Fuckery Afoot (erotica excerpt)
A snippet from my erotica anthology The Fetish Dictionary: Kinks A thru G, now available on Amazon and wherever the ebooks are sold.
A man with shaggy layered hair sat on a neatly made king-sized bed wearing Cliff Huxtable style PJ’s and a look of pure contentment. Adam was kicking off the first day of a business trip that could alter his financial endeavors for many years to come. He had to be sharp and present for an 8am conference with men who could buy the world on a string. But this was Cali, and he made it here safely on the flight from hell. With a drink beside him and 100 milligrams of Tramadol flooding his dopamine, the mood was simple: no fucks given.
Adam’s ears perked up when he heard a knock at the door. “Come on in.”
“Hey hey.” Amber marched in with a bright pink leather purse on her arm and a faux smile on her face. She practically ignored the client as she did a quick walkthrough. Judging her smug expression, you might have guessed that she wasn’t impressed with the hotel accommodations. Her pompous nostril flared an inch higher when she noticed Adam’s peasant attire.
“What, are you taking a nap?” Amber sassed, lips curled with her hands on her hips. “What’s with the Pill Cosbys? I would be embarrassed to wear that behind closed doors. And out of all places to stay in LA you pick this dump? Jesus Christ.”
Adam took a moment to admire the service provider. Amber fit the brat persona that had become so popular in the fetish community. Jet black hair with bright, frosty green tips created a sweet and vibrant look that helped conceal her true identity. Amber was the prototypical mean girl. A first-class bitch who thought looks and a West Hollywood address meant inherited superiority. She was five and a half feet of misery. Exactly what Dr. Adam ordered.
“Well let’s get this show on the road, slave. On your fucking knees!”
“Yes mis … hey, what do I call you?”
“Oh my God.” Amber smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “Queen Amber. Get it. Don’t forget it.”
“Yes, Queen Amber.” Adam obliged and looked up with eyes so pathetic a stray puppy dog would give him a bone.
“God, you look so stupid wearing that shit. Thank God you didn’t order any sexy add-ons. I couldn’t even get it up. I swear.”
Amber grabbed a leather collar and leash from her purse and fastened it around his neck. “Come fuck boy.”
On hands and knees, Adam followed her over to the guest armchair situated arms length from the bed. Amber flopped down and sighed, genuinely fatigued on this day that seemed to never end. “Married with Children? Oh my God, you’re such a fucking lame. Hand me that remote, slave!”
“Yes Queen Amber.” Upon following the request, Adam was treated to a shot of Amber removing her shoes. Her feet were covered in dark nylon pantyhose and probably suffering after smothering in those black and white Chuck Taylors. Adam would bet the farm they smelled tasty.
“You’re creeping me out,” Amber confessed. “I’m about to make you my foot stool.”
Ever proactive and obedient, Adam hunched over and made his best impersonation of a squatting rabbit. Head forward, arms pinned, and knees buried into his chest. The slant in his back produced some discomfort, but the position made for a damn good foot stool.
“Oh my God, this has been the longest day ever,” Amber growled after literally kicking her feet up. “You don’t mind if I bitch about my day, do you?” She interjected before he could utter a reply. “Ohh that’s right … you’re a slave. Slaves don’t get choices. They get to play my foot stool and listen to me narrate my life. Hahaha!” She found her favorite hussy housewife show on TV and wiggled her toes while conjuring up ways to exploit this pitiful subject.
“Yes, yes Queen Amber.”
Adam’s advanced affinity for women’s feet went back many years. Even as a five year old he was overly fascinated with the sight of his mother’s feet, which by all accounts, were aesthetically pleasing. He’d sit and watch in enchantment as she polished her toes on those hot summer nights at Grandma’s. And on a handful of occasions, curiosity emboldened him to steal a sniff when she wasn’t looking.
Naturally, that passion evolved as Adam blossomed into a man. But due to confidence issues and a social awkwardness that would make relationships difficult to manage, he never got the chance to fully indulge in those foot fantasies — until recently. The rise and commercialization of internet porn enabled Adam to finally tap into his inner most fantasies. He had the luxury to explore foot fetishes at his own pace, and venture as deep as he dared.
Meanwhile, Amber continued, “First off, I get to spin class and see we have a new instructor. Some uppity black guy who played hip hop the entire time. Like how I’m supposed to feel positive about my weight loss journey and health with bitches, hoes, and gunshots going off? Like, hello! A couple hours later I find out that the place I rented my bridesmaid dress from don’t know a damn thing about plunging necklines because they got me out here trying to show WAY too much boob. Bitch, I’m standing up in a wedding, not stripping at Hustlers. To top it all off, my boyfriend act like he don’t wanna buy me the new ePhone like he promised. Like I’m supposed to suck his dick every time I ask for something. Total bullshit. I swear. You would buy me an ePhone, wouldn’t you slave?”
“Yes Queen Amber. I actually would.”
“Of course you would. You know your role, SLAVE. You would smell and kiss my feet after they’ve been cooped up in these hot ass stockings all day. No matter how rank they are. You’d probably give a left nut to worship my feet right now.”
“Oh yes Queen Amber, that would be wonderful.”
“You know what slave? I actually like the sound of that. Get down there and worship my feet. Don’t disappoint. I might be a small valley girl but I will stick my foot up your ass. And before you do anything, for the love of all fuck, take off those God awful pajamas.”
“Sure, no problem Queen Amber.” Adam excitedly stripped down to a pair of boxers and tube socks.
“Okay that’s enough,” Amber warned. “I see we’re gonna have to teach your happy ass some restraint. Good grief. Okay slave. Back on the floor.”
Adam was essentially back in foot stool position — only this time, eye level with Amber’s nylon-covered feet. He was all nerves, a bead of sweat forming around his brows as his heart thumped at breakneck speed. And she wasn’t lying. Those dogs had an odor reminiscent of corn chips and onions sealed up in a smoldering hot car for a week. For Adam, it was a heavenly fragrance meant to be savored.
“You have lovely feet, Queen Amber.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious slave.”
Adam lovingly licked and kissed each toe. His touch was measured, yet passionate. Full of undeniable wonder and appreciation. In this line of work, such affection was almost a nuisance.
“Okay you’re being too gentle.” Amber suppressed a giggle. “You didn’t pay for tickling, fucker. Rub my stinky feet. Nice and hard. That’ll teach you.”
“Yes Queen Amber.” Adam sat down on his butt so he could get comfortable and give this special task the attention it deserved. One foot at a time, he steadied her heels in one hand while firmly massaging his way up to her toes. Seems he applied just the right amount of pressure because Adam looked up and caught Amber cheesing with her eyes momentarily shut.
“Not bad slave,” Amber said. “You’re not as worthless as you look.”
“Thank you Queen Amber. I can actually do better if you take off these stockings.”
“I didn’t ask for your input you miserable piece of fuck seed. I’ll teach you to shut your fucking mouth.” With no warning, Amber planted her left foot right in Adam’s face. Walking her toes up his chin and around the corners of his mouth. “That’s right. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Although she had plenty of creative flexibility, Amber followed a set format like every other FaaS service provider. Time was money, so like a taxi meter, that internal clock steadily ticked away. Triggering all the mental bullet points she needed to cover.
“You are so fucking pathetic.” Amber knew she had encountered a true foot freak when she saw Adam visibly inhaling as she molested his face. It was rare for paying losers like this to know how much she relished these moments. A thick sturdy bra and dark T-shirt concealed her rock hard nipples. And he didn’t deserve to feel the wetness dampening her panties.
“On your back slave.”
“Yes Queen Amber.”
Amber stood to her feet. Adam laid out on his back. She put her hands on her hips and circled the prone client, taking a moment to admire the impressive tent he’d pitched in his undies. For such a creepy looking fucker, he probably wasn’t a bad lay.
“Look at you. Packing a little something, are we?” Amber used her foot to poke and prod at Adam’s package, turning this torturous routine up another notch. She walked her toes over his crotch and down to his scrotum, applying just enough pressure to draw grunts and groans.
Amber was stunning from head to toe. Adam could devour her entirely, but her feet were the primary target. The main course. FaaS was the perfect outlet to further a practice he essentially kept under wraps while working the dating circuit. He started slow and practical. The web provided page upon page of visual content that expanded on his so-called foot fetish. That eye candy eventually bloomed into a powerful lust to fulfill these fantasies to limitless depths.
“You know what slave … there’s something about you. Ohh don’t get too excited. I mean something especially pathetic. I might decide to make you my special stooge … and stool. Haha. But it all depends on how much you can handle. Open your mouth!”
“Yes Queee …”
Amber jammed her foot in Adam’s mouth, making all five toes disappear. “You’re gonna prove your worth and I’m gonna fuck your mouth. I fuck. You suck. Got it? Oh … mouth full.” She let out a demonic cackle and pushed the envelop, shoving her foot even deeper.
This was a tad more than Adam bargained for, but he was up for the challenge. So he expanded his jaws and tried his best to simulate a sucking action. At the same time, he realized it was best to just let the Queen have her way. Amber’s slender build worked to Adam’s advantage, enabling him to take more and more as she forced her petite foot further down his throat. But it wasn’t easy, evidenced by the tears welling up in his eyes.
“That’s it slave. Open up nice and wide.” Amber threw her hands on her boxy hips and looked down on her work with a snooty grin. She managed to slide more than half her foot in Adam’s mouth. Now he was gagging and groaning, emulating the sounds of an intense, painful throat-fucking.
Adam resisted the urge to vomit, but couldn’t hold back the warm saliva that spewed up from his throat. He began to choke, almost violently, but kept chugging on like a foot soldier. Hungrily slobbering over her exquisite, sheathed foot.
“Ohh yeah,” Amber beamed. “Make it sloppy. Just like that.” She took her foot out of Adam’s mouth and used it to smear the mess of spit all over his face.
Adam ordered the cookie cutter package. A standard foot domination session with no add-ons. Amber was confident in her ability to turn this one-off fling into a routine customer and recurring cash cow. Even if she had to exceed the hour he paid for and spill into overtime. She peeled off her shorts, giving the foot freak an even more enticing view of the stockings that ran up to her crotch. Amber noticed that Adam came to life at the sight of her bright pink panties, which were twisted ten ways to Sunday up her ass. Some bare toe play followed by a round of face sitting and he’d be silly putty in her hands.
Service providers always deliver on our promise, but they’re freelancers. So they have the freedom to go off the script so to speak. Make an impression on the client and they’ll probably request you in the future. Factor in tips and whatever incentives a satisfied client likes to hand out … shit can work out lovely. We’re in the relationship building business just as much as the sex services business.
Contel Bradford is a mystical and complex individual. You can attempt to unravel some of the mystery by visiting his author site at countkrewpublications.com.
