Fiona Does the Foot Bar

Fiona Does the Foot Bar

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Fiona submits to a foot fetishist in the Foot Bar, and her response is a surprise to her and the whole bar.

Summary

Fiona submits to a foot fetishist in the Foot Bar, and her response is a surprise to her and the whole bar.

Content

Submitted: November 21, 2012

A A A | A A A

Content

Submitted: November 21, 2012

A A A

A A A


I lay in the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar room, thinking that maybe I could do this. Maybe I could live here in luxury. It was my second day of my probationary period at the ultra-secret Estate. They said if they chose me, and I chose them, they would pay me a lot to do very little. And participating in the Foot Bar counted as doing very little. All I had to do was let someone do stuff to my feet? I thought I could live with that.

I was thirty, divorced and penniless. Given that my only alternative was to move in with my mom, I thought getting paid for letting people love my feet was not such a bad job. It wasn’t like I was a whore or anything.

Brandon, my handler, came for me at 9:15 in the morning. As my handler, he was helping me navigate the Estate. Teaching me how and when to do things, making sure that I was adjusting to life here.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, breathless. He was wearing patent leather cream shoes with pointy toes, and pants and jacket to match. His shirt was a shiny, dark pink. His hair and skin were flawless. I thought he was a good-looking man, but without his clothes I would probably think him gorgeous. I wondered if I would ever see him naked. Was that standard between girl and handler?

He led the way to the Foot Bar, which was down the hall from the Baths.

The Foot Bar had two rooms. The first one was very white and clean, with a long clear bar on the right and a row of pedicure chairs on the left. Everything was either clear plastic, glass or white. Slaves were attending to three girls in the chairs, they were all naked. Two of the girls were reading gossip magazines, but the other one was squirming in her chair and staring at a man at the bar, who was staring back. She was making a big deal out of it: licking her lips, saying ‘oh!’ once in a while, all the time giving the man her ‘bedroom’ eyes. I almost laughed, it was so very fake, but the man at the bar was enjoying it. I could see his erection through his pants, and he was having a hard time getting his beer to his mouth.

A male slave walked up to us.

“Yes, sir?” he said. He was naked. He was tall, blonde, muscular, downright perfect and young. He had a very large, pink erection, which I supposed was required of him.

“A full pedicure. And call me when you’re done, I need to escort her to the back,” Brandon said, then he left.

“I’m slave Hammer,” he said to me.

I had to suck in my lips to keep from grinning. I’m glad no one called slaves by their names here. It made me think of home-made porn from the seventies.

“Have a seat, here, please, Mistress,” he said.

I sat and rolled up my jeans. Thankfully, there were enough other things to look at that it wasn’t difficult for me to avoid looking at his erection. It was spectacularly large. I was getting warm thinking about it, but I was also curious. How did he keep it up? How long could he keep it without discomfort? I wanted to touch it. Not to stimulate him at all, just out of curiosity.

My feet soaked in a very hot sudsy tub while he arranged his things.

“Did you bring your own, or would you like to choose a color?”

He pointed to a round rack next to him, stuffed with nail polish. I chose a sky blue one.

He pulled my left foot out of the water and started to scrub me. He was very strong and thorough. He worked on my feet for forty-five minutes, and was very careful to get all the dry skin off without hurting me. It was the best pedicure I had ever had.

He kept his erection going the whole time. I could have touched it with my foot if I stretched out my leg, but I resisted the urge. The girl next to me did not. She was making her slave’s penis dongle up and down with her big toe and giggling. He continued his work as if nothing was happening, but his face was very red.

When Hammer was done with me, I said, “Thank you.”

He blushed and looked down. “It is my great pleasure, Mistress. No need to thank me! I thank you for allowing me the privilege to serve you.”

He led me to the toe dryer, and started to do someone else’s pedicure, still maintaining that erection, poor thing! Brandon came back for me fifteen minutes later.


Brandon picked up one of my feet to inspect it.

“Good job! He always does a good job. I can’t stand a sloppy pedicure. I always report them and they get punished in a way they won’t enjoy,” Brandon said. “Of course, now they know that and never slack with my girls.”

Brandon put his hand on my back and led me into the back room of the Foot Bar. This room was bigger and darker. A mirrored bar backlit in pink was on the left side of the room.

“We drink any time of day around here. Some of our clients like to honor the time zones of their home cities, which are all over the world,” Brandon said.

There were many naked girls on short swings dangling above the bar. If the swing was at rest, her feet would be around face level with someone sitting at the bar. One girl was swinging and grabbing her client around the neck with her feet, and then using his shoulders to push herself off. When she came back to him she brought her feet up on the swing so he couldn’t reach her easily. He was begging her to let him have her feet. She was laughing. The male bartender was making a drink and watching her with admiration.

In the center of the room was a large circular bar. There were no drinks being made here, the center of the bar was a round bench seat, where naked girls sat all around, legs and feet pointing out onto the bar. Men sat on stools, some with drinks, some without, licking or tickling the toes of their chosen girl. A man was walking around, looking at the available girls, trying to decide which one he wanted. One of the girls was tied up and struggling, and he chose her.

On the right side of the room was a row of bar stools, each one facing a square hole in the wall covered by a black curtain. Little shelves were between the holes, for the men to place their drinks. Some of the holes had feet sticking out of them on little platforms, tied down with flexible straps, so the girls could move their feet, but not very far.

In the back of the room there was a catwalk. A few girls were walking around in very high heels, hats and scarves, prancing in front of men who ogled their feet more than their exposed breasts or pussies. Occasionally a girl would stop and let a man caress her feet, but she always left him before he seemed satisfied.

“So. Do you see anywhere you might be comfortable? We could tie you down in the center and blindfold you, with your clothes on, if you like. Or do you want to be behind the black curtain?” Brandon said.

My mouth was hanging open and my pussy was wet. I also felt a little dirty, in a bad way. Some of the men were so… obsessed and servile. They were compelling and slightly repulsive at the same time. Other men were more like gourmands, simply enjoying a woman’s feet. I wondered which kind of man would feel better on my feet…

I couldn’t believe myself. My thoughts. I didn’t know this person… this person turned on by all this: the Foot Bar, the girl teasing the man’s cock next to me, and this man standing next to me with his tacky shiny shoes.

Later. Later… I would analyze who I was and make the decision later…

A man came in to the bar and ordered two whiskeys. We both turned to look at him. He was wearing black dress pants and strong muscles bulged beneath his white button down shirt. He had a long, dark ponytail and rich, brown skin. Polynesian tattoos peeked above his collar on the sides of his neck.

He turned to look at us and acknowledged Brandon with a nod. He then looked at me briefly (he did not smile), then my feet, and nodded to Brandon again.

“How about the black curtain? I think you’ll be least nervous there,” Brandon said.

I slowly nodded, knowing exactly what had just transpired. The tattooed man was going to… going to do whatever he was going to do to my feet. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, he seemed to have such a calm power about him. He was turned toward the bar now, watching the girls swing and sipping his whiskey.

Brandon led me to a narrow door in the corner that I didn’t notice before. He swiped a card through a slot and the door unlocked. We were in a very dark hallway, lit only by a few candles. Girls were lying on tables with their feet through square holes in the wall. The curtain must have been on the other side of the wall. The girls were either naked or in their bathrobes. One was playing with her phone, but most of the others were squirming and looked to be enjoying themselves. Each of them had a little microphone taped to their cheek.

“The men like to hear your responses,” Brandon said. “They have earbuds that connect to your microphone.”

I didn’t like that. This was supposed to be easier because it was more anonymous, but I knew who would be doing my feet and I was very self-conscious.

Brandon had me lay down on an empty table. I started to cry a little as he taped the microphone on. I don’t know why I was so afraid, but I was.

Brandon pet my hair back away from my face and looked down at me very gently.

“Just try it. You do like this, right? I know it’s hard to let a stranger do things to you. I understand. Let it be, let it happen without reacting to your feelings. They are just feelings. Try to close your eyes and feel everything, notice everything. Feel it and let it flow into the next moment.”

What Brandon said helped me relax, but what also calmed me down was the shock of him saying it. I didn’t think such comforting and deep words about feelings could come from him. Maybe I had underestimated the flashy and tan Brandon. He moved down to my feet and strapped them in. The straps were firm but comfortable. They were thick and tight just above my ankles, and held my feet about ten inches apart and four inches above the table. I could move my feet around, but not more than a few inches in any direction.

“I can’t stand the microphone,” I said.

“I know. It’s okay. We want to have you. You as you are. Every breath.”

Brandon rolled my table through the square hole and I felt my feet go through the black curtain and I felt terrified. I pulled my feet back as far as they would go, I couldn’t help it. I sat up because I was too tense to lay down.

“Let it be,” Brandon said, standing next to me. “He’s good. He understands.”

A man, I assumed it was the tattooed guy, brought his hands close enough to my feet so I could feel the warmth. Then he circled my ankles with his thumb and fingers and squeezed. He massaged the soft spots of my tendons above the back of my heels. His hands were very strong and warm. My breathing was uneven and I knew he could hear me, which made me even more tense.

He stopped touching me for a moment and I relaxed a little.

“Stretch out your legs,” Brandon said.

I realized that tensing up my legs wasn’t going to do anything but give me sore legs, so I scooched back until my legs were straight, and pulled a little less against the straps, but I still sat up.

The man on the other side of the curtain touched me again, this time with two fingers, one on each foot. He trailed his fingers along the back of my heel, using the edge of his fingernail to accentuate his touch. He went over and over my heel, touching every inch. When he grazed beneath my ankle bone I jerked and gasped because it tickled. Immediately my pussy and face flushed and I bit my lip.

He then went to the bottom edges of my heel and tickled me there. He went back and forth around my ankle bone and heels, tickling me. I was squirming like crazy, biting my lip and I had to breathe through my mouth. My forehead creased and much to my dismay I made a slight moan in my throat. He ran his thumbnails up and down the bottom of my heels, tickling me in a new place.

“Try to lay down,” Brandon whispered. His breath in my ear tickled and I shivered all over. He put his hand on the front of my neck and gently, softly pushed me back. I lay back, reluctantly, but it was easier now. Brandon kept his hot hand on my neck as I continued to squirm and arch my back.

The tattooed man was running his thumbs up the center of my feet and along the outside edge now.  My eyes closed involuntarily and my pussy was very wet. I gripped the sides of the table as I squirmed. My mind, and my self-consciousness, disappeared. I was lost in the feelings. Brandon’s hand softly holding my neck was turning me on more than I wanted him to know.

The man continued to tickle every part of my feet, until the ticklishness wore off. Then he stopped touching me. I breathed deep, not realizing that I had been holding my breath between gasps. I relaxed my back and finally lay flat and unmoving. Brandon did not move his hand and I lay there, eyes closed.

The man on the other side of the curtain poured something cool on my feet. His whiskey? Then he stuck his tongue on the bottom of my heels to catch the drips. He lapped the back of my heels until the whiskey was gone. Then he focused on my left foot and moved his tongue all around my heel, sucking the whiskey off with his lips and squeezing my heel between his teeth lightly.

“Oh God,” I whispered and arched my back.

His tongue darted out along the bottom of my foot, licking and sucking and gently chewing my tender instep. Then he bit and sucked the skin on the ball of my foot vigorously, but not painfully, as if it were a nipple. It tickled sometimes and I jerked my foot back frequently. Then he ran his tongue along the base of my toes, probing with the tip of his tongue at the curl of each one. I was moaning quietly, and pretty regularly now, the microphone completely irrelevant. Brandon was breathing hard next to me.

The man slipped his tongue between my pinky and ring toe, curling it around the front, pushing his tongue in and out between the toes. The skin between my toes was the most sensitive. He moved his tongue between my other toes in the same way, spreading them with his tongue, occasionally taking the whole toe in his mouth and sucking hard. It felt like my toes were another sexual organ, and somehow connected to my pussy lips. It fired the same place in my brain as when a man went down on me. I could feel the texture of his tongue, its every movement sending an explosion through my body.

I gripped the table and was almost constantly making long ‘ohs’ and soft keening moans deep in my throat. I was approaching a threshold of a feeling I had never felt before. I was getting more and more flushed and wet, as if I were approaching orgasm.

The girl who was on her phone next to me covered her microphone and whispered, “Damn, girl. Brandon, you’ve got to give me his name.” Brandon didn’t say anything. He pulled up a chair and sat down near my head, still breathing hard. He rubbed his face with his hands.

I barely heard the girl and only registered what Brandon did because his chair scraped the floor when he moved it. The tattooed man moved on to my other foot and did the same things to it. I was swimming in pleasure, dizzy. I could barely feel the table beneath me. I arched my back, raising my breasts high. I wished Brandon would touch them. My nipples were hard as little stones. My whole body quivered, aching to be touched.

The tattooed man sucked on my toes extra hard and rhythmically stretched my toes apart with his tongue. He did this foot faster and harder than the last one, and redness started to swim before my eyes. I was nearly passing out. There was so much blood gorging my pussy, and I was so wet and pulsing, that the movement of my hips alone was stimulating my pussy a little. All I needed was a little push, and I would come, I was that close. I just needed to touch myself on the outside of my clothes a little, a little pressure… I brought my hand to my belly and pressed down hard above my pubic bone before I realized what I was doing.

I stopped short of putting pressure on my clit, realizing that the girl and Brandon were probably watching me. I opened my eyes, and they were indeed watching, with mouths open. Tears sprang from my eyes then, in frustration. I gripped the table again and the word, ‘please’ tore from my lips.

The tattooed man suddenly stopped. He was breathing very hard onto my toes, and just slowly licked them once in a while. He was done. I wondered if he came in his pants. I hoped so. I liked the idea of him enjoying himself so much while doing this to me, that he came.

He grazed the tops of my feet with both hands, pulling and squeezing gently from my ankles to my toes, and then he was gone.

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” I said, over and over. I was calming down, but still very unsatisfied. I had known that I liked my feet tickled, but I had no idea someone could make me feel that way. I was still dizzy. I wanted that tattooed man to do that to me again. I wanted him to do everything to me.

“He’s done?” Brandon asked. I nodded.

Brandon pulled my table out of the hole and unstrapped my feet.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the table but had to sit there for a second. “Oh my god,” I said again. I was shaky.

“Yeah,” Brandon said quietly. To the girl with the phone he said: “Ruby, that was Jack. But. I’ve seen him work before, and I think this was not just Jack. This was Jack plus Fiona. Ruby, meet Fiona. Fiona, this is Ruby.”

“Fiona, you should eat some lunch, I’ll see if Sarah can join you. I have to talk to the Manager now, but come on up after you are done,” Brandon said.

He gestured that I walk before him down the dark hallway. I swayed a little because my feet were putty. Brandon grabbed my arm to steady me and put his other hand on my back. We exited into the bar and the bar was strangely silent. The tattooed man was gone, but everyone was staring at us.

Brandon let me go and went up to a man and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and said something. Brandon raised his eyebrows, shook his head and grinned as he came back to me.

“That wanker,” he said, still grinning.

“What? Why is everyone staring?” I said. This did not look good.

“You are going to be a very popular girl, if you choose to stay,” Brandon said.

“Shit. What? What!” I said.

Brandon didn’t answer me until we got to the Lobby.

“About halfway through, he broadcast you to the whole bar.”

“What!” I said.

Brandon nodded. “I didn’t think to tell you that was possible. I didn’t think he would do it to someone not even signed up yet. But I didn’t expect you to sound so… good, and I’m sure he didn’t either. Normally no one broadcasts their girl, because it keeps others from hearing their own. But in this case…”

I was mortified. I covered my face with both hands and cried a little.

“Fiona, you turned me to butter n’rocks in there.”

I shook my head behind my hands. I could guess what butter n’rocks meant.

“It’s a good thing,” Brandon said. “No shame, remember? Your sexuality is beautiful. Go eat something, and come right up to the office, okay?”

Sarah, another girl at the Estate, came walking up. She is the one who recruited me, and it even seemed like we were becoming friends.

“What’s going on?” she asked, concerned.

“She’ll tell you,” Brandon said as he rushed off.

“Oh my god,” was all I could manage.

Sarah pulled me into the café and we sat down at a table inside, near a fountain.

“How does Waldorf salad sound? And wine. You need wine,” Sarah said.

She ordered from a nude male waiter with a bouncing hard-on. I looked at it longingly and then caught myself. Who was I?

“I’m so confused,” I said.

“Go on,” Sarah said.

“Those dark and light parts of me that the Manager mentioned. The uh… sexy part is really coming out, and I am totally freaking out about it. I don’t recognize myself. And yet, it’s not coming out so much that I’m comfortable with the guy in the Foot Bar, what’s his name? Jack… broadcasting my moaning to the whole bar. I was behind the curtain, it’s supposed to be easier because of the anonymity, right? And it was easy to let go because… Jack. Oh my god Jack, have you ever had him? I almost came. I could have, if I could have touched myself just a tad. But I didn’t…”

I stopped to take a breath. Sarah was smiling.

“But, they don’t usually broadcast you. It’s considered rude. No one ever really gets that loud in there, so the clients can hear their feedback…It’s strange that he did that,” Sarah said.

“That’s what Brandon said. He called him a wanker for it. The whole bar was staring.”

“And how did you even know who it was?”

“Jack came into the bar right after us, and they had a nodding contest, and I knew,” I said.

“I’ve never had Jack that I know of, but maybe I’ll request him now! Is he delicious?”

“Oh yes, in a big, dark, strong, unsmiling Polynesian way. He looks like he’d be very…oh…” I blushed as I pictured him pounding me with all his strength, watching me react with his lustrous dark eyes. “Very strong. And he’s a biter. At least on my feet.”

“Oo. Yes. Fun,” Sarah said. “You like that?”

“I think so. If it doesn’t hurt. I don’t get off on pain.”

“Me, neither. Just a little stretching pain in the beginning of something is okay, but beyond that no. No pain,” Sarah said.

We ate for a while. I downed my first glass of wine and started my second. I wondered what stretching pain she was talking about, exactly.

“Please tell me you’re staying. I think you’ve made a fabulous debut. You clearly made an impression on Jack. The Manager will make you think about it for a week before answering him, but tell me now!” Sarah said.

“Thinking about it for a week sounds wise. What if I wake up tomorrow morning feeling dirty and ashamed? No offense to you, and what you do. I’m just not sure if it’s for me,” I said.

“She says as she blushes and squirms, watching the erections go by,” Sarah said.

I laughed. “Like I said. I don’t recognize this side of me. I’m not so spiritual, but this has a moral aspect to it that I need to think about, and I’m not sure what the long-term consequences would be on my emotional health and all that.”

“Money in the bank, honey. And a damn good time. That’s the long-term consequences,” Sarah said.

Sarah had a very good point, but I was still going to think about it for a week before answering the Manager. But somehow, in my heart of hearts, I already knew I would join. I just didn’t want to admit it yet.


© Copyright 2017 Fiona Martine. All rights reserved.

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