The Scent of Devotion

In every relationship, if all goes well, both participants grow and learn together. Not only do we learn about our partners, but we also learn much about ourselves. Sometimes, in fact, we learn more about ourselves than we do about our lover. And occasionally, what we learn about ourselves is so enlightening as to reveal long hidden facts about our inner selves that we couldn't in a million years have guessed. Such was the case with Rosalie Banks and her boyfriend of four years, Pete Hutchinson. Everything between them seemed wonderful, always fresh and new. But, there seemed to be a chink in their relationship's armor, at least as far as Pete was concerned. For the past two years, when things seemed to be the absolute best between them, he'd three times proposed marriage to the woman he so deeply loved, only to be rebuffed on all three occasions. She assured him she loved him dearly, and couldn't put her finger on why she hesitated to become his wife. These refusals not withstanding, their love continued unabated, but that ominous cloud continued to hover above them. Still, Pete hung in there. Rosie, he believed, would say yes when she was ready.

The loving couple shared many common interests, views and opinions. As they came to know each other more and more deeply, their minds almost became one. Sexually, they shared many intensely pleasurable moments, each sweating connection becoming more exciting than the last. They came to know each other's fantasies, desires and needs, one by one exploring them in moments of heated passion. But, unknown to them, their protective psyches shielded them from several of their less ... mainstream...desires. Or, perhaps, they were simply having so much fun together as it was, that they just hadn't gotten to them yet.

Rosie knew of and accepted Pete's foot fetish, and even came to enjoy his pampering of her feet. Many a night he would massage them for her, and his contented smile as he did so warmed more than just her heart. Over time, she actually came to anticipate still further attention to her feet. This suited Pete just fine, as he showed more and more affection for them. Each time she smilingly accepted another of his desires, it opened the door wider for him to share still more fantasies with her.

The massages slowly progressed to toenail painting sessions several times a month, and then several times a week. Rosie enjoyed this much, and her toes began changing colors at a dizzying rate. She'd laugh inwardly when friends or coworkers would remark how her toes changed hues almost daily, and offered that perhaps she had too much time on her hands. She never let on that her Petey was the only too willing wielder of the lacquer brush.

Still more progression occurred over time. Eventually, she agreed to let Pete adore her feet while they watched movies together at home, in the cool darkness of their living room. He'd sigh continually as he rubbed and kissed them, lavishing them with love. She'd giggle as he kissed every inch of her toes, spreading them to kiss even between them. His slow, sensual kissing of her insteps was always her favorite thing to watch. It seemed so erotically romantic. Even in the low light of the television's subtle glow, she could see his glazed eyes as his lips slowly and softly caressed her insteps from her toes to her ankles. And his deep, soft sighs as he lavished her feet with reverence felt dreamily warm and sensual, especially on cooler autumn and winter nights. On several occasions, overcome with his desire for her feet, he would quietly murmur, "God, Rosie, I love your feet," or "Rosie, your feet are so, so beautiful." She would tingle when he said those things. Watching him tenderly kiss her feet in the flickering gray light always heated her up, made her think of other pleasures. She didn't understand his desire for her feet...but she certainly did enjoy it. It was romantic enough to start her own juices flowing, and it was obvious what it did for Pete's libido.

As always with such things, one sated desire leads to the need to fulfill yet another. The soothing foot massages had led to the toe painting marathons. Rosie fully enjoyed both. And both were certainly to her advantage. Then Pete needed to replace his caressing hands with adoring lips. Rosie thought it odd, at first, then grew to enjoy the adulation she felt from it. But her first actual erotic tingle from the foot play itself was when, in a particularly heated moment, Pete began licking and sucking her toes. She'd looked down to see his hungry mouth moving from toe to toe, lips and tongue working with definite purpose all over, around and between them. His eyes were closed and his face was a picture of eternal bliss. At first she was shocked by this sudden turn of events, but the warmth and wetness of his mouth surrounding her toes one by one felt incredible. Although it was odd seeing her toes disappear into his sucking, licking mouth, the sensation made her more than just tingle; moisture began to accumulate between her legs at a staggering rate. Within minutes she was squirming as her toes were devoured in that hungry mouth.

Always after a foot play session, the sex that followed would be hot, intense, animalistic. At first it was mostly intense on Pete's part. Her feet obviously drew out the passion in him. And the more she allowed him to do with them, the more virile he became, the more satisfying his lovemaking was for her. Their already satisfying sex life became doubly so. And the beaming Rosie was not about to jeopardize that in any way. Anytime she was in an amorous mood, all she had to do was kick off her shoes, point her feet in Pete's general direction and, regardless of how tired or preoccupied he was, she soon had a sexual dynamo on her hands. No matter how unique the circumstances, one does not look a gift horse in the mouth.

Over still more time, Rosie learned of Pete's submissive streak. He asked her one night if she could be bossy about having him worship her feet. She looked at him oddly, as if he'd grown a third ear at the tip of his nose. She remembered him blushing and backing off when she didn't reply right off. But she loved her Pete, and so she tried. What harm could it do? So she was willing to give this bossy stuff a shot. It took some doing at first, but his response to her more aggressive stance on things easily won her over.

When she gave him his first order, she did so tentatively, unsure of herself. It seemed odd to be so demanding, TELLING her man to pamper or worship her feet as opposed to asking him to. But his response to it did indeed win her over. She couldn't help but giggle as she saw how eagerly he jumped to obey her commands, how excited he got, how hard and firm. His already intense desire for her - and not just her feet - increased yet again. It made her giddy with both power and desire.

"Rub my feet!" she'd demand, and he'd hop to it. She'd giggle almost uncontrollably when he looked as if he felt he couldn't possibly work hard enough for her. And the more she laughed at his predicament, the more excited he seemed to become.

"Kiss my feet!" she'd order, shoving her feet at him with as much arrogance as she could muster, and he'd fumble all over himself to comply...to her unending glee. It was an undeniable hoot to watch his lips try so hard to make her happy that they nearly warmed her feet with friction.

"Suck each toe, boy, and don't spare the suction!" She began to get imaginative, playful, in her barking of orders at him, and would nearly roll on the floor with laughter as Pete rushed to do as he was told. She took unending pleasure in teasing him with her feet, then letting him have them, as long as he did exactly and only what he was told. What at first had seemed so odd, soon became amusing to Rosie, and this new side of Pete aroused her. Sure, he was a sexy, inventive lover, but seeing this strong, confident man humbled at her feet agreed with her. She had no clue why -- it just did. What he did for her feet felt physically delicious, and watching him jump when she said jump tickled her no end. Before, he'd pampered her feet the way HE felt they should be pampered. But now, she had him pampering and adoring her feet when and how SHE wanted. And her word had become undisputed LAW! It was somehow a very liberating experience. And she thought no less of Pete -- loved him no less, thought him no less a man -- because he got such intense pleasure from it. My, my, she'd thought, how could she have missed out on all this for so long? Too bad Pete hadn't confessed his submissive side much sooner! To think she could've had her own personal stud panting at her feet years ago!

That was when Rosie truly began learning about herself. She learned that her toes seemed to have some direct electrical connection to her vagina, a straight on, no-turns link to her clitoris. Pete's fingers and mouth stimulating those happily wiggling toes sent tiny pulses of pleasure surging up, and between, her legs. It was as if she had ten clits, all being licked and sucked one after the other. That was the physical part. But watching him fawn over her feet like an eager puppy, hurrying to do whatever she told him to...now THAT was special. The fire those two things ignited between her legs kept both of them rutting like animals throughout many a moonlit night.

And, again, we're back to how things progress, move forward...always forward. And also back to the point of how we learn about ourselves. For Rosie was learning much about herself. First she learned how erotic it was to have a man pamper and worship her feet. Then she learned how sensitive her feet were, how they loved being touched and kissed. And then she learned - much more unexpectedly than either of the other two - that while she loved Pete dearly, she just ADORED having him submit to her will. Having her feet kissed and licked and sucked had become an incredibly intense turn on for her, but having Pete do those things under her specific orders to do so, doing what he was told, how and when he was told, was simply put, awesome. Their sex lives just got better and better. If she'd known the power of her feet, she'd have thrust her neglected toes and soles at Pete's wistful smile years ago!

Months passed since Pete's initial confession of his foot fetish, and Rosie kept Pete faithfully at her feet. If anything, their love for one another grew substantially every time she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes at her man. Initially, Rosie had allowed Pete to adore her feet for HIS sake, to please HIM, to satisfy HIS needs. Now, however, since she'd come to enjoy both the foot worship AND her newfound power over him, she became ever more imaginative, ever more seductive and alluring. She used her feet in such delightfully devious ways to get Pete on his knees night after night, lapping them like a puppy. Now it was time to explore her OWN needs along these lines. Now that she had discovered herself -- her dominant persona -- she wanted to explore some ideas of her own. And explore them she did...with Pete's wholehearted approval.

All this now brings us to a turning point for Rosie and Pete. In all our relationships, there seems to come a point in time where something decisive happens. A crossroads seems to be reached, a crossroads that will require a decision. And that decision, for action or inaction, will either move a relationship forward, or cause the relationship to stagnate. And sometimes, this decisive moment springs upon us unbidden, through no actions of our own. Without any conscious planning or scheming, It just...happens. And we must decide...action or inaction...advance or stall...progress or stagnation.

Up to this point, Rosie had come to revel in her growing dominance over Pete. He was still her hot, sexy lover, but she got such joy out of bossing him around sexually, watching him quiver with joy as he lavished worship and adoration on her demanding feet. Everything about it was so damned erotic! But it had always been a mutual deal. Although Pete jumped to worship her feet, it was, after all, HIS fetish. Why shouldn't he be eager to get at her feet...or any other part of her for that matter? Sure, he was groveling a little to be near her feet, but wasn't that, too, one of his desires? Despite her control of the sexual escapades, wasn't she really doing what HE enjoyed after all? Sure, it was great that they got mutual pleasure, but it all seemed to be a facade, a mirage of true worship. Wouldn't she herself jump at the chance to suck Pete's cock, even if he was being bossy about it? If she was getting what she enjoyed, was she truly being submissive at all? While she'd thought about this often during their D/s play -- and she and Pete had even discussed it a few times -- she ultimately let it slip to the back of her mind. She and Pete were quite happy with their sex lives, after all, so why rock the boat with philosophical questions that no one could really answer anyway?

But, then, enter that pesky crossroads. It all happened quite innocently, actually. It wasn't planned. Rosie hadn't contrived the whole scenario at all. It had pretty much snuck up on her. But once it happened, all those questions of true submissiveness versus Pete actually getting what he wanted, came roaring to the forefront of her mind. Here was her opportunity to find out. Just how bad did Pete adore her feet? Just how much did he worship HER? Would he obey her orders if they involved him doing something he DIDN'T enjoy? How submissive was he...or was he only submissive if he was rewarded with the things he liked? Fate handed her the chance to find out once and for all. And she grasped that chance tightly in both hands, too much in need of answers to let it slip by her. In that brief instant of decision, it seemed that the answers to these questions were the most important things in Rosie's life. Somehow, it seemed to be the absolute key to their relationship. Knowing the answers wasn't an option...it was a necessity.

It was a steamy, early autumn Sunday, the third day of a glorious Indian Summer. The temperature had climbed into the mid-eighties, with a humidity factor that made it feel like early August...at the Equator. While they'd both had the day off, they had no plans together and Pete was content to lay on the floor and watch football. His head on a huge, fluffy pillow, he lay there on his back between the sofa and the coffee table, reaching up occasionally between plays to bathe his parched throat with soothing gulps of frothy beer. Rosie had agreed to help her sister with some gardening chores, and what had begun as a small task soon blossomed into a major undertaking. What originally was to take perhaps an hour, ended up taking the better part of the afternoon. Pete had watched not only the early football game to it's completion, but was well into the third quarter of the second game by the time his lady love arrived home.

"Holy shit, Pete," Rosie said as she clopped wearily into the house, "don't ever let me do that again."

"What happened?" he asked, craning his neck back to look at her. She appeared upside down to him, and he looked at her comfortingly...until cheers from the television jerked his attention back to the game.

"Well, Chrissy SAID she was going to plant some flowers for next year," she replied, shuffling over to the sofa and collapsing onto it, her sneakered feet coming to a floor-rattling halt a foot from Pete's right ear. "Yeah, right," she continued. "Next thing I knew, I was ripping out weeds and planting TREES for God's sake, and snipping this and putting mulch around that. Jesus, that girl has one HUGE garden! It looks like something some rich snobs would be proud of...though they'd never do the work themselves, of course. Seriously, she's turned into some horticulturist nutcase. I think I've strained every muscle in my body."

"Aww, poor baby," Pete snickered, gulping brew. His eyes were riveted on the television.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Rosie went on, "and here you are lying on your lazy ass watching football. That doesn't seem fair at all." She gave him a weak, weary smile as he replaced his beer on the coffee table and grinned up at here with mild sympathy.

"Hey," Pete defended manhood and football, "I'm not the one who suggested you go play gardener for the day. Your sister didn't invite me, anyway. She knows I'd probably cause the death of every one of her precious plants. You could've stayed home and relaxed with me, you know. You like football as much as I do. We could've spent the day TOGETHER lying on our lazy asses sipping brew."

"Yeah, I know, but she needed the help. I couldn't say no."

"So you got snookered into doing ten times what she said you'd be doing. Wise choice."

"Don't be a wise ass," she sighed, knowing Pete was probably right.

Pete just laughed, and gulped more beer. His attention returned to the game. Rosie slumped back on the sofa, rubbing her shoulders and thighs, groaning. "This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow," she admitted. "Hell, my feet are killing me ALREADY. I can tell my soles are gonna be in LOTS of pain by morning. Right now my feet feel like they're soaking in molten lava."

"I'm really sorry, hon. Tell ya what, later I'll give you a nice neck and back rub, and maybe even give you a hot bath. How's that?" He winked when he added, "And maybe a really nice, soothing foot massage?"

"Mmmm...sounds delicious. But why later? Why not now? Why do I have to wait for you to rub my feet? They hurt NOW. They may not hurt later. What would be the point THEN?" Then she thought for a second and added, "Hey...I thought I was the one who gave the orders around here?!" She grinned down at him, hoping she'd struck a nerve.

"Well...um...the score is twenty-two to twenty, and the Vikings are driving. This has been one HELLUVA game. Later, I promise. Why don't you get a beer and join me on the floor, and we'll watch the rest of this together?" Rosie didn't reply.

Thirty seconds after his promise, something thumped on his stomach. The suddenness of it caused the air to rush from his lungs. Before he could recover and search for the cause of the unexpected jolt, a second thump caused his left thigh to shriek with dull pain.

"Ow! What the...?" He glanced down and saw one sneaker sitting sideways across his belly, another leaning against his left hip with the toes in the air and the heel on the floor. He blinked at them. He added "Huh?" to the previously articulately verbalized "What the...?" When his mind registered the objects as his wife's sneakers, he turned to look over at her. She was already pulling off her knee high stockings. Each clung wetly to her feet and calves, stubbornly refusing to relinquish their hold on them.

No sooner had the moist nylon been removed from her aching legs and feet, than she thrust those legs toward Pete and said bluntly, "I want my feet rubbed NOW. Record the game if you want to, but turn off the TV and get busy soothing my achy feet." She'd demanded foot servicing from him before while he was watching something on television, so this was nothing new. Grinning, he sat up, tossed a videotape into the VCR and pushed the "record" button. He then turned off the television and hurried to comfort his lady.

When he was two feet from her wiggling toes, he stopped short.

"Whoa!" he cried, shocked by what his senses detected, "What the hell did YOU step in? No offense, hon, but your feet are...um...well....heh....really bad, Rosie. No way I'm getting near THOSE puppies until you hose them off and spray 'em with Lysol!"

THAT was the crossroads. Rosie wanted her feet rubbed. Pete was supposed to do that for her any time she wanted him to. She did realize that her feet were a bit...under the weather. She'd caught their scent herself when she'd kicked off her sneakers, and got an even better indication of their "ripeness" when she removed her knee-highs. But those nagging questions came back to her. Were her feet only good enough to worship when they were all pretty and sweet smelling? Did he really WORSHIP them -- and HER -- at all, or did he just enjoy playing with them? Was he only submissive to her when he WANTED to be? And was that really submission?