But, I can’t help it. My eyes continue down her body. She is petite, slim, no more than 5’2 or 3’. I smile as I looked at her shoes, Doc Martens... of course. The distinctive yellow stitching faded through wear and tear. The black tights she is wearing completing her attempt to subvert the uniform code. I watch as she wriggles her legs under the table. I imagine myself kneeling between her legs, a hand on her knees slowly spreading her legs apart.I feel her glance in my direction. Had I been too. Sure enough, his eyes were glued toher swinging foot. She smiled to herself. She sometimes did this deliberatelyto attract what she termed as ?footmen? and now it seemed she might haveattracted one completely by accident. She saw him begin to squirm in his seat andhis hand went to his pocket, obviously trying to gain a comfortable positionwith an erection. At that moment she looked up and directly at him. His eyescame up from her foot to meet his and he began to redden. Suddenly he startedto. More

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