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It all started one steamy August day when my friend and I were having a relaxing lunch under the shade of the big trees on the National Mall in Washington.
We peered up at the Capitol Dome through a hazy wave of heat. As we were eating our sandwiches and yogurt, a terrific-looking guy of about thirty, conservatively dressed with a blazer and slacks and wearing very dark sunglasses, strode up to a tree diagonally across from us. He tossed down the newspaper he was carrying, sat with his back to the tree, and immediately unlaced his burgundy shoes, pried them off, and peeled off his socks. He crossed his legs, waved his toes, one of which was slightly crooked I noticed, in the air and picked up his newspaper. He read methodically, but intermittently adjusted his position and flexed his toes.
I couldn't keep my eyes off him and his feet. I wanted to dash over and rub them and kiss them, if possible, buy his socks so that I would be able to sniff them and jerk off with them in my face at home. He noticed my attention-since I could fix him in my glance a the middle distance without my companion noticing anything at all odd - and met my gaze defiantly more than once. What did he think of me? Did he think I was somehow criticizing him for taking off his shoes and socks in public? Or did he realize that his naked feet were providing grist for my fantasies? After one final stern look through his opaque glasses, he shifted his position, pivoting to the side of the tree, stretched his feet in our direction and reclined on the grass.
I was tense with desire, but could do nothing while my friend was along. We finally got up and returned to our office, but as soon as I got there, I typed up a note.
"Dear Sir," it read, "I deeply crave the great honor of massaging your feet. My motives are purely to honor you and give you pleasure. If you will allow me this privilege, I will serve you in any other way you desire. Your slave," I signed it. I dashed back to the Mall, but found him gone.
I returned the next day and the next, with my note, which I had altered to include removing his shoes and socks. I had no luck as my fantasies grew more and more detailed and intense.
Finally the next Monday, I rounded the alley of trees and spotted him just preparing to sit. I quickened my pace and was a little breathless when I got to him just as he was starting to unlace his right shoe. He looked up and I handed him my note. While he read, I quickly knelt at his feet. I found myself trembling more with fear of rejection than excitement, but boldly reached for his left shoe as he looked up and seemed about to speak. Instead, he closed his mouth, smirked a little, and extended his hand in an inviting gesture toward his shoe.
"Help yourself," he said, in a relaxed if slightly scornful voice. I wondered whether he was used to being worshipped. He put his hands behind his head and nodded as he waved his shoe at me.
My hands shook a little as I gripped the heel of his cordovan and loosened his laces. As I slowly freed his sweating foot from its hot prison, one of my greatest desires was granted. A heady combination of male scent, leather, and shoe polish steamed out of the shoe' opening and into my waiting nose. I delicately placed the shoe on the grass before looking at the black cotton sock that I so wanted to kiss and caress with my face. But fearful of offending my Master, I simply turned and peeled it off the damp flesh, and folded it into the shoe. Again I resisted my first impulses, which were at least to start rubbing the warm pink flesh of his foot. Caution told me to anticipate his desire, however, and I turned to the right shoe. Again I loosened the laces before tugging the shoe off and again I relished the zesty aroma that rose form it. This time, though, I did not resist the impulse to massage the damp sock as it adhered to his foot, and I managed to lower my face close enough to it to sniff deeply of its rich smell. My Master twitched his foot slightly, so that his big toe actually grazed my cheek and nostril. I looked up, startled.
He smiled sardonically and said, "Take it off and you can sniff it all you want." My cock, which had been merely restless all this while, mainly because of fear of my master's reaction, I guess, now started to swell with excitement.
I peeled off the sock and, with deep shame but equally deep pleasure, stretched its moist sole across my nose and lips. It was positively wet with his foot sweat and I inhaled deeply of that fabulous odor-now intensified a hundredfold-that I had caught fleetingly coming out of his shoes. Though I was in heaven, I wanted desperately to remain on his good side by living up to my pledge. So I lovingly folded the sock into the shoe, and dutifully turned to the foot. It was warm and damp under my attentive fingers. I studiously avoided looking up at my idol's face, instead addressing only each foot in turn. I lowered my face close enough to smell them and blew gently on them. I yearned to kiss them and my tongue seemed to swell like my dick in its desire to lick the film of sweat from his soles, but I didn't dare to be so bold. But I rubbed and rubbed, massaging each sole with my thumbs and lovingly caressing each toe between my fingers, and gently rubbing out the clumpy bits of dirt and lint between them. My Master sighed and flexed his toes in response.
"Good work, mister," he finally said, "But that's enough fun for you for today. Put my shoes and socks back on like a good servant, will you?"
So I did, with great care and gentleness. I gathered each sock in my hands, stretched its toe across his and tugged the still slightly damp fabric over his foot and up his ankle. I used the pretense of smoothing out wrinkles to caress and massage his feet further. Like a shoe salesman, I carefully loosened the shoe laces and opened his shoes wide to receive his feet. I gently laced them up tightly and tied perfect bows. All the while I regretted that I had been too timid to actually kiss his feet. When I was finished tying his laces, he stood up, leaning on my shoulder.
I stayed on my knees, and glanced up quickly to meet his beautiful eyes, which I now observed to be blue-green, before I spoke. "Could we," I stammered out, "I mean, would you . . . let me. . . again tomorrow?"
"Sure, okay. And bring me lunch."
I was ecstatic and before he could move away, I managed to dip my head down and plant a kiss on the toe of each of his shoes.
(To be continued)
