Beth's Shin, Socks, Feet Domination Ch. 03

"Yes, you're both in line for it, isn't that exciting news?" she smiled, looking up at Bradford who stood next to him, his hand on her shoulder, which she now patted.

"Cheer up, bro, this is good news!" Bradford laughed, sitting in the seat to Beth's right. "Don't worry, dude, take that confused look off your face."

"Michael, the position came open because I retired Mrs. Williams," Beth said. "She'd been with my husband for years...decades actually, and her time had come. Don't worry, she received her full pension and despite her initial reluctance, seemed happy to finally leave our employ, to relax, spend time with her grandchildren."

"Of course, of course," Michael said, walking to her left, pulling out the chair.

"No," she said sharply, pointing across the table. "You're over there. I want to get to know young Bradford a little better."

Michael's heart sunk at that, and the triumphant look on the little prick's face as he smiled at him. He retreated to the other side of the table, sitting between two vice presidents - one of whom was the annoying fat man. No one sat to Beth's left. The chair remained vacant throughout lunch.

Michael picked at his food, unable to stop watching Beth and Bradford who gaily chatted away, the little prick leaning in too often to whisper something to her, with her looking at Michael as he did, relishing in his discomfort. Occasionally, he'd see her hand disappear below the table and Bradford's eyes widen. He knew, of course, what she was doing. Her eyes never left his as she did it.

Lunch continued, and just before dessert arrived, Michael watched his boss pull her cell from her expensive purse and tap on it. Seconds later, his phone vibrated. She looked at him, giving him a slight nod. He tentatively pulled his phone from his breast pocket.

"Drop your phone, Michael," it read. "Under the table. Now. Make it look like an accident."

He gulped, staring at her, his hands dropping to his lap, obeying her and letting it slip from his fingers.

"Dammit," he said loud enough to interrupt the conversation the fat man next to him was having with another VP.

"What?" the fat man said.

"Dropped my damn phone," Michael said, pushing his chair back and kneeling.

"Christ, you're having a fucking day aren't you?" the fat man sneered, returning to his boring conversation.

Michael found the phone and looked across the underside of the table. Beth's muscular calves were in full view now, supple and warm and solid above her filthy black socks, her pant legs pulled up to the knees, the long table cloth over her thighs and lap. He stared as she bunched them, flexing them, taunting him with the silky hard flesh creasing around her shiny shins, above those cum-stained socks. He saw Bradford's hand come down casually, fingers long and slim, caressing the calf closest to him, stroking the meat of it, digging gently into the flesh, making in wrinkle under his touch.

"What the fuck you doing down there boy?"

Michael snapped out of his reverie, tearing his eyes from Beth's amazing legs, and slipped back up into his seat.

"It, it, uh, bounced pretty far under," he said quietly.

"Christ, you're a case, kid, you know that?" the fat man glowered.

Michael's phone vibrated again. He looked at it.

"Did you get a good look? At Mother's calves and socks? And Bradford's lovely young hand touching? Makes you a bit jealous, doesn't it?"

He looked at her and that annoying prick next to her. He nodded. The phone hummed again.

"Good," it read. "Very good. Competition makes you stronger, Michael. Never forget that."

Lunch ended, and the meetings resumed. Michael sat in the back now, jealousy burning him up as Bradford sat with Mrs. Sands in the front row. As the afternoon droned on, all he could think about was her, her calves, her socks, her smelly feet, her tasty pussy, her piss he'd sampled, her ass he'd sucked.

And Bradford. That cocksucking little shit. Anger mixed with jealousy and he had to force it from his mind. He wanted that job of being her assistant. He needed that job. He needed her.

The meetings ended, and Michael walked to the front of the room where Bradford was helping Mrs. Sands on with her coat. She turned to face him.

"We'll be having dinner here at the hotel, in the bar, the lounge," she said. "Do you know where it is, Michael?"

She smiled. It was, of course, the scene of their first encounter, of his first encounter with those incredible old legs. He nodded.

"It will just be the three of us," she continued. "At 8. Be there. We'll, uh, continue the interview process of the competition for my new administrative assistant."

He watched them walk away, chatting and laughing. He would be there. He would impress her. He would do whatever it took to get that fucking job, he thought to himself.

Little could he know exactly what that would entail.