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Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love

By: Bacomicfan



Middletown, New York - not exactly a Times Square shopping Mecca or a Rodeo Drive, but the Crystal Run Galleria there is quite a decent little shopping mall that would make any town proud. On weekends it bustles with activity and it's many stores attract a plastic-wielding herd of shoppers eager to swipe that plastic through encrypted billing devices and part with their hard-earned cash.

Every late spring, summer and fall (as soon as the weather warms up and those flip-flops and sexy open-toed shoes come out of the closets) for the last few years Jim Sutherland has gotten into his car and made the thirty mile trip to the Crystal Run Galleria for a day of what he calls "foot shopping." Oh, he might visit a store or two, maybe plunk down some bucks for an item now and again, but his priorities lie elsewhere. Having exhausted all other options for connecting with a Foot Goddess who could appreciate his many talents and enjoy his thorough and satisfying attentions, he was reduced to hanging out in the mall food court and looking under nearby tables to ogle the pretty feet of various women His unwavering hope was that one of them would notice and approve of his admiration for their feet and claim him as her personal foot pamperer, instantly whisking him off to begin his long and happy life at her feet. Oh, the power of hope.

But Jim was no longer a spring chicken. His years of hard work, coupled with health issues, had taken their toll. While he was a big man and maybe a bit depressed by life's disappointments, he still felt he had a lot to offer. In his mid-fifties, he might not be able to play middle linebacker anymore, but he knew he could please a woman who enjoyed having her feet properly tended to. And at this point in his life, it was the one joy that had always escaped him, to literally worship a woman's feet. That was all he wanted, to adore and spoil those lovely soles and wiggling digits for hours on end and make a woman squeal with pleasure as he made her feet feel brand new whenever he was allowed to service their every need. And what was so wrong with that?

He knew what was wrong with that. He, and other foot worshippers like himself, could never understand why all women didn't like their feet being adored - fondled reverently, kissed passionately, massaged and pleased in every way imaginable. Oh, sure, many women love having their feet massaged. And they like when men want to comfort them that way. But if a man wants to do more for their feet, or if he himself gets pleasure from her feet, well then he's immediately labeled a pervert. Women dress up their feet in sexy shoes and paint their toenails and wear toe rings and ankle bracelets, all rendering their feet even more appealing to the eye. But if a man admires all that hard work and good taste, the woman runs for the hills, usually calling for help as she's racing off.

All of that has made it hard for Jim to connect with the Foot Goddess of his dreams. And all he asks for is the honor of worshipping a woman's feet - and thereby the woman herself - in the hopes of making her feel adored, desired and truly worshipped. Now, many foot fetishists want to get their hands on a woman's feet and suck on them and drool all over them until they get their rocks off. Those men don't deserve to worship a woman's feet, because they make that act about themselves instead of about the woman. If a man is allowed to worship a woman's feet, she is giving him an honor that should not be cheapened by lust. Men who want to suck toes and ejaculate give the rest of us a bad name, and maybe that's part of the stigma that foot lovers have to deal with. If one foot fetishist rips off a woman's shoes and runs off drooling, then women think we all do that. It holds us all back. Those of us who truly desire to worship a woman's feet, regardless of whether there's sexual gratification involved or not, suffer because of the out of control actions of a few. This fact is something that's been stuck in Jim's craw for a long, long time - that a woman's concept of him as a foot lover could be tainted by the reckless actions of others. Jim's desires are much more of a giving nature. But women don't see that. And thus he, like most foot admirers, are forced to keep their desires secret, buried deep within their hearts, never able to admit them to a woman they love for fear of rejection.

So it has come to this. When exactly Jim became so pathetic as to have to troll mall food courts to sneak peeks under tables at lovely painted toes or soft arches, hoping for a woman to kick off her shoes when he's lucky enough to be nearby, is beyond him. But all other methods of meeting women into foot worship (as rare as such enlightened creatures are) have failed, and this is how low he had sunk. Gazing at women's feet while they sit sipping coffee or eating a meal. Lord, what HAD he come to? But still, any port in a storm as they say. When one has needs or desires, one has to find some way of getting them met.

Hence Jim's warm weather excursions to the Galleria to hopefully catch a few glimpses of feet that he can worship from afar if nothing else. A sad state of affairs, but better than nothing. And every now and again he would spy an exceptionally lovely pair of feet that would inspire many satisfying fantasies. Not the ideal situation, but hey, it's better to see beautiful feet and lose them, then to never have seen them at all. Or... something like that.

And so it was that on this bright, late spring day that the lovely weather inspired our poor, unwanted foot worshipper to get himself out of the house and do a little "foot shopping" for those pretty feet in their skimpy

summer footwear.

Jim was actually trembling with anticipation as he rifled through his closet for his favorite t-shirt, his red Bazinga! Big Bang Theory shirt with Sheldon's geeky puss plastered on it. But then he spotted his It's Clobberin' Time! t-shirt with the Thing on it and hesitated. Maybe that one instead. Or Stinky's Pub or the one with the cover of X-Men #1 on it. He laughed. He wondered who was the bigger geek, Sheldon or himself. In the end, he went with the Bazinga! shirt. He put it on, tucked it into his ever-present blue jeans and belted up. Then he put on his white athletic socks and black New Balance sneakers and topped everything off with his New York Giants Super Bowl XLVI Champions baseball cap. He was as debonair as he was ever going to get. Look out, ladies, here comes your heartthrob geek foot worshipper! Prepare to be swooned!

The drive to the mall was excruciating. He was so foot horny that his mind was racing with all sorts of fantasies of women catching him ogling their feet and then whipping off their shoes just for him, teasing him with their luscious tootsies and winking at him for him to come over and give their pretty toes a big kiss. The erection stretching the crotch of his jeans was achingly persistent. It would be satisfied with nothing less than two soft, sexy feet wiggling their toes under his quivering chin. Jim sighed and stepped on the gas. He just couldn't wait to see if there were any gorgeous peds slipping out of their shoes or plopped up on chairs in the food court. Oh, God, if only one woman noticed him admiring her feet and actually approved, or just giggled, or maybe teased him with her feet, that would make the whole day worthwhile. Come on, God, PLEASE, let this work just once! Let this be the day. Just this one time, that's all I ask. I'll start giving to charity. I'll help old ladies cross the street. I'll stop calling my brother "the miser." ANYTHING!

Jim parked his car near the mall's movie theater, which was just below the food court. He rushed to the escalator, which wasn't fast enough, and took the rising stairs two at a time anyway. Not bad for an old dude, he thought. Arriving on the upper level, he then made a beeline for the food court. Ah, it was perfect.

It was crowded enough to mean that there might be quite a few opportunities for foot viewing, but not so busy that there was no place to sit. Nice. That's the beauty of going to the mall on weekdays as opposed to the insanity of the weekends. Since he'd taken early retirement, that meant he could come here on weekdays often throughout the summer months, thereby increasing his chances of meeting his one true Foot Goddess... if she existed at all.

Not wanting to look suspicious sitting at a table with no food or drink, Jim bought two slices of pizza and a root beer. He noticed with a frown that Nathan's Hot Dogs had left the food court. That saddened him because he'd always been an avid hotdog lover. What was this world coming to when even a Nathan's can't stay in business?

Carrying his tray, Jim moved to the far rear of the food court, his favorite section. It was a large tabled area that looked almost like a greenhouse. It's three walls and roof were all made of sectioned glass, allowing the maximum sunlight to shine through. There were a couple of large, fake trees around the square bordered bases of which tables were arranged, but that wasn't where Jim liked to sit. He preferred to sit somewhere along the far back glass wall. Here, tables were arranged along the glass outer wall and, about five feet to the side of each, usually along the square borders holding the trees, other tables were lined up, one behind the other. The outer wall tables and the ones running parallel to them along the tree bases were staggered just enough that if you sat at one you could look to your left or right (depending on which seat of the table you sat at) and have a clear view of the legs and feet of whomever sat at the table to the side of yours. It was perfect for "foot shopping." The reason why Jim liked this section best was because the tables mentioned were all small, two-seater tables, and a lot of women sat by themselves at these. After all, if he was going to have any chance whatsoever of meeting his Foot Goddess, she certainly wouldn't be engaging him in teasing or even conversation if she already had company.

Eagerly anticipating what lovely ladies might be sitting back here, and which might be wearing flip-flops or sandals or kicking off their shoes to comfort their feet, Jim looked about with anticipation, hoping to see a woman at least in her forties who might have the feet of an angel. He wasn't even concerned with looks. In his desire to be a woman's foot worshipper, he could overlook a lot for a pretty pair of feet. From past experience he also knew that the sexier the feet, the prettier the woman looked to him. Funny how that worked. He had no explanation for it, but if a woman was willing to offer him her feet for worship, she would look more and more like a true goddess with every kiss she allowed him to plant on her feet. That's just the way his love of feet had trained his mind to see things. She who wants her feet worshipped becomes a goddess in all ways, not just those succulent, playful toes.

But, despite the perfect amount of shoppers present and the gorgeous day, things still didn't seem to be going Jim's way. Of the approximately twenty tables lining the window, about half of them were occupied, which normally would've made for a wonderful selection of possible foot viewings to choose from. But, of the nearly a dozen occupied tables, at least four were occupied by couples. Of the remaining seven or eight, two were occupied by very young girls, probably mall employees. Oh, that would not be a good risk at all. Besides, women under the age of thirty just didn't thrill Jim anymore. Bummer. From a quick glance, that left about five tables. At one sat a man in a business suit. Crap. Now he was down to four. At one was an older woman - probably seventies - with what appeared to be a grandchild. Only three left. All three were occupied by women sitting alone. Okay, well, that was something at least.

Far back by the two community rooms, a woman who appeared to be in her mid fifties sat eating a slice of pizza. She was slightly full-figured, with long, polished fingernails and dressed casually in a loose-fitting blouse and jeans. Her face was devoid of makeup but still pretty, although appearing very tired. Her hair was blonde and just barely made it below her ears, the locks looking as tired as the pretty face. Alas, she wore sneakers, and didn't seem the least bit inclined to kick them off. The next table, about five tables closer, was occupied by a well-dressed woman in a black skirt and red blouse. She, too, was slightly more curvy but had nice legs and wore black flats that could easily be kicked off. But, on closer inspection of her face, she wore a scowl and her mouth attacked her food as if each morsel that went into it had somehow offended her and deserved a crushing, painful revenge.

His last hope turned out to be a pleasant surprise. A very pretty woman in a long, flowing summer dress. She appeared to be maybe mid-twenties to thirty years old. Face done up with an expert hand. Lush lips and big, blue eyes. Long, curly red hair well below her shoulders. Slim and fit, You could both see and feel her energy. And, my oh my, what lovely high heeled slides! Beautiful blue-painted toes. Jim was in love. He wanted to marry her... or at least hug her feet.

Jim made a beeline for the table nearest hers and to the woman's left, trying not to look like he was too anxious to sit there. Just as he sat down the woman in the black skirt and red blouse finished torturing her food and got up, storming off as if someone had just urinated in her Wheaties. Wow, Jim thought, dodged a bullet there.

When the scowler had stomped off, the woman at the table a few tables behind her - the woman in the jeans and sneakers - looked up from her pizza and smiled at Jim. She still looked pretty to Jim, but he was here on a mission, and there was no way he could approach a woman wearing sneakers and tell her how lovely her feet were. So, politely, he smiled back and prepared to eat his own pizza and ogle the feet of his newfound goddess.

Not more than five minutes had passed when the red-haired owner of Jim's heart slowly slid both of her feet out of her shoes, bracing her pretty, blue-lacquered toes on the heels of her shoes and gently rocking the shoes back under her feet. Jim watched this with great interest. Next, the woman slid her feet back down the length of her shoes, but did not put the shoes back on. Instead, she rested her feet on top of her shoes. Jim now had an unobstructed, complete view of both those lovely gems. They were awesome. Slim feet, long slender toes, kissable ankles, heels that looked smooth enough to fall asleep on... they put the "a" in "awesome" all right. 

Jim stared at those feet with a wistful, almost begging puppydog look on his face. He sighed and started fantasizing. Oh, if only he could just kiss one of those delectable toes. Maybe just rub his cheek along her instep. Run his tongue for just a second along her arch. Put one succulent toe in his mouth and savor its sweetness. Oh, sweet Lord, what perfect feet. He wondered if he should get down on his knees and ask this goddess if he could worship her feet for a century or two. But, suddenly, the feet rushed back into their shoes. Jim's heart broke. He blinked, trying to pull back into focus that lovely vision of those elegant feet fully exposed and resting peacefully on top of the sexy shoes.

And then he happened to look up. His goddess was looking over at him - or, rather, glaring. Her eyes were as crimson as her hair, twin slits of anger. Her lush lips were parted, showing teeth that seemed to want to gnaw on Jim's face. The scowl this sweet-toed beauty blasted at Jim made the food-molesting woman in the black skirt and red blouse look as though she'd been smiling angelically throughout her meal. In short, his goddess was not happy.

Jim immediately looked back at his tray and the half-eaten pizza, fearing the worst. He was sure his former foot goddess was going to clock him upside the head with one of those shoes he so admired just a few minutes earlier. Staring down at his pizza, he waited for the hammer to fall. It didn't. Rolling his eyes as far to his left as he could without moving his head in the slightest, Jim was able to see the former owner of his heart out of the corner of his eye. She was still eating, but she now had the same look on her face as had the woman who seemed to hate her food. What's more, she had moved her feet as far back and to her right as she could, affording Jim only a miniscule, mostly blocked view of them. Jim knew in his heart that she had caught him looking at her feet and definitely did NOT approve. Disappointed, he asked himself why all the women in the world never liked having men admire their feet. That was something he'd never understand even if he lived to be a thousand.

A few minutes later, the red-haired beauty finished her meal, noisily (aka angrily) crumbled up the various wrappers and slammed them and several utensils into the paper bag they'd come in, and stood up as if she were planning to chew someone out. Jim knew who that someone would be. But the chewing out never occurred. Instead, the woman stormed past Jim in a huff. As she passed him, she said, loudly enough for him to hear, "Fuckin' pervert." The breeze of her hasty exit tickled the side of Jim's face. He was too scared to follow her with his eyes. He figured if he did that, and she turned to find him looking at her, she would stomp back and get all ugly in his face. That would be very embarrassing. If she raised enough of a stink, he could even get not only thrown out of the mall, but banned from ever coming back. Discretion was the better part of valor.

Jim didn't feel comfortable again for something like five to ten minutes after the irate woman left. Then he started to relax, and even got up the courage to look around to see if the woman was still around, or maybe heading back to his table with mall security in tow. He sighed when she was nowhere to be found. But he still feared she might bring back security, so he pondered whether or not to leave the mall for that day and try again on another, perhaps when someone above smile down on him rather than sending a flock of birds to drop their last meal on him.

Sitting back in his chair, Jim ran his hands through his hair and collected himself. Some Foot Goddess, he thought. Broomhilda the Utterly Mad is more like it. Geez, you'd think I kidnapped her child or something. All I did was admire her feet. That's all. What's so terrible about that? He sat back in his chair with his eyes looking up through the glass at the blue sky. He wondered why God hated him, why God wouldn't help him find a woman who would give him the one honor he wished for more than anything in the world - the honor of worshipping her feet for hours on end, doing his best to make her feet - and her - feel like the most important things in the universe. Why is it the only women who actually want foot worship from a man are hookers, who only do it for the money? The ones who sell their shoes or socks or stockings, or maybe even their feet themselves for the right price. "Don't you think you should pay tribute to kiss my feet?" they ask, when in reality it's all about the money and not the worship. There are no real women out there who want their feet worshipped. The ones who do are all just prostitutes, selling their feet rather than their pussies. God, this world sucks.

Lamenting yet another dismal failure, and debating whether he was in the mood to try again at a different table, Jim stopped looking at the sky and reached down to snag his last piece of pizza crust. Just as he poked it into his mouth and began to chew, he happened to see the woman at the far table getting up and preparing to leave. He thought she looked like a nice person, someone he wouldn't mind knowing. Yeah, right, he scolded himself, if she knew you like feet, she'd run like hell, too - probably belt you with Louisville Slugger on her way out, too. Jesus, all I want to do is adore one pretty pair of feet. Why is that so much to ask, God? Why?


Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love



While he chewed and lamented his lot in life, the woman drew nearer, smiling, looking right at him. He was a little taken aback at how she seemed to be looking right into his eyes. She stopped briefly to empty her tray into one of the trash receptacles and then place the used tray on top of it. Then she turned back and headed directly for Jim's table. He wondered why she was coming back this way, and not heading toward the exit. Had she left something at her table? He didn't see anything.

She continued to walk directly toward him. Oh, God, he thought, she saw him staring at the other woman's feet and now she was going to give him a hard time, too. Mob mentality. She was going to jump on the band wagon and call him a pervert, too. If the other woman didn't get security, this one just might. So much for thinking she was a nice person.

The woman strode right up to Jim's table, making no noise at all in her sneakers. She stopped at the chair opposite Jim and looked down at him. He waited for the volley of cannon fire and the threats and name-calling that surely must be coming. He closed his eyes. But then he remember that as she approached she had been smiling. Smiling? Was she some kind of psycho who ENJOYED reaming little footboys a whole new one? After waiting several seconds and not hearing any banshee wails, Jim opened his eyes.

The woman was still standing there. And she did indeed smile down at him. She didn't look the least bit angry. What then? Was she going to tell him she knew he was staring at the other woman's feet and that he should be ashamed? Chastise him like a little boy? He couldn't figure this one out.

She stretched out her hand, still looking him directly in the eye. In that hand she held a small piece of paper, folded in half. She waited for him to take it. Finally he extended his hand to take the paper from her, his eyes likewise locked on hers, still waiting.

"That's for you," the woman said, and then fell silent again.

"What is it?" Jim asked suspiciously, still expecting the worst. Probably anthrax, the way my luck's going, he thought wryly. 

"I don't have time to stay and chat," the woman said, "I have a lot to do today. But just read the note when I leave. Promise?"

"Uh, yeah, sure," Jim replied, stunned that no axe had fallen. "What is it?" he asked again.

"Just read it. It's self explanatory. Then, if you want, we'll talk again. But I have to go now. Take care." She waved a little finger wave at him and smiled again. It was a pretty smile. Do psychos smile pretty?

She turned and started to walk away from Jim, but only took a few steps before turning back around and saying, "And, you're wrong. Not all of us are hookers. Not all of us want money." Then she turned and walked away. Jim watched her go, admiring her plump behind as she walked. Nice butt, he thought. The woman turned her head back and smiled at him. Jim shivered. He didn't know why.

He looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, wondering if he dared open it. Slowly he screwed up the nerve to unfold the paper and read the contents. There wasn't much written on it. Just a few words. But those words didn't just make him even more suspicious of the woman, they also made his heart skip a beat and his chest heave. Again, he didn't know why. He read the words a half dozen times before they started to sink in. On the seventh try the words made sense. And Jim wasn't sure if that was good or bad. The simple note read:

HELEN

(849-992-6161)

I KNOW YOUR SECRET

CALL ME - YOU WON'T BE SORRY.

Jim came within about five seconds of passing out. He had to put his head down between his knees and breathe slowly and deeply. He wasn't sure what just happened, but in all his days of coming to the Crystal Run Galleria to search for a woman whose feet he could press his lips onto for all eternity, he had never had a day quite like this. The red haired woman he fully understood. She'd caught him gazing at her feet and was neither amused nor understanding. She was angry with a capital "A". Most women don't like having men admire their feet, but most don't get that angry either. Still, it was an understandable reaction. This Helen woman, however, Jim had no idea what to make of her. Okay, so she saw him staring at red hair's feet and knows his secret. But what about this phone number thing? Surely she wasn't going to try to blackmail him? That's just crazy. Looking at someone isn't a crime, especially if that person doesn't make a complaint. So, what then? This was confounding him, and he was pretty sure he didn't like it.

Usually when he went "foot shopping" and failed to see some lovely feet on the first try, he'd move to another table and try again. Maybe he wouldn't get even close to a date with a footsie angel, but at least he'd see some pretty feet and go home with a smile, if not a Foot Goddess. But today was just too brutal (he really felt sorry that the red haired woman was so pissed - it was not his intention) and too... odd. He figured he'd just go home and regroup for his next "foot shopping" excursion to Crystal Run.

He pocketed the note and tossed out his trash, walking dejectedly out of the food court. On his way out, he noticed several possibilities for admiring sweet tootsies, but they were all younger women and not the more mature woman he was seeking... the whippersnappers wouldn't want an old man anyway. So he fought off the urge to sit near those women no matter how pretty their feet were. It wasn't easy, but he felt like he needed to go home for today and figure out what had just happened. 

His drive home was quite a bit different from the drive to the mall. His hopes had been dashed, and he was still mulling over this whole Helen thing. What was her angle? The more he thought about it, he really didn't think she had been watching him while he was staring at the red haired goddess's feet, though she certainly could have. He just didn't think so. So how could she know his secret? Did she catch him looking maybe one time and then assume he was interested in the woman's feet? No, he was usually very aware of his surroundings when he went "foot shopping" in case security personnel were hanging around or might show up unexpectedly. He was sure he would've noticed if this Helen had been watching him look at the other woman's incredible feet. He would've known! And why would she approach him? He had to get home and think about this.

When Jim got home he immediately grabbed a beer from the fridge. He plopped down onto his sofa and took Helen's note out of his pocket. He read it another half dozen times. The first two lines seemed simple enough - a name and a phone number. The part that sounded like doom was the third line - "I know your secret." Could almost be threatening. But then the last line, "Call me - you won't be sorry." That sounded more positive than anything else, like he'd be happy he called her. Damn, this was irritating. All right, he thought, I'm gonna put this to bed once and for all. I'll wait a couple of hours, and then I'm going to call this Helen woman and find out what her story is. I can't have this hanging over my head.

Exactly two hours later Jim sat by his phone, absently stroking his fingers along one side near the keys. His other hand tapped out some unknown message on the end table the phone sat on. His eyes stared at the phone as if it knew the answers to his questions and if he asked it nicely it would tell him.

Finally Jim's index finger tapped out the number on the paper: 849-992-6161. He waited. It rang three times, four... then a click as the receiver was lifted.

"Hello, Jim," a feminine voice said, "I'm glad you decided to call. It's me, Helen."

"What?... How?... How did you know it was me? Do you have caller ID and somehow know my number? And how did you know my name? You couldn't have even Googled me without SOME kind of information." He was flabbergasted. He didn't know what he expected, but this certainly wasn't it.

"Well, Jim," she replied with a little chuckle in her voice, "You're not the only one with a secret. I don't know if you believe in such things, but I'm psychic. I can read minds, especially when someone's mind is in a heightened state, like anger or sadness or happiness or... lust. By the way, that woman who was sitting across from you? Wow, she wanted to pluck out your eyeballs. You should've heard some of the things she was thinking about you. X-rated doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Wait, I don't believe in psychics. That's all a bunch of bull. No offense; I'm sure you may THINK you have psychic abilities, but there's no proof whatsoever... "

"Jim, you can't be serious. Would you like me to tell you what YOU were thinking about while you were eating your lunch? And what about my comment that we're not all hookers interested in money? Do you remember where that comment came from? Oh, and, by the way... I'm glad you think I have a nice tush. I've always felt it's a little large, but you seemed to like it quite a bit. So, thank you, that made me feel really good about myself."

Jim's head started reeling again. "No, no," he insisted, "There's got to be some other explanation. Did someone I know put you up to this? Like some sort of weird joke?"

"Well, if that's the case, Jim, then your little foot fetish secret is out, isn't it? Which of your friends do you think knows about that and told me so I can mention it to you as part of a joke?"

Jim swigged down several gulps of beer. He was always very careful to tell NO ONE about his fetish. Life is hard enough without all the toe jam and stinky feet jokes, not to mention the looks people would give him if they knew. So who could've found out? He had to nip things in the bud before they got out of hand.

"Jim? Are you there? Are you okay?"

"Helen, is it? Look, I don't know how you found out, but... "

"Jim, relax, I'm not planning on telling anyone that you like women's feet. Really, I think it's sweet how much you adore them. Honest, I'm not out to get you or anything. So calm down, okay? I'm not your enemy."

"Then what's your angle? You must have one somewhere. And how do you know all that stuff?"

"Jim, if you refuse to believe I'm psychic, I don't know what else I can tell you. Really, how else would I know? How would I know that you were thinking that the only women who want their feet worshipped are hookers out to make a buck? How would I know that, Jim? That's nothing a friend of yours could've told me, is it? And how else would I know that you were thinking I have a nice tush as I was walking away from you this afternoon? By the way, thank you again for that. It made my day, I can tell you."

"Helen, I admit it's odd, but there has to be some explanation... "

"All right, Jim, I'll tell you what. If you need to test me, go ahead. Right here over the phone. Think of something and I'll tell you what you're thinking. Will that convince you?"

Jim felt the hairs at the nape of his neck stand on end. He didn't believe in psychics, but if this woman could indeed tell him what he was thinking, well, he didn't want to think about it. "I'll tell you what, Helen, if you can tell me what I'm thinking right now, I guess I'll have no choice but to believe you, scary as that may be. Okay, so what am I thinking?"

She chuckled again, "Well, you're really jumbled up at the moment. Apparently your mind is still thinking about my butt, probably because I just brought it up. Your mind is also babbling something about being sorry I was wearing sneakers today. That's kinda sweet, really. But the main thought in your mind is about the Giants' chances of winning another Super Bowl. Jesus, you guys and your sports. What men think is important is just mind boggling. Of all the things to think about as a test for my abilities, the only thing you could come up with is football? How boring. So, Jim, how'd I do?"

"Damn," Jim sighed, "I guess I have no choice. Apparently you can read minds. So, what's that got to do with me? Why did you give me that note at the mall today?"

"Because I have a proposition for you. Well, an offer, I guess. Something I think, based on what I learned today at the mall, will appeal to you. Care to hear it, Jim?"

"I might as well," Jim replied, feeling at a disadvantage, "You've gone this far."

"Well, Jim, it's like this. You were really sad today about that red-haired woman and how she reacted to your... admiration... for her feet. I'd say you were heartbroken. And a little bit scared she might clock you, which, between you and me, wasn't entirely out of the question. It was touch and go there for a while, believe me. But, that's neither here nor there. After she stormed off you were pretty down about not being able to find what you call a Foot Goddess. Your thoughts on that were crystal clear. In your mind, worshipping a woman's feet is like your Holy Grail. You seem to want that more than anything else. Would that be a fair assessment, Jim?"

Embarrassed, Jim nonetheless realized he couldn't very well hide anything from this woman, so he just quietly agreed, saying "Well, yeah, it's pretty important to me. But it hasn't happened in fifty years, so it's not gnonna happen at all. We all have to learn to live with disappointments."

"You mean by hanging out at the mall hoping for a glimpse of pretty feet and maybe meeting a woman who wants you to hug and kiss her feet?" She didn't mean it to sound quite so cruel, but it did, and Jim was more hurt than angry.

"Well, we can't all be perfect, Helen. Some of us get the gift of being a psychic, others get the gift of wanting to kiss someone's feet. You got the nice gift, I got the curse. Sorry if I don't live up to your high standards."

"Oh, Jim... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound the way it did. I wasn't judging you, honest. I just think there's got to be a better way for you to find your Foot Goddess. And I might be able to help."

Jim laughed. "Oh, really? You know a way I can find the woman of my dreams? You know how many women out there think guys with foot fetishes should be dumped in the ocean to become fish food?"

"I'm sure there are many of them, Jim, but I'm not one of them. In fact, I think you wanting to worship a woman's feet is... erotic. No man's ever wanted to worship my feet, so I think any man who considers kissing a woman's feet to be an honor - the way you do - is about as desirable a man as there could be."

Jim was stunned. He could barely breathe. He had no idea how to respond to Helen's comments. So Helen continued while he thought about it.

"Jim, I swear to you that what I'm about to say is the truth. I have ALWAYS fantasized that a man is so madly in love with me that he kisses my feet every chance he gets just to prove it. He thinks touching his lips to my feet is an honor he doesn't deserve and a gift from me that he will forever be grateful for. The man I fantasize about goes absolutely crazy every time I take off my shoes. My feet are his world. He can't get enough of them, and that's exactly how I like it. Every time his mouth caresses my feet in any way I feel more and more like a goddess and he feels like the luckiest man in the world. Ever since I was a teenage girl I've longed for that kind of worship and I'd dearly love it to be reality rather than just fantasy. So, believe me, Jim, I completely understand your desire to smother a woman's feet with affection. I live that same fantasy from the other side."

Jim was so aroused by what Helen had just said that he could barely control his urge to pleasure himself. His thoughts were so jumbled that Helen's head was beginning to hurt. To try to get Jim to focus, she continued letting her feelings be known. 

"Jim, I know the kind of person you are. You don't just want to worship a woman's feet for your own ends. You truly want to worship a woman, ongoing, twenty-four seven, not just when your hormones are up. For you worshipping a woman's feet is a way of life, not just a turn on. I know that even if you had ten orgasms and couldn't possibly get another erection, you'd still want to worship your woman's feet for as long as your hands and lips and tongue could keep going. Even if you were neutered - God forbid - you'd worship a woman's feet because you genuinely believe that her feet deserve no less than total devotion. The sex part isn't what motivates you. The worship is. And that's what I want from a man, Jim. I want a man who isn't just happy to take his place at my feet, but who is GRATEFUL to be there, and I mean genuinely grateful, and for the long haul, not just until he comes. It's after the orgasm occurs and the man is no longer able to 'rise to the occasion' that you learn who the true foot worshippers are. They're the ones who keep worshipping without the promise of sexual gratification, the ones who do it because they believe in it, because they live for it." Helen's thoughts were beginning to get jumbled now. Her own hormones had come rushing to the fore, and she was blurting out her own desires now. She was breathing as heavily as Jim was. Without intending to, they had made a very strong connection over the telephone.

It was several minutes before either Jim or Helen spoke again. Both were lost in their own thoughts and desires, Helen's so strong that she temporarily was unable to perceive Jim's in her mind. But she knew what he was thinking anyway.

"Helen?" Jim asked finally, "Is all of that true? I can't read minds like you can."

"It's true, Jim. When you were drooling over that woman's feet today at the mall, I was so jealous that you wanted to curl up at her feet and stay there that I could've chewed through concrete. You were sighing over her feet like a puppy hoping for a treat and she had no interest in that kind of attention from you or any other man... or woman for that matter. It was just so unfair that my feet have wanted that kind of worship for years and here you are fawning over her feet when she doesn't even want it. Do you have any idea how nuts that made me, Jim?"

"Well, Helen, I mean... if I could've seen your feet... maybe... but you were wearing sneakers."

"Oh, I know. I kicked myself all the way home. I have some really sexy shoes, too. Today I was just too lazy to get dressed up nice. I didn't even put makeup on. I just had so much to do that I wanted to get in there, shop and get out. If I had known someone like you was going to be there, I'd have worn the sexiest shoes I have and made sure I could slip my feet out of them for you. I'd have teased the living shit out of you, Jim. Your eyes would've fallen out of your head with the toe wiggling I'd have had let you feast your eyes on. And Jim?"

"Yes, Helen?" he answered, still visualizing what she'd just told him.

"Jim, I'm telling you the truth here. I know I'm no beauty queen, but I'm all right. And thanks again for liking my fanny, by the way. God I love that. Anyway, what I want to tell you - and I'm not lying - I have the kind of feet you dream of. I can read your mind, remember? I know your taste in feet. I'm a little tall for a woman, so I have size 8-1/2 feet, slender and sexy. They're soft and smooth and I don't have bony toes. They're slender, too, long and slender and pretty, always painted nice. And they're oh so soft, like tender little bits of licorice, supple and sweet. The kind you could suck on all day. There aren't any veins on my insteps, my heels are sexy and my ankles are subtle and kissable just the way you like. My arches are just the way you like them, too, deep enough to put your whole face in to kiss and nuzzle them.

I have to warn you, though, Mike, you'd get addicted to the base of my toes. It's always so warm and sweet smelling down there, you'd never want to take your nose or lips away from that spot. And between my toes? Like licking cotton candy - tasting toes that melt in your mouth. I wasn't wearing socks in my sneakers today, Jim, and if I'd slipped off my sneakers you'd have forgotten all about angry red-haired lady's feet and come crawling over to mine. I kid you not.Jim. If you ever see my feet, you WILL be instantly addicted to them. My feet will ruin you for any other feet on this planet. Sorry, hon, it's just the God's honest truth."




Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love



"Helen... "

"I know, Jim," Helen laughed, "I've got you all horny, don't I? I don't need to read your mind to know that, but it's still fun reading your fantasies as I was describing my feet. You are really horny for my feet. I'll bet you could suck my toes for about ten hours right about now, huh?"

"You are cruel," was all Jim could manage as he tried not to cum in his pants.

"You don't know the half of it, Jim. I've been waiting a long time for a man to worship my feet. And now that I have a possible contender for the position, I'm not letting you go that easily. Should I tell you more, Jim? Think you can take it?"

"Uh... Helen... maybe I should just... "

"Oh, no, Jim. You're gonna hear more. I'm gonna keep going until I reel you all the way in and you're right here getting all moony and puppyish over MY feet. So listen up. Not only are my feet exactly what you're looking for, but so am I. Oh, I'm not gorgeous, but I have the exact personality you think a woman should have. By that I mean that I agree with your philosophy of foot worship. You believe that a man is lucky to be allowed to worship a woman's feet. I couldn't agree more. You also believe that women who do allow men to kiss their feet only do it because they want to please their partners - that very few women are actually into it themselves. Also true. But this woman you're talking to WANTS her feet worshipped. I have fantasized a man kissing and licking and sucking on my feet for long, long periods of time, until my feet get all wrinkly like prunes. I can just imagine how good they'd feel after all that attention. That's how much I love my feet being worshipped. And I feel like my feet DESERVE to be worshipped, so I'm ready to kick my shoes off at a moment's notice any time of day or night and get my man busy making them happy. And I would HATE IT if a man said he was too tired to worship my feet anymore and I was still in the mood for more foot loving. I know I'd probably try to keep poking my feet in his mouth until he opened up and finished the job. I don't like unfinished business. To me, that would be like coitus interruptus. And everyone knows that's not a good thing. That's why I'm perfect for a man like you, Jim, who just can't get enough of pampering a pretty pair of tootsies. I know from reading your mind that you wouldn't stop until I felt one hundred percent satisfied. You'd never dream of neglecting my feet. Am I right, Jim?"

"Helen, you seem to know me even better than I know me."

"I know you'd love my feet, Jim. I suggest you stop by some time soon and get to know them. Once you've tasted my feet, Jim, dear, you won't be able to pull yourself away from them ever again. So, fair warning... my feet really are that hot. Like I said, I'm no beauty queen, but my feet will own your heart. So, what do you say, Jim? Wanna stop by some night and give my cute tootsies a close-up look? One wiggle of my pretty piggies and you'll want to lay your heart at my feet. And just so you know, I'll let you do it. I'll let you snuggle right up to them and purr like a kitten while you give my toes and insteps hundreds of little grateful kisses."

Jim heard Helen giggle over the phone, and he knew why. He had exploded into his jeans.

"You see, Jim? That's just the tip of the iceberg. Come see my pretty feet really soon. Like I said, you won't be disappointed. You won't be able to resist curling up at MY feet. What do you say, Jim? Think we should meet and talk about it? Can't hurt, can it?"

Slowly coming down from his rush, Jim spoke into the phone staggeringly, "If this is how good it is just to talk to you over the phone, Helen, I'm not sure I'd survive a face-to-face meeting."

She laughed, "Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, Jim. I've got two really sweet feet here just waiting for your adoration. If you pass up an opportunity like this, you may never meet your Foot Goddess. Come on, Jim, you know we're perfect for each other. You want pretty feet to worship and I'm willing to give you your fill of mine. Can you say no to that? You'd be crazy to. Us getting together would be like the universe finally being set right. You've dreamed of a woman like me and I'm dying to meet a man like you. And you yourself have said how rare women like me are. So if you let this opportunity slip through your fingers,then you don't have the right ever again to moan about not meeting your Foot Goddess. She's right here. All you have to do is write down my address and drop by some night soon... and the universe will finally go into proper alignment... for both of us. In other words, Jim, don't fuck this up. Now, do you want my address or not? "

Jim didn't have to think about it. "Helen, if you don't give me your address, I'm going to have to kill myself in some desperate, horrible way."

She read his mind and knew he was joking about the killing part; he was kidding, but his desire to meet her was very strong.. She gave him her address. They agreed on dinner the following night, and maybe a movie. The dinner and movie were optional... the foot worship was not.

It turned out that Helen lived only about forty minutes from Jim. A quick click on MapQuest and Jim found her easily (he did not own a GPS - he lives in the stone age, apparently). He walked up to her door, feeling nervous as hell, fumbling with the yellow roses he'd picked up along the way. He looked himself over quickly to see what was out of place by only a little and what might be so misaligned that it could qualify as ghastly. He seemed in pretty good shape. Looking around at Helen's home, which had to be at least twenty-five years old, he saw she liked flowers a lot. They were all over her yard, along the sidewalk, and in boxes on her window sills. He patted himself on the back for thinking to bring the roses.

Jim reached out to press the doorbell, but before his finger connected with it the door opened. "Hi, Jim," Helen greeted him, standing in the doorway smiling. "Nice to see you again. Lost the Bazinga! shirt I see. Come on in. Oh, are those lovely roses for me? Thank you, that's sweet of you."

"Uh, unless I'm supposed to be meeting someone else, I suppose so." He handed the flowers to her and she gave him a "don't be a wise ass" look, her eyes twinkling and her mouth smiling. "I'm guessing you read my thoughts as I walked up the sidewalk... that's how you knew I was at the door?"

"Nothing so paranormal, Jim. I saw your car pull up, and I heard you on the porch. Spooky, huh?"

He laughed, thinking it wasn't him who was the wise ass, but Helen. Now that he'd actually entered her home and handed her the flowers, essentially breaking the ice, his nerves calmed a bit and he had a chance to look her over. What a complete turnabout from how she looked at the mall! No sneakers and jeans here! Helen wore a gossamer summer dress with a colorful floral pattern that hung loosely from two thin shoulder straps, the moderately low neckline revealing an ample cleavage that her previous blouse at the mall had hidden. The dress looked as if even a gentle wind might lift it skyward like an ascending butterfly. Her legs were bare and nicely shaped, strong calf muscles accentuated by the sexy three-inch-heel slides she wore. And her feet! Oh, Heaven above! She did not lie. Those were the feet of a goddess! Ten times as lovely as those of the red-haired woman at the mall who had so wanted to clean Jim's clock. Those sexy shoes were barely shoes at all, the criss-crossing leather straps as thin as spiders' webs, showing off a whole lot of yummy foot flesh. And those oh so edible toes! - lacquered in a bright, hot orange that lit those toes up like neon signs to direct Jim's tongue to it's desired destination. It broke Jim's heart to see those feet walking away from him instead of kicking off the shoes and snuggling with him.

Around her neck, Helen wore a pearl necklace that led the eyes to that impressive cleavage like a road sign. Her short, crisp hairdo - less untamed than it had been at the mall - barely covered the upper third of the hoop earrings that dangled from her ears. But the biggest difference other than the attire was in Helen's face. Some tiredness still showed through, but with makeup on she was like a breath of fresh air. He noticed that her eyes were a light green, and though they weren't dark, with the way Helen had applied her eye liner and eye shadow they looked mysterious, inscrutable. The long eyelashes weren't there before. Fake? Or just enhanced with loving care? Beneath her eyes, Helen's cheeks were lightly blushed with makeup and her lips looked rich and succulent enough to suck on. Jim was so impressed he was nearly dumbfounded. Was this actually the same woman who had greeted him at the mall?

Jim's eyes captured all of these delightful details as Helen clipped the stems of the roses and put them in water in an ornate vase. Of course, the foot horndog spent most of his time admiring her feet as she stood beside a table and arranged the roses to best effect. Unknowingly, Jim had a rather moronic smile on his face the entire time he gazed at Helen's feet. As she moved her feet here and there during the stem-clipping process, Jim's eyes followed her feet wherever they went. The dumb grin remained fixed on his face.

"Thank you for the compliments, Jim," Helen said, not looking up from the roses. "I'm glad you think I'm pretty. I've never really considered myself attractive, so it's nice that you do. That's one of the perks of being able to read minds. I know if a man's lying to me just to get me in the sack." She finally looked over at Jim, and he shrugged. "You're lovely, Helen. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently. Anyone who doesn't see how pretty you are... well, they're not really looking."

Jim could see her blushing from across the room. "Do you mind if I make a comment, Helen? Or do I even have to? Did you read my mind just now?"

She blushed, "Yes, I did. And I really appreciate it. You were thinking that women like me - more full-figured - are actually more beautiful than the model types. I think you're crazy, but you're entitled to your beliefs the same as anyone else."

"And what else was I thinking? Why do I think curvier women are more beautiful?"

"Jim, stop... you're embarrassing me." She objected, but she was smiling happily nonetheless.

Jim walked over to her and stood beside her, looking her straight in the eye. "Helen, I can't speak for other men, but when I put my arms around a woman, I want to feel something substantial, something WORTH holding onto. When I hold a woman I want to feel like I've got something wonderful in my arms, not some skinny little thing that might slip out of my arms at any second. It just feels so good to hold a woman who's got some substance to her. The pleasure I get from wrapping my arms around a woman of substance is like in a whole different world of sensation. I'm probably not explaining it well, but it's my opinion that any guy lucky enough to put his arms around you should feel like he's been given a rare gift. You really are a beautiful woman. If anyone ever tells you different, they're either hallucinating or insane."

"Oh, Jim," she replied, still blushing, "You don't have to... "

He grabbed her chin and gently lifted her face up to look deeply into her eyes. "I mean it, Helen. I think you are absolutely gorgeous. Read my mind. You know it's true."

"Thank you, Jim. I don't need to read your mind. You're a great guy." Still blushing, she went back to her flowers, finishing clipping the last stem. Her humor came back to the fore, and she quipped, "Besides, Jim, I know what you really want. You only think I'm beautiful because you're so horny for my feet. Didn't I tell you they were the sweetest tootsies you'd ever see? No need to bow down to kiss them just yet - you can do that later." She winked at him. He just grinned stupidly and shivered. His mind conjured up a quick vision of doing just that. Helen lying like royalty on her sofa and him bent on one knee kissing her feet passionately while she sighed and squirmed with delight. In this particular fantasy his lips were paying particularly thorough attention to her hot orange toenails.

"Jim," Helen said, "Stop that or we'll never make it to dinner and the movie." Her face was flushed, and she fanned herself with a magazine that had been lying on the table beside the vase.

"Yeah, you're right," Jim agreed. "Sorry. My bad."

"Okay, all done with the roses. I'm all flushed now and my brain is discombobulated. Where was it we said we were going to eat?"

"We had agreed on Lakeview House. Their food is excellent, and they have a beautiful lake view - hence the very accurate name. It's romantic when the sun dips below the lake. I've reserved a table in the room that has the view. Have you ever been there?"

"No. Sounds lovely. I'm ready, are you?"

"Sure am. Your chariot awaits, ma'am."

"Then let's go. I'm starving. And I can't wait to see that view of the sunset over the lake."

Jim was the perfect gentleman, as he always was. He held the car door for Helen, which impressed her. It was something she wasn't used to. And when he did likewise at the restaurant, he also kissed her hand. He didn't know why he did it. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Luckily, Helen seemed to like it. Her eyes gleamed with approval and she nodded, smiling at Jim in a way that told him she was going to reward him at some point for his manners.

He again held the restaurant door for her, this time not kissing her hand however. The restaurant greeter led them to a table in the corner of the view room. It had the feeling of being a very private table, secluded and intimate. This feeling was accentuated by the fact that the wall lights were dim in anticipation of the coming sunset. The only other light was a small candle in the center of their table. Helen gasped. "Oh, what a lovely view, Jim. This place is incredible. How long before the sun sets?"

"The sun should set in about a half hour. And it's a clear night with only a few clouds. Should be a spectacular sunset. Wait 'til you see how the sun reflects off the water. It'll take your breath away."

They ate and talked and laughed as if they'd known each other for years instead of just a couple of days. And as promised, just as they were receiving their main courses, the sun put on a spectacular display, reflecting it's orange and red hues on the still lake water, and decorating the few wispy clouds above the water with splashes of red, orange and hot pink. It looked like a painting in a museum. Helen was floored by it. She nearly squealed with delight. And the romance of it was not lost on her, either. She reached over and grabbed Jim's hand and gushed, "Oh my God, Jim, that is beautiful! You have no idea how glad I am that you brought me here!" Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, their green hue even more beautiful that it was earlier. Jim realized he could easily get lost in those eyes. They didn't look tired anymore.

They were holding hands across the table and looking out at the waning light. Slowly the wall lights brightened. Clearly the Lakeview House was used to this nightly sunset spectacular, and had the timing of the room lights down to an art. 

Jim and Helen didn't realize they were holding hands right away, and when they both did notice, they made that discovery at the same instant. They looked into each other's eyes and smiled; Jim softly caressed Helen's hand. She started rubbing his in return. There was a long silence. A spell seemed to be weaving itself around the couple. Magic was in the air.

Just before the lights came on fully, Jim was swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes and preparing to say something to Helen when he felt something plop into his lap. It landed with a thud. It wanted to be noticed. Jim looked down and nearly choked on his potatoes. Helen's bare, beautiful feet were dancing about in his lap, giddy toes wiggling as though they'd jump right off her feet. Jim's smile was so wide his face nearly split open. He couldn't take his eyes off those feet. He didn't want to. He sighed and watched them play in his lap. He grinned at every toe wiggle, every scrunch and splaying of the toes, ever wrinkling of the soft soles. He would've been happy to just sit and watch them all night, but he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was ignoring his date.

"Uh... nice," Jim said, swallowing hard and wiping his brow. He was flushed with excitement when he looked at Helen.

Smiling a smile that could've melted titanium, Helen's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You've really exceeded all of my expectations tonight, Jim. You've made me happier than I've been in a long time. So,

I thought... maybe... since you've been such a really good boy... if you want... you can give my pretty feet a nice, soothing massage while we have dessert. Or," her grin widened, "did you just want my feet for dessert?"

Clearing his throat, Jim forced his mouth to work despite the sudden dryness that had overcome it. "If I have your feet for dessert, Helen, we will never get out of this restaurant. Not to mention that there will be a lot of people watching me gobble your feet with enthusiasm the likes of which they've never seen before."

"Well, how about that nice foot massage then? Make my sweet tootsies feel all comfy and happy. You don't mind, do you?"

Jim was rubbing her feet before she finished the question. 

"Mmmm... nice. You have strong hands, Jim. I think I chose the right footboy for the job."

Just then the waitress walked up to the table to take their dessert orders. Helen didn't want dessert but Jim had always liked Lakeview House's chocolate French silk pie. Jim asked Helen if she'd care to share it with him and she thought that would be a great idea. So that's what Jim ordered.

While waiting for dessert to arrive, Jim continued to massage Helen's feet on his lap. If feet could sigh that's what Jim would've heard as he rubbed. They had long since stopped wiggling about and held still for Jim's hands to spoil them rotten. Helen marveled at how Jim could massage her feet like a pro without looking, while keeping eye contact with her and maintaining a conversation. It was as if his hands were on auto pilot, and her feet were the happy beneficiaries. It felt so wonderful that Helen's mind was too relaxed to even read Jim's thoughts. Only an occasional word or phrase got through her contented haze.

When dessert arrived, Jim stopped massaging Helen's feet, which disappointed them immediately and brought a frown to Helen's face that she wasn't even aware was there. But Jim saw it and was curious for a minute, until he realized why it was there. "Sorry," he smiled, "Don't worry, I'll start rubbing them again as soon as we finish the pie. But, in the meantime... "

Jim looked around the room to see if anyone might be looking. Convinced he had a few seconds to carry out his spontaneous plan, he quickly dipped a finger into the whipped cream atop the pie and scooped up a dollop of it, wasting no time in then placing it on the tip of Helen's big toe on her left foot. Before Helen even knew what was happening, he then stuck his finger back into the pie, this time taking away some of the thick, rich, chocolate filling. In the blink of an eye he then smeared that all over the top of her big toe on her right foot. Helen was wide eyed with surprise when he then bent his head down and at the same time lifted her two feet quickly up to his mouth, inserted both her toes inside it and sucked the chocolate filling and whipped cream off of them in one long, slow suck. Helen squelched a sudden squeal of pleasure and almost tipped over her wine glass. Thankfully, she recovered nicely on both counts, but her head snapped from side to side - as if she'd just suffered a double whiplash - as she looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching. It could've been very embarrassing had anyone seen the mischievous Jim popping her toes in and out of his mouth. When she looked back at Jim, he was laughing, and his mouth was smeared with whipped cream and chocolate, which his tongue seemed to take sublime pleasure in licking away. "Mmmm... tastiest dessert ever," he said, smacking his lips.




Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love



"You're crazy!" Helen exclaimed in a whisper that was anything but. "Are you trying to get us thrown out of here?" But Jim noticed that not only was she smiling, but she was tittering excitedly. 

"Hey," Jim grinned, proud of himself for thinking of it, "You were the one who suggested I have your feet for dessert. I aim to please. I'm surprised you didn't read my mind and know that was coming."

"I was too mellow from you rubbing my feet. You caught me off guard. I can see I'm going to have to try to keep my wits about me with you around. You're sneaky."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Thank you," he replied with a Snidely Whiplash upraising of his eyebrows.

Helen shook her head, but was beaming a warm smile, and though Jim couldn't see it, she was trembling with excitement, and more than a little arousal. Her feet started wiggling again, this time wanting more than just a massage. By way of retaliation for Jim's sneak attack, Helen forced one leg between his legs and started kneading his crotch with her toes. "You're playing with fire, mister," she said, with a look on her face that verified that very sentiment. Jim felt he was up to the challenge. That was debatable at that moment, however, as her toes massaging his little head made his big head fuzzy.

"Jim," Helen said, leaning forward and whispering seductively, "What do you say we get out of here? Let's get to the movie."

Jim was surprised and bewildered. Her sauciness seemed to indicate she wanted to go someplace private and start getting very intimate. But then she mentions going to the movie instead. He was getting mixed messages, and her toes playing with his groin didn't help matters much either.

"The movie?" he asked, "But I was thinking... "

"Oh, no, no, no, footboy Jimmy, you don't get my feet that easily. A romantic dinner, a much too short foot rub and one little toe suck and you think you've earned some time with my lovely tootsies? Oh, no, that's not how it works. You yourself said it will be an honor to kiss my feet. Well, sir, honors must be earned. I want you to sit through a two and a half hour movie and think about my feet the whole time. I want you to watch Captain America beat up bad guys for hours before you get to take me home and get my shoes off again. When you've earned my feet, Jim, they'll be all yours... but not until."

"Hey, now," he retaliated, "You want your feet worshipped as much as I want to worship them."

"Well, then, maybe we both need to prove we can show some restraint. Maybe it's good for both of us to show we can control our desires for a little while. Besides, won't it be all the more sweet if we deprive ourselves for a bit?" Then she thought for a minute, and added, "No, Jim, I want my feet worshipped, but I think you're more horny for it than I am. So I think you having to wait after you just tasted my toes is going to drive you nuts. By the time the movie is over, you'll be so crazy for my feet you'll kiss them and lick them and suck them until your lips are swollen and your mouth starts having muscle spasms! I definitely think I have the advantage here. When you finally get my shoes off me, you'll be ready to beg for my feet. And then, footboy Jim, you are going to worship my feet like no other feet have ever been worshipped before."

Helen actually had a smug look on her face. Jim knew that she wanted her feet pampered and adored in every way possible, and she was even eager for it. But he also knew that she knew he was twice as eager to get on with it, and she was absolutely right... advantage Helen. She wanted it bad, but they both knew that he would cave long before she would. Resigned to his fate, Jim said, "Okay, let's go see Cap kick some butt," but he did so with a sad look on his face.

"Oh, don't look so sad, Jim. While we're watching the movie, I'm planning on giving you a reward for this lovely evening and for your patience. I thought you might like a little 'preview' of what's going to happen later tonight. We'll sit way up in the back row where it's nice and private and I will slip off my shoes and... oh, here comes the check."

Jim had been completely focused on her every word, and Helen obviously took a tiny bit of cruel delight in leaving him hanging. She was just absolutely ecstatic at how much he wanted her feet. Not only did the looks on his face as she talked about her feet make her squirm, but the delicious thoughts he was thinking made her literally vibrate with anticipation of what she planned for the theater and for what would happen afterwards. Oh, she was planning on getting her feet worshipped by Jim until the poor boy was too tired to even breathe. And she had a feeling she'd get her way. Oh, yes, he was going to give his all for her pretty, pretty feet. And he would do so gladly.

Jim could barely function as he drove to the theater, which prompted Helen several times to ask, "Are you okay, Jim? Do you want me to drive?" But she read his mind and found it clear enough to get them to the movie in one piece. His brain was able to remember all the rules of the road and the many functions of an automobile, even with thoughts of nuzzling Helen's feet jumbled in with them. Those lovely thoughts had Helen smiling... and squirming a little.

They arrived at the theater in one piece. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Jim's brain had improved to about ninety percent. He appeared to be functioning mentally much better. Helen smiled at that, knowing that what she had planned would reduce that number substantially. And what she was going to do to the poor boy might be just a tad cruel, but, well, he was the one who wanted to worship her feet. He might as well get used to just how often she wants it done. She was sure he wouldn't object, anyway. He was going to smile through every second of it, no doubt. And that's what makes it such a win-win situation. Ah, life doesn't get any better than that!

"Helen," Jim asked as he purchased the tickets, "What made you decide you wanted to see Captain America? That's not the kind of movie women generally like. Well, except geek women, and you don't strike me at all as a geek." He looked at her with curiosity as they walked down the corridor leading to theater number seven, which played their movie.

"Well, let's see. First, Captain America has a bod on him like an Adonis. Second, I enjoy super hero movies, even though I'm not a geek. And third, I'm willing to bet you've already seen it. Am I right?"

"Yeah. How... oh, you read my mind?"

"Guilty," she admitted. "Sorry, sometimes things just jump right into my mind."

"So why did you want to see a movie I've already seen?"

"Well," she cooed in his ear, "That way it won't be such a loss for you when you have to miss it this time."

"Miss it? What? But, then, why are we here...? I don't... "

"Jim, dear, I'll be watching the movie... but you won't." Her grin was positively obscene. Poor Jim was still clueless. His jumbled thoughts were making Helen laugh as she hurried along the corridor, even her hand over her mouth unable to quell the rush of laughter. Jim knew something was up, but had no idea what she was laughing at. And that made her laugh all the more.

When they entered the dimly lit theater, Helen hurried in front of Jim, grabbing his hand and pulling him along behind her. Up the steps she went to the very back of the theater, dragging Jim along. She was so excited about her plan that she kept tugging at his hand even as he stumbled up the steps behind her. She heaved a sigh of relief that there were no other moviegoers occupying that back row of seats, and since the movie should begin shortly, she was willing to bet there wouldn't be. Thank God for small favors. The whole plan might've been a bust if anyone else had been up there.

"Okay, Helen," Jim said when she'd moved to the center of the row and seated herself, "What are you planning, you little minx. What do you mean I'm not going to see the movie. If I'm not... "

"Shhhhhhh. Be patient, Jim. Wait until the movie begins. Then I'll let you in on it."

"But, wait... just tell me... "

"Shhhhhh. When the movie begins. Not a minute sooner. Now hush." She tried to give him a stern look, but she couldn't keep from smiling. Oh, how surprised he was going to be... and how delighted. He would probably go home that night and add her to his will. And oh how she loved stringing him along. By reading his mind she knew he wasn't faking it - he really was clueless, though he knew SOMETHING was going to happen. She couldn't wait to spring it on him, to see the look of utter joy on his face, mixed in there with the surprise. He was going to love her surprise as much as she was loving springing it. And then the dim lights got even dimmer, slowly fading out entirely.

After the ridiculous common practice of showing a boatload of commercials, an equally unending parade of movie previews lit up the screen. Helen was getting antsy, eager to spring her surprise. She was afraid Jim would figure it out and that would ruin her hopes of seeing that precious look on his face when it finally did happen. She gritted her teeth throughout the twenty minute pre-movie crap parade. Jim was antsy, too, knowing that whatever Helen was planning, he was probably going to like it. He liked her - she seemed to do everything right. So there they sat, both of them barely able to endure the wait. And finally the pre-show nonsense came to an end.

The movie began. The animated Marvel Comics insignia and flipping comics panels that had become known as the Marvel introduction brightened the screen. Helen bit her lip and waited for the first scene to begin. Finally, there it was. It was go time. Jim was watching the screen.

"Jim," she whispered, "It's time."

"Time for what?" he whispered back. He looked at her. In the light from the movie screen he thought she was beautiful. She was smiling a smile that was ten times as bright as the images on the screen.

She leaned forward and put her lips very close to his ears. "You're not going to be watching the movie, Jim," she whispered, letting her lips graze his ear. "I'm going to, but you're not. You see, I want my feet worshipped... right now. But just kissed. No toe sucking or foot licking yet. We'll see about that for later. And how much of that you get depends on how adored my feet feel when you're done kissing them. I want you to take my shoes off my feet, pucker your lips, and make my feet feel loved... and I want you to do it for the entire length of the movie." She watched his face, waiting with more anticipation than she'd ever experienced before. 

Jim's face went slowly morphed from confusion to understanding. As the realization of what Helen had just said struck him and her plan became clear, his face beamed. That slow transformation of his face from cluelessness to finally grasping the situation was priceless to Helen. She giggled and hopped in her seat,

watching Jim's stupefied smile grow larger and larger, his eyes brighten with pure joy. He looked like the happiest man on the planet... which was exactly what Helen had hoped she'd see. Although Helen's excited antics earned a few hisses and "be quiets" from other moviegoers, Jim didn't notice. He was grinning like a loon at Helen, who was getting giddier by the second. 

Jim was still grinning stupidly when Helen finally calmed down. But she was missing the movie, and she was also eager to get Jim's lips busy on her impatient feet. So this precious moment, thoroughly enjoyed by both it seemed, had to end and the real business of the evening had to commence.

"Jim," Helen whispered.

"Yes?" he barely squeezed out, thanks to malfunctioning lungs.

"Jim, hon, did you get what I said?" She was enjoying this immensely.

"Uh, yeah, you said you wanted me to... wo... wor... worship your fee... feet."

"Yes, I did. Throughout the entire length of the movie."

"Uh huh," he still stared at her stupidly.

"Well, Jim dear... the movie's begun. And I don't feel any lips on my feet."

"Uh... no... I guess... I haven't... started yet."

"So what's the holdup?"

"I don't know. I'm not thinking right. I think I'm in shock."

"Well, my feet feel neglected. That's not a good thing. And if you want to lick them and suck on them later, I think you'd better stop making them feel that way, don't you?"

"Yeah, that sounds right."

"Well, then, slip off my shoes for me and start kissing my feet. Doesn't that sound like it might be a good way to begin?

"Oh, yeah. Uh, right." Jim thought she was going to put her feet on his lap so he could remove her shoes. After a few seconds, when she hadn't, he looked at her, his face again blank.

"What's wrong now, Jim?" she giggled, "Is something stumping you? I thought you were the great foot worshipper. You're not impressing me so far." She could barely keep from laughing.

"Well, put your feet on my lap and I will, Helen."

"On your lap? I never said... oh, I see. No, Jim, you misunderstand me. There's no way you'll be able to kiss every inch of both my feet with them on your lap and you bent over. No, you can't possibly get your lips everywhere they'll need to be. The angles would be all wrong. No way you can properly worship my feet like that. No, you'll have to sit on the floor next to my seat and I'll stretch out my legs. We'll both be more comfortable that way. And if you're more comfortable, you'll be able to do a better job of worshipping my feet, don't you agree?"

Jim was blinking his confusion now, looking as if something had gotten caught in his eye. Helen covered her mouth so she wouldn't burst out laughing. Slowly Jim was understanding why Helen had said that he wouldn't be watching the movie with her, that only she would. This woman was awesome! "Yes," he said to her with a dawning smile. He grinned at her and felt like Heaven had opened up just for him.

"Jim?" Helen whispered again.

"Yes?" Jim answered, short of breath, grinning, falling in love.

Helen pointed down. "My feet?" she said, lifting her legs. "Isn't there something you should be doing for my feet? We're already five minutes into the movie. I'm missing out on both the movie and my foot worship."

"Yes, ma'am!" Jim said with a grin that nearly split his face in two. It was louder than it should have been and received another round of hisses and "quiet!s". Neither Jim nor Helen cared. No one else in the world existed, only themselves.

Slowly Jim got up off his seat and sat on the floor facing Helen. She turned to her side and held her legs straight out so that her feet hovered just beneath his chin. She wiggled them, but said nothing. Jim reached out and slowly removed first one sexy slide, and then the other. Even in the dim light of the theater, he could sense how beautiful those feet were. His memory pulled up every minute detail of both feet, and his eyelids fluttered with the beginnings of passion. He placed her shoes gently down on the floor and then took one of her feet in his hands. He savored its warmth. He caressed it, not believing he could be so lucky. But Helen was impatient. A wiggling foot rose until it was directly in front of his face, demanding to be kissed, demanding its very much wanted and deserved worship.

Jim wanted to kiss every inch of that foot at the same time. He wished he could put his lips everywhere at once, adoring her entire foot in one passionate kiss. He felt so grateful that this beauty of a woman was allowing him to worship her feet. He ached to kiss those feet, and finally, he did. He couldn't keep from sighing on her feet as he kissed them. He panted his desire, nuzzling his face in her feet between kisses, rubbing them against his face, feeling the softness of the soles, burying his face in the delectable arches and inhaling their alluring scent. Helen's feet were incredible. He wished he could see them better, but that didn't matter. His every other sense was taking in everything they could about Helen's feet, storing each bit of information into a memory already overflowing with sublime sensations.

Jim kissed every inch of every one of Helen's toes. He kissed up one side of each toe, then the tip, and then back down the other side, squeezing his lips into the spaces between the toes to make sure nothing was missed. He kissed the top and bottom of it. He held each toe firmly between gentle fingers and made sure each orange toenail was worshipped. Her toes Jim bent back ever so gently, exposing the soft, warm area below the pads so that he could squeeze his lips in there and dutifully kiss the base of each toe and give it a loving show of affection. No effort was spared to give Helen's toes the worship they deserved. Each toe was lavished with no less than twenty slow, deliberate, adoring kisses. Two hundred kisses just for Helen's toes alone, and Jim felt they deserved even more than that, which he would gladly give them when he repeated the entire process as many times as necessary later on. But until then, the other parts of her feet needed and deserved just as much attention.

It took more than three hundred kisses to adequately worship the sole of just one of Helen's amazing feet, and Jim counted them so he wouldn't give one foot more attention than the other. He sighed repeatedly as his lips caressed those soft soles and lit his brain up with desire. Kissing deep into those gorgeous arches nearly drove him mad. Her heels only required some forty kisses between them, but another twenty were required to adore from there up to the pretty ankles, which Jim had a fondness for. Kissing behind Helen's heels was just a bit tricky, but well worth the effort. Besides, Helen appreciated the effort.

The sides of those feet were warm and soft as Jim's lips marched from big toe to heel, around the heel and back up the other side to the little toe. Another hundred plus kisses per foot. Another two hundred instances of bliss for Jim's lips, though this time, admittedly, he lost count as he was so into the silky texture of her feet that he may have forgotten his numbers. Lastly, the two insteps, smooth and creamy and delicious. It took a lot of kisses to do them justice, but Jim's lips enjoyed the challenge. 

And all of that was BEFORE Jim's passion got the better of him. Yes, he nuzzled her feet, savored everything about them, inhaled their aroma, put his lips everywhere he could get them - letting them linger many, many times, sighing and softly moaning as he adored her feet. But his passionate worship of them was yet to come.

That first "cycle" of worshipping Helen's feet was, his passions notwithstanding, more of a gentle kissing of her feet, his lips adoring her feet and showing them his gratitude and the respect the feet of a goddess deserve. But after that first cycle, Jim could no longer hold back his emotions. His kisses became more passionate. His lips pressed into her foot flesh with vigor, sometimes gently sucking at her feet before moving on, savoring their sweetness. As he kissed the balls of her feet his nose would play with her toes, sliding back and forth along the pads, his mouth sighing as toe after toe bounced off the tip of his nose in rapid succession. He took to kissing her heels and ankles with his mouth open, wanting to suck them but holding back, saving that joy for later. He kissed her soles rapidly, hungrily, open-mouthed and with his lips dragging along her skin, wishing he could openly taste her feet. At one point he had her sole pressed so hard against his face as he kissed it, that it could be arguably considered that he was actually massaging her foot with his smiling, sighing face, which he considered at that moment to be the luckiest face in this or any other universe. He was lost in worshipping her feet, and neither himself nor Helen was the least bit ashamed at the pleasure they were receiving from it.




Footboy Tales 1: Psychic Foot Love



In a rare moment when his rapture abated just enough for him to look up at the beautiful Helen, he saw her looking down at him, smiling, her eyes glazed and glistening. Her eyelids were half closed, as she dreamily observed Jim's worship of her feet, immensely pleased with both his effort and his success. She was sighing herself, amazed at how thorough Jim was, how much attention he paid to even the smallest detail, making sure that not one inch of either foot was neglected. She marveled at how he craned his neck to kiss behind her heels, how he hardened his lips to make sure they would soothe the bases of her toes, or how he conversely softened those lips so he could squeeze them between her toes so as not to neglect even there. He contorted himself uncomfortably, twisting and mashing his lips in ways that must likewise be vividly uncomfortable for him, all in the name of giving her feet the comfort and worship he felt they deserved. He was earning points big time. Helen was thinking that if he could kiss her feet this well, and his lips alone could actually make her feet tingle with pleasure, how incredible would it feel having him lick, suck and nibble on them? And if he could KISS her feet for two solid hours, how long would her feet be pampered when Jim's entire mouth became involved? She was stoked about the future, to say the least.

Before the movie had ended, Jim had kissed Helen's feet through three complete cycles already and was working on a fourth. Helen felt worshipped, adored, like a spoiled princess of the realm. She hadn't seen all that much of the movie herself, mesmerized as she was by how much Jim loved kissing her feet. She relaxed in her seat, stretching languidly, feeling like the goddress of all goddesses, reveling in Jim's worship of her, watching his lips still working hard and fast to soothe, please and pay absolute homage to her goddess feet. She could feel by the way his lips were caressing her feet that, fetish or no fetish, he truly worshipped HER at that moment - and not just her feet - and wanted nothing more than to please her. That made her tingle in all the right places. She was bursting inside in anticipation of how much Jim could worship her feet when he could use more than just his lips. She knew that that was going to be awesome to the tenth power. And, reading Jim's mind, she knew he was already planning on savoring the taste of her feet in some lovely ways, ways that would rock her world and make her feet love him as much as he loved her feet. And that was the point when she had had enough - she had to get Jim back to her house where his tongue could make her feet feel so good she'd never want him to stop licking. Damn the movie! Her feet were itching for more of Jim's talents, and damn if they weren't going to get it!

"Jim!" Helen whispered, again louder than planned. "Jim, stop!"

Jim didn't respond at first, lost in smooching the space between her second and third toes. Helen knew he was probably not going to stop kissing her foot without something more forceful than spoken language to pry his lips from it, so she leaned forward and tapped him gently on the head. She had to do this several more times before he looked up from her foot. Rather, his eyes rolled up to look at her, as his puckered lips were still pressed against the underside of her big toe. He blinked, trying to wake from his foot lust.

"Jim," she repeated, "The film's almost over. I can't take this anymore. You've been kissing my feet for well over two hours. If we don't get back to my place in the next half hour or less and get your mouth REALLY working on my feet, I'm going to rip someone's heart out. You want to REALLY worship my feet, don't you?"

His lips were still glued to her toe, but they managed to form a grin. He nodded eagerly.

"Then put my shoes back on and let's get out of here... NOW!"

He nodded more vigorously. He pried his lips from her foot, an audible sigh of disappointment issuing from his still sadly pucker-lipped mouth. Still sighing, he put her shoes back on for her. Helen stood up quickly, and waited while the stiff and sore Jim stretched and worked out the kinks. Then she dragged him again, this time out of the theater and into the car.

"Drive to my place as fast as you can without killing us," Helen said as Jim pulled out of the parking lot. "I don't want my feet to lose their tingle, or you to lose your train of thought. Keep thinking about my feet, Jim. Get your mouth ready for lots and lots of foot worship. You've got my feet crazy and they want more.

So, step on it!"

Jim stepped on it.

Back at Helen's house, Jim was again dragged by the arm. Helen had gotten out of the car even before Jim had finished parking it at the curb. SHE had opened HIS door for him, rushing from hers to his in 2.7 seconds flat and had yanked him out from behind the wheel just as he finished taking the keys from the ignition. He was surprised as Helen's hand snagged his wrist in an iron grip and pulled him from the car.

Again he stumbled along behind her, but this time he was fully aware of what was about to happen, and he grinned stupidly from ear to ear.

Helen again led the stumbling Jim ahead, guiding him into her home and through the darkened living room, never bothering to stop to turn on the lights - until she reached what appeared to be a spare room. After dragging Jim through her darkened house she just about flung him into this room, and finally turned on a light. Jim's mind sputtered and sparked as it tried to wrap itself around the scene before him.

The room was mostly empty except for a tall leafy plant in the far corner which almost reached the ceiling. Directly in front of the plant was the largest, highest lounge chair Jim had ever seen. There was even a set of steps beside it to help the prospective sitter to get into it. The cushions of the chair seemed soft enough for someone to get lost in them, sinking so far into their luxuriance that they might never be found again. In front of the chair was a hassock, tall also, in proper proportion to the height of the chair. The top of the hassock was plush and soft, and looked about as comfortable as any hassock Jim had ever seen and a perfect comfort match for the cushions of the chair.. Beside the chair was a satisfactorily elevated table pushed almost flush against the chair. The top of the table was even with the arm of the chair, and upon it sat a wine glass, nothing else. Directly in front of the comfy-looking hassock there was a small round carpet on which rested a very plush three foot square pillow. Jim looked at all this and wondered... wtf?

Jim had been so busy observing the meager contents of the room that he hadn't noticed that Helen had left the room. As he turned to leave the room to search for her, she popped back into the room, carrying a wine bucket. She walked with a decided spring in her step and hummed a catchy tune. As she passed Jim she blew him a quick kiss and smiled brightly. He blew her a kiss in return, but she had already passed him and was placing the wine bucket on the table beside the glass. As the bucket met the top of the table, Jim heard ice rattling about inside it, and it was only then that he noticed the top of a wine bottle protruding from its depths.

Helen again left the room, still humming to herself and obviously just as pleased as punch. As she was about to pass by Jim again, this time she stopped and said, "Make yourself comfortable, Jim. Right there." She pointed at the pillow on the floor and added, "That's your spot. It'll be just like in the theater, but more comfortable, I think. Much better angles. Easier on your neck and back. I've got it all figured out for height and distance and every angle I could think of. Go on, try it out for comfort. I'll be right back."

Jim said, "I'm sitting on the floor again?" but Helen had already zipped out of the room. It was at that moment that Jim's brain finally began piecing things together, and he laughed. Yes, it was just like in the theater. Helen was going to be sitting in the plush chair with her feet on the hassock and Jim would be sitting on the pillow on the floor, in a perfect position to worship her greedy feet. He shook his head and continued to chuckle. The heights and distances did indeed seem to be perfectly calculated. He wouldn't have to strain or twist himself into knots as he had in the theater, and the pillow looked comfortable enough that his backside shouldn't get sore for a long, long time. Obviously, Helen had set this up to be a foot worship session of moderately long duration. It looked as if she'd been planning this for some time. But she'd only known him a single day! How...?

Helen pranced back into the room, still humming, and carried something long and curved in her hands. She strode right up to the chair and stood behind it. Jim still hadn't sat down and she looked at him, surprised, knowing he'd figured it all out but confused as to why he hadn't taken his place on the pillow yet.

"Jim, dear, it'll be very difficult for you to suck on my toes from a standing position. Does the pillow not look comfortable enough?"

"Oh, no," Jim rushed to reassure her, "It looks fine. I'm just curious... "

"I know. Just sit and I'll explain as soon as I put one finishing touch on my throne."

"Your throne?" Jim chuckled.

"Yes, my throne. See?" She screwed the object she'd been holding into the back of the chair, first with a bolt on the right side, and then the left. It was a curved sign that attached to the chair and proclaimed to the world exactly who sat in this chair... or, rather, throne. Jim laughed at what the sign said. It said to the world that this was the throne of "Queen Helen" and beneath that title the warning, "All others who sit on this throne will be beheaded." Jim laughed out loud. This Helen was one wacky piece of work.

"You like it?" Helen asked. "I had this made up years ago, but, alas, never had cause to use it. But now seems to be a perfect time. You agree, my royal footboy, queen's personal tootsie kisser?"

Still chuckling and shaking his head, Jim walked over to the pillow and took his place before Helen's throne. He sat down with mixed humor and anticipation. His lips were still enjoying the afterglow of having adored Helen's feet in the darkness of the theater, and they couldn't wait to taste her feet again. He'd sit anywhere as long as Helen's feet wiggled close enough for his eager mouth to attach itself to them. Hell, he'd stand on his head if that was the only way his tongue could reach her feet!

Again Jim had phased out as he waited for Helen to finish and be seated. What brought him out of his reverie this time was Helen's declaration, "There! My throne awaits! Now I can have my feet worshipped as befits a true regal goddess. I have my comfy throne, my chilled bottle of Chardonnay, and my faithful footboy eagerly sitting at the foot of my throne awaiting orders from his queen. Ah, the perks of royalty." And then, to Jim she said, "Is my royal foot worshipper ready to adore his queen's feet?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am," Jim replied, and then added, "Your humble foot servant awaits his chance to pleasure your royal feet as you see fit, my queen."

"Mmmmm... I like the attitude. I think you'll do just fine as my footboy. I probably won't even have to behead you."

Jim smiled. He watched with anticipation as Helen poured herself a glass of wine and then, with a dramatic flourish and queenly air, sat in her throne. She sighed loudly as she sank into the soft cushions. Wasting no time she plopped both her feet up onto the equally soft hassock. She didn't like the positioning of her feet at first, so she removed them and told Jim to slide the hassock toward her just a few inches, which he did. That apparently made things look much better to her, so she again lifted her feet and placed them on the hassock. She wiggled them around a bit to test for proper placement. Looking between her feet at Jim she made sure his head was directly in front of her feet, at just the perfect height to give Jim the right angles to thoroughly service both of her deserving tootsies with as little stress and strain as possible.. She seemed happy with it and smiled, taking a sip of her wine. Looking between her feet again at Jim's smiling face made her tingle all over. She looked at his mouth and pictured it all over her feet, doing wonderful things to them, making them tingle even more. But she felt a wicked urge to tease him first. And she knew just how to do it.

"Footboy, remove my shoes," she said, taking a sip of wine.

"Yes, ma'am," Jim played along. His hands shook as he once again removed her strappy slides and laid them gently on the floor beside the hassock.

"You like my pretty feet, my little footboy?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim answered, sweat beading on his forehead. Watching Helen's naked feet right in front of his face, less than six inches from the tip of his nose, was giving Jim a boner again. And Helen knew it. "And does my footboy promise to treat his queen's feet like the royal objects they are? Does he promise to worship them with the respect they deserve? Will he kiss them and lick them and put the pretty toes in his mouth in any way that pleases his queen?"

"Yes, your highness," Jim sighed, feeling the tightness in his groin again.

"Good," Helen said with a smirk, "Then you sit there nice and quiet and stare at my beautiful feet while we talk. You don't mind staring at my lovely feet while we talk, do you footboy?"

"No, ma'am," he lied, wishing he could get his mouth on those feet now and not waste time talking.

"Excellent. You just watch my pretty toes and creamy soles and think about how you're going to pamper them and I'll tell you what you wanted to know earlier. Think you can do that, footboy? Think you can watch my royal feet for a bit and not attack them with your loyal but overeager mouth? Can you, footboy?"

Jim sighed, licked his lips and then started biting his lower lip, hoping the pain would keep his brain from losing control as he stared at Helen's tempting soles. A mere six inches and his lips could again caress those silken soles. Six inches and he could insert her toes one by one or en masse into his mouth and savor their sweetness. Six inches and he could slowly run his tongue along the entire length of her sweet, creamy soles, or cup her heels in his mouth and suck on them until his jaw ached.. Or lick and kiss her ankles. Or...

"Mmmm, my footboy is thinking such wicked thoughts. Should I take my feet away, footboy? Are they too much of a temptation being so close to your smiling face? Should I have you put my shoes back on until we can have our talk?" 

"No, ma'am," Jim rushed to reassure her, "Please don't make me put your shoes back on again. I'll stop thinking my wicked thoughts."

Helen laughed, "Oh, will you now. You really think you can stop dreaming about my feet? Do you really? I don't think so. But, I'll be nice. I'll leave my pretty feet naked in front of your face for you to look at and adore with your eyes. But do try to comprehend what I'm saying, okay? Can you try for me, footboy?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim replied with an eager nod, happy that Helen wasn't going to put her shoes back on.

"All right, then. Here's the answer to your question, about how I had this room ready for your arrival even though we've only just met. As you already know, I'm psychic. And it's really just that simple. Up until now you've only known that I can read minds. But, in some instances, I can also foretell the future. I knew months ago that you would be at the Crystal Run Galleria yesterday. I knew the exact time you'd be there and what would transpire with the angry red-haired woman. I knew all of that months before it happened. I knew I'd meet you and you'd call me and we'd be right where we are right this minute, me in my throne and you chomping at the bit to worship my feet. So I had plenty of time to put all of this together.

Jim again had to wrap his head around startling news. Now Helen could not only read minds, but could see the future. This was getting complicated. "But," he wondered, "If you can see the future, why did you go to the mall wearing sneakers? If you wanted to seduce me with your feet, why didn't you dress them up sexy to get me drooling right then and there?"

"Ah, because I wanted to know more about you. If I'd shown up in hot, strappy sandals and you drooled over my feet, that's all I'd know about you. The success would've been too quick and easy for you if I'd teased you and won you over on the spot. No, I wanted to see what you thought about other women's feet and see how you handled their reactions to your fetish. I can foresee events, but I can't know the type of person you are until I read your mind in certain situations. I wanted to know Jim, whether he was just a foot horndog or a decent guy. That far ahead, I knew you'd be here at my feet, but I wanted to know if this was going to be a one night foot thing or if I was really going to like you, and that I'd have to find out by reading your mind. I guess you could say me showing up all frumpy and wearing sneakers was my way of testing you, what you thought of me without the distraction of you being fixated on my feet. Does any of that make sense?"

Jim nodded. It truly did make sense, though there were still questions in his mind involving predicting the future even further down the road and Helen knowing where their relationship might lead because she saw them together even after tonight, or seeing how perfect they were together. But those would have to be discussions for another time. He was here for a purpose. And he intended to make Helen's feet feel like they'd never felt before. And to make her feel worshipped and adored above any other woman on earth.

Helen smiled, still seeing more questions in Jim's mind. "Jim, it's not an exact science. Not everything can be predicted. Not every perception is correct. There's always room for error. There's no such thing as a perfect anything in life."

"Except your feet, Helen," Jim sighed, looking at her soles, "Your feet ARE perfect... and so are you."

Helen's face beamed with joy. "Oh, that was exactly the right thing to say, Jim. So, as a reward, why don't you just lean forward and nuzzle my feet? Go ahead, rub your face in my soles. Inhale the sweet scent of my feet and let your face feel their softness. Go ahead, my royal footboy."

Jim didn't have to be told twice. He leaned forward and took both feet in his hands, holding them firmly just behind the ankles and above the heels, then buried his face directly into the arches of both soles, moving his face slowly from side to side, up and down, sole to sole, pressing them against his face and rubbing them gently all around, nuzzling and inhaling their scent. Experiencing the sensuality of Helen's feet. Immersing himself in them. How absolutely divine her feet were. God, was there ever anything so satisfying as the sensation of those feet on his forehead, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, lips... even his eyes. Oh how he wished he could keep his face right where it was for all eternity, basking in the perfection of this delightful woman's feet.

Reading Jim's thoughts was causing a warm wetness to well up between Helen's legs. How he loved her feet. His desire to hug and kiss and nuzzle them forever was making her heart race and her brain boil with lust... a lust to have his mouth on her feet... a lust to have him sucking and licking them... and from there, who knows what else might follow. But right this instant, she needed him to stop nuzzling her feet and begin his oral worship of them, to finally bring his entire mouth to bear on her eager feet. If his tongue wasn't bathing her feet with hot, wet worship in the next twenty seconds she would explode... or commit some act of bodily harm on SOMEONE!