The Money Man

By Mark Orestius

 

 

 

 

When I was twenty and on summer break from college, my cousin’s friend got me a great job at this insurance company in a downtown highrise, with a beautiful view of the Bay Bridge. The company had distributed a large survey, and I was supposed to do some “coding” for them into a database– essentially a data-entry job of busywork that none of them wanted to do. In actuality, it was eight hours of boring in an empty cubicle, but I needed the money and was happy that, at least, I had a job.

Anyway, it was around noon on the day before Independence Day, which fell on a Friday that year, and everyone was leaving the office early, for a jump on a long weekend. My supervisor– a cheerful lady named Jean– told me to leave when my stack was done, and that if I had any problems, I could leave them for the following Monday. Actually, I had finished my stack for that day a little while earlier, so I could’ve taken off then and there, but just for the sake of appearances, not to mention the cash, I thought I ought to at least wait an hour or two more, or until most everyone had left. I didn’t want them to reduce my hours, because the pay, for what I did, was really good. Anyway, a little while later, one of the executives from marketing stopped by my cubicle and asked if I could help him on a project. He said it wouldn’t take too long, and that both of us could get out of there when it was finished. I was a little annoyed, I’ll admit, but when he flashed me a really cute smile, I thought, what the hell. His name was Richie, and he was a number-crunching “money-man” for marketing. He was a little shorter than me– maybe 5’6″ or 5’7″, maybe in his early to mid-thirties, with an informal tossle of dirty-blond hair on a pleasant, green-eyed face. He was wearing the most beautifully tailored, taupe plaid suit and impeccable, caramel-colored, tasseled slip-on loafers. His suit draped so beautifully on him, that my ratty, striped tie and blue shirt made me feel really “temp.” His suit also made me feel a little bit inferior, even though there was nothing about him that would have suggested he felt better than me. In any case, he was my employer, and I was the low-man on the pole, so I did what I was told.

When we got to his private office on the far side of the marketing department, he asked me to take the chair beside his desk and read the figures from a certain column of a spreadsheet. There were folders of these sheets, and he explained that the process would go faster if he had someone read it to him, instead of him looking back and forth from the screen to the sheets. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. He was wearing a crisp, white shirt– also apparently tailored, since it contoured to his wide shoulders and slim waist– and suspenders, my favorite feature on a well-dressed man, buttoned in a Y to the center of his broad back. He looked athletic, but his suit jacket had hidden the fact. So, mildly distracted by this tight, Money-Man’s physique in a bespoke package, I began to read the numerical figures, and he would type them into his report. After several minutes of intense focus on the screen, he leaned backward into his highback leather swivel, stretched his shoulder blades back, and told me that I was an absolute gift because it was going so fast. His warm and grateful smile made my insides stir.

When we had finished all the sheets in the first folder, he leaned backward to grab another pile off a file cabinet, when the entire contents spilled on his lap and cascaded all over the floor to his right and left. “Aw, shit!” he blurted, as he pushed his swivel chair back from his desk, and began to collect the sheets, attempting to reorder them. Being ever-helpful, I got up from my chair and knelt down to grab the sheets that had slid beneath his desk. This is when I noticed them. Richie had slipped off his beautiful, shapely loafers sometime during the last few minutes and they now lay haphazardly underneath his desk. More importantly, though, within arm’s length of me, Richie himself stood, shod only in tight, beige socks that hugged every contour, every curve, cranny, and slope of his unshod feet and toes. I froze in shock.

Richie had his back to me, so I (very) leisurely collected the sheets around his desk and, as my heart began to beat loudly in my chest, I then slowly inched my way closer to his empty shoes. This would give me a better view of both his shoes and stockinged feet. When I was there, I spied the expensive slip-on loafers, and quickly fingered the inside of the one closest to me — size elevens I mentally noted. Smooth and new, they were still warm! Then, as I turned to him, I considered– as best I could– what his feet may have looked like underneath those socks. All I could really see was the shape of his toes (thick and meaty) and the length of his feet; the rest was my imagination.

I thought he had big feet for a not-so-tall guy, but before I could investigate closer, he abruptly turned around, and found me kneeling on the floor behind his desk. He looked a little surprised. “Oh– thanks!” he said, and he plopped down heavily on his swivel chair, focusing his attention on renumbering the spreadsheets in proper order. I was literally right at his knees and could have “copped a feel” of his warm, manly dogs right there, chewing on his heel, playfully biting his toes, but, instead, I chickened out and began to really collect the sheets in earnest. When I had them in a neat pile, I handed the pile to him. Richie sighed and apologized. “Sorry about this– it’ll only take me a second…”

Before I could stand up, Richie then handed me about half his pile and told me to put them in order by a control number at the lower left-hand corner. I am lightning at filing, and it didn’t take me long to finish, and besides, I had a goal: I wanted to check out his musky executive feet while he was distracted, and that’s exactly what I did! I was definitely getting hard, and it may have been my imagination, but I thought I could sense the faint, and unmistakable waft of his manly feet in the air. After all, I was THAT close to them! My head filled with dizzying images: ripping the socks off his unsuspecting feet, and then having him squirm in delight at my “delicate” touch! I must have been sitting there, drooling, for a few minutes, lost in the fantasy of his warm, bare, helpless, feet in my lap, to do with as I wished, but before my daydreams blew their wad, Richie took one big breath and looked at me and smiled. “Finished!” he announced. I handed him my re-ordered pile of papers. My brain was working quickly that day.

I pointed to his beautiful, tasseled loafers. “Those are nice.”

“Thanks,” Richie sniffed, as he tilted his head to look beneath his desk. “Yeah, I just bought them. I love them.”

I gave him a look of surprise. “Oh. Then your feet must hurt.” Richie lifted a brow and curled his lip in a half-smile.

“Actually, yes. They ARE sore. How do you know that?” He unconsciously rubbed his stockinged feet together. The sound of the rubbing socks sent a rhythmic brushing sound into the quiet office that my dick lifted his head to hear.

“Oh, I used to work in a shoe store,” I lied casually. “This style needs to get worked in. It gets especially bad for the toes and the sides,” I said, as I pointed to his stockinged feet. Richie nodded knowingly.

Of course, I never worked in a shoe store, but countless hours getting hard to the daydream of a man’s feet stuck in a pair of shoes without me, and the pounding they must take inside them, and the warm, moist, musky effect that the day’s events would have on a pair of feet made me very knowledgeable of every contingency, of every possible effect any pair of shoes would have on a sexy man’s feet, to the point of being an expert really. I continued, as Richie listened interestedly. “They’ll get worse, especially as the day wears on and your feet start to swell– like this time of the day– they’ll really start to smart.”

“They sure do,” Richie almost whispered, stretching his toes inside his constricting socks (!), curling them under, pulling them back. I watched him consider it all– helplessly actually– as I spun into a tizzy of horny lust, but helpless to move. There was an awkward silence. And then, I decided to risk everything.

“Would you like me to rub them? I’m pretty good at it.”

Richie paused. I could see him rubbing his left heel ineffectively into his right arch, and I knew he was conflicted. “No, no..” Richie mumbled, his leather swivel chair creaking as he readjusted himself nervously in his seat. “That’s…. That’s alright… really.” He was polite, but didn’t sound really convincing. There, kneeling on the floor beside him, I pressed further. I had nothing to lose.

“I used to work at the sports clinic at school,” I lied again. “They taught me how to work out kinks with my thumbs.” I smiled respectfully, and leaned back comfortably against his desk drawers.

Richie quietly stared down at his feet, while a warm but modest smile finally creeped onto his face. “Well, okay. I’d love that.” He swivelled in my direction, and in one, sexy movement, placed both his socked feet into my lap.

I reached up into his pant leg and felt around for the top of the sock. Richie flinched. “Are you going to pull off the sock?”

“Yeah. It’s better that way.”

“Oh. Okay.” Richie tugged at his silky maroon tie with his slim fingers and the knot descended slightly down his starched shirt. He unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and leaned back.

As I felt around for the top of his sock, hidden somewhere beneath the expensive fabric of his sharply creased trousers, his powerful calves clenched at my searching fingers. I observed him looking a little uncomfortable while I did this, and in so doing, Richie was starting to become quite a valuable catch, so I took my time, poked around a little more boldly, felt his calf flinch and move and occasionally quivver. My fingers danced around his calf but still could not locate the top of his sock. I tried to reach up further, but his tailored pant leg would not allow my muscular arms to encroach any further. Sensing my struggle, Richie pulled the luxurious fabric of his pant leg upward, revealing his muscular calf to my eyes. Then, I spotted the top of his sock. It was almost at his knee, and the elastic sock clung to his calves that I could see the definition of his taut muscles clearly.

“Nice,” I blurted, immediately embarassed. Richie was silent, looking benevolent but expressionless.

That silky, beige sock fondled his thick calves and cradled his hot and sexy size-elevens, clinging to his broad, flat heel, rising into the mine-field of his curved arch, and ending at his wiggling toes. He seemed to be breathing more quickly in anticipation, and also (and I don’t know if this was on purpose or not), but as I pinched the top of his sock, ready to have it descend into the first act, he pushed his other foot into my crotch, but then stopped and pulled it back beneath him in the chair, biting his lip.

Then, because the moment moved me to, I stopped myself from pulling off his sock and instead lifted his big, stockinged foot up to within an inch of my face and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see his inquisitive stare. Then I pushed his stockinged foot flat on my face, nuzzling the warm, moist, manly contours of his powerful dog against my cheek. I nearly blanked out from the intense and immediate arousal! Up against my face, Richie’s warm sole felt like musky power, but pliant and responsive, the tender, neglected foot of an executive money-man under my care. I groaned almost imperceptibly. Richie rested his head on his fist and smiled. “Is this part of the rubdown?”

“Yes, please…” I began to kiss the soles of his socked foot. He briefly clenched his toes.

“Go for it,” he smiled to me, and then began to touch my face with his big toe, along my brows and the bridge of my nose and around my lips. His sock was so smooth and his feet so warm, it was like not having a sock at all, and it turned me on so fast that my mouth gaped open just to breathe. Richie pressed his foot gently on my cheek, then after a minute, he brought his other foot up, until my entire face was covered by his powerful, stockinged feet. He wiggled his toes playfully, and I breathed in his foot smell deeply into me, so that it mingled with my already aching lust and bursting dick.

Then, Richie dropped one foot back into my lap. Curious to see what was beneath the sock, I pinched the top of his sock near his knee, and tugged down. It descended slowly. I could see the elastic marks around his calf, and I took care to rub them with my thumbs. Then I more quickly pulled the silky socks down to his ankles. His defined calves were lightly covered in a light blondish hair, which I playfully brushed my fingers through. Richie gasped and bit his lip again, closing his eyes, slumping more deeply into his chair. I took note of this and got more excited, and began to less gingerly pull the sock off his foot, watching his face, while smiling calmly to keep him comfortable.

I first revealed the jut of his athletic ankles, then his remarkably smooth heel. I grabbed the ankle with one hand and flatly ran my fingers beneath his heel, as a test actually, searching the solid form beneath my fingertips, touching the ridges of his prints in tortuous circles. This usually doesn’t produce much reaction from a guy, but with Richie, he smiled widely and closed his eyes more tightly, but did not pull back. I was definitely going to push this as far as I could! Then I continued to pull the sock further off his sensitive foot, taking care not to touch any part of his arches (that would be later!). I admired his instep, and the gentle network of veins just below the surface, as I continued the slow reveal of the curvy ball of his foot, then, finally, a quick and easy flick removed the entire sock from his wiggling toes.

The vision was electric! The executive was seated in his chair, with his hot and totally manly foot exposed, naked, and helpless at the bottom of his beautifully tailored pant leg! His wider than normal, but well-proportioned foot was smooth and clean, with a warm cover of moist heat radiating in my lap. It was topped by five of the meatiest toes I’d ever seen, perfectly suckable: clean, clear nails defining his long, thick athletic toes, his big toe slightly separated from the rest of his others. I longed to know what they tasted like, as I stared voraciously down at them.

“Do you like them?”

“Very much.” I mumbled.

“I want you to rub them. Now. I want YOU to make them feel good.”

I lifted my brow. “Well, okay. But do you want the really good version, that’ll really make your feet feel amazing? Or do you want the quick version?”

“We got time. I want the first one. I want them to feel AMAZING.”

“Okay, then!” And without much ceremony, I pulled the sock off his other foot and rested both of Richie’s naked feet into my lap. He settled in to relax, as he took a deep breath behind his dreamy smile, and closed his eyes.

Then, I lifted his right foot slightly, and, while his eyes were closed, poised my fingers into a claw just millimeters from his unsuspecting arch. Dropping my fingers, I simply touched him, my five fingertips poised lightly on the sole of his foot, but suddenly disrupting the sensitive network of nerves just beneath his skin. It’s like an internal alarm for a ticklish guy, and Richie’s eyes flicked open as he tried to pull away.

“Nope!” I asserted, grabbing tighter.

“Oh no. You’re going to tickle me, aren’t you?” He had this look of innocence and panic combined.

“Yup.” My fingers didn’t move from his soles. I think, just touching him was driving him crazy, so I very minutely wiggled my fingers.

“Arrrrrrrrrgggh!! Please, don’t. I don’t think…” He was giggling nervously now, biting his lip and moving on his chair as if wanting to stand up.

“You wanted the AMAZING foot rub, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but..”

“Trust me.” I smiled a calming smile.

“Oh god…” There was a long pause.

“I promise you’re gonna love it,” I whispered, smiling again, waiting.

“Oh god… just make it quick.”

“No. For as long as it takes,” I corrected. Richie began to laugh.

“You’re a funny kid, you know that?” he stuttered. I remained silent and unmoved. Then, almost in a whisper, “Okay. Go ahea….. ARRRRRRGH! NO! Hahahahahahahaha!”

In a millisecond to his approval, I began to randomly move my fingers all around the valley of his arch. His foot came alive. It’s that brilliant moment that all tickle guys love when you realize that, in this seemingly simple gesture, you can control the very essence of a man! This little part of his body, usually disregarded, reveals so much of the vulnerability that a man almost never relinquishes, while simultaneously sending relentless signals– like a tickle invasion– through all parts of his body and flooding his brain with no other thoughts. They can’t get in; the tickling takes over. He’s helpless to it really, and Richie was no exception. He futilely attempted to jerk his foot away from my wiggling fingers, but my grip is as strong as my resolve, and I did not relent in my sadistic exploration of his ticklishness. Even his clenching toes could not escape my stacatto torture of his soles, every wrinkle explored, tested, exploited. My soft nails descending into the crossroads of the ball of his foot, scratching. “STOP! PLEASE! UHHH-HAHAHAHAHAH!! OH GOD! AAAAAAAHH!!” was all I could hear between his happy, convulsive laugh, his gritting teeth, his tearing eyes.

“I’m not done yet, Richie. Trust me. I can tell your feet are loving it…” Of course I found it all really sexy– Richie, sitting in his tailored shirt and pants, with his utterly naked and tickled foot in my absolute control. He was shaking his head violently back and forth now, his mouth gaping open. He was gripping the arms of his swivel chair tightly, as even more laughter stuttered from his open mouth, “HAHAHAHAHA! NO! PLEASE STOP! HAHAHAHAHA!!” I ignored him, but watched him carefully. Outside, the afternoon sun beat down heat into Richie’s office as sweaty, desperate lust dripped freely from his brow.

By now, I was using my little pinky to probe the sensitive areas between his toes. Richie curled his toes and shook his foot, and I could tell that it was almost too much for him, because he leaned forward and reached out to me, while laughing, his hand extended as if to call a time out. “OH GOD! NO!!! NOT THERE!! OH GOD!… OH MY GOD!…” was all I heard between his non-stop laughter. Then, Richie leaned back and grabbed his crotch.

It was not a surprising gesture, actually, and his eyes flicked open in astonishment as he began to pleasureably knead his obviously swelling dick with his palm. He was still laughing, but quite aware, perhaps even surprised, that another response was taking place in his pants. Curious about this new development, I relented a little, and switched to a new tactic. I began to run my fingers all over the top and bottom of his naked foot with my finger tips, from back to front, from toes to heels, again and again, the same predictable gesture on his big manly foot. Richie’s response was more erotic than tickled, which was precisely what I was looking for. And, his tone changed, sounded conflicted, and totally aroused me. “Uhhhhhhhh… OH yeaaaaah….. Uhhhhhh, PLEASE…stop.. Uhhhmmm..” Generally, Richie seemed to like this better, judging from the growth in his pants. He pushed down harder on his crotch. Then, as if remembering that I was still there, he stopped and looked at me.

I had no desire for him to stop, of course. I tickle guys, because a part of me wants them to enjoy it too, and I told him so, kind of. “Go for it. It’s perfectly natural,” I assured him. I looked down to his both his feet, now in my lap, as if I was disinterested in his crotch, and I erotically ran my fingers along both his feet simultaneously. He smiled again (I was starting to love his smile), and of course I watched him, mesmerized, as Richie took my advice. He had this look of ecstacy as his fly descended, revealing a moist pair of white boxer briefs that were buttoned down the front and almost bursting from the pressure behind it. With his eyes closed and grinning widely from the sensations still active at his sensitive feet, he instinctively pinched the buttons open, and reached into his pants, lifting his hips as if to gain better access. Richie’s breathing quickened even more, as he seemed almost panicked trying to pull his man rod out from the confines of his pants. Neither of us was disappointed. As he let out an erotic groan of relief, Richie’s enormous, veiny cock thrust outward, obscenely, from the fly of his tailored suit pants, followed by a pair of round, hairy balls held tightly straining against his rigid pole. The open fly of his taupe plaid trousers perfectly framed his upright, weeping manhood, as the hair around his balls splayed erotically outward, contrasting against the subtle and elegant design of his suit, and looking like the network of roots to a veiny, pompous, pink tree trunk.

Richie was in trance as he giggled non-stop, “Heeeheeheeeheee.. It feels good.. AHHH! Hehehehehe..,” as he lightly gripped his cock and ran his fingers along the bottoms of his hairy nuts, tickling himself, swelling himself even bigger. I thought the vision of Richie’s naked feet was hot, but his bossy, executive cock seemed to outshadow us both. Once again, there is something entirely erotic about a pair of feet, but paired with a the musk of an aroused cock, there’s nothing better! Of course, if a man knows how to use his cock…

Richie’s other foot had not really gotten as much attention as the first, so I began to focus my attentions on that neglected bad-boy, as my lips drooled in anticipation. Having closed his eyes as he rhythmically tugged at his thick, slick rod, Richie suddenly flicked his eyes open: his soft, hot, bare foot felt the first sensations of a wet, probing, searching, tongue on the arch of his hyper-ticklish foot.

“OH MY GOD… this is AMAAAAZING,” he whispered as he giggled non-stop, the toes of his offended foot spreading outward, wiggling almost uncontrollably.

I stopped for a moment. “Told you..” I smiled, as I ran my stiff tongue along those regions of a man’s naked foot that I knew from experience held the majority of responsive, unprotected nerves, where the sensations of my warm, wet, and experienced tongue would be most “appreciated”: the entire plane of his arch (which had a pleasing, salty taste), including the perimeter just above the heel and below the ball, and also flicking my tongue between his toes, especially for the first time, which always gets a great reaction. I knew though, that I, a summer temp, finally “owned” Richie, the Marketing Executive, when I began to playfully chew on the ball of his foot, sucking and biting and using my tongue to tease– almost like giving a hickey to his soft sole. His response was pleasing: a new salvo of laughter followed by an almost incomprehensible mock pleading… “No no no no no no…! Ahahahahahahahaha!!…” I had to hold his ankle again, just to steady it, and the struggle his helpless foot attempted against my face was fun and hot. His toes clenched against my cheek and I felt him convulse elsewhere, briefly.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Richie– still laughing from the foot suck– was violently yanking his horse out of the barn door. His precum was so fluid that it now covered his entire engorged cock, his fingers, and a little bit on his boxers. He held his head backwards, pushing broken, warm, and moist breath out from his pursed lips. He was whispering something, which I was about to ignore, when I finally realized what he was struggling to say: “tickle me tickle me tickle me oh yeah…” as he pumped his dirty dick desperately.

As Richie was leaning backwards into his swivel chair, his suit jacket in a wrinkled heap on the floor behind him, I lifted both his bare feet– now totally sensitized- upward into the air as I kneeled between his legs. Richie didn’t stop jacking, and I could smell the lust on him of course, and whether he realized where, exactly I was, he didn’t indicate, but regardless of what he knew, I would not refuse his ecstatic request to tickle him. With my face inches from his almost-exploding cock, I grasped both his ascended heels with my thumb and pinky from beneath, and began to randomly scratch his soft, smooth soles on his taut but electric arches with my remaining fingers, both feet simultaneously. “ARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!!” was Richie’s only reply as he continued to jack, and laugh, and attempt to pull his ticklish feet away in the widest smile I had seen on him yet.

Soon, with all the stimuli, Richie’s expression changed to one that seemed desperate and pleading, “I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum,” he whispered.

I was quick to reply. “Can’t ruin your suit..” I smiled, and while still holding and tickling his feet with both hands, his toes clenching and unclenching rhythmically, I descended into the red-hot region of his explosive cock, an intoxicating haze of sweaty, musk-smell hovering in the air. I gently clamped my lips around the head of his pink, charging bull, and teased his dick head with my reddened, playful tongue. But not for long.

Richie closed his eyes, and parted his lips, and in a moment he will likely remember for the rest of his life, every nerve in his body tingled and fired, and the chain-reaction pushed an initial, monumental explosion of his milky white cum over my thirsty tongue and into my mouth. I swallowed. His breath hovered in the air, as wave after wave of salty, escaping cum pushed and squirted its way out of his hairy balls and massive throbbing shaft into my waiting mouth, keeping the tell-tale goo off his classy suit. His only reply now could be an animalistic grunt and growl, and the involuntary convulsions of his orgasmic body. This went on forever and then he slumped, his chest rising and falling with each passing moment more slowly, restfully. His body flooded with pleasure and well-being. I stopped tickling his feet, but kept my lips wrapped around his still hot and throbbing cock, sucking out every last bit of Richie’s man-juice. He actually wrapped his legs around my torso while my lips and tongue played with his cock, until, quite probably, he could no longer take it. He gently pushed my face off his now softening rod which collapsed on his pants like an exhausted marathoner at the finish line.

For several moments, Richie lay quietly reclined in his leather chair, his chest rising and falling gently, a expression of total, happy relaxation resting on his face.

I leaned back against his mahogany desk and waited until he stirred from his happy, ticklish explosion, as I tenderly fondled the tops of his feet with my warm, flat palm. When he took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, Richie sat upright again in his seat.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

He looked up into the air. “I can’t even describe…” His voice trailed off, as if distracted, as he oddly began to click and type into his computer terminal. “Don’t move,” he commanded, so while he typed, I lifted his tasseled loafer to my face and took a deep breath. I couldn’t smell him, but the hard smooth leather and the scent of newness gave me a nice hit. In a minute, he smiled again, and looked at me, clicking an application closed and switching off his screen. “You’re now my personal assistant this summer. I just gave you a ten dollar raise! Hope you stick around for a while!”

I must have been beaming! “THANKS! I totally appreciate it!”

Richie leaned back in his chair again, and a sly, mischievious smirk returned to him. “But there’s one thing. I never got my foot massage.” He then placed his bare feet back into my lap and placed his hands behind his head and reclined. I noticed his flexing pecs with it’s protruding nipples. And the probable deep, musky valleys of his pits. And let’s not forget his stomach. And, of course, you can never get too much feet.

I smiled a wicked smile.

So, let’s just say that I finally gave him a proper “foot massage”– many of them, in fact. And the Money Man with the hot shoes, sore feet, and easy smile didn’t need to crunch any numbers to pay for his regular foot rub. It was a great summer for both of us!

END