It had started out as a very normal Saturday.

I woke up at around 10 O’clock, not shamefully late for a nineteen-year-old home from uni for the summer, ate some food, and headed into town. I was staying with my brother, Eric, who had got the family home in Richmond when my parents moved to the country for no good reason. He worked in London, so it made sense, but I was still kind of jealous. I decided to meet some friends on Kensington High Street, we caught up, had a couple of drinks, and headed off in separate directions. I was on the bus when my phone made my familiar ding noise that told me someone had hit me up on Grindr. I’m not totally sure why I ever had Grindr, it wasn’t as if I ever used it. I ignored most of the messages, or played along with some of the older, more desperate guys. I found it funny. I suppose I just liked the complimentary attention. Anyway, this message wasn’t the usual sort of gushing, or disgusting dick pics.

Hey. I bet you have beautiful feet.

Can I see them?

In person…

I looked at the message curiously. It was different, I had to give it that. I glanced down at my boat shoes, which revealed the very tops of my feet and ankles. I thought about them but couldn’t honestly reach the description of ‘beautiful’. Functional, but nothing special, certainly not my best asset. I’d never highlight my feet when meeting a new guy. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not bad feet, they’re just feet. I snapped a photo of my shoes on the floor of the bus, flashing ankle. I sent him the image.

                                                                                                                        There old things?

Yeah…

How long have you been wearing those shoes?

They look old. Nice ankles…

                                                            Haha thanks

I’ve had them a few years. They’re comfy

I felt weirdly defensive of my shoes. I mean I liked them, they were reliable, and I thought them nice summer shoes. Who was this random guy on Grindr to tell me they were old, when he wanted to see my feet.

I’d love to get a closer look at them. Maybe

eye level… Nothing better than a nice pair of feet

inside a pair of smelly old shoes.

So, he liked that the shoes were old. Odd, but were they that smelly? I didn’t know why I was continuing this, but buses are boring and weird Grindr convos are funny.

I guess you got a foot fetish then?

I realised how stupid that message was as soon as I sent it. Obviously, he had a foot fetish.

Yeah.

I like everything about feet, and shoes, and socks. I

want to find someone who would let me worship their

feet. Who would let me clean their shoes…

I think I’d known this was coming from the first message, but what I hadn’t expected was the little twitch in my shorts as my cock stirred, interested by the idea of a guy worshiping, what were in my opinion, my absolute bang average feet. I’d been thinking about it for a minute before I realised that twitch had turned into a semi, and I quickly tried to focus on something else.

  Clean my shoes?

You can definitely clean my shoes if you

want. I hate doing it

Really?! And worship your feet?

The speed with which he responded was unseemly, desperate, particularly after my lengthy gap before replying. This guy was really eager to get down and dirty with my feet.I laughed on the bus and received a stern look from an elderly lady three seats in front. If only she’d know what caused the laughter…

                       Maybe…

I’ve never had it done before. I’m

not very dom, I don’t think. You can clean my shoes

and then I guess we can see.  

Just to be clear, I’d want to lick

your shoes clean while you’re

wearing them

I was a bit surprised by this, as I’d imagined him cleaning them in the hall or something. I suppose that was pretty naïve of me, but it was true that I’d never really done any dom/sub stuff before, unless you count tying up one of my friends for a laugh. I knew Eric was into dom/sub stuff with some of the girls he brought back. The family home had become more of a bachelor pad with a seemingly revolving door of girls since he’d taken ownership. We were really tight, even for brothers, and were very open about sex stuff with each other. He was actually the first person I came out to. I texted Eric quickly, who said he’d come across people with major foot fetishes before; he said they’d do anything to get their fix. I still hadn’t replied.

…

I looked at the guy’s profile. His name was Benji. He had a face pic, which was encouraging, and he even looked normal in it. Pretty cute actually. Mousey brown, tousled, hair, green eyes, slim, twinky.

Lick my shoes clean? While I wear them?

Some of my shoes are gross man. I don’t think

I’ve ever washed a couple of my boots. I definitely

haven’t cleaned my football boots properly

since the end of the season.

Good. There’s no point me cleaning

clean shoes.

I was a bit thrown by the undeniable logic. I had sort of assumed that the shoe cleaning was symbolic or something, that it was meant to show subservience and submission, rather than actually be about shoe cleaning.

I suppose not.

But you’re cute/hot enough to get guys

without doing this stuff.

Thanks. I guess. But it’s not about

‘getting guys’, it’s about serving guys, and

their feet. As their slave.

So, can I serve yours, master?

I hesitated. I wasn’t sure. It still all sounded a bit too weird for me, but while my mind wasn’t made up, my cock certainly was. It was tenting very obviously in my shorts, and I was suddenly very glad of the London traffic jams that made this journey even longer than it would have been otherwise. I checked a new message from Eric, which just told me to go for it, use the guy for some fun power play and dump him out. He said that if I didn’t, he would.

Sure, I guess it’s cool.

Could be fun. I can accom though,

I’m not going to yours.

Then, in a mild, last minute panic, and maybe something else, I added,

            My brother might be there. His

Shoes are pretty gross too.

Good.

What’s your address, and when should I come round?

I sent him my brother’s address and told him to be there at 7pm that evening.

It was 6:45 that evening, and my brother and I had selected some of our shoes that we wanted to see Benji clean for us. I’d chosen my football boots, caked in last season’s mud and grass, a pair of Chelsea boots, dusty and grimy from London walking, an old pair of trainers that I use mostly for tennis, and some smart shoes that I’d worn to a wedding last weekend. Eric had said he only wanted one pair of his shoes cleaned at first, and they were the pair of old converse he seemed to wear everywhere. They stunk and were faded and off colour from years of use, with grim and sweat ingrained in every part of them, the filth of London’s streets clung to the bottoms like barnacles to a ship. I wasn’t sure that Benji’s tongue would be up to the job, no matter how willing the mind might have been. We were sat in the living room, with the French doors flung open to the garden and a cooling breeze wafting through the house. We were in armchairs that faced each other. In between us was a rug, on which sat the shoes I wasn’t wearing. We’d had a few drinks, mainly coz I wasn’t sure I could face this sober. As the clock on the mantlepiece struck seven, there came a knock at the door.

‘It’s open’, Eric shouted through. We heard the familiar creak of the door as it swung in.

‘Hello’, a voice called from the hall. It sounded timid but determined.

‘We’re through here’, I replied, taking another sip of my whiskey. I heard the pad of feet in the hall as Benji, our new foot slave and shoe cleaner, came towards my voice, appearing the in the doorway and lingering there as though unsure whether or not to come in.

‘Hi,’ he said, waving a hand and appearing more confident now that he’d seen us. His Grindr picture really hadn’t done him justice, he was very good looking. I almost thought it was a shame, as I would really have liked to sleep with him, if he hadn’t been about to do this.

‘Hi,’ I said back, and waved, then gestured towards the rug and shoes as though I was a magician presenting his trick. ‘So here we are. Do you wanna just start?’

Benji looked like he would, but Eric had other ideas, and said, ‘You should be naked. You should definitely be naked. There’s no way that a good foot slave would be clothed in the presence of his masters. And you should be on your hands and knees.’ I looked at Eric quickly, a bit surprised. This seemed a bit mean. I knew he was there to serve our feet, but I wasn’t totally comfortable humiliating him, and I felt a sort of kindly ownership of him; I thought of him as my slave, not Eric’s. Benji, on the other hand looked relieved, as though he was glad that someone was taking charge. He stripped off quickly, revealing a tight, firm body and a cock in a chastity cage. He then dropped to his hands and knees and crawled into the middle of the rug, between Eric and me. Eric laughed, and waved him towards me, clearly signally where he should start his cleaning.

It was a very odd experience. Odd because having a cute guy looking your boots clean of the week’s dirt would surely always be an odd experience for anyone, but also odd because I loved it. Because as soon as his tongue touched the toe of my boot my cock stirred, and it rose in time with his tongue licking a long swipe up to the top of my boot, leaving behind a wet streak through the dry muck. He moaned in pleasure as his tongue continued to lick away the debris of London walking, and my cock started to leak precum. His was already dripping the stuff onto the carpet. He cradled my left boot in his hands as his tongue and mouth cleaned it, sucking the end, licking every inch of it, using his teeth to claw off some of the more stubborn patches of dried mud. I could see that he was in heaven, and so was I. Without realising it, I had undone my flies, and my cock was my now standing to attention as I gazed at my boot cleaner. I could see Eric, clearly enjoying the show, and I had the sudden urge to please him. Without really thinking about it, I lifted my right boot and planted it squarely between Benji’s shoulder blades, left open, enticing, and vulnerable by the position he had taken to better clean my left boot. I felt him buckle slightly, as I let the weight of my leg rest entirely on his back. He winced at first, but then went on. Eric laughed.

When Benji had finished with my left boot, he looked up at me and asked if I wouldn’t mind him now cleaning the right boot. I said, ‘of course not’, and lifted my right boot off his back to reveal a pretty obvious mark, red where my boot had rested, dusty all around. I put my now spotless left boot in its place and presented my right to Benji’s ever willing tongue. I was wanking by now, slowly, luxuriating in Benji’s service. He paid my second boot the same attention and love he had shown the first, and when he was finished remained in position with my boot digging into his shoulder blades.

I removed my boot from his back and told him to kneel in front of me and stick out his tongue. He did, and I could see that it was brown with the dirt of my boots. I told him to come closer and put his mouth near my cock. He did as he was told, and I quickly wanked onto his outstretched tongue, mixing brown mud with white spunk.

Benji smiled like he was the happiest person in the world and asked if he could change my boots for another pair of shoes. I said, ‘of course’…