Heel for Heel, Toe for Toe

A small, frivolous tale of pleasant surprises and eccentric or, perhaps, sophisticated tastes.

A small note - if you don't view feet as exceedingly erotic, you might be reading the wrong story.

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Step we gaily, on we go, Heel for heel and toe for toe, Arm in arm and row in row...

Celtic traditional song

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Flying was always an ordeal, I thought to myself. Yes, First Class was far more comfortable and one got priority across the board, but the hours still seemed to drag out into eternity.

Not even the sight of the quite lovely flight attendant coming down the aisle did much to alter my sour mood.

I took an admiring glance as she stopped to speak to the passenger across the aisle. Her uniform was well-tailored and fit her bottom quite nicely. My eyes lingered over her trim calves and ankles, slipped back to her butt as she squatted down to help the old fellow adjust his seat.

It was a nice bum, one of the better ones I'd seen lately.

She rose and turned to me. Her name was Brigit and she'd be my attendant today and the menu would be available in two minutes and would I like dry sherry or sweet?

I had a momentary daydream of she and I holding hands as we waited together for a taxi outside Charles de Gaulle airport, then she had moved on to the next passenger. She was indeed a lovely creature, but there was nothing new or different or promising about her or her smile; it was the same professional greeting she'd bestowed on thousands upon thousands of other customers.

She was followed by Rachel, who passed me a hot moist hand-towel with a pair of serving tongs. She too was easy on the eyes; her smile every bit as professionally detached.

My eyes followed the pair's slim ankles as they returned to their station before I tried to settle into what was proving to be an entirely overrated novel. The Hidalgo sherry on the other hand proved to be as good as expected and I took my time savoring it but, by the time we'd leveled off, I was already yearning for our landing in Paris.

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I was trying to escape the pressure, the competition, the morbid bitchery and internal politics, the endless navel-gazing meetings of a truly stressful financial quarter.

My real problem was that I was thoroughly jaded -- and I knew it. I'd done everything, been everywhere. I'd fought the corporate battles and won them. I'd built careers and buried them. I'd been noted, quoted, pointed out and pointed to.

I'd had it already, all of it. A man with my wealth — and the connections such prosperity brings — can have and do just about anything he wishes.

My chef had been lured away from a five-star Pisan restaurant, yet my meals increasingly tasted like sawdust. I had the wine cellar, the sports cars and the ski lodge., but I was drinking too much to drive and couldn't be bothered skiing anymore. I had advanced bidding status for tickets to any concert or sports match you could name and attended almost none.

I'd had the exciting vacations - skydiving, running rapids, exploring Machu Pichu. I hadn't done Everest, but only because the workup training would have taken too long. I'd even had an illicit private midnight picnic on top of the Great Pyramid. Despite it all, I was bored.

Fleeing ennui, I'd taken refuge in the arms of women. There'd been a phalanx of them -- tender, innocent lasses, skilled, doe-eyed 'escorts' and everything in between, but even that had begun to seem stale. Any real excitement had escaped me and, more and more, I was finding only simply physical release.

Then my shrink had suggested a special clinic. In Sicily, of all places.

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I closed my eyes, lowered my seat and tried to rest. It didn't come easily; I think I fell asleep just as we started our descent. That was another problem. Sleep, real sleep, was evasive.

My people are efficient and there was only a minimal wait for the connecting flight from Paris to Catania. I was first off the airplane when we landed and soon after, towing my bag, emerged from Italian customs. I was met by a middle-aged man in a crisp uniform. He apparently had been briefed on my appearance, for he approached me immediately.

"Benvenuti,  Signore Garvey. My name is Bruno. Welcome to Sicily. Is this all your luggage?"

"Yes, thank you." Pack lightly,  I'd been told.

I let him take it. To be honest, I still wasn't entirely sure what I was getting into. Dr. Webber, my shrink, had been encouraging without giving much information. The clinic website, while not going into any great detail, had made the place look comfortable and had stressed the benefits of tranquility. That much had been enough. If excitement had abandoned me, then why not woo tranquility?

Bruno led me outside to a shiny grey limousine sitting in a No Parking zone, where a muscular young man in a Polizia di Stato  uniform was busily not noticing. He looked me over, nodded at Bruno and strolled away.

There was a soft chuff  as Bruno closed the door behind me, then he circled the limo, got behind the wheel, started the engine and turned on the air conditioning. That done, he turned and looked back at me over his seat.

"We will be about two hours, Signore Garvey." He explained the controls for the entertainment system and the privacy screen, pointed out a small refrigerator. Seeing me nod, he turned in his seat, signaled and pulled out, the engine a kitten's purr.

A late flight, ten hours to Paris, two and a half hours to Catania and ground time on top of that; I was beyond tired. I raised the privacy screen, settled myself and dozed fitfully until the limo pulled to a gentle stop.

I was shaking off my fatigue as Bruno opened the door. He'd already retrieved my bag and waved me towards the door of the pink stucco villa I'd seen on the website. Dusk was falling and I was struck by the silence. It was such a far cry from the endless clamour back in the city.

An attractive woman in her mid-40s rose to greet me as we entered. Curly brown hair framed a patrician face before falling over the lapels of a linen suit. I could sense solid intelligence in her brown eyes, a confident, pragmatic competence I had to pay top dollar to hire back home.

"Welcome, Mr. Garvey," she said. For some reason, I found the standard greeting particularly calming. "I am Dr. Annika Steiner, the clinic director."

Her accent and name suggested that she was German or Austrian. I noticed a wedding ring set -- on her right hand. I wondered what that meant.

"Thank you. Um... Doctor  Steiner?"

Her smile was no less professional than Brigit's, but it seemed somehow more sincere, more welcoming. Very European, she gave me a slight bow and presented a business card. My eyebrows went up a little when I saw the letters after her name; the woman had more degrees than a pocket compass.

"Yes, 'Doctor'," she smiled. "I am, among other things, a psychologist. But, for now, I am your hostess and you must be very tired."

I nodded, merely acknowledged the truth.

"Yes."

"Then let us get you settled. Have you eaten?"

"Some hours ago, but I wouldn't mind..." I was in fact quite hungry.

"Well, if you will permit me, I will suggest that we get you settled into your rooms and get you something to eat before we begin the tests."

"Tests?" My doctor back home had gone through this, but too many hours of travel had left me hoping things could be postponed. "Could we do those tomorrow, please?"

"Just a couple tonight, then. They are important."

She smiled again, turned to my driver. "Bruno, please take Mr. Garvey's bag to the guest suite. After that, you're done."

He nodded gravely and left.

"It won't be so bad, Mr. Garvey. Come, I'll join you. We're going to watch a short video while Chef prepares your dinner. Have you anything in particular you would like?"

"No. Nothing in particular. An omelette, perhaps."

"Certainly." She picked up a telephone on the desk she'd been sitting at, whispered a few words, hung up the receiver.

"Half an hour, Mr Garvey. Come with me, please."

The room was small, but very nicely decorated. I suppose you could call it a private theater. A row of six seats ran along the back wall, with two other chairs, more comfortable, softer, in front. A table sat between them. The high wall in front was white, with a slightly pearly finish.

Dr. Steiner motioned me to one chair, sat in the other.

A middle-aged woman in some sort of maid uniform appeared in the door.

"Would you care for a small drink before dinner, Mr. Garvey? The local wine is quite nice."

"That sounds very nice."

"Elena," Steiner said, followed by some sort of instruction in Italian. The woman nodded, returning a few minutes later with two glasses and a bottle on a small tray, which she placed on the table between us. She poured for each of us.

"Grazie,  Elena."

Dr. Steiner took the glass closest to her, raised it towards me. "To your health, Mr. Garvey."

"Thank you." The wine was indeed very nice.

She put down her glass and smiled.

"You are no doubt very tired, Mr. Garvey. That's quite normal. We'll have you fed and resting soon. In the meantime, please sit back and relax."

The chair she had seated me in was very comfortable and very soft, deep enough that it almost enfolded me. The screen in front of me flickered and my eyes turned to it. It flickered a second time, then a series of rapidly-changing images appeared. There were nature scenes, animals, food, sports, people. Each image had no sooner appeared than it was replaced with another.

The images gradually changed. More people began to appear, more women. Soon, virtually all the images showed women, Mother Eve in all Her endless variety. There were women of all ages, of all skin colors. Tall and short, thin and curvy, they were there. Their hair was of every cut and style, every color, kinky, curly and straight.

"I'll be back in a moment, Mr Garvey," Dr. Steiner whispered. I scarcely noticed her leave.

My eyes were fixed on the show; for some reason, I could not turn away and my fatigue seemed to have passed. The images became more erotic, then began to include explicit photos of sexual acts, ones of increasing variety. Sometimes my eyes were jumping back and forth between multiple images on the same screen. It seemed as if I was being drawn into them.

And then my eyes opened to find the wall in front of me blank and Dr. Steiner gently touching my forearm.

"Your meal is ready, Mr. Garvey," she smiled.

I stretched slightly.

"I'm sorry, I must've fallen asleep."

"No matter," she said.

The omelette was excellent and the mattress in my room even better.

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I awoke feeling reasonably refreshed, which surprised me. The light through the sheers was warm and welcoming. I stretched, looked about. The bed was as large as I'd ever seen, with sheets of pale silk. Sicily is warm much of the year and I'd evidently pushed the light duvet to one side during the night. The room was tastefully decorated, expensively furnished and I suspected that a museum somewhere was looking for a couple of the paintings on the walls.

I rolled over, noticed a tasseled pull cord stretching down from the ceiling. It seemed an obvious choice; I gave it a tug.

A minute later, there was a soft knock on the door. It was Elena and she had that insufferable expression of happiness of those who have already had their second cup of coffee.

She rolled in a trolley from the hall, closed the door behind her. The trolley held a coffee cup, a couple of biscuits, orange segments, an urn of coffee, sugar and cream. Silently, she poured a cup of coffee, presented me with a printed menu before pointing at the pull cord and leaving.

The coffee was surprisingly good. I'd put on a robe I'd found hanging in the closet and was sitting by a window, admiring the scenery outside, when there was another knock. It was Dr. Steiner. She wore a different suit and the same efficient air.

I found myself instinctively getting to my feet as she entered.

"Good morning, Mr. Garvey," she said. "I trust you slept well."

"I did, thank you, doctor. Please sit down. Would you care to join me for a coffee?"

"Thank you." She chose the second chair by the window, swept her skirt under her with a hand as she sat. "Have you had a chance to inspect the menu?"

A minute later, Elena had taken my order, produced a second coffee cup for Dr. Steiner and departed, still in silence.

"So, when do these 'tests' begin?" I asked.

"They're done, Mr. Garvey. There was only one and you've completed it."

My eyebrows went up.

"The video?" I suggested.

"Yes, the video. Our studio, in particular the chair you were sitting in, is a technological marvel, Mr. Garvey. As you watched that video, our system was recording your every response to every image, every nuance -- pulse, blood pressure, skin temperature and conductivity, eye movements and pupil diameter -- a dozen different factors."

"And the result?" I asked.

She smiled, touched my arm.

"In due course, Mr Garvey. Let's just say that your unconscious reactions to that video have suggested a great deal about your inner self, valuable clues to dealing with your... predicament."

At that moment, Elena knocked on the door and brought in my breakfast.

Dr. Steiner rose.

"Enjoy your meal, Mr. Garvey. You will excuse me, but I have some things to look after."

"What happens now?" I asked.

"You are... well, perhaps I should say today is 'free time' for you, Mr. Garvey. You will still be suffering from jet lag, so take this opportunity to relax. Screens are not good for jet lag, so you might want to stay off your phone. There's a good pool table if you like such and a reasonable library. Feel free to use the swimming pool or go for strolls. There's a small fitness room, too. Exercise is good for jet lag."

She pulled her fingers through her hair, an innocent gesture, but one always capable of capturing a man's attention. "We'll talk again, Mr Garvey."

With that, she was gone. I turned to my meal -- bread, coffee, fruit and some sort of frozen dish made with almonds. It was a lighter breakfast than I was used to, but I found myself quite content when I was finished.

I allowed myself to unwind that morning. I was in truth more tired than I would have believed. The pool was pleasantly cool and I allowed myself to doze in the shade between strolls.

By noon however I was feeling very tired. I dined on my balcony, then put up the Do Not Disturb sign on my door and lay down for a nap.

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From the deepest depths, I dimly sensed a knocking on my door. Awaking, I had no idea how long I had slept, but the light outside had noticeably shifted. I lay on the pillow, yawned, stretched a little. I turned my head to look out the window.

There was another soft knock on the door, then the door opened. I stared in astonishment as three utterly lovely young women stepped gracefully into the room.

"Good afternoon," they said in unison as, smiling broadly, they moved to my bed. Their steps were model precise, model confident. Entranced, I watched smooth, swaying hips, graceful legs, lovely feet.

"Be welcome," smiled the first, a frost goddess with a Scandinavian accent. "I am Ingrid." Her voice was old whiskey, fresh smoke and young desire.

She was the tallest, with a firm, athletic figure, sleek hips and generous breasts. Her eyes were the color of a summer sky; blonde hair covered her shoulders. She looked like a Viking priestess - strong, vibrant, poised.

Ingrid was dressed only in white, toeless high heels and pale knee-length stockings of a fine mesh. I could see her nails through the stockings, a honey-brown color almost matching that of her nipples. She wore a handful of pearls about her neck and her sex was shaven.

"I'm Danny," said the woman in the middle. Her gentle Irish lilt was emphasized by bright green eyes and a cascading tangle of fiery curls down to her waist. I could see pale lips under a small triangle of carefully-trimmed pubic fur. If she hadn't won the national award for freckles, she surely must've been first runner-up.

Danny wore only black fishnet anklets with web the size of my thumbnail and red strapless heels. Between high, firm breasts hung a silver Celtic cross.

The third woman was a Japanese doll, petite but very feminine, very desirable.

"I'm Akina," she smiled. "But my friends call me Amy."

I had no trouble whatever picturing her wearing a classic obi, but I couldn't help smiling at the way her accent shouted 'Valley Girl'.

Amy wore her dark hair in a classic pageboy cut. The welts or bands topping her black thigh-high net stockings highlighted smooth thighs and drew my eyes to a well-trimmed patch of dark curls through which pink labia could be seen. A very minimal black open-shelf bra lifted and displayed perfectly-formed breasts and coral nipples.

I was surprised to see that she wore no shoes, equally surprised to find my eyes lingering over her tiny feet.

Ingrid stopped by the left-hand side of my bed, Danny at the foot and Amy at my right.

"Did you sleep well?" Danny asked.

"Yes, but... What time is it?"

She smiled.

"You've slept for about three hours, Mr. Garvey..."

"Call me Charlie," I said. "Please."

My eyes ran from one to the others, then back. Three beautiful, alluring creatures. Surely this wasn't my therapy?

"Charlie," she emphasized. "Too much sleep won't help you. It was time."

Amy giggled.

"It still is."

"Time?" I asked, looking at them. "Time... for what?"

I had notions, hopes. I was jaded, not dead.

As if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the three climbed onto the bed, moving, almost flowing towards me. Ingrid lay beside me on my left, her silken bare mound against my hip, her breasts against my ribs. She leaned her head on one elbow, locked eyes with my own, began to trail soft fingers across my chest and belly.

Danny mirrored her on my other side. She leaned down over my chest. A pointed tongue emerged from her full lips, licked my nipple just once.

I was hard now, fully erect. I felt my balls pull up against my body as Amy knelt by my feet, bent forward and astonished me by licking one of my big toes.

"Time," she smiled.

Danny shifted, knelt, tugged on my arm. I sat up and leaned back against the headboard, curious, content to wait and watch.

The three women cast quick glances back and forth, Danny's nod was barely perceptible.

The lovely redhead slid behind me, pushing me forward, away from the wall. Unsure, but hardly complaining, I shifted to give her space. Danny kicked off her shoes. Handing them to me, she slipped around behind me, sat between me and the headboard. I could feel the soft pressure of her breasts against my back as she settled herself against me. Her legs emerged, her sleek calves coming to rest on my thighs.

When I looked up, the eyes of Ingrid and Amy were lingering on my rigid sex. I watched the tip of Ingrid's tongue run lightly between her lips, as if in speculation. The two again shared a quick look.

Ingrid said something I didn't catch. Together, she and Amy shifted a full-length cheval mirror to stand near the foot of the bed, turned it, adjusted the angle to give me a better view of everything on the bed.

They grinned, then knelt on either side of me. Amy put one finger on my chin, turned my face towards her and leaned in for a soft, gentle, prolonged kiss, rich with promise. Ingrid's hands ran gently over my chest, lingered on my nipples as Amy's kiss grew stronger, more demanding.

I gasped as I felt a touch, a hesitant caress on my cock. I pulled away slightly from Amy, looked down. Danny was proving to be amazingly limber. From behind me, those slender, freckled legs were able to reach around my waist, the silk of her stockinged feet just touching the sides of my now-swollen organ. They began to slide up and down my shaft - softly, gently, surely, expertly. The silk was soft as down, her touch exhilarating,