tdh19882012
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Mar 17, 2017
- Messages
- 105
- Points
- 16
Disclaimer:*I'd say this is something like 70/30 or maybe 60/40, something like that, foot fetish/tickling. But since it does contain tickling I didn't want to incorrectly place it in the non tickle story section.
Anyway, here it is.
*
Adrianna's lacquered fingernails toyed with the tiny buckle at her ankle and the leather strap popped loose, she grasped it and teased it free of the of the restraint before pulling at the wicked stiletto with delicate fingers and easing the shoe away from her skin revealing those delicious, pale ivory skin tones with a deliberate and leisurely pace that set the base of my spine tingling.
She leaned back on the chaise longue and tucked those burgundy locks behind her ears, rotating her ankle purposefully, arching her foot and dangling the stiletto from the tips of her toes. The deep purple glitter polish contrasted with her skin beautifully and complimented perfectly the cotton, plum coloured tunic and matching three-quarter trousers she'd been wearing while pampering clients today.
I watched that heel dangling from what I knew to be the perhaps the most delicious and skilful – not to mention, frighteningly powerful – toes that this city had to offer and imagined myself a customer of her spa; laying on the table, my face in the hole, her soft and warm and strong hands relentlessly kneading tension from my back and my shoulders while her feet, right there on the ground beneath my eyes, tease me horrendously, maybe her toes flex or curl sometimes, maybe she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, maybe she rubs the sole of her right foot across the top of her left foot-
-CLUNK!
Snapping me from my daydream was the heel dropping to the varnished floor with a thud and now she extends her leg, smoothing both hands down the back of her knee and a little further along her thigh as her foot raises in the air and, as a true dancer, points her toes directly at the ceiling. She relishes this showcase of her flexibility and as she peers upward and contemplates her bare foot, the subtle raise of eyebrow, the pursed lips and the amusement glinting in those hazelnut eyes betray the fact that she knows damned well the effect it has upon me.
Gracefully, Adrianna lowers her foot, spins to face me square and with outstretched arms she rests against the side of the chaise longue and plants the tips of her toes against my knee and that astonishingly soft sole causes some minor respiratory issues as inch by inch it explores my thigh. Toes grip onto my belt strap and tug at it and – good Lord, shifting me in my seat a little, remember their power? – they delve beneath my shirt and untuck it and I grab her foot just a split second before she would have torn it open, bursting my buttons and she gasps theatrically and we make eye contact and she smiles, knowingly, releasing my shirt and her foot avoids potentially embarrassing questions being asked back at the office and creeps further up my chest before perching on my shoulder and I can smell it now, with what breath I am able to draw I can smell her scent on me.
It was floral, with a hint of leather and while lost in its haze I flinched at a sharp pressure on my lap and her bare, fragrant foot is stroking the side of my face and toes are ruffling my hair and she giggles with a sweet and heart-melting melody as I fumble pathetically with shaking hands at the buckle on her shoe and her toes pinch my ear and pull tenderly, tilting my head to the side and then they push forward and I tilt backward and I can't get the bloody shoe off of her foot and she won't stop harassing me with those toes so I grab at that ankle on my shoulder with both hands and bare my teeth and I'm so close I can almost taste it and she squeals in delight, whipping it away before I make contact.
Able to concentrate despite a pounding heart I release the buckle mere seconds before that foot is back on my shoulder and I pull the shoe free and let it drop to the floor and Adrianna tuts at me, loudly, furrowing her brow and looking very cross indeed and she picks it up from the floor using her toes and passes it back to me, glaring at me with venom in her eyes.
I know what to do. She knows I know what to do. So I do it.
With great care, I kiss the stiletto and place it tenderly on the floor beside my chair and while her bare feet rest patiently on my knees, toes wriggling and demanding my attention, I unfasten my trousers and with barely any encouragement my erection is released and stands with ill deserved pride before the feet of my mistress.
“They are*my*shoes.” She says sternly. Discipline and order drip from her words and my fingers tremble as I awkwardly seek something for my hands to do since no actual permission to touch has been granted, settling eventually on hiding them behind my back.
“They belong... To...*Me...” With my erection now resting against the top of her left foot, the toes of her right tease at its base, poking, prodding, pinching at my skin and I'm already just about there.
“And so we treat them... With...*Care.” My shaft slipped between her big toe and second toe and she grasped, delicately, the glossy ball of her foot sliding effortlessly up and down my length and I could no longer hide my hands, they needed to grab onto something, anything, the arms of the chair will do.
“And don't you*fucking*dare make a mess on my toes.” She purred.
The way her lips moved as she spoke, how subtly her tongue flicked against her teeth, the light reflecting from the buffed, satin-like skin of her calves as that leg pumped back and forth and the way her purple uniform crinkled with the movements she made and how she never once looked at what her feet were doing, staring at my face the whole time, knowing me, understanding me, feeling what I felt. Her chest rose and fell and she gasped with pleasure as I pulsated between her bare feet, clinging on white-knuckled for dear life.
“You think I take such great care of them for you to fuck it all up with your disgusting cum? Huh? Answer me.”
“No I- Hnngh, I- I don't think that!” I wheezed out in a near breathless squeak as those divine, smouldering feet milked me for all I was worth.
“You don't think that*WHAT?”
FUCK!
“M- M- Mmmm- Mist-”
“M- M- M- M- M-*What? Come on! Use your words!”
“I can't- Argh! Can't remem- AH, OH FF- NO- AH- AHHHH!”
“Ohhhhhhh noooooooo...” She drawled with mock sympathy as I spasmed in the chair and her unforgiving foot squeezed every single last drop from me and then some.
My head fell back and I sank into the chair, every muscle loose, my entire body and mind free of all tension. I didn't even care that I'd probably cum all over my jacket. It would wipe clean. Or clean enough. Who the fuck cares? Nobody will notice. Maybe.
“And to think...” Adrianna broke the minute-long silence with a honeyed tone that caused my jaw to instinctively clench with regret. “... Were it not for your attempt at*assaulting*my poor foot before, I was going to bestow upon you a privilege today. Tickling a foot, of*your*choice, for ten...*Whole... Seconds.”
I said nothing. Forcing such thoughts from my mind using what reserves of mental strength I had left after one of her sessions. Me and tickling... We haven't got on so well in the past. Let's leave it at that. I kept my teeth grit behind pursed lips as I stood and tucked myself away and straightened up by the mirror. I glanced back at the chair and the surrounding area, figuring since I was clean I must have absolutely erupted back there.
“Which would you have chosen? Left? Or right?”
I didn't look at her, didn't need to. I could feel the amusement emanating from her position on that chaise longue while I fished around my coat pocket and placed the envelope with the remaining fifty percent of her fee inside of it down on the dresser by the door.
My hand rested on it, wouldn't let it go. And I stood there like a statue for probably three minutes or so, in total silence – the whole apartment was quiet, she must have assumed I'd left, we usually don't really*do*goodbyes – while I wrestled with some feeling deep within that I couldn't quite articulate.
At least, not without dragging the image of peace and serenity from her seat feet-first and scooping her ankles into the crook of my arm and holding them tight, hoisting her feet high into the air as she squealed with bewilderment, her post-session meditative state destroyed in an instant by the shock and terror of this unknown and the sudden and powerful instincts to either run or to fight stripped away from her by something as delicate and simple as my short fingernails rampaging across her divine soles. I had a feeling it would infuriate her. She did not disappoint.
“WHAHAT THE FUHUHUHUCK ARE-” She managed to screech out before my toe tickling wrenched her breath away, I couldn't believe it. This little goddess, who held so much power over me during our sessions to date, was herself so easily overpowered and overwhelmed. It was no surprise her feet were so ticklish. But for her endurance to be so pitiful. Now that was a surprise.
I watched her in the mirror, writhing on the ground, slapping at it furiously as my tickling fingers delved into the rich cream of her arches and her laughter was utterly mortified. It was demented. It was exhausted. Even after less than one minute. There were tears in her eyes and I stared at them, in that mirror, devastating her soles with the tickling of nightmares and waited for that first tear to roll freely down her cheek.
“STOHOHOHOP IT PLEA-” It didn't happen, though. She kept rubbing at her eyes. I looked around the room for something to tie her hands with but some bell in the back of my mind was ringing, telling me she kept restraints in a locked chest in her bedroom.
“GET OHOHOFF MEHEEEE GET OUHOUT GEHEH-” I dragged her across the floor toward her bedroom and she grabbed onto the chaise longue with both hands and screamed so loudly and with such a pain in her voice it hurt my ears and spoke directly to a buried part of my soul and made me suspicious of whatever it was that was driving me to do all of this...
Until I spotted that brush, over on the dresser, by the envelope and the adrenalin surged once again. That's it. That must have been it. The answer to what was happening here. I must have seen that brush and it must have awakened something inside of me. I needed to see the effect of that brush on her angelic feet, after all she's the one that implied she had ticklish feet. Why leave a brush in plain sight right where you know your foot fetishist client is going to leave your money?*Surely*she was hinting at something. The rush was back in full force and I dragged the screaming woman across the floor pausing only to tickle the life out of her when she showed any sign of resistance.
By the time we reached the dresser I was damn near as shattered as Adrianna, but I couldn't stop now. The brush was within my reach. So reach I did, while she screeched profanities and slapped and clawed at my ankles I grabbed the handle and sank the bristles into her moist soles and sawed it pitilessly into her wrinkles and she exploded, cackling and squealing as if possessed and I scrubbed those demons from her soles, exorcising the living hell out of that immaculate ivory and just as she called out to God and I noticed a small damp patch forming around her crotch the door to her apartment burst open and in walked two men, one wearing a light blue Adidas tracksuit and the other a black leather jacket and white jeans, armed with knives about twelve inches long and with darkness in their eyes they looked at me, then down to a snivelling and furious Adrianna, then back to me and they shut the door behind them.
“Hoo, fuck... Grazie, grazie... Oh, mio Dio...” She coughed as she welcomed her saviours and I kicked myself. Obviously.*Obviously*she would have some sort of security arrangement. What was it, a panic button somewhere? Had she managed to hit one as I dragged her around the room? What the*fuck*had I been thinking?
Adrianna wheezed on the floor behind me and shook her ankles loose of my grip and part of me thanked the Lord she was, feet aside, at least fully dressed here while another part imagined headlines on the evening news reports and I decided before anyone in the room opened their mouths, at least to do something other than fight for air, that whatever these guys wanted –*whatever*they wanted – they would most certainly be getting.
Gingerly, I set down the brush and picked up my wallet in a shaking hand. Embarrassed beyond words, but with little in the way of options, I opened it up and showed it to the men whom I was reasonably confident didn't speak much, if any, English but would quite possibly understand the language of the Great British Pound. They looked at the wad of notes.
“Christ. You are*fucking*pathetic. I always suspected that. And you are so...*so... Royally, fucking, fucked here.” Adrianna panted, her voice rising to something of a shriek as she got to her feet.
And I just stared at the floor, wallet in hand, closing it impotently while Adrianna, standing right next to me, boobs squashing into my arm continued to admonish me, yelling into my ear with her voice rumbling through my bones and her accent becoming thicker the angrier she became and I noticed the men look around awkwardly as if somebody was receiving a fearsome dressing down from their mother while I, still staring at a patch of the floor by her shimmering toes, was struck with the realisation that never in my life had I so desperately wanted to fuck any woman as I did in this moment.
“... Did you*really*think you would get away with that? Are you*that, fucking, stupid...”
I supposed, as she ramped up the vitriol, that I must have been*that*fucking stupid but it didn't sound like the police were going to be involved here, at all, and as I frantically tried to weigh the pros and cons of that eventuality Adrianna opened a drawer on the dresser, retrieved a key and tossed it to the man in the tracksuit.
“Bedroom.” She said to him and as he made his way to the door, his friend stood behind me.
“Let's show this*sfigato...” Then she turned her head and looked me dead in the eyes, those hazelnut orbs piercing into my soul as surely as the blade was piercing the back of my neck and she lowered her voice an octave and my legs weakened.
“...what these feet can*really. Do.”
*
Anyway, here it is.
*
Adrianna's lacquered fingernails toyed with the tiny buckle at her ankle and the leather strap popped loose, she grasped it and teased it free of the of the restraint before pulling at the wicked stiletto with delicate fingers and easing the shoe away from her skin revealing those delicious, pale ivory skin tones with a deliberate and leisurely pace that set the base of my spine tingling.
She leaned back on the chaise longue and tucked those burgundy locks behind her ears, rotating her ankle purposefully, arching her foot and dangling the stiletto from the tips of her toes. The deep purple glitter polish contrasted with her skin beautifully and complimented perfectly the cotton, plum coloured tunic and matching three-quarter trousers she'd been wearing while pampering clients today.
I watched that heel dangling from what I knew to be the perhaps the most delicious and skilful – not to mention, frighteningly powerful – toes that this city had to offer and imagined myself a customer of her spa; laying on the table, my face in the hole, her soft and warm and strong hands relentlessly kneading tension from my back and my shoulders while her feet, right there on the ground beneath my eyes, tease me horrendously, maybe her toes flex or curl sometimes, maybe she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, maybe she rubs the sole of her right foot across the top of her left foot-
-CLUNK!
Snapping me from my daydream was the heel dropping to the varnished floor with a thud and now she extends her leg, smoothing both hands down the back of her knee and a little further along her thigh as her foot raises in the air and, as a true dancer, points her toes directly at the ceiling. She relishes this showcase of her flexibility and as she peers upward and contemplates her bare foot, the subtle raise of eyebrow, the pursed lips and the amusement glinting in those hazelnut eyes betray the fact that she knows damned well the effect it has upon me.
Gracefully, Adrianna lowers her foot, spins to face me square and with outstretched arms she rests against the side of the chaise longue and plants the tips of her toes against my knee and that astonishingly soft sole causes some minor respiratory issues as inch by inch it explores my thigh. Toes grip onto my belt strap and tug at it and – good Lord, shifting me in my seat a little, remember their power? – they delve beneath my shirt and untuck it and I grab her foot just a split second before she would have torn it open, bursting my buttons and she gasps theatrically and we make eye contact and she smiles, knowingly, releasing my shirt and her foot avoids potentially embarrassing questions being asked back at the office and creeps further up my chest before perching on my shoulder and I can smell it now, with what breath I am able to draw I can smell her scent on me.
It was floral, with a hint of leather and while lost in its haze I flinched at a sharp pressure on my lap and her bare, fragrant foot is stroking the side of my face and toes are ruffling my hair and she giggles with a sweet and heart-melting melody as I fumble pathetically with shaking hands at the buckle on her shoe and her toes pinch my ear and pull tenderly, tilting my head to the side and then they push forward and I tilt backward and I can't get the bloody shoe off of her foot and she won't stop harassing me with those toes so I grab at that ankle on my shoulder with both hands and bare my teeth and I'm so close I can almost taste it and she squeals in delight, whipping it away before I make contact.
Able to concentrate despite a pounding heart I release the buckle mere seconds before that foot is back on my shoulder and I pull the shoe free and let it drop to the floor and Adrianna tuts at me, loudly, furrowing her brow and looking very cross indeed and she picks it up from the floor using her toes and passes it back to me, glaring at me with venom in her eyes.
I know what to do. She knows I know what to do. So I do it.
With great care, I kiss the stiletto and place it tenderly on the floor beside my chair and while her bare feet rest patiently on my knees, toes wriggling and demanding my attention, I unfasten my trousers and with barely any encouragement my erection is released and stands with ill deserved pride before the feet of my mistress.
“They are*my*shoes.” She says sternly. Discipline and order drip from her words and my fingers tremble as I awkwardly seek something for my hands to do since no actual permission to touch has been granted, settling eventually on hiding them behind my back.
“They belong... To...*Me...” With my erection now resting against the top of her left foot, the toes of her right tease at its base, poking, prodding, pinching at my skin and I'm already just about there.
“And so we treat them... With...*Care.” My shaft slipped between her big toe and second toe and she grasped, delicately, the glossy ball of her foot sliding effortlessly up and down my length and I could no longer hide my hands, they needed to grab onto something, anything, the arms of the chair will do.
“And don't you*fucking*dare make a mess on my toes.” She purred.
The way her lips moved as she spoke, how subtly her tongue flicked against her teeth, the light reflecting from the buffed, satin-like skin of her calves as that leg pumped back and forth and the way her purple uniform crinkled with the movements she made and how she never once looked at what her feet were doing, staring at my face the whole time, knowing me, understanding me, feeling what I felt. Her chest rose and fell and she gasped with pleasure as I pulsated between her bare feet, clinging on white-knuckled for dear life.
“You think I take such great care of them for you to fuck it all up with your disgusting cum? Huh? Answer me.”
“No I- Hnngh, I- I don't think that!” I wheezed out in a near breathless squeak as those divine, smouldering feet milked me for all I was worth.
“You don't think that*WHAT?”
FUCK!
“M- M- Mmmm- Mist-”
“M- M- M- M- M-*What? Come on! Use your words!”
“I can't- Argh! Can't remem- AH, OH FF- NO- AH- AHHHH!”
“Ohhhhhhh noooooooo...” She drawled with mock sympathy as I spasmed in the chair and her unforgiving foot squeezed every single last drop from me and then some.
My head fell back and I sank into the chair, every muscle loose, my entire body and mind free of all tension. I didn't even care that I'd probably cum all over my jacket. It would wipe clean. Or clean enough. Who the fuck cares? Nobody will notice. Maybe.
“And to think...” Adrianna broke the minute-long silence with a honeyed tone that caused my jaw to instinctively clench with regret. “... Were it not for your attempt at*assaulting*my poor foot before, I was going to bestow upon you a privilege today. Tickling a foot, of*your*choice, for ten...*Whole... Seconds.”
I said nothing. Forcing such thoughts from my mind using what reserves of mental strength I had left after one of her sessions. Me and tickling... We haven't got on so well in the past. Let's leave it at that. I kept my teeth grit behind pursed lips as I stood and tucked myself away and straightened up by the mirror. I glanced back at the chair and the surrounding area, figuring since I was clean I must have absolutely erupted back there.
“Which would you have chosen? Left? Or right?”
I didn't look at her, didn't need to. I could feel the amusement emanating from her position on that chaise longue while I fished around my coat pocket and placed the envelope with the remaining fifty percent of her fee inside of it down on the dresser by the door.
My hand rested on it, wouldn't let it go. And I stood there like a statue for probably three minutes or so, in total silence – the whole apartment was quiet, she must have assumed I'd left, we usually don't really*do*goodbyes – while I wrestled with some feeling deep within that I couldn't quite articulate.
At least, not without dragging the image of peace and serenity from her seat feet-first and scooping her ankles into the crook of my arm and holding them tight, hoisting her feet high into the air as she squealed with bewilderment, her post-session meditative state destroyed in an instant by the shock and terror of this unknown and the sudden and powerful instincts to either run or to fight stripped away from her by something as delicate and simple as my short fingernails rampaging across her divine soles. I had a feeling it would infuriate her. She did not disappoint.
“WHAHAT THE FUHUHUHUCK ARE-” She managed to screech out before my toe tickling wrenched her breath away, I couldn't believe it. This little goddess, who held so much power over me during our sessions to date, was herself so easily overpowered and overwhelmed. It was no surprise her feet were so ticklish. But for her endurance to be so pitiful. Now that was a surprise.
I watched her in the mirror, writhing on the ground, slapping at it furiously as my tickling fingers delved into the rich cream of her arches and her laughter was utterly mortified. It was demented. It was exhausted. Even after less than one minute. There were tears in her eyes and I stared at them, in that mirror, devastating her soles with the tickling of nightmares and waited for that first tear to roll freely down her cheek.
“STOHOHOHOP IT PLEA-” It didn't happen, though. She kept rubbing at her eyes. I looked around the room for something to tie her hands with but some bell in the back of my mind was ringing, telling me she kept restraints in a locked chest in her bedroom.
“GET OHOHOFF MEHEEEE GET OUHOUT GEHEH-” I dragged her across the floor toward her bedroom and she grabbed onto the chaise longue with both hands and screamed so loudly and with such a pain in her voice it hurt my ears and spoke directly to a buried part of my soul and made me suspicious of whatever it was that was driving me to do all of this...
Until I spotted that brush, over on the dresser, by the envelope and the adrenalin surged once again. That's it. That must have been it. The answer to what was happening here. I must have seen that brush and it must have awakened something inside of me. I needed to see the effect of that brush on her angelic feet, after all she's the one that implied she had ticklish feet. Why leave a brush in plain sight right where you know your foot fetishist client is going to leave your money?*Surely*she was hinting at something. The rush was back in full force and I dragged the screaming woman across the floor pausing only to tickle the life out of her when she showed any sign of resistance.
By the time we reached the dresser I was damn near as shattered as Adrianna, but I couldn't stop now. The brush was within my reach. So reach I did, while she screeched profanities and slapped and clawed at my ankles I grabbed the handle and sank the bristles into her moist soles and sawed it pitilessly into her wrinkles and she exploded, cackling and squealing as if possessed and I scrubbed those demons from her soles, exorcising the living hell out of that immaculate ivory and just as she called out to God and I noticed a small damp patch forming around her crotch the door to her apartment burst open and in walked two men, one wearing a light blue Adidas tracksuit and the other a black leather jacket and white jeans, armed with knives about twelve inches long and with darkness in their eyes they looked at me, then down to a snivelling and furious Adrianna, then back to me and they shut the door behind them.
“Hoo, fuck... Grazie, grazie... Oh, mio Dio...” She coughed as she welcomed her saviours and I kicked myself. Obviously.*Obviously*she would have some sort of security arrangement. What was it, a panic button somewhere? Had she managed to hit one as I dragged her around the room? What the*fuck*had I been thinking?
Adrianna wheezed on the floor behind me and shook her ankles loose of my grip and part of me thanked the Lord she was, feet aside, at least fully dressed here while another part imagined headlines on the evening news reports and I decided before anyone in the room opened their mouths, at least to do something other than fight for air, that whatever these guys wanted –*whatever*they wanted – they would most certainly be getting.
Gingerly, I set down the brush and picked up my wallet in a shaking hand. Embarrassed beyond words, but with little in the way of options, I opened it up and showed it to the men whom I was reasonably confident didn't speak much, if any, English but would quite possibly understand the language of the Great British Pound. They looked at the wad of notes.
“Christ. You are*fucking*pathetic. I always suspected that. And you are so...*so... Royally, fucking, fucked here.” Adrianna panted, her voice rising to something of a shriek as she got to her feet.
And I just stared at the floor, wallet in hand, closing it impotently while Adrianna, standing right next to me, boobs squashing into my arm continued to admonish me, yelling into my ear with her voice rumbling through my bones and her accent becoming thicker the angrier she became and I noticed the men look around awkwardly as if somebody was receiving a fearsome dressing down from their mother while I, still staring at a patch of the floor by her shimmering toes, was struck with the realisation that never in my life had I so desperately wanted to fuck any woman as I did in this moment.
“... Did you*really*think you would get away with that? Are you*that, fucking, stupid...”
I supposed, as she ramped up the vitriol, that I must have been*that*fucking stupid but it didn't sound like the police were going to be involved here, at all, and as I frantically tried to weigh the pros and cons of that eventuality Adrianna opened a drawer on the dresser, retrieved a key and tossed it to the man in the tracksuit.
“Bedroom.” She said to him and as he made his way to the door, his friend stood behind me.
“Let's show this*sfigato...” Then she turned her head and looked me dead in the eyes, those hazelnut orbs piercing into my soul as surely as the blade was piercing the back of my neck and she lowered her voice an octave and my legs weakened.
“...what these feet can*really. Do.”
*
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