The Scent of Devotion

"I said I want my feet rubbed. You're my footboy, right? So, get rubbing! And I want you to kiss away the pain like a good boy, too." She plopped her feet on the floor, just inches from his knees, with her heels again dug into the carpet and her aromatic toes wiggling away, churning the compromised air upward in the direction of Pete's astonished, recoiling nostrils. She was surprised to feel her heart racing, expectant. Her chest heaved with anticipation. What would he do?

"Hon, baby-doll, love of my life...I love you. I love your feet, I really do. You know that. But, my God, didn't you get a whiff of them when you took off your stockings? Geez, I love you, but those feet are really, REALLY bad, hon. Why not let me give them a nice, soothing bath and then I'll kiss them all over like a good footboy. Okay?"

"You're supposed to do as I say. You say you adore my feet, and me, and you once said you'd never let my feet wait even a SECOND for the attention they deserve. Was that all just bullshit, my love?" She couldn't resist grinning as she batted her pretty green eyes at him. She felt like she had him over a barrel, and she just couldn't wait for his reply. "Hmmm, Petey? Was that all bullshit?"

"Well, no..." Pete found himself tammering, "but, c'mon...the fumes from those sweaty feet of yours could make the paint peel off the walls. You're not serious. You know I'm not into foot odor."

"Does that really matter, Pete? If it does, then that means you only worship my feet because it gets YOU hot, not because it makes ME feel good. So, you're not really my footboy at all...just another self-centered male wanting his own way but pretending to worship his woman. How typical." Rosie was surprised at how angry she was getting. It was as if the so-called foot worship and his submissiveness toward her had all been exposed as fake. Sure, her feet were okay to adore and worship as long as they were pristine and rose scented. But, when they REALLY needed attention...

"Look, Rosie," he tried to console her, "I really DO want to worship your feet. Just let me pamper them a little. I'll wash them up nice for you and rub lotion on them. That'll be so comforting, won't it? Maybe your feet won't even be sore tomorrow."

"That's not the point, Pete. Either you worship my feet or you don't. If you do, their condition shouldn't matter; only that I want them adored should matter to you. And either you're my sexy subbie or you're not. A sub doesn't demand his Mistress' feet be sweet scented before he'll touch them. He sacrifices his own comfort, pleasure and CONVENIENCE to please his Mistress. If you can't do that, you're not really my footboy. What, you think my feet are always gonna smell like a rose garden?" Pete was now also surprised by Rosie's reaction to the situation. He saw genuine irritation in her eyes. He stammered and fidgeted. He wanted to make her happy, as he always did, but he just couldn't get close to those feet!

"Honey...Rosie...I...I....c'mon...." He had no idea what to say to defuse the situation and get harmony back into their home. Finally, meekly, he simply asked, "What can I do to make it better, Rosie?"

"You KNOW what you can do," she said stubbornly. She lifted her legs up in the air, wiggled her feet, and pointed down at them. "Rub and kiss...like you always do. WITHOUT expecting them to be sweet and pretty all the time. WITHOUT thinking about YOUR OWN pleasure, but thinking only of MINE. Make my feet feel loved and pampered, even if they ARE a bit...scented. What's the harm? So, they smell a little. Isn't my comfort and pleasure more important than something as meaningless as foot odor? Aren't I WORTH that sacrifice on your part?" She glared at him, her slitted eyes showing unequivocally her refusal to budge on this point.

He almost caved in, but as he again approached her feet, the wall of odor slapped his face. "Oh, hon...you hafta get serious now. I just can't. I love you. But, really, I dunno...wow....they really are bad." He tried to joke with her briefly, saying, "Seriously, hon, if I get close to THOSE feet, I could choke and die." But Rosie continued to fix her irate stare on him.

"Fine, then," she replied, lowering her feet to the floor and moving them away from him. "You just proved something very important here. You're a fake. You're not submissive at all. You don't worship my feet. You don't worship me. And you have no clue what true devotion really is. And since that's the case, from now on when you want sex, look down at the end of your wrist. Your fingers and your penis should have a lot of fun together. Enjoy!" She sat back on the sofa, arms folded across her chest and looked away from Pete. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that Pete could see the muscles of her neck tighten. She'd dug herself in and was refusing any further negotiation. It would be her way, or no way.

A chill shot down Pete's spine. This was rapidly getting out of hand. The foot deal was one thing, but this was now spreading into his very, very satisfying sex life. This could have SERIOUS consequences. Sitting up straight, his mind searching frantically, Pete tried desperately to make things right. But he had no clue how to. In the end, he felt himself giving in. His shoulders slumped. He stared at the carpeted floor. How bad could it be? he thought. I can hold my breath most of the time. I can breathe shallowly, take long, slow breaths...breathe through my mouth. But what about kissing those stinkers? Could he do it? He shuddered at the thought.

"Rosie?" he finally asked meekly, "If I do worship your feet in their current...condition...will you think less of me as a man? I mean, you know I'm kinky anyway, but will you lose ALL respect for me? God, this is so weird." He looked so lost there, sitting at her feet, fumbling like a little boy.

Rosie's heart leaped. It pounded with both joy and anticipation. Clearly, his resolve was weakening. The protective wall of his male ego was crumbling. "No, sweetie, not at all," she assured him, her face suddenly sweet and supportive, "I just want proof of your devotion...to both me AND my beautiful feet. I just want your worship....unconditionally. I think we both deserve that....don't you?" She leaned forward and stroked his cheek with gentle fingertips.

Pete scratched his head. He was blushing a bright crimson and looked like a lost waif when he raised his eyes to meet hers. "You deserve ANYTHING you want, Rosie. You're a Goddess through and through. And if you want me to worship your feet...even as..." he shook his head, "even as 'potent' as they are...well, then, okay, I'll do it. Just have pity on me if I have a hard time with it, okay?"

Rosie was flushed now; her ego overflowed with its hard fought victory. She felt herself soaring on a wave of self-congratulation. She was becoming aroused. But she wanted his unconditional worship more than anything, and she knew she now HAD to go through with this. At one point, she thought that if he caved in to her wishes, she'd let him off the hook. But not anymore. Now she wanted...no, NEEDED...his foot worship. She needed to see if he'd actually go through with it, and if he'd continue on through to the end no matter what she asked of him, no matter how distasteful it was to him. The crossroads. Move forward or stagnate. Now or never. In her mind, this step HAD to be taken, or she'd regret not taking it for the rest of her life.

"Sure, Petey," she said quietly, "I'll have patience. If you do this for me, it'll really cement our relationship. I mean it. It's THAT important to me. I don't know why, but I really NEED you to do this for me."

"Fine. That's good enough for me. If it's THAT important to you, then that's all that matters. I'll bite the bullet." He took a deep breath -- probably the last he'd take for a while, he thought -- and held out his hands. "Give me those sexy feet," he said, tiny droplets of sweat bubbling up on his forehead. He did his best to smile, though his not so sure stomach was already beginning to churn.

Rosie could barely contain herself. She sat back on the sofa and her legs shot straight out. Gone was the soft, motherly talk of a few minutes ago. Her eyes got stern and wicked. No nonsense. He was there to adore her feet. High time he got started. He'd wasted enough time. Her feet hurt and they needed worship. She plopped her heels into the palms of the two proffered hands. Pete's eyes blinked several times, as if trying to fan away the fumes.

"There, my darling footboy. There are my feet. Now rub and kiss them all over for me. Massage and kiss away all the pain my mean old sister has made them suffer."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his face getting redder as it neared those reeking feet.

"Oh, and Petey...my lovely footboy, I need you to do something else for me before you rub and kiss."

With a noticeable shiver, he replied suspiciously, "Yes, ma'am...and what's that?"

"Well," she said with a wicked grin, "to PROVE your devotion to me, you understand, I want you to lean forward, get really close to my feet, and sniff them all over, especially the toes. Prove to me that a little odor won't EVER stop my footboy from adoring my feet. Can you do that for me?" She batted her eyelids at him, coquettishly, but her eyes sparkled twisted glee. Pete's wide eyes nearly wept. The defeat that languished in them was so, so priceless. It literally made Rosie's clit vibrate. "Smell my feet like a good boy," she continued. "Inhale their scent deeply, and show me how truly devoted you are to me."

Pete sighed. His head slumped. He knew he'd been beaten. His plan of taking short, shallow breaths or long, slow ones -- through his mouth -- had just gone by the boards. She'd outsmarted him, taken away his only saving strategy with one quick, deft move. She'd taken away his last vestiges of hope. Thus vanquished, Pete, with another deep sigh -- of resignation -- leaned forward and placed his nose just beneath her toes, which wiggled playfully -- stirring up the aromatic air around them that much more -- and he inhaled. Rosie felt a surge of twisted pleasure sitting there on the sofa, looking down at her man sitting at her feet, his reluctant nostrils inhaling deeply the questionable aroma of her hot, sweaty feet. And this, she thought smugly, was only the beginning. Pete was going to worship her feet thoroughly, in every way he'd ever worshipped them before...even if it made him gag and pass out. Rosie would be satisfied with nothing less. She could simply not believe the erotic rush she was getting from that incredible sight. Pete was actually sniffing her rather potent feet, just because she'd INSISTED upon it. She could only imagine HOW potent they were, knowing that their scent wafted up to her own nose and made it wrinkle in distaste. With a sick fascination she was unaccustomed to experiencing, she watched him sniff from toe to toe, each reluctant sniff nearly causing her to burst out in raucous laughter. It was all she could do to refrain. But the most miraculous thing was how this olfactory torture of her man was so exhilarating to her, so erotically energizing. It was making her so hot she felt like jumping Pete right then and there...but that would've ended the fun much too soon. And she absolutely HAD to see this through to its completion, no matter WHAT.

She had to laugh into her hand repeatedly, not wishing to humble poor Petey TOO much, as she watched his obvious discomfiture as he whiffed those rancid piggies. His face reddened and then adopted a greenish hue. His eyes teared when she shoved her greasy toes against his nose and told him to sniff harder and deeper, urging him to savor their scent. Forcing her big and second toes around his nose, squeezing it between them, she had him sniff between them, all the while wiggling her toes and refreshing the scent moment by moment. She giggled out loud when his eyes rolled in his head, even his pupils seeming to want to get as far from those toes as possible. His entire body seemed to sag into a limp posture, as if his very spirit had packed its bags and taken flight rather than remain in the vicinity of that cloying odor. So weak had his body become that he ended up slumping forward onto his belly, still holding those reeking feet to his nose, sniffing away steadfastly, his bombarded brain reeling in olfactory agony. He looked sick, but Rosie made him sniff on.

"Smell good, honey?" she quipped, making only a minimal attempt to stifle her laughter. He didn't dare open his mouth to reply, lest the odor sneak into it and invade him from yet another source.

Rosie rammed her toes unmercifully against his nostrils, wanting in some twisted, evil way, to keep every wisp of scent going directly up her man's nose. In her mind's eye she could see the odor rising from her toes like waves of heat off sun-baked pavement. She tried to keep as much of the wafting scent rising into his nostrils as possible. She was a bit ashamed of herself -- though only a tiny bit -- as she took such pleasure in tormenting poor Pete. Forcing him to smell her cheesy, sneaker-cooked feet had her squirming with glee as much as he was squirming to get away! But she kept her sweaty feet firmly attached to his green-hued face, not giving him even the faintest chance of escape, nor the tiniest glimmer of hope.

Wave after wave of stink climbed up Pete's sniffing nose as he continued to do as she'd insisted he do. The green hue remained on his face, even eclipsing the pink of his embarrassment. Rosie kept her toes moving, replenishing the pungent odor continuously, delighting in how Pete's mind must be reeling. Pete's one hope was that Rosie would quickly get over this game, that it would lose its newness for her and become boring. Such was not the case. Rosie shoved first one foot in his face, then the other, chuckling as his nausea- inducing sniffing went on and on and on. She just couldn't believe this big, strong, virile man would lie on his stomach on the floor and sniff her repugnant feet for no other reason than because she'd told him to. Oh, sure, not a major underataking when they were clean and sweet and pure...but trapped in sneakers all day, tightly encased in old knee-highs that hadn't been washed...that was a different story. Pete loved her feet, but NEVER when they were "under the weather" as he himself had put it. Well, now they were not only "under the weather," but downright rancid. He could've smelled their odor from across the room, and here he was with his nose mashed against the offending toes and sniffing up the fumes as if they were all that kept him alive! God, what a hoot it all was! And what validation for Rosie! Now she was SURE that HER pleasure was what really mattered to Pete. He was making himself almost ILL to prove that to her. That alone should've been enough for Rosie, but it wasn't. What had started out as a ploy to make Pete prove his worship of and devotion to her, had taken a turn. Forcing Pete to sniff her smelly feet was really revving up her sexual psyche. And she wanted more, more fuel to fan the growing fire between her legs. She wanted Pete to show as much devotion to her feet, to perform as much worship of her feet, as he'd ever done before, even now with her feet "under the weather" as they were. The very thought of him worshipping her feet when they smelled so completely awful was making her pussy not only dribble, but itch and crave much more. She had every intention of seeing how far she could take this. But for the time being, she decided he should inhale her foot odor for quite some time. She decided on thirty minutes per foot. If he made it through that without passing out, she'd move on to some other type of twisted fun. And that solid hour of watching him suck in the scent of her sticky toes would give her time to plan everything else she wanted to put him through. She was coming to revel in her own burgeoning nastiness.

Finally, the hour was up. Both feet had been sniffed over and over, their wafting fumes rising up Pete's nose and filling his head, for sixty wonderfully humorous minutes. Rosie hadn't laughed that much in years. Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes and cheeks had become almost a continual effort throughout the entire foot-sniffing hour. And her sex hadn't been this itchy for sex since Pete first introduced her to his foot fetish. But now it was time to move on, to see what other sick joys she could torment him with. Part of her wanted to be less cruel to him, but that part lost its futile psychic battle miserably. Her cruel half had taken over, and was enjoying things much too much to stop now. Besides, she knew she was going to reward Pete when she was done torturing him. And when that happened, maybe...MAYBE...he'd be able to forget what he had to go through to get there. But...she kind of doubted it. What he was experiencing would most likely stay with him forever. And somehow, she liked it that way. When she finally removed her feet from his toxically singed nostrils, it was like a hot wall of stink being drawn away from him. His eyes stopped tearing...but not for long. Rosie's torments were to be relentless. But before continuing, she looked her man over. She took still more perverse pleasure in the dull-eyed, queasy look on his face. Those watery eyes pleaded with her, and she again nearly took pity on him. But now was NOT the time to go soft.

"Slide forward, Pete honey. I want to rub my stinky feet all over your face." She almost laughed out the words, squeezing her lips with her fingers after she spoke to try to stifle the giggles. It didn't work well. She snorted into her hands and then just gave up, letting go of her lips to laugh openly. "C'mon, Petey...give me that cute face to stink up." She couldn't believe her own cruelty, but she reveled in it nonetheless. It was as though, at that precise moment, she was being reborn. As what, she wasn't sure, but she was changing, and at an alarming rate. She nearly squealed when Pete's pleading eyes gave up; she squirmed on the sofa when his face showed he'd become resigned to his fate. "Here boy," she teased, wiggling her feet at him, "come get the smelly tootsies."

Pete looked up at her, realizing with a glitch in his stomach that this was not going to be over for a long, long time. Instead of becoming bored of the game, Rosie was becoming more twisted by the second, almost gloating in her power. He'd never seen this side of her before, and he had to admit, the smelly feet notwithstanding, it was a decidedly sexy facet of her. And he also knew that she was getting quite horny - so horny in fact, that he'd be humping her raw when all this was over. Perhaps a silver lining around the cloud that was Rosie's scented piggies? That alone was worth the price of admission...or was that, "sub"mission?

And, oh, yes, Rosie, for her part, was sure Pete would sex her up mightily when she was done with him, done humiliating him...IF he managed to survive it. Either way, she was stoked! She would need some VERY intense sexing to tame the raging fires within her. But, she knew without a doubt that her man would be up to it.

Pete crawled forward on his belly, using his elbows to pull himself along. Swallowing hard, he braced himself for the return of that clinging wall of stink. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for what he knew was coming. He didn't have to wait long.

Warm, sweaty flesh pressed against his face, one pungent foot on either side of his nose. As if playing happily in the soft sand of an ocean beach, Rosie's ripe feet contorted his face as they barged unceremoniously all over it. Her soles were only a tiny bit less aromatic than her toes, but he was happy for any respite he could get from the potent odor. And since her toes and soles were taking such intense pleasure in squashing and rearranging his face, they spent little time under his nostrils, and that was a blessing. But, just the thought of those smelly soles grinding their scent into his flesh was enough to make him grimace.