Just Tell me your Secrets Chapter Two
It had been a stressful day at Number 10, Andrew reached for his drink now in the relative safely of his London Flat. His stomach was knotted.
For months there had been leaks, sensitive MI6 assessments on Gulf contingencies, names of assets in Riyadh, projected RAF deployments. All surfacing in places they absolutely should not have. The Service was in full panic; heads were rolling. And every time Andrew tried to reconstruct the last half-year, his memory blurred around the same intoxicating gaps: the faint scent of exotic flowers mixed with something warmer, darker, the phantom feel of silk-sheathed toes brushing his cheek, a half-ed dream he woke from hard and ashamed.
He knew, on some animal level, that he was the leak...and he was scared as hell.
Andrew was alone in his secure Kensington flat in when the encrypted video call came through, Andrew almost let it ring out because the caller ID was blank, but the prefix was Moroccan. Only one person on earth had this number belonged to that region of the world.
He accepted.
The screen filled not with her face, but with her feet.
Jasmine’s bare soles rested on a low ottoman of carved cedar, lit by the golden glow of a single hanging lantern. The camera angle was low and worshipful, as though the phone had been placed on the marble floor between her legs. Perfect olive skin, high arches, long elegant toes her nails short perfectly pedicured and painted a deep blood-red. She wore nothing on her feet except a delicate gold anklet that caught the light every time she moved.
Slowly, deliberately, her toes spread wide, then curled again. Spread… curl. Spread… curl. The motion was liquid, hypnotic, each flex revealing the soft ridges of her soles, the faint sheen of scented oil making them glisten.
“Andrew,” her voice floated in, velvet and amused, though her face remained off-screen. “Look how much I’ve missed you.”
He tried to speak, but his throat was suddenly dry. The scent wasn’t there, couldn’t be, yet he swore he could smell it: warm skin, strawberry lotion, and that faint, dangerous chemical sweetness that lived in his nightmares and his wet dreams alike.
Her toes flexed again, this time pointing directly at the lens. The big toe traced a lazy circle in the air, as if drawing him in.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she teased. “That hurts, darling. After everything we’ve shared.”
“I… there are leaks,” he managed, voice hoarse. “Serious ones. They’re looking for the source. I think… I think it might be…”
“Shhhh.” The camera tilted upward just enough to reveal the hem of a silk robe, dusk-rose, parted high on her thighs. Her toes continued their slow dance.
“None of that matters now. All that matters is my voice… and my pretty feet. Watch them, Andrew. Watch how they move for you.”
His eyes locked helplessly on the screen. The gold anklet chimed softly as her foot lifted, sole facing him fully now, toes splaying wide in invitation. A faint mist of scented oil beaded on her skin and caught the light like tiny jewels.
“Breathe with me,” she whispered. “In… and out. Every time my toes spread, you breathe in. Every time they curl, you sink a little deeper. Gooood, relax Andrew, its so easy, so completely natural.”
He didn’t even notice his hand had dropped to his lap, pressing against the sudden aching hardness in his tros.
“You will come to me Andrew,” she continued, not a question, a silken command. “Three nights from now. Villa Dar Jasmine, just outside Marrakech. You will tell no one, and you will come because you cannot bear another night without kneeling at these feet. Say it.”
“I… I will come,” he heard himself answer, the words falling out like coins from a broken slot machine.
“Good boy.” The camera lowered again, giving him one last, lingering view of both feet lifting, crossing at the ankles, then uncrossing in a slow, sensual wave. “You feel your eyes growing so very heavy Andrew, so very tired. When the call ends you will go to bed your eyes still seeing my pretty toes. Dream of them until you arrive, dream, and ache.”
The call ended.
He sat staring at the blank screen for a long time, cock throbbing, mind deliciously fogged. He haded to bed arranging tissues on the nightstand and baby oil…and he dreamed of her feet.
Three nights later the same black Mercedes he’d used previously delivered him to the villa gates at midnight. The courtyard smelled of night-blooming olives and woodsmoke. The cedar door opened before he could knock.
Jasmine stood there in the same dusk-rose silk robe, belted loosely, the fabric clinging to her curves and stopping mid-thigh. Below it, sheer black thigh-high stockings with lace tops, and feather-trimmed backless mules that made her legs look even longer, more lethal. Her hair was loose, lips crimson, eyes gleaming with triumph.
“Andrew,” she said warmly, as though greeting an old friend for tea. “Come in. I have fresh intelligence for you, straight from a very nervous general in Damascus. You’ll want to hear this before London does.”
He stepped inside, pulse already racing receiving a kiss on his cheek.
She led him through arches of carved plaster into the color of burnt honey, into a low salon cooled by a fountain. Candles flickered everywhere. A silver tray waited on a low table: two crystal glasses, a bottle of 18-year Macallan, and a small folder stamped with the seal of Syrian Military Intelligence.
Jasmine poured for them both, handed him a glass, then settled onto the wide divan, patting the space beside her.
“Sit. Drink. Let me take care of you.”
He obeyed, still trying to cling to the professional mask. “You said Damascus Jasmine?”
“I did.” She opened the folder, slid glossy satellite photos across the cushion between them. “New Russian S-400 placements. Coordinates, battery commanders, even the shift rotations. All yours, darling. You’ll be the hero who warned Five and Six before the Israelis even noticed.”
He stared at the images, mind racing to memorize, to justify this madness. “Why give me this?”
She smiled, slow, predatory, and let one mule dangle from her toes. “Because I like you, Andrew. And because good boys get rewarded.”
The mule dropped.
Her stockinged foot rose, brushing his knee, then sliding with deliberate intent into his lap. The lace tops whispered against his tros. Toes flexed, spread, curled, exactly as they had on the screen three nights ago.
The scent hit him like a drug, warm, sweet, chemical, irresistible.
His cock surged against her sole.
“Jasmine, I’m not sure we should be doing this…there are concerns and while I’m very grateful for the information you are sharing…”
Her toes slowly and sensually stroked up his cock silencing any further complaints.
“There we are,” she murmured, sipping her scotch with one hand while the other guided his glass to his lips. “Drink. Relax. You’ve had such a stressful few months. Let Jasmine fix everything.”
He drank. The liquor burned sweetly, loosening the last knots of resistance.
She shifted closer, robe parting to reveal the full length of those endless legs, the dark lace framing bare skin above. Her toes worked at his zipper with practiced ease, freeing his aching cock to the warm air.
“With her big toe she slowly started circling his base….relax Andrew feel your focus centering on my toes and my voice. You want to experience teh pleasure that only my toes can give you.” Her other foot lifted just below his nose her toes slowly wiggling sending her mind controlling scent into his brain.
“First,” she said conversationally, now wrapping both silk-sheathed feet around his shaft, “you’re going to tell me about the new t Intelligence Committee paper on Gulf contingencies. Every annex. Then we’ll discuss the updated Qatar file. And only when I’m satisfied will I let you come all over my pretty stockings.”
Andrew groaned, hips already thrusting helplessly between her arches his body responding a longing for the release her feet would give it.
The hypnosis took him faster than ever before, her voice weaving through the haze of scent and silk and unbearable pleasure.
He broke and told her everything.
Names. Dates. Contingency codes. The private burner number of the Foreign Secretary. Safe-house locations in Dubai. All of it spilled between desperate licks at her toes when she pressed them to his mouth to keep him quiet, to keep him focused.
She listened, nodding encouragement, stroking him mercilessly with her feet, edging him again and again until tears of frustration streaked down his face.
When he had nothing left to give, she tightened her soles around him, quickened the pace, and whispered drinking in the tension on his face and the helpless surrender in his eyes.
“Come for me now, darling. Give me every last drop and every last secret.”
He came with a broken cry, thick ropes painting the black stockings, dripping between her crimson toes.
Jasmine sighed in satisfaction, slowly standing and rolling off her stockings. “You broke so perfectly Andrew I’m very proud of you.”
He swayed obediently, completely lost to her spell, to the scent from her stockings and to her beauty and hypnosis. Andrew was adrift in a sea of pleasure and his eyes locked on hers, silently begging her for even more that she had already given him.
“Come my pet,” reaching out her hand to his and smiling as he rose. “Good boy…” her lips captured his in a deep sensual kiss and she lead Andrew to the bedroom his eyes locked on her legs and their sensual strides towards the bedroom.
Jasmine took her time undressing him, her intent was clear and she was bonding Andrew to her making any further thoughts of resisting her simply unthinkable. Her smile was warm and loving as she played with his nipples and tickled him gently while whispering sexy words into his ears. She had him completely enthralled.
Later, much later, she straddled him, robe discarded, guiding his still-hard cock inside her slick heat. She rode him slowly, hands on his shoulders, eyes locked on his and she pulled him deeply into a hypnotic haze.
“Forget, Andrew,” she whispered, kissing his eyelids, his throat, his mouth. “Forget the villa. Forget the secrets. only that a beautiful source in Marrakech gave you priceless Syrian intelligence. You will return to London a hero. You will sleep soundly… except for dreams of my feet. And when I call again, you will come running.” Her inner walls tightened as her pace reached its crescendo knowing that it would break Andrew as she claimed yet another climax from him.
He nodded, lost in her, cumming and spilling inside her a final time as she clenched around him, continuing and building her own pleasure until she came with a soft, triumphant moan a sexy smile covering her face.
She was kind, pulling him into an embrace and whispering him to sleep his head falling onto her shoulder with a sigh. When awareness returned, he was standing fully dressed at the gate, dawn painting the sky rose-gold. Jasmine, now modestly covered in linen, pressed the folder and a USB drive into his hand.
“Safe travels, darling,” she said with a chaste smile and another kiss on his cheek. “Give my regards to London.”
Andrew still under her sway returned the kiss and settled into the car, iring his beautiful source as the car pulled away.
In the rear-view mirror he caught one fleeting glimpse of her lifting a bare foot behind the closing door, toes flexing in a slow, private wave.
Then the road curved, and all he felt was professional pride and a strange, hollow ache he couldn’t name. Inside the villa, Jasmine poured herself another drink and smiled at the empty air, taking out her phone and sending a coded message to her controller informing them she had the new intel they requested.
She thought of him as she sat back to savor her drink. “Dream of me, Andrew. You have no idea what we will do next, we are only getting started.”