New Years Eve

 

I knelt on the floor watching my wife fasten the ankle strap of her heel, my eyes darting all over, unable to settle, so drawn was I to the intoxicating sight of her. I looked at her nylon covered feet, her glamorous dress, her appealing legs. But it was her left hand they settled on, not on anything in particular, rather the absence of something-her wedding rings.

I wanted to say something but didn't, afraid to let her know I noticed. She looked over at me smiled. "You know, this is really something you should be doing," she said, undoing the buckle as carefully as she'd buckled it.

"M...Ma'am?"

Keeping her left hand on her leg just above her ankle as if displaying her lack of wedding rings, she smiled wider. "Servants serve, don't they?" she asked.

"I...I suppose, Ma'am," I said.

"Then serve, pet," she said. "Buckle for me."

"Y...yes, Ma'am," I said, afraid my voice gave away the excitement I felt at being called to touch her. 

"Shhhh, easy pet," she said, "I'm asking you to buckle my ankle strap, not worship my foot. Not tonight, pet, not tonight. I'm his tonight."

"Of...of course," I said, the disappointment in my voice as clear as my excitement was. 

"Sweetie, we talked about this, sissies shouldn't have those kind of thoughts."

"I...I know," I said, "I just...it's been so long."

"Almost like it will be forever."