Exorbitant Interest

I was going crazy with desire.

Going crazy, as Cashier Number 4 continued to cup my nostrils in the ... catchment, of her dark-hosed toes. Going half insane, at the awesome feel of them. Going nuts, at the incredibly sensuous sensation; the thrilling touch of her toe pads, and the undersides of her cupping toes ... And, as she did so, I continued to inhale. And I inhaled deeply, hungrily – ravenously. I inhaled ravenously, as I gazed in awe at the bottom her prominent – dominating – heel, mere inches from my eyes.

Cashier Number 4, though, even as she planted her broad and fleshy, dark-hosed right foot firmly into the middle of my conveniently positioned face, did not otherwise deign to acknowledge my lowly presence. Not verbally, and not even by so much as a look.

My bank loan defaulter's face, was simply ... available.

Available, to the bank cashier's exploring, probing, rubbing, playful feet; to her nostril-cupping toes.

Cashier Number 4's active, 'playful' foot, began toying with my face. Seemingly absentmindedly, using the features of my available face; my nose, my cheeks, my chin, my eyebrows, my lips, the bank cashier massaged her dark-hosed sole – luxuriated – as she serenely dealt with the patiently queuing customers on the other side of her bank cashier's window.

This was more than I had ever dreamed of – much, much more!

And I realised that I was crying.

Warm tears were flowing, cascading down my cheeks ... Tears, of catharsis.

I was helplessly overwhelmed, by a wonderful – magical – euphoria. Overpowered, by the sheer, mind-shattering magnitude of such blissful, rapturous ecstasy. Anyone would cry!

My senses were hopelessly overloaded. Raging, out of control ... And, I was aroused, like never before – like never, ever before!

The sight, of Cashier Number 4's foot ...

The exhilarating sight, of the bank cashier's broad and fleshy, generously-arched sole, as seen through the teasing, tantalising, gossamer-thin material of her dark pantyhose! And of her round, hard, and prominent – dominating – heel, with the slightly rough skin at the outer edges of the bottom of her heel!

The feel, of Cashier Number 4's foot ...

The thrilling, electrifying contact of the bank cashier's warm, dark hose covered foot flesh, as she pressed her broad and fleshy, nostril-cupping sole right into my face; her dominating – subjugating – heel, upon my upper-forehead! Her tingling touch as, seemingly absentmindedly, her ever active, 'playful' foot toyed with my face. Available to her, by ... default.

The smell, of Cashier Number 4's foot ...

The pungent, dizzying, intoxicating – wildly arousing – aroma, of the bank cashier's dark hose covered toes, as she cupped them around my nostrils! As she clamped them to my nose, clutching firmly – painfully, almost – her in-between-the-toes foot scent, inescapable, and driving me mental with wild arousal.

I was consumed, with a mind-shattering lust. And, not being able to do 'something' about it, was an exquisite torment.

I wanted this incredible, amazing experience – this dream come true, this humiliation heaven – to go on, and on, and on!

I wanted to go on ...

Sniffing, inhaling deeply, hungrily – ravenously – of Cashier Number 4's pungent, penis-engorging, fabulously fragrant foot fumes.

I wanted to go on ...

Gazing rapturously, adoringly, at the bank cashier's broad and fleshy, generously-arched sole. At the bottom of her round, hard, and prominent – dominating – heel, with the slightly rough skin at the outer edges of the bottom of her heel.

I wanted to go on ...

Being there. Just simply being there, for the bank cashier ... Available.

Available, so that her broad and fleshy, dark-pantyhose-covered, ever active, playful feet could enjoy and toy with my conveniently positioned face to her heart's content.

I then heard the automated female voice brightly announce: "Cashier number four, please!"

Within seconds, Cashier Number 4's right foot began to increase its playful antics with my face.

And I quickly realised, to my heightened excitement, that her suddenly increased foot play was a direct result of her chatting to a customer – a young man – who she was presently dealing with ... And bantering with, very saucily indeed!

From what I could hear, of their animated, boistrous-sounding exchange, he was a young man of about my own age, and he had a decidedly confident, cheeky-sounding voice, and a cocky, self-assured attitude.

And, apparently sensing that the bank cashier was receptive, to his 'romantic' overtures; that she was susceptible, to his patently predatory wiles, he became more and more emboldened ... and Cashier Number 4's absentminded foot play became more and more lively, upon my available face.

From what I could hear, the cheeky charmer was certainly using his 'skills' to good effect, with the bank cashier – who, I thought, was old enough to be his mum!

There was, I could hear, the unmistakable undertone of 'on-the-pull', sexual innuendo, in his voice – he was actually flirting, with the bank cashier! Chatting her up! By the sounds of it, he was a right little womaniser!

And, by the sounds of it, his rough-and-ready, Jack-the-lad 'courting' technique was quickly winning her over. By the sounds of it, he was making her day! Really bringing her out of herself. Really getting her juices going ... really turning her on.

And, as a direct consequence, her absentminded foot play was becoming frenetic, upon my available face.

From what I could hear, Cashier Number 4 was certainly not averse to being the object of such flattering male attention. Far from it! She was lapping it up! She loved it! Especially his vulgar, come-on, smutty double entendres. And she was unashamedly egging him on for more. The brazen hussy!

From what I could hear, Cashier Number 4 enjoyed – very much so! – the decidedly risque banter with the cheeky, cocky, flirty young man, whose colourful compliments were, apparently, the modus operandi, of his lecherous attentions and lascivious intentions.

And, from what I could hear, of their sexually-charged, filthy, foul-mouthed flirtations, she gave, at least as good as she got – the saucy wench!

Cashier Number 4 – who sat like a queen on her throne, and had not even deigned to acknowledge my lowly presence; not verbally, and not even by so much as a look – sounded like a right old slapper!

In her absentminded reaction, to this saucy ... stimulus, Cashier Number 4's foot play steadily graduated. Escalated, from being merely lightly active, to playful and toying, to frenetic, to hyper-active ... Her dark-hosed sole was, by now, absolutely going to town on my available face.

Exploring my face ...

Rubbing it, caressing it, playing with it – toying with it. Claiming it, controlling it, using it – abusing it. But, most of all ... possessing it.

Just exactly, and for all the world, as if that was what my face was there for.

I was going nuts!

Not least, from my perceived reasons for Cashier Number 4's almost relentless, wildly arousing activity. Her lust-inducing ... manipulations.

Because she was being noticed ... as a woman. Because she was being flattered. Because she was being chatted-up. Because she was being titillated. But, most of all ... because she was being turned-on!

She was being turned-on, by the cheeky young charmer on the other side of her bank cashier's window.

And I, was enjoying the resultant ... benefit.

I wanted to shake that fledgling Casanova – that confident, self-assured, cocky, lecherous little devil – by the hand! Buy him a pint! I certainly owed him one, for getting Cashier Number 4 ... going.

Oh! The brazen hussy! The saucy wench! The flirty, dirty, salacious little strumpet! She was a right old slapper! Old enough to be his mum!

And, here I was: Beneath her feet – and beneath her notice! Unworthy of her acknowledgement – either verbally, or even by so much as a look!

Oh, the thought of it! The thought of it was driving me nuts.

This was my humiliation heaven! My dream come true! The ultimate!

And, when I saw the bottom of the round, hard heel of Cashier Number 4's other foot; when I saw her left, dark-hosed heel ease out, with a faint but wonderful whooshing sound of suddenly released warm, moist air from the retaining and restraining – suffocating – confines, of its slightly tight-fitting black leather pump, I really started to lose it.

I really started to lose it, when I saw the sole of her left, dark-hosed foot, emerging gratefully from the stifling confines of its pump ... And then reach back ... slowly, inexorably ... until it filled my entire vision.

I really started to lose it, because I realised that now, both of Cashier Number 4's hard-heeled, broad and fleshy, generously-arched dark-hosed feet were about to go to town on my available face – in tandem!

I thought my heart would burst from excitement. Burst from excitement as, in her absentminded reactions to her ... stimulus, both – yes, both! – of Cashier Number 4's broad and fleshy, warm and moist, intoxicating soles commenced their exploring ... Probing, rubbing, caressing, playing with – toying with! Claiming, controlling, using, abusing, dominating – possessing – my conveniently positioned, available face.

The incredible, almost unbearable excitement and pleasure, of it! The sheer, unadulterated joy, of it! The awesome, unbelievable ... eroticism, of it.

It was so intense, so all-consuming, so overwhelming, that I actually wondered if I was going to burst a blood vessel. Or suffer some other sort of catastrophic breakdown – like losing my sanity!

Because, surely, I was experiencing far more excitement, far more pleasure, far more ecstasy, and far more ... stimulation, than the human mind and body was designed to cope with.

I was euphoric.

At last!

At long, long last ...

At the dark-hosed feet of Cashier Number 4, of the Northern and General Bank, I was finally satisfying a craving – a craving, that was a craving like no other.

At last, I had attained ... fulfilment.

At last, I had been given a shrine.

A shrine, at which to show my regard. To pay my respects. To worship. To offer my devotions ... to a foot goddess.

*

But now, I had learned my lessons in manners, too. And, long were they overdue, I now realised.

My lessons of manners: Of regard, of respect – of reverence – for Cashier Number 4.

For the bank cashier, who I had mentally slandered – had so blasphemed!

As hot tears of euphoric fulfilment streamed down my cheeks, I humbly bestowed my respects, my reverence – my devotions – to Cashier Number 4 ... a foot goddess.

Adoringly – worshipfully – I kissed, and kissed, and kissed, the dark-hosed, backwards reaching soles of Cashier Number 4 ... my foot goddess.

And, through my worshipful kisses, I tried to convey that I was sorry. And that I was repentant. And that I begged her forgiveness. And that now, I knew ... my place.

I had learned my lesson in manners: Of regard, of respect – of reverence – for Cashier Number 4. For the bank cashier, who ...

Who sat comfortably, perched upon her plush, black leather stool, at the first of the four 'stations' of the 'Northern and General Line', in the Long Room of the Northern and General Bank ...

And who, I'd had the damned nerve to judge, was not much to look at: Overweight, on the wrong side of 40, and definitely past it – over 'The Hill' – and going down fast. Slip-sliding away, down the treacherous slope of that ever-downward spiral ...

And who, I'd had the temerity to opine, used copious amounts of make-up, in her vain, mutton-dressed-as-lamb attempts; both, to salaciously attract male attentions, and to try and ward off the unwelcome and relentless advances – the molestations – of Father Time ...

And who, I'd unforgivably labelled: A right old slapper.

Me!

Yes, me!

For, what right, had I? Me!

To decry her morality ...

To call her a saucy wench. To think her a flirty, dirty, salacious little strumpet, engaging in prurient, lustful banter – who gave, as good as she got!

To judge her behaviour ...

To denounce her. For engaging in foul-mouthed, licentious badinage, with a cocksure young man half her age and, in the throes of her ... stimulus, absentmindedly going to town, on my available face.

What right had I? Me!

To so blithely categorise her ...

To so insolently label her: A brassy bint. A shameless hussy. A scarlet woman. A cheap tart. A harlot.

Yes, me!

After all. Who was I, to criticise? Me ...

When I was stationed at her dark-hosed feet ... conveniently available. Beneath her feet – and beneath her notice. Unacknowledged, by her; not verbally, and not even by so much as a look ... and I would not have wished it any other way.

And when it was, after all, all thanks to Cashier Number 4, that I was in humiliation heaven.

I had been a foot sniffing 'virgin'. And Cashier Number 4 had taken my cherry. She was my 'first'. And they say, that you never forget your first ... I knew I certainly wouldn't!

Cashier Number 4, of the Northern and General Bank, had made my dream come true.

And it was, the ultimate.

For I was actually satisfying my craving – a craving, that was a craving like no other.

A craving, occasioned by my exorbitant interest ... An interest, that in my dad's own words, was "Far too much, and far beyond, and far in excess of what is reasonable, and what would be considered normal by most people, son."

* * *

So completely, so utterly lost, was I, in my all-consuming experience, that I was only brought back to earth when the receptionist, Penny, returned to the Long Room.

The receptionist was wheeling along another bank customer – a man in his early 30's, I guessed – who, I assumed, like myself and my three fellow defaulters, must also have fallen foul of one of the N&G's Terms and Conditions. For the man was similarly restrained in his ... rail chair, and ready to be loaded onto the 'rail system' of the Northern and General Line.

The receptionist, as though she was doing the most mundane, the most unremarkable, and the most ordinary and every-day thing in the world, steered this latest defaulting bank customer into the Long Room. And, sideways fashion, she guided the castors of his rail chair onto the runners that served as rails.

The man was turning the air blue with an almost seamless stream of profanities. Barely pausing for breath, as he protested vociferously against the ... nature, of his defaulter's sanction ...

So the receptionist – not having had the chance yet to pop out for more "sealants" – kicked off her black leather office pumps, took off her dark pantyhose, and proceeded to stuff her pantyhose, feet first, right into the complainant's foul mouth. "Speak ... speak like that ... in front of ... me ... will you? There! Now, how do you like that ...? Oops, silly me! You can't talk now, can you? Not now. Not now, when you've got my dirty, stinky pantyhose stuffed right into your stupid mouth ... that I've been wearing to work for the last three days! And let this be a reminder to you: To pay off the interest on your credit cards, in future!"

And now, to accommodate this new, stinky-pantyhose-gagged arrival into the Long Room – who would now replace me, stationed at the dark-hosed feet of my 'cherry-taker', Cashier Number 4 – the receptionist 'shunted' me along the grooves that served as rails to the second of the four stations of the Northern and General Line ... to Cashier Number 3.

And so I found myself positioned, sitting directly behind, and with my face at exactly the same height, as the dark-hosed, black leather pump shod feet of Cashier Number 3. The second, of the four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank.

From what I could remember, from my brief glance towards the bank cashiers' windows, when I had first entered the bank, it was Cashier Number 3, who had struck me as being the most attractive of the four N&G bank cashiers.

She was in her early twenties, I guessed, and slim-figured. Olive-complexioned, she had dark brown eyes, and neck-length, black hair that curved inward under her jawline.

And now I saw, straight away, that the second of the four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank, had nicer feet than the first bank cashier: smaller, more dainty, more shapely, prettier ... sexier.

And I saw straight away, because the tops of her dark-hosed feet were resting inside of her black leather office pumps ... so that her beautiful, shapely – sexy! – soles, were exposed. Being displayed, in open view to me!

What a sight!

And I watched, mesmerised, as – both together! – Cashier Number 3's dark-hosed sexy feet reached back ... slowly, inexorably, and inevitably. Reaching back, towards my conveniently positioned, available face ...

Just exactly, and for all the world, as if that was what my face was there for.

For the second time today, I had been 'stationed' at the dark-hosed feet, of a foot goddess.

At another shrine.

Another shrine, where I could show my regard, my respects – my reverence – to a foot goddess.

Another shrine, where I could adore, could idolise – could worship – a foot goddess.

For the second time today, I was hopelessly overwhelmed. By sheer pleasure. By unadulterated joy. And ... by an almost intolerable sexual excitement.

Overwhelmed, and over-pleasured ... as I indulged myself in my own, personal brand, of exorbitant interest.

An interest, that was, in my dad's own words, "Far too much, and far beyond, and far in excess of what is reasonable, and what would be considered normal by most people, son."

For the second time today, at the dark-hosed feet of a bank cashier – the second, of the four foot goddesses of the Northern and General Bank – I was in humiliation heaven.

And it was, the ultimate.

It was, my dream come true.

It was ... fulfilment.

* * *

Some time later (all too soon!), when I had eventually completed my 'punishment', the very attractive, blonde-haired receptionist, Penny, finally pushed my rail chair off the end of the runners that served as rails, at the far end of the Long Room.

The four female bank cashiers of the Northern and General Bank, though, like queens upon their thrones, paid not the slightest bit of notice to my departure, from where they sat on their padded-leather stools, upon their elevated (and elevating) platform.

For I was beneath their notice. The four bank cashiers had not deigned to acknowledge my lowly presence at their feet – not verbally, and not by even so much as a look ... And now, they did not acknowledge their of-no-account foot-serf's departure.

And so I departed the Long Room, as ignominiously as I had arrived.

The receptionist pushed me along in my rail chair and, after tapping out the required digits on the security keypad, she pushed me through the door ahead of her, returning me to the Reception area.

There, under the watchful, staring, nudging and pointing, curious stares of the bank's customers, who were patiently queuing up to be dealt with at the bank cashiers' windows, the receptionist released my from my entrapment.

Now, the receptionist – completely misunderstanding the reasons for my red and blotchy, tear-streaked face – smirked at me, triumphantly.

And, haughtily and arrogantly, in contemptuous, belittling tones, and in the sight and hearing of almost all of the bank's customers, the blonde bombshell receptionist, Penny Withers, gleefully told me, "Now, David! You know what to expect, don't you ... The next time you default with the Northern and General Bank!"

*

As I was making my way out of the Northern and General Bank, I looked over at the bank cashiers' windows. Particularly, at Cashier Number 4 ... who had absentmindedly taken my foot sniffer's 'cherry'.