The Air Stewardesses' Footmen Ch. 04

Gemma had told me to sniff, to deeply inhale her under- and in-between-the-toes scent. But now, as Gemma stood right-footed on my chest with her back to me and with all five grimy toes of her left foot crammed into my wide-open jaw-stretched mouth to be pre-shower tongue-cleaned, this was undoubtedly our chief relationship-changing moment. Staring at the bottom of Gemma's inches-away dirty bare heel that I was about to lick and suck clean seemed to symbolise where I was at now in our own revised relationship.

And as I first sucked Gemma's little toe, working my tongue around the stem, on the pad, and over the toenail - my mesmerised gaze remained on the bottom of her left heel. The bottom of the heel that, after tongue-bathing her relatively clean arch ("probably just a few firm up-and-down sweeps of your tongue will do it") and the dirt-ingrained ball of her foot, I would progress to licking and sucking too until completely clean.

As I licked meticulously as instructed between Gemma's little toe and her next toe, Gemma went all 'wibbly-wobbly' on me, became uncertain of her footing from ticklish sensitivity at the dogged perseverance of my diligently enduring tongue. So, as Gemma had directed, I took a firmer two-handed hold on Gemma's standing right leg to better aid and assist her single-footed balance on my chest.

Gemma was right. This improvisation could only be temporary. The ceiling-suspended handhold loops that we would set up as a permanent fixture would serve Gemma best to aid her single-footed stance during my higher-worship foot-cleaning, her barefoot back-and-forth body-walking, and her long-period face-standing.

The mixture of the dry workplace-floor dirt on the pads of Gemma's toes and the tangy in-between-the-toes flavours was mouthwatering.

The peculiar piquancy on my palate triggered a surge of detergent-like saliva. Saliva, that got to work on loosening and dissolving the all-day accumulation of ingrained dirt pick-up on the soles of Gemma's walk-about feet - the dirt pick-up from the DIY superstore flooring: the bare wooden planked till-station area, the linoleumed shelf-lined aisles, the smooth-concreted outer sections, and the flagstone-paved outdoor regions that were always gritty and often rainy wet.

Soon, it was a mudslide. But I kept on swallowing down the prolific production of the surprisingly flavoursome gungy substance.

"Mason, your tongue is weakening, losing vigour and becoming sluggish. And your hardest work is still to come. So I'll help you to tongue-clean my toes. Keep your head still and make your tongue rigid," Gemma told me.

I stilled my head and stiffened my tongue. I kept my two-handed firm hold on Gemma's standing right leg, as with her back to me in her single-footed stance on my chest, she helped me. Plunging all five toes of her left foot into my saliva-saturated mouth, Gemma rubbed her toes against my firmed-up tongue in a sustained series of stubborn-dirt dislodging and clinging-grime removing thrusts.

"Hey! Mason, guess what? You and my boss Mr Aspinal must share something in common!"

Gemma was not telling me anything that I hadn't figured out for myself.

"Mason, you are doing now what that poor pathetic man Mr Aspinal can only ever dream of doing - having his weird way with my dirty bare feet. Which, I'm sure, he imagines every night before going to sleep!"

I now believed: Gemma was right about her boss Mr Aspinal's 'interest'.

How could I remain unpersuaded? How could I still be anything less than 100 per cent convinced of Gemma's workplace foot stories?

"Mason, your tongue isn't all that's rigid! You should see Little Mason!"

It had taken me a year to finally accept it. But admit it, I now did.

Yesterday, I had been fretting over resuming the lions share of domestic duties while the lioness of our household resumed putting her feet up.

"Mason, I've never seen Little Mason so excited!"

Fretting, about renewing the unbending tyranny of my household drudge status and living under the rigid rule of Gemma's authoritarian thumb.

"Little Mason is standing to attention for me, Mason!"

But now, I was literally downtrodden.

Totally under control - under Gemma's workplace-floor begrimed heel.

The Air Stewardesses' Footmen continues in Ch. 5 (of 6): Camilla Comes Calling.