The cabin was dim, with all the lights out and it being mid afternoon, the Sun on its long slow descent. I sat in his recliner, having only a vague idea of what to expect.
I’d setup the appointment before camp and settled on a time and day early. I had had a foot massage at the last Fusion a year ago, and having found the experience enjoyable jumped at the opportunity for another, albeit with someone else.
He provided a fan that blew on me during the entire session. It gave a comfort from the sweltering heat.
He sat at my feet, took off my shoes, my socks, and began.
I apologized for the last of my dark purple polish still remaining on my nails. I’d read on his profile that he didn’t like dark polishes. He brushed off my concern.
He started with a cleaning. A warm bath. A scrub. Even with the heat of the day, it felt wonderful, soothing.
He then dipped my feet into hot wax. Hot, but not too hot. He bagged each foot. He reclined my seat back. I was already beyond words, lost in his pampering.
After a time, he pulled off the bags. My feet felt fresh, new.
And then he asked if I wanted foot worship. I did.
He pressed. He bit. He sucked on my toes. He gnawed at my feet.
I am not a foot person. I love boots. I love licking, caressing, being fucked by boots. But I am not a foot person.
However, when he sucked on my toes. When he bit my feet. My arches. I squirmed in the way I always do when I play. I moaned. I yelped. I sighed. I loved every minute of it.
When he finished, he returned my chair upright. My socks and shoes back on, he thanked me and I thanked him.
He had reveled in his fetish. I had enjoyed the ride. I floated away from his cabin higher than I imagined I would be.
If he returns to Fusion, I will definitely make another appointment to sit in his chair.
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