Italian footslave

“Well this is new, I never thought I’d be out on a date with a guy with a foot fetish.” He said, laughing nervously and slipping his barefeet out of his vans. He plopped them up on the table, just a foot or so away from your face. “There you go, that’s better isn’t it? Now you can check them out up close, go ahead and lean in and give them kisses” he wiggled his sweaty toes, pointing them towards your face as you leaned in and started giving them soft kisses. He giggled at the way you obeyed and kissed his sweaty toes, then started looking at the menu.

Before you knew it the waiter was there. Your hot date kept you mesmerized by his wiggling toes as he ordered the most expensive meal on the menu, then the waiter turned to you. You were obviously too consumed with the wiggling toes in your face to notice, so your date went ahead and ordered for you, “He’s good, he’s just having my feet for lunch today. Thank you”

Part 2 of 2

My door opened without being knocked.

I looked up from my desk to see Connor walking in. He closed the door behind him.

Since last time he'd only been in with his father, two visits, maybe three. Check-ins, quick walkarounds. He hadn't looked at me once.

"Connor. Is your dad coming?"

"No."

He just stood there. Hands in his pockets, eyes on me. Not aggressive. Just still.

"Please have a seat."

I gathered what I needed and moved aside, leaving him the desk.

He sat down.

"Would you like anything? Water, something to eat? You look tired."

He rotated the chair to face me.

"Long drive."

Same words as last time.

I still don't know how he knew. I'd done this before, with partners, people I'd chosen, situations I'd had some say in. Connor was nineteen, maybe twenty. He'd walked in and somehow already knew what I was.

I dropped to my knees right between his legs.

I could feel him looking down at me. I reached for his trainer to untie the lace.

He kicked my hand away.

He leaned forward and untied both himself, slowly, watching me the whole time. Pulled the tongue back. Dropped one shoe, then the other.

He pointed at them.

"Tell me how they smell."

I hadn't expected that. I reached for the nearest one and he shook his head.

"Keep it down."

I set it on the floor and bent forward, nose at the opening. The smell hit me immediately. Warm, worn, moist.

I came back up.

"Warm. A bit moist. Good."

He smirked.

He lifted one foot and held it above my face, sock still on. Just held it there.

I pressed my nose up into the sole and inhaled.

"Same smell here."

He peeled both socks off and rested his foot on my face and waited.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his sole. Then my tongue. I ran it slowly from the heel up, the skin was warm, slightly rough at the heel, smoother toward the arch. I could taste the salt. I went back to the heel and did it again, slower.

He said nothing.

I worked up the arch. Pressed my tongue flat against it and held it there. I kept going, up toward the ball of his foot, the base of his toes. I took my time there, ran my tongue along each one, between them.

I moved to his toes properly. Took the big one into my mouth, then the others one at a time.

He switched feet without a word. Just pulled one back and set the other in front of me.

I started at the heel again.

This sole was softer. Same smell, same salt. I ran my tongue up slowly, took my time at the arch.

"My dad would find this funny, faggot."

I didn't say anything. I kept going. Toes again, between each one, slow. I could feel his eyes on the top of my head.

I don't know how long I was down there.

At some point I put my hands around his soles to rub them.

He pulled his foot back and kicked me, knocking me onto my back.

He put his socks and shoes on. Stood up. Picked his phone off the desk. Didn't look at me.

The door opened and closed.

I came back in the afternoon after a long day of classes. Finn was at his desk, chair turned to face the room. He had his phone in his hand and a smile on his face.

He didn't say anything at first. Just held the screen toward me.

He had found my blog.

My roommate has some really nice feet but he keeps socks on all the time. #feet #footworship #malefoot #pleasebesockless

"Well, I'm about to make your dreams come true, you fucking pervert."

I stood there speechless.

"You remember when I borrowed your laptop last week? You had your blog open, pervert. Did some digging after. You really are a horny little pervert. Makes sense now; thought it was weird when I caught you staring at my bare feet that one time."

I said nothing.

"It's okay. I wanna see how you worship them. Kneel on the floor."

I knelt.

He reached down and peeled his socks off one at a time, then extended his legs and rested his feet against my face. The smell hit first; warm, faintly sour. I hesitated, cheek pressed against his sole.

"Go on. You've been thinking about this for months."

He wasn't wrong. I started slow; lips against his arch, then more. He didn't react much. Just watched.

"I know you're hard. It's okay. Take your cock out and play with it."

I did.

"Good little pervert."

He looked down at me with that same smile.

"Look how hard you are. Yeah, stroke it. Stroke it to my beautiful feet."

He flexed them slightly, sole pressing warmer against my cheek.

"What do you like the most about them? Like what's sexy about them?"

"The size. The smell. Your soles. Your toes."

He raised an eyebrow, smile widening.

"Yeah? Keep going."

"I don't know. Everything. I've been thinking about them since we moved in."

"Yeah? Stroke harder then."

I did.

"Let me know when you're close, pervert."

He kept his feet on my face and watched me suck his toes.

"So you've been staring this whole time, every time I had them up on the desk."

"Yeah."

"And you never said anything. Just posted about it like a pervert."

I didn't answer.

"That's so pathetic. Faster."

I stroked faster.

"You ever come to my feet before? Like at night?"

I hesitated.

"Don't be shy now."

"Yeah."

"How many times?"

I didn't know how to answer that.

"Fuck."

He laughed.

"Faster."

"I'm close."

"Stop."

He took his feet off my face.

"There's something else. After I found the blog I made an account. Slid into your messages."

I looked up at him.

"You were very open with a stranger. 'I just want to find the right guy and be completely at his feet. Cook for him, clean for him, whatever he needs. Just let me worship them.'"

I hadn't moved. I couldn't.

He leaned forward then, bent down, and took my chin in his hand. Brought my face to within an inch of his. His voice didn't rise.

"I'll say this once. You're going to be my obedient little boy. Two reasons. First if you ever want to be near my feet again. Second you don't want some screenshots going around campus. Once I snap my fingers, you go clean my side of the room. I want it spotless. Keep your cock out of your pants as it is."

He snapped.

I got up and started. His side was the usual mess; clothes on the chair, stuff on the desk, shoes kicked off near the bed. I straightened all of it with my cock hanging out of my waistband.

Finn laid back on his bed and watched for a moment, then picked up his phone.

When I finished he glanced over.

"Bathroom."

I went. Sink, toilet, floor. And came back to the room.

"Order me some food."

I ordered. Then stood there, still exposed, waiting.

"Laundry. My basket's in the corner. Take it down the hall and start a load. Tuck your cock in before you leave."

I pulled the basket and left the room.

When I came back he looked up from his phone.

"Take you cock back out."

I did.

He nodded toward the small bin by his desk.

"Trash room's at the end of the hall. Shouldn't be a problem if you run. Unless someone sees you."

I took the bin and walked out, and then walked back in with the empty bin.

"That was fast, scared someone would see your pathetic cock hanging out?"

I didn't answer.

My phone buzzed. Food was at reception.

"Tuck in. Go get it."

I tucked in and left.

When I came back he was still on his bed. He took the bag without looking at me. Then he stretched his legs out, soles facing me.

"Get naked."

I undressed. He took a bite and nodded at the floor.

"All fours."

I got down.

"You know what's funny? You look completely natural like this."

He took another bite.

"Like this is just where you belong."

"Look up at me."

I complied.

He flexed his feet slowly and spread his toes.

"Say thank you."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, my King. Say it."

"Thank you, my King."

He smiled and kept eating.

"Get one hand off the floor and use it to fnish to my feet."

I got the call from reception just after noon; room 412, AC unit down. I grabbed my kit and headed up, hoping it was a simple fix. Middle of summer, guest in the room. Nobody's patient when it's hot.

I knocked. A few seconds passed before the door swung open.

He was tall and built. Shirtless, dark pants, a chain on his neck. Tattoos down one arm.

"AC guy?"

"Yes, sir. I mean Mr. Langford. Here to take a look. Sorry for the inconvenience."

He said nothing to that. Just stepped aside.

I set my toolbox down beside the unit and got to work. It was only when I crouched to open the panel that I noticed him settled into the chair across the room, feet propped on the coffee table, eyes on the TV.

His feet were on the table directly in my eyeline. I looked back at the panel.

The filter was clogged. Not surprising for a unit this age. I pulled it out, set it aside, and reached for my tools. Standard job. Twenty minutes, maybe less.

The machine hummed back to life, unsteady at first, then settling.

I should have been done.

Instead I found myself slowing down. Rechecking things that didn't need checking. I told myself it was thoroughness.

His feet hadn't moved. Neither had he. The TV murmured something I couldn't follow.

I shifted my weight to reach the side panel and his feet came back into my line of sight. Wide soles. The arch, clean and deep. Toes that sat naturally, unhurried, like everything else about him.

I looked at the panel.

I looked back.

He still hadn't looked at me.

My work was done. The AC running steadily, cold air already pushing through the vents.

"All finished, Mr. Langford. Just running a few final checks."

He didn't reply.

I looked at his soles where they rested against the table edge, facing me. I had nothing left to do. But I reached for my screwdriver anyway, found a panel screw, unscrewed it, and screwed it back. Bought myself another minute.

I did it again.

Every few turns I'd glance over. Just the soles. The way the arch curved where it lifted off the table. The weight of him behind them, completely unbothered.

I should have packed up ten minutes ago.

Instead I let myself look one last time. My mind drifted away, imagining his foot on the back of my neck, my face against the floor, his weight settling on me like I was something to rest on. Like I was furniture.

I stayed there too long. When I came back, Mr. Langford was looking at me.

He hadn't moved. Hadn't said anything. He'd just been watching. Long enough that I didn't know when it started.

"I wondered how long that would take."

I froze.

My hand was still on the screwdriver. I hadn't moved. Couldn't.

He hadn't said it with anger. That was the part that made it worse. No threat in his voice, no shift in his posture. He was still reclined, feet still on the table, like he'd said something completely unremarkable.

I didn't move.

He didn't say anything. Just looked at me, then down at the floor beside the coffee table. A small tilt of his head. That was all.

I should have stood up. Gathered my tools. Said something professional and left.

Instead I crawled on my hands and knees, to the spot he'd indicated, and when I got there I didn't know what to do. He put his heel on top of my head and pressed down. My forehead touched the floor.

His feet rested on my back after.

He went back to the TV.

I don't know how long I stayed like that. Long enough that my knees ached.

Then his soles stomped the back of my head a few times. Then I got a kick that flipped me over to my back.

He stood. Stepped on me without looking down. Walked toward the bathroom. At the door he paused, and without turning around he pointed two fingers, toward the exit.

Then the bathroom door closed.

He kept me on read for a week.

I sent the first message on a Tuesday. Something casual, like I hadn't been thinking about it for weeks before I typed it. He didn't respond. I sent another one Thursday, less casual. Nothing. By Sunday I'd stopped pretending the waiting was fine and just asked plainly, the way he'd told me to ask. Still nothing.

Then yesterday, one line. Free this afternoon if you want to come by.

I told my manager I felt sick and left.

He opened the door in grey shorts and nothing else.

He stepped back. I walked in.

No smile. No good to see you.

"Hey Mitch. How are you doing?"

He was already walking to the dining table. He sat, leaned back, and put his feet up on the surface between us. Arms behind his head.

"Let's get this over with. Get your shrimp out and stand over there."

He pointed to other side of the table, facing his soles.

I stood where he pointed.

I undid my jeans and pushed them down.

He hadn't looked at me since he sat down. Eyes on his phone, feet crossed at the ankle on the table between us. Like I wasn't there yet.

I'd been fully hard since he replied.

He glanced up, down, back to his phone. Almost a smile.

"Yeah, that tracks."

I didn't say anything.

His feet were right there. I knew them. The shape of them, the weight, the way the arch curved. I'd thought about them more than his face over the past year.

I took a step closer. He didn't stop me.

He'd let me do this twice since we broke up. He knew what I was when he ended it, knew I'd come back for this specifically. So every few months, after enough begging, he'd send that one line and I'd come over. Third time now. It had never once felt like enough.

I got on my knees. Started at his heels. Kissed my way up slowly.

His sole was warm. I licked it heel to toe, slow, making sure I got every inch. Then his toes, one by one. I took my time. I had nothing else.

I was already leaking while I played with my cock.

He still hadn't looked at me.

"You're so fucking easy."

I didn't stop.

He had a word for my cock. A few, actually, shrimp, dicklet, tiny thing, depending on his mood. That's why he never let me top him. Not once, not even when I begged. 'You don't bottom for a shrimp'. He'd said that too, exactly like that, and I'd never forgotten it.

After around half an hour I was getting close.

"You're gonna cum already aren't you."

"Yes"

"Figured. Go on then."

I pressed my face on his soles while I licked them making my way up again to his toes.

I came on his floor with his toes in my mouth, letting out a soft moan.

"Did you cum?"

"Yes."

"You know what to do."

I bent down and licked my mess off the floor.

"Crawl over here."

I did. I crawled across his floor and stopped at his feet.

He lifted them off the table and planted them either side of me. Rotated the chair. Legs apart, relaxed. The grey shorts had shifted enough that I could see the outline of his cock through the fabric.

I already knew what I was there for.

He slid his hand into my hair and pressed my face into his crotch and held it there.

I breathed him in.

"Look at you."

He let go. Put both hands behind his head.

"Suck it."

I hooked my fingers into the waistband and pulled his shorts down slowly. He lifted his hips just enough to let me.

I took him in my mouth.

At some point his hand came back to my hair. Then he gripped it, twisted my head up.

He held the phone in front of my face.

Two photos. The first of me sucking his toes. The second of me sucking his cock. Two replies underneath.

'lmaoo'

'he's so pathetic babe 😭'

He watched me read it for a moment. Smirk on his face. Then he pushed my head back down.

"Doesn't have to beg for it like you do."

He twisted my head back down and fucked my mouth for a few minutes. He then gripped my hair again and pushed me back.

I sat on my knees and watched.

He then jerked off with his hand, eyes on the ceiling. I stayed where he'd put me and didn't move. Didn't touch myself. Just watched him do what I hadn't been good enough to finish.

He came on his own stomach. Some on the floor.

He didn't look at me.

He reached for a shirt off the back of the chair and wiped himself down.

"You good to see yourself out?"

I stood up. Pulled my jeans back up. My legs were stiff.

He was already back on his phone.

I closed the door behind me.