nylonmaniac
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2006
- Messages
- 62
- Points
- 18
The First Touch
Meredith shifted slightly in the restraints, her fingers flexing against the soft cuffs, her socked feet twitching on the ottoman. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, nerves fizzing low and quiet under her skin.
Sean took a respectful step back, watching her body language. “Before we begin,” he said calmly, “you should know—nervous laughter, swearing, talking back, trash-talking me mid-session... all of it is welcome.”
She huffed a breath and gave him a quick, crooked smirk. “Oh good. Because I swear like a fucking pirate when I’m nervous.”
“I’ve worked with worse,” Sean said, amused. “And louder.”
“I doubt that,” she muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m like a banshee in a damn echo chamber when I lose control.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said warmly, crouching beside her. “I’m going to start at your sides, then gently explore under the arms. No surprises, no rush. You just tell me if you want more or less.”
“Less,” she said immediately, deadpan. “I want less.”
Sean smiled. “Noted.”
He crouched beside the couch, his fingertips hovering just above her ribcage, and then—contact.
A light, fluttering brush, barely pressure, skimming across the sides of her tank top where it clung just slightly to her skin. Her whole body jolted.
“FUCK,” she blurted, her eyes popping open. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me right out the gate?!”
Sean chuckled under his breath. “That was a level one. Barely a breeze.”
“Are you kidding?” she gasped, laughing despite herself. “You barely touched me and my soul left my body.”
Her legs pulled against the cuffs at her ankles, toes flexing hard inside her socks. Her arms jerked, but the wrist restraints held steady. She looked around wildly, swearing again under her breath.
Sean waited for her to settle, then tried again—just a soft, dragging trace of his fingers along her ribs, letting them whisper up to the underside of her arms.
She let out a high-pitched yelp, twisting in place.
“OH MY GOD—” she gasped, “—NOPE. Nope, what the fuck is that?! Are you part demon?!”
He kept his hands moving gently, rhythmic now, teasing up under her arms and then back down her sides, gauging her reactions carefully. Her body twitched and jumped with every pass, but her laughter started to take on a deeper tone—real belly laughs, the kind that threatened to shake her loose.
“Okay okay OKAY—” she howled, breathless, “this was a horrible idea, what the hell is wrong with me for signing up for this?!”
“You’re doing great,” Sean said calmly, still brushing his fingers in slow, deliberate paths. “Your body’s just remembering how to let go. Keep swearing, if it helps.”
“Oh I fucking will,” she laughed, head tilted back now, damp strands of hair falling free from her bun. “You’re lucky I’m restrained or I’d have punched you in the goddamn throat by now.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said smoothly, his fingertips now dipping lower to explore her waist—closer to her hips and the outer curves of her thighs.
Her voice caught as he approached that new zone. “Oh no. No no no, don’t you dare go lower, I swear—”
But she was laughing even harder now, a real, wild, unfiltered sound tearing out of her chest.
“I’m going to fucking combust,” she wheezed. “My thighs are off-limits, you son of a—”
His fingers landed just above her knees, brushing upward toward the inner edge of her soft, lotion-slick thighs. The sensitivity there was different—deeper, buzzy, electric.
She shrieked
“YOU MOTHER—!” She couldn’t even finish it. Her whole body snapped forward and then melted back again as she howled with laughter, legs flailing uselessly again the ottoman straps. “WHY IS THAT THE WORST THING YOU’VE DONE SO FAR?!”
Sean remained calm, controlled, his voice a soft grounding note. “You’re very responsive. That’s good.”
“It’s horrifying,” she barked. “You should be studied.”
His fingers swept again—gently, rhythmically—down her thighs, circling to her calves. The lotion made her skin soft and slick beneath his touch, and her muscles twitched reflexively at the contact.
She arched up slightly. “Ohhh my god my calves?! Who the hell is ticklish on their calves?! This is diabolical!”
“Very common, actually,” he said, deadpan. “Especially with lotion.”
“Fuck your lotion!” she cackled.
Her laughter was becoming messy now—tears edging the corners of her eyes, face flushed, arms straining against the cuffs not because she wanted to get away, but because her body didn’t know how else to react.
And still, she swore.
“Shit! SHIT—wait, hang on—fuck, Sean, wait—!”
His hands stopped instantly.
She dropped her head back, gasping for air, cheeks pink and damp. Her chest heaved under her tank, her hair falling more freely now, clinging to her skin.
“…holy shit,” she whispered. “You weren’t lying. That’s… fucking intense.”
Sean gave her space, sitting back on his heels. “Still okay?”
She let out a breath that turned into a laugh. “I don’t even know. I think I blacked out. My thighs are traumatized. My soul has relocated.”
“You did great,” he said gently. “Want to pause here? Or keep going a little longer?”
She looked up at him, dazed and grinning through the exhaustion.
“Give me a damn minute, demon man.”
He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’ve got all the minutes you need."
——
Sean stood slowly, and Meredith followed his movement with wide, suspicious eyes as he stepped down toward the ottoman—toward her socked feet.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned, voice cracking with a wild laugh. “Don’t even look at my feet. I swear to god.”
Sean gave her a calm, unreadable glance. “Just adjusting your ankle straps.”
“Bullshit,” she blurted. “You’ve got that look.”
He crouched next to the ottoman, fingers brushing the edge of the restraint on her left ankle, and she flinched—flinched—just from proximity.
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed. “Why does this feel worse than anything you’ve done already? You haven’t even touched me.”
“Feet tend to do that,” Sean replied softly. “You’re not alone.”
“No no no. I hate feet,” she said quickly, nervously. “I hate my feet, I hate other people’s feet, I don’t even like thinking about feet.”
He paused and looked up at her. “Then we don’t have to. Simple as that.”
She was quiet for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek, heart still racing. There was something squirming just under her skin—part dread, part… curiosity? That same weird pull that had gotten her to fill out that form in the first place.
“I mean…” she muttered. “You already wrecked my ribs and thighs, what’s a little psychological foot torture to round it out?”
Sean’s brow lifted, amused. “That a green light?”
She groaned. “That’s a ‘tread lightly, you bastard’ light.”
With her reluctant permission, he reached out and ran two fingers lightly over the bottom of her socked foot—just a quick brush.
Meredith squealed.
“OH HELL NO—”
She kicked once, hard, and then thrashed like her whole nervous system had short-circuited. Laughter exploded out of her before she could even register it.
“You asshole! What is wrong with you?! That was nothing! That was barely a touch and I nearly passed out!”
Sean just smiled softly, the kind of smile that said he was used to this exact moment. “That’s why we start with socks on.”
“Well congratulations,” she panted, “the socks are not enough protection, and I now regret every choice that led me to this couch.”
“But you’re still here,” he said gently, fingers teasing just above her arch again.
She jolted. “Because I’m a broken human! Who the hell signs up for this?”
Sean laughed under his breath and continued exploring, slowly now—pressing lightly with his fingertips across the ball of her foot, then circling to the outer edge. Meredith howled. Loud, unfiltered, wild. She twisted her body as much as the restraints would allow, tears springing to her eyes as she choked out words between peals of laughter.
“YOU—OH MY GOD—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! WHY IS IT THIS BAD WITH SOCKS?!”
“You’re hypersensitive,” he said casually, dragging a slow fingertip along the base of her toes through the cotton. “Which makes you very, very fun to work with.”
She laughed so hard she snorted, then immediately gasped, “Don’t tell anyone I did that! I swear to God, Sean, I will sue.”
He smiled again, now using both hands—one teasing the arch of her left foot, the other lightly squeezing at her calf just above the ankle. Meredith's whole body squirmed.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you,” she accused, breathless and red-faced, but eyes bright with something complicated.
“I’m observing,” he replied evenly. “And adjusting.”
“I swear I’m going to need a therapist after this. I’m gonna have weird dreams. Like, I’m already rethinking my entire existence.”
Her laughter was turning more helpless now—throatier, hiccuping, breath catching in uneven gasps. She wasn’t asking him to stop. And her body, while writhing, wasn’t resisting in the way someone truly panicked might.
“I hate this,” she moaned, barely holding it together. “This is so messed up. But I… I—God help me—I’m kind of…”
Sean slowed his movements, waiting.
“…kind of into it?” she whispered.
Silence, except for her breathing.
He gave a small nod. “It happens more than you’d think.”
“Oh fuck me,” she groaned. “No. Do not put me in the ‘foot people’ category. I am not one of them.”
“You don’t have to be,” he said gently. “You’re just someone who’s ticklish… and curious.”
Meredith sank back into the cushions, eyes closed, chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted a mile.
“This is gonna mess with me,” she said weakly. “I’m telling you right now.”
Sean sat back, giving her space again. “You handled it better than most.”
She cracked one eye open. “You should’ve seen the inner breakdown I was having the whole time.”
He gave a small smile. “You’re allowed to have both reactions. That’s kind of the beauty of it.”
—
Meredith lay there, wrecked.
Hair a loose, damp mess in her top knot, her face flushed deep pink and streaked with laugh-tears. Sweat shimmered along her collarbones and rolled down between her breasts, soaking into the neckline of her tank. Her thighs twitched. Her chest heaved. She looked like someone who’d just survived the most exhausting workout of her life, but all she’d done was laugh.
Sean was still kneeling calmly at the ottoman, fingertips resting lightly on her socked foot.
She eyed him warily, lips parted, still catching her breath. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one that says this—” she nodded toward her feet, “—isn’t over.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he gently pinched the toe of her left sock between two fingers.
She tensed. “Oh hell no. Don’t you dare take those off.”
“Meredith.”
Her name in his voice sounded… different. Calmer. Steadying.
“You’ve done great. Really. But if we stop here, your brain will never stop wondering what it might have felt like.”
She swallowed hard, the air suddenly thick in her lungs.
Her sock was damp from all the sweating and twitching. She could feel how clammy her foot had gotten. The idea of someone actually baring it—touching it—while she was strapped down like this…
“I don’t like my feet,” she whispered.
“That’s okay. I’m not here to judge them. Just explore them.”
Meredith closed her eyes and groaned. “God. You make it sound so clinical.”
He smiled faintly. “It kind of is.”
“…You’re not gonna like… lick them or something, are you?”
“Nope,” he said without hesitation. “Not my thing. And definitely not on day one.”
That gave her a breath of relief. She opened her eyes slowly.
“Fuck it,” she muttered.
“Good girl,” Sean said softly, and began to peel the sock down.
The cotton clung slightly, damp and reluctant, until it slid free, revealing her bare sole inch by inch—pink, soft, flushed from the heat of her body. The contrast against the cool air made her jump before he even touched her.
She looked away, biting her lip. “God, that feels so weird. I’m way too sweaty for this.”
He moved to the other sock without comment, repeating the process. Two bare feet now rested on the ottoman, flexing slightly in anticipation.
Meredith took one look at them—her own feet, exposed and helpless—and nearly panicked.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
Sean didn’t move yet. He simply looked at her, calm and grounded. “I’m going to use one finger. One. And you tell me immediately if it’s too much. Got it?”
She gave a tight nod. “Yeah. Okay. One finger. One.”
Then she braced herself, hands clenched in the restraints. Sweat beaded down her temple.
He reached out.
And lightly—barely—traced the pad of his index finger across the arch of her left foot.
Meredith screamed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t put-on. It was a full-body, involuntary, raw shriek of disbelief.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! OH MY GOD!”
Her legs jerked, but the restraints held. Her back arched, and she immediately burst into another fit of hysterical laughter.
“No no no no NO NO NO—Sean—SEAN—I CAN’T—WHAT THE HELL—WHY IS THAT WORSE—IT’S JUST ONE FINGER!!”
He smiled faintly. “You said it yourself. You’re a sweaty, hypersensitive mess.”
“Oh my god, I hate you,” she wheezed, laughing uncontrollably now as he gave the same feather-light touch to the base of her toes. Her feet wriggled like they had a mind of their own. “This is hell, this is literal foot hell. I’m going to bite you, I swear—”
He chuckled, unbothered, and continued the slow exploration—under the toes, the ball of her foot, the edge of her heel. Never more than one finger at a time. Never rushing. Just enough to drive her insane.
Meredith was a hot, sweaty disaster. She cursed every few seconds, half the words slurring together through howls of wild laughter.
“YOU BULLY! You villain! You’re a WIZARD OF EVIL and I HATE YOU!”
“You’re handling it beautifully,” he said, not missing a beat.
“I’M GONNA MURDER YOU WITH A TOASTER!”
But she wasn’t saying the safe word. She wasn’t begging for it to stop. Her eyes were wild, her body exhausted, but she was leaning into it now—helpless but somehow empowered by the helplessness.
He finally paused, letting her breathe. Her whole body twitched with the echoes of it.
Meredith let her head fall back and groaned.
“I am so fucking broken,” she whispered through her breathless grin.
Sean looked up at her calmly. “You’re just discovering new things.”
“…Like how to plot someone’s slow death using only kitchen appliances.”
He laughed quietly. “Good to know you’re still you under all that sweat.”
“God, don’t even look at me,” she groaned. “I’m disgusting.”
“I think you look great,” he said sincerely.
That quieted her for a beat.
Then, softly, “I’ve never let anyone touch me like that. Ever.”
Sean nodded. “And yet here you are.”
She lay still, bare feet tingling, wrists still loosely bound to the arms of the couch.
“I’m gonna need so much water,” she muttered.
He stood slowly. “I’ll get you some.”
“Can it have vodka in it?”
He smirked. “Maybe after the cool down.”
Meredith was still flat on the couch, blinking at the ceiling like she’d just survived a natural disaster. Her hair was a frizzy, soaked mess. Her chest was still rising and falling hard, damp with sweat, and her feet—bare and twitching slightly—still rested helplessly on the ottoman like they didn’t quite trust the world yet.
Sean came back into the room with a bottle of cold water and a soft towel.
“Easy,” he said as he knelt beside her again. “Let’s bring you back down.”
She gave a dry, semi-conscious groan and tilted her head. “Is this where you tell me it was all a dream and I hallucinated being tortured to death by my own feet?”
“Afraid not.” He handed her the bottle. “Hydrate. You’re overheated.”
She chugged half the bottle like she’d just emerged from the desert, water spilling slightly down her chin and neck. He dabbed gently at the sides of her face with the towel, careful not to overwhelm her with more touch.
“Your body did a lot,” he said quietly. “Even if it was just laughing and fighting it.”
“You call that laughing?” she rasped. “That was full-on, ungodly possession.”
“You did great.”
“I swore at you like 300 times.”
“I encouraged it.”
She looked at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t projectile vomit from the sheer absurdity of this entire situation.”
He smiled and gently wiped down the backs of her knees, her arms, and the soles of her feet—careful, slow, soothing.
She didn’t flinch anymore.
She sighed.
“Okay,” she muttered, more to herself. “Okay. So that happened.”
Sean leaned back on his heels. “You handled it better than most people do their first time. Especially with the feet.”
“Don’t even say the word,” she snapped, then sighed again. “Jesus. I’ve never been so… humiliated. Or turned on. Or out of control. Or sweaty. Like, I may have to throw this couch out.”
He chuckled. “I’d recommend keeping it. You might want it again soon.”
“Oh, God. Don’t tempt me.”
She sat up slowly, grimacing a little as her muscles protested. Her tank stuck to her back. Her thighs were still twitching from the laughter. She grabbed the towel and mopped her own neck now, more grounded with each minute.
Then she gave him a sideways glance. “So. Do people actually do this… like, again? After that first time?”
He nodded. “Most do. Some book a second session within a day.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What, they come crawling back like gluttons for punishment?”
“Sometimes crawling. Sometimes sprinting. Depends how badly they needed the release.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smirk was back. “You’re so full of shit. And maddeningly calm.”
“I’m used to that being the case.”
He stood now, began tidying the restraints, folding the towel neatly. “I’ve got one spot open in the next two weeks. Late evening session, Thursday night. It’s the only one I can offer for a while.”
Meredith blinked, taken off guard by how quickly the tone shifted to business. But she respected that. He wasn’t selling anything. Just stating facts.
“Thursday?” she echoed, rubbing her temple. “Shit. That’s a bar night. I’ve got a double that day.”
Sean shrugged slightly. “Up to you. If it’s too tight, I’ll offer it to someone else.”
She chewed her lip, thoughts racing. It was crazy. The whole thing had been insane. But the thought of not doing it again—of not leaning into that helpless, raw, unfiltered chaos—made something stir low in her belly.
“…What time Thursday?”
“9:30 sharp.”
Her brain ran through it—her shift ended at 9:00 and she had payroll to do.
“It’ll be tight,” she murmured. “Like, stressful-tight.”
“But doable?”
She met his eyes. Her expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then—
“I’ll make it work.”
He nodded once, businesslike. “I’ll pencil you in. You can confirm by Wednesday.”
She shook her head with a tired laugh. “God. What is my life?”
Sean offered a small, warm smile as he moved toward the door. “Maybe it’s just beginning.”
And with that, he left her there—barefoot, wrecked, still damp with sweat, and suddenly more alive than she’d felt in years.
Meredith shifted slightly in the restraints, her fingers flexing against the soft cuffs, her socked feet twitching on the ottoman. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, nerves fizzing low and quiet under her skin.
Sean took a respectful step back, watching her body language. “Before we begin,” he said calmly, “you should know—nervous laughter, swearing, talking back, trash-talking me mid-session... all of it is welcome.”
She huffed a breath and gave him a quick, crooked smirk. “Oh good. Because I swear like a fucking pirate when I’m nervous.”
“I’ve worked with worse,” Sean said, amused. “And louder.”
“I doubt that,” she muttered, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m like a banshee in a damn echo chamber when I lose control.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” he said warmly, crouching beside her. “I’m going to start at your sides, then gently explore under the arms. No surprises, no rush. You just tell me if you want more or less.”
“Less,” she said immediately, deadpan. “I want less.”
Sean smiled. “Noted.”
He crouched beside the couch, his fingertips hovering just above her ribcage, and then—contact.
A light, fluttering brush, barely pressure, skimming across the sides of her tank top where it clung just slightly to her skin. Her whole body jolted.
“FUCK,” she blurted, her eyes popping open. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me right out the gate?!”
Sean chuckled under his breath. “That was a level one. Barely a breeze.”
“Are you kidding?” she gasped, laughing despite herself. “You barely touched me and my soul left my body.”
Her legs pulled against the cuffs at her ankles, toes flexing hard inside her socks. Her arms jerked, but the wrist restraints held steady. She looked around wildly, swearing again under her breath.
Sean waited for her to settle, then tried again—just a soft, dragging trace of his fingers along her ribs, letting them whisper up to the underside of her arms.
She let out a high-pitched yelp, twisting in place.
“OH MY GOD—” she gasped, “—NOPE. Nope, what the fuck is that?! Are you part demon?!”
He kept his hands moving gently, rhythmic now, teasing up under her arms and then back down her sides, gauging her reactions carefully. Her body twitched and jumped with every pass, but her laughter started to take on a deeper tone—real belly laughs, the kind that threatened to shake her loose.
“Okay okay OKAY—” she howled, breathless, “this was a horrible idea, what the hell is wrong with me for signing up for this?!”
“You’re doing great,” Sean said calmly, still brushing his fingers in slow, deliberate paths. “Your body’s just remembering how to let go. Keep swearing, if it helps.”
“Oh I fucking will,” she laughed, head tilted back now, damp strands of hair falling free from her bun. “You’re lucky I’m restrained or I’d have punched you in the goddamn throat by now.”
“Occupational hazard,” he said smoothly, his fingertips now dipping lower to explore her waist—closer to her hips and the outer curves of her thighs.
Her voice caught as he approached that new zone. “Oh no. No no no, don’t you dare go lower, I swear—”
But she was laughing even harder now, a real, wild, unfiltered sound tearing out of her chest.
“I’m going to fucking combust,” she wheezed. “My thighs are off-limits, you son of a—”
His fingers landed just above her knees, brushing upward toward the inner edge of her soft, lotion-slick thighs. The sensitivity there was different—deeper, buzzy, electric.
She shrieked
“YOU MOTHER—!” She couldn’t even finish it. Her whole body snapped forward and then melted back again as she howled with laughter, legs flailing uselessly again the ottoman straps. “WHY IS THAT THE WORST THING YOU’VE DONE SO FAR?!”
Sean remained calm, controlled, his voice a soft grounding note. “You’re very responsive. That’s good.”
“It’s horrifying,” she barked. “You should be studied.”
His fingers swept again—gently, rhythmically—down her thighs, circling to her calves. The lotion made her skin soft and slick beneath his touch, and her muscles twitched reflexively at the contact.
She arched up slightly. “Ohhh my god my calves?! Who the hell is ticklish on their calves?! This is diabolical!”
“Very common, actually,” he said, deadpan. “Especially with lotion.”
“Fuck your lotion!” she cackled.
Her laughter was becoming messy now—tears edging the corners of her eyes, face flushed, arms straining against the cuffs not because she wanted to get away, but because her body didn’t know how else to react.
And still, she swore.
“Shit! SHIT—wait, hang on—fuck, Sean, wait—!”
His hands stopped instantly.
She dropped her head back, gasping for air, cheeks pink and damp. Her chest heaved under her tank, her hair falling more freely now, clinging to her skin.
“…holy shit,” she whispered. “You weren’t lying. That’s… fucking intense.”
Sean gave her space, sitting back on his heels. “Still okay?”
She let out a breath that turned into a laugh. “I don’t even know. I think I blacked out. My thighs are traumatized. My soul has relocated.”
“You did great,” he said gently. “Want to pause here? Or keep going a little longer?”
She looked up at him, dazed and grinning through the exhaustion.
“Give me a damn minute, demon man.”
He chuckled softly and nodded. “You’ve got all the minutes you need."
——
Sean stood slowly, and Meredith followed his movement with wide, suspicious eyes as he stepped down toward the ottoman—toward her socked feet.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she warned, voice cracking with a wild laugh. “Don’t even look at my feet. I swear to god.”
Sean gave her a calm, unreadable glance. “Just adjusting your ankle straps.”
“Bullshit,” she blurted. “You’ve got that look.”
He crouched next to the ottoman, fingers brushing the edge of the restraint on her left ankle, and she flinched—flinched—just from proximity.
“Jesus Christ,” she hissed. “Why does this feel worse than anything you’ve done already? You haven’t even touched me.”
“Feet tend to do that,” Sean replied softly. “You’re not alone.”
“No no no. I hate feet,” she said quickly, nervously. “I hate my feet, I hate other people’s feet, I don’t even like thinking about feet.”
He paused and looked up at her. “Then we don’t have to. Simple as that.”
She was quiet for a second, chewing the inside of her cheek, heart still racing. There was something squirming just under her skin—part dread, part… curiosity? That same weird pull that had gotten her to fill out that form in the first place.
“I mean…” she muttered. “You already wrecked my ribs and thighs, what’s a little psychological foot torture to round it out?”
Sean’s brow lifted, amused. “That a green light?”
She groaned. “That’s a ‘tread lightly, you bastard’ light.”
With her reluctant permission, he reached out and ran two fingers lightly over the bottom of her socked foot—just a quick brush.
Meredith squealed.
“OH HELL NO—”
She kicked once, hard, and then thrashed like her whole nervous system had short-circuited. Laughter exploded out of her before she could even register it.
“You asshole! What is wrong with you?! That was nothing! That was barely a touch and I nearly passed out!”
Sean just smiled softly, the kind of smile that said he was used to this exact moment. “That’s why we start with socks on.”
“Well congratulations,” she panted, “the socks are not enough protection, and I now regret every choice that led me to this couch.”
“But you’re still here,” he said gently, fingers teasing just above her arch again.
She jolted. “Because I’m a broken human! Who the hell signs up for this?”
Sean laughed under his breath and continued exploring, slowly now—pressing lightly with his fingertips across the ball of her foot, then circling to the outer edge. Meredith howled. Loud, unfiltered, wild. She twisted her body as much as the restraints would allow, tears springing to her eyes as she choked out words between peals of laughter.
“YOU—OH MY GOD—WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! WHY IS IT THIS BAD WITH SOCKS?!”
“You’re hypersensitive,” he said casually, dragging a slow fingertip along the base of her toes through the cotton. “Which makes you very, very fun to work with.”
She laughed so hard she snorted, then immediately gasped, “Don’t tell anyone I did that! I swear to God, Sean, I will sue.”
He smiled again, now using both hands—one teasing the arch of her left foot, the other lightly squeezing at her calf just above the ankle. Meredith's whole body squirmed.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you,” she accused, breathless and red-faced, but eyes bright with something complicated.
“I’m observing,” he replied evenly. “And adjusting.”
“I swear I’m going to need a therapist after this. I’m gonna have weird dreams. Like, I’m already rethinking my entire existence.”
Her laughter was turning more helpless now—throatier, hiccuping, breath catching in uneven gasps. She wasn’t asking him to stop. And her body, while writhing, wasn’t resisting in the way someone truly panicked might.
“I hate this,” she moaned, barely holding it together. “This is so messed up. But I… I—God help me—I’m kind of…”
Sean slowed his movements, waiting.
“…kind of into it?” she whispered.
Silence, except for her breathing.
He gave a small nod. “It happens more than you’d think.”
“Oh fuck me,” she groaned. “No. Do not put me in the ‘foot people’ category. I am not one of them.”
“You don’t have to be,” he said gently. “You’re just someone who’s ticklish… and curious.”
Meredith sank back into the cushions, eyes closed, chest rising and falling like she’d just sprinted a mile.
“This is gonna mess with me,” she said weakly. “I’m telling you right now.”
Sean sat back, giving her space again. “You handled it better than most.”
She cracked one eye open. “You should’ve seen the inner breakdown I was having the whole time.”
He gave a small smile. “You’re allowed to have both reactions. That’s kind of the beauty of it.”
—
Meredith lay there, wrecked.
Hair a loose, damp mess in her top knot, her face flushed deep pink and streaked with laugh-tears. Sweat shimmered along her collarbones and rolled down between her breasts, soaking into the neckline of her tank. Her thighs twitched. Her chest heaved. She looked like someone who’d just survived the most exhausting workout of her life, but all she’d done was laugh.
Sean was still kneeling calmly at the ottoman, fingertips resting lightly on her socked foot.
She eyed him warily, lips parted, still catching her breath. “You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one that says this—” she nodded toward her feet, “—isn’t over.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he gently pinched the toe of her left sock between two fingers.
She tensed. “Oh hell no. Don’t you dare take those off.”
“Meredith.”
Her name in his voice sounded… different. Calmer. Steadying.
“You’ve done great. Really. But if we stop here, your brain will never stop wondering what it might have felt like.”
She swallowed hard, the air suddenly thick in her lungs.
Her sock was damp from all the sweating and twitching. She could feel how clammy her foot had gotten. The idea of someone actually baring it—touching it—while she was strapped down like this…
“I don’t like my feet,” she whispered.
“That’s okay. I’m not here to judge them. Just explore them.”
Meredith closed her eyes and groaned. “God. You make it sound so clinical.”
He smiled faintly. “It kind of is.”
“…You’re not gonna like… lick them or something, are you?”
“Nope,” he said without hesitation. “Not my thing. And definitely not on day one.”
That gave her a breath of relief. She opened her eyes slowly.
“Fuck it,” she muttered.
“Good girl,” Sean said softly, and began to peel the sock down.
The cotton clung slightly, damp and reluctant, until it slid free, revealing her bare sole inch by inch—pink, soft, flushed from the heat of her body. The contrast against the cool air made her jump before he even touched her.
She looked away, biting her lip. “God, that feels so weird. I’m way too sweaty for this.”
He moved to the other sock without comment, repeating the process. Two bare feet now rested on the ottoman, flexing slightly in anticipation.
Meredith took one look at them—her own feet, exposed and helpless—and nearly panicked.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
Sean didn’t move yet. He simply looked at her, calm and grounded. “I’m going to use one finger. One. And you tell me immediately if it’s too much. Got it?”
She gave a tight nod. “Yeah. Okay. One finger. One.”
Then she braced herself, hands clenched in the restraints. Sweat beaded down her temple.
He reached out.
And lightly—barely—traced the pad of his index finger across the arch of her left foot.
Meredith screamed.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t put-on. It was a full-body, involuntary, raw shriek of disbelief.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! OH MY GOD!”
Her legs jerked, but the restraints held. Her back arched, and she immediately burst into another fit of hysterical laughter.
“No no no no NO NO NO—Sean—SEAN—I CAN’T—WHAT THE HELL—WHY IS THAT WORSE—IT’S JUST ONE FINGER!!”
He smiled faintly. “You said it yourself. You’re a sweaty, hypersensitive mess.”
“Oh my god, I hate you,” she wheezed, laughing uncontrollably now as he gave the same feather-light touch to the base of her toes. Her feet wriggled like they had a mind of their own. “This is hell, this is literal foot hell. I’m going to bite you, I swear—”
He chuckled, unbothered, and continued the slow exploration—under the toes, the ball of her foot, the edge of her heel. Never more than one finger at a time. Never rushing. Just enough to drive her insane.
Meredith was a hot, sweaty disaster. She cursed every few seconds, half the words slurring together through howls of wild laughter.
“YOU BULLY! You villain! You’re a WIZARD OF EVIL and I HATE YOU!”
“You’re handling it beautifully,” he said, not missing a beat.
“I’M GONNA MURDER YOU WITH A TOASTER!”
But she wasn’t saying the safe word. She wasn’t begging for it to stop. Her eyes were wild, her body exhausted, but she was leaning into it now—helpless but somehow empowered by the helplessness.
He finally paused, letting her breathe. Her whole body twitched with the echoes of it.
Meredith let her head fall back and groaned.
“I am so fucking broken,” she whispered through her breathless grin.
Sean looked up at her calmly. “You’re just discovering new things.”
“…Like how to plot someone’s slow death using only kitchen appliances.”
He laughed quietly. “Good to know you’re still you under all that sweat.”
“God, don’t even look at me,” she groaned. “I’m disgusting.”
“I think you look great,” he said sincerely.
That quieted her for a beat.
Then, softly, “I’ve never let anyone touch me like that. Ever.”
Sean nodded. “And yet here you are.”
She lay still, bare feet tingling, wrists still loosely bound to the arms of the couch.
“I’m gonna need so much water,” she muttered.
He stood slowly. “I’ll get you some.”
“Can it have vodka in it?”
He smirked. “Maybe after the cool down.”
Meredith was still flat on the couch, blinking at the ceiling like she’d just survived a natural disaster. Her hair was a frizzy, soaked mess. Her chest was still rising and falling hard, damp with sweat, and her feet—bare and twitching slightly—still rested helplessly on the ottoman like they didn’t quite trust the world yet.
Sean came back into the room with a bottle of cold water and a soft towel.
“Easy,” he said as he knelt beside her again. “Let’s bring you back down.”
She gave a dry, semi-conscious groan and tilted her head. “Is this where you tell me it was all a dream and I hallucinated being tortured to death by my own feet?”
“Afraid not.” He handed her the bottle. “Hydrate. You’re overheated.”
She chugged half the bottle like she’d just emerged from the desert, water spilling slightly down her chin and neck. He dabbed gently at the sides of her face with the towel, careful not to overwhelm her with more touch.
“Your body did a lot,” he said quietly. “Even if it was just laughing and fighting it.”
“You call that laughing?” she rasped. “That was full-on, ungodly possession.”
“You did great.”
“I swore at you like 300 times.”
“I encouraged it.”
She looked at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t projectile vomit from the sheer absurdity of this entire situation.”
He smiled and gently wiped down the backs of her knees, her arms, and the soles of her feet—careful, slow, soothing.
She didn’t flinch anymore.
She sighed.
“Okay,” she muttered, more to herself. “Okay. So that happened.”
Sean leaned back on his heels. “You handled it better than most people do their first time. Especially with the feet.”
“Don’t even say the word,” she snapped, then sighed again. “Jesus. I’ve never been so… humiliated. Or turned on. Or out of control. Or sweaty. Like, I may have to throw this couch out.”
He chuckled. “I’d recommend keeping it. You might want it again soon.”
“Oh, God. Don’t tempt me.”
She sat up slowly, grimacing a little as her muscles protested. Her tank stuck to her back. Her thighs were still twitching from the laughter. She grabbed the towel and mopped her own neck now, more grounded with each minute.
Then she gave him a sideways glance. “So. Do people actually do this… like, again? After that first time?”
He nodded. “Most do. Some book a second session within a day.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What, they come crawling back like gluttons for punishment?”
“Sometimes crawling. Sometimes sprinting. Depends how badly they needed the release.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smirk was back. “You’re so full of shit. And maddeningly calm.”
“I’m used to that being the case.”
He stood now, began tidying the restraints, folding the towel neatly. “I’ve got one spot open in the next two weeks. Late evening session, Thursday night. It’s the only one I can offer for a while.”
Meredith blinked, taken off guard by how quickly the tone shifted to business. But she respected that. He wasn’t selling anything. Just stating facts.
“Thursday?” she echoed, rubbing her temple. “Shit. That’s a bar night. I’ve got a double that day.”
Sean shrugged slightly. “Up to you. If it’s too tight, I’ll offer it to someone else.”
She chewed her lip, thoughts racing. It was crazy. The whole thing had been insane. But the thought of not doing it again—of not leaning into that helpless, raw, unfiltered chaos—made something stir low in her belly.
“…What time Thursday?”
“9:30 sharp.”
Her brain ran through it—her shift ended at 9:00 and she had payroll to do.
“It’ll be tight,” she murmured. “Like, stressful-tight.”
“But doable?”
She met his eyes. Her expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then—
“I’ll make it work.”
He nodded once, businesslike. “I’ll pencil you in. You can confirm by Wednesday.”
She shook her head with a tired laugh. “God. What is my life?”
Sean offered a small, warm smile as he moved toward the door. “Maybe it’s just beginning.”
And with that, he left her there—barefoot, wrecked, still damp with sweat, and suddenly more alive than she’d felt in years.
