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!