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Storie \ Parole Board

  Seasick | Feet Under The Table -  - Storia erotica in italiano | 03.08.2008

Amy Lynn Steele probably would not have paid too much attention to the clothing she was wearing if she had not bumped her leg up against the bottom of her kitchen table and put a run in her nylons. Loudly she cursed the table that had ruined her pantyhose, but other then her dog, there was no one there to hear her utter frustration. Normally by this hour she was showered and relaxing in her sweat pants and long t-shirt, but today had been an especially hectic day. There had been the usual hectic day at work, but just coming home had been an ordeal. There had been groceries to get, and her Miniature Schnauzer had been whining at the door begging for a walk before she even had time to step through the door. Walking a dog while still wearing her work heels was not something Amy wanted to do, especially considering the late hour, but now that he had been walked, and been fed, she wanted to do nothing more then to sit down and relax.

Her first order of business was to remove her shoes. Fourteen hours in a pair of high heels was four hours more then any woman should.  With eagerness, she placed her toe against the heel of the other and pried it from her foot. With a loud clatter, it fell to the hardwood floor even as she went to pop off her other shoe. That one came off just as easily, and after so many hours of wearing them, Amy could not get them off fast enough. Still they hurt terribly from the hours of walking and she longed for the days when she came home, the dog had been walked and fed, and she could plop her tired feet into her husband’s lap and say “rub.”

“Divorce sucks,” she said to Isaac as she teasingly rubbed his head with her now nylon toes as he lay on the floor underneath the table. “Remind me tomorrow to wear sensible shoes,” she said to her dog as if he really could do such a thing. With a last rub of her toes over his salt and peppered colored fur, Amy hit a few keys on her laptop to check her email. As she waited for her email to open up, she took a long sip of red wine from a glass she had poured earlier and noted who had sent her emails.

Secretly she wished her ex-husband would send her one. While she rejoiced to her friends about her new found freedom, she doubted she would find anyone as understanding as John. While it was true he had cheated on her and sent the marriage towards the courts, deep inside Amy knew it was her endless hours of work, constant complaining and unrealistic demands that had pushed him away. But instead of seeing her ex-husband’s email address in her inbox however, she saw another that she had never seen before.

Strangely it had gotten past her spam protection, and she was just about to delete it unread when she noticed the tag at the end of the senders email address. Even the most unscrupulous spammer did not use the dot gov tag for fear of the consequences of using such an address, so Amy quickly realized it was a legitimate email. With curiosity she clicked on it and began to read it.

“Ms Steele, only you can right this wrong. Tomorrow you have a parole hearing for Jonathan Victor. You should know that he should not be released. Not only is he dangerous to society, but he is also using political connections to get paroled even though his behavior in prison has been violent. Research what I am saying and you will realize he cannot be paroled.”

As a member of the State’s Parole Board, Amy had never had an email like this before. She reread it several times and tried to decipher a motivation for such a letter. With a dot gov email address and from the wording they used, Amy concluded it came from within the prison system, but when she went to reply to the email, it bounced back with an undeliverable message.

For a moment Amy leaned back in her chair, deep in thought. Her long hectic day, her aching feet and even her glass of wine were forgotten as she looked at the words and tried to decide if she should act on what she was being told.

“Research it and you will see what I am saying,” she said aloud as she re-read the email and tapped her fingers on the kitchen table. “Maybe I will Isaac. This person knows something but can’t do anything about it without my help. I wonder just what it is.”

Amy closed her email box and began to turn her attention to researching Jonathan Victor. Through the magic of the internet, she was able to connect to the main frame at the office and have access to anything she had access to there. She was familiar with the name, but other then a precursory look at the next day’s parolee’s, Amy had not done much investigation into the next day cases. When the parolee’s pdf file began to download slowly, Amy knew the email had been legitimate.

“Isaac, I can see right now its going to be a coffee type of night and not wine. This guy’s rap sheep is two pages long.

As Amy’s night slowly slipped into the early hours of the morning, it was easy to see something with this man was a miss. Coming to the conclusion that this man had no reason to be paroled was pretty easy. His rap sheet might have been two pages long, but it was as redundant with each entry repeating the last with only the date of the offense changing. Sexual assault on a woman...that was how every arrest report began, but every charge had been reduced by the District Attorney to Indecent Exposure.  Even in prison he had assaulted women; two nurses and an administrative assistant, the latter only two weeks ago, and yet those were all reduced down as well.

“Then why is this man going before the parole board,” Amy asked again as the clock in the kitchen slowly wound its way past one AM?

On a hunch, and powered by coffee so dark and stale now that it could float a spoon, Amy tried a genealogical search using his last name and found the answer. When the name of his Uncle rolled across her screen, Amy shuttered. Jeremy Black, his mother’s brother who happened to be the Commissioner of Maine’s Department Of Conservation. Amy knew the name well enough, but had never met the man personally nor knew much about him, but in Maine the political circles run deep and commissioners today can be governor’s tomorrow so power exists at all levels.

“Oh my God”, Amy kept saying as she got up to pace the room. There was no question the man needed to remain in prison, but with a politician protecting him, there was not much Amy could do. What Amy saw for information online was certainly not going to be what her and the other two parole board members were going to see tomorrow. Any recommendation on her part would single her out, and the vote would still be two to one in favor of release. Still she could not let this predator out of prison. His offenses might have been reduced to Indecent Exposure and Kidnapping, but he should have been in for Rape, an unpardonable offense.

“But what brings on these attacks,” Amy said again to her dog, but he was asleep on the couch hardly twitching an ear as Amy padded around the kitchen barefoot. As she returned to her computer and tried to read the arrest reports again and again to figure out what motivated the rapes, it was her own bare feet that made the connection.

“Oh my God, this guy likes women in nylons,” she said as she felt the cool floor easily soak up to her feet through the thin fabric of her nylons. Perhaps if she would have been clad in her sweatpants and long t-shirt she would have missed the connection too. The Crime Scene Investigators and Criminologist’s had missed it because he had never used the pantyhose in anyway. If he had used them to bind up his victims, or had stolen them after his sickening act was through, it would have been an immediate red flag, but instead the one connection between all the women went unnoticed. The nurses, the administrative assistant, even the woman he had attacked out in public, had all been wearing nylons. It did not matter what they had on for shoes the lengths of their dresses, they wearing of nylons was the trigger that set Jonathan Victor off.

“Well Mr. Victor, if that’s what you like then it doesn’t look like I will be wearing sensible shoes tomorrow. If you like women in nylons, I’ll be the first woman that wears them for you that you just cannot have.”

Even with only a few hours in which to sleep, Amy could not sleep very well. Rising at her usual time, Amy rushed to shower and then get dressed for her fateful day of employment. Thankfully the dress code at work was business formal, and while a miniskirt and blouse would have worked well, because of the prisoners before them, Amy and the other lady on the parole board typically wore longer skirts and shoes with lower heels. Today Amy wore her usual attire, but added some subtle changes.

The first was putting on her most expensive pair of nylons. The inexpensive kind gave her legs a grainy look and lacked a consistent color from stem to stern. For most people the difference was subtle but Amy was sure Jonathan Victor would pick upon it. Just to make sure, she added a gold ankle bracelet that would catch the sun and draw his attention to her legs and subsequent nylons. If that did not get his attention, then her calves stretched out tighter in high heels certainly would. She had never worn her three inch heels to work, but decided today was the day. It was a sassier look, but with a skirt whose hemline landed modestly at her knees, she felt her co-workers would hardly notice. Either way, she hoped to bait Mr. Victor into his bad behavior.

“You look nice today Amy,” Randy said as Amy stepped into the conference room where the parole board interviews were held. She gave a small nod and grinned, having gotten her first indication that her plan just might work. In some companies, Randy’s comment might have gotten him into trouble, but on the Parole Board Randy and Amy had spent countless hours interviewing convicts, and their relationship was professional a swell as personal. A comment such as his was just that, a personal observation and compliment on her sharp looks.

Of course the contrast helped her standout. The room was institutionalized right down to the cement block walls, the stark white paint and the white tiled floors. This was in contrast to the black high heels she wore, the beige nylons and the black skirt. Above that she wore the standard black blazer with a white blouse underneath.

Sliding her chair under the long wooden table, Amy sat between her co-workers, Randy to her right and Anne to her left. The latter came bounding in at the last minute, mumbling some excuse as to her tardiness, but the frequent late arrivals meant Amy and Randy gave it little thought and began to get the interview started. With a motion with his hand, the guard went to the holding cell to bring Jonathan Victor in.

Amy had been to so many interviews over the years that the procedures, the format and even the questions were so routine that it was as if she was on autopilot. Instead her mind began to think about what she was going to do to break his concentration.

The moment he entered the room his eyes detected Amy’s legs stretched out underneath the table. The gold ankle bracelet failed to catch any sun in the windowless room, but the gold chain upon the beige nylons had enough contrast to standout, and when Amy moved her legs about, she knew her target was looking at them when his eyes moved with them.

Amy had interviewed far too many convicts to be prejudiced by looks. This man was rather clean cut, tall and lanky and could have been in public and would not have stood out. It was the one thing that made him truly dangerous.

To break his concentration Amy figured she had better start with his shoes. She doubted he had a foot fetish, but most men that liked nylons, liked a woman showing all them, including her bare feet encased in them. With that in mind she started out with a little shoe play, first popping one of the shoes off her heels so that the man could see her half in, and half out of her black pumps. When she was through letting some of her arches show, and teasing him with a little bit of toe cleavage, Amy followed that with a few minutes of dangling.

Amy wore high heels way too much and shoe play for her was instinctive as cooking. She had never toyed with her shoes for the specific purpose of turning a man on, nor had she ever done so deliberately at a hearing. Already she could seethe effect it was having on him. His replies were getting shorter and he was looking down most of the time at her carefully choreographed shoe play.

When Amy let her shoe dangle off her right foot for awhile, she felt his feet swoop over towards her and try and nudge the shoe off. Amy pulled her foot away before the shoe fell and made a terrible distracting clatter, but getting her cue, Amy immediately slid the shoe off her foot, uncrossed her legs and pried the other shoe off as well. The indication was absolutely clear; she was going barefoot for him at his request.

Amy had a boyfriend in college that had a foot fetish, and Amy knew some of the tricks she could do to further distract this parolee. She extended both of her legs outward even lifting her feet off the floor so that he could see she was specifically posing them for his enjoyment. Pointed as they were, it let him get a good look at her toes, the bright red toe nail polish being just bright enough to show its luster through the thin sheer fabric of her expensive nylons.

There was only so long she could hold the position, and she knew the simple peep show would not be enough to deny his parole. He was distracted by looking at her nylon covered feet, but he was still answering questions and doing a pretty good job of answering them correctly. He certainly knew how to play the parole board game.

Even Amy could not believe what she did next. It was the only option really, and as asked her own question of him to break suspicion about anything going on under the table, she hefted her feet straight into his lap and started pressing on his crotch with her foot.

“I assume you have taking therapy for your need for control while you are in here,” Amy asked even as the realization that her foot was in a convicted conflicts balls as she said it? “But the real question is, do you enjoy it?”

Taking her words as a coded meaning, he murmured a high pitched “yes”, even though Amy had carefully crated the words to show that prison life was beneficial for him. Amy’s co-workers took up the questioning, and he answered them as best he could considering how his ultimate dream, nylon feet firmly planted in his crotch was going on.

Amy was pleased with herself, but she had no idea that Jonathan would take the toying to another level. She had never predicted that he would have the audacity to reach down and unzip his fly. Amy tried to pull her feet off his lap when he did this, but Jonathan was quick and gripped them tightly and slowly steered her right set of toes through the pants and directly onto his cock.

Amy nearly jumped at the touch. It felt strange to feel a hardened cock upon her feet, the sensation of hardness and texture of nylons on smooth skin was something she had not felt for a long time. With his hands upon her feet, she could not pull them away, but she did not really want to. The act was far more reaching then she had expected, but no one else in the room seemed to notice. Even the guard who occasionally looked up did not seem to see what was happening under the wooden conference table. Amy added to the scene by carrying a smile and fighting the appearance that something far more invigorating was happening just below the surface of the table.

What Amy misunderstood though was Jonathan’s passion for nylon encased legs. It had been years since he had a woman’s nylon feet rubbing his shaft, and it mattered little where it was happening. The fact that she wanted this as much as him, was a real turn on. That meant Amy had no idea how much her little foot job was causing Jonathan to build. She figured the meeting would be over long before he had a chance to do anything. Instead Jonathan built up to a crescendo and released his pent up passion before Amy could react.

Just when she realized that he was about to release, she tried to pull her feet back, but Jonathan held them tightly to his crotch. With his cock tip pressed tightly against the space between her toes and ball of her foot, he let loose with a blast. Amy was amazed at the pressure she felt as the huge load jettisoned onto the nylons; then powered by the fetish-driven ejaculation, it forced its way through the fabric and squished around her toes. With the damage done, Amy pressed her foot forward, hoping the remaining blasts would be confined to the bottom of her foot.

With her nylons now soaked, and her toes covered in convict come, Amy cringed as she toed her black pump into position in preparation of slipping her foot back into her shoe. The thought of having the convict actually come onto her toes had never occurred to her, and she had not really planned for the aftermath. There was nothing to wipe it off with and she could not go around barefooted without attracting attention. Slipping her shoe back on was the only option, and she felt the mans seed be squished around her toes and soak into her nylons as she did so.

Even if she was uncomfortable, her timing could not have been better. Anne was just wrapping up the meeting as Jonathan began to button up his fly. Distracted by the foot job he had just gotten, and his body being confused by the euphoria he just felt, he only shook his head when Anne asked him if he had anything else to say.

Amy had to grin as another guard came in and took Jonathan away. While she had never anticipated him actually erupting upon her feet, she was happy with the distraction it provided. His fate would not be decided today, there would be another meeting for that later on in the week, but it was not unusual for the parole board to discuss the immediate feelings about the parolee, and Anne was quick to do this.

“What a weirdo. This man’s freedom was on the line and he was distracted the whole time. He only gave short, evasive answers, and I could have sworn he was masturbating under the table.”

“I think he likes legs. He was looking under the table the whole time he was in here. It was kind of creepy.”

“Well I don’t think there will be much discussion about that guy. If he can’t handle two women in a parole board hearing then he certainly is not ready to be in public anytime soon,” Randy said empathetically.

Since another guard had escorted Jonathan Victor out of the conference room, Amy began to grab her paper work and get ready for the next parolee. As she sorted through the reams of paper, the guard who had been watching the day’s events slowly walked over to Amy. Thankfully the other two parole board members had excused themselves for a short bathroom break between hearings, leaving the guard and Amy alone for the moment.

“Aren’t you going to go to the bathroom yourself and clean up a little? Your toes must be a little sticky, shall we say.”

“Well you weren’t supposed to see that I’m afraid.”

“And you weren’t supposed to see the email I sent you either. It was an interesting way in which you handled that.”

“You liked that huh?”

“More like being jealous.”

For a moment Amy looked at the Guard. He had two dimples on his cheeks and looked quite striking in his uniform. A quick look at his left hand revealed he was not wearing a wedding band and instantly a thought overtook her; a deep, uncharacteristic naughty thought. She had had thoroughly enjoyed what she had just done for a host of reasons, from getting retaliation from every victim Mr. Victor ever victimized, to knowing her actions had just kept a sick man in prison for a very long time, but for Amy there had been something else. She had thoroughly enjoyed using her feet to totally satisfy a man. With a seductive smile she looked at the guard and spoke softly.

“So what you are saying is, if I don’t give you the same treatment, you’ll tell my boss what I did and get me fired huh?

“Oh no Amy. I would never blackmail anyone like that. I am just glad you did something about this.”

“You don’t get what I am saying here,” she said with a wink. “You can blackmail me. I won’t mind.”