A Lesson in Patience

It's been 15 minutes since I asked you to be here, and you're not sure why. On the phone I hadn't specified what I was calling you over for - and at such a late hour. And now you were here, in the entryway of my unfamiliar home, rocking back and forth in your shoes with no indication as to what to do.

Your thoughts are so loud that the taps of my heels are the only warning you get before I breeze into the room. You lean out eagerly to greet me but I walk past you to pour myself a drink.

"Kneel."

You look flustered, not sure if you're to reply to me or to follow my instructions. I give you a brief glance out of the corner of my eye that settles the matter.

I pause in front of you, taking your chin in my hand, as if appraising.

"You're not very good at asking for what you want, are you?"

Unbalanced already the question catches you off beat you stutter -

"N-"

"We'll change that," I let go of your chin to return to my drink, walking back over to the couch, taking off first one, and then my other heel, and stretching out in a comfortable repose.

"Well? Come."

You move to get up.

"Not like that."

You freeze, already so eager to please. Under my steadily approving gaze you slowly sink back to your knees hunching toward the floor until you're on all fours.

My smile reaches my eyes.

"Good."

You begin to crawl toward me as the smile tips into a smirk.

"I can work with that."

It's the longest three seconds you've ever lived, watching me watch you as you crawl towards me, my unflinching gaze sliding over the smooth, almost feline roll of your body. By the time you reach my calves you feel naked. You certainly feel ridiculous in your office clothes, but you can somehow tell by my gaze that I'm unfazed.

You've reached my lap and are starting to hesitate. I can see it on you, staring at me from all fours.

"Up," I say and gesture for you to sit back.

Only then do I lean forward and instead of grasping your chin again, you feel my knuckles graze your cheek and the warmest smile spreads across my face - you feel as if the sun has risen on your skin.

"You're just about the most beautiful thing I've seen all day."

Your heart stops at the declaration.

"Come," I say, "sit here with me." I'm gesturing at the spot on the floor next to my feet, making it clear where you're expected, and where you're not.

Awkwardly you shift yourself into a kneeling position next to my feet and hear the creak of the couch as I lean back. You're wondering what comes next at the moment you feel the barest sweep of my fingertips against your hair. You'd doubt it but after a moment you feel my fingers sink into your hair as I begin a slow, idle scratch with the tips of my fingernails.

You sigh, the tension in your back softening by degrees, almost losing yourself to time as I continue my gentle scratching but over time you can feel me softly maneuvering your head to rest against my knee.

As your head finally rests fully against my knee you swear you can hear me murmur, "good boy".

We sit there for a while, me resting my eyes in the unlit room, you listening to my breathing as I scratch a tempo on your scalp, until you begin to feel the brushes of something against your thigh.

You look down to realize it's my still-nyloned foot. I'm stroking it rhythmically against your thigh, idly almost.

You shift reflexively, eager for the touch, and sure enough, with every sweep my toes creep the slightest bit higher.

You're absolutely sure this is a dream, but after eons of waiting you're not going to ask questions. Especially as my toes begin to barely graze the obvious outline of your cock, straining valiantly against your office slacks.

You glance up at me to see if I'm giving any indication of what I'm doing, to catch any hint that might give away my motive but I'm still lounging with my eyes closed, a small smile on my face. I look perfectly at home as your brain spins.

And then my toes climb from your slacks over the crest of your head, cut clearly in relief as it strains beneath them. You're almost certain this can't be a coincidence. And then I flex my toes and press gently, giving the length of you a slow, firm stroke with the ball of my foot.

A whimper forces its way out of you.

"That's it." I say.

You jump, startled by my voice and are met by a warm, full laugh that heads straight for your crotch.

"Wha-"

"Ah!" my foot freezes. "That's not what pets sound like."

You look up at me, confused.

I finally open my eyes, the ball of my foot still poised on your achingly hard cock.

"Is it?"

"I'm sorry, Mistress-"

I lean forward mid sentence, and patiently take your face in my hand, locking gazes with you from above, letting every word fall heavy with its full meaning.

"Pets don't use their words."

The words set off a small keen in your throat and you simply melt into my hold. I can feel it when you give over. I cradle your head in my hands and you are mine.

Nothing brings me greater joy.

Heart full, I lean back again, a new leisure in my form but the gnawing need in your belly will not let up. My foot utterly still on your cock, you begin to shift ever so slightly under me, hoping I won't notice, but too needy not to. You don't see the small smirk on my face as I feel your infinitesimal movements.

You get bolder, rocking and pressing against my still foot until it's clear in the movement of your form that you're rolling your hips, pressing up against me. You've lost yourself entirely until you hear my voice.

"Good boy, show me what you want."

You keen, desperate, debased, and completely unable to stop. Now that you know I know you lose all attempt to hide your wanton shame. You tip your hips up and press against the ball of my foot, rut, roll and flex.

"That's so good," I encourage you, curling and flexing my foot to help.

I hear a quiet chant of "Oh god, oh god, oh god" from your figure, rutting at my feet.

"Ah!" I remind you, "What does a sweet puppy say?"

The first noise comes from you as an almost inaudible huff.

"Mm?" I ask, pausing my ministrations.

The next is louder, a soft, timid woof.

"Yes, that's it."

You're bolder, you need it. Your cock is throbbing and your head is spinning, and you let out your first true bark. My pup, at my feet.

"Such a good boy," I gush.

And it's as if a dam has broken, they fall from you, little huffs of air, woofs and barks as you work your cock against the sole of my foot faster and faster and I lean forward to coo encouragements in your ear. Until the moment I whisper:

"Whose are you?"

You come, howling - and it's answer enough.