trickshotz20
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The first paragraph of this story is inspired by a real-life experience. I was out for a night at a drag bar with work colleagues, the only man in the group. An IRL friend caught me staring at her feet and playfully called me out! She teased me about spilling my foot fetish secret to the drag queens, but thankfully, she didn’t follow through. Still, I can’t help but wonder what might have happened if she had! 😳 This story explores what happens when women decide to turn the tables and give you a taste of your own medicine. Hope people enjoy snd be happy to hear their thoughts!
In the bustling heart of the city, where neon lights flickered like distant stars against the evening sky, Matt found himself in the midst of a lively work night out at O'Malley's Irish Pub. The air was thick with the scent of spilled beer, fried appetizers, and the faint perfume of his female colleagues, who surrounded him like a vibrant flock of birds. Matt, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties with tousled brown hair and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow, was the only guy in the group—a fact that often made him feel both privileged and slightly out of place. His colleagues were all women: there was Sarah, the bubbly receptionist with her curly blonde locks and infectious laugh; Emily, the sharp-witted accountant whose glasses framed her piercing green eyes; Lisa, the marketing whiz with her sleek black hair and confident stride; and May, the office manager who organized these outings, a stunning woman in her late twenties with long auburn hair that cascaded down her back, olive skin that glowed under the pub's warm lights, and a pair of elegant feet that Matt couldn't help but notice.
They had gathered around a large wooden table in the corner, clinking glasses of cocktails and pints as laughter echoed through the dimly lit room. The pub's walls were adorned with vintage posters and shelves of whiskey bottles, creating an intimate yet rowdy atmosphere. Matt sat sandwiched between May and Sarah, trying to blend in with the chatter about office gossip and weekend plans. But his secret weighed on him like a hidden anchor—Matt had a profound foot fetish, one that he kept buried deep, away from prying eyes. It wasn't just any attraction; it was the smooth arches, the delicate toes, the way feet moved and flexed that sent shivers down his spine. And tonight, as May slipped off her high-heeled sandals under the table to massage her tired soles against the cool floor, Matt's gaze drifted downward, fixated on her perfectly pedicured feet. Her toes were painted a deep crimson, wriggling slightly as she flexed them, the soft skin catching the subtle light from above.
Suddenly, the table fell into a hushed giggle. "Matt? Earth to Matt!" Sarah teased, her voice laced with amusement as she nudged him with her elbow. He snapped his head up, his cheeks flushing a deep red, realizing the entire group had caught him staring at May's feet. May arched an eyebrow, her full lips curling into a playful smirk, crossing her legs so her bare foot dangled teasingly close to his shin. "What, you got a thing for my toes or something?" she quipped, her tone light but probing. The others burst into laughter—Emily covering her mouth with her hand, Lisa leaning in with wide eyes. Matt stammered, forcing a chuckle to play it off as a joke. "Haha, nah, just... zoning out. Thought I saw a bug or something. You know, chivalry and all—protecting the ladies from creepy crawlies!" He raised his glass in a mock toast, hoping to deflect, but inside, his heart raced with embarrassment. The group bought it, or at least pretended to, moving on to another round of drinks, but May's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, a spark of curiosity—and perhaps mischief—igniting in her gaze.
A few weeks later, back in the sterile fluorescence of their downtown office building, May sat at her desk, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she organized the next work night out. The open-plan office hummed with the soft clicks of typing and muffled phone calls, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling streets below. May, dressed in a fitted blouse that accentuated her curves and a pencil skirt that hugged her hips, scrolled through venue options on her computer screen. Bars, clubs, restaurants—they all seemed mundane. Then, her eyes lit up as she stumbled upon "The Glitter Palace," a renowned drag bar known for its extravagant shows, colorful performers, and interactive audience participation. Memories of the previous night out flooded back: Matt's lingering stare at her feet, his awkward deflection, and his noticeable discomfort when a pair of drag queens had briefly appeared at O'Malley's to promote an event, causing him to shift uneasily in his seat and avert his eyes.
A wicked idea bloomed in May's mind like a forbidden flower. She recalled how Matt had squirmed at the sight of the drag queens, his macho facade cracking just a bit. What if she could turn the tables? Give him a taste of his own medicine for being such a perv, as she thought to herself with a sly grin. She quickly composed an email to the manager of The Glitter Palace, attaching a candid photo she'd snapped of Matt from the last outing—his face flushed, eyes downcast toward her feet. "Hey there," she typed, her fingers flying with excitement. "We're a group from work coming in soon. The guy in the photo, Matt—he's got a secret foot fetish. Got caught staring at my feet last time. Spot him in the crowd and make him the star? Let's make it unforgettable!" She hit send, her heart pounding with anticipation. The plan was set, shrouded in secrecy for now, but May couldn't wait to see Matt's reaction when it all unfolded.
Weeks passed, and the group reconvened for their next adventure at The Glitter Palace, a vibrant venue tucked away in the city's entertainment district. The exterior shimmered with rainbow lights and sequined banners, promising a night of glamour and chaos. Inside, the air was electric, filled with the thump of bass-heavy music, the clink of glasses, and the scent of glitter-infused perfumes. Velvet booths lined the walls, and a raised stage dominated the room, surrounded by tables where patrons sipped colorful cocktails. Matt, oblivious to the setup, arrived in his casual button-down shirt and jeans, greeting the ladies with his usual charm. May, stunning in a low-cut red dress that flowed to her ankles, hiding strappy heels that accentuated her legs, led the group to their reserved table near the front. Sarah, Emily, and Lisa chattered excitedly, their outfits sparkling under the disco balls—Sarah in a glittery top, Emily in a form-fitting jumpsuit, Lisa in a short skirt that showed off her toned legs.
As they settled in, sipping on fruity martinis and sharing appetizers, the conversation flowed easily about work dramas and personal anecdotes. Matt laughed along, but a subtle unease crept in when he noticed the posters of drag performers adorning the walls. Then, the lights dimmed dramatically, casting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, and the crowd erupted in cheers as the drag queens burst onto the stage. Leading the pack was Queen Divina, a towering figure in a sequined gown that hugged her voluptuous form, her makeup flawless with dramatic lashes and ruby lips, her wig a cascade of platinum curls. Flanking her were Miss Tickles, a sassy queen in a feathered ensemble with long, painted nails, and Lady Lush, elegant in silk and boas, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Matt's face paled as realization dawned—he was at a drag bar. He sank into his seat, remaining silent, his jaw clenched. Beside him, May smirked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she whispered to Sarah, "Watch this."
The queens performed their routine with flair—lip-syncing to pop anthems, twirling and posing with exaggerated femininity that had the audience roaring. Then, Queen Divina scanned the crowd for a volunteer, her voice booming through the microphone like thunder. "Ooh, honey, who's ready to join the fun? You there—the handsome one looking like he'd rather be anywhere else!" Her finger pointed straight at Matt, the spotlight blinding him. He shook his head vigorously, muttering, "No thanks, I'm good," but his colleagues egged him on. "Come on, Matt! Don't be shy!" Emily cheered, clapping enthusiastically. Sarah and Lisa joined in, their laughter infectious, while May feigned innocence with a wide grin. Before he could protest further, Queen Divina and Miss Tickles descended from the stage, their strong arms linking with his, pulling him up amid cheers. Reluctant and red-faced, Matt stumbled onto the stage, the wooden planks creaking under his feet as the crowd whooped.
Queen Divina handed Matt the mic with a wink. "Introduce yourself, darling! What's your name?" Matt cleared his throat, his voice shaky. "Uh, Matt. From... work." The queens cooed dramatically, circling him like sharks. After some banter about his job and the all-female group, Queen Divina's eyes lit up. "Well, well, a little birdy told us you have a secret... a foot fetish!" The words hung in the air like a bomb, and Matt freaked out, his eyes widening in horror. "What? No, that's not—who said that?" The crowd went wild, erupting in laughter and catcalls. Queen Divina revealed the email from May, projecting the attached photo on a screen behind them—Matt staring at her feet. "Your friend May wanted you to get a taste of your own medicine, perv! Guess what? Tonight, you're our foot fantasy star!"
Matt tried to bolt, but the queens overpowered him with surprising strength, guiding him to a set of medieval wooden stocks at the stage's center—a prop straight out of a kinky dungeon, with holes for hands and feet. They locked him in swiftly, his wrists secured above and his ankles through the lower holes, leaving him seated but exposed, his feet dangling vulnerably. "Let me go! This isn't funny!" he demanded, struggling futilely. The queens ignored him, teasingly circling. Slowly, Queen Divina knelt, her long nails tracing the laces of his shoes. "Ooh, let's see what's hiding here," she purred, unlacing them inch by inch, the crowd hushing in anticipation. She slipped off his shoes, revealing black socks, then peeled those away to expose his bare feet—large, well-groomed soles with high arches and sensitive toes. The audience cheered wildly, May and the girls leaning forward, their eyes sparkling with delight. Matt freaked, his feet twitching involuntarily. "Stop! Please!"
The queens engaged the crowd, Queen Divina holding the mic. "Foot fetishes, darlings—who's into them? You can tickle, lick, worship... and look at these beauties! Such pretty feet for a big strong man." They commented on his soles' smoothness, the curve of his arches. Then, the play began: Miss Tickles ran her feathers along his soles, causing his feet to jerk. "Twitchy, aren't we?" she laughed. Matt's reaction confirmed it—he was ticklish. "Oh no," he whispered, dread filling him. Queen Divina's eyes widened. "Ticklish feet? Jackpot! Ladies and gents, our volunteer's got sensitive soles!" They teamed up, using every method: fingernails scraping slowly from heel to toe at varying paces, feathers dusting the balls of his feet, boas swirling around his arches, makeup brushes swirling on his toes, hairbrushes scrubbing his heels, electric toothbrushes buzzing under his nails. Lady Lush even leaned in, her tongue licking his big toe, sending Matt into hysterics. "Nooo! Haha—stop! Please!" he begged, laughing uncontrollably.
They didn't stop at feet; two queens lifted his shirt, exposing his toned stomach and armpits, their nails dancing over the sensitive skin. "Coochie coo, big boy! Who's a ticklish perv?" they teased with tickle talk, adding to his humiliation. The crowd loved it, May whispering to Emily, "Look at him squirm—this is payback!"
Amid the torment, Miss Tickles noticed a growing bulge in Matt's pants. "Ooh, what's this? Our foot boy’s getting excited!" she announced, the crowd gasping. To Matt's horror, his arousal betrayed him—a hard erection straining against the fabric. Queen Divina unzipped his pants with flair, and his bulging cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, veined and flushed. "Ladies, feast your eyes!" The queens targeted it mercilessly: fingernails tracing under the shaft, makeup brushes teasing the sensitive tip, electric toothbrushes vibrating along the length, even gentle jerking while his feet endured tickling and worship—tongues lapping at his soles, feathers between toes.
Matt moaned and laughed, overwhelmed, until he ejaculated in explosive spurts, cum splattering the stage amid cheers. But it didn't end; they wrapped a fluffy feather boa around his spent cock, two queens pulling it side to side like a saw, the soft fibers tormenting his oversensitive skin. "Ahh! Haha—oh god, no more!" he cried, a mix of laughter and moans escaping him.
The story zoomed in on his colleagues: May smirked triumphantly. "Serves him right for staring—look at that mess!" Sarah giggled, fanning herself. "Who knew Matt was so... responsive?" Emily added, biting her lip. "This is the best night out ever!" Lisa cheered. As the queens continued their playful assault, Matt remained trapped in his just desserts, the night far from over.
In the bustling heart of the city, where neon lights flickered like distant stars against the evening sky, Matt found himself in the midst of a lively work night out at O'Malley's Irish Pub. The air was thick with the scent of spilled beer, fried appetizers, and the faint perfume of his female colleagues, who surrounded him like a vibrant flock of birds. Matt, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his early thirties with tousled brown hair and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow, was the only guy in the group—a fact that often made him feel both privileged and slightly out of place. His colleagues were all women: there was Sarah, the bubbly receptionist with her curly blonde locks and infectious laugh; Emily, the sharp-witted accountant whose glasses framed her piercing green eyes; Lisa, the marketing whiz with her sleek black hair and confident stride; and May, the office manager who organized these outings, a stunning woman in her late twenties with long auburn hair that cascaded down her back, olive skin that glowed under the pub's warm lights, and a pair of elegant feet that Matt couldn't help but notice.
They had gathered around a large wooden table in the corner, clinking glasses of cocktails and pints as laughter echoed through the dimly lit room. The pub's walls were adorned with vintage posters and shelves of whiskey bottles, creating an intimate yet rowdy atmosphere. Matt sat sandwiched between May and Sarah, trying to blend in with the chatter about office gossip and weekend plans. But his secret weighed on him like a hidden anchor—Matt had a profound foot fetish, one that he kept buried deep, away from prying eyes. It wasn't just any attraction; it was the smooth arches, the delicate toes, the way feet moved and flexed that sent shivers down his spine. And tonight, as May slipped off her high-heeled sandals under the table to massage her tired soles against the cool floor, Matt's gaze drifted downward, fixated on her perfectly pedicured feet. Her toes were painted a deep crimson, wriggling slightly as she flexed them, the soft skin catching the subtle light from above.
Suddenly, the table fell into a hushed giggle. "Matt? Earth to Matt!" Sarah teased, her voice laced with amusement as she nudged him with her elbow. He snapped his head up, his cheeks flushing a deep red, realizing the entire group had caught him staring at May's feet. May arched an eyebrow, her full lips curling into a playful smirk, crossing her legs so her bare foot dangled teasingly close to his shin. "What, you got a thing for my toes or something?" she quipped, her tone light but probing. The others burst into laughter—Emily covering her mouth with her hand, Lisa leaning in with wide eyes. Matt stammered, forcing a chuckle to play it off as a joke. "Haha, nah, just... zoning out. Thought I saw a bug or something. You know, chivalry and all—protecting the ladies from creepy crawlies!" He raised his glass in a mock toast, hoping to deflect, but inside, his heart raced with embarrassment. The group bought it, or at least pretended to, moving on to another round of drinks, but May's eyes lingered on him a moment longer, a spark of curiosity—and perhaps mischief—igniting in her gaze.
A few weeks later, back in the sterile fluorescence of their downtown office building, May sat at her desk, her fingers dancing across the keyboard as she organized the next work night out. The open-plan office hummed with the soft clicks of typing and muffled phone calls, sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the bustling streets below. May, dressed in a fitted blouse that accentuated her curves and a pencil skirt that hugged her hips, scrolled through venue options on her computer screen. Bars, clubs, restaurants—they all seemed mundane. Then, her eyes lit up as she stumbled upon "The Glitter Palace," a renowned drag bar known for its extravagant shows, colorful performers, and interactive audience participation. Memories of the previous night out flooded back: Matt's lingering stare at her feet, his awkward deflection, and his noticeable discomfort when a pair of drag queens had briefly appeared at O'Malley's to promote an event, causing him to shift uneasily in his seat and avert his eyes.
A wicked idea bloomed in May's mind like a forbidden flower. She recalled how Matt had squirmed at the sight of the drag queens, his macho facade cracking just a bit. What if she could turn the tables? Give him a taste of his own medicine for being such a perv, as she thought to herself with a sly grin. She quickly composed an email to the manager of The Glitter Palace, attaching a candid photo she'd snapped of Matt from the last outing—his face flushed, eyes downcast toward her feet. "Hey there," she typed, her fingers flying with excitement. "We're a group from work coming in soon. The guy in the photo, Matt—he's got a secret foot fetish. Got caught staring at my feet last time. Spot him in the crowd and make him the star? Let's make it unforgettable!" She hit send, her heart pounding with anticipation. The plan was set, shrouded in secrecy for now, but May couldn't wait to see Matt's reaction when it all unfolded.
Weeks passed, and the group reconvened for their next adventure at The Glitter Palace, a vibrant venue tucked away in the city's entertainment district. The exterior shimmered with rainbow lights and sequined banners, promising a night of glamour and chaos. Inside, the air was electric, filled with the thump of bass-heavy music, the clink of glasses, and the scent of glitter-infused perfumes. Velvet booths lined the walls, and a raised stage dominated the room, surrounded by tables where patrons sipped colorful cocktails. Matt, oblivious to the setup, arrived in his casual button-down shirt and jeans, greeting the ladies with his usual charm. May, stunning in a low-cut red dress that flowed to her ankles, hiding strappy heels that accentuated her legs, led the group to their reserved table near the front. Sarah, Emily, and Lisa chattered excitedly, their outfits sparkling under the disco balls—Sarah in a glittery top, Emily in a form-fitting jumpsuit, Lisa in a short skirt that showed off her toned legs.
As they settled in, sipping on fruity martinis and sharing appetizers, the conversation flowed easily about work dramas and personal anecdotes. Matt laughed along, but a subtle unease crept in when he noticed the posters of drag performers adorning the walls. Then, the lights dimmed dramatically, casting the room in a kaleidoscope of colors, and the crowd erupted in cheers as the drag queens burst onto the stage. Leading the pack was Queen Divina, a towering figure in a sequined gown that hugged her voluptuous form, her makeup flawless with dramatic lashes and ruby lips, her wig a cascade of platinum curls. Flanking her were Miss Tickles, a sassy queen in a feathered ensemble with long, painted nails, and Lady Lush, elegant in silk and boas, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Matt's face paled as realization dawned—he was at a drag bar. He sank into his seat, remaining silent, his jaw clenched. Beside him, May smirked, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she whispered to Sarah, "Watch this."
The queens performed their routine with flair—lip-syncing to pop anthems, twirling and posing with exaggerated femininity that had the audience roaring. Then, Queen Divina scanned the crowd for a volunteer, her voice booming through the microphone like thunder. "Ooh, honey, who's ready to join the fun? You there—the handsome one looking like he'd rather be anywhere else!" Her finger pointed straight at Matt, the spotlight blinding him. He shook his head vigorously, muttering, "No thanks, I'm good," but his colleagues egged him on. "Come on, Matt! Don't be shy!" Emily cheered, clapping enthusiastically. Sarah and Lisa joined in, their laughter infectious, while May feigned innocence with a wide grin. Before he could protest further, Queen Divina and Miss Tickles descended from the stage, their strong arms linking with his, pulling him up amid cheers. Reluctant and red-faced, Matt stumbled onto the stage, the wooden planks creaking under his feet as the crowd whooped.
Queen Divina handed Matt the mic with a wink. "Introduce yourself, darling! What's your name?" Matt cleared his throat, his voice shaky. "Uh, Matt. From... work." The queens cooed dramatically, circling him like sharks. After some banter about his job and the all-female group, Queen Divina's eyes lit up. "Well, well, a little birdy told us you have a secret... a foot fetish!" The words hung in the air like a bomb, and Matt freaked out, his eyes widening in horror. "What? No, that's not—who said that?" The crowd went wild, erupting in laughter and catcalls. Queen Divina revealed the email from May, projecting the attached photo on a screen behind them—Matt staring at her feet. "Your friend May wanted you to get a taste of your own medicine, perv! Guess what? Tonight, you're our foot fantasy star!"
Matt tried to bolt, but the queens overpowered him with surprising strength, guiding him to a set of medieval wooden stocks at the stage's center—a prop straight out of a kinky dungeon, with holes for hands and feet. They locked him in swiftly, his wrists secured above and his ankles through the lower holes, leaving him seated but exposed, his feet dangling vulnerably. "Let me go! This isn't funny!" he demanded, struggling futilely. The queens ignored him, teasingly circling. Slowly, Queen Divina knelt, her long nails tracing the laces of his shoes. "Ooh, let's see what's hiding here," she purred, unlacing them inch by inch, the crowd hushing in anticipation. She slipped off his shoes, revealing black socks, then peeled those away to expose his bare feet—large, well-groomed soles with high arches and sensitive toes. The audience cheered wildly, May and the girls leaning forward, their eyes sparkling with delight. Matt freaked, his feet twitching involuntarily. "Stop! Please!"
The queens engaged the crowd, Queen Divina holding the mic. "Foot fetishes, darlings—who's into them? You can tickle, lick, worship... and look at these beauties! Such pretty feet for a big strong man." They commented on his soles' smoothness, the curve of his arches. Then, the play began: Miss Tickles ran her feathers along his soles, causing his feet to jerk. "Twitchy, aren't we?" she laughed. Matt's reaction confirmed it—he was ticklish. "Oh no," he whispered, dread filling him. Queen Divina's eyes widened. "Ticklish feet? Jackpot! Ladies and gents, our volunteer's got sensitive soles!" They teamed up, using every method: fingernails scraping slowly from heel to toe at varying paces, feathers dusting the balls of his feet, boas swirling around his arches, makeup brushes swirling on his toes, hairbrushes scrubbing his heels, electric toothbrushes buzzing under his nails. Lady Lush even leaned in, her tongue licking his big toe, sending Matt into hysterics. "Nooo! Haha—stop! Please!" he begged, laughing uncontrollably.
They didn't stop at feet; two queens lifted his shirt, exposing his toned stomach and armpits, their nails dancing over the sensitive skin. "Coochie coo, big boy! Who's a ticklish perv?" they teased with tickle talk, adding to his humiliation. The crowd loved it, May whispering to Emily, "Look at him squirm—this is payback!"
Amid the torment, Miss Tickles noticed a growing bulge in Matt's pants. "Ooh, what's this? Our foot boy’s getting excited!" she announced, the crowd gasping. To Matt's horror, his arousal betrayed him—a hard erection straining against the fabric. Queen Divina unzipped his pants with flair, and his bulging cock sprang free, thick and throbbing, veined and flushed. "Ladies, feast your eyes!" The queens targeted it mercilessly: fingernails tracing under the shaft, makeup brushes teasing the sensitive tip, electric toothbrushes vibrating along the length, even gentle jerking while his feet endured tickling and worship—tongues lapping at his soles, feathers between toes.
Matt moaned and laughed, overwhelmed, until he ejaculated in explosive spurts, cum splattering the stage amid cheers. But it didn't end; they wrapped a fluffy feather boa around his spent cock, two queens pulling it side to side like a saw, the soft fibers tormenting his oversensitive skin. "Ahh! Haha—oh god, no more!" he cried, a mix of laughter and moans escaping him.
The story zoomed in on his colleagues: May smirked triumphantly. "Serves him right for staring—look at that mess!" Sarah giggled, fanning herself. "Who knew Matt was so... responsive?" Emily added, biting her lip. "This is the best night out ever!" Lisa cheered. As the queens continued their playful assault, Matt remained trapped in his just desserts, the night far from over.
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