TamiraK
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Jul 12, 2020
- Messages
- 122
- Points
- 18
A Curious Day at the Office
by Tamira K.
Anton stood at the side of a busy street, waiting to cross. The huge, glass-fronted office building of The Durant Oceanic Corporation loomed from the other side of the road. He tried to cultivate a positive frame of mind for the job he was less than enthusiastic about but optimism was a trait that was seeping away day-by-day. He was 23, he lived at home with his parents, he wasn't particularly attractive, he was well below average height, he was single and he had very little money due to his role of being a lowly assistant job in a boring import/export company.
He had only taken the job because there was a decided lack of offers for exciting archeology positions after he had finished his history degree. He had reluctantly moved back home with his parents and lived on income support for 18 months until his aunt had (without consulting him) mentioned his availability to a high-flying friend of hers who ran his own freight company. Anton assumed it was due to his aunt's connection that he got the job. He did attend an interview with two mid-level executives who he had hardly seen since and who didn't seem to recognise him on the odd occasion when they had passed in the corridor. Anton considered himself to have a talent for being astoundingly unmemorable. But at least he now had a job. He could see the money that senior-level executives displayed and, whilst the job wasn’t of interest to him, being able to rent his own place where he could potentially entertain ladies, was very much of interest.
Anton was also a fetishist. He had a fetish for tickling feet to be precise, but he was chronically shy about it. He didn't know why he was so shy about it, that was just the way he was. He wondered if it was because he had grown up with the knowledge that he loved the idea of tickling feet and got flushed with excitement whenever it took place on a television programme or in a film. If any friends or family were in the room whenever it happened on-screen, or when he detected it was about to happen, he immediately left the vicinity because he couldn't stand to share those rare moments with anyone who he wasn't attracted to or who wouldn't understand.
Also, because he shared a family computer with his mother and father, he never—never—wanted to risk them walking in on him or seeing something in the search history or having some cookies or images hidden in an unknown cache folder for some future computer repair man to unearth and make indiscreet enquiries about. That's why, before leaving for university, he had never even made a cursory Google search for the one word that made his heart flip.
Once at university, however, with no-one who could reasonably request to use his phone, the first thing Anton did when he was dropped of at his halls of residence was lock the door, disconnect from the communal WiFi and type in the iconic words: “tickling feet”. That moment his world changed. Forums, stories, tales of real-life encounters, images and, of course, never ending video clips. Anton had put a lot of time and effort into his history degree. But he put an equal amount of time into looking at things on the web.
By the second year, he had regretted doing so. He realised that his social connections were far flimsier than everyone else's who had been waiting for the university life to capitalise on real-life encounters rather than spending the time in a locked room, their faces lit up by a mobile screen and their hand in their pants. Obviously, he had attempted to approach the girls on the forums, but the vast majority of the time they never replied and on the couple of occasions when they did, they lost interest after the inevitable exchange of photos. There were very pretty girls all around him, of course, but being a good foot shorter than the handsome boys in addition to his reclusive personality, they never looked at him twice let alone agreed to go on a date with him.
And so here he stood, aged 23, bereft of a girlfriend or a single real-life tickling experience and without any foreseeable prospect for a private abode in which he could begin the life he had always wanted. The word frustration would be an understatement.
With a brief lull in the traffic, Anton trotted across the road and was just about to reach the other side when a loud car horn caused him to literally skip sideways. A black Mercedes-Benz S-Class pulled into a loading bay at the front of the building. Anton instinctively waved an apology to the driver – a stunning blonde girl who may have been about his age. In the rear seat, he could see two more pretty blonde girls who had leaned in to see what had caused the driver to beep. Anton then looked to the passenger seat and recognised the CEO of The Durant Oceanic Corporation, Mr Durant.
Anton felt himself flush crimson as all four pairs of eyes looked at him. The girls were all giggling. Mr Durant was not. He stoically leaned sideways to allow for each of the girls to kiss him on the cheek and stepped out of the car. Anton’s cheeks quivered as he tried to smile politely. Mr Durant was an intimidating figure. At least 6’2” with a square jaw and Action Man posture. His hair was naturally black with a few grey streaks and, as usual, he was impeccably dressed in a made-to-measure pinstripe suit and Gucci loafers. Anton imagined him to be in his late forties or early fifties, but he was in impressive shape for his age. For some reason, on the rare occasions when he and Anton had crossed paths in the building, Anton couldn’t help but look at his hands. His eyes were first drawn to them by the shininess of his platinum wedding band but his attention was kept by how masculine they looked – not especially hairy, but large and “fit”. Anton had wondered, with hands that looked so well-maintained and manicured, how one managed to cultivate “fit” hands.
One of the girls exited the back seat, kissed Mr Durant again, took his place in the front seat and the car drove away to the sound of a purring engine and giggles. Anton watched them go and turned to see Mr Durant watching him. ‘Friends of yours?’ Anton asked.
‘My daughters,’ Mr Durant replied, with his characteristically unreadable expression.
Anton instantly tried to hide any indication that he found them attractive but his lips weren’t on the same page, ‘They look nice.’
Mr Durant’s eyes narrowed slightly, ‘They are.’
Anton decided to change the subject. ‘I’d like a car like that.’
Mr Durant strode for the building, ‘Working hard and working smart is the key.’
Anton hurried to keep up. ‘Oh, I work very hard,’ he said.
‘That’s good. Then you know which area you need to improve upon,’ said Mr Durant.
‘Yep. Making money!’
‘Then you should talk to your line manager,’ said Mr Durant, ‘but try to bring it up in a way that isn’t so inelegant.’
Anton had known he was being clumsy the moment the words left his mouth. Obviously Mr Durant had thought so too.
‘My auntie said to say hello, by the way,’ he said, immediately cursing himself for the use of the word “auntie”. She hadn’t said any such thing but there wasn’t much that he could think of for the two of them to chat about. The only time they had previously spoken was the day he had arrived for the interview and the sum content of their conversation revolved around Aunt Cindy – the only thing they had in common. That was the day Anton first noticed Mr Durant’s hands. Ever since, Mr Durant had been talking to other people when they passed and so had not been forced to exchange awkward pleasantries.
Mr Durant gave a muted acknowledgement of the message and opened the front door for Anton – a gesture with which Anton was not experienced. Inside the building, three suited gentlemen with briefcases sat by the reception desk and recognised Mr Durant.
‘Oh, no, after you,’ Anton said to Mr Durant.
Mr Durant smiled a greeting to the three gentlemen who stood and waited for him but, with Anton hidden from their view, seemed to wonder why Mr Durant was just standing by an opened door without anyone else entering or leaving. He then registered Anton’s words. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Go in.’
Anton was in the middle of insisting again when he noticed Mr Durant’s short fuse begin to burn and they both took the initiative to walk in at the same time. Squeezed into the doorway, Anton accidentally stepped on one of Mr Durant’s flawless leather loafers. While Mr Durant calmly ignored the collision and continued to smile at the other men, Anton could hear a slight hiss of exasperation from him. They both quickly looked down and saw a scuff across the outer toe of the shoe. Anton was about to apologise but Mr Durant stepped confidently over to the men, all shook hands and he escorted them to the lifts.
Anton felt himself clenching his teeth as the lift doors closed, the final thing he saw as the lift doors closed was a fleeting glance of irritation from Mr Durant.
– – – – –
Anton sat at his desk on the second floor. Whilst every other space in the building had some kind of view, his nearest window was blocked by a ventilation shaft. It was so typical that he’d been placed in the most under-lit corner of the entire building that it never occurred to him to complain, even though there were more desirable desk spaces empty and available.
Just then he saw his red-haired line manager, Cathy, approach with a young lady he didn’t recognise. She looked a little older than him and was on the pretty side of plain, with black curly hair and red-rimmed glasses. She was obviously dressed-to-impress on her first day, wearing a new business suit and blouse, black nylons and high heels. Over-dressed, in Anton’s opinion, for a job which was just about filling out online forms correctly to ensure the smooth delivery of orders to their destinations. Cathy led the young lady to the empty desk next to him and talked her through all the regular introductory procedures.
‘…and if you need anything, I’m just in the office over there,’ said Cathy.
The young lady thanked her and Cathy walked away. Anton and the young lady at last shared a polite smile. ‘I’m Anton,’ he said.
‘I’m Ellen,’ she said.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Anton.
‘You too,’ Ellen replied, plugging herself into headphones mid-sentence. She then turned to her computer and began to work.
‘Oh, Cathy!’ called Anton.
Cathy turned on the spot. ‘Yes?’ she made no effort to move towards him and so Anton trotted over to her.
‘Can I have a word? In private?’
‘What’s it about?’
Anton spoke in a low tone so as not to be overheard, ‘It’s about a possible pay rise…?’
Cathy shook her head, ‘Those things aren’t considered until around December time. Not summer.’
‘I know. But—’
‘People are generally here a lot longer than you have been before raises are considered, Anthony—’
‘Anton..’
‘—so you may have to just get by on what you earn right now,’ she said, ‘or get a second job!’
Anton sighed and smiled a well-practiced understanding.
‘Just be as good at your job as possible – that will help you to get noticed, Anthony. So, get back to your desk and let’s do that, yes?’ and she turned so quickly to walk away that her ponytail clipped Anton in the eye.
He returned to his desk, disheartened, but his mood lifted when he saw Ellen. She had made herself at home by removing her suit jacket and slipping off her shoes. Not only that but she had chosen to sit with her right shin tucked under her let thigh. The wonderful benefit of this from Anton’s point-of-view was that the sole of her foot was facing straight at him, the seam of the nylon meandering it’s way unevenly from heel to toes. Her foot was narrower than was to ideal taste, but it didn’t matter and he realised something unusual – he now found her a lot more attractive than when he had first seen her.
Is was only when Ellen looked at Anton that he realised that he was simply gawping at her nylon-clad sole and switched his attention to her screen. She pulled out an ear bud, ‘Did you say something?’ she asked.
He shook his head, ‘Just if you needed anything, to let me know. I’ve been here a while now,’ he said. ‘But from what I can see, you’re pretty much doing it right.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, obviously unappreciative of having her work scrutinised by him.
Anton spent the rest of the morning on autopilot whilst running through a variety of strategies that would lead to the ultimate goal of tickling Ellen’s foot. He balanced this with the task of making his mannerisms look natural as he stole glances to make an imprint on his brain of the magical moment when a grown woman’s foot was within his reach. This was achieved by a lot of looking to one side in apparent deep reflection about the challenging tasks he was doing (which were actually no more or less taxing than hers) as well as pushing back from his desk in order to have regular stretches – which averaged once every five minutes.
The potential plans he devised included:
As he reviewed these option, he noted several issues:
In a moment of divine inspiration, he decided to substitute the pen idea for an identity card idea. But he had to hurry – it was nearly lunchtime. He was shaking with nervousness and his mouth was dry as he lifted up his security lanyard and fiddled with it, making the card loose in it’s plastic holder. His only hope was that the card would fall out in the right way. He casually twirled the lanyard around his finger and the card flew off in the opposite direction. He clumsily went to catch it and fumbled it several times into the air before it landed on the carpet just under Ellen’s desk.
She was looking at him, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing. He smiled meekly and stooped to pick up the card, assuring himself that at least she wouldn’t think it was a ploy – no guy would make himself look that much of a dufus on purpose.
As he slowly leant down, he looked out the corner of his eye – Ellen’s foot was right next to his face. He caught a scent of nail polish and could almost feel the warmth of her sole on his cheek. She began to edge away to make room for him and so he grabbed the arm of her chair to keep it in place and make it seem as though he was using it for balance.
This was the moment…
His heart was thumping. As he reached for the card with one hand, he deliberately brought down his other hand, brushing sideways across her narrow arch. She jumped slightly and retracted her foot.
‘Sorry,’ he said as he sat upright, flushed red.
Ellen didn’t seem to pay it much mind. Her expression was the same as before. She slipped her shoes on, picked up her handbag and went to lunch.
– – – – –
The rear grounds of the building had a private green space with trees, picnic benches and a pond that overlooked the huge company car park. Anton sat at a picnic table eating his packed lunch. Two women he didn’t know sat at the other end of the table, talking about personal issues like he couldn’t hear them. In a way, they were correct.
Anton was in total lust. He played over and over in his mind his first glimpse of Ellen’s foot, how it looked up close and how her nylon-covered sole felt to his fingers. He could not have been more turned on. He wondered if she would present her foot for him in the afternoon and which of his other plans he could implement.
As he ate he saw Ellen and Cathy walking and talking together on the grass. He wondered which of them would be the most ticklish if put to some kind of test. They glanced at him. Anton smiled and went to wave, but as he did so they looked away.
Anton then noticed Mr Durant walk into the car park with the three men in suits. They had obviously had their meeting and a spot of lunch in the canteen and now all the serious talk was over. They spoke with big smiles and let out raucous, attention-seeking laughter in that way only senior businesspeople are entitled to do. Anton considered the fact that he would never be able to laugh like that.
A Lexus awaited the men as they all shook hands and Mr Durant bid them farewell. As the Lexus pulled away, Anton recognised the Mercedes-Benz that nearly hit him enter the car park and pull up in front of Mr Durant. His daughters all got out with several bags of shopping and made an extravagant show of the things they had bought in that way that only beautiful nymph-like girls with inherited wealth are entitled to do.
As the attention of every worker in the vicinity was drawn to the performance, Mr Durant looked on proudly and nonchalantly. Anton couldn’t help but suspect that there was a part of Mr Durant who liked the fact that he had attractive daughters but that every man he knew would be too intimidated to approach them.
Anton’s view was momentarily blocked by a large air conditioning specialist’s van, who cruised around looking for a space to park.
When he could see them again, Mr Durant’s daughters were getting ready to depart for some other journey. The most diminutive and, Anton assumed, youngest of the daughters momentarily struck an on-guard pose at her father. For the first time since he’d known him Anton saw Mr Durant react to something quickly, striking his own pose, which obviously came naturally to him and caused his daughter to squeal a giggle and run away before she paid the price. Looks like a karate pose, thought Anton.
The daughters all then skipped away – the eldest jokingly tossing the car fob to her father as she walked. Needless to say, he caught it one-handed and without effort.
– – – – –
After lunch Anton returned to his desk and noticed that Ellen’s possessions were gone and her computer was switched off. He looked across the rest of the floor and eventually spotted her sitting at the far end and getting on famously with two cool dudes who sat either side of her.
Anton slumped into his chair, utterly cheesed off. He woke his computer and wondered if she had moved because he tickled her? When Ellen was talking to Cathy at lunchtime, was she complaining about him? His heart raced as he thought, Oh, God. Perhaps “sneaking at tickle” at work isn’t the right thing to do... Is Cathy going to call me into her office for a word? Will Ellen tell everyone else on the floor? Am I going to get sacked? Will Mr Durant tell Aunt Cindy why? Will Aunt Cindy—
Just then a different part of Anton’s mind interrupted this trail of thought. Something else was wrong. It took him a moment to engage with it and realise what he was looking at on his computer screen – some of the figures he had entered and submitted that morning were seriously wrong. A new wave of panic overtook him. ‘Oh, no… How did this happen?’ he murmured under his breath.
His brain immediately delivered the reply: Perhaps it happened when you weren’t concentrating because you were busy devising schoolboy plans to touch a complete stranger in the workplace!
He spent the next few hours hurriedly and comprehensively trying all he could to rectify the issues but without success. The numbers had been submitted and unless he could get someone else to intervene, it would be a very expensive mistake for The Durant Oceanic Corporation. He sat for a while, wondering what to do. As the afternoon was wore on Anton was aware that if he didn’t do something the damage would be irretrievable, so he did the only thing he could and knocked on Cathy’s office door.
‘Come in,’ said Cathy.
Anton entered, ‘Hi, Cathy. Have you got a quick moment?’
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve made a few mistakes on the orders from this morning,’ Anton said, as gently as he could. As he explained she grew increasingly concerned and checked the database on her screen. ‘If you had come to me half an hour ago, I would have been able to sort this,’ she said. ‘As it is now, I can’t.’
Anton wondered if going to her immediate superior would be an option, even though it was quite well known within the company that they rubbed each other up the wrong way. ‘What about talking to Terrence?’
‘I’m not talking to him about it,’ she snapped and pondered a moment. ‘There’s only one thing for it – you will need to go to the top floor and explain.’
Anton’s lips immediately dried, ’To Mr Durant? Am I supposed to do that?’
‘Yes,’ Cathy stood and turned off her computer as though she just realised she had somewhere else to be. She picked up her jacket and said, ‘Go to Mr Durant and tell him Terrence sent you to ask him to make a call to fix it. Tell him it was your fault. I have a meeting off-site,’ she said.
Anton followed her to the lifts and checked his watch, ‘It’s quite late for a meeting,’ he observed.
‘Yes, well, some of us work hard,’ she replied.
‘I see Ellen has moved desks,’ he said.
Cathy’s downward bound lift arrived and she stepped in. ‘Yes. She didn’t like how dark it was near you, apparently.’
‘Oh,’ said Anton, relieved. ‘See you tomorrow!’
‘Go see him now!’ Cathy replied as the doors closed.
The relief that he wasn’t going to be gossiped about was short-lived. The lift arrived and he stepped in and pushed a button for the top floor. He wasn’t sure if it was the movement of the lift or his nerves that caused him to feel a little dizzy. This felt like it had all the hallmarks of having a very bad day for him.
The lift began to slow and stopped at the penultimate floor. Anton was confused until the doors opened and in stepped a workman. The entire 9th floor was visible from the lift. Everything was covered in protective sheeting and dust, populated by ladders and discarded paint pots. The workman nodded hello.
‘Hi,’ said Anton, ‘How’s the painting going?’
‘Not my thing,’ said the workman. ‘That work-shy lot left dead on 5pm. I’m working on the noisy air conditioning.’
‘Oh,’ said Anton as they reached the top floor. He’d never been there before. It was smaller than the other floors—almost like a “penthouse office”—with windows on all sides, a cocktail lounge area, a board room and a single, glass fronted office that overlooked the district. Mr Durant was behind his desk. He wasn’t surprised to see the air conditioning guy. He was, however, curious as to why Anton was there.
The workman knelt to get on with his work, attending to a floor-level square hole in the wall that opened into the air conditioning system. A steady and annoying distant tink-tink-tink sound emanated from the hole. Anton knocked superfluously on the door.
‘Yes?’ said Mr Durant.
‘It’s Anton,’ said Anton.
‘Yes, I know. What is it?’
‘Oh, erm, Cath— I mean, Terrence asked me to come and see you because there have been some errors made in some of the figures today,’ said Anton.
‘You mean you made some errors in the figures today?’
Anton dropped his eyes, ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Take a seat and tell me what’s happening.’
Anton sat opposite Mr Durant, in a chair that almost felt purposefully soft so that anyone who sank into it would have to be looking up at the boss, whether he was a foot shorter than him or not. As Anton relayed the information, he took in all the insignia of success around the room including industry awards, certificates of martial arts achievements and photos of prize fish catches, handshakes with unrecognisable but important-looking business folk and, of course, a large framed photo of Mr Durant’s beautiful wife and three daughters.
‘I’ll need to talk to Terrence about this tomorrow,’ said Mr Durant, ‘It’s not really good enough.’
Anton was worried, ‘Oh but nothing really happened. I spotted the problem.’
‘The point is that you caused the problem,’ said Mr Durant, lifting his phone, ‘and now it’s down to me to see if I can fix it—’
Just then the workman switched on an industrial blower. There was an almost deafening sound as the machine blew air into the hole and made the ground shake.
‘EXCUSE ME!’ Mr Durant bellowed over the racket, as only a 6’2” boss with carefully-honed assertiveness can do.
The workman switched off the machine, ‘It’s the only thing I can think of to get rid of that sound,’ he said.
‘Can you leave it until tomorrow, please?’ said Mr Durant.
‘It’ll mean an extra day’s pay,’ said the workman.
‘So be it,’ said Mr Durant.
In response the workman packed up and left.
Mr Durant made the phone call and Anton was relieved when he heard that the problems were solvable. When Mr Durant hung up, Anton said, ‘All’s well that ends well!’
Mr Durant’s brow furrowed a little. ‘I’m not sure you’re fitting in here.’
Anton’s face dropped, ‘What? No, I am. This was just one mistake that—’
‘That cost you an afternoon’s work and nearly cost me more than a few thousand pounds. I told earlier: you need to work hard and work smart. This was neither, was it?’
Anton shook his head. He felt humiliated.
‘Why did you make so many mistakes?’
Anton struggled to answer.
‘Come on…’ Mr Durant insisted, ‘You need to be a man – step up and explain yourself.’
‘I was just distracted,’ Anton said.
Mr Durant shook his head. ‘That’s just not good enough.’
Anton panicked, ‘Look, I’ll do better from now on. I won’t get distracted, I’ll—’
Mr Durant stood and strolled over to the window, ‘You don’t get places by making mistakes, Adrian. You get places by working smart and working hard. People say, “You learn from your mistakes.” I’ve learnt from other people’s mistakes. That is working smart. I’ve never made a mistake. As for working hard, look at them…’ Anton stood and joined him at the window. He was watching the employees as they funnelled out of the building for the day. ‘They’re out of here at dead-on 5:30pm. All of them. That’s not working hard. And you’re one of them, Adrian.’
Anton tried to say his actual name but, due to his upset, the word evaporated in his throat.
‘What?’ asked Mr Durant.
‘I do work hard. Other people here do, too. But we’re entitled to have a life outside of work too.’
Mr Durant huffed a brief chuckle. That was obviously the last straw. ‘I think we’re done here,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Anton in a panic. ‘I will work hard. I will work smart. I just haven’t been told how to do it! It’s alright for you when you’ve naturally got “it”, but I need more. I need more than being made to work in the dingiest corner in the building. I need more inspiration!’ For once Anton felt he was hitting a stride and making a life-defining speech to an audience of one. He didn’t know if it was working, but looked around the room for further inspiration, ‘I want the fishing trips and the industry awards and the black belt certificates and the lovely family and… the big, plush car!’ he said as he spotted the Mercedes key fob on Mr Durant’s desk and picked it up. ‘Is that too much to ask? No! Why? Because I deserve it!’ and, in a moment of supreme confidence, he flipped the fob into the air.
Unfortunately, in a replay of the security card incident earlier that day, Anton fumbled the catch and in an attempt to stop the fob hitting the floor he batted it sideways into the open, unprotected goal of the air conditioning system. They both watched as it slid along the shiny metal surface and beyond their view.
There was a moment of silence. Anton looked up and was getting the exact look he expected, ‘You need some incentives to be better, Adrian. I can’t think of many ways to help you, aside from some negative reinforcement. Perhaps, if you were punished when you did things wrong, you wouldn’t mess up so often.’
Anton nodded.
‘Can you get my fob back please?’ Mr Durant said, impatiently. Anton knelt slowly at the square hole and looked it. It was going to be a tight squeeze. It got very dark very quickly and he couldn’t see the fob. He jumped as Mr Durant announced, ‘I also have a life outside of work!’ Anton took a breath and was about to go in, but stopped. ‘What is it?!’ said Mr Durant, finally losing his patience.
‘I’m a bit claustrophobic,’ said Anton.
Mr Durant sighed and took off his jacket, ‘Move,’ he said, kneeling at the hole and looking up at Anton. ‘I think it’s safe to say that this will be your last week here.’
Anton’s heart sank.
Mr Durant’s shoulders were too broad to easily slide into the hole, so he stretched out his arms into a diving pose and slid himself in, hands first. He pushed himself forward with his toes, but felt a slight jam when he reached his hips. Still, because he hadn’t yet found the fob and was not about to return without it, he forced himself in even further.
Anton observed, on the verge of tears, as Mr Durant edged bit by bit into the hole. Shortly after his knees disappeared, Anton heard a murmur of triumph and a metallic clink as he laid a hand on the fob.
There were then some moments of confusion as Anton watched Mr Durant’s toes scrabble at the floor to no effect. There were a couple of grunting sounds and unpleasant squeaks as his hands slipped against the shiny metal interior of the air vent.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Anton.
There were further struggling noises as Mr Durant tried unsuccessfully to extricate himself without having to ask for Anton’s help, but it was no use. ‘I’m stuck,’ he said, ‘Pull my ankles.’
Anton looked down and he contemplated how often, in his fantasies, that he had hoped to find a beautiful woman in such a position. Then something novel occurred to him that caused him to feel butterflies in his stomach – he had never before considered tickling a man, but if there was ever a moment of kismet, this was it.
He slowly knelt and examined what he had in front of him. Mr Durant’s pin-stripe trousers were somewhat pulled up the struggling. He was wearing ribbed, over-the-calf nylons socks and the Gucci horsebit loafers that Anton had accidentally stepped on that morning. Could he do this?
‘Did you hear me?’ called Mr Durant.
‘Yes,’ said Anton. ‘I’m just checking something.’
‘Well, hurry up!’
As you wish, thought Anton. ‘I’m just going to take your shoes off because they’re nice and they might get scuffed!’
Mr Durant didn’t answer, seemingly okay with the idea. Anton took hold of one of the shoes. It felt so big in his hands but it slid off easily thanks to the thin, nylon socks. Anton looked inside the shoe – size 12 UK. He felt like something more ceremonious should happen than simply tossing it to one side and he got a slight compulsion to sniff it. He breathed in and was pleasantly surprised. The smell of a foot or shoe had never before enticed him, but this was a wholly new and unexpected experience and the smell of Mr Durant’s shoe was unique.
He tried sniffing deeper but the scent had already diminished. He respectfully placed the shoe to one side and took hold of the other one. He really liked how large it felt in his comparatively small hands. He slid it off and this time he quickly turned the shoe over, closed his eyes and buried his nose and mouth in it. The interior of the shoe was warm and he took a slow, deep inhale as he savoured the unfamiliar, musty smell of leather with subtle hints of sweat and expensive soap.
‘What are you waiting for?’ called Mr Durant. But Anton didn’t really hear him. He had been deliberately postponing what he was going to do next. He placed the second shoe next to the first and made himself take a calming breath with his eyes closed, but his tummy flipped with the expectation of what was to come next and he could wait no longer.
He opened his eyes and marvelled at what he saw – such big, wide, chunky feet. The heel and toes of the socks were reinforced and opaque, but the imprints of a day’s walking showed that all ten large toes were wonderfully uniform. But what was most appealing was the transparent material in between the heels and toes that revealed the high arches and outer edges of Mr Durant’s soles. Anton smiled gently to himself as he replayed that thought to himself: These are actually Mr Durant’s soles...! Wearing nylon socks…! Just inches from my face…! I doubt even his wife has done this before!
Anton got as close as he could get without his vision becoming blurred and analysed every detail. With the tops of his feet at rest on the floor, Mr Durant’s soles were pleasingly wrinkled but just then the feet sprang to life. He’d evidently grown tired of waiting for help and Anton narrowly avoided being kicked in the face as the toes again tried to gain some purchase on the floor. Unfortunately, the socks were even less helpful than the shoes as they slipped against the office carpet.
Again he gave up and brought his feet to rest. ‘Adrian! What are you doing out there?’
‘It’s Anton!’ shouted Anton and, before he could stop himself, took a reflexive swipe across Mr Durant’s right sole with his index finger. The foot leapt, like a frog forced into animation via an electric spring, and landed back in the exact same place.
There was a moment of silence as Anton mulled over what he’d actually just done and wondered if he would be in trouble for it. On the other hand, Mr Durant was also completely silent. What was he thinking?
At last, the boss spoke with renewed patience, ‘Can you help me get out of here now?’
Anton wondered, if such a tiny event could result in an attitude readjustment, what would be the result of something a little more prolonged? and shuffled his position so that he was kneeling at Mr Durant’s toes.
‘Did you hear me, Mr Durant?’
‘What? No. What did you say?’
‘I said: my name is Anton.’
‘Oh… Right. Can we get on with this now?’
‘No, I think you should tell me what my name is.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘What’s my name?’ asked Anton.
Mr Durant was incensed at the attempt to be schooled by this young upstart. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m being ridiculous! After all, you should see yourself right now!’ said Anton and, in a moment that he had been anticipating for a lifetime, he brought his rapidly scurrying fingers down onto the large, masculine, nylon-socked soles of Mr Durant.
Yelps of confusion quickly dissolved into a barrage of laughter, and the big man’s authentic laugh was nothing like the display version he utilised when in board meetings or business interactions. It was actually a mixture of full-throated hilarity and erratic giggles.
Anton felt positively euphoric. This reaction was all he’d ever wanted in a ticklee! The expensive nylon socks were the perfect accomplice to his intended torture – their quality helped his fingertips glide swiftly and effortlessly over the wrinkled soles.
‘Wh-what are y-you… doinnnnnggggg!?’ cried Mr Durant through his non-stop laughter. Anton (whose face was frozen into a expression of pure glee) didn’t answer. For once, he didn’t have too!
Mr Durant attempted to avoid the young man’s attack but his sideways movement was limited by the hole in the wall and the hands followed him too easily but he found he could kick, with a kind of front-crawl paddling motion. Anton was taken by surprise by the rapidity and power of the action and fell backwards to avoid being struck.
Mr Durant caught his breath. ‘Are you insane!?’ he called from the vent.
‘No,’ said Anton, ‘but you might get there soon!’
Mr Durant began kicking again in order to fend off any potential attack. ‘Get the hell off me and get me out of here!’
Anton looked around the room and his eyes landed upon a the soft visitor’s chair. He removed the seat and a cushion and returned to his boss’s feet. He slid the seat under his legs and dropped the cushion onto his calves. As Mr Durant attempted to kick, Anton quickly straddled the cushion, bringing his whole weight down onto the big man’s calves. Whilst Mr Durant would have been strong enough to lift Anton off the floor with just one leg under normal circumstances, he was limited in this predicament.
‘This is beyond a joke!’ Mr Durant shouted.
‘Oh, I’m not joking with you!’ Anton replied.
‘Anton! Alright? Your bloody name is Anton!’
‘Yes, thank you for that. But you lost your chance with that one. I’m after something else now!’
‘What…!? What do you want?’
‘I want what you have.’
Mr Durant hesitated, perplexed, ‘You mean… you want my car?!’
‘No,’ said Anton, ‘I want my own car!’
‘I’m not buying you a car!’ Mr Durant shouted.
This annoyed Anton and this time he dug his wriggling fingers into the creases of Mr Durant’s nylon-covered toes. This time Mr Durant’s guffaws were more high-pitched. An evil grin spread over Anton’s face as the strong legs struggled underneath him, giving him the feeling of being on a sexy funfair ride.
‘G-get off my b-bloody t-t-toes!’ he cried through helpless laughter.
Anton paused his torment. ‘I don’t want you to buy me a car!’ he said, ‘I want to buy my own car! I want to earn the money myself and I want to buy it myself!’
‘Then go and bloody do that! Go get a decent job and earn it!’ bellowed the voice from the vent.
‘No! What I want is for you to be my mentor!’ said Anton.
‘You’re kidding! Not a bloody chance!’ shouted Mr Durant, ‘You will never work again!’
What would have previously worried Anton now annoyed him, ’So, you’ll destroy my career just because I got the better of you?’
‘“The better”? Ha! Don’t big-up yourself, boy. You wouldn’t stand a chance if I wasn’t in here!’
‘But you are in there, aren’t you? And why are you in there? Because I put you in there! You think I accidentally knocked your fob in there? You think I really have claustrophobia? Ha! And now look whose arrogance got him stuck in a wall with his tootsies all vulnerable…!’
Although he didn’t really suffer from claustrophobia, Anton had actually knocked the fob into the vent by accident but he decided that Mr Durant didn’t need to know that right now. If he could convince him of it, he may actually think he had been bested.
‘And another thing: didn’t you say that you never make a mistake? Do you want to rethink that one?’ he laughed.
Get me out of here!’ Mr Durant yelled.
‘Oh, of course! Right away, Sir!’ Anton mocked. ‘First of all, agree to take me on as your apprentice!’
‘Fuck off!’ replied Mr Durant.
Anton was taken a little by surprise. ‘Okay, then…’ he said. ‘How is your toe, by the way? The one I stepped on this morning?’
Mr Durant responded with more fruitless struggling.
‘Shall we see?’ said Anton and reached under the cushion to take hold of the top of one of the nylon socks. He deftly rolled it down the calf so that it formed a thin doughnut around Mr Durant’s ankle, and then continued to roll it over his heel and along his foot until it finally popped off his toes. On its journey the complete sole of Mr Durant’s foot was finally revealed. Anton was once again mesmerised but also a little confused. He wasn’t gay, so why was this one of the most attractive things he had ever seen? Now totally bare, this huge foot was a wonderfully vibrant milky-peach colour and looked surprisingly pristine considering it belonged to someone who was proficient in martial arts.
He reached under the cushion again and removed the other sock in the same way, the whole time riding The Amazing, Vibrating Cushion-Calf Funfair Challenge.
Both feet were now side-by-side, totally bare and utterly majestic. ‘How do you take such good care of your feet?’ Anton enquired with genuine curiosity. Mr Durant didn’t answer. ‘Giving me the silent treatment now, are you, Mr Moody? Never mind, I’ll get you to make some noise again. You know, it’s funny—you can’t see it while you’re in there—but from out here I can see your family portrait. You know how people say that a picture’s eyes follow you around the room? Well, right now it looks like your wife and daughters are all watching what is going on here. Their smiles actually look a little perturbed!’ Anton laughed.
‘I am going to sue you for everything you own!’ shouted Mr Durant.
‘Sure. Sure,’ said Anton, ‘You do that, but first I just want to say one thing…’
‘What!?’ yelled Mr Durant.
Anton delicately took hold of both of Mr Durant’s chunky big toes. ‘This little piggy went to market…’ The toes clenched in response. Anton moved to the second toe, ’…this little piggy stayed home…’ he slightly teased both third toes, causing Mr Durant to tense and wriggle. ‘…this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little piggy…’ said Anton, lightly pinching both of the little toes, which were about the thickness of Anton’s own fingers, ‘What do these little piggies say, Mr Durant?’
‘Don’t.’ came a muted response.
‘Pardon?’
‘Don’t do it.’
‘Why not,?’ asked Anton, curious about this change of tone. At the same time he observed a little sheen of perspiration appear on the beautiful soles.
‘You know why. Just don’t do it!’
‘Say, “Please”,’ Anton tested, waiting to see if the CEO would rise to the bait.
‘Just don’t do it!’ he shouted.
‘Wrong words!’ Anton said, ‘And, by the way, these little piggies went wee-wee-wee…!’ with that, Anton’s fingers ran all over Mr Durant’s bare soles, assisted my the slickness of his own nervous sweat.
Mr Durant exploded with powerless, masculine laughter, which echoed throughout the ventilation system to every corner of the building.
At the reception desk, the overnight security officer was startled and he sprang up to find the source of the sound.
Anton didn’t want this to end. It was so simple, yet so divine. His fingers wriggled over every defenceless wrinkle, crease and smooth surface of Mr Durant’s size 12 feet. He discovered a favourite spot – on the ball of each foot about inch below the webspace between the big and second toe. Focussed attention here brought an extra level of desperation to Mr Durant’s laughter. Anton played there so intently that it at last made the big man cry out: ‘Pppplease! Please stop! I-I’ll do any-th-thing!’
‘Okay, Mr Strong Man! Admit that I got the better of you!’
‘Yes!’ he shrieked, ‘Yes, you win!’
Anton grinned, ‘And now tell me why you’re laughing like a little feeble, pathetic person!’
Mr Durant just continued to laugh and struggle, ‘I d-don’t know wh-what you want me to s-sayyy!’
‘What are you?’ said Anton, digging in on those sensitive spots, which caused Mr Durant to reach an extra level of “Hee hee hee”-type laughter.
‘I’m ticklish!’ cried Mr Durant.
Anton felt himself getting indescribably excited. ’So you’ll do anything…?’
‘Y-Yessss! You have my w-w-worrrd! P-please be my apprentice!’ begged Mr Durant before abandoning himself to helpless laughter.
Anton leant forward and once again brought his face to within a couple of inches of Mr Durant’s soles as he played with them. He scanned them, trying to take a mental photograph of what he saw. This was the single best thing that had ever happened to him. He wanted to remember it forever.
Just then, he realised how excited he had become during the course of events and his position, combined with the vibrations through the cushion of Mr Durant’s trembling calves, caused him to surpass the point of excitement. He grabbed himself and tried to squeeze, but it was too late. Euphoria overcame him and he had the longest, most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced, which caused him to collapsed and faceplant into Mr Durant’s soles.
After some moments of recuperation, Anton stood up. He moved the cushion and soft chair seat. He took hold of his boss’s ankles and pulled with all his might. Mr Durant slowly emerged from the hole. When he was fully out, he sat up and slumped against the wall. His face was patchy red, his hair was a mess and his shirt was soaked with sweat. In this position Anton also noticed that the tops of his feet were quite handsome too, although his impulse to do anything about it has lessened somewhat.
As they recovered, the lift sounded. They turned to see the security officer step onto the floor and survey the rooms. Anton swiftly stood behind Mr Durant’s desk chair to hide the damp patch in his trousers from view. Mr Durant waved at the security officer.
‘Everything alright here, Sir?’ asked the officer.
‘All good,’ said Mr Durant. ‘Just doing some exercise with my new apprentice.’
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it then,’ said the officer and he went back downstairs.
Anton and Mr Durant looked at each other.
‘So, you’re really my mentor now?’ asked Anton.
Mr Durant nodded and slowly stood up. ‘I’m a man of my word. And, as my apprentice, I have a task for you to fulfil – I need you to rectify a mistake I made.’
‘Oh?’ said Anton, ‘What’s that?’
‘I managed to leave my fob in the vent. Now it’s your turn to fetch it.’
by Tamira K.
Anton stood at the side of a busy street, waiting to cross. The huge, glass-fronted office building of The Durant Oceanic Corporation loomed from the other side of the road. He tried to cultivate a positive frame of mind for the job he was less than enthusiastic about but optimism was a trait that was seeping away day-by-day. He was 23, he lived at home with his parents, he wasn't particularly attractive, he was well below average height, he was single and he had very little money due to his role of being a lowly assistant job in a boring import/export company.
He had only taken the job because there was a decided lack of offers for exciting archeology positions after he had finished his history degree. He had reluctantly moved back home with his parents and lived on income support for 18 months until his aunt had (without consulting him) mentioned his availability to a high-flying friend of hers who ran his own freight company. Anton assumed it was due to his aunt's connection that he got the job. He did attend an interview with two mid-level executives who he had hardly seen since and who didn't seem to recognise him on the odd occasion when they had passed in the corridor. Anton considered himself to have a talent for being astoundingly unmemorable. But at least he now had a job. He could see the money that senior-level executives displayed and, whilst the job wasn’t of interest to him, being able to rent his own place where he could potentially entertain ladies, was very much of interest.
Anton was also a fetishist. He had a fetish for tickling feet to be precise, but he was chronically shy about it. He didn't know why he was so shy about it, that was just the way he was. He wondered if it was because he had grown up with the knowledge that he loved the idea of tickling feet and got flushed with excitement whenever it took place on a television programme or in a film. If any friends or family were in the room whenever it happened on-screen, or when he detected it was about to happen, he immediately left the vicinity because he couldn't stand to share those rare moments with anyone who he wasn't attracted to or who wouldn't understand.
Also, because he shared a family computer with his mother and father, he never—never—wanted to risk them walking in on him or seeing something in the search history or having some cookies or images hidden in an unknown cache folder for some future computer repair man to unearth and make indiscreet enquiries about. That's why, before leaving for university, he had never even made a cursory Google search for the one word that made his heart flip.
Once at university, however, with no-one who could reasonably request to use his phone, the first thing Anton did when he was dropped of at his halls of residence was lock the door, disconnect from the communal WiFi and type in the iconic words: “tickling feet”. That moment his world changed. Forums, stories, tales of real-life encounters, images and, of course, never ending video clips. Anton had put a lot of time and effort into his history degree. But he put an equal amount of time into looking at things on the web.
By the second year, he had regretted doing so. He realised that his social connections were far flimsier than everyone else's who had been waiting for the university life to capitalise on real-life encounters rather than spending the time in a locked room, their faces lit up by a mobile screen and their hand in their pants. Obviously, he had attempted to approach the girls on the forums, but the vast majority of the time they never replied and on the couple of occasions when they did, they lost interest after the inevitable exchange of photos. There were very pretty girls all around him, of course, but being a good foot shorter than the handsome boys in addition to his reclusive personality, they never looked at him twice let alone agreed to go on a date with him.
And so here he stood, aged 23, bereft of a girlfriend or a single real-life tickling experience and without any foreseeable prospect for a private abode in which he could begin the life he had always wanted. The word frustration would be an understatement.
With a brief lull in the traffic, Anton trotted across the road and was just about to reach the other side when a loud car horn caused him to literally skip sideways. A black Mercedes-Benz S-Class pulled into a loading bay at the front of the building. Anton instinctively waved an apology to the driver – a stunning blonde girl who may have been about his age. In the rear seat, he could see two more pretty blonde girls who had leaned in to see what had caused the driver to beep. Anton then looked to the passenger seat and recognised the CEO of The Durant Oceanic Corporation, Mr Durant.
Anton felt himself flush crimson as all four pairs of eyes looked at him. The girls were all giggling. Mr Durant was not. He stoically leaned sideways to allow for each of the girls to kiss him on the cheek and stepped out of the car. Anton’s cheeks quivered as he tried to smile politely. Mr Durant was an intimidating figure. At least 6’2” with a square jaw and Action Man posture. His hair was naturally black with a few grey streaks and, as usual, he was impeccably dressed in a made-to-measure pinstripe suit and Gucci loafers. Anton imagined him to be in his late forties or early fifties, but he was in impressive shape for his age. For some reason, on the rare occasions when he and Anton had crossed paths in the building, Anton couldn’t help but look at his hands. His eyes were first drawn to them by the shininess of his platinum wedding band but his attention was kept by how masculine they looked – not especially hairy, but large and “fit”. Anton had wondered, with hands that looked so well-maintained and manicured, how one managed to cultivate “fit” hands.
One of the girls exited the back seat, kissed Mr Durant again, took his place in the front seat and the car drove away to the sound of a purring engine and giggles. Anton watched them go and turned to see Mr Durant watching him. ‘Friends of yours?’ Anton asked.
‘My daughters,’ Mr Durant replied, with his characteristically unreadable expression.
Anton instantly tried to hide any indication that he found them attractive but his lips weren’t on the same page, ‘They look nice.’
Mr Durant’s eyes narrowed slightly, ‘They are.’
Anton decided to change the subject. ‘I’d like a car like that.’
Mr Durant strode for the building, ‘Working hard and working smart is the key.’
Anton hurried to keep up. ‘Oh, I work very hard,’ he said.
‘That’s good. Then you know which area you need to improve upon,’ said Mr Durant.
‘Yep. Making money!’
‘Then you should talk to your line manager,’ said Mr Durant, ‘but try to bring it up in a way that isn’t so inelegant.’
Anton had known he was being clumsy the moment the words left his mouth. Obviously Mr Durant had thought so too.
‘My auntie said to say hello, by the way,’ he said, immediately cursing himself for the use of the word “auntie”. She hadn’t said any such thing but there wasn’t much that he could think of for the two of them to chat about. The only time they had previously spoken was the day he had arrived for the interview and the sum content of their conversation revolved around Aunt Cindy – the only thing they had in common. That was the day Anton first noticed Mr Durant’s hands. Ever since, Mr Durant had been talking to other people when they passed and so had not been forced to exchange awkward pleasantries.
Mr Durant gave a muted acknowledgement of the message and opened the front door for Anton – a gesture with which Anton was not experienced. Inside the building, three suited gentlemen with briefcases sat by the reception desk and recognised Mr Durant.
‘Oh, no, after you,’ Anton said to Mr Durant.
Mr Durant smiled a greeting to the three gentlemen who stood and waited for him but, with Anton hidden from their view, seemed to wonder why Mr Durant was just standing by an opened door without anyone else entering or leaving. He then registered Anton’s words. ‘No,’ he said, ‘Go in.’
Anton was in the middle of insisting again when he noticed Mr Durant’s short fuse begin to burn and they both took the initiative to walk in at the same time. Squeezed into the doorway, Anton accidentally stepped on one of Mr Durant’s flawless leather loafers. While Mr Durant calmly ignored the collision and continued to smile at the other men, Anton could hear a slight hiss of exasperation from him. They both quickly looked down and saw a scuff across the outer toe of the shoe. Anton was about to apologise but Mr Durant stepped confidently over to the men, all shook hands and he escorted them to the lifts.
Anton felt himself clenching his teeth as the lift doors closed, the final thing he saw as the lift doors closed was a fleeting glance of irritation from Mr Durant.
– – – – –
Anton sat at his desk on the second floor. Whilst every other space in the building had some kind of view, his nearest window was blocked by a ventilation shaft. It was so typical that he’d been placed in the most under-lit corner of the entire building that it never occurred to him to complain, even though there were more desirable desk spaces empty and available.
Just then he saw his red-haired line manager, Cathy, approach with a young lady he didn’t recognise. She looked a little older than him and was on the pretty side of plain, with black curly hair and red-rimmed glasses. She was obviously dressed-to-impress on her first day, wearing a new business suit and blouse, black nylons and high heels. Over-dressed, in Anton’s opinion, for a job which was just about filling out online forms correctly to ensure the smooth delivery of orders to their destinations. Cathy led the young lady to the empty desk next to him and talked her through all the regular introductory procedures.
‘…and if you need anything, I’m just in the office over there,’ said Cathy.
The young lady thanked her and Cathy walked away. Anton and the young lady at last shared a polite smile. ‘I’m Anton,’ he said.
‘I’m Ellen,’ she said.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Anton.
‘You too,’ Ellen replied, plugging herself into headphones mid-sentence. She then turned to her computer and began to work.
‘Oh, Cathy!’ called Anton.
Cathy turned on the spot. ‘Yes?’ she made no effort to move towards him and so Anton trotted over to her.
‘Can I have a word? In private?’
‘What’s it about?’
Anton spoke in a low tone so as not to be overheard, ‘It’s about a possible pay rise…?’
Cathy shook her head, ‘Those things aren’t considered until around December time. Not summer.’
‘I know. But—’
‘People are generally here a lot longer than you have been before raises are considered, Anthony—’
‘Anton..’
‘—so you may have to just get by on what you earn right now,’ she said, ‘or get a second job!’
Anton sighed and smiled a well-practiced understanding.
‘Just be as good at your job as possible – that will help you to get noticed, Anthony. So, get back to your desk and let’s do that, yes?’ and she turned so quickly to walk away that her ponytail clipped Anton in the eye.
He returned to his desk, disheartened, but his mood lifted when he saw Ellen. She had made herself at home by removing her suit jacket and slipping off her shoes. Not only that but she had chosen to sit with her right shin tucked under her let thigh. The wonderful benefit of this from Anton’s point-of-view was that the sole of her foot was facing straight at him, the seam of the nylon meandering it’s way unevenly from heel to toes. Her foot was narrower than was to ideal taste, but it didn’t matter and he realised something unusual – he now found her a lot more attractive than when he had first seen her.
Is was only when Ellen looked at Anton that he realised that he was simply gawping at her nylon-clad sole and switched his attention to her screen. She pulled out an ear bud, ‘Did you say something?’ she asked.
He shook his head, ‘Just if you needed anything, to let me know. I’ve been here a while now,’ he said. ‘But from what I can see, you’re pretty much doing it right.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, obviously unappreciative of having her work scrutinised by him.
Anton spent the rest of the morning on autopilot whilst running through a variety of strategies that would lead to the ultimate goal of tickling Ellen’s foot. He balanced this with the task of making his mannerisms look natural as he stole glances to make an imprint on his brain of the magical moment when a grown woman’s foot was within his reach. This was achieved by a lot of looking to one side in apparent deep reflection about the challenging tasks he was doing (which were actually no more or less taxing than hers) as well as pushing back from his desk in order to have regular stretches – which averaged once every five minutes.
The potential plans he devised included:
- dropping a pen on the floor and “accidentally” stroking her sole with it as he retrieved it.
- saying something like, ‘Oh! You have a fly on your foot!’ and quickly scrabbling at it before she could respond
- just out-and-out tickling her and justifying it with a cool demeanour by saying, ‘I just needed to check,’ followed by a cheeky wink.
- casually dropping into a conversation that it looks like she finds shoes restrictive and asking her if she would mind being part of a research project he was working on, whereby he filmed and tickled women’s feet.
- just asking her if she wanted to go for a drink and trying to sneak in a tester while they were in the bar.
As he reviewed these option, he noted several issues:
- 1. He worked at a keyboard and didn’t have a pen.
- 2. She would easily be able to tell there was no fly around
- 3. There was no way he could control his facial muscles in order to pull of a cool demeanour
- 4. He pictured a conversation:
Me: ‘Yeah, I’m doing research into women’s feet and how ticklish they are for an Open University thesis.’
Her: ‘Oh. What could you possibly hope to gain from such research?’
Me: ‘Erm............’ - 5. There was no way she’d want to do that.
In a moment of divine inspiration, he decided to substitute the pen idea for an identity card idea. But he had to hurry – it was nearly lunchtime. He was shaking with nervousness and his mouth was dry as he lifted up his security lanyard and fiddled with it, making the card loose in it’s plastic holder. His only hope was that the card would fall out in the right way. He casually twirled the lanyard around his finger and the card flew off in the opposite direction. He clumsily went to catch it and fumbled it several times into the air before it landed on the carpet just under Ellen’s desk.
She was looking at him, obviously wondering what the hell he was doing. He smiled meekly and stooped to pick up the card, assuring himself that at least she wouldn’t think it was a ploy – no guy would make himself look that much of a dufus on purpose.
As he slowly leant down, he looked out the corner of his eye – Ellen’s foot was right next to his face. He caught a scent of nail polish and could almost feel the warmth of her sole on his cheek. She began to edge away to make room for him and so he grabbed the arm of her chair to keep it in place and make it seem as though he was using it for balance.
This was the moment…
His heart was thumping. As he reached for the card with one hand, he deliberately brought down his other hand, brushing sideways across her narrow arch. She jumped slightly and retracted her foot.
‘Sorry,’ he said as he sat upright, flushed red.
Ellen didn’t seem to pay it much mind. Her expression was the same as before. She slipped her shoes on, picked up her handbag and went to lunch.
– – – – –
The rear grounds of the building had a private green space with trees, picnic benches and a pond that overlooked the huge company car park. Anton sat at a picnic table eating his packed lunch. Two women he didn’t know sat at the other end of the table, talking about personal issues like he couldn’t hear them. In a way, they were correct.
Anton was in total lust. He played over and over in his mind his first glimpse of Ellen’s foot, how it looked up close and how her nylon-covered sole felt to his fingers. He could not have been more turned on. He wondered if she would present her foot for him in the afternoon and which of his other plans he could implement.
As he ate he saw Ellen and Cathy walking and talking together on the grass. He wondered which of them would be the most ticklish if put to some kind of test. They glanced at him. Anton smiled and went to wave, but as he did so they looked away.
Anton then noticed Mr Durant walk into the car park with the three men in suits. They had obviously had their meeting and a spot of lunch in the canteen and now all the serious talk was over. They spoke with big smiles and let out raucous, attention-seeking laughter in that way only senior businesspeople are entitled to do. Anton considered the fact that he would never be able to laugh like that.
A Lexus awaited the men as they all shook hands and Mr Durant bid them farewell. As the Lexus pulled away, Anton recognised the Mercedes-Benz that nearly hit him enter the car park and pull up in front of Mr Durant. His daughters all got out with several bags of shopping and made an extravagant show of the things they had bought in that way that only beautiful nymph-like girls with inherited wealth are entitled to do.
As the attention of every worker in the vicinity was drawn to the performance, Mr Durant looked on proudly and nonchalantly. Anton couldn’t help but suspect that there was a part of Mr Durant who liked the fact that he had attractive daughters but that every man he knew would be too intimidated to approach them.
Anton’s view was momentarily blocked by a large air conditioning specialist’s van, who cruised around looking for a space to park.
When he could see them again, Mr Durant’s daughters were getting ready to depart for some other journey. The most diminutive and, Anton assumed, youngest of the daughters momentarily struck an on-guard pose at her father. For the first time since he’d known him Anton saw Mr Durant react to something quickly, striking his own pose, which obviously came naturally to him and caused his daughter to squeal a giggle and run away before she paid the price. Looks like a karate pose, thought Anton.
The daughters all then skipped away – the eldest jokingly tossing the car fob to her father as she walked. Needless to say, he caught it one-handed and without effort.
– – – – –
After lunch Anton returned to his desk and noticed that Ellen’s possessions were gone and her computer was switched off. He looked across the rest of the floor and eventually spotted her sitting at the far end and getting on famously with two cool dudes who sat either side of her.
Anton slumped into his chair, utterly cheesed off. He woke his computer and wondered if she had moved because he tickled her? When Ellen was talking to Cathy at lunchtime, was she complaining about him? His heart raced as he thought, Oh, God. Perhaps “sneaking at tickle” at work isn’t the right thing to do... Is Cathy going to call me into her office for a word? Will Ellen tell everyone else on the floor? Am I going to get sacked? Will Mr Durant tell Aunt Cindy why? Will Aunt Cindy—
Just then a different part of Anton’s mind interrupted this trail of thought. Something else was wrong. It took him a moment to engage with it and realise what he was looking at on his computer screen – some of the figures he had entered and submitted that morning were seriously wrong. A new wave of panic overtook him. ‘Oh, no… How did this happen?’ he murmured under his breath.
His brain immediately delivered the reply: Perhaps it happened when you weren’t concentrating because you were busy devising schoolboy plans to touch a complete stranger in the workplace!
He spent the next few hours hurriedly and comprehensively trying all he could to rectify the issues but without success. The numbers had been submitted and unless he could get someone else to intervene, it would be a very expensive mistake for The Durant Oceanic Corporation. He sat for a while, wondering what to do. As the afternoon was wore on Anton was aware that if he didn’t do something the damage would be irretrievable, so he did the only thing he could and knocked on Cathy’s office door.
‘Come in,’ said Cathy.
Anton entered, ‘Hi, Cathy. Have you got a quick moment?’
‘Yes. What is it?’
‘I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve made a few mistakes on the orders from this morning,’ Anton said, as gently as he could. As he explained she grew increasingly concerned and checked the database on her screen. ‘If you had come to me half an hour ago, I would have been able to sort this,’ she said. ‘As it is now, I can’t.’
Anton wondered if going to her immediate superior would be an option, even though it was quite well known within the company that they rubbed each other up the wrong way. ‘What about talking to Terrence?’
‘I’m not talking to him about it,’ she snapped and pondered a moment. ‘There’s only one thing for it – you will need to go to the top floor and explain.’
Anton’s lips immediately dried, ’To Mr Durant? Am I supposed to do that?’
‘Yes,’ Cathy stood and turned off her computer as though she just realised she had somewhere else to be. She picked up her jacket and said, ‘Go to Mr Durant and tell him Terrence sent you to ask him to make a call to fix it. Tell him it was your fault. I have a meeting off-site,’ she said.
Anton followed her to the lifts and checked his watch, ‘It’s quite late for a meeting,’ he observed.
‘Yes, well, some of us work hard,’ she replied.
‘I see Ellen has moved desks,’ he said.
Cathy’s downward bound lift arrived and she stepped in. ‘Yes. She didn’t like how dark it was near you, apparently.’
‘Oh,’ said Anton, relieved. ‘See you tomorrow!’
‘Go see him now!’ Cathy replied as the doors closed.
The relief that he wasn’t going to be gossiped about was short-lived. The lift arrived and he stepped in and pushed a button for the top floor. He wasn’t sure if it was the movement of the lift or his nerves that caused him to feel a little dizzy. This felt like it had all the hallmarks of having a very bad day for him.
The lift began to slow and stopped at the penultimate floor. Anton was confused until the doors opened and in stepped a workman. The entire 9th floor was visible from the lift. Everything was covered in protective sheeting and dust, populated by ladders and discarded paint pots. The workman nodded hello.
‘Hi,’ said Anton, ‘How’s the painting going?’
‘Not my thing,’ said the workman. ‘That work-shy lot left dead on 5pm. I’m working on the noisy air conditioning.’
‘Oh,’ said Anton as they reached the top floor. He’d never been there before. It was smaller than the other floors—almost like a “penthouse office”—with windows on all sides, a cocktail lounge area, a board room and a single, glass fronted office that overlooked the district. Mr Durant was behind his desk. He wasn’t surprised to see the air conditioning guy. He was, however, curious as to why Anton was there.
The workman knelt to get on with his work, attending to a floor-level square hole in the wall that opened into the air conditioning system. A steady and annoying distant tink-tink-tink sound emanated from the hole. Anton knocked superfluously on the door.
‘Yes?’ said Mr Durant.
‘It’s Anton,’ said Anton.
‘Yes, I know. What is it?’
‘Oh, erm, Cath— I mean, Terrence asked me to come and see you because there have been some errors made in some of the figures today,’ said Anton.
‘You mean you made some errors in the figures today?’
Anton dropped his eyes, ‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Take a seat and tell me what’s happening.’
Anton sat opposite Mr Durant, in a chair that almost felt purposefully soft so that anyone who sank into it would have to be looking up at the boss, whether he was a foot shorter than him or not. As Anton relayed the information, he took in all the insignia of success around the room including industry awards, certificates of martial arts achievements and photos of prize fish catches, handshakes with unrecognisable but important-looking business folk and, of course, a large framed photo of Mr Durant’s beautiful wife and three daughters.
‘I’ll need to talk to Terrence about this tomorrow,’ said Mr Durant, ‘It’s not really good enough.’
Anton was worried, ‘Oh but nothing really happened. I spotted the problem.’
‘The point is that you caused the problem,’ said Mr Durant, lifting his phone, ‘and now it’s down to me to see if I can fix it—’
Just then the workman switched on an industrial blower. There was an almost deafening sound as the machine blew air into the hole and made the ground shake.
‘EXCUSE ME!’ Mr Durant bellowed over the racket, as only a 6’2” boss with carefully-honed assertiveness can do.
The workman switched off the machine, ‘It’s the only thing I can think of to get rid of that sound,’ he said.
‘Can you leave it until tomorrow, please?’ said Mr Durant.
‘It’ll mean an extra day’s pay,’ said the workman.
‘So be it,’ said Mr Durant.
In response the workman packed up and left.
Mr Durant made the phone call and Anton was relieved when he heard that the problems were solvable. When Mr Durant hung up, Anton said, ‘All’s well that ends well!’
Mr Durant’s brow furrowed a little. ‘I’m not sure you’re fitting in here.’
Anton’s face dropped, ‘What? No, I am. This was just one mistake that—’
‘That cost you an afternoon’s work and nearly cost me more than a few thousand pounds. I told earlier: you need to work hard and work smart. This was neither, was it?’
Anton shook his head. He felt humiliated.
‘Why did you make so many mistakes?’
Anton struggled to answer.
‘Come on…’ Mr Durant insisted, ‘You need to be a man – step up and explain yourself.’
‘I was just distracted,’ Anton said.
Mr Durant shook his head. ‘That’s just not good enough.’
Anton panicked, ‘Look, I’ll do better from now on. I won’t get distracted, I’ll—’
Mr Durant stood and strolled over to the window, ‘You don’t get places by making mistakes, Adrian. You get places by working smart and working hard. People say, “You learn from your mistakes.” I’ve learnt from other people’s mistakes. That is working smart. I’ve never made a mistake. As for working hard, look at them…’ Anton stood and joined him at the window. He was watching the employees as they funnelled out of the building for the day. ‘They’re out of here at dead-on 5:30pm. All of them. That’s not working hard. And you’re one of them, Adrian.’
Anton tried to say his actual name but, due to his upset, the word evaporated in his throat.
‘What?’ asked Mr Durant.
‘I do work hard. Other people here do, too. But we’re entitled to have a life outside of work too.’
Mr Durant huffed a brief chuckle. That was obviously the last straw. ‘I think we’re done here,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Anton in a panic. ‘I will work hard. I will work smart. I just haven’t been told how to do it! It’s alright for you when you’ve naturally got “it”, but I need more. I need more than being made to work in the dingiest corner in the building. I need more inspiration!’ For once Anton felt he was hitting a stride and making a life-defining speech to an audience of one. He didn’t know if it was working, but looked around the room for further inspiration, ‘I want the fishing trips and the industry awards and the black belt certificates and the lovely family and… the big, plush car!’ he said as he spotted the Mercedes key fob on Mr Durant’s desk and picked it up. ‘Is that too much to ask? No! Why? Because I deserve it!’ and, in a moment of supreme confidence, he flipped the fob into the air.
Unfortunately, in a replay of the security card incident earlier that day, Anton fumbled the catch and in an attempt to stop the fob hitting the floor he batted it sideways into the open, unprotected goal of the air conditioning system. They both watched as it slid along the shiny metal surface and beyond their view.
There was a moment of silence. Anton looked up and was getting the exact look he expected, ‘You need some incentives to be better, Adrian. I can’t think of many ways to help you, aside from some negative reinforcement. Perhaps, if you were punished when you did things wrong, you wouldn’t mess up so often.’
Anton nodded.
‘Can you get my fob back please?’ Mr Durant said, impatiently. Anton knelt slowly at the square hole and looked it. It was going to be a tight squeeze. It got very dark very quickly and he couldn’t see the fob. He jumped as Mr Durant announced, ‘I also have a life outside of work!’ Anton took a breath and was about to go in, but stopped. ‘What is it?!’ said Mr Durant, finally losing his patience.
‘I’m a bit claustrophobic,’ said Anton.
Mr Durant sighed and took off his jacket, ‘Move,’ he said, kneeling at the hole and looking up at Anton. ‘I think it’s safe to say that this will be your last week here.’
Anton’s heart sank.
Mr Durant’s shoulders were too broad to easily slide into the hole, so he stretched out his arms into a diving pose and slid himself in, hands first. He pushed himself forward with his toes, but felt a slight jam when he reached his hips. Still, because he hadn’t yet found the fob and was not about to return without it, he forced himself in even further.
Anton observed, on the verge of tears, as Mr Durant edged bit by bit into the hole. Shortly after his knees disappeared, Anton heard a murmur of triumph and a metallic clink as he laid a hand on the fob.
There were then some moments of confusion as Anton watched Mr Durant’s toes scrabble at the floor to no effect. There were a couple of grunting sounds and unpleasant squeaks as his hands slipped against the shiny metal interior of the air vent.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Anton.
There were further struggling noises as Mr Durant tried unsuccessfully to extricate himself without having to ask for Anton’s help, but it was no use. ‘I’m stuck,’ he said, ‘Pull my ankles.’
Anton looked down and he contemplated how often, in his fantasies, that he had hoped to find a beautiful woman in such a position. Then something novel occurred to him that caused him to feel butterflies in his stomach – he had never before considered tickling a man, but if there was ever a moment of kismet, this was it.
He slowly knelt and examined what he had in front of him. Mr Durant’s pin-stripe trousers were somewhat pulled up the struggling. He was wearing ribbed, over-the-calf nylons socks and the Gucci horsebit loafers that Anton had accidentally stepped on that morning. Could he do this?
‘Did you hear me?’ called Mr Durant.
‘Yes,’ said Anton. ‘I’m just checking something.’
‘Well, hurry up!’
As you wish, thought Anton. ‘I’m just going to take your shoes off because they’re nice and they might get scuffed!’
Mr Durant didn’t answer, seemingly okay with the idea. Anton took hold of one of the shoes. It felt so big in his hands but it slid off easily thanks to the thin, nylon socks. Anton looked inside the shoe – size 12 UK. He felt like something more ceremonious should happen than simply tossing it to one side and he got a slight compulsion to sniff it. He breathed in and was pleasantly surprised. The smell of a foot or shoe had never before enticed him, but this was a wholly new and unexpected experience and the smell of Mr Durant’s shoe was unique.
He tried sniffing deeper but the scent had already diminished. He respectfully placed the shoe to one side and took hold of the other one. He really liked how large it felt in his comparatively small hands. He slid it off and this time he quickly turned the shoe over, closed his eyes and buried his nose and mouth in it. The interior of the shoe was warm and he took a slow, deep inhale as he savoured the unfamiliar, musty smell of leather with subtle hints of sweat and expensive soap.
‘What are you waiting for?’ called Mr Durant. But Anton didn’t really hear him. He had been deliberately postponing what he was going to do next. He placed the second shoe next to the first and made himself take a calming breath with his eyes closed, but his tummy flipped with the expectation of what was to come next and he could wait no longer.
He opened his eyes and marvelled at what he saw – such big, wide, chunky feet. The heel and toes of the socks were reinforced and opaque, but the imprints of a day’s walking showed that all ten large toes were wonderfully uniform. But what was most appealing was the transparent material in between the heels and toes that revealed the high arches and outer edges of Mr Durant’s soles. Anton smiled gently to himself as he replayed that thought to himself: These are actually Mr Durant’s soles...! Wearing nylon socks…! Just inches from my face…! I doubt even his wife has done this before!
Anton got as close as he could get without his vision becoming blurred and analysed every detail. With the tops of his feet at rest on the floor, Mr Durant’s soles were pleasingly wrinkled but just then the feet sprang to life. He’d evidently grown tired of waiting for help and Anton narrowly avoided being kicked in the face as the toes again tried to gain some purchase on the floor. Unfortunately, the socks were even less helpful than the shoes as they slipped against the office carpet.
Again he gave up and brought his feet to rest. ‘Adrian! What are you doing out there?’
‘It’s Anton!’ shouted Anton and, before he could stop himself, took a reflexive swipe across Mr Durant’s right sole with his index finger. The foot leapt, like a frog forced into animation via an electric spring, and landed back in the exact same place.
There was a moment of silence as Anton mulled over what he’d actually just done and wondered if he would be in trouble for it. On the other hand, Mr Durant was also completely silent. What was he thinking?
At last, the boss spoke with renewed patience, ‘Can you help me get out of here now?’
Anton wondered, if such a tiny event could result in an attitude readjustment, what would be the result of something a little more prolonged? and shuffled his position so that he was kneeling at Mr Durant’s toes.
‘Did you hear me, Mr Durant?’
‘What? No. What did you say?’
‘I said: my name is Anton.’
‘Oh… Right. Can we get on with this now?’
‘No, I think you should tell me what my name is.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘What’s my name?’ asked Anton.
Mr Durant was incensed at the attempt to be schooled by this young upstart. ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Oh, I don’t think I’m being ridiculous! After all, you should see yourself right now!’ said Anton and, in a moment that he had been anticipating for a lifetime, he brought his rapidly scurrying fingers down onto the large, masculine, nylon-socked soles of Mr Durant.
Yelps of confusion quickly dissolved into a barrage of laughter, and the big man’s authentic laugh was nothing like the display version he utilised when in board meetings or business interactions. It was actually a mixture of full-throated hilarity and erratic giggles.
Anton felt positively euphoric. This reaction was all he’d ever wanted in a ticklee! The expensive nylon socks were the perfect accomplice to his intended torture – their quality helped his fingertips glide swiftly and effortlessly over the wrinkled soles.
‘Wh-what are y-you… doinnnnnggggg!?’ cried Mr Durant through his non-stop laughter. Anton (whose face was frozen into a expression of pure glee) didn’t answer. For once, he didn’t have too!
Mr Durant attempted to avoid the young man’s attack but his sideways movement was limited by the hole in the wall and the hands followed him too easily but he found he could kick, with a kind of front-crawl paddling motion. Anton was taken by surprise by the rapidity and power of the action and fell backwards to avoid being struck.
Mr Durant caught his breath. ‘Are you insane!?’ he called from the vent.
‘No,’ said Anton, ‘but you might get there soon!’
Mr Durant began kicking again in order to fend off any potential attack. ‘Get the hell off me and get me out of here!’
Anton looked around the room and his eyes landed upon a the soft visitor’s chair. He removed the seat and a cushion and returned to his boss’s feet. He slid the seat under his legs and dropped the cushion onto his calves. As Mr Durant attempted to kick, Anton quickly straddled the cushion, bringing his whole weight down onto the big man’s calves. Whilst Mr Durant would have been strong enough to lift Anton off the floor with just one leg under normal circumstances, he was limited in this predicament.
‘This is beyond a joke!’ Mr Durant shouted.
‘Oh, I’m not joking with you!’ Anton replied.
‘Anton! Alright? Your bloody name is Anton!’
‘Yes, thank you for that. But you lost your chance with that one. I’m after something else now!’
‘What…!? What do you want?’
‘I want what you have.’
Mr Durant hesitated, perplexed, ‘You mean… you want my car?!’
‘No,’ said Anton, ‘I want my own car!’
‘I’m not buying you a car!’ Mr Durant shouted.
This annoyed Anton and this time he dug his wriggling fingers into the creases of Mr Durant’s nylon-covered toes. This time Mr Durant’s guffaws were more high-pitched. An evil grin spread over Anton’s face as the strong legs struggled underneath him, giving him the feeling of being on a sexy funfair ride.
‘G-get off my b-bloody t-t-toes!’ he cried through helpless laughter.
Anton paused his torment. ‘I don’t want you to buy me a car!’ he said, ‘I want to buy my own car! I want to earn the money myself and I want to buy it myself!’
‘Then go and bloody do that! Go get a decent job and earn it!’ bellowed the voice from the vent.
‘No! What I want is for you to be my mentor!’ said Anton.
‘You’re kidding! Not a bloody chance!’ shouted Mr Durant, ‘You will never work again!’
What would have previously worried Anton now annoyed him, ’So, you’ll destroy my career just because I got the better of you?’
‘“The better”? Ha! Don’t big-up yourself, boy. You wouldn’t stand a chance if I wasn’t in here!’
‘But you are in there, aren’t you? And why are you in there? Because I put you in there! You think I accidentally knocked your fob in there? You think I really have claustrophobia? Ha! And now look whose arrogance got him stuck in a wall with his tootsies all vulnerable…!’
Although he didn’t really suffer from claustrophobia, Anton had actually knocked the fob into the vent by accident but he decided that Mr Durant didn’t need to know that right now. If he could convince him of it, he may actually think he had been bested.
‘And another thing: didn’t you say that you never make a mistake? Do you want to rethink that one?’ he laughed.
Get me out of here!’ Mr Durant yelled.
‘Oh, of course! Right away, Sir!’ Anton mocked. ‘First of all, agree to take me on as your apprentice!’
‘Fuck off!’ replied Mr Durant.
Anton was taken a little by surprise. ‘Okay, then…’ he said. ‘How is your toe, by the way? The one I stepped on this morning?’
Mr Durant responded with more fruitless struggling.
‘Shall we see?’ said Anton and reached under the cushion to take hold of the top of one of the nylon socks. He deftly rolled it down the calf so that it formed a thin doughnut around Mr Durant’s ankle, and then continued to roll it over his heel and along his foot until it finally popped off his toes. On its journey the complete sole of Mr Durant’s foot was finally revealed. Anton was once again mesmerised but also a little confused. He wasn’t gay, so why was this one of the most attractive things he had ever seen? Now totally bare, this huge foot was a wonderfully vibrant milky-peach colour and looked surprisingly pristine considering it belonged to someone who was proficient in martial arts.
He reached under the cushion again and removed the other sock in the same way, the whole time riding The Amazing, Vibrating Cushion-Calf Funfair Challenge.
Both feet were now side-by-side, totally bare and utterly majestic. ‘How do you take such good care of your feet?’ Anton enquired with genuine curiosity. Mr Durant didn’t answer. ‘Giving me the silent treatment now, are you, Mr Moody? Never mind, I’ll get you to make some noise again. You know, it’s funny—you can’t see it while you’re in there—but from out here I can see your family portrait. You know how people say that a picture’s eyes follow you around the room? Well, right now it looks like your wife and daughters are all watching what is going on here. Their smiles actually look a little perturbed!’ Anton laughed.
‘I am going to sue you for everything you own!’ shouted Mr Durant.
‘Sure. Sure,’ said Anton, ‘You do that, but first I just want to say one thing…’
‘What!?’ yelled Mr Durant.
Anton delicately took hold of both of Mr Durant’s chunky big toes. ‘This little piggy went to market…’ The toes clenched in response. Anton moved to the second toe, ’…this little piggy stayed home…’ he slightly teased both third toes, causing Mr Durant to tense and wriggle. ‘…this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none. And this little piggy…’ said Anton, lightly pinching both of the little toes, which were about the thickness of Anton’s own fingers, ‘What do these little piggies say, Mr Durant?’
‘Don’t.’ came a muted response.
‘Pardon?’
‘Don’t do it.’
‘Why not,?’ asked Anton, curious about this change of tone. At the same time he observed a little sheen of perspiration appear on the beautiful soles.
‘You know why. Just don’t do it!’
‘Say, “Please”,’ Anton tested, waiting to see if the CEO would rise to the bait.
‘Just don’t do it!’ he shouted.
‘Wrong words!’ Anton said, ‘And, by the way, these little piggies went wee-wee-wee…!’ with that, Anton’s fingers ran all over Mr Durant’s bare soles, assisted my the slickness of his own nervous sweat.
Mr Durant exploded with powerless, masculine laughter, which echoed throughout the ventilation system to every corner of the building.
At the reception desk, the overnight security officer was startled and he sprang up to find the source of the sound.
Anton didn’t want this to end. It was so simple, yet so divine. His fingers wriggled over every defenceless wrinkle, crease and smooth surface of Mr Durant’s size 12 feet. He discovered a favourite spot – on the ball of each foot about inch below the webspace between the big and second toe. Focussed attention here brought an extra level of desperation to Mr Durant’s laughter. Anton played there so intently that it at last made the big man cry out: ‘Pppplease! Please stop! I-I’ll do any-th-thing!’
‘Okay, Mr Strong Man! Admit that I got the better of you!’
‘Yes!’ he shrieked, ‘Yes, you win!’
Anton grinned, ‘And now tell me why you’re laughing like a little feeble, pathetic person!’
Mr Durant just continued to laugh and struggle, ‘I d-don’t know wh-what you want me to s-sayyy!’
‘What are you?’ said Anton, digging in on those sensitive spots, which caused Mr Durant to reach an extra level of “Hee hee hee”-type laughter.
‘I’m ticklish!’ cried Mr Durant.
Anton felt himself getting indescribably excited. ’So you’ll do anything…?’
‘Y-Yessss! You have my w-w-worrrd! P-please be my apprentice!’ begged Mr Durant before abandoning himself to helpless laughter.
Anton leant forward and once again brought his face to within a couple of inches of Mr Durant’s soles as he played with them. He scanned them, trying to take a mental photograph of what he saw. This was the single best thing that had ever happened to him. He wanted to remember it forever.
Just then, he realised how excited he had become during the course of events and his position, combined with the vibrations through the cushion of Mr Durant’s trembling calves, caused him to surpass the point of excitement. He grabbed himself and tried to squeeze, but it was too late. Euphoria overcame him and he had the longest, most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced, which caused him to collapsed and faceplant into Mr Durant’s soles.
After some moments of recuperation, Anton stood up. He moved the cushion and soft chair seat. He took hold of his boss’s ankles and pulled with all his might. Mr Durant slowly emerged from the hole. When he was fully out, he sat up and slumped against the wall. His face was patchy red, his hair was a mess and his shirt was soaked with sweat. In this position Anton also noticed that the tops of his feet were quite handsome too, although his impulse to do anything about it has lessened somewhat.
As they recovered, the lift sounded. They turned to see the security officer step onto the floor and survey the rooms. Anton swiftly stood behind Mr Durant’s desk chair to hide the damp patch in his trousers from view. Mr Durant waved at the security officer.
‘Everything alright here, Sir?’ asked the officer.
‘All good,’ said Mr Durant. ‘Just doing some exercise with my new apprentice.’
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it then,’ said the officer and he went back downstairs.
Anton and Mr Durant looked at each other.
‘So, you’re really my mentor now?’ asked Anton.
Mr Durant nodded and slowly stood up. ‘I’m a man of my word. And, as my apprentice, I have a task for you to fulfil – I need you to rectify a mistake I made.’
‘Oh?’ said Anton, ‘What’s that?’
‘I managed to leave my fob in the vent. Now it’s your turn to fetch it.’
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