Note from author Christopher Trevor –

This story is a long time in coming. It was essentially inspired by a woman I used to work with at the jewelry company, that woman’s name being Doreen.

One day in early March, during the late 1990s, while sitting together and having our lunch in the company cafeteria, Doreen and I were talking about the upcoming Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. I told Doreen how I really didn’t like crowds so I never went to the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. With that, Doreen told me how she also didn’t like crowds, especially at parades, but that this year she and her husband (her second husband actually), were most definitely going to the parade, and with an air of total pride in her voice, she told me how her nineteen year old son (from her first marriage) was going to be marching in the Saint Patrick’s Day parade this year, and playing the bagpipes at that, while wearing a traditional Irish kilt style uniform. And just by chance, Doreen’s son’s name was Christopher, but unlike how most people called me by my entire name, Christopher, she called her son Chris.

I told Doreen how that was great and that I could see how proud she was over her son marching in the upcoming Saint Patrick’s Day Parade. She went on to say that she and her husband were very proud indeed, because Chris would be marching with the Irish bagpipe player’s group from the college he would be attending, starting that coming September. But it was what Doreen said next to me that really, REALLY, dropped the bomb it could be said, and inspired the story you’re about to read. She smiled at me across the table we were seated at and said that her husband was going to massage her son’s feet the night before the parade, explaining how a good massage of Chris’ feet would help to get him through the miles of parade he would be walking in. Needless to say, the thought of Doreen’s second husband massaging her handsome, college boy son’s feet sent a jolt through me that felt like lightning.

I told Doreen that that sounded like a great idea on her husband’s part and with that changed the subject, not wanting her to see how what she had just said about her (second) husband massaging her son’s feet the night before the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade had just affected me on a most erotic level. You see, over the time that we had worked together, Doreen had showed me, and some of our co-workers pictures of her son, Chris. And I have to say he was one handsome dude, with dark brown hair and the most beautiful almond shaped brown eyes…and the thought of him wearing an Irish kilt style uniform while marching in the upcoming Saint Patrick’s Day parade had my nasty kinky mind spinning with a most sinister idea for a story…

So, finally, after all these years, since the 1990s, I present to you the story, “Massaging (only?) his Step-son’s Feet.”

Happy Reading…

The Story…

“Well Mom, what do you think?” Chris asked as he stepped into the kitchen, where his mother was cooking dinner. “How do I look?”

Turning from the stove, Doreen took in the sight of her handsome, nineteen year old son, Chris, as he stood there, clad in his kilt and all the accessories that went with it.

“Oh my, Chris,” Doreen said gleefully. “Oh my! You look wonderful, and so handsome, so very handsome. But why did you put your parade uniform on tonight?”

“I just wanted to have a dress rehearsal,” the brown haired, brown eyed young man replied.

“Well, you look magnificent,” Doreen said, stepped over to her son and kissed him on the cheek. “I am sure that you will be the handsomest kilt-wearing participant in tomorrow’s Saint Patrick’s Day parade…”

“Kilted bagpipe player you mean, Mom,” Chris said.

“Yes, my son the bagpipe player,” Doreen said, sounding very proud. “By the way, Jim told me that when he gets home from work tonight he’s going to massage your feet for you.”

“Massage my feet?” Chris asked, sounding quizzical. “Why is my stepdad going to massage my feet?”

“Well, he said that it would be good for your feet, because of all the miles you’re going to walk tomorrow in the parade,” Chris’ mother explained, as she turned back to the stove. “He said that with the way he’s going to massage your feet, with the use of special oils, ointments and lotions that he bought, your feet won’t become so tired so quickly tomorrow.”

Chris licked his lips and said, “Massage my feet…and uh, when tonight does Jim plan to do this?”

“Before dinner,” Doreen replied. “He said it would take an hour to an hour and a half, two hours at most, so I’ll keep the food warm till he’s done.”

“Huh,” Chris said.  “Sounds a tad weird, but what the hell. Maybe he’s right, maybe by having him massage my feet they really won’t get so tired tomorrow and…”

But then, the young man was cut off in mid-sentence when he and his mother heard the front door of the house open and then close.

“I’m home!” Jim, a burly, balding thirty-nine year old construction worker shouted happily as he entered the house.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Doreen called back.

Clad in a white, sweat-stained, tee shirt, worn Wrangler blue jeans and mustard color scuffed up construction boots, Jim stomped his way into the kitchen…

“Hey Sweetheart,” the construction worker said as he stepped over to Doreen, wrapped her in his huge muscular arms and clamped his mouth down on hers. ..

…as Chris watched…

…the young man had never really warmed up to the man who had become his stepfather…

…since his father had passed away and his mother had remarried…

…to the always sweat-smelling when he arrived home from work construction worker…

But on the upside, Jim had always provided for him and his mother, so Chris really could not complain…

…but massage his feet?

Then, the young man’s thoughts were again cut off; as Jim stopped kissing his mother…turned…and took in the sight of him…

“And just who is this handsome young man all doodied up in his kilt, as if he were going to be marching and bagpiping in tomorrow’s Saint Patrick Day parade?” Jim asked in a teasing tone.

In response, Doreen said, “Doesn’t he look wonderful in his uniform? He wanted to give us a dress rehearsal.”

As his mother spoke and as his stepfather continued staring at him, Chris blushed what felt to him to be three different shades of red…

“Yeah, you do look great at that, Chrissy boy,” Jim said, stepping close to his stepson and clapping him hard on one shoulder. “Did your mom tell you what I’m going to do for you before dinner tonight? To help you make it through the miles of parade tomorrow with the minimum of your feet aching?”

“Yeah, she said you’re going to, uh, massage my feet,” Chris replied.

“Sure am buddy, sure am,” Jim said, stepped over to the sink, thoroughly washed his hands, dried them on a paper towel, and turned back facing his stepson…

…and said, “And no time like the present to get started, Chrissy boy. What say we go down to the basement to my workroom?”

It always grated on the young man’s nerves when his stepfather called him “Chrissy boy”, it sounded girlish to him, but he put up with it because he knew that Jim genuinely loved his mother…and provided for her so she didn’t have to work…

…and he loved him too it seemed…

“Your workroom in the basement, Jim?” Chris asked, trying not to sound apprehensive.

“Sure thing Chrissy boy,” the construction worker said, stepping back over to his stepson.

“I’ve got everything all set up down there, with lotions, ointments and oils I’ve purchased to use on your feet. I even built a special bench for you to sit and relax on while I massage those tootsies of yours.”

“Tootsies?” Chris said to himself.

“Well, I must say Chris, it sounds to me like Jim really went all out for you,” Doreen said to her son. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Sure Mom, sure,” Chris said.

Then, Jim clapped his big paw-sized hands loudly together and said to Chris, “Okay Chrissy boy, let’s get this show on the road and head on down to my workroom. What do you say? We’ll let your mom finish cooking dinner…while I massage your feet.”

“Yeah, sure Jim sounds good,” Chris replied…

…as Jim hooked one of his big hands around the back of the young man’s neck and led him to the door of the basement…

As Jim walked ahead of his stepson then down the stairs, he said, “Wait till you see how I redid my workroom just for you Chrissy boy. I’ve made it into a real massage looking room…I even soundproofed it.”

“Soundproofed it?” Chris asked. “Why?”

Grinning devilishly, but that grin unseen by his stepson, Jim said, “You’ll understand why soon, Chrissy boy…”

Once again the sound of his stepfather calling him “Chrissy boy” truly grated on the young man’s nerves…

A few scant moments later, Chris and his construction worker stepfather were entering the workroom, turned massage room…

As Chris entered and as Jim quickly locked the door, the first words out of the young man’s mouth, as he looked around, were, “Wow! Jim, you really did a bang-up job down here. Where did you find the time?”

As he slowly turned, scanning his stepfather’s “Massage Room”, Chris saw how the walls were padded, soundproofing the entire chamber, though he still didn’t understand the need for that.  On shelves adorning one wall, the young man saw an array of vials and bottles, him figuring that those vials and bottles contained the oils, lotions and ointments that had been mentioned earlier.

Hanging from the ceiling were track lights of various, bright colors, which somehow gave the room an eerie feeling…

On another wall of shelves, Chris saw stacks of storage boxes…

…which he quickly noted WERE solid colored and NOT see-through…

…like most storage boxes were of late…

This gave the young man a quick and uneasy feeling…

…but sadly the nineteen year old pushed the feeling away…

…because lastly, his eyes found the massage bench that his stepfather had mentioned earlier…

It looked to Chris like a reverse L shape and was made of solid and polished oak…

The back section of it was pressed up against the wall and the young man also noted that it was set up on rollaway-wheels…rollaway wheels that could be locked in place…

…if one chose to lock the wheels in place…

But then, as Chris was looking in awe around the room he heard his stepfather’s voice…

“Oh, I’m sorry Jim, did you say something?” Chris asked.

“I said it took me about six months to get this room the way you see it,” Jim said. “You had asked where I found the time, but looking around you seemed to be in a trance.” Mostly I did it on weekends and my days off.”

“Yeah, uh, sorry,” Chris said. Wow, six months… And uh, you redid your workroom into a massage room just for me? Just so you could massage my feet before the Saint Patrick’s Day parade?”

“Well, for that and other things that might come up,” Jim said, but before Chris could ask his stepfather what “other things” he was referring to, the construction worker continued speaking, “Now, what say you climb up onto the massage bench, lean your back straight up against the backrest and stretch your legs out, Chrissy boy. Then I’ll get started massaging those feet of yours.”

Looking at the massage bench again, Chris said, “Uh, yeah, sure Jim. Let me just get my shoes and socks off first.”

“I’ll take care of that for you, Chrissy boy,” Jim said. “I want to start by massaging your socked feet first. It’ll feel great and also make for a nice warmup.”

“Um, okay, I guess,” the young man said, sounding a bit unsure as he hopped up onto the massage bench and positioned himself the way his stepfather had instructed.

As he leaned back and stretched his legs out, Jim leaned down and began undoing the laces on his stepson’s shoes.

“You should also take off your uniform jacket and shirt, seeing as once I really get started massaging your feet you’re going to truly sweat,” Jim said next.

“Are, are you sure?” Chris asked, sounding even more unsure now.

“Positive on that, Chrissy boy,” the construction worker said as he then pried the young man’s shoes off his feet, placing them on the floor…

…and stealing a sniff from each one as he did so…

As Chris again did as his stepfather had just instructed, namely taking off his uniform jacket and shirt and hanging them on the side of the backrest of the massage bench, Jim sat down at the end of the bench, placed his stepson’s thick white socked feet in his lap, and began massaging, squeezing and kneading them.

“OH man, that feels great, Jim,” Chris exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear as he now sat bare-chested on the massage bench. “You were right. You were so right. This was a great idea, to massage my feet before the parade tomorrow.”

“If you think this feels great, just wat till I get your socks off your feet and work on them when they’re bare,” the construction worker said as he continued massaging, squeezing, kneading and even twisting his stepson’s socked feet and toes. “With the oils, lotions and ointments I’m going to use on your feet the feeling will be beyond incredible, Chrissy boy…”

“Sounds good Jim,” Chris mused, arched his head back, looked up at the track lights and breathed deeply as his stepfather seemed to be working magic on his socked feet. “God, that feels so good…”

“Just the beginning, Chrissy boy, just the beginning,” Jim said, moved his hands up to Chris’ socked calves, and began vigorously and STRONGLY kneading and twisting them a bit, tugging the young man’s thick white sweat socks down a bit every few seconds as he did so… “How does that feel?”

“Amazing man,” Chris said, sounding as if he were in a swoon. “Even massaging my calves eh?”

“Of course,” Jim replied. “I want your feet and calves to be really able to endure all the walking you’ll be doing in the parade tomorrow…”

When Chris looked back down he saw that Jim had his thick white socks halfway down his calves, still massaging his calves as he went…and in between returning to massaging his still socked feet…he twisted the young man’s socked toes…gripping them tightly…

“OOOO shit, Jim, where did you learn how to massage feet?” Chris asked, sounding breathless.

Smiling across at his stepson, holding the young man’s feet and calves in his lap at that point, Jim said, “I didn’t…you’re my first, Chrissy boy…I suppose you can say I’m not just massaging your feeties here, but I’m practicing on you as well…”

“My feeties???” Chris said to himself, but the feelings and chills emanating through his body seemed to have him entranced.

A few minutes later, Chris watched as his stepfather slid his thick white socks off his feet, slowly though, so slowly, almost ceremoniously it seemed to the young man…

As his socks came off his feet, Chris saw his stepfather take a deep breath, seeming to inhale the odor emanating from the long socks…

“HEH, hope my feeties, as you called them, don’t smell too bad Jim,” Chris said, trying to sound joking.

Tossing Chris’ thick white sweat socks to the floor along with the young man’s shoes, Jim, holding his stepson’s now bare feet in his lap, said, “Nah, they don’t smell too bad at all, just a bit. But they’re feet after all. They’re supposed to smell a tad, right? Anyway, the lotions, oils and ointments I’m going to use on them shortly will take care of that…smell…”

…and with that Jim gripped one each of Chris’ feet in his strong hands…

…squeezed them tight, kneaded them, and massaged the bejesus out of them…

…as his stepson resumed his swooning at the feelings churning through his very being…

…and under his kilt, his cock was suddenly engorging…

…and as Chris’ cock engorged under his kilt, his stepfather began massaging his bare feet in an even stronger fashion.

Jim took the young man’s right foot in both his strong construction worker hands…

…and vigorously massaged, squeezed and kneaded it….

…and as he did so, he grinned across at his stepson…

“How’s that feel Chrissy boy?” Jim asked, as he did his work.

“Oh man, Jim, it feels amazing,” Chris panted. “Even better now that you got my socks off my feet…”

“Yeah and just wait till we get to my oils, lotions and ointments,” the construction worker stated. “Once I slater your feeties with them and massage them some more it’ll make what you’re feeling now feel like nothing…”

As Jim then held Chris’ right foot tight in his left hand and began tugging, yanking and twisting his toes one by one, Chris clenched his fingers into fists and breathlessly said, “J-Jim, some- something weird is happening though…”

“And what all might that be, Chrissy boy?” Jim asked, as if he didn’t know…

…seeing as Chris’ cock had engorged to the state of a full-mast erection…

…and was tenting the crotch area of his kilt…

“I-I got a hard-on, Jim,” Chris said, sounding mortified. “From when you started massaging my feet while I still had my socks on, it caused me to get a hard-on.”

As Jim tugged, yanked and twisted his stepson’s right footed toes, he said, “HEH, nothing to worry about there, Chrissy boy, you’re nineteen years old after all. Anything will cause a young man like you, and at your age, to lay a hard-on…anything…”

…and with that, Jim let go of Chris’ right foot…

…and took his left foot in his two big hands.

As his stepfather went to work on his left foot, Chris’ erection began throbbing…

…and the young man could then feel himself pre cumming…

After Jim had massaged and worked the toes of each of Chris’ bare feet he stood up and moved the bench on its wheels away from the wall it was pressed against.

“What are you doing? Chris asked.

“Just making you more comfortable and making more room for me to be able to move around and maneuver myself,” Jim said, which sounded to the young man like a very lame excuse.

“Now then, which should I use on your bare feeties first, Chrissy boy, lotion, oil, or ointment?” the construction worker asked.

Chris found Jim’s question to be totally ridiculous. What difference did it make which solution he used on his feet first? But the young man had agreed to his stepfather’s offer to massage his feet, and so far it had all felt wonderful…

…so wonderful in fact that he had laid a total boner…

…which by then was totally tenting his kilt…

Chris nervously licked his lips and said, “I guess you can start with the lotion, Jim.”

“Good deal, Chrissy boy,” the construction worker replied and stealthily stepped behind the massage bench. “Good deal, lotion, lotion it will be…just as soon as I get you fastened in…”

“G-get me fastened in?” Chris blurted…

…when, in lightning-like speed, Jim grabbed the young man’s left arm, pulled it to the side of the back of the massage bench, and hooked and latched a stainless steel C-ring around his stepson’s wrist, quickly hooking and latching a second one around the young man’s upper arm…

…securing his arm to the back of the massage bench.

“HEY! What are you doing Jim?” Chris blurted, as his stepfather quickly dashed to the other side of the massage bench and did the same thing with the young man’s right arm. “SHIT!!! What the hell man? You’ve restrained me to the massage bench! WHY???”

As Jim next stepped to the shelf of non-see-through storage boxes, he said, with his back to the young man, “All in due time Chrissy boy, you will understand all in due time…”

Chris then watched in horror as his stepfather opened one of the storage boxes and brought out a long length of black stretchable Velcro, with hooks on both ends of it.

With the length of Velcro in hand Jim stepped back to the massage bench, leering hungrily at his stepson’s naked feet…

“Jim, please, let me go, turn me loose man,” Chris suddenly heard himself pleading. “I’ve decided I don’t need my feet massaged anymore. You’ve already done enough and…”

But then, the young man found himself watching in further horror, as his stepfather proceeded to roughly push his feet together…

…and began winding the length of Velcro tightly round and round them, just above the young man’s ankles…

Continued in part 2

“HOLY SHIT! Holy fucking shit!!!” Chris prattled. “Jim, why, why are you tying me up like this man??? WHY????”

As he hoisted his stepson’s tied up feet off the bench in one huge, construction worker-sized hand, the slack of the Velcro dangling, Jim again leered at Chris, a look of utter hunger in his eyes, said, “Like I said Chrissy boy, all in time, all will be explained in due time…”

“But…” Chris began through trembling lips…

…and then watched as Jim tossed the slack of the Velcro upwards and over a rafter in the ceiling…

…and when the construction worker yanked hard on the slack of the Velcro, the young man’s feet were hoisted upwards and off the massage bench, and left dangling in midair.

As Jim secured the slack of the Velcro around his stepson’s ankles, leaving the young man’s feet now helplessly trapped in midair up off the bench, Chris stammered, “J-Jim, never mind in due time, tell me now why you’ve tied me the fuck up like this…”

And as he blabbered on and on the young man realized that the pre cum from his erection was now staining his kilt, causing him to say to himself, “JEEZ, I’m really pre seeding here…what the fuck is going on???”

Jim stepped over to the shelves where his lotions, ointments and oils were stacked and lined up, chose a tube of pink colored lotion, turned and took in the sight of his trussed up, handsome as hell, stepson…

“Okay Chrissy boy, I suppose due time has come,” Jim said, grinning devilishly as he stepped back over to the massage bench…

…squeezing a goodly amount of the pink lotion into his left hand at the same time…

“Besides massaging those sweet feeties of yours in preparation for the parade you’re going to march in tomorrow, I’m also going to tickle torture the fucks out of your feeties…your sweet fucking feeties, Chrissy boy…”

…and with that, Jim placed the opened tube of pink lotion on the end of the massage bench, worked the lotion onto both his huge hands, and began slathering his stepson’s dangling tied up feet with the lotion…

…massaging it well all over the young man’s feet…

…and especially between his toes…

“T-TICKLE TORTURE my feet???” Chris reeled. “HOLY SHIT!!! YOU have got to be kidding!!!!”

As he slathered and rubbed the lotion all over the young man’s feet, Jim teasingly asked his helpless stepson, “Would I kid a kid, Chrissy boy? Nope, you heard right. I AM going to tickle torture the fuck out of your sweet feeties here…and there’s no time like the present to get started…

With that, Jim pressed his rough and calloused construction worker fingertips of both hands against the lotioned bottoms of Chris’ naked dangling feet…

…and began scrabbling and gliding those fingertips in an up and down and up and down fast motion…

“OH NO, NO JIM!!!!” Chris suddenly shrieked. “HAW, HAW, HAW, HAWWWWW, NOOO!!!! M-my feet are ticklish man, my feet are SO fucking ticklish, HAWWWWWW!!!”

“Exactly what I was counting on, Chrissy boy,” Jim chuckled and began moving his fingers faster up and down and over and over the bottoms of his stepson’s feet.

“NO, NO!!!!” Chris pleaded. “HAW, HAW, HAW!!! HA, HA, HA!!! Jim, you don’t get it man, you don’t under-HAAAAAAA-stand!!! My feet are hyper-fucking ticklish!!! They’re more ticklish than most average guys feet are!! HA!!!! HAWWWWWW!!!! Please, man, you, you have to stop!! Please stop tickling my damned feet!!!”

As the construction worker instead continued tickling Chris’ feet, he said, “Stop Chrissy boy? Hell, I’m just getting started on you here. Besides massaging your feeties, tickling them will REALLY strengthen them for your long walk in the parade tomorrow!”

go to "Messaging His Stepson's Feet (Continued)" for the rest of this story