By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be all about pampered feet worship.
I actually don’t want you to do the pampering when I ask you to do pampered feet worship. I know how much you get off on touching them. So, you do not get to touch them. Not until I say so. Understand?
Before I put anything on these feet, I’m going to push you to the wall, and have you sit in the waiting room chair. I’ve got an appointment to get these feet pampered, and you’re going to watch. No torture for me, especially not tickle machine torture. Today, it’s all about my feet feeling good.
First, it starts with a foot soak. Water covers my feet, with petals and perfumes. Then, the pedicurist massages my feet, with a firm grip and location covering my skin. Don’t worry, you see every moment of it. My only requirement is that you watch. No touching– yet. Relax, I want my pampered feet worship. But, I need to get you aroused and excited before I do. Since I’m a tease.
The lady’s hands are incredibly strong. She pops my toes and presses her thumbs into my arches. She makes sure my feet are clean and smiles when I tell her I didn’t wax them for this.
“Good,” she nods. “Don’t want your pores to clog up with the paint.” She winks at you. “Aren’t you a lucky man?” she asks. I never tell you if she knows why we’re here. Realistically, though, we can’t be the only couple into this thing.
Decorating My Feet
These feet need some decorating, don’t they? I love tattoos, but they’re a little permanent. So maybe Henna would be a far better fit for me. Intricate, intersecting lines criss-cross along my skin. Inked blooms remain raised, staining my skin while it lies there. Of course, while the art I get entices one to glance at my foot, I don’t get anything that has cultural significance. After all, this is just a fun temp tattoo to support my local shop.
The henna cone paints thick lines across my feet. Thick paint feels cool to the touch. As the woman applies it, I look up at you and smile. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your pants tenting up behind her. Painted thick lines build across my feet. Similarly, dots of different paint colors appear at the junctions of these lines of paint.
We let the ink sit for a little bit, all of us waiting. Even though we speak to each other, all of us focus on my feet. Then, she picks up my foot and inspects her art. And I mean inspect. She moves my foot around in ways it’s almost painful. Her mouth is close enough to bite my toe. Honestly, I’m glad you’re not where she is. You couldn’t resist this temptation.
Finally, she declares it’s good to go. She washes off the now dried paint, leaving dark, intricate lines in its wake. A few of the flowers she’s decorated are different colors than the rest of the ink. Unlike most of the ink, they’re a deeper red. I thank the woman for her work. Smiling, I give my feet and toes a little stretch, slip them into sandals, and look at you.
You’re paying.
Finally At Home
Now, you may worship these pampered feet.
We get back home, both of us slipping off our jackets and our shoes. We leave them by the door. But what surprises me is when you practically throw me to the loveseat, falling on your knees. Your fingers trace the lines left on my skin. Your puffs of hot breath sink into my nerves.
What gets me going, more than anything is watching the way you worship. You give me pampered foot worship like no other, making sure my feet have well and truly been taken care of. I can ask for nothing better. Hot kisses sear up my foot and into the base of my spine. When the sensation of your tongue reaches me, I bite my lip not to moan. There’s such desire in your eyes. It’s addicting.
And I know your pampered feet worship has only just started.
Give me some pampered feet worship of your own! Call me for foot fetish phone sex!
