Ms. Morrigan's New Year's

***This is third in a series. The foot worship here is mostly implied but plays a central role in past and future chapters.***

"Good morning, sleepy head," Morrigan said brightly. "Happy New Year's."

Ron opened his eyes briefly and then squeezed them shut again, blinded by the light streaming around the woman's silhouette. It took him a couple of seconds to overcome the sense of disorientation. Why was his neck stiff? Why were his shoulders sore? Why had he been sleeping on his side on the hard floor of a bedroom closet?

Oh, that's right.

Groggily, he opened his eyes again and got up on one elbow. He squinted up at the backlit form of the woman standing above him, her hands on her hips, her feet shoulder-width apart on the bedroom carpet a scant yard in front of him. It was Ms. Morrigan, his college roommate's older sister, the woman who had dazzled and beguiled him just three months ago. He hadn't seen her since Thanksgiving, and he had beseeched her over his Christmas break to be able to spend New Year's Eve with her. Yesterday she had finally acceded. She had invited him over, and then left for a party, leaving him with instructions to do three loads of laundry and then to sleep on the floor of her closet.

It wasn't what he had envisioned; but something about the audacity of her suggestion -- no, her command -- was more intoxicating than a magnum of champagne.

"Good morning, Ms. M," he finally mumbled, and he was rewarded when she stooped down and ran one hand over his curls. She was dressed casually now, in jeans and a cable-knit sweater and fuzzy socks, and she smelled freshly-showered and lightly perfumed, always perfumed. What time is it, he wondered? It might be quite late. It had certainly taken him long enough to finally fall asleep, curled on the closet floor, surrounded by her shoes and with the hems of her dresses above him, all permeated with faint reminders of her fragrance.

"Let's get you some coffee," she offered, and she extended a manicured hand to him to help him to his feet. As he stood up, he was reminded that he was naked, again, as usual, at her request. He looked around the room and noticed that the sheets and towels that he had laundered and folded were still on the foot of her bed. It dawned on him that that meant that she hadn't slept here last night. The thought gave him a dull, heavy sensation in his stomach, but he also felt his penis beginning to thicken as well.

But meanwhile, Morrigan was heading to the kitchen, and so Ron dutifully followed. His eyes were drawn to the way the soft denim of her worn jeans caressed her lovely rear end with each step. This was only his third time in her apartment, and each previous time she had been dressed elegantly for a formal event -- which had always heightened the contrast and the arousal for him when she had had him disrobe and kneel naked at her feet. This morning, the contrast between his nudity and her casual dress had a similar but distinctive effect on him, like suddenly getting slapped on the other cheek.

By the time she poured them each a coffee, his erection was at full mast. She noted it with a smile, but said nothing ... except after she had handed him his mug, she used the forefinger of her free hand to give his knob a little tap, causing it to bob up and down like a drinking bird toy. He blushed, and she stifled a giggle. Then she took his hand and led him into the living room.

The curtains were open around the sliding doors to her balcony, and the bright January chill penetrated the room, so he was glad when she draped an afghan throw around his shoulders before encouraging him to sit on her sofa. Then she took a seat at the opposite end, tucking her legs underneath her, and sipping her coffee.

"Thank you for doing my sheets and towels," she began. "Although you didn't do a very good job folding the fitted sheets."

He couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, well, I've never been able to fold those things."

"When you figure it out, tell me how," she said. Then she took another sip, watching him closely through her oval wire-rimmed glasses. He thought again about carrying the wrinkled periwinkle sheets to the laundry, how he had buried his face deep in them to fill his lungs with her lingering aroma. Did she suspect? Did she know? Was that what she was thinking as she watched him now? He blushed some more, and his erection stiffened.

"So, did you have a good time last night?" he ventured.

She tilted her head back and rolled her eyes slightly, in a gesture that he figured was teasing him with a suggestion of orgasmic bliss. "Divine," she replied. "And how was your evening?"

He exhaled loudly. "Torture," he admitted.

She shrugged. "It was your choice," she reminded him. "I told you you should go to a party with your friends. Or I'm sure my brother had plans, and you would have been welcome."

He nodded. It was true. She had as much as warned him that New Year's Eve at her place was going to consist only of teasing and denial; but yesterday morning that idea seemed irresistible. What he hadn't anticipated was the effect of adding abandonment and jealousy to the mix. She had been dressed to the nines when he had arrived, but he was only able to be with her long enough for her to show him the laundry room, and where she expected him to sleep.

All he knew, all she had told him, was that she already had plans. And now, he figured that those plans had involved an overnight. Of course, she very well might have spent the night on a girlfriend's sofa. But long before midnight last night, his imagination was populating her New Year's Eve with other men. Or, worse, some *one* other anonymous but specific other man. Dancing with her. Ringing in the New Year with her at midnight, with a lingering kiss. Taking her back to his place. And what then? Would she have had him remove her ankle boots and worship her stockinged feet? Or would she have let him please her in a more traditional manner? Ron had spent most of the hours between twelve and four obsessing over the images, resisting the urge to touch himself. No wonder he was still tired.

"Do you wish you had done something else?" she asked.

He looked at his coffee. Well ... at the moment, he was here with her, and he was happy about that. Happy, and aroused. "No," he answered.

Morrigan smiled. He had served her magnificently, especially considering his tender age, and he had more than earned her blessing, and his release. Catch and release, like a rainbow trout. But if he was going to insist on jumping back into her boat, she just might have to keep him.

"So, do you have a New Year's Resolution?" she inquired.

Feeling vulnerable, he drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Resolution? Hopes and dreams, perhaps; but to make a *resolution* of his greatest desire seemed presumptuous. "Not really."

"A goal, then?" she pursued, as if reading his mind.

"I ... I'd like to see you more often this year ... Ms. Morrigan," he admitted.

Morrigan took another sip and nodded. "I think that would be nice. Do you think you could manage to get here, say, a couple of times a month?"

Ron's eyes widened and his heart quickened. "Yeah!..." he began, then quickly corrected himself. Ms. Morrigan often chastised him for informal language. "I mean, yes, yes, absolutely."

She shifted her position on the sofa, and extended one foot to nudge at his erection, which was peeking out of the afghan. "And you'll still save all your orgasms for me?"

He nodded vigorously. "Good," she said, beginning to stroke him with her fluffy socks. "But this year, I'd like something more. This year, I'd like you to save all your *erections* for me, too."

Ron looked at Morrigan quizzically, and she cocked her head. "You know what a chastity device is, right?"

He gulped and nodded. Yes, he knew; but only recently, only since he had started reading about tease and denial on the internet after his fateful first encounter with this woman. The notion aroused and frightened him; but he had known from all along that if he kept seeing Morrigan, this conversation was likely in his future. Now that it was happening, it was disconcerting how rigid his penis was becoming.

Ms. Morrigan definitely noticed. "So that's a yes?"

Ron instantly wondered ... was he saying yes to the question she had actually asked him, or to the unspoken one? It didn't matter. He was powerless to say "no." He just nodded again.

"Good boy," she purred.