It had just turned 8 o’clock, and the table was now hidden under empty pint glasses, plates smeared with the remnants of tomato ketchup-laden cod and chips, and carelessly strewn napkins. The pub was full, the volume was rising, and Joey had just bought what seemed like our eighth round. Eventually, a stressed, overworked, underpaid barmaid came over to clear our table and wipe it over with pink spray and a blue cloth. As Joey placed our freshly-pulled full pint glasses on the table, he winked at the girl.

‘Cheers, love’.

The barmaid barely glanced at him as she returned to the bar, where a queue remained waiting. Joey sniffed and smirked.

‘She’ll be back.’

That was Joey. Confident, charming…and delusional. I’d met him through work a few months ago. He was a sports coach and personal trainer who had started to gain a huge following on social media, sharing disgustingly healthy recipes using vegetables I’d never heard of, alongside workouts in his backyard wearing his tiny Under Armour tshirt, shorts and white Nikes with white socks. Not quite the heady heights of ‘influencer’, but not far off either. Girls – and guys – loved him. And to put it mildly, he’d let it go to his head.

What he was doing being mates with me was anyone’s guess. To be fair, we were the only blokes in the office (in the fitness and nutrition sector) and, while he had no shortage of female admirers at work, the conversation never quite rose above flirting with them. It quickly became apparent, though, that we had quite a lot in common and our Friday after-work drinks had become a weekly event. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by me, however, that most – if not all – of the drinks tended to be bought by me.

Over time, I realised that he was terrible with money. Poorly judged football bets that didn’t pay out, payments on a car that he simply couldn’t afford, and eye-watering rent on a trendy city-centre apartment meant he was always on the look out for schemes to earn a few extra quid. Wheeling and dealing, dodgy ‘collaborations’ on Instagram – anything just to fill his wallet a bit more.

He’d spent a lot of time scrolling on his phone tonight, more so than usual. I was used to him checking how many ‘likes’, ‘retweets’ and new followers he’d received through the night, but now he seemed to be frowning at his screen. Was that fear in his eyes?

‘Everything OK?’ I asked.

Joey looked at me over his phone and shook his head.

‘Not exactly. Long story.’

‘Come on, you can tell me.’ I reached for his drink and put it in his hand.

Joey sighed, put his phone down, and took a swig.

‘Promise you won’t laugh or tell anybody?’

I was taken aback. What was it? Debts maybe? I know he wasn’t exactly averse to performance enhancing supplements…me and my vanilla brain wondered if that had something to do with it. Blackmail? Threats?

‘Course I won’t. You’re not in trouble, are you?’

‘No…well, not exactly.’

He took a deep breath.

‘I’ve had a few weird messages from guys on my Instagram stories about my feet.’

I spat out my drink. I couldn’t help but laugh.

‘See, Declan! I knew you’d laugh.’ He slammed his drink down on the table and frowned.

‘I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting that! Aww, do the foot freaks love Personal Trainer Joey’s smelly feet?’

He looked sheepish and looked down at his feet.

‘Anyway, a few of them were asking me to sell them pictures of my feet. It was easy money, so I started charging them per foot. £10 with socks on, £20 barefoot. It was all fine, but now it’s all got out of hand.’

‘Okay…has someone found out?’

Joey shrugged his shoulders.

‘Oh, I’m not bothered about that. It’s all a laugh. I’m not gay or anything, it was just a way to make a few quid.’

‘So…what’s the problem?’

He glanced at his phone, looked up at me, sighed, then handed it over. Nervously, I looked at the phone. It was on one of those ‘subscription’ sites. There was a profile picture of two huge, wide barefeet. Between them, holding his middle finger up, scowling at the camera, was the face of their owner. Joey. In large, blue letters, was written ‘SportyJoeyFootKingPT’. To my amazement, he had around 40 subscribers. I looked at how much he was charging per month.

’30 quid per month?! You must be rolling in it! I’m never buying you a drink again!’

‘I wish. Scroll down.’

There was a range of photos with Joey in a variety of poses. One, from the point of view of someone on the floor looking up as his white sock loomed over the camera, ready to plant firmly on the viewer’s face. Another with his leg crossed over his knee as he lazily massaged his bare sole, another with the tops of his crossed barefeet in front of the TV. Then, I saw it.

‘Raise £300 in tips to see my pathetic foot slave worship my stinky, sweaty gym feet!’

Underneath, the comments were vitriolic.

‘Rip off! This guy’s a con artist.’

‘Where’s the foot worship video? You’ve earned over £400 on this post. Scum.’

‘You may have sexy feet but you’re just scamming us. Uncool, man.’

‘Unfollow him now! Making fools of people who are probably paying his rent. I know where he works, I’m going to get him sacked!’

My face must have shown how shocked I was.

‘See? I’m in deep shit.’

‘I don’t get it – why don’t you just post the video of this foot guy licking your feet?’

Joey sunk into his chair and started biting his fingernails.

‘Because there is no foot slave. There is no video. No one’s been near my feet, let alone worshipped them. I got carried away and started enjoying the money, and thought I could just rip these weirdos off. Turns out I’m now in breach of the site’s conditions and I could be fined! If I don’t find someone to service these feet, I’m done for.’

I took a sip of my beer. How on earth did he manage to get himself into this? And, more importantly, how was he going to get himself out of it?

‘Why don’t you just message back one of your foot fans and get them to do it? I bet they’d love it.’

Joey laughed without smiling.

‘Have you seen some of these guys? I’ve never met them before. I wouldn’t feel safe and I’m not having some randomer lick my feet. I’m screwed.’

‘Photoshop?’

‘Mate, it took me three hours to post one photo of my socks and work out how to caption it, I don’t have a clue how to Photoshop it.’

I thought long, and I thought carefully. Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the sight of this poor, deflated, helpless young guy with his bottom lip drooping so much it was practically in his beer. But I said it anyway.

‘Fuck it. I’ll do it.’

Joey looked at me, his eyes wide.

‘Would you? Seriously?’

Instantly, I regretted it. I thought he would laugh, shake his head and tell me he wouldn’t dream of putting me in such a position (literally). I never imagined he would take me up on the offer. Too late now – he looked genuinely relieved.

‘Go on. I’ll help you out. We can take the photos at mine. If we’re careful with the angle, I might not even need to touch them.’

Joey breathed a huge sigh of relief and finished his beer.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you. I owe you one.’

‘Too right you do, about two months of pints!’

I nervously looked down at his feet as we stood up, put on our coats, and tucked the chairs in. Dark grey Nike Varsity trainers with those stupid ‘invisible socks’ that meant he could wear ridiculously tight tracksuit bottoms and show off his tanned ankles. A horrible thought hit me.

‘Hang on…you’ve been out training all day and I haven’t seen you shower. Your feet will stink!’

Joey, infuriatingly, just winked at me and grinned.

‘My followers like them sweaty.’

I stared at him, shaking my head, not even bothering to explain the stupidity of what he’d said.

***

Part 2: Back to Mine

On the way home, he explained to me the weird and lucrative world of ‘foot domming’. Apparently, a ‘friend of a friend’ was able to pay off a year’s rent by selling videos of him angrily telling people to sniff his feet. Another (apparently) well-known ‘master’ had his entire Amazon wishlist paid for within hours by his followers. I was baffled…and also slightly jealous. Joey reliably informed me that ‘all sorts of feet’ make money, including the narrow, bony type with long toes, and those which were wider and meatier, with round plump toes. The latter type, I learned for the first time tonight, belonged to Joey.

By the time we arrived back at my house, there was an awkward silence between us. Every part of me wanted to back out and tell him to find some other sucker to play with his manky feet, but something was stopping me. My stomach was doing somersaults as I turned the key. Was that trepidation…or excitement? Joey followed me inside.

Upstairs, I heard the bathroom door lock. Shit. My housemate.

‘Who’s that?’ Joey asked, genuine fear in his eyes.

‘Liam, my housemate. Don’t worry, he never comes down into my room. But that’s him in the bath all night now.’

Joey’s lips turned into a wide grin.

‘No shower for me then! Looks like Deccy Boy’s going to get the full SportyFootKing treatment!’

‘Don’t push it,’ I answered, jokily shoving him into my room.

Joey flopped down on the couch, legs spread wide. He went to kick his shoes off, but stopped.

‘Actually, you can do that for me. My fans love trainers.’

I rolled my eyes and grabbed two beers from the fridge. I needed a bit more courage to go through with this. I threw one to Joey.

‘Right, FootKing. How do you want to play this?’ I said, eyebrows raised.

Joey looked thoughtful for a second.

‘Maybe start with my trainer over your nose, then my socks, then they can come off and we can finish with my bare feet.’

‘So, three photos – nothing else?’

‘Erm…photos?’ Joey looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

‘Yeah – photos! Not…no, Joey, no way.’

‘Come on, Dec, please. If I don’t post a full video they’re going to lynch me!’

‘You SAID photos!’

‘Nope! YOU said photos.’

‘But you didn’t correct me…’

‘Please, Dec. Depending how much I make I’ll make sure you get a cut of the money.’

I glared at him. Like my whole body was on autopilot, I knelt down on the floor. Joey’s eyes changed. He was enjoying this…getting into character maybe? He didn’t take his eyes off me as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

‘Right. Just, you know, do what they do in the other videos.’

I stared blankly at him.

‘WHAT other videos?’

‘You know…of the other foot guys.’

I politely informed him that I was not familiar with that particular genre.

‘Just…sniff. Lick. Rub them. Suck my toes. I don’t know, maybe nibble them a bit. Look like you’re enjoying it.’

Why was I still knelt there? Why was I making a mental note of everything he was telling me to do? Why did I have my hand ready on his trainer? And WHAT was going on down there…?

‘Ready?’

I gasped.

‘I need a mask! What if I get recognised?’

‘You can’t have a mask – how are you going to lick my feet with a mask on? And anyway, even if these guys do recognise you, they’re not exactly going to want people to find out they’ve been watching foot fetish videos are they?’

I took a deep breath and shook my head as he rested his phone on the table, so it was pointing directly at us.

‘Just play along with me. I won’t hurt you. Pressing record…NOW.’

Part 3: Action

‘Right then, you little pervert. I know what you want. You want these trainers off, don’t you? Go on then. Take my right one off.’

I scowled at him. Pervert indeed. I looked down at his Nike trainer which was now pressed against my chest. I started untying his shoelace with one hand while I supported his foot with the other. I could feel his foot through the fabric of the trainer. As I started to pull it off his foot, the heady aroma hit my nostrils.

‘Yeah, can you smell that?’

I found myself nodding.

‘Give me that shoe.’

I handed it over, only to have it forcefully shoved right in my face, held over my nose. Automatically, my eyes closed.

‘Give that a good whiff.’

I could have pretended to sniff. I didn’t need to take a deep breath in through my nose, so I could smell the intoxicating odour of sweat mixed with the fabric of the trainer. It was warm, and the tongue of the trainer was damp on the bridge of my nose.

‘That’s it. Let me hear you sniff.’

I took another deep sniff. Right there, right then, all I could smell was Joey’s fusty, sweaty trainer. Everything else in the room faded into darkness. Suddenly, he pulled it away from my face and threw it on the floor.

‘Take my other one off.’

I quickly untied the laces of his left trainer, pulled it off his foot and handed it to him. He smirked as he did the same again, putting it over my nose and mouth like some form of oxygen mask. This one had the exact same level of pungency, and was just as warm.

‘Lick it.’

Without hesitation, my tongue reached out to the insole of the trainer. It tasted bitter against my tongue, but that didn’t stop me licking the pad and moving my tongue in small circles around it. I heard a whisper from above.

‘You’re doing great!’

I didn’t realise my eyes were closed until I opened them to look at Joey. He wore a shocked, yet delighted expression which, in one look, said ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this’ and ‘I am going to make so much money’.

My hands reached out for his feet. I touched the warm softness of his socks, but then he jerked them away. I looked at him, confused.

‘Wait there, don’t move.’

Where was he going? He got to his feet, pressed something on his phone, and pulled over my divan footrest. He gently nudged me out the way, sat back down, and rested both feet on the footrest. He was wearing grey ankle socks, and the sweat patches of his heel, ball and toes had made light patches on the soles. It was like seeing a celebrity in the flesh. Although I’d only seen them on screen before, just over an hour ago, it gave me a strange sense of excitement seeing them right in front of me. Seriously, WHAT was going on down below…

‘Dec…you OK?’

I woke up from my daze. Shit. I’d been looking too long.

‘Er…yeah, yeah, fine. Will this go on much longer?’

‘No, just a few minutes would be great. Just sniff my socks, take them off, give them a lick, kiss, whatever, then we’re done. Cheers mate, I really appreciate this!’

He reached over to the phone.

‘Ready to start again?’

I nodded. Maybe a bit too eagerly. He smirked as his phone beeped.

‘How bad do you want these socks?’

‘Really bad, FootKing’

Joey raised his eyebrows and let out a laugh.

‘What you waiting for, then? Go for it.’

I positioned myself so both of his feet were directly in front of me, and Joey’s face was between them, watching me from the sofa. I started massaging them with both hands, rubbing circles into his soft arches. Slowly, I moved towards his toes, which were gently wiggling. As I worked on each toe, I could feel the sock coming further and further away from his feet. Soon, they’d be bare. I pulled and cracked them.

‘Yeah, crack my hardworking toes.’

As he scrunched his toes, creases appeared in the fabric of the sock. He started rubbing his feet together, trapping my hands between them.

‘You ready to sniff them, pervert?’

‘Yeah, I am.’

He stretched out his legs so these two grey shapes were millimetres from my face. I held onto them as I pushed my face into them, taking deep sniffs.

The dampness of the socks transferred onto my nose as I smelled every inch, starting at the ridge underneath his toes, then working my way down his arch to his heel. His heels and arches didn’t smell as much as under his toes, so I spent longer there, feeling his toes rubbing against the bridge of my nose. I had to come to terms now that I wasn’t playing a character now in front of a camera – I was me, and I was fully enjoying sniffing my mate’s sweaty socks. My cock certainly agreed too, as it pressed against the footrest.

‘Go on, get right in there’

I alternated between each foot, and as I breathed out and opened my mouth, I let my teeth brush against his feet. He laughed as his foot jerked, so I started nibbling properly.

‘Stop that, just sniff!’

I wanted to play a bit more, so I started kissing them all over, leaving even more little damp patches on his socks.

‘Oh yeah? You wanna kiss them? Wait until you get to my bare feet, you’ll be getting them properly wet. Go on, take one of my socks off.’

I didn’t stop sniffing as I slid my finger into his sock by his ankle, and flicked it. It pinged to just above his heel, revealing a perfectly smooth, golden-brown ball. 

‘Take the rest off with your teeth.’

I didn’t take my eyes off him as I peeled his sock off, revealing more of his sweaty, soft sole. It glided over the top, letting his five toes wriggle free. They were no gaps between them, and they seemed to bend forward slightly, as if he was scrunching them. This meant you could only see the top, round bits of each toe, with just a hint of his neatly trimmed toenails. Joey’s eyes were fixed on me.

‘Oi. Put that sock in your mouth.’

I quickly followed his instruction, letting the fabric sit on my tongue.

‘Now the other one.’

His other sock went the same way as the first one, sliding up and over his foot and into my mouth.

‘Now rub my size 11 bare feet.’

His feet were damp, and the sweat seemed to glisten off them. I don’t know if he moisturised them, but there wasn’t a single bit of dry skin anywhere. They were strong, tough feet though, and felt chunky in my hands. Like with the socks, I let my thumbs and fingers knead them in circles and up and down, even at one point separating his 10 toes with a finger in between each one.

‘Mmmphfh?’ I mumbled.

‘Say that again, foot freak!’

I took his socks out of my mouth.

‘Can I lick them?’

‘Thought you’d never ask.’

He grinned as he lifted both bare soles up to my face, where my tongue was there to meet them. Salty, vinegary and clearly sweaty from a day’s training, they managed to be intoxicating without being overpowering. I let my mouth and tongue explore every inch of both soles, coating them with my saliva, and planting little kisses all over them.

‘Bite them a little bit’, Joey whispered, barely audible.

I gently nibbled the heels, working up to the arch. I looked again at Joey. His eyes were closed, and his head was resting back on the couch. Every time I bit, his foot jerked, but he never pulled it away from my mouth.

‘Now suck my toes’, he muttered.

I started by gently licking across his 10 toes, letting my tongue slide between them, before wrapping my lips round each one, caressing them with my tongue. Joey knew now that I was properly enjoying it, and I didn’t care. By the looks of him, so was he. His toenails rubbed gently across the roof of my mouth as his toes squirmed inside my mouth.

‘You’re doing a good job, slave.’ Joey was now pushing my head down with one foot while I sucked the toes of the other one. I was so hard; I couldn’t take it anymore. One hand, which was originally massaging his bare sole, disappeared into the privacy behind the footrest. I undid the button of my jeans and the zip of my fly.

‘Go on slave, I’ll let you,’ whispered Joey as his breath got heavier.

‘Let me what, FootKing?’

‘Cum on my feet.’

I didn’t need telling twice. I started tugging my rock-hard cock, which was already leaking precum. All the while, I was licking his feet furiously, sniffing all the time. I could feel my hips jerking as I was about to explode. I quickly stood up and lifted his bare soles into position. Joey looked at me with a mixture of anticipation and amazement as he let his wide, meaty soles wrap around my dick and get coated in streams of white cum. I wiped the last bits from my tip on his big toe, then licked them clean, like I was licking a plate clean after supper.

‘Good boy,’ Joey purred. He reached over to his phone, and I heard another ‘Beep’.

‘What…is that it?’ I looked at him, disappointed.

‘Well, what else are we going to do?’ He looked at me innocently, eyebrows raised.

I smiled as I wiped my dick clean with his sock.

‘You can keep that as a souvenir, slave.’

‘Oi…it’s Declan. I’m not your slave now!’

Joey smirked. ‘Whatever you say.’ His face furrowed into an expression of deep concentration. Another ‘ping!’ came from the phone.

‘Right, that’s uploaded. That should keep those foot pervs off my back for a bit.’ He put his phone back into his pocket and reached for his beer, untouched since we started filming. I felt a bit redundant just standing there, so I sat down, zipping my jeans up, and drank from my bottle.

‘Thanks for doing that, mate,’ Joey muttered.

‘Erm…no problem.’

This was weird. It was as if the last 10 minutes hadn’t happened. I’d just cum on his feet for crying out loud! Surely he had something to say about that? We sat on the couch, staring into space, awkwardly drinking our beer in silence.

All of a sudden, his phone erupted into furious pings and beeps. We both jumped.

‘What the…’

He fumbled with the button, swiping clumsily. I watched apprehensively. His face showed no expression for a couple of minutes, before his mouth fell open and he turned the phone towards me.

‘£500’

‘What?’

‘Look! That video’s just made me £500!’

I snatched the phone off him. It was impossible. Then, I read the comments.

‘OMG!! That was hot! More please!!’

‘Those soles! That guy knows how to worship a pair of feet! Worth every penny!’

‘That cumshot all over his wide, sexy dawgs was incredible. Where do I find this guy?’

‘Take my money, FootKing! All of it!’

I laughed in amazement, and handed the phone back to him.

‘Looks like you’ve just got yourself a second job,’ Joey laughed.

‘Any time.’

The phone pinged again. We both read the comment.

‘Does that foot slave know how to suck anything else?’

Me and Joey looked at each other.

‘There’s only one way to find out…’