Ava & Leo - Sweet Payback

Day 3 -- Leo's Revenge

Morning arrived in slanted amber, sliding through half-open blinds and striping the bedroom in bars of gold and shadow. Ava stirred first, hair spilling across the pillow like molten copper, but it was Leo who had already been awake--quietly gathering, arranging, anticipating. The low ottoman at the foot of the bed had been moved to the center of the room, its legs steadied on the rug so it would not budge. Four padded cuffs--two midnight black, two storm-cloud grey--lay open like patient jaws. Beside them waited a folded towel, a ceramic bowl of ice cubes that clicked softly when the air shifted, a glass bottle of warmed coconut oil already beginning to bead with condensation, a delicate watercolor paintbrush, a slim silicone wand the color of sea glass, a silver vibrating bullet no larger than a lipstick tube, and--most ominous of all--a travel-sized electric flosser whose small rubber head hummed when Leo tested the switch, a sound somewhere between purr and warning.

Ava's eyes widened at the quiet display; her pulse answered with its own quick drum. She wore only one of Leo's old T-shirts, the hem brushing mid-thigh, the fabric thin enough that morning light outlined the small, gentle curves beneath. Her legs--long, runner-lean, dusted with the faintest freckles--shifted restlessly, bare feet curling against the cool floor. Each step revealed the subtle strength of calves shaped by riverbank miles and barefoot forest trails, the high arches and narrow ankles that had carried her over roots and stones now tingling with remembered surrender.

Leo watched her approach, boyish features softened by anticipation and a sun-dark tan earned on long hikes without a shirt. Short, light-brown hair stuck up in tousled tufts; a faint, mischievous smile tilted at the corner of his mouth. He had no facial hair, nothing to blunt the clean lines of jaw and cheekbone, so when the grin widened it was all brightness and playful threat.

"Same rules," he reminded, voice velvet over gravel. "Twenty minutes. You last, tomorrow is yours to design. You beg--" he tapped the small white card he had placed on the towel--"dinner at La Mer, eight o'clock. Mid-meal, sandals come off, and I tickle you under the table whenever the urge strikes."

Ava's breath caught between nerves and thrill. She nodded, auburn hair sliding across one shoulder like liquid fire. "Deal."

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00:00 -- The Warm-Up

Leo guided her to recline across the ottoman, back supported by a thick pillow, arms stretched above her head so the cuffs could close softly around slender wrists. A second pair went around her ankles, leaving her feet dangling just off the edge, heels free to flex, soles exposed and slightly apart. He poured a thin ribbon of warmed coconut oil into his palms, rubbing them together until the scent of sun and salt filled the small space. Then, slowly, worshipfully, he began to massage. His thumbs pressed into the high arches, tracing the plantar fascia like a map of old roads; his fingers curled around each metatarsal, squeezing gently before gliding forward. Ava felt the tension of yesterday dissolve into warmth, but even relaxation carried an undercurrent of anticipation--every stroke promised future intensity.

02:10 -- Silk & Ice

From the towel he lifted a strip of cool silk ribbon the color of moonlight. He dragged it under first one arch, letting the fabric slither between heel and ball, then looped it loosely around the other foot so it grazed the sensitive webbing between toes. The contrast was exquisite: silk gliding, skin shivering. Immediately after, he traced the same path with a single ice cube, the sudden chill making her gasp. Warm oil met cold marble; her nerves crackled like frost on glass.

04:00 -- Paintbrush Precision

A delicate watercolor brush appeared between his fingers, sable bristles soaked in more oil. Leo started at the outer edge of her left foot, painting invisible calligraphy along the delicate tendons that fanned from heel to toe. Each stroke was feather-light yet deliberate, the fine bristles finding microscopic valleys of sensation. Ava's toes curled, relaxed, curled again; she felt every ridge and whorl of her own skin magnified under the artist's hand.

06:15 -- Dual Vibes

Leo clicked on the silver bullet, set it to a low, steady purr, and slid it lengthwise beneath the balls of both feet so that vibration pooled there like liquid electricity. At the same time, he took the sea-glass silicone wand and rolled it in slow, firm circles along the right arch. The sensations layered--hum and glide, buzz and press--until Ava's breath came in soft, ragged intervals. She felt the pleasure-pain spark shoot straight to her core; a low moan escaped before she could muffle it.

08:30 -- Between-Toe Tease

With the bullet still thrumming under her metatarsal pads, Leo eased the rounded tip of the wand between her second and third toes, rotating gently. The vibration traveled through tendon and bone, lighting nerves she never realized existed. Her toes spread instinctively, then clenched, imprisoned by the cuffs that kept everything perfectly displayed.

10:00 -- Midpoint Check-In

He paused, wiped excess oil from his fingers with the towel, and simply held her heels in his warm palms. Ava's chest rose and fell rapidly; the backs of her knees were damp. "Halfway," he said, voice velvet. "Still with me?"

"Bring it," she whispered, eyes bright.

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10:30 -- The Ribbon Returns

This time he looped soft cotton cord around both big toes, drawing them back until her soles stretched taut, the delicate hollow beneath each toe pad exposed and gleaming. The position arched her feet beautifully, tendons standing out like drawn bowstrings.

12:00 -- Electric Flosser

The flosser clicked on--a tiny, relentless jackhammer of micro-bristles. Leo pressed it flat against her right arch, then slowly dragged it in zigzags. The rapid, pinpoint flickers felt like a thousand butterfly wings batting every nerve ending at once. Ava's laughter burst out, bright and startled, toes flexing against the cord.

14:15 -- Hairbrush Edge

He swapped to the soft-bristled brush. With her feet held rigid by the toe-tie, he swept the bristles in long, merciless stripes from heel to toe, then flipped it to use the flat back for rapid-fire taps that echoed like raindrops on glass. The repetition became a drumbeat; Ava's laughter climbed, breathless, edged with pleading.

16:00 -- Ice & Heat

A fresh ice cube traced the outer ridge of her left foot while the warmed brush continued its work on the right. The contrast--burning cold, silky heat--made her jerk so hard the ottoman shifted. She felt every muscle in her legs quiver; her wrists strained against the cuffs.

17:45 -- Spiral

Leo circled the hairbrush in tightening spirals around the center of each sole, then abruptly switched direction. Ava's toes curled so hard the ribbon bit, but the satin only stretched a fraction before snapping back. She felt the pressure echo in her hips, a full-body resonance of the tickle.

19:00 -- Countdown Begins

He set a small kitchen timer on the floor where she could see the red digits bleed away. 2:15, 2:14... He hovered a single fingertip just above her oiled skin, not touching, letting anticipation sizzle. When he finally lowered it--one fingertip skimming the center of each arch in slow, perfect circles--Ava's back bowed.

19:30 -- Final Surge

With thirty seconds left, Leo pressed the flosser against the hollow beneath her toes and the brush against her heels simultaneously--two tempos, one frantic, one steady. Ava's laughter broke into a single, desperate gasp.

19:58

"Please--Leo--please--"

The timer chimed.

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Silence crashed in. Leo switched everything off, hands gentle now, loosening the toe-tie, uncuffing her ankles, rubbing warmth back into the trembling arches he had just tormented. Ava lay boneless, chest heaving, tears of laughter still clinging to her lashes.

He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "Restaurant reservation is at eight. Wear the red dress--and the strappy sandals."

She laughed weakly against his shoulder. "Sadist."

"Your word, not mine," he murmured, kissing the top of each flushed foot in turn. "But I did warn you--revenge is best served... under the table."