The Ground They Walk On (F/m, M/m, F+M/m, foot fetish, cuckold)
My fingers tingled with pins and needles where they lay wedged
between my wife's toes, serving as separators while her polish dried.
I knelt by the ottoman smelling the chicken wings I knew needed
turning in the oven. If they were even slightly dry, I'd get my ass
kicked big-time from the Bull who was soon to devour them.
Suddenly, a short double honk from the driveway -- Shit!, that was
the signal that Master wanted me to meet him outside at the car for
whatever needs his whims called for. Yesterday, it was to carry in 2
heaping loads of moldy laundry.
Thank goodness the sound of the horn caused my Mistress to stir,
stretching and yawning form her nap, and splaying her toes as she
stretched out her legs. I seized the opportunity to free my fingers
from her toes, scurrying outside, stopping quickly by the kitchen to
pull the wings out of the oven. I nearly slipped on the stoop, but
managed to reach the driverside of his sportscar before he opened the
door. (I struggled with the payments on this vehicle, but only the
best wheels for the powerful pleaser of my wife's pussy, now his
pussy.)
I stretched out prostrate face down to the gravely driveway, and
he stepped out full weight on my back in his black engineer boots,
the ones I polished up the night before while he slow-fucked my
gorgeous bride. I couldn't help but grunt in pain as he dug his
heels into my back. "What's the matter wimp? You trying say I'm
getting fat?" Like hell. He was an absolute chiseled Adonis.
"No Sir. I'm sorry, Sir. Thank you for stepping on me."
He stepped off making sure he stepped on my fingers on the way
down. "Not a bad job on my boots, slave-boy. Check the soles for a
touch-up." I flipped onto my back and swabbed the soles one at a time
as he pressed the cold leather carelessly against my face."
"Get up asshole, and go get me some flowers for my honey!" I ran
into the garage refrigerator and pulled out a dozen red roses with a
bright red bow. I had to be ready for whenever he felt like
pretending to be romantic. ( I also had boxes of chocolates handy.)
Unexpectedly, he yanked them from my hands with the thorns nicking me
as he did. "Hurry-up asshole. Do you want her to see you holding
them?!"
"I just came from one of my other little wifey's house --SMELL!"
He shoved his powerful hairy man-paw under my nose; it reeked of
fresh pussy - my friend Steve's wife's pussy. "Too bad you losers
don't even know how to satisfy your own wives," he laughed.
"Meet me inside. My dogs are roastin' in these boots and need your
attention." You see I am also their footslave. Actually, it was my
love for my wife's feet that drove her to seek out a real man. A
real man wanted pussy. Not some wimp jerking off underfoot.
I ran inside, popped the top off his beer and knelt by the
doorway. By now my sultry wife had made her way there, eyes glazed
over holding the doorsill, knowing she'd soon be engaging in the most
primitive of carnal coupling imaginable with her Hunk. She gushed
over the flowers spitting at me in disgust "Why can't you ever do
anything like this?!"
He grabbed her roughly by the hair with one hand, and scooted the
other under her dress squeezing her butt. He pulled her soft face to
his own bristly strong-chinned mouth and shoved his tongue into her
mouth. (she always hated if I tried this. Now she melted and moaned)
They remained this way for several minutes, when he looked down at
me and said, "What the fuck are you lookin' at, footwipe? You'll get
your chance to give me a proper kiss hello." They burst out
laughing. He grabbed his beer, and downed a long swig, and headed
for the couch tugging my honey behind him like an obedient puppy.
I scampered after them on my knees (only knees in Master's presence).
They plopped on the couch, legs finding each other and
intertwining. Mistress' toes shined with a glossy red finish (he of
course didn't notice , but then again he's not the one with the foot
fetish -- he's got tits and pussies to worry about).
They began kissing again. This time his greasy hands found my
wife's breasts and he kneaded them fervently. I knew the routine
well -- a booted foot extended out onto my waiting lap. It rotated
about the ankle in teasing circles, its way of requesting to be freed
from its leathery prison.
I gripped and tugged in one motion, and winced as the spicy
tendrils of footstench quickly curled up my nose. There was actually
visible steam coming off his foot-print stained white sock. ( I hand
scrub these, but it doesn't help when he walks around outside without
shoes.) He pressed the huge damp sole against my face and held it
there while I worked on the other boot -- this time it was a little
more difficult as I was blinded and basked in the dizzying aroma of
his sweaty foot.
He and my wife never slowed in their sloppy kissing and groping
while I prepared to give my Master the kiss hello he was referring
to. His other foot joined the first as both hot raunchy soles
pressed my head backwards to the floor pinning my head to the
carpet. My head hit with a painful thump. I dare not complain and I
began kissing and kissing and kissing.
I heard a break in the action above and my heart raced wondering what
I had done wrong. "My little footlover, tonight you're in for a
treat. You gave me such good head today during my lunch break that
I'm going to let you have my BARE FEET!. Now go run get me those
wings. I'm starving!"
I gave his wings a stir, put a container of blue cheese in the
basket and returned to his feet. His socks were already peeled off.
I laid prostrate after handing him the basket. He lifted his strong
denim-clad leg revealing the beefy wrinkled sole of a REAL MAN. He
let it hover over my face and told me to beg for it.
I pleaded, "Please Master. I want to kiss and lick your beautiful
feet while you enjoy my lovely wife." He teased and wriggled his
gnarly toes, mocking my compromised position. "You're pretty lucky
aren't you? All you have to do is surrender your fuck privileges,
your house key, buy me a car, grovel, and be my servant, and YOU get
an incredible pair of MANFEET to worship! I don't know who got the
better of this deal!"
They snickered hysterically, and he finally said, "Oh alright, carry
on pervert. But NO DINNER for you! There should be plenty of sock
lint to fill your worthless tummy for tonight. He splayed his toes
and sure enough there were plenty of chewy clumps of toe jam
awaiting my tongue flossing. He brought the first wing to his mouth
ripping off a huge bite as he lowered his foot. The last thing I saw
before being consumed by the heady aromatic foot was his smiling face
approving of the wings whew! not too dry after all.)
He enjoyed his appetizer while my tongue began its arduous task of
cleansing his enormous soles of his workday's briny sweat. I began
to get used to their musky odor, and my eyes weren't tearing as much
from the ammonia-like burn they delivered. He knew this (as all good
dominants know when their slave's torment may be easing) and he began
to rub his soles back and forth as if to scratch an itch. Despite
his weekly Saturday morning pedicures I gave him, there was still
some rough calloused spots on his heels that began to viscously
abrade my face, the salty sweat stinging my fresh raw wounds.
He moved his soles now down alongside my cheeks and looked down to
check out my bleeping reddened face. He squeezed my face between his
soles squishing my face into a silly expression, puckering my lips.
"Enough footfeast, you freak. Time for you to harden my homewrecker!"
He had finished the wings, and now I was able see my lovely wife had
his big veiny dick out of his jeans. She was holding it up and waving
it at me to signal me to begin sucking it.
How did I ever sink this low! I stunk like a men's lockeroom, I
just gave my wife's boyfriend a luxurious footbath, and now I was
about to harden his pole with my mouth and guide it past my wife's
pussylips so that she could go for the ride of her life! I recalled
last week, when they actually went for a two hour walk one night
tugging on a collar and leash while I followed. They made me carry
their shoes because they felt like walking barefoot. It was later
that night, while they relaxed by the TV after their lovemaking, when
I was set to task to lick their coal-black soles clean that I
realized I'd reached the point of no return, and I was forever their
cuckolded footslave ....
Review This Story || Email Author: Cuckold Foot Slave