“I finished the last coat,” I told her, carefully screwing the top on so as not to spill any of the bright red polish on the floor.
She looked up from her magazine and wriggled her toes. The foam cushions kept her from messing up the end of almost an hour’s worth of work on her feet. Washing, pumicing, scrubbing, buffing, a coat of clear, and two coats of fire-engine red. Yes, cars and women, I thought to myself, they get almost the same kind of maintenance.
“Very nice. How long for this to dry?”
“I’d say about ten minutes. Maybe fifteen to make sure.”
“I love it when you put the last coat on. Do you know why?” She shifted her legs over my shoulders, one on each side of my head.
“I think you like that ‘waiting until they’re dried’ part,” I replied.
“I think you’re right,” she responded. “I’m really beginning to see the benefits of this Mistress/slave thing you’ve been asking me about. For one thing, it’s saved me a fortune on nail salon fees.”
“Is that all?”
In answer, she scooched down in the chair and curled her legs. I moved my head forward so she could direct me with her hands.
A minute later, there was only the scent of her musk, the tension of her thighs around my neck, the sweet sound of her moans… and the occasional clinking of my shackles on the floor.