trickshotz20
Registered User
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2025
- Messages
- 13
- Points
- 3
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 and be happy to hear their thoughts!
A couple of months back, the office crew decided on a casual night out at a bustling pub downtown. Matt, the lone guy in a sea of female colleagues, felt both excited and on edge. He was in his mid-30s, with short brown hair, a lean build from weekend gym sessions, and a boyish face that often hid his deeper cravings. His secret burned inside him—a intense fixation on feet and the squirming thrill of tickling—but he kept it locked away, or so he thought.
The group claimed a corner booth, laughter echoing as drinks flowed. May, one of the sharper wits in the office, sat across from him. She was 28, with long auburn waves cascading over her shoulders, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and a curvy figure hugged by a fitted black dress. Her high heels dangled just inches from Matt's view under the table, the red polish on her toes peeking through sheer stockings. He couldn't help it; his gaze drifted down, lingering on the arch of her foot as she crossed her legs.
'Hey, Matt, you got a thing for my feet or what?' May's voice cut through the chatter, her lips curling into a sly grin. The table fell silent, all eyes on him. His face flushed crimson as he stammered, 'W-what? No, I was just... zoning out.' But May leaned forward, pointing a manicured nail at him. 'Bullshit. You were staring like they were the last slice of pizza. Foot guy, huh? Kinky.' The women burst into giggles, one after another teasing him with winks and foot wiggles under the table. Matt sank into his seat, mortified, the heat of exposure making his pulse race in ways he both hated and craved.
Weeks passed, the incident fading into office lore, but May nursed a playful grudge. She was all about balance—why should he get off scot-free? Planning the next outing, she picked a drag bar called Glitter Vortex, a neon-lit haven in the city's queer district. The place pulsed with energy: rainbow lights flashing over velvet booths, a stage framed by shimmering curtains, and air thick with perfume and bass-heavy music. Before locking in the reservation, May chatted with the manager, a burly woman named Jax with a shaved head, tattooed arms, and a no-nonsense vibe. 'We've got this guy in our group, Matt,' May said, sliding over a photo from her phone—Matt smiling awkwardly at a team lunch. 'He was perving on my feet last time. Thinks he's slick with his little fetish. Set something up for him? Make it fun, but embarrassing.' Jax chuckled, eyes lighting up. 'Oh, honey, we've got just the show. Medieval stocks on stage, feet out. Our queens will eat him alive.'
The night arrived, the group piling into the bar around 9 PM. Matt wore jeans and a button-up shirt, his dark hair neatly combed, trying to play it cool despite the knot in his stomach. May led the pack, her blonde highlights catching the lights, dressed in a short skirt and strappy sandals that showed off her pedicured feet—revenge already simmering. The bar thrummed: patrons in glittering outfits cheered as drag queens strutted—tall figures in towering wigs, sequined gowns, and bold makeup that turned faces into works of art.
First up was Divina, the emcee: a statuesque queen over six feet in heels, with platinum blonde curls piled high, smoky eyeshadow, and a crimson lips that commanded the mic. Her gold-sequined dress clung to padded curves. 'Ladies and gents, and everyone fabulous in between! Who's ready for some audience participation?' Her gaze swept the crowd, landing on Matt as May had tipped her off. 'You, cutie in the back! The shy one with the group of goddesses. Get up here!'
Matt froze, shaking his head. 'No, thanks, I'm good.' But Divina waved two backup queens over—Lola, a fiery redhead in a feathered boa and fishnets, her freckled skin glowing under stage lights, and Sasha, ebony-skinned with a shaved head under a sparkling tiara, her athletic build poured into leather. They grabbed his arms, giggling as they dragged him onstage amid cheers. The crowd—his colleagues included—hooted, May smirking from her seat.
Divina pressed close, her perfume overwhelming. 'Folks, this is Matt! And oh, do we have a scoop. His friend May spilled the tea: our boy's got a foot fetish! Caught staring at her pretty toes last outing. Time for just desserts!' The bar erupted in laughter. Matt's eyes widened, yanking back. 'Wait, what? May, you—' But Lola and Sasha clamped down, their nails digging into his biceps. Divina leaned in, voice dripping tease. 'Aww, embarrassed? Don't run, sweetie. Let's see those feet you've been dreaming about.'
He twisted toward the stairs, heart pounding, but the queens swarmed. Sasha ripped open his shirt buttons, exposing his toned chest dusted with light hair. Lola tugged at his belt, jeans sliding down his legs to pool at his ankles. 'No! Stop!' Matt yelped, kicking futilely. In seconds, they had him down to tight black boxer briefs, his semi-hard cock outlined against the fabric from the twisted thrill. The crowd whistled, phones flashing. May clapped, calling out, 'Give him hell, girls!'
They hauled his half-naked body to the center, where wooden medieval stocks waited—thick oak beams with hinged cuffs, painted glossy black with silver chains. Divina flipped the top beam open. 'In you go, foot boy!' Matt thrashed, but Sasha pinned his neck and wrists into the lower cutouts, Lola slamming the top down and locking it with a heavy padlock. His upper body immobilized, he bent at the waist, ass out. Then they forced his ankles into the foot holes at the base, the wood clamping tight around his calves, soles up and vulnerable. His bare heels touched cool air already, toes flexing in panic.
'Please, let me out,' Matt begged, voice cracking. Divina smirked, pulling a red ball gag from her boa. 'Shh, no more talking. Watch and wiggle.' She jammed the ball between his teeth, buckling it tight behind his head. Drool already beaded at his lips as he mumbled incoherently, eyes darting to the sea of faces—his coworkers grinning, strangers pointing at his exposed soles.
The queens circled like predators. Divina started slow, kneeling by his feet. 'Look at these puppies. Size 10, soft and pink, begging for attention.' She gripped his right loafer, peeling it off inch by inch, revealing a white sock damp with nervous sweat. The crowd oohed. Matt's toes curled inside, a muffled 'Mmmph!' escaping. She tugged the sock free next, rolling it down his arch, exposing pale skin, high instep, and wiggling digits. His left foot followed, shoe yanked, sock stripped, leaving both soles bare and twitching under the hot lights—smooth heels, faint wrinkles forming as he tensed.
Lola joined, her long red nails—painted electric blue—trailing up his left sole. 'Ticklish, lover?' She scratched lightly from heel to ball, nails skittering over the sensitive skin. Matt jerked, body bucking in the stocks, laughter bubbling behind the gag as his feet danced uselessly. 'Hahaha! No!' But only garbled sounds came out. The crowd chanted, 'Tickle him! Tickle him!'
Sasha grabbed a feather from the prop table—a long white plume, soft and fluffy. She dragged it under his toes, the tip fluttering between each one. Matt's soles quivered, arches contracting as giggles shook him. 'Coochie-coo, foot freak. Bet you love feet so much, but hate when they get this treatment.' The feather swirled circles on his right heel, sending electric jolts up his legs. His cock twitched in his briefs, hardening against his will, the humiliation fueling his secret kink.
More queens piled on. Enter Zara, a petite Asian queen with jet-black hair in twin buns, glittery eyelids, and a pink latex mini-dress. She wielded a fluffy boa, draping it over both soles and dragging the feathers back and forth. The soft strands rasped across his skin, making his toes splay and curl. 'Wiggle for us, Matt! Show May how much you adore this.' May approached the stage edge, lifting her foot to wave her sandal. 'Remember staring at these? Now yours are the stars!'
Divina escalated, pulling out makeup brushes—stiff-bristled ones meant for contouring. She scrubbed one across his left arch, the bristles invading every ridge and crease. Matt howled into the gag, tears pricking his eyes, body convulsing as laughter tore from him. 'Mmmph-haha! St-stop!' His right foot got the same, the queen twisting the brush to hit the ball of his foot, where nerves fired wildly. The crowd interacted, a few fans tossing more feathers onstage, which Lola caught and used to tease his insteps.
Enter Rexa, a voluptuous queen with caramel skin, a massive beehive wig in purple, and ruby lips. She brought hair brushes—wide, plastic ones with firm bristles. 'Time for a real scrub.' She raked one down his right sole, from toes to heel, the teeth digging in just enough to torment without pain. Matt's feet bucked, soles flushing red from the assault. 'Look at him squirm! Foot fetish boy can't handle his own medicine.' On the left, she focused on the toes, brushing under each nail bed, making him shriek silently.
The teasing talk ramped up. Sasha leaned close to his gagged face. 'Bet you've jerked off thinking about licking feet, huh? Well, now we lick yours.' She dropped to her knees, tongue flicking out to trace his big toe. Wet and warm, she sucked the digit into her mouth, swirling around it while Zara's nails scratched his other sole. Matt's hips thrust involuntarily, his cock now fully erect, tenting the briefs obscenely. The crowd noticed, cheers rising.
Lola spotted it, grinning wickedly. 'Oh, he's loving this. Let's tickle that too.' She slipped a hand under the waistband, pulling his cock free—thick, veined, pre-cum glistening at the tip. With a small vibrator from her purse—buzzing on low—she pressed it to the sensitive underside, right below the head. The vibrations hummed through his shaft, mixing agony and ecstasy with the foot assault. Matt's muffled screams peaked, body arching as the dual torture overwhelmed him.
Rexa joined the cock play, her tongue lapping at the shaft while the vibe danced. 'Cum for us, tickle slut. Show everyone your fetish shame.' Meanwhile, Divina organized foot worship: she pressed her glossy lips to his left sole, kissing the arch before nibbling the heel. Zara licked long stripes up the right, saliva coating his skin, making it slick for more brushes.
May climbed onstage now, her sandals kicked off. 'My turn for revenge.' She sat before his stocks, her bare feet—soft, pedicured with pink nails—rubbing against his soles. Then she scratched with her own nails, light and teasing. 'Feel that, perv? This is for staring.' The queens egged her on, the group chanting her name.
One by one, more queens rotated: a blonde named Trixie with electric blue eyeshadow used ice cubes from a drink to trace cold lines on his overheated soles, followed by warm breaths that made him twitch harder. Another, Velvet, in a green gown and emerald wig, employed silk scarves to bind his big toes back, exposing undersides for pinpoint feather attacks.
The tickle torture stretched on, methods blending—vibrators buzzing toes while brushes scrubbed heels, tongues and nails alternating, boas fluffing his cock alongside foot licks. Matt's body glistened with sweat, muscles straining, laughter endless behind the gag. Humiliation burned as his colleagues snapped pics, the bar alive with energy. Finally, as climax built from the relentless cock tickling—fingers fluttering the frenulum, vibes pulsing—Matt shattered, cum spurting in thick ropes over Lola's hand, splattering his thighs. The queens whooped, Divina announcing, 'Foot boy breaks!'
They unlocked him eventually, gag removed, clothes tossed back. Matt stumbled offstage, red-faced and spent, but the cheers followed. May hugged him teasingly. 'Lesson learned?' In the haze, his fetish felt oddly sated, the revenge a twisted gift.
A couple of months back, the office crew decided on a casual night out at a bustling pub downtown. Matt, the lone guy in a sea of female colleagues, felt both excited and on edge. He was in his mid-30s, with short brown hair, a lean build from weekend gym sessions, and a boyish face that often hid his deeper cravings. His secret burned inside him—a intense fixation on feet and the squirming thrill of tickling—but he kept it locked away, or so he thought.
The group claimed a corner booth, laughter echoing as drinks flowed. May, one of the sharper wits in the office, sat across from him. She was 28, with long auburn waves cascading over her shoulders, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and a curvy figure hugged by a fitted black dress. Her high heels dangled just inches from Matt's view under the table, the red polish on her toes peeking through sheer stockings. He couldn't help it; his gaze drifted down, lingering on the arch of her foot as she crossed her legs.
'Hey, Matt, you got a thing for my feet or what?' May's voice cut through the chatter, her lips curling into a sly grin. The table fell silent, all eyes on him. His face flushed crimson as he stammered, 'W-what? No, I was just... zoning out.' But May leaned forward, pointing a manicured nail at him. 'Bullshit. You were staring like they were the last slice of pizza. Foot guy, huh? Kinky.' The women burst into giggles, one after another teasing him with winks and foot wiggles under the table. Matt sank into his seat, mortified, the heat of exposure making his pulse race in ways he both hated and craved.
Weeks passed, the incident fading into office lore, but May nursed a playful grudge. She was all about balance—why should he get off scot-free? Planning the next outing, she picked a drag bar called Glitter Vortex, a neon-lit haven in the city's queer district. The place pulsed with energy: rainbow lights flashing over velvet booths, a stage framed by shimmering curtains, and air thick with perfume and bass-heavy music. Before locking in the reservation, May chatted with the manager, a burly woman named Jax with a shaved head, tattooed arms, and a no-nonsense vibe. 'We've got this guy in our group, Matt,' May said, sliding over a photo from her phone—Matt smiling awkwardly at a team lunch. 'He was perving on my feet last time. Thinks he's slick with his little fetish. Set something up for him? Make it fun, but embarrassing.' Jax chuckled, eyes lighting up. 'Oh, honey, we've got just the show. Medieval stocks on stage, feet out. Our queens will eat him alive.'
The night arrived, the group piling into the bar around 9 PM. Matt wore jeans and a button-up shirt, his dark hair neatly combed, trying to play it cool despite the knot in his stomach. May led the pack, her blonde highlights catching the lights, dressed in a short skirt and strappy sandals that showed off her pedicured feet—revenge already simmering. The bar thrummed: patrons in glittering outfits cheered as drag queens strutted—tall figures in towering wigs, sequined gowns, and bold makeup that turned faces into works of art.
First up was Divina, the emcee: a statuesque queen over six feet in heels, with platinum blonde curls piled high, smoky eyeshadow, and a crimson lips that commanded the mic. Her gold-sequined dress clung to padded curves. 'Ladies and gents, and everyone fabulous in between! Who's ready for some audience participation?' Her gaze swept the crowd, landing on Matt as May had tipped her off. 'You, cutie in the back! The shy one with the group of goddesses. Get up here!'
Matt froze, shaking his head. 'No, thanks, I'm good.' But Divina waved two backup queens over—Lola, a fiery redhead in a feathered boa and fishnets, her freckled skin glowing under stage lights, and Sasha, ebony-skinned with a shaved head under a sparkling tiara, her athletic build poured into leather. They grabbed his arms, giggling as they dragged him onstage amid cheers. The crowd—his colleagues included—hooted, May smirking from her seat.
Divina pressed close, her perfume overwhelming. 'Folks, this is Matt! And oh, do we have a scoop. His friend May spilled the tea: our boy's got a foot fetish! Caught staring at her pretty toes last outing. Time for just desserts!' The bar erupted in laughter. Matt's eyes widened, yanking back. 'Wait, what? May, you—' But Lola and Sasha clamped down, their nails digging into his biceps. Divina leaned in, voice dripping tease. 'Aww, embarrassed? Don't run, sweetie. Let's see those feet you've been dreaming about.'
He twisted toward the stairs, heart pounding, but the queens swarmed. Sasha ripped open his shirt buttons, exposing his toned chest dusted with light hair. Lola tugged at his belt, jeans sliding down his legs to pool at his ankles. 'No! Stop!' Matt yelped, kicking futilely. In seconds, they had him down to tight black boxer briefs, his semi-hard cock outlined against the fabric from the twisted thrill. The crowd whistled, phones flashing. May clapped, calling out, 'Give him hell, girls!'
They hauled his half-naked body to the center, where wooden medieval stocks waited—thick oak beams with hinged cuffs, painted glossy black with silver chains. Divina flipped the top beam open. 'In you go, foot boy!' Matt thrashed, but Sasha pinned his neck and wrists into the lower cutouts, Lola slamming the top down and locking it with a heavy padlock. His upper body immobilized, he bent at the waist, ass out. Then they forced his ankles into the foot holes at the base, the wood clamping tight around his calves, soles up and vulnerable. His bare heels touched cool air already, toes flexing in panic.
'Please, let me out,' Matt begged, voice cracking. Divina smirked, pulling a red ball gag from her boa. 'Shh, no more talking. Watch and wiggle.' She jammed the ball between his teeth, buckling it tight behind his head. Drool already beaded at his lips as he mumbled incoherently, eyes darting to the sea of faces—his coworkers grinning, strangers pointing at his exposed soles.
The queens circled like predators. Divina started slow, kneeling by his feet. 'Look at these puppies. Size 10, soft and pink, begging for attention.' She gripped his right loafer, peeling it off inch by inch, revealing a white sock damp with nervous sweat. The crowd oohed. Matt's toes curled inside, a muffled 'Mmmph!' escaping. She tugged the sock free next, rolling it down his arch, exposing pale skin, high instep, and wiggling digits. His left foot followed, shoe yanked, sock stripped, leaving both soles bare and twitching under the hot lights—smooth heels, faint wrinkles forming as he tensed.
Lola joined, her long red nails—painted electric blue—trailing up his left sole. 'Ticklish, lover?' She scratched lightly from heel to ball, nails skittering over the sensitive skin. Matt jerked, body bucking in the stocks, laughter bubbling behind the gag as his feet danced uselessly. 'Hahaha! No!' But only garbled sounds came out. The crowd chanted, 'Tickle him! Tickle him!'
Sasha grabbed a feather from the prop table—a long white plume, soft and fluffy. She dragged it under his toes, the tip fluttering between each one. Matt's soles quivered, arches contracting as giggles shook him. 'Coochie-coo, foot freak. Bet you love feet so much, but hate when they get this treatment.' The feather swirled circles on his right heel, sending electric jolts up his legs. His cock twitched in his briefs, hardening against his will, the humiliation fueling his secret kink.
More queens piled on. Enter Zara, a petite Asian queen with jet-black hair in twin buns, glittery eyelids, and a pink latex mini-dress. She wielded a fluffy boa, draping it over both soles and dragging the feathers back and forth. The soft strands rasped across his skin, making his toes splay and curl. 'Wiggle for us, Matt! Show May how much you adore this.' May approached the stage edge, lifting her foot to wave her sandal. 'Remember staring at these? Now yours are the stars!'
Divina escalated, pulling out makeup brushes—stiff-bristled ones meant for contouring. She scrubbed one across his left arch, the bristles invading every ridge and crease. Matt howled into the gag, tears pricking his eyes, body convulsing as laughter tore from him. 'Mmmph-haha! St-stop!' His right foot got the same, the queen twisting the brush to hit the ball of his foot, where nerves fired wildly. The crowd interacted, a few fans tossing more feathers onstage, which Lola caught and used to tease his insteps.
Enter Rexa, a voluptuous queen with caramel skin, a massive beehive wig in purple, and ruby lips. She brought hair brushes—wide, plastic ones with firm bristles. 'Time for a real scrub.' She raked one down his right sole, from toes to heel, the teeth digging in just enough to torment without pain. Matt's feet bucked, soles flushing red from the assault. 'Look at him squirm! Foot fetish boy can't handle his own medicine.' On the left, she focused on the toes, brushing under each nail bed, making him shriek silently.
The teasing talk ramped up. Sasha leaned close to his gagged face. 'Bet you've jerked off thinking about licking feet, huh? Well, now we lick yours.' She dropped to her knees, tongue flicking out to trace his big toe. Wet and warm, she sucked the digit into her mouth, swirling around it while Zara's nails scratched his other sole. Matt's hips thrust involuntarily, his cock now fully erect, tenting the briefs obscenely. The crowd noticed, cheers rising.
Lola spotted it, grinning wickedly. 'Oh, he's loving this. Let's tickle that too.' She slipped a hand under the waistband, pulling his cock free—thick, veined, pre-cum glistening at the tip. With a small vibrator from her purse—buzzing on low—she pressed it to the sensitive underside, right below the head. The vibrations hummed through his shaft, mixing agony and ecstasy with the foot assault. Matt's muffled screams peaked, body arching as the dual torture overwhelmed him.
Rexa joined the cock play, her tongue lapping at the shaft while the vibe danced. 'Cum for us, tickle slut. Show everyone your fetish shame.' Meanwhile, Divina organized foot worship: she pressed her glossy lips to his left sole, kissing the arch before nibbling the heel. Zara licked long stripes up the right, saliva coating his skin, making it slick for more brushes.
May climbed onstage now, her sandals kicked off. 'My turn for revenge.' She sat before his stocks, her bare feet—soft, pedicured with pink nails—rubbing against his soles. Then she scratched with her own nails, light and teasing. 'Feel that, perv? This is for staring.' The queens egged her on, the group chanting her name.
One by one, more queens rotated: a blonde named Trixie with electric blue eyeshadow used ice cubes from a drink to trace cold lines on his overheated soles, followed by warm breaths that made him twitch harder. Another, Velvet, in a green gown and emerald wig, employed silk scarves to bind his big toes back, exposing undersides for pinpoint feather attacks.
The tickle torture stretched on, methods blending—vibrators buzzing toes while brushes scrubbed heels, tongues and nails alternating, boas fluffing his cock alongside foot licks. Matt's body glistened with sweat, muscles straining, laughter endless behind the gag. Humiliation burned as his colleagues snapped pics, the bar alive with energy. Finally, as climax built from the relentless cock tickling—fingers fluttering the frenulum, vibes pulsing—Matt shattered, cum spurting in thick ropes over Lola's hand, splattering his thighs. The queens whooped, Divina announcing, 'Foot boy breaks!'
They unlocked him eventually, gag removed, clothes tossed back. Matt stumbled offstage, red-faced and spent, but the cheers followed. May hugged him teasingly. 'Lesson learned?' In the haze, his fetish felt oddly sated, the revenge a twisted gift.
Attachments
Last edited:
