Lurch headed towards the summons of the bell. He'd had to wait on their latest guest hand and foot. He'd given up counting how many times a day when that started interfering with his composing. He entered the suite wondering what the prima donna's desire was this time.
She was tapping her black satin slipper impatiently inches from the pull. Turning, she went over the the upholstered demidivan, her danceskirt fluttering. Sitting, she rose one leg high, offering her deceptively dainty foot.
Lurch removed the first toe shoe, the other foot nearly kicking it out of his hands in haste. The second shoe off, she pointed her toes at the tray of lotions. He fetched it, returning to her knees draped over the rolled side of the sette. Lurch lotioned, massaged and trimmed his way through the toosie toilette. He thought he was finished when a long-capped bottle was dangled into his fingers.
Lurch tidied up the room, since he'd only have to retrieve the spacers if he left while the nails dried. He polished the barre and the brass pole, straightened the shoes in the closet and checked the salts and beads in the bathroom. The laquer hardened, he pulled out the separators.
Before he could escape, she got up in a swirl of legs and headed to the closet. Feeling around, she footrapped a pair of tap shoes. ----------------------------------------
Lurch bolted upright as the bell rang over his bed. He just started to get up as his door creeked open. The click of heels was slow. The pair of legs stopped a bit further than an arm's length away. She slid the top of one foot up and down the other leg. She stepped a few forward and repeated with the other foot.
Lurch stood in his nightshirt. He oued as she nudged up his hem past the knee. Ared as she locked an ankle behind that same knee and levered herself up. Even with him, she shifted her hips to a silent dance. Lurch's jaw dropped. She nudged him in the hand with the free foot, extending it outward. She crooked it, sliding it up Lurch's chest.
He grapped the ankle, unbuckling the shoe and tossing it quietly. He let the foot finish its upward slide, toes pressing against his neck. He reached down the other leg for the strap of that shoe. His long fingers skimmed up the stocking, finding the top of the thighhigh. She arched into him, shimmying as he peeled away the hosiery.
The still clad leg retracted, darting under his nightshirt. The bare leg shifted up further. Lurch moaned, eyes crossing, swinging wide and crossing again. The skirt fell over his feet as the front of his nightshirt billowed and twisted. Smaller protuberances ran under the back of it like toe-y fins. He turned and pulled off his gown, falling onto the bed. He held onto one ankle, while its mate stroked his calf. The springs groaned and brayed, louder and faster. Toes stiffened. Lurch shuddered and spasmed, moaning a rolling sigh. She wriggled to get heel-down on the bed, still wearing one stocking.
The End