Footjob Novels & Stories

“Jungle foot.” “Huh?” I look at him quizzically. “Jungle foot, or foot rot. It’s from wearing your boots too long and sweating. Our soldiers in Cambiador get this when we go on ruck marches, and they can’t shift.” “Doesn’t their counterpart heal them?”

I point to the heels I had abandoned in the doorway. “Because those shoes are evil and I am pretty sure they were biting my feet off or something. Sadly, they are part of my uniform at work.” I explain. He raises an eyebrow. “Biting your feet off? Surely they can't be THAT bad...” he trails off. I lift my foot up and pull off my bunny slipper to reveal the blisters and red marks that marr the pale skin of my foot. “They are definitely that bad.” I state as I hold my foot up so he can see. It is almost comical how horrified Bellamy looks. He actually leans forward and grabs my foot, pulling it towards himself.

I paid off every debt, cut off every way to reach me, and spent the last of my money on a train ticket heading to the south. I was living life rough and just barely scraping by. However, as my legs never got proper treatment, the damage to them became permanent. The pain would drive me insane almost every day. But, as enough time passed, I became numb to it…

I was already treading on a dangerous path of lies as it was. “Oh, alright then,” She replied, to my utter relief, albeit her tone still carried traces of befuddlement, “Have fun.” “I will.” I said, my conscience stinging me. Moments later, I stepped out of our dorm, profusely grateful for the empty corridor, because I feared I’d rat myself out to the neighbors out of nervousness if they asked where I was headed to. Stepping onto the pavement outside, I saw Trent standing beside a grey Lamborghini urus, clad in a black three piece suit, with a golden brooch pinned to his equally black tie.

I pace the length of the study in a loop so tight it could wear a groove through stone. Boots strike flagstone, toe catching every third pass on the same uneven slab, a misalignment I should have fixed years ago but never did. The sound is its own kind of metronome—each step a tick, each turn a tock, the pattern as inescapable as the moon’s drag on the blood.

Then his voice became serious. “Because you’re going to need that attitude.” He pointed to the brace. “You cannot put weight on that leg for five months.” Sophia blinked. “Five?” Rhoden nodded. “Not even a little.” He continued. “After that, we move to toe-touch weight bearing.” Sophia frowned. “What does that mean?” “Three months of barely touching the floor with your toes.” Sophia leaned back slowly. Rhoden continued like he was reading a grocery list. “After that we try light foot pressure.”

The stairs didn’t just rattle under the weight of the boots; they hummed with a low, heavy vibration that went straight through the soles of Elias’s shoes and settled in his shins. It was a rhythmic, industrial thud that felt less like men marching and more like a massive piston driving deep into the mud under the pier.

'ཀ'❋'ཀ' Looking at my fingers, I realized I was playing with the legs of the toy man Tommy gave me. You could move them up and down, but they were still and rigid. He was just like me. He couldn't use his members, he couldn't stand up on the mattress, and he couldn't sit well without finding him a good position. At least he had two sound limbs whilst I didn't even know if I could keep mine for too long. I sighed, throwing the piece of Lego on the floor and making its legs detach from its body.

“Run a finger between each toe. Work the toes apart.” One finger doesn’t seem enough. I use my thumbs again, the tips this time, gently pressing them into the space between each toe and then sliding them down into the pad, using my fingers on the top of her foot to counter the pressure as I softly ease the bones beneath the skin, undoing the constriction of her shoes. I can tell how good it feels. I let my lips part, breathing carefully through my mouth. If I let the scents overwhelm me, Sarah’s foot rub will be a short one.

despite the sarcasm in my mind. I stood up and went to the cabinet for my shoes and pulled a pair of brown combat boots which I feel comfortable wearing whenever I go out and walk around, it just feels “oh so ready” when it is what I am using. I mean, I can walk properly and comfortably with it, I can run with it anytime if I need to, and I can fight with it as well, it is the most securing and fitting foot wear I could have to be able to fight properly, it would not fly away like sandals, heels, or even a running shoes. The combat boots runs up above my ankle almost reaching the lower part of my calf, with the tight strings, it is an assurance that it would not be taken off from my feet.