Words Spoken

My wife sat on the couch, pulled off one of her heels, looked at me. "God my feet are killing me," she said.

My mouth opened wide. Did she just say??? I looked at her, knew there was only one response to what she said, but why did she say it? My eyes darted to side of the room where her best friend sat sipping a glass of wine. I saw it in my wife's eyes, that for a moment she forgot we were not alone and I waited for her to say something, to somehow take it back.

But that wasn't how my wife was wired. Even though she hadn't meant to say it, what was said was said and could not be undone. "I said my feet are killing me," she repeated herself.

Afraid of her reaction if I said nothing, I swallowed hard. "Would...would you like a foot massage, Mistress?" I asked, voice almost a whisper.

Please say no, I silently begged her, please say no. I tried to ignore Jenny, her friend, but saw her staring wide-eyed. Please say no, please say no.

"Yes, that would be lovely, pet," she said, kicking her other shoe off, "go on."

"Mistress," I whispered, "please."

"Go on," she said, voice firm.

Hands shaking, face red, knowing Jenny was staring at us, mouth open, I carefully undressed and knelt on the floor at my wife's feet. She put one nylon covered foot between my legs, rested it on my caged penis, presented the other to my hands. "Those guys were cute," she said to Jenny.

"Totally," Jenny said, staring at my wife's foot as it rested on the small, pink cage. "Does he..."

"It's been almost a year now," my wife said. "He's kind of in a state of permanent arousal. Just about anything gets him leaking." My wife lifted her foot up from my cage to my face; I licked, face ten shades of red.

"My god," Jenny whispered.

"It took some training," my wife said, "but he's come along nicely."