Am I crazy for going through with this?

I don't know.

Maybe.

The offer was very generous. It was win-win. I get what I want, and they get what they want. But still, I couldn't shake off this feeling in my gut. Something that tells me I might be wrong.

Well too late for that now, I thought, you're already here.

The steel gate was adorned with leaf designs, as though metal ivy covered the bars. The driver, Bivins, rolled down his window pressed a button on the intercom by the gate.

"The guest is here," he said, loud and clear.

In a few seconds, something clicked, and the gate whirred to life and opened slowly. My heart was beating hard, and I still couldn't shake this gut feeling off.

It's fine, I said to myself, the man just wants to play with your feet, that's all. Nothing to crazy about that. A little tickle there, a little licking, a little sucking. There's nothing to be worried about. You have a foot fetish yourself don't you?

Besides, he was very generous.

Mr. Lancaster was waiting for me at the front door.

"Hello, Dan," he said with a smile, "I see you've made it today."

"That's right Mr. Lancaster," I replied, "I even wore my socks and shoes for three days without washing my feet. Hope you enjoy it!"

"Oh, I will Dan. I will."

He led me down to his basement, where he keeps all his equipment: a steel table with wooden stocks in the end for securing willing volunteers' feet, a tripod with a high definition video camera, and some assorted tickle torture tools like a hairbrush, an electric toothbrush and a feather. I paled at the sight of those tickling implements.

Great, I didn't expect him to be a tickler... Might as well get this over with.  

"Go on ahead, Dan. Lie down, make your self at home."

I sat down on the edge of the steel table, and bent down to untie my shoes.

"Tut tut," he said, "I'll be the one to take care of that. Now lift your feet up so I can secure you to the stocks."

Here we go...

I lay there as he secured my legs in stocks, locking them just above the ankles. He undid the laces of my right sneaker and, with a gentle tug, removed them from my foot. The room began to fill with the smell of my sweaty feet, the aroma of three day old socks. He put his nose inside my shoe and sniffed hard. He enjoyed it so much that I saw his eyeballs roll back through sheer pleasure. He dropped my shoe and placed his nose between the big and second toe of my socked foot and sniffed hard. I felt the rush of wind between them as he took in my aroma. He removed the other shoe and sniffed it too.

"Hmmm, shoe size 8.5. A little small for my usual run of guys, but your smell more than makes up for it. How old are you?"

"21."

"A little too small for your age?"

"What do you expect, sir, I'm Asian."

That was true. I hail from one of the South East Asian islands. I was of average height in there, and we're on the short side of humanity.

"Well, that's no problem at all. You're my first Asian and my first shoe size below 10. But you're also my first wonderful smell. The others were smelly, yes. But your aroma, it's quite different."

Meanwhile, I was mentally preparing myself for the tickling part. I was deep in thought, gathering the courage to face it until I felt his hand feeling up my ankles and grabbing the elastic of my ankle sock. He slowly pulled my socks off, letting his fingers slide up my foot from heel to toe, feeling the slightly calloused skin.

"If you don't mind, I will be keeping your socks," he said, placing the damp, smelly socks inside a ziploc bag, for use at a future date, "the smell alone is driving me wild with desire for your feet. Now to see what the taste like."

He placed his lips on my right heel and sucked and kissed and licked his way up and down my foot. He slurped every toe like lollipops and licked between each toe to savor the flavor of my smelly feet. He nibbled on my heel and at the outer edge of my feet. He licked my arches up and down with forceful strokes of his rough tongue. Meanwhile I squirmed and struggled with every move his mouth makes.

"Ticklish are we?" he asked with a sly grin.

Oh boy here it goes... I sighed. I'm only doing all this for the money.

To my horror I saw him pick up the toothbrush and switched it on. He placed the bristles to my heel and I let out an involuntary laugh. He maneuvered the brush up and down my arches, and I was hysterical at this point.

"S-stop! haha. Please!"

"What's that? You want the feather now? Ok."

He picked up the feather and teased my left foot as the toothbrush worked its magic at my right. He wiggled the feather at the base of my toes, running it across the gap the connected my toes to the whole foot. He was surprisingly ambidextrous, working on both my feet with different tools with sheer dexterity. He maneuvered both the toothbrush and the feather to work between my toes.

"HAHAHAHHA STOP PLEASE!"

My face was beaded with sweat, and my breathing was hard and labored. He kept at it, his mad, maniacal laughter joining my frantic, desperate laugh. He continued until my vision blurred, and I passed out.


I woke up still locked to the table. I wiggled my toes and notice I was wearing both my shoes and socks.

Hmmm, he probably put it back on when I passed out from laughing too much.

I looked around as though something was out of place. It dawned on me. Attacked to the foot of the table where the stocks were, was a tall metal structure, levers at the sides, with a blade that dropped down.

A guillotine? What the hell?

The door to the basement opened, and Mr. Lancaster walked in with a wolfish grin on his face. He held a tray out in front of him, with a silver platter on top of it. Beside the platter was a cleaver. My eyes grew wide as I took it all in. My gut feeling was right. I knew there was something fishy with him. Dammit. He caught my eyes as he removed my shoes and placed my socks inside the same ziploc bag from earlier.

"Ah, I see you've caught on," Mr. Lancaster said, "you've seen my lifestyle, Dan. It's quite... exquisite. How do you expect me to pay for all of these things?"

He picked up something from the platter. A scrap of paper with string attached to it. It read: Age 21, M $600. A price tag?

He went over to my left foot and smiled. He tied the string around my pinky toe.

"What are you doing?" I said, cold fear building up inside me.

"Why, someone has taken interest in your appendages, Dan."

"This wasn't part of the deal!" I screamed at him. He regarded me with cold steel eyes.

"Next time you make a deal," he said, grabbing a lever, "be sure to have it in writing."

He pulled down.

I screamed as the blade passed through my leg, slicing through flesh and bone easily as a hot knife through butter. He bent down and picked up both my feet and placed them soles up on the platter, both stumps leaking blood.

My body was drenched in cold sweat as he approached me, cleaver in hand. He held up the cleaver and brought it down. My scream was cut short as the blade sliced cleanly through my neck.

People think decapitation causes immediate death. They're wrong. I felt Mr. Lancaster grab my head by the hair and placed me between my two severed feet. The aroma hit me head on. From where my head is now I could see my body shiver and spasm as every nerve shot out in response to my head being chopped off. What used to be my neck spurted blood like a grotesque fountain. Lancaster made his way to the side of my body and with two meaty thwacks, removed my hand. He placed them on the platter, beside each foot.

I felt Lancaster pick up the tray to bring me toward his workshop. I was surprised to have been conscious this long. He took a brush and coated my appendages with some clear liquid. Which I guess was supposed to preserve them. Once done, he took both feet and placed them on the shelf, top up as though I was standing, which read: Reserved for Mr. Veszeli. Between my arches he placed the ziploc bag that contained my socks.

I could feel my consciousness waning. He picked me up by the hair again and dipped me repeatedly in the same clear liquid. He placed me back on his workshop table and patted my dry with a towel. My vision flickered, and all was black.