0 comments/ 48986 views/ 18 favorites The Scent of Devotion By: toesnbutts4me In every relationship, if all goes well, both participants grow and learn together. Not only do we learn about our partners, but we also learn much about ourselves. Sometimes, in fact, we learn more about ourselves than we do about our lover. And occasionally, what we learn about ourselves is so enlightening as to reveal long hidden facts about our inner selves that we couldn't in a million years have guessed. Such was the case with Rosalie Banks and her boyfriend of four years, Pete Hutchinson. Everything between them seemed wonderful, always fresh and new. But, there seemed to be a chink in their relationship's armor, at least as far as Pete was concerned. For the past two years, when things seemed to be the absolute best between them, he'd three times proposed marriage to the woman he so deeply loved, only to be rebuffed on all three occasions. She assured him she loved him dearly, and couldn't put her finger on why she hesitated to become his wife. These refusals not withstanding, their love continued unabated, but that ominous cloud continued to hover above them. Still, Pete hung in there. Rosie, he believed, would say yes when she was ready. The loving couple shared many common interests, views and opinions. As they came to know each other more and more deeply, their minds almost became one. Sexually, they shared many intensely pleasurable moments, each sweating connection becoming more exciting than the last. They came to know each other's fantasies, desires and needs, one by one exploring them in moments of heated passion. But, unknown to them, their protective psyches shielded them from several of their less ... mainstream...desires. Or, perhaps, they were simply having so much fun together as it was, that they just hadn't gotten to them yet. Rosie knew of and accepted Pete's foot fetish, and even came to enjoy his pampering of her feet. Many a night he would massage them for her, and his contented smile as he did so warmed more than just her heart. Over time, she actually came to anticipate still further attention to her feet. This suited Pete just fine, as he showed more and more affection for them. Each time she smilingly accepted another of his desires, it opened the door wider for him to share still more fantasies with her. The massages slowly progressed to toenail painting sessions several times a month, and then several times a week. Rosie enjoyed this much, and her toes began changing colors at a dizzying rate. She'd laugh inwardly when friends or coworkers would remark how her toes changed hues almost daily, and offered that perhaps she had too much time on her hands. She never let on that her Petey was the only too willing wielder of the lacquer brush. Still more progression occurred over time. Eventually, she agreed to let Pete adore her feet while they watched movies together at home, in the cool darkness of their living room. He'd sigh continually as he rubbed and kissed them, lavishing them with love. She'd giggle as he kissed every inch of her toes, spreading them to kiss even between them. His slow, sensual kissing of her insteps was always her favorite thing to watch. It seemed so erotically romantic. Even in the low light of the television's subtle glow, she could see his glazed eyes as his lips slowly and softly caressed her insteps from her toes to her ankles. And his deep, soft sighs as he lavished her feet with reverence felt dreamily warm and sensual, especially on cooler autumn and winter nights. On several occasions, overcome with his desire for her feet, he would quietly murmur, "God, Rosie, I love your feet," or "Rosie, your feet are so, so beautiful." She would tingle when he said those things. Watching him tenderly kiss her feet in the flickering gray light always heated her up, made her think of other pleasures. She didn't understand his desire for her feet...but she certainly did enjoy it. It was romantic enough to start her own juices flowing, and it was obvious what it did for Pete's libido. As always with such things, one sated desire leads to the need to fulfill yet another. The soothing foot massages had led to the toe painting marathons. Rosie fully enjoyed both. And both were certainly to her advantage. Then Pete needed to replace his caressing hands with adoring lips. Rosie thought it odd, at first, then grew to enjoy the adulation she felt from it. But her first actual erotic tingle from the foot play itself was when, in a particularly heated moment, Pete began licking and sucking her toes. She'd looked down to see his hungry mouth moving from toe to toe, lips and tongue working with definite purpose all over, around and between them. His eyes were closed and his face was a picture of eternal bliss. At first she was shocked by this sudden turn of events, but the warmth and wetness of his mouth surrounding her toes one by one felt incredible. Although it was odd seeing her toes disappear into his sucking, licking mouth, the sensation made her more than just tingle; moisture began to accumulate between her legs at a staggering rate. Within minutes she was squirming as her toes were devoured in that hungry mouth. Always after a foot play session, the sex that followed would be hot, intense, animalistic. At first it was mostly intense on Pete's part. Her feet obviously drew out the passion in him. And the more she allowed him to do with them, the more virile he became, the more satisfying his lovemaking was for her. Their already satisfying sex life became doubly so. And the beaming Rosie was not about to jeopardize that in any way. Anytime she was in an amorous mood, all she had to do was kick off her shoes, point her feet in Pete's general direction and, regardless of how tired or preoccupied he was, she soon had a sexual dynamo on her hands. No matter how unique the circumstances, one does not look a gift horse in the mouth. Over still more time, Rosie learned of Pete's submissive streak. He asked her one night if she could be bossy about having him worship her feet. She looked at him oddly, as if he'd grown a third ear at the tip of his nose. She remembered him blushing and backing off when she didn't reply right off. But she loved her Pete, and so she tried. What harm could it do? So she was willing to give this bossy stuff a shot. It took some doing at first, but his response to her more aggressive stance on things easily won her over. When she gave him his first order, she did so tentatively, unsure of herself. It seemed odd to be so demanding, TELLING her man to pamper or worship her feet as opposed to asking him to. But his response to it did indeed win her over. She couldn't help but giggle as she saw how eagerly he jumped to obey her commands, how excited he got, how hard and firm. His already intense desire for her - and not just her feet - increased yet again. It made her giddy with both power and desire. "Rub my feet!" she'd demand, and he'd hop to it. She'd giggle almost uncontrollably when he looked as if he felt he couldn't possibly work hard enough for her. And the more she laughed at his predicament, the more excited he seemed to become. "Kiss my feet!" she'd order, shoving her feet at him with as much arrogance as she could muster, and he'd fumble all over himself to comply...to her unending glee. It was an undeniable hoot to watch his lips try so hard to make her happy that they nearly warmed her feet with friction. "Suck each toe, boy, and don't spare the suction!" She began to get imaginative, playful, in her barking of orders at him, and would nearly roll on the floor with laughter as Pete rushed to do as he was told. She took unending pleasure in teasing him with her feet, then letting him have them, as long as he did exactly and only what he was told. What at first had seemed so odd, soon became amusing to Rosie, and this new side of Pete aroused her. Sure, he was a sexy, inventive lover, but seeing this strong, confident man humbled at her feet agreed with her. She had no clue why -- it just did. What he did for her feet felt physically delicious, and watching him jump when she said jump tickled her no end. Before, he'd pampered her feet the way HE felt they should be pampered. But now, she had him pampering and adoring her feet when and how SHE wanted. And her word had become undisputed LAW! It was somehow a very liberating experience. And she thought no less of Pete -- loved him no less, thought him no less a man -- because he got such intense pleasure from it. My, my, she'd thought, how could she have missed out on all this for so long? Too bad Pete hadn't confessed his submissive side much sooner! To think she could've had her own personal stud panting at her feet years ago! That was when Rosie truly began learning about herself. She learned that her toes seemed to have some direct electrical connection to her vagina, a straight on, no-turns link to her clitoris. Pete's fingers and mouth stimulating those happily wiggling toes sent tiny pulses of pleasure surging up, and between, her legs. It was as if she had ten clits, all being licked and sucked one after the other. That was the physical part. But watching him fawn over her feet like an eager puppy, hurrying to do whatever she told him to...now THAT was special. The fire those two things ignited between her legs kept both of them rutting like animals throughout many a moonlit night. And, again, we're back to how things progress, move forward...always forward. And also back to the point of how we learn about ourselves. For Rosie was learning much about herself. First she learned how erotic it was to have a man pamper and worship her feet. Then she learned how sensitive her feet were, how they loved being touched and kissed. And then she learned - much more unexpectedly than either of the other two - that while she loved Pete dearly, she just ADORED having him submit to her will. Having her feet kissed and licked and sucked had become an incredibly intense turn on for her, but having Pete do those things under her specific orders to do so, doing what he was told, how and when he was told, was simply put, awesome. Their sex lives just got better and better. If she'd known the power of her feet, she'd have thrust her neglected toes and soles at Pete's wistful smile years ago! Months passed since Pete's initial confession of his foot fetish, and Rosie kept Pete faithfully at her feet. If anything, their love for one another grew substantially every time she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes at her man. Initially, Rosie had allowed Pete to adore her feet for HIS sake, to please HIM, to satisfy HIS needs. Now, however, since she'd come to enjoy both the foot worship AND her newfound power over him, she became ever more imaginative, ever more seductive and alluring. She used her feet in such delightfully devious ways to get Pete on his knees night after night, lapping them like a puppy. Now it was time to explore her OWN needs along these lines. Now that she had discovered herself -- her dominant persona -- she wanted to explore some ideas of her own. And explore them she did...with Pete's wholehearted approval. All this now brings us to a turning point for Rosie and Pete. In all our relationships, there seems to come a point in time where something decisive happens. A crossroads seems to be reached, a crossroads that will require a decision. And that decision, for action or inaction, will either move a relationship forward, or cause the relationship to stagnate. And sometimes, this decisive moment springs upon us unbidden, through no actions of our own. Without any conscious planning or scheming, It just...happens. And we must decide...action or inaction...advance or stall...progress or stagnation. Up to this point, Rosie had come to revel in her growing dominance over Pete. He was still her hot, sexy lover, but she got such joy out of bossing him around sexually, watching him quiver with joy as he lavished worship and adoration on her demanding feet. Everything about it was so damned erotic! But it had always been a mutual deal. Although Pete jumped to worship her feet, it was, after all, HIS fetish. Why shouldn't he be eager to get at her feet...or any other part of her for that matter? Sure, he was groveling a little to be near her feet, but wasn't that, too, one of his desires? Despite her control of the sexual escapades, wasn't she really doing what HE enjoyed after all? Sure, it was great that they got mutual pleasure, but it all seemed to be a facade, a mirage of true worship. Wouldn't she herself jump at the chance to suck Pete's cock, even if he was being bossy about it? If she was getting what she enjoyed, was she truly being submissive at all? While she'd thought about this often during their D/s play -- and she and Pete had even discussed it a few times -- she ultimately let it slip to the back of her mind. She and Pete were quite happy with their sex lives, after all, so why rock the boat with philosophical questions that no one could really answer anyway? But, then, enter that pesky crossroads. It all happened quite innocently, actually. It wasn't planned. Rosie hadn't contrived the whole scenario at all. It had pretty much snuck up on her. But once it happened, all those questions of true submissiveness versus Pete actually getting what he wanted, came roaring to the forefront of her mind. Here was her opportunity to find out. Just how bad did Pete adore her feet? Just how much did he worship HER? Would he obey her orders if they involved him doing something he DIDN'T enjoy? How submissive was he...or was he only submissive if he was rewarded with the things he liked? Fate handed her the chance to find out once and for all. And she grasped that chance tightly in both hands, too much in need of answers to let it slip by her. In that brief instant of decision, it seemed that the answers to these questions were the most important things in Rosie's life. Somehow, it seemed to be the absolute key to their relationship. Knowing the answers wasn't an option...it was a necessity. It was a steamy, early autumn Sunday, the third day of a glorious Indian Summer. The temperature had climbed into the mid-eighties, with a humidity factor that made it feel like early August...at the Equator. While they'd both had the day off, they had no plans together and Pete was content to lay on the floor and watch football. His head on a huge, fluffy pillow, he lay there on his back between the sofa and the coffee table, reaching up occasionally between plays to bathe his parched throat with soothing gulps of frothy beer. Rosie had agreed to help her sister with some gardening chores, and what had begun as a small task soon blossomed into a major undertaking. What originally was to take perhaps an hour, ended up taking the better part of the afternoon. Pete had watched not only the early football game to it's completion, but was well into the third quarter of the second game by the time his lady love arrived home. "Holy shit, Pete," Rosie said as she clopped wearily into the house, "don't ever let me do that again." "What happened?" he asked, craning his neck back to look at her. She appeared upside down to him, and he looked at her comfortingly...until cheers from the television jerked his attention back to the game. "Well, Chrissy SAID she was going to plant some flowers for next year," she replied, shuffling over to the sofa and collapsing onto it, her sneakered feet coming to a floor-rattling halt a foot from Pete's right ear. "Yeah, right," she continued. "Next thing I knew, I was ripping out weeds and planting TREES for God's sake, and snipping this and putting mulch around that. Jesus, that girl has one HUGE garden! It looks like something some rich snobs would be proud of...though they'd never do the work themselves, of course. Seriously, she's turned into some horticulturist nutcase. I think I've strained every muscle in my body." "Aww, poor baby," Pete snickered, gulping brew. His eyes were riveted on the television. "Well, I'm exhausted," Rosie went on, "and here you are lying on your lazy ass watching football. That doesn't seem fair at all." She gave him a weak, weary smile as he replaced his beer on the coffee table and grinned up at here with mild sympathy. "Hey," Pete defended manhood and football, "I'm not the one who suggested you go play gardener for the day. Your sister didn't invite me, anyway. She knows I'd probably cause the death of every one of her precious plants. You could've stayed home and relaxed with me, you know. You like football as much as I do. We could've spent the day TOGETHER lying on our lazy asses sipping brew." "Yeah, I know, but she needed the help. I couldn't say no." "So you got snookered into doing ten times what she said you'd be doing. Wise choice." "Don't be a wise ass," she sighed, knowing Pete was probably right. Pete just laughed, and gulped more beer. His attention returned to the game. Rosie slumped back on the sofa, rubbing her shoulders and thighs, groaning. "This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow," she admitted. "Hell, my feet are killing me ALREADY. I can tell my soles are gonna be in LOTS of pain by morning. Right now my feet feel like they're soaking in molten lava." "I'm really sorry, hon. Tell ya what, later I'll give you a nice neck and back rub, and maybe even give you a hot bath. How's that?" He winked when he added, "And maybe a really nice, soothing foot massage?" "Mmmm...sounds delicious. But why later? Why not now? Why do I have to wait for you to rub my feet? They hurt NOW. They may not hurt later. What would be the point THEN?" Then she thought for a second and added, "Hey...I thought I was the one who gave the orders around here?!" She grinned down at him, hoping she'd struck a nerve. "Well...um...the score is twenty-two to twenty, and the Vikings are driving. This has been one HELLUVA game. Later, I promise. Why don't you get a beer and join me on the floor, and we'll watch the rest of this together?" Rosie didn't reply. Thirty seconds after his promise, something thumped on his stomach. The suddenness of it caused the air to rush from his lungs. Before he could recover and search for the cause of the unexpected jolt, a second thump caused his left thigh to shriek with dull pain. "Ow! What the...?" He glanced down and saw one sneaker sitting sideways across his belly, another leaning against his left hip with the toes in the air and the heel on the floor. He blinked at them. He added "Huh?" to the previously articulately verbalized "What the...?" When his mind registered the objects as his wife's sneakers, he turned to look over at her. She was already pulling off her knee high stockings. Each clung wetly to her feet and calves, stubbornly refusing to relinquish their hold on them. No sooner had the moist nylon been removed from her aching legs and feet, than she thrust those legs toward Pete and said bluntly, "I want my feet rubbed NOW. Record the game if you want to, but turn off the TV and get busy soothing my achy feet." She'd demanded foot servicing from him before while he was watching something on television, so this was nothing new. Grinning, he sat up, tossed a videotape into the VCR and pushed the "record" button. He then turned off the television and hurried to comfort his lady. When he was two feet from her wiggling toes, he stopped short. "Whoa!" he cried, shocked by what his senses detected, "What the hell did YOU step in? No offense, hon, but your feet are...um...well....heh....really bad, Rosie. No way I'm getting near THOSE puppies until you hose them off and spray 'em with Lysol!" THAT was the crossroads. Rosie wanted her feet rubbed. Pete was supposed to do that for her any time she wanted him to. She did realize that her feet were a bit...under the weather. She'd caught their scent herself when she'd kicked off her sneakers, and got an even better indication of their "ripeness" when she removed her knee-highs. But those nagging questions came back to her. Were her feet only good enough to worship when they were all pretty and sweet smelling? Did he really WORSHIP them -- and HER -- at all, or did he just enjoy playing with them? Was he only submissive to her when he WANTED to be? And was that really submission? The Scent of Devotion "I said I want my feet rubbed. You're my footboy, right? So, get rubbing! And I want you to kiss away the pain like a good boy, too." She plopped her feet on the floor, just inches from his knees, with her heels again dug into the carpet and her aromatic toes wiggling away, churning the compromised air upward in the direction of Pete's astonished, recoiling nostrils. She was surprised to feel her heart racing, expectant. Her chest heaved with anticipation. What would he do? "Hon, baby-doll, love of my life...I love you. I love your feet, I really do. You know that. But, my God, didn't you get a whiff of them when you took off your stockings? Geez, I love you, but those feet are really, REALLY bad, hon. Why not let me give them a nice, soothing bath and then I'll kiss them all over like a good footboy. Okay?" "You're supposed to do as I say. You say you adore my feet, and me, and you once said you'd never let my feet wait even a SECOND for the attention they deserve. Was that all just bullshit, my love?" She couldn't resist grinning as she batted her pretty green eyes at him. She felt like she had him over a barrel, and she just couldn't wait for his reply. "Hmmm, Petey? Was that all bullshit?" "Well, no..." Pete found himself tammering, "but, c'mon...the fumes from those sweaty feet of yours could make the paint peel off the walls. You're not serious. You know I'm not into foot odor." "Does that really matter, Pete? If it does, then that means you only worship my feet because it gets YOU hot, not because it makes ME feel good. So, you're not really my footboy at all...just another self-centered male wanting his own way but pretending to worship his woman. How typical." Rosie was surprised at how angry she was getting. It was as if the so-called foot worship and his submissiveness toward her had all been exposed as fake. Sure, her feet were okay to adore and worship as long as they were pristine and rose scented. But, when they REALLY needed attention... "Look, Rosie," he tried to console her, "I really DO want to worship your feet. Just let me pamper them a little. I'll wash them up nice for you and rub lotion on them. That'll be so comforting, won't it? Maybe your feet won't even be sore tomorrow." "That's not the point, Pete. Either you worship my feet or you don't. If you do, their condition shouldn't matter; only that I want them adored should matter to you. And either you're my sexy subbie or you're not. A sub doesn't demand his Mistress' feet be sweet scented before he'll touch them. He sacrifices his own comfort, pleasure and CONVENIENCE to please his Mistress. If you can't do that, you're not really my footboy. What, you think my feet are always gonna smell like a rose garden?" Pete was now also surprised by Rosie's reaction to the situation. He saw genuine irritation in her eyes. He stammered and fidgeted. He wanted to make her happy, as he always did, but he just couldn't get close to those feet! "Honey...Rosie...I...I....c'mon...." He had no idea what to say to defuse the situation and get harmony back into their home. Finally, meekly, he simply asked, "What can I do to make it better, Rosie?" "You KNOW what you can do," she said stubbornly. She lifted her legs up in the air, wiggled her feet, and pointed down at them. "Rub and kiss...like you always do. WITHOUT expecting them to be sweet and pretty all the time. WITHOUT thinking about YOUR OWN pleasure, but thinking only of MINE. Make my feet feel loved and pampered, even if they ARE a bit...scented. What's the harm? So, they smell a little. Isn't my comfort and pleasure more important than something as meaningless as foot odor? Aren't I WORTH that sacrifice on your part?" She glared at him, her slitted eyes showing unequivocally her refusal to budge on this point. He almost caved in, but as he again approached her feet, the wall of odor slapped his face. "Oh, hon...you hafta get serious now. I just can't. I love you. But, really, I dunno...wow....they really are bad." He tried to joke with her briefly, saying, "Seriously, hon, if I get close to THOSE feet, I could choke and die." But Rosie continued to fix her irate stare on him. "Fine, then," she replied, lowering her feet to the floor and moving them away from him. "You just proved something very important here. You're a fake. You're not submissive at all. You don't worship my feet. You don't worship me. And you have no clue what true devotion really is. And since that's the case, from now on when you want sex, look down at the end of your wrist. Your fingers and your penis should have a lot of fun together. Enjoy!" She sat back on the sofa, arms folded across her chest and looked away from Pete. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that Pete could see the muscles of her neck tighten. She'd dug herself in and was refusing any further negotiation. It would be her way, or no way. A chill shot down Pete's spine. This was rapidly getting out of hand. The foot deal was one thing, but this was now spreading into his very, very satisfying sex life. This could have SERIOUS consequences. Sitting up straight, his mind searching frantically, Pete tried desperately to make things right. But he had no clue how to. In the end, he felt himself giving in. His shoulders slumped. He stared at the carpeted floor. How bad could it be? he thought. I can hold my breath most of the time. I can breathe shallowly, take long, slow breaths...breathe through my mouth. But what about kissing those stinkers? Could he do it? He shuddered at the thought. "Rosie?" he finally asked meekly, "If I do worship your feet in their current...condition...will you think less of me as a man? I mean, you know I'm kinky anyway, but will you lose ALL respect for me? God, this is so weird." He looked so lost there, sitting at her feet, fumbling like a little boy. Rosie's heart leaped. It pounded with both joy and anticipation. Clearly, his resolve was weakening. The protective wall of his male ego was crumbling. "No, sweetie, not at all," she assured him, her face suddenly sweet and supportive, "I just want proof of your devotion...to both me AND my beautiful feet. I just want your worship....unconditionally. I think we both deserve that....don't you?" She leaned forward and stroked his cheek with gentle fingertips. Pete scratched his head. He was blushing a bright crimson and looked like a lost waif when he raised his eyes to meet hers. "You deserve ANYTHING you want, Rosie. You're a Goddess through and through. And if you want me to worship your feet...even as..." he shook his head, "even as 'potent' as they are...well, then, okay, I'll do it. Just have pity on me if I have a hard time with it, okay?" Rosie was flushed now; her ego overflowed with its hard fought victory. She felt herself soaring on a wave of self-congratulation. She was becoming aroused. But she wanted his unconditional worship more than anything, and she knew she now HAD to go through with this. At one point, she thought that if he caved in to her wishes, she'd let him off the hook. But not anymore. Now she wanted...no, NEEDED...his foot worship. She needed to see if he'd actually go through with it, and if he'd continue on through to the end no matter what she asked of him, no matter how distasteful it was to him. The crossroads. Move forward or stagnate. Now or never. In her mind, this step HAD to be taken, or she'd regret not taking it for the rest of her life. "Sure, Petey," she said quietly, "I'll have patience. If you do this for me, it'll really cement our relationship. I mean it. It's THAT important to me. I don't know why, but I really NEED you to do this for me." "Fine. That's good enough for me. If it's THAT important to you, then that's all that matters. I'll bite the bullet." He took a deep breath -- probably the last he'd take for a while, he thought -- and held out his hands. "Give me those sexy feet," he said, tiny droplets of sweat bubbling up on his forehead. He did his best to smile, though his not so sure stomach was already beginning to churn. Rosie could barely contain herself. She sat back on the sofa and her legs shot straight out. Gone was the soft, motherly talk of a few minutes ago. Her eyes got stern and wicked. No nonsense. He was there to adore her feet. High time he got started. He'd wasted enough time. Her feet hurt and they needed worship. She plopped her heels into the palms of the two proffered hands. Pete's eyes blinked several times, as if trying to fan away the fumes. "There, my darling footboy. There are my feet. Now rub and kiss them all over for me. Massage and kiss away all the pain my mean old sister has made them suffer." "Yes, ma'am," he replied, his face getting redder as it neared those reeking feet. "Oh, and Petey...my lovely footboy, I need you to do something else for me before you rub and kiss." With a noticeable shiver, he replied suspiciously, "Yes, ma'am...and what's that?" "Well," she said with a wicked grin, "to PROVE your devotion to me, you understand, I want you to lean forward, get really close to my feet, and sniff them all over, especially the toes. Prove to me that a little odor won't EVER stop my footboy from adoring my feet. Can you do that for me?" She batted her eyelids at him, coquettishly, but her eyes sparkled twisted glee. Pete's wide eyes nearly wept. The defeat that languished in them was so, so priceless. It literally made Rosie's clit vibrate. "Smell my feet like a good boy," she continued. "Inhale their scent deeply, and show me how truly devoted you are to me." Pete sighed. His head slumped. He knew he'd been beaten. His plan of taking short, shallow breaths or long, slow ones -- through his mouth -- had just gone by the boards. She'd outsmarted him, taken away his only saving strategy with one quick, deft move. She'd taken away his last vestiges of hope. Thus vanquished, Pete, with another deep sigh -- of resignation -- leaned forward and placed his nose just beneath her toes, which wiggled playfully -- stirring up the aromatic air around them that much more -- and he inhaled. Rosie felt a surge of twisted pleasure sitting there on the sofa, looking down at her man sitting at her feet, his reluctant nostrils inhaling deeply the questionable aroma of her hot, sweaty feet. And this, she thought smugly, was only the beginning. Pete was going to worship her feet thoroughly, in every way he'd ever worshipped them before...even if it made him gag and pass out. Rosie would be satisfied with nothing less. She could simply not believe the erotic rush she was getting from that incredible sight. Pete was actually sniffing her rather potent feet, just because she'd INSISTED upon it. She could only imagine HOW potent they were, knowing that their scent wafted up to her own nose and made it wrinkle in distaste. With a sick fascination she was unaccustomed to experiencing, she watched him sniff from toe to toe, each reluctant sniff nearly causing her to burst out in raucous laughter. It was all she could do to refrain. But the most miraculous thing was how this olfactory torture of her man was so exhilarating to her, so erotically energizing. It was making her so hot she felt like jumping Pete right then and there...but that would've ended the fun much too soon. And she absolutely HAD to see this through to its completion, no matter WHAT. She had to laugh into her hand repeatedly, not wishing to humble poor Petey TOO much, as she watched his obvious discomfiture as he whiffed those rancid piggies. His face reddened and then adopted a greenish hue. His eyes teared when she shoved her greasy toes against his nose and told him to sniff harder and deeper, urging him to savor their scent. Forcing her big and second toes around his nose, squeezing it between them, she had him sniff between them, all the while wiggling her toes and refreshing the scent moment by moment. She giggled out loud when his eyes rolled in his head, even his pupils seeming to want to get as far from those toes as possible. His entire body seemed to sag into a limp posture, as if his very spirit had packed its bags and taken flight rather than remain in the vicinity of that cloying odor. So weak had his body become that he ended up slumping forward onto his belly, still holding those reeking feet to his nose, sniffing away steadfastly, his bombarded brain reeling in olfactory agony. He looked sick, but Rosie made him sniff on. "Smell good, honey?" she quipped, making only a minimal attempt to stifle her laughter. He didn't dare open his mouth to reply, lest the odor sneak into it and invade him from yet another source. Rosie rammed her toes unmercifully against his nostrils, wanting in some twisted, evil way, to keep every wisp of scent going directly up her man's nose. In her mind's eye she could see the odor rising from her toes like waves of heat off sun-baked pavement. She tried to keep as much of the wafting scent rising into his nostrils as possible. She was a bit ashamed of herself -- though only a tiny bit -- as she took such pleasure in tormenting poor Pete. Forcing him to smell her cheesy, sneaker-cooked feet had her squirming with glee as much as he was squirming to get away! But she kept her sweaty feet firmly attached to his green-hued face, not giving him even the faintest chance of escape, nor the tiniest glimmer of hope. Wave after wave of stink climbed up Pete's sniffing nose as he continued to do as she'd insisted he do. The green hue remained on his face, even eclipsing the pink of his embarrassment. Rosie kept her toes moving, replenishing the pungent odor continuously, delighting in how Pete's mind must be reeling. Pete's one hope was that Rosie would quickly get over this game, that it would lose its newness for her and become boring. Such was not the case. Rosie shoved first one foot in his face, then the other, chuckling as his nausea- inducing sniffing went on and on and on. She just couldn't believe this big, strong, virile man would lie on his stomach on the floor and sniff her repugnant feet for no other reason than because she'd told him to. Oh, sure, not a major underataking when they were clean and sweet and pure...but trapped in sneakers all day, tightly encased in old knee-highs that hadn't been washed...that was a different story. Pete loved her feet, but NEVER when they were "under the weather" as he himself had put it. Well, now they were not only "under the weather," but downright rancid. He could've smelled their odor from across the room, and here he was with his nose mashed against the offending toes and sniffing up the fumes as if they were all that kept him alive! God, what a hoot it all was! And what validation for Rosie! Now she was SURE that HER pleasure was what really mattered to Pete. He was making himself almost ILL to prove that to her. That alone should've been enough for Rosie, but it wasn't. What had started out as a ploy to make Pete prove his worship of and devotion to her, had taken a turn. Forcing Pete to sniff her smelly feet was really revving up her sexual psyche. And she wanted more, more fuel to fan the growing fire between her legs. She wanted Pete to show as much devotion to her feet, to perform as much worship of her feet, as he'd ever done before, even now with her feet "under the weather" as they were. The very thought of him worshipping her feet when they smelled so completely awful was making her pussy not only dribble, but itch and crave much more. She had every intention of seeing how far she could take this. But for the time being, she decided he should inhale her foot odor for quite some time. She decided on thirty minutes per foot. If he made it through that without passing out, she'd move on to some other type of twisted fun. And that solid hour of watching him suck in the scent of her sticky toes would give her time to plan everything else she wanted to put him through. She was coming to revel in her own burgeoning nastiness. Finally, the hour was up. Both feet had been sniffed over and over, their wafting fumes rising up Pete's nose and filling his head, for sixty wonderfully humorous minutes. Rosie hadn't laughed that much in years. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and cheeks had become almost a continual effort throughout the entire foot-sniffing hour. And her sex hadn't been this itchy for sex since Pete first introduced her to his foot fetish. But now it was time to move on, to see what other sick joys she could torment him with. Part of her wanted to be less cruel to him, but that part lost its futile psychic battle miserably. Her cruel half had taken over, and was enjoying things much too much to stop now. Besides, she knew she was going to reward Pete when she was done torturing him. And when that happened, maybe...MAYBE...he'd be able to forget what he had to go through to get there. But...she kind of doubted it. What he was experiencing would most likely stay with him forever. And somehow, she liked it that way. When she finally removed her feet from his toxically singed nostrils, it was like a hot wall of stink being drawn away from him. His eyes stopped tearing...but not for long. Rosie's torments were to be relentless. But before continuing, she looked her man over. She took still more perverse pleasure in the dull-eyed, queasy look on his face. Those watery eyes pleaded with her, and she again nearly took pity on him. But now was NOT the time to go soft. "Slide forward, Pete honey. I want to rub my stinky feet all over your face." She almost laughed out the words, squeezing her lips with her fingers after she spoke to try to stifle the giggles. It didn't work well. She snorted into her hands and then just gave up, letting go of her lips to laugh openly. "C'mon, Petey...give me that cute face to stink up." She couldn't believe her own cruelty, but she reveled in it nonetheless. It was as though, at that precise moment, she was being reborn. As what, she wasn't sure, but she was changing, and at an alarming rate. She nearly squealed when Pete's pleading eyes gave up; she squirmed on the sofa when his face showed he'd become resigned to his fate. "Here boy," she teased, wiggling her feet at him, "come get the smelly tootsies." Pete looked up at her, realizing with a glitch in his stomach that this was not going to be over for a long, long time. Instead of becoming bored of the game, Rosie was becoming more twisted by the second, almost gloating in her power. He'd never seen this side of her before, and he had to admit, the smelly feet notwithstanding, it was a decidedly sexy facet of her. And he also knew that she was getting quite horny - so horny in fact, that he'd be humping her raw when all this was over. Perhaps a silver lining around the cloud that was Rosie's scented piggies? That alone was worth the price of admission...or was that, "sub"mission? And, oh, yes, Rosie, for her part, was sure Pete would sex her up mightily when she was done with him, done humiliating him...IF he managed to survive it. Either way, she was stoked! She would need some VERY intense sexing to tame the raging fires within her. But, she knew without a doubt that her man would be up to it. Pete crawled forward on his belly, using his elbows to pull himself along. Swallowing hard, he braced himself for the return of that clinging wall of stink. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he knew was coming. He didn't have to wait long. Warm, sweaty flesh pressed against his face, one pungent foot on either side of his nose. As if playing happily in the soft sand of an ocean beach, Rosie's ripe feet contorted his face as they barged unceremoniously all over it. Her soles were only a tiny bit less aromatic than her toes, but he was happy for any respite he could get from the potent odor. And since her toes and soles were taking such intense pleasure in squashing and rearranging his face, they spent little time under his nostrils, and that was a blessing. But, just the thought of those smelly soles grinding their scent into his flesh was enough to make him grimace. The Scent of Devotion "Mmmm....don't my feet feel great,honey? You know how much you love my feet. This must be just wonderful for you, huh?" When she said this, she positioned her feet close to his mouth, keeping them moving as before to lull him into a false sense of security. She knew he would answer her this time, as he was not exerting every ounce of his strength to keep from inhaling. When he opened his mouth and replied, "Of course I do, Rosie, my love," she attacked quickly. His lips had just parted to form the word "love" when the toes of Rosie's right foot mashed into them, wiggling up and down to force themselves between them, her toenails scraping along Pete's upper teeth. The big toe of her left foot hooked itself inside the corner of his mouth and forced its way in. Pete's eyes widened in surprise and the shock of it made his jaw slacken just a bit...but it was enough for Rosie's stinkers to gain a "toe"hold, and begin their assault. In the far off distance, well up above the attacking toes, the cackling of a broom-flying, Halloween witch could be heard echoing throughout the land. Before Pete's slackened jaw could counter in any way, the first two toes of Rosie's left foot, and the first three toes of her right foot, had wiggled their way into his mouth. Keeping her feet moving to keep him off balance, she managed to get all five toes completely into his mouth before he was aware that they were in. Whooping a cry of victory and cheering herself on, Rosie had her toes cavorting in his mouth so vigorously that Pete's cheeks bulged out like a food-hoarding gerbil's, her animated toes making those cheeks dance with every wiggle of every toe. In instantaneous horror, all Pete could think of was how hard he'd tried to keep those waves of odor from entering his mouth earlier, and now there they were, wafting inside his mouth and down his throat in all their smelly glory. The green was coming back to his complexion again. The numbing realization that those reeking toes had invaded his mouth made his head swim and his stomach do multiple flip-flops. "Oh, yes, Petey honey!" Rosie cackled, "Suck those cheesy toes! God, I love my toes sucked! Suck 'em good, Pete! Make them FEEL the love!" Although her toes didn't taste any different from usual, Pete knew that smelly toes were indeed cheesy toes. Sweaty toes cramped all day in unwashed hose and old, grody sneakers just HAD to be coated in something vile and disgusting. He tried to spit those toes back out, but Rosie would have none of it. Every time his tongue tried to push a toe out, she'd wiggle the toe, stubbornly squirm her foot about, and end up with the toe deeper than ever in his mouth. With surprising clarity, considering the sensual assault he was enduring, Pete realized that if he kept trying to eject her feet that way, he'd end up with them in his mouth all the way to her ankles. Those horrendous toes would be flicking his uvula for sport. So, for his own sake, eventually, he gave up. And Rosie just enjoyed herself at his expense, wiggling her stinky piggies in his mouth and playing with his tongue. Yet another victory for her bossy feet. "There, there, now, Petey," she giggled, "just surrender and suck those greasy piggies. It'll be good for you. It'll probably boost your immune system. Instead of trying to push my toes out, use that tongue to lick them. Or, better yet, lick BETWEEN them. That's probably where the smell originates, anyway, so maybe if you lick in there enough, you can get rid of the stink. It's worth a shot, don't you think?" She grinned down at him, just adoring the sickly, defeated look on his face. That look of surrender made her itching crotch itch all the more. God, this was so pervertedly erotic! She'd shoved her rotten smelling toes in his mouth, and all he could do was look sadly up at her. And comply, of course...which was what he did. His puppydog eyes never left hers as he slowly began licking and sucking her nasty toes. "Yes!" Rosie squealed, raising her arms skyward in the gesture of having scored a touchdown. "Wooohooo!" she continued, "Rosie fourteen, Peteyboy zero!" She danced and wiggled on the sofa as she watched him sucking her unpleasant feet. It was true what Rosie had said. As Pete continued to feast on her toes, the scent seemed to be slowly licked away. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. On the one hand, he could breathe easier, but on the other - he cringed - what incredibly disgusting things had his tongue licked and reluctantly escorted down his gullet? The queasiness increased...but -- and more importantly -- he continued to lap at Rosie's toes. Rosie was becoming lost in having her feet worshipped. The thrill of forcing him to adore her disgusting feet was soon replaced by that old familiar feeling of his mouth stimulating her toes, reawakening that wonderful connection between her toes and her clit. It always made her wet. Add that to the joy of forcing him to do such delightfully unpleasant things, and it was no wonder she was closer than ever to jumping his bones. Suddenly, Rosie removed her feet from Pete's mouth. She plopped them on the floor in front of him, her heels digging into the soft carpet again, her toes wiggling excitedly in front of his chin. Inspecting the saliva coating on her toes, she fixed a glazed stare on Pete and ordered, "Lick my feet, Pete! All over! Lick every inch...they need a good cleaning, I think. That'll make them all nice the way you like them again. Then...when that's done, " she leaned forward as if to lend emphasis to her words, "you will spread my toes wide with your fingers and lick every bit of sweat from between them. I want to see your tongue working really hard to clean between my cheesy toes. Got it, my handsome little toeboy? Now get cracking!" Pete sighed and looked at the offensive pair. They wiggled expectantly before him. They meant business. Taking a last look up at Rosie, he could see how incredibly hot she'd gotten. Her entire body was literally quivering with sexual tension. Her head was turned up toward the ceiling, a smile crossing from earlobe to earlobe. Her hands grasped the sofa cushions in a death grip, awaiting their time to grasp Pete's penis with equal conviction. Her legs couldn't stay still. They wiggled and hopped and shook, waiting for his foot worshipping to begin. All the more erotic because he was doing it for Rosie, even though he himself was repulsed by foot odor. That, almost exclusively, was the factor that had her so revved and poised for liftoff. Pete smiled now as he licked her feet. He didn't care anymore that they smelled. He'd gotten through the worst of it, and Rosie -- sweet, sexy Rosie -- would soon be ripe for plundering. He wasn't sure if the fuck of his life was worth sucking smelly feet, but there it was. At least it was a reward for services -- however nauseating -- rendered. And he'd proved something to her. Yes, he'd had to humble himself more than he'd ever done before, and endure some pretty disgusting stuff, but he'd assured her of his desire to please her. That was worth something...perhaps EVERYTHING. True to his assignment, he licked every inch of her feet. The odor was slowly dissipating, but it was still not what he'd consider a pleasant task. However, when he took the first two toes between his fingers and spread them wide, he could swear he saw melted cheese stretch and then stickily break apart between them. He felt his head begin to reel again. The potent scent came back, apparently not muted as much as he'd thought from her toes playful sojourn in his mouth earlier. He looked between those toes and felt a knot in his stomach. He looked up at Rosie, still squirming on the sofa, eyelids fluttering ever since his fingers spread her toes, and her hands now beginning to fondle her own breasts. Cheesy toes or no cheesy toes, he was in this for the long haul. He wanted Rosie hot, no matter what that took. So, again, he steeled himself. Queasily calculating bacterial colony counts in his head, he nonetheless opened his mouth. This had better be some really, REALLY sizzling sex, he thought. Closing his eyes, stretching out his tongue, Pete aimed it blindly in the general direction of his toe-spreading fingers, targeting between them. His tongue quivered, hesitated. Slowly he pushed it forward, millimeter by millimeter. As it neared that steamy, scented valley it twitched and tried to curl back into Pete's mouth, pathetically trying to escape the fate assigned to it. But perseverance won out. Eventually, with much force of will, he slipped it between those overripe toes. It felt slick. It felt sticky. It tasted saltier than usual. It felt -- nausea swept over him -- gritty. Still he forced his tongue to wriggle in that space. Each time he had to pull his tongue back to swallow he felt himself get a little greener around the gills. But he plowed on. This was for Rosie. And she certainly seemed to be appreciating every second of it. With each lick between all ten of those greasy, scented piggies, Rosie squirmed and moaned on the sofa. Her hands were all over herself and her tongue lapped her lips constantly. Her chest was heaving and her brain had become mush. Pete could've jumped her at any time, but he didn't want to ruin it for her. He wanted to wait until SHE was so hot she couldn't stand it anymore. If he jumped her too soon, the whole thing could be a bust...and all that time and effort and suffering at her reeking feet would've been for nothing. No, he'd bide his time, lap between those humid toes as long as it took, which he didn't think would be long now. And he was right. Gone was Rosie's arrogance now. She was way beyond that. But still she tried to humiliate her man, taunt him and break him. "Doesn't that...taste so....delicious...Petey?" she gasped, forcing the words from heaving lungs. "Tastes good....doesn't it...my stinky feet?" She writhed and squirmed and could barely breathe. Pete knew how to put her over the edge. He started lapping between her toes like a maniac. "God, Rosie, even THIS bad, YOUR feet are the only ones I ever want to worship! Your feet are delicious NO MATTER WHAT! God, I LOVE your feet, Rosie!" He licked so hard between her toes he could feel them heating up from the friction, making them sweat even more. He purposely huffed and puffed and grunted and sighed loudly as he licked between her moist toes. Rosie responded...in spades. Each excited lick had her gasping and squirming all the more. With a loud moan -- almost a growl -- she sat up on the sofa, glaring down at Pete with a look of animal lust. Her ample bosom was heaving deliciously. She was charged with enough energy to light up the Northern Hemisphere. Pete nearly wet himself he was so ecstatic. He'd known for quite some time that despite having to taste Rosie's unsavory tootsies, her condition otherwise had gotten him rock hard and in need of a good hump. Rosie's readiness for the same had his own liftoff sequence in full "go" mode. Rosie was ripping off her blouse when she snarled, "Footboy, get your ass up here and fuck me!" She was a blur of motion as she tugged at her jeans and tossed aside bra and blouse. Her hands were everywhere, removing clothing at blinding speed. And, most importantly, she took her feet out of Pete's face so he could do the same. Finally! Finally his reward had come due! Pete stood and started disrobing at a speed equally as blinding as Rosie's. In the space of less than a minute, two naked, primed bodies were ready for fusion. Rosie leaned forward on the sofa as far as she could and grabbed Pete's bobbing erection, using it to pull him toward her in less than gentle fashion. She was too horny now to be patient. Pete tumbled forward onto the sofa, on top of his panting, glassy-eyed vixen. She squirmed under him, but only for a moment. "Phew! I love you, honey, but you smell like feet!" she said bluntly, averting her face from his, "but I need you to fuck me anyway!" So, she twisted and turned her body until she had climbed out from under him. She then forced him into a sitting position and sat on his lap, facing him. "Now footboy," she grinned, "I'm gonna ride you like a prize racehorse. Ready for your reward for sniffing my reeking feet? I think you deserve one for worshipping THOSE nasty puppies!" She squirmed on his lap, grinding her dripping slit on his fat, throbbing cock. "How 'bout it, Petey," she leaned and whispered throatily in his ear, "you want somea this for bein' such a good boy?" "Oh, yeah, Rosie....bring it on!" he roared back, ecstatic to be breathing pure, sweet, fresh air again. He gasped at the thought of raw, sweating sex, hardening to titanium status instantly. Finally, he thought... HERE IT COMES! Rosie lifted herself up high over his thighs, stroked his stiffened penis briefly with her right hand - licking her lips at the thought of its firmness - and then slammed herself downward, impaling her dripping pussy on that eager erection. It was time to get screwed mightily...and both of them were more than up for it. In no time at all Rosie had filled herself with Pete's swollen manhood, squirming around on it like a giddy college babe having her pussy stuffed for the very first time by the hunk of her dreams. To avoid the scent of her feet still lingering on his panting face, she turned his head to one side until she could arch her back properly and shove her bouncing breasts into his mouth. She was sure that talented orifice still had plenty of energy left in it, and she saw no reason why her boobs shouldn't benefit from that fact. Turning Pete's head so that he was facing her again, she unceremoniously shoved her large, receptive nipples into his mouth one after the other, continuing to hop and squirm on him, riding his cock like a bucking bronco gal. She was so hot she dripped around his shaft and drenched his crotch and inner thighs. Each completed up and down hump-cycle along his firm, almost steaming penis, caused still more of her juices to trickle onto his thighs. She was burning from head to toes with the desire to have the hottest, nastiest orgasm she'd ever had. But, even now, after humbling poor Petey with her malodorous tootsies, she couldn't resist pressing the point. The idea of his completely submitting to her, worshipping her feet like that, was still stoking her furnace, still invading her brain with it's stunning implications. Slamming up and down on her sighing, gasping man, her breasts receiving the same wonderful oral attention her feet had just received moments ago, she just couldn't resist driving home the point yet again. The itching, craving desire the mere thought of it created between her legs was something she just couldn't give up...and some deep, cruel part of her realized that she might very well NEVER give it up. Poor Petey...that didn't bode well for HIS dismal future. Or....did it? "Oh, yes, honey.....suck those nipples really good," she cooed loudly at the ceiling as she humped him raw. "Suck those nipples just like you sucked my smelly toes. Oh, yeah...bet they taste better than my greasy feet though, huh?" She almost laughed out loud again as she imagined what effect her words might have on Pete. Vaguely, she wondered if his penis would begin to deflate, but she doubted it. Not only did Pete have a submissive streak that this whole thing seemed tailored to, but he was way too engrossed in sucking her tits and fucking her to worry about a few derogatory comments. But those cruel little put-downs that came almost unbidden from Rosie's lips were making HER hotter by the second. Pete had his mouth full, and replying was not something he was even contemplating. He just continued to suck and lick her breasts, feasting on her sensitive nipples. He fought mightily to keep savoring those bouncing boobs as Rosie hopped on his lap like the piston of a well-oiled engine. His mind was mush, as all his blood was in his sucking mouth and engorged love muscle. Rosie, however, as animalistic as her humping had become, was thriving on those past visions of Pete's mouth reluctantly worshipping her tainted feet. Her mind couldn't let it go, because of what it had meant...and what it would mean from that moment forward. It fueled her desire like thundering water fuels a hydroelectric generator. . Suddenly, she grabbed Pete's head by the ears and tugged on them. He cried out, releasing the nipple he'd been happily sucking on. Rosie leaned back, taking her breasts away from his hungry mouth. Instead of sliding herself up and down along his shaft, she took to crushing her bottom against his thighs and rotating it in a circular motion in his lap, causing his penis to move in a circle inside her burning canal. It felt incredible, and it gave her the chance to further torment Pete with some wicked words. But before she spoke them, she waited for his response to the lessened stimulation on his cock and the sudden lack of breast flesh in his face. She didn't have to wait long. Pete instinctively reached out with his hands to pull Rosie forward, to greedily yank those elusive tits back into his starving mouth. She resisted him, arching further back so that he couldn't reach the objects of his desire. She delighted in his frustration. She laughed almost maniacally at his confused, painfully disappointed reaction. "Rosie...wha...?" His eyes were pitiful, his expression priceless. He was like a little lost boy, dazed and confused as to why his mommy was suddenly punishing him. That lost expression both amused Rosie and fueled her fires. Holding Pete's head firmly in her hands so he couldn't lunge for her breasts, she leaned forward to whisper in his ear, braving the thankfully diminishing foot odor on his face. She breathed warmly in his ear and then took wicked delight in reminding him of his submissive show of total devotion to her. "Petey, you can't have my breasts again until you do something for me. Will you do as I say?" She bit his earlobe for emphasis...and simply because she felt like it. "God, Rosie, I need to come so bad," he groaned. "C'mon, babe, give me those tits again. They're so, so tasty." Lost in lust, he'd ignored her question. But she didn't want him wandering from the path she'd decided on for him, so she nudged him back to reality. "Tastier than my sexy toes?" she asked, pulling back to look into his eyes cruelly. "I thought you LOVED my feet!" Her indignant look was strictly for show, her attempt to bring back that compliant toe lapper who had so enflamed her libido earlier. In his current condition, she knew it would have a devastating effect on him. She was toying with him, dangling him like a puppet on a string, using her words and her sweating body to reduce him to a stammering plaything. And every second of it was making her hotter and hotter. "I do! I DO!" he hurried to assure her. "Your feet are the sexiest ever, Rosie! You know that." But his eyes betrayed him. They were fixed on her breasts, dilated pupils sucking in every ounce of light and form as they yearned for her nipples. "I always thought so," she replied, a smirk crossing her evil lips, "but you hesitated when I wanted you to worship them earlier. That gives me doubts." Ever so slightly, she began rising and falling on his penis again, so subtly that she wasn't sure if he'd even notice. But notice he did. His eyelids fluttered, his eyes glazed ever so deliciously. Yet, almost immediately, his eyes returned to her lush, bouncing bosom. "My eyes are up HERE!" she chastised him. "So, you'd rather talk about my breasts than my feet, huh? I thought so. There WAS a reason for your hesitation earlier. My feet don't interest you anymore, Petey?" "No! I mean, YES...of course they do, Rosie! I love your feet. I love ALL of you!" he gasped, rushing to say ANYTHING that would set them down the lovely path of humping and tit-sucking again. To Rosie's glee, he was almost whining, like a pup who couldn't reach its mother's teat.