I was the only employee of Mr. Gantz with an individual office. I thought that this privilege was due to the little extra-professional services that I regularly rendered him. Small services that required a minimum of privacy and discretion.So when Mr. Gantz came to install a new employee in front of me, I said to myself with disappointment that the boss was tired of our little games.The new one was a guy in his thirties, tall, a bit stout. A big nose, small brown eyes under myopic glasses, thin lips and red hair parted on the side by an impeccable parting.The new one took care of quotes, I took care of accounting. With nothing to say to each other, every now and then we glanced over our computers and the days passed in silence.One day, I notice that my partner keeps moving his legs under the desk. Puzzled, I drop a pen to the ground to take a closer look. What show ! My colleague's legs open and close at a slow pace, revealing and then disappearing a magnificent package encased in the flannel pants. The two large bare feet caress the carpet as if to experience its softness. These sensual feet are veiled in thin socks, which show the flesh by transparency. I try to smell their scent without succeeding. Very excited, I pretend to pick up my pen for quite a while.When I finally stand up, I meet the eyes of the new one. He smiles wryly, but doesn't say anything. I go back to work with difficulty because the vision of the feet continues to trouble me. I imagine myself kissing them, sniffing them, licking them. It turns me on too much for me to focus on the numbers.Under the desk, the new man's legs continue to twitch. Suddenly I feel a touch on my ankle. I put my foot aside, but contact returns. I look at my colleague. His head is hidden by his computer. I feel his foot caress and then pat my ankle. I remain frozen. The foot goes up along my calf. I press myself against my desk to get closer to the nosy foot. Now it is placed on the inside of my thigh on which it exerts small pressures, as if to test its firmness. I resist the urge to move away from the desk so that I can see this foot and breathe in the smell. I have the impression that if I move, everything will stop.Now the toes are on my fly. I band. It bothers me horribly. My colleague's head is still hidden behind his computer. He continues to type on his keyboard as if nothing had happened.Unable to hold it any longer, I throw myself under the desk, I catch my colleague's foot, I press my nose and my mouth against it. The smell of the sweaty sock turns me on, I can't help but moan with pleasure. I lick the toes and the sole. I rub my muzzle on it like a cat in heat.But the foot is suddenly withdrawn and I hear my colleague's voice telling me "Take care of my tail instead" Lifting his ...

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