Foot Massage

 

"Foot Massage"

 by c.w. cobblestone

 

 "Lester, what are you doing?" I jumped when I heard Stephanie's voice.

 

 "Umm...I'm just ironing your clothes, Mistress," I called from the

 laundry room.

 

 "Well, get in here. My feet are killing me."

 

 I turned off the iron and carefully set Stephanie's blouse across the

 ironing board. Then I hustled into the living room.

 

 Stephanie and her boyfriend, Randy, were lounging on the couch

 watching TV. My wife was naked except for a white tank top. Randy

 wore only a pair of boxers.

 

 I stood before them and bowed my head.

 

 "What are you waiting for?" Stephanie snapped. "Why are you standing

 there like an idiot? I said I wanted a foot massage. Get busy on my

 feet."

 

 I apologized and submissively dropped to my knees. Stephanie rested

 her bare feet on the ottoman and snuggled closer to Randy's breast.

 The way her legs were positioned, I could see a small patch of her

 blonde pubic har.

 

 SLLLLLLLLAPPPP!!! My head jerked back. I never saw Randy's slap

 coming.

 

 "What the fuck are you doing, looking at my girl's pussy?!!!?" He

 leaned forward and slapped me again. POW!!! "I seen you, you bald-

 headed, fat bastard! I ever catch you doing that again, you won't be

 walking for a fucking month -- I shit you not! You hear me?"

 

 A swirling kaleidoscope of colors was still buzzing in my head, but I

 knew I'd better answer my wife's lover. "Y-y-yes, sir, I'm so sorry,

 sir, I didn't --"

 

 "Stop blubbering, Lester," Stephanie said, kicking out at me with her

 bare foot. "Start on my damn feet."

 

 I took her delicate foot into my hand and began softly rubbing

 it. "Hmmmm..." Stephanie said to her boyfriend. "That feels good.

 It's making me horny."

 

 "Oh, foot massages always make you horny, Steph," Randy said. "You're

 such a slut!"

 

 She chuckled. "Hey, what can I say? I'm a woman of the 21st Century.

 I like sex. Sue me!"

 

 I kept my head down as I toiled beneath them, vigorously rubbing

 Stephanie's dainty foot as they talked. Every now and then, for a

 split-second, I would allow my eyes to dart upward toward my wife's

 exposed pussy. Each time I did it, I felt so guilty -- and then I

 realized how far I'd sunk. Why should a man feel guilty for looking

 at his own wife's vagina?

 

 No wonder she has no respect for me.

 

 My wife and her lover relaxed and watched a "Cheers" rerun while I

 continued rubbing her feet. Every now and then, Stephanie would

 deadpan, "do the toes," or "work on the heel."

 

 After about 20 minutes, Randy took a long swig of his bottle of beer,

 emptying it, other than a few drops of foam. "Honey, I'm empty here,"

 he said to Stephanie. Then he nodded at me. "Would you mind? Just for

 a few seconds?"

 

 Stephanie sighed dramatically and lifted her foot from my hand. "Oh,

 all right. I suppose I could give this up for just a little bit, so

 you don't have to go get your own beer." She looked at me. "Might as

 well get me another iced tea while you're up, Lester."

 

 My feet were asleep and I nearly fell down as I tried to stand up. I

 was rewarded by Randy with a hard kick in the ass, which sent me

 sprawling. Stephanie giggled.

 

 "Watch what the fuck you're doing," Randy snarled down at me. "You

 almost bumped into me."

 

 "S-sorry, sir," I mumbled as I struggled to my feet. He handed me his

 beer bottle, then I scurried to the other side of the couch, removed

 Stephanie's half-full glass of iced tea from the end table, and

 rushed off to the kitchen.

 

 I served my masters, then again took my place on my knees. "You can

 go ahead and start on the other foot," my wife said. She took a sip

 of her iced tea. "Start on the toes."

 

 By this time, "Cheers" had ended and Randy was flipping through the

 channels. After about five minutes, Stephanie jokingly chided

 him: "I'll never understand you men! Why do you keep changing the

 channels like that? You've already been through every channel

 at least twice!"

 

 Randy chuckled. He put on SportsCenter and set the remote

 down. "Well, sweetie, it's just that we men are restless types," he

 said, leaning back and yawning. "Ain't that right, Lester?"

 

 "Y-yes, sir."

 

 Stephanie snorted. "And what would this little faggot know about it?

 He's the last person who would know what a man feels like."

 

 I lowered my head and continued rubbing her feet.

 

 Stephanie and Randy watched television in silence for a few minutes.

 Then, when a commercial came on, my wife nudged her lover.

 

 "Come on -- I don't want to watch sports," she said. "Put something

 on we both can watch, honey."

 

 "Actually, I don't really care," he said, handing the remote to

 Stephanie. "'Cause I'm about ready to light this doobie. Then, I'm

 gonna get me one of those foot massages for my own damn self."

 

 My wife smiled. "Spark it up. He's almost done."

 

 They relaxed and smoked while I finished Stephanie's feet. Finally,

 she announced I was finished. Then she nudged the ottoman over to her

 boyfriend's side of the coach. They shifted positions: he leaned his

 head on her lap and propped his feet up on the footstool.

 

 "G'head," he said, nodding nonchalantly to me. I knelt before him and

 started on his feet.

 

 I don't know exactly what happened -- maybe I'd caught a contact

 high -- but I somehow must have pulled Randy's toe the wrong way,

 because he suddenly sat up and slapped me right across my mouth. I

 tasted blood trickling from my swollen lip.

 

 "Owww!! Goddamn it, watch what the hell you're doing!" he bellowed,

 sitting up. "Fucking faggot -- come here! Lean your face up here."

 

 I was shaking as I followed his order. He removed the roach from the

 roach clip, then pulled me by the ear until my face was close enough

 to satisfy him.

 

 "Hold still!" Randy slowly aimed the roach clip at the center of my

 nose. He inserted each jagged jaw of the clip into each of my

 nostrils. Then he let the device clamp shut.

 

 Tears immediately came to my eyes. The pain was terrible.

 "ARRRRRRRRRRRRHHHAA!!!!"

 

 "Shut up, faggot," Randy said. He leaned back and snapped his

 fingers. "Get back on my feet. And you better stop that fuckin'

 crying, or I'll give you something to cry about."

 

 Now it was Stephanie's turn to surf the cable channels. She finally

 decided on a "real crime" program on Court TV. Not a word was said

 for the next 20 minutes as they snuggled and idly watched the story

 of a woman who plotted with her lover to kill her husband. They

 ignored me as I dutifully rubbed Randy's feet, trying to ignore the

 throbbing pain in my nose.

 

 A commercial came on, and Stephanie broke the silence.

 

 "Baby, you wanna go upstairs and fool around when this show is over?"

 she asked in a sexy, little-girl voice.

 

 Randy sighed contentedly and watched me through his buzzed eyelids as

 I dutifully rubbed his feet.

 

 "Whadda you think, Lester? Should I take your wife up on it? She's

 feeling kinda frisky tonight, you know. I wouldn't want to disappoint

 her -- you know how she gets when she's frustrated."

 

 "Yeah, if I don't get a little somethin-somethin' tonight, I'm gonna

 be pissed," Stephanie chimed in. "I'll have to get my frustrations

 out and make that ass black and blue."

 

 I didn't know what to say, so I remained silent. As it turned out,

 that was the wrong thing to do.

 

 SLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAPPPP!! This time, it was my wife's delicate hand that

 lashedacross my face. Her finger caught against the roach clip

 digging into my nostrils, and I yelped like a wounded dog.

 

 "Didn't Randy ask you a question?" Stephanie demanded. I knew he had

 asked me something -- but for the life of me, I couldn't remember

 what it was. A few seconds passed -- then,

 SLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLAPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!! Another one, this

 time right across my nose. She hit me there on purpose. Tears flooded

 my eyes as I fell to the floor, blinded by the throbbing pain.

 

 "Randy asked you if he should take me up on my offer," she stared

 right at me. "He asked you if he should take me upstairs and fuck the

 shit out of me. Now, you have two seconds to get the fuck off the

 floor and answer my man, or you ain't gonna have no nose when I

 get done with you."

 

 I bolted back up onto my knees and addressed the smirking

 Randy: "Uh...um...yes, sir...please, sir, please take her upstairs

 and make love to her --"

 

 "Make love to her?" Randy arched an eyebrow. "I'm not going to make

 love to her, stupid-ass. I'm gonna fuck her. F-U-C-K her. You

 understand?"

 

 "Y-yes, sir. Thank you sir."

 

 Randy shook his head as he and my wife got up from the

 couch. "Pitiful," he said, looking down at me. "P-i-t-i-ful."

 

 I watched sadly as Stephanie and Randy walked away, leaving me on my

 knees in the middle of the living room.

 

 "Oh, Lester, don't forget -- you still have to wash my car,"

 Stephanie said over her shoulder. "I'm going shopping tomorrow, so I

 want it done by the time I get up in the morning, hear?"

 

 "Yes, Mistress."

 

 Randy took Stephanie's hand and led her up the steps. "Oh, yeah, and

 Lester," Randy said, pausing on the stairs. "Don't forget: my golf

 bag and clubs are in my trunk. I want everything polished up real

 good: clubs, my bag, my cleats, my gloves. Everything. I

 wan't `em to shine. I'm gonna be leaving about 10 in the morning, so

 you better get it done before you go to bed."

 

 "Yes, sir."

 

 "Oh, and did you do my laundry yet?" he asked as they slowly resumed

 their ascent up the carpeted stairs.

 

 "Um...I was just getting to the ironing, sir. It's not finished yet.

 I was just finishing up Mistress Stephanie's things when you guys

 called me. I was going to get to your stuff next, sir."

 

 "Well, that's gotta be done before we get up, too." He

 chuckled. "Poor Lester. You ain't gonna get much sleep tonight, are

 you?"

 

 "N-no, sir."

 

 Stephanie tugged her boyfriend's hand. "Come on, baby, forget about

 him," she said.

 "I'm horrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrnyyyyyy."

 

 Randy smirked down at me as my wife impatiently began pushing him up

 the stairs. "Gotta go, Lester," he said, shrugging. "Duty calls."

 

 "Um...Mistress? Sir? May I please take this clip off my nose?"

 

 "No, leave it there," Stephanie said impatiently. "Now leave us

 alone!" They went upstairs and shut their bedroom door.

 

 I could vaguely hear them upstairs fucking as I finished the ironing.

 They were still going at it when I went into the garage to wash

 Stephanie's Jag. I looked at my watch. Well past three in the

 morning. If I hurried, maybe I could get to bed before sundown and

 get a few hours of sleep before it was time to wake up and start on

 their breakfast.

 

 THE END