“I hope you were able to settle in without issue,” I professed blithely, settling onto the nearby rolling stool, the only other piece of furniture in the examination room. “I’ve always said our establishment makes the move-in easy on our patients by simply relieving them of all their belongings upon arrival.”
I flipped through the chart on the clipboard in front of me, taking in all the information on this patient. It was the best way to avoid starting at the delicious specimen laid out before me, who looked unfairly alluring all trussed up and helpless.
“I see I’ve got my work cut out for me, here.” I declared good-naturedly, giving my patient a commiserating smile. “Persistent anxiety, bouts of lewd behavior, and a diagnosed foot fetish? It’s a good thing you were placed in my care now, before you could get any worse.”
Still smiling, I rolled myself down the length of the bed, coming to a stop at the foot where the heavy set of stocks were attached. In their clutches were a positively mouthwatering pair of soles. They were large, and smooth, with plump balls and toes and long, pale arches, and looked incredibly soft.
I reached out to pat Mr. Red on the ankle, not even within range of his soles, only for the man's leg to give a noticable flinch. Within the stocks, his foot jerked and flexed uselessly, toes curling in what looked like a purely involuntary reaction.
Glancing back at the head of the bed, I found my patient craning his neck to keep me in view, those brown eyes wide as he kept track of my proximity to his feet. Like he was nervous.
Those were always my favorite patients.
"Mr. Red," I announced, rubbing my thumb casually against his ankle as I spoke, not even bothering to hide to wicked amusement in my voice. "would you say you happen to be ticklish?"
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