Footjob Novels & Stories

I murmured. “I’m sure today was rough,” he said. “And weird, too,” I said. “Your dad mentioned you seemed woozy on the walk back, are you feeling alright?” Colin asked, looking concerned. “Woozy is one way to put it,” I said as I began to recount how I’d touched the Broadfoot manhole cover and basically got a replay of Fall 2004. “Ugh, sorry you had to relive the Rebecca Scott drama all over again,” he said, “Thanks to you snooping and paying attention, that went away quickly and we were able to afford our farm with the settlement from her family.”

I said arms folded. " Just admit that I ruined your legs honey " he smirked naughtily and my jaws dropped. " You need a filter on that pretty little mouth of yours " I said and he swept me off my feet . " Let's take a shower " he said as we both went to the bathroom . I couldn't walk , my legs felt heavy and I could feel a slight discomfort down there . I should have thought of that before mo*ning harder ... Faster ... Deeper ... I regret it right now , had it been I was not high on his D*ck last night .

I inhaled a deep breath, the air was clearer now. I looked down at my feet and groaned. Not only were the borrowed boots horrendous, but they were also two sizes too big. I looked ridiculous, but the men were starting to complain about the smell. I kicked a heel against the leg of my chair, the jostling feeling of the shoe around my foot foreign to me.

I also watch my step because I don’t want cuts on my feet again. Some people call this the walk of shame; I call it the stride of pride. My back is still a little sore, but it isn't anything I haven't felt before. The walk to the bar was swift and easy, and I didn't mind it. If it was any longer, I'd order a ride to the place.

Rain is pouring down heavily all around me. For every step I take, there is a new, brown puddle refilling my already heavy combat boots with more dirty water. I think a small rock has lured its way into one of them, too, but I’m not sure. My feet are numb, so I don’t feel the pain. They’re cold, wet and they’ll definitely hurt in the morning, but I can’t stop yet. I need to get at least halfway through this forest first.

Those looked quite real to him. Toby got Phelton to take off his shoe and make a footprint right next to one of the fake ones before he lowered himself into a squatting position and began explaining, “If you looked here, Xandar, you’d see that the fake one went too deep at the second and and third toe while leaving the first, fourth and fifth toe print in unequal depth. It isn’t possible to assert one’s weight only on two toes when one is walking, much less when one is running. That’s the problem with this print. That one,”

“What if about population growth then let’s take an example, let’s make a chapter -----“ I cut him off by stepping hard on his right feet. "Fuck shit!!!" he hissed the pain he almost jumps high because step on it, I know surely know that it hurts. Is it the thickness of the sole of my shoe? "Why not make a brain the concept of our research and then we make it for you as if you don't exist!" sarcasm in it. Apollo and the other man inside here laugh at what I’ve said and watch their friend suffering by a feet pain. “It was just a joke fuck, it hurts.

You'll be sorry if Wren and I miss the bonfire festival in Xenas. A squishy noise sounded as he kicked the sack, and his shoe sank into something disturbingly soft and sticky. Startled, he yelped and yanked his foot back in horror.

Felza's POV FOUR YEARS LATER “Halo, Oh my God!” I yelled, dragging her away from the kitchen. She placed her small hands on mine, trying to pull my hands away, but I shook my head and halted, “Halo, what did I tell you about trying to make a dish?” she lowered her gaze, circling her toes on the ground, “and what did I tell you about wearing your shoes.” she tucked some loose strands of her hair behind her ears, smiling from ear to ear, “Mother, walking barefooted helps me walk faster. Walking with the shoes slows me down.” I facepalmed myself and sighed, “Halo, everyone walks around with shoes. You have to get used to it.”

The rot is holding the keys to the gatehouse. ​Footstep one. Soft, lateral, heel-toe rolling off the concrete drain-grate. Not a guard’s heavy-soled stomp; this is crepe-soled or wrapped in vulcanized gum. ​Footstep two. Pausing where the heavy felt rolls stack like grey tombstones.