Pagan Moss' Peep Show Stories

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Handsome Men and Heinous Hose



Handsome Men and Heinous Hose

There are a number of different types of foot fetishes out there. There are men who love shoes, stockings and bare feet, and then there are the guys who get off on the smell of dirty, sweaty feet--the smellier the better.

[Fetish - a non-sexual object that arouses or gratifies sexual desire.]

I met one of those guys who liked smelly feet while working at the dungeon. When I first started working there, I had to decide whether or not I was willing to do foot fetish shows. There was a special contract that one needed to sign to perform such shows. The contract explained what a foot fetish show entailed and what laws applied. There were only a handful of girls at the dungeon who were signed up to do these shows and I was about to find out just why.

I looked over the contract and it seemed pretty straightforward. I thought wow, a hundred dollars for a thirty minute show--no nudity, just to let a guy touch my feet.

In the state of Washington, the law states that during a foot fetish show, the customer can touch you (not with his penis) anywhere from the knee down, including licking and sucking your toes and calves. However, the mistress assured me that most foot fetish guys don't ask for that and of course, we do not offer such.

So I decided to sign the contract and it wasn't more than a couple of days later that a gentleman called up looking for a foot fetish show. Mistress De Sade answered the call and put one hand over the receiver, asking me, "Do you do foot fetish shows?"

"Yes," I responded, proudly.

"Well, I don't and this customer is looking for a show," she said, handing me the phone.

"Hi, this is Kate."

"Hi, my name's Scott. I was wondering if you do foot fetish shows there?"

"Yes, the shows start at ninety dollars and last for thirty minutes. They're non-nude, but you can get as comfortable as you'd like."

"Sounds good. I was wondering if you have any stockings?"

"Yes, I have waist-high, thigh-high, and knee-high."

"Oh, I like knee-highs."

"What color do you like?"

"Nude, definitely nude."

"Yes, I have a pair of those."

"Oh, and this may sound strange, but do you have a pair that haven't been washed for a while?"

"Well, actually most of mine are pretty clean."

"Do you think you can wear a pair around for a while, like maybe for a couple of days? So they smell a little?"

"Smell?"

"Yeah, the smellier the better, actually."

Oh my, I thought, as my brain suddenly flashed back to summers past . . . particularly one summer when I was a young teenager and wore a pair of Keds without socks for days on end in the hot, hot sun. One day, when visiting my 16-year-old boyfriend, I was asked to remove them before entering his house. I panicked knowing that my feet would surely smell. However, I convinced myself that he was a guy and wouldn't notice. However, I was dead wrong. He did and I was scarred for many years thereafter.

"Is that a problem for you?" he asked.

"No problem at all. When did you want to come in?"

"How about this Friday night? That should give you enough time to get those stockings ready."

"Yeah, Friday sounds good."

"Look forward to meeting you, Kate."

"Yes, likewise."

I hung up the phone and Mistress De Sade had a huge smile on her face. "You signed the paperwork, right?"

"Yes, I signed the contract."

"I can't do those shows," she said. "Those people creep me out." She shuddered.

It was Wednesday and I figured I should don a pair of those nude knee-highs to make sure they were ready for Friday. I went into the dressing room and went through my drawer. I found a nude pair of stockings, which were still in the package--perfect. I would have to work hard to prepare them. Luckily, it was summer and I walked back and forth to work half a mile each way.

I wore the stockings that night on the way home and I wore them to my office job the next day. After work, I skipped the Metro, walking home instead. When I came home and took off my shoes, I pulled the stockings off to see how they were coming. The smell hit me in the nose like a wet dishrag. I put the stockings in a plastic bag and drew a bath.

The next day, I took the stockings out of the bag and put them on again. I walked to work and then back up to the dungeon afterwards. Once there, I kicked off my work shoes and almost choked on the stench. I quickly put on my slutty heels and wrapped my work shoes up in a plastic bag and threw them into the far corner, hoping I hadn't ruined them forever.

I grabbed the air freshener off the dressing room table and gave it a couple of quick squirts before anyone else got a whiff. I finished dressing, deciding on a baby doll dress. One thing about most guys who have a "true" foot fetish is that they really do not care about what the rest of "you" looks like, or what you are wearing. When they are in the heat of the moment, it is just them and the leg and foot--nothing else matters.

After I was ready, I sat down in the living room and watched Paradise Lost (Free the Memphis 3!). I intentionally scheduled the foot fetish guy first as I didn't want to do any shows with smelly feet beforehand. It was seven when the beep-beep of the front door went off. I looked up at the monitor and saw a very tall, clean-cut man standing in the middle of the room.

"It's probably your guy," said Mistress De Sade. "Go ahead."

I got up and walked down the corridor, my legs feeling a little weak. Maybe the smell was getting to them, too. I opened the door to find a very attractive man: tall, athletic build, short salt and peppered hair, piercing blue eyes, and immaculately dressed. He almost looked gay. Surely this cannot be the guy, I thought.

"Kate?" he said, smiling.

"Yes, Scott?"

"Yes, nice to meet you."

We exchanged small talk while I checked him in. I walked him back to one of the regular rooms versus the dungeon. The room contained a small sofa, chair, end table, floor lamp, sillk fica, and mirrors.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. There is oil on the table and a hook on the back of the door for your clothes. I'll be back in a minute."

"Thank you," he said, smiling.

I left the room and went to the dressing room to touch up my makeup. After a couple of minutes, I came back to the room and knocked a couple of times.

"Come in," he said.

I opened the door and found him sitting on a towel on the couch, wearing only a pair of tighty-whiteys.

He had moved the chair so that it was directly across from the couch only a couple of feet away.

"Would you like to listen to some music?" I asked.

"No thanks," he said.

I set the timer and sat down in the chair in front of him.

"I know we didn't talk about this ahead of time," he said, shyly. But I was hoping that you could humiliate me a little with your stockings."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Well . . . I was thinking that maybe you could be my Mom . . ."

"Yes . . ."

" . . . and maybe I get into trouble."

"You've been a naughty boy?"

"Yeah, real naughty. And then you punish me by making me smell your stockings. Do you think you could do that?" he whispered.

"Sure, I don't see why not. Shall we begin?"

"Yes."

"Darling, I got a call from the principal's office today."

"Yes, Mommy."

"They said that you were a naughty boy at school."

"Yes, Mommy . . . I was."

"Why don't you stand up and tell me what you did."

He stood up, shoulders slumped forward, his head hung down.

"I stole a pair of socks from someone in gym class," he said, barely audible.

"Speak up, son. I didn't here you and look me in the eye when you're talking to me."

"I'm sorry Mommy," he said, lifting his head. "I stole a pair of socks from someone in gym class."

"You stole a pair of socks? Why would you do such a thing? You have plenty of socks of your own."

"I don't know, Mommy."

"You don't know? Well the principal said you are getting detention for three days so you better figure out WHY."

"I know, Mommy. I'm so sorry. I won't do it again. I promise."

"I'd like to believe you, son, but I think you need to be punished."

"No, Mommy, no!"

"What kind of punishment do you think is appropriate for what you have done?"

"I'll do whatever chores you want me to do . . . anything."

"Hmm . . . let's see. Your punishment shall be to wash my dirty stockings by hand."

"Is that all?" he said, looking up at me.

"No, that is not all."

I kicked off my shoes and told him to get down on all fours. He got down on his hands and knees and sat back on his heels in front of me.

"Come over here and smell my feet," I demanded.

I caught a glean of excitement in his eyes as he crawled over to my feet. He gently lifted my leg at the ankle and brought my foot up to his face. I couldn't help but look away and I tried with all my might not to wince. I heard the air draw up into his nostrils and felt his grip tighten on my ankle. I looked over at him and his eyes were closed. He inhaled again deeper, his upper lip quivering as he moved from the tip of my toe to the bottom of my calve. He seemed to forget that I was there now. It was just him and my foot . . . my smelly foot.

"Can I suck your toes through your stockings?" he asked, still in a daze.

"Ah . . . I'm not sure about that. I mean . . . we didn't really discuss that beforehand and I haven't really done this before."

"I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm not sure . . ."

"I'll tip you $100."

He dropped my foot, stood up and walked over to his pants, which were folded neatly on a chair. He got his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out a one hundred dollar bill, which he showed me. He laid it down on the table and sat back down on the sofa.

"So what do you say?" he said, leaning back.

I looked at the hundred dollar bill and remembered the time--there wasn't much of it left.

"OK, but through my stockings, right?"

"Right," he said, leaning forward.

"OK," I said, waiting for his next move.

He took my right foot in his hands, lifting it up to his face. Again, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. It was as if my feet emitted some powerful intoxicant or drug that he had succumbed to. He started licking my foot and sucking my toes . . . languidly. He started touching himself through his underwear. I could see that he was hard. His nostrils flared as he sucked away, his eyes shut tight with contentment. I could feel the warmth of his mouth, but no wetness. He dropped my right foot and picked up the left, repeating the same ritual. His breath quickened and his movements became more frantic. I knew that he was in that space where one temporarily looses control over themselves, totally surrendering to pleasure.

He pulled down the front of his underwear and started stroking himself as he continued sucking me. His fingers dug into my ankle a little and I felt his mouth tense around my foot as he came, filling the room with a gutteral moan . . . and then silence.

He dropped my foot as if all his strength had left his body. His head hung down and he just sat there like that for a while. He didn't say a word. I sat and watched his shoulders rise and fall, waiting for him to come to, but he didn't move and didn't say anything. The buzzer finally went off. I stood up and turned it off. He didn't move.

"I'll get you a wet cloth," I said, walking to the door.

He didn't say a word. I left the room.

I came back with the warm cloth and knocked on the door.

"Come in," he said, barely audible.

I opened the door and saw him looking the same way as he did before. He lifted his head just enough to give me a weak smile.

"Thank you," he said, reaching for the cloth.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes to walk you out. I had a great time with you," I said, trying to lighten his mood. But there was nothing.

I left him to get dressed and went back to the dressing room. I grabbed some paper towels and used them to remove the stockings from my feet. I threw them into the trash and ran to the bathroom to wash my feet in the sink. When I was done lathering and rinsing each foot several times, I dried them off and ran back to the dressing room where I put on a fresh pair of knee highs. I then ran back to the door and knocked.

"Come in," he said, his voice sounding normal.

I opened the door and found him totally dressed, looking like before--calm and together. However, there was something different about his demeanor. He wasn't as friendly, but rather indifferent. His face was expressionless as he stood there with his jacket folded over one arm like a butler.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

He nodded and stepped out into the hallway. We walked down the long corridor together in eerie silence. I sensed that he was ashamed of what just happened.

As we stood in the lobby, his eyes were lowered. It seemed painful for him to make eye contact with me. I respected his feelings and simply said, "I had a great time with you."

He nodded with his eyes still lowered, turned around and walked out the door. I watched his large frame, hunched forward, walk past the window and out of sight.


I was a little stunned for the rest of the day. I wondered if I had done something wrong. I wasn't very experienced in these types of shows. I talked to the head mistress about what happened, trying to make sense of it all.

When I asked her, she just looked at me and said, "Guilt . . . he feels bad about himself and the fact that he gets off on smelly stockings. I've seen it before . . . lots of times."

I always thought of myself as helping people for the most part . . . like a sex therapist. This did not feel like I was helping him. The mistress, sensing this, added, "Don't worry, sweetie . . . he'll be back. They always come back."







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