|
 Home | Interviews | Stories | Fun with E-mail | Polls | Advertising |
|
SAMANTHA’S FOOT WORSHIP PARTY THE SEETHING SEX LIFE OF THE FOOT Bumbling and tumbling along through my sometimes, actually mostly, tedious days requires me to check of my eMail just to break the monotony of pushing paper around. Yeah! I know. People complain to me that I have this great job, getting laid, doing BDSM, piling in with swingers and (to 20% of my readers) going down and worshiping the feet of slim maidens. Well, I can say those guys know of what they speak, however, most of the time I shuffle the papers, enter intense discussions with the accountants, lawyers, suppliers and customers, and I spend much of my time journalizing the getting laid part of my job. Ergo: regularly checking out my Email for some possibility of a new erotic experience. Here lies an example: I open my eMail and find the following message: NYC Party
The address comes back to me by eMail a few hours later and I recognize it as one of the BDSM establishments populating the old schmatte district on the West Side in Midtown. I suspect that the Foot-Party rents out the space when needed, given the balls and Chain people leasing the space some extra cash. Of course, Balls and Chain my be the owner of the party itself. On the designated Friday, I arrive on the appointed door step at 8:15pm, after parking my wheels in a 24 hour garage on the same block for $30.00. (Note: a number of parking garages locate on this block and, as a party guest, I make sure to take a 24 hour garage so I don’t risk waiting until 7:00am the next morning to have my wheels returned to me.) Getting off the elevator at the proper floor, places me in front of a smiling guy who stands in front of the entranceway to the entire entertainment venue. After separating my $60.00, from my evening’s money stash, and placing it in his friendly hand, the guy checks me off the eMail name list, like a port authority inspector, and allows me to pass into foot nirvana. As I pass through the people who line the narrow walls, painted a garish red, I see a tiny Asian in jeans and sneakers flitting around. Since I love sneakers on a girl, I really want a session with her, but I discover, as the night progresses, that she seems to keep her feet unavailable to us guys. I like girls wearing socks because it makes their feet smell sweet, but this ballerina dances and never makes eye contact for a sit down. Unfortunately, few of the girls wear such because of the inconvenience of footwear removal during the party. When I see socks I move quickly, but I have no luck in checking out this tiny Asian’s foot binding.
Sara, a twenty year old, with black curly hair, strikes up a conversation with me. Because of the talking din, we must tilt our faces close to one another and her aroma means I need a session with her. I look down seeing she wears boots and I assume that she has socks separating her feet from the black leather. I hook up with her as my first session for the evening. As I normally do, before cruising into a session, I speak with the girl that has selected me. I learn if she’s compatible with me, hinting about how far she might go. I ask about the party and the basic rules. Sara (no “h”) shows her compatibility and she tells me that this night makes her first night at such an event. With regard to the private rooms in the front, she tells me they seem to be about $40.00 for twenty minutes and they require a double session.
I make my way to the refreshment area where I see a tub of Rolling Rock, boxes of wine, double liters of sodas, diet sodas (not as much as a diabetic like me would wish for) and good old lovable water. The water disappears fast, but later someone deposits a couple cubes of pony bottles holding the fluid. The premises remain rightfully warm and the liquids have immeasurable use. Pretzels, nuts and other snack foods are in abundance. People tend to gather in this room which is good for conversation amongst the guys to get a feel for the best girls. I do notice that by 9:30pm all the snacks have been nibbled off.
“I don’t know. Tonight I’m into feet. I guess I should take off your shoes and do my job.” “But, what else are you into?” “I like to French kiss, eat girls and be jerked off by girls. Why. You got any ideas?” I answer with a spark of hope that Georgia may make a suggestion. “Yeah! I like to be eaten. But, how ‘bout two girls?” I figure she’s just putting me on to spread my money around. I agree with her and she offers that there’s another girl at the party who she does not know and she would like to make out with her while I worship both their feet. I say, “OK. You get her.” “No. I can’t. I’m embarrassed to ask her. If I ask her, I don’t not know if she’ll do the make-out thing.” “Are you into girls?” I query. “Not really, but she turns me on. Look, I’m sorry. I’m forcing what I want on you and you should be choosing. Later on let’s ‘accidentally’ meet her and you ask. OK? In you meantime, you own my feet.”
We break up and pass each other during the party, nodding and voicing an acknowledgement. “Since you want to cheat on me tonight, suppose we get that girl for a three-way,” she says. I politely decline. I have a chance to walk in and out of the rooms and past the bending crook in the hallway a few times to observe the layout. The dungeon and restraining equipment in the chambers, the tools of the Balls & Chain business, have black cloth draped over them, hiding their real purpose. The private tiny spaces have separations of cloth and very few chairs. Most of the guys do not mind the semi-privacy and some, like myself, actually enjoy it. As mentioned earlier, better privacy can cost $40 in the very private rooms at the front of the building. Paper towels and spray containers of water rest in each space. Some of the spaces are 6’ x 6’ and users can expect to spend time on the floor with the girl selected to be on the floor too. Massage (restraining) tables dot the different rooms and have great use for simply placing a girl's feet on one's lap and kissing and massaging them.
Brook, another first timer, majors in Economics & Nutrition at a New York college. This 20 year old also wears red shoes and like to cuddle and nuzzle. Her printed dress shows her slimness and sculptured legs. We lie on the floor, face to face, and I attempt to direct her to more exciting things (at least more exciting for me) but to no avail. A 23 year old Marcy comes to a room with me next. She sits on a fold-out chair in a subdued dress and open-toed heels. She does mistress work in her own apartment, but we didn’t work anything out. I have a feeling that her BDSM experience may have a very amateur tone to it by the way she answers my questions. March does no advertising for clients. She once did a business friend and he introduced other to her wares. So, she uses only word of mouth for new business. Between girls I exercise my down-time opportunity to know more about the parties, so I wander about, especially in the refreshment room, to talk to some of the males. The guys epitomize friendliness and open for conversation immediately. At least half have never been to this particular foot party of Samantha’s, although they have attended other Manhattan parties. In a comparative sense, I see that none like or dislike Samantha’s party any more or any less than the other foot parties. The guys range from their low 20’s to mid-60’s in age. The dress code for males: primarily jeans and pullovers. Some dress very much down, while most dressed as men dress sitting in a neighborhood bar. For those wearing coats against the weather, a clothing rack rested in the hallway by the entrance. Number of guys: My unscientific count places the number about 25 guys at any one time. Some come late like myself, and many leave after an hour and a half… actually, those depart after they get their foot fix. Next I meet Shannon: After 10 minutes of mundane hallway conversation, I become smitten with her. The 25 year old Staten Island girl consists of a cultural mix with Irish (No kidding – Shannon?) and, I’d guess Italian. We settle on the floor behind a spanking pew and talk more as people pass by looking to take in what we do. I enjoy the first session so much that before it ends I contract out for another. Before the second session ends, I have hiked her dress up far enough whereby I can thoroughly finish licking her thighs. I finish her feet much previous to this and her arches have cupped my penis through my jeans. During this time I slip my penis out of my flies and come to an orgasm. I grab for the water and roll of towels and clean up. Since my penis pump is still at full charge, I got hot again during the cleanup session and the post court-em talking. “How about we have another double session?” I ask. “That sounds great,” she answers.
“Sneakers and socks,” she replies. “Oh my god,” I say into her ear. “I love sneakers and socks. Can I have another session with you wearing them?” “Of course! Wait here. I wore them from nine o’clock this morning.” Shannon returns, still wearing the dress, but on her feet she has dark laced sneakers and white socks. After giving her another $20.00, I greedily remove the sneakers, trying to slow down and enjoy the moment. They smell very sweet. Next, I make love to both her feet. I lick and kiss arches, heels, soles, toes and tops until the sox become moist. Shannon turns away from me and bends her knees so I can lie my head on the floor and smother my face in her arches. “Are you gonna get off again,” she asks. I do. With my face pressed into her sweet arches and my tongue more than coveting her soles, I cum for the third time. After the third cleanup, I give thanks inwardly to my penile implant and outwardly to Shannon. I show her how my pump works, eliciting from her a “cool” and I lament that the next party I go to she probably will miss. In the future, with any girl at any party, I intend to work on the socks first. I hope many more solo Friday nights, without family and friends, comes my way. The boredom of the bumbling and tumbling returning on Monday is less boring, at least for a little while. THE GIRLS: They range in ages from 18 to the mid-30's. All have an attractiveness for someone and all have desirability for everyone. They massage the guests with friendliness and accommodation with respect to rooms, time and giving foot pleasure. Most are bright and good conversationalists for guys who like to talk. The girls do listen. |
For more information, questions, comments, please E-Mail us Home | Interviews | Stories | Fun with E-mail | Polls | Advertising QMAX |
This week the proposed Friday
night fits within my unplanned plans perfectly. Normally, the weekends for me to
rattle around Manhattan Island alone amount to the degree of impossible. Going
to a show, dinner or what-have-you, with my family, precludes my singleness of
my more satisfying by-myself sojourns. Weekend nights seem as holy hours to
other close to me. Friday afternoon through Sunday night, descends on me as the
time when family or friends expect my presence for some obscure reason. I
therefore take advantage of my time-bonus and I instantly reply to the Email
from Ms. Samantha: “Count me in. Where do I go?”
I stop off at one of the two
main area restrooms and adjust my penile implant for the coming night of
foot-balling pleasure. When I finish pissing and inflating, I rejoin the
interaction amongst the people lining the brown remnant rug passage way to the
rear of the building. The light illuminating the red walls and black frames and
doors, permits intimacy in conversation while allowing a good look at the girls
and, of course, their feet. A couple of guys dress in drag and the girls have a
good time with him and passers by.
We walk together toward the
rear of the commercial suite looking for a place where I can attend to her feet.
Almost every space appears taken and we clime upon a leather massage/torture
table and Sara puts her boots in my lap. I pass her the $20.00 for the ten
minute session before removing her parachute boots. As I suspect, she has socks
on. The dark blue socks smell leathery sweet. Her feet, narrower than any I have
ever worshipped, animate themselves as I give them attention. My eyes take in
the semi-private sessions going on around me as I feel the roughness of her
jeans on my face. We break, promising to do this again later, and both melt back
into the crowd.
The next girl who selects me
happens to have the name Georgia. The tiny short haired blonde looks a pixyish
32 years young and she’s from the Ukraine. This girl shows an obvious smartness
by attracting me with her big list of compliments directed at myself. We wander
back to the three session rooms, each containing about four to six relatively
private makeshift spots and we select on of them. After I pass the first $20.00
to her, we wrap up one another by folding our arms around the others’ neck. We
speak directly into our respective ears. As I nibble on her ear lobe she asks
me, “What are you into?”
Georgia, on this tonight,
covers her feet with nylons and her black shoes have those crisscross stringy
straps that tie way above her ankles. With great difficulty and with her help, I
finally remove the shoes. Her feet smell leathery and I spend a perfunctory
amount of time kissing and massaging her small peds. She brings her feet to a
position where she can give me a dry foot-job through my pants. Before long we
find ourselves involved in more serious affairs and I pass her another twenty to
extend the session. At this point we do things that attract some male and female
voyeurs. They’re mostly peepers, because the light and curtain to our space
allows such glimpses, and we both get hotter really putting on the show. “Look,”
she says, “Let’s put on a real show… “and we do.
My next three girls, single
sessions each, engage me in hallway conversation and after enjoying them for ten
or so minutes they accompany me to a private space. Rose, a 22 year old, a
recently graduate of a prestigious college in Boston, with her major in
economics, has a passion for illustration, but must do paralegal work now to pay
her student loans. This foot party registers as her first. As she sits on a one
foot high stool, showing alabaster skin contrasting nicely with black hair, I
start removing her shoes. I witness her curls, Veronica Lake style, decorating
the right side of her face in a soft cascade. Her red heels have open toes and
smell somewhat funky, as do the soles and arches of her feet. The funkiness, an
aura that most guys love, happens not to be my favorite.
We wind through the two
sessions and I cum again. I reached for the towel one more time and I spray the
water on her feet to clean her up. I cuddle my fave in her neck and we talk. I
try to get her to hold my pecker, but she adroitly moves into a position
foregoing that. We talk about feet, socks and clothes and what she thinks about
same. Then I ask her what she wore to the foot party this evening.