transport <I>because</I> I was aware that you were the CEO?"
His eyes returned to mine, allowing him to regard my feet and his erection again. Another penile reflex asserted itself.
"I remember seeing you at the coffee shop on Fourth and Commercial," I said. "Somebody mentioned you were the head of Able Transport, and so I studied you as you read the paper. Even then, it was so easy to notice the way you looked at my feet."
I stretched my feet in luxurious tension, and his penis jumped again from fully erect to fully-tensed stiffness, this time without any aid from the mechanical trigger.
"I decided to call on my friend, Miss Jessica Rodgers, and before long, we knew exactly what files you stored on your computer, what special works of art and video clips you paid for, and what web sites you visited and at what time of day."
"It was pretty easy for us to tell, Mr. Tyler," I continued starkly, "that you longed for anyone to know what you could never tell another soul about. You, the executive. It has been the one thing that you can't afford, for the world to know that you, Dylan Tyler, are just a ticklish, submissive little boy."
Maintaining direct eye contact, I began methodically tickling both of his feet without any intention of stopping, while wiggling my own toes much more quickly in the air around his penis. His eyes widened and he started squirming and struggling, and grunting and giggling through his nose.
"Aren't you, Dylan? Look at me," I told him as he continued to struggle.
"<I>Look at me,</I>" I said much more firmly, dragging my nails deliberately from his arches to his heels, and his eyes shot back to mine.
"Look at my feet," I instructed him. I watched his eyes lower slightly, and I lowered my head slightly to keep him fully aware that I was watching him watch them.
"After I saw you that day, I knew that you were the executive I had been waiting for. I would apply for a job, earn it, and spend each morning causing you to provide me with evidence to justify a sexual harassment suit."
"And," I continued, "you've provided me with enough guaranteed settlement money to make my life quite leisurely and still pay a generous attorney's fee."
"But I'm not going to stop there," I said, and I stopped tickling his feet. His penis swayed left and right, and then pointed back at the ceiling. The regular triggering of his penile reflex had continued through my entire ministration, and it elicited another one now. I leaned a little closer and spoke a little softer.
"Because I'm going to give you one opportunity to get out of this whole situation, Mr. Tyler."
The room had returned to complete silence, and it was plain that I still had Dylan's full attention.
"I'm going to allow you to forget this entire sexual harassment charge, and give you the opportunity to offer me... a rape charge."
His eyes widened.
"Oh, I'm not going to do anything dramatic. All I need is enough of your semen to smear on the extra pair of underwear that I brought to this meeting. Once I have that evidence, I'll claim that you attempted rape and ejaculated on them in the process. The consequences are three years in prison and a rather significant fine, but if you're willing to offer me that option, then I'll be as reasonable as Miss Rodgers was, and propose a settlement. Approximately... twenty million dollars should be fair."
Dylan's eyes turned to saucers, and he suddenly seemed to go berserk with violent grunting and struggling.
"Oh, Dylan, Dylan..." I said consolingly. "You don't have to offer me the opportunity if you don't want to."
He breathed sharply in helpless and intense frustration of more than one kind.
"I understand, Dylan. We checked during our investigation, and I know that twenty million dollars is a little more than the value of this company. You might have to borrow from some other organizations, but I know you can take care of it. That's why you're the CEO," I said.
His penis, now harder than I could ever have imagined, flexed proudly again between my still-active feet.
"If you don't want me to do that, then just don't orgasm. If you can achieve that; if you finally demonstrate that you have the slightest control over your own penis, then we will forget this meeting ever happened. All that will exist is an extraordinary video of Dylan Tyler's penis dancing to a parade of women's feet, of which I promise you that every staff member of Able Transport will receive a prompt copy if you fail to forget."
Dylan's eyes were focused quietly on mine again.
"It's a simple decision, Dylan," I said softly, stretching and flexing my feet innocently. "You understand decisions. You make important ones every day."
I brought my forefinger and thumb to the head of his penis.
"Beep," I said, quickly squeezing and releasing it. The penis shot upward, almost pointing directly to his face, and then bounced around in the air before settling again into silent, willing stiffness.
Jessica had adjusted the video camera to frame Dylan's entire form, including his bare soles and his penis and testicles, and now she used her remote to cause the chair to recline until Dylan was lying flat on the floor.
He looked up at me as I stood over him, silently. Locked in wordless eye contact, I dared him to try to win. Everything was silent, and it felt like we were frozen in time.
After the long moment, I found myself smiling at him lovingly. He was so wonderful. He was so beautiful.
I lifted my right foot, slowly spreading and flexing my toes, and placed them gently on his nose.
"Smell my feet, Dylan," I said tenderly. Though I spoke calmly, I'm sure that my excitement was plainly visible underneath my skirt.
I waited and watched his beautiful, deer-like eyes as he ran out of breath, struggling, and inhaled.
I giggled softly. Even in my peripheral vision, I could see on the monitor that his penis had been again forced to flex of its own accord, and his eyes looked terrified. His penis held itself perfectly straight, quivering with supreme tension, as though the wisp of air from a butterfly's wing could cause it to take him over. This would be it.
I watched his eyes as they stared at me in complete desperation, and I stared at his. It was the most wonderful moment of my life, and I realized for the first time that I was in love with Dylan Tyler.
I raised my right foot so that my toes were suspended directly above his wide-open eyes, and wiggled them lightly, with no more intensity than a butterfly's wing.
I saw the response seize Dylan like a relentless hug. His eyes went strangely open, and his pupils dilated. The penis had decided that it would be taking him over now, and it swiftly hardened, recruiting the entire strength of his pelvic muscles to hold it at a perfectly right angle to his body, like an iron parking meter to a sidewalk.
He struggled to disengage his pelvic muscles, seeming to plead silently for his penis to relax. I could see it still clenching itself progressively harder. There was nothing he could do to stop it. His penis would eventually relax, but by no choice of his. It would happen automatically only when ejaculation was imminent. I watched as Dylan tried, with his entire being, to prevent that moment.
I lowered my toes enough to keep them in his field of vision, but enough to let him see my face. I smiled at him softly, and with my left hand, gave him the finger.
"Fuck you, Dylan," I said.
He started to whimper, but it came out as an animalistic grunt as air was forced through his throat and out his nose.
I winked at him.
Then, his penis suddenly relaxed, allowing him to enjoy a momentary Eden. After that moment, it seized him again, and contracted as hard as it could. Dylan's sperm shot directly up into the room, coming close to the ceiling, and landed on the lapel of his suit coat.
At that same moment, Dylan's face relaxed into an expression of cataclysmically primal tension and pleasure. He couldn't help it. His hips lunged and fell in waves, having no particular synchronization with his consequent blasts of sperm into the air.
I rested my foot on his nose and wiggled my toes playfully, knowing that Dylan's inward breathing would be frequent and deep, and far beyond his control.
"Smell my feet, Dylan..." I sang once more.
And in this way, I watched those beautiful eyes, driven to helpless, pleasurable madness, as I heard impact after impact of sperm against his coat, shirt and tie.
Time passed before the impacts began to quieten, and soon, Dylan's penis could be seen on the monitor ejaculating gently onto itself. Sperm ran down its length and rested in his pubic hair, and around his tightened scrotum.
I allowed my foot to rest on Dylan's nose until he had been forced to take several more deep breaths while recovering from the physical exertion. Finally, I stepped off, and slipped my shoes on.
"Dylan..." I said, as he looked up at me weakly.
"... It has been a pleasure manipulating you."
And then, Jessica and I left the room, and closed the door.
We eventually returned to the presentation room, of course. Once we had released Dylan, he lost no time in taking the most covert route possible through the hallway. I didn't blame him at all. No one wants to be seen with a stained suit.
We went through with the settlement, but with some adjustments. I allowed him to live through the afternoon preoccupied with his financial crisis, and then sent him an adjusted proposal.
My current situation is the result of Dylan's acceptance of that proposal. I wasn't so cruel as to demand twenty million dollars, but I did allow Dylan to start by funding the entire purchase of a special piece of equipment, which he would choose.
He's working on paying the remainder of the settlement in weekly installments which I won't mention since they're somewhat large. However, I'm confident that Dylan feels that the exchange is, in fact, fair. He visits each week to receive the special service for which he exchanges that payment.
This is the special equipment, here. There's something I like about the modern, round design that makes the man's bare feet, when they're sticking out the end, even cuter.
The other main design element is the contoured hole through a man's genitals plainly protrude. Aside from that, the body is completely contained within. Screens rest over the eyes, and isolation speakers around the ears; unless I care to remove them for any whimsical reason.
I also received a mysterious raise at work, and Dylan's daily check-ins at my cubicle leave me with the interesting feeling that I have quite a bit more authority over Dylan than he will ever have over me.
When he comes for his weekly visits, and I sit in front of his helpless and beautiful bare feet and genitals, I have the same feeling.
Many readers, as I said, would presume at first glance that Dylan Tyler had achieved a far greater degree of success in life than I. Looking over my own situation, I humbly beg to differ. But I keep that to myself.
