Sexy servant

The maid bends to slip off her sandals and lets her bare feet meet the cool marble. Her toes spread wide with the relief, the soles pressing flat as she takes a slow step. The house is quiet. She lifts one foot, then the other, watching the way the light moves over the arch and heel, and the faint red lines left by the straps. Her uniform skirt rides up as she settles on the edge of the leather armchair, legs parted just enough. The black lace beneath stays in place, but the fingers that slide down to rub the tired balls of her feet move higher, tracing the line where skin meets nylon at the top of her thigh. Her dark hair falls across one shoulder. She breathes out, slow, thumb working circles into the sole while her other hand slips beneath the lace. The heat there surprises her. She presses two fingers against the thin fabric and feels herself swell, the ache in her arches turning into something lower and heavier. Her toes curl against the polished floor as she rubs, quick and steady, the sound of skin on skin barely louder than her breathing. When the first tremor hits, her back arches and the abandoned sandals tip sideways, forgotten.