It’s been a few years since I ate Collin’s feet. I’ve left that company for reasons unrelated, and no one figured out whatever happened to my colleague. Unbeknownst to them, Collin’s body had been carved up and sold in the black market for human flesh. Aside from his feet, I also consumed a rack of his ribs (great for barbecues!) and one of his meaty calves.
I started a job at this new company last year. I decided not to pursue software development and opted for a managerial position. Unfortunately, my hunger hasn’t stirred yet, and I’ve yet to find a suitable victim. That all changed when Patrick was hired.
I’m a pretty efficient worker, so I often devote my free time at work helping people. Since Patrick was a new hire, I noticed he was having trouble adjusting. He’d be confused regarding the company processes, which paperwork to file, and could not keep up with deadlines. To his credit though, he was always willing to work on his shortcomings and would try his best to remedy any mistakes or chase after looming deadlines. According to him, he was always surrounded with interns at his old job, so he never really got used to the heavy lifting.
At some point, I noticed a certain sadness surrounding him. He would be out of focus while I was helping him, staring off into space. Whenever I asked him if he was fine, he’d brush it off and asked me to repeat what I said. I never really knew the guy, so I didn’t want to pry, and I didn’t really want to take his distraction against him since he’d always bounce back and accomplish whatever task he needed to do.
One Friday morning, I needed to run something by Patrick really quick. Despite his lack of experience with the paperwork and processes, he was brilliant in business strategy. I drew up the necessary papers and proceeded to go to Patrick’s office. Being managers, we both enjoyed the privilege of having a private space for ourselves. As I opened the door, I noticed that it was occupied. Patrick sat on his chair, arms crossed in front of him. His head was tilted forward and the light sound of his snoring filled the room. His socked feet were on the desk, twitching occasionally as Patrick dozed off. He sat there with his shirt and tie, the suit draped on the back of his chair. His slacks rode up to his calves exposing the long sheer socks that covered his legs and feet.
I approached quietly, not wanting to wake him up. It seemed to me that he stayed up late in the office, chasing some urgent deadline. I knew how stressful it would be, and the last thing I wanted was to pull him from his restful sleep. Slowly, I walked toward his desk, folder in hand, eyes transfixed on his size 13s. The shape was nothing short of amazing. The silky black sock hugged every curve of his sole, accentuating the high arch and the well-rounded heel. They were wide, but not so much as to throw off the proportion. The translucent material offered a glimpse of his sole, showing off smooth midsoles of his feet, unblemished save for a small beauty mark on his right arch. The reinforced toes were thick enough that I couldn’t really see each individual in detail, but they were long and the overall shape showed that his second toe was a bit longer than his big toe, the rest followed in size order. I could sense the slight musty aroma of sweat and shoe leather lingering in the air that got stronger the closer I got.
I could feel a tightness in my pants. The sight and smell of Patrick’s sweaty soles gave me a full-on erection, and stirred my hunger. It’s been a while since I had Colin’s feet for dinner, and I couldn’t help but think about the same fate befalling Patrick. My imagination brought me outside. I was in my backyard, tongs in hand, pressing the sole of Patrick’s severed right foot down on the grill. I could smell charcoal smoke, mixed with spices and the manly scent of Patrick’s feet filling the air. I lifted the foot up and saw the criss-crossing grill marks on the soles. My mouth began to water at the thought.
Patrick’s phone lit up with a loud ding and snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up and saw that Patrick was still slumped over. A contact named Ellie popped up, along with the message: “Final divorce hearing in two weeks.” I realized then why Patrick would get sad and distracted. Things at home were probably weighing in on his mind. I’m willing to bet that he slept here in his office for the same reasons. I felt a bit guilty fantasizing about Patrick, but when I thought about it, I’d probably be doing him a huge favor by taking his life. I couldn’t wait to draw up plans to lure Patrick to his demise and onto my dinner plate.
I placed the folder next to his socked feet. This was as good as an excuse as any to get close to them. I took the opportunity to get my nose as close as I can in between his toes and took a big whiff. I was met with the musk of Patrick’s feet with full force. I decided then and there that no matter what, Patrick’s feet will be mine.
I quickly hatched a scheme. Patrick would be at his most vulnerable in the days following the divorce appointment. Coincidentally, it lines up with the week of an important business deal that Patrick and I were preparing for. That’s the best time to strike. The plan was to invite Patrick over for drinks to celebrate the deal going through. I was so sure of this plan that I could almost taste Patrick’s feet in my mouth.
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Throughout the week, my backyard barbecue fantasy kept playing in my head. One time, I got distracted while Patrick and I were going through the business plan that he was momentarily concerned.
“Hey, Dan,” Patrick’s voice echoed from far away as my fantasy pictured me digging in on his heel, “everything alright? You getting enough rest?”
I blinked. “Yeah, just a little bit distracted.”
“Ha! Wish I could say the same for me,” he laughed nervously, “the divorce has been weighing on my mind too much. Haven’t had much rest and working’s the only reprieve I get from being sad and moping all day.”
“Man, must be tough,” I squeezed in as much sympathy I can muster, “must be hard going through that. Wanna talk about it?”
“Let’s finish this proposal first, then let’s go grab a drink.”
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That night, he opened up about his divorce. Patrick and Ellie were highschool sweethearts, and they’ve been together for 20 years. He confessed that he wasn’t the best husband, that he always prioritized work over her. It was the reason why they drifted apart, and why Ellie had wanted a divorce. He had wanted to stay together. He even opted to get a full body makeover and beauty treatments in an attempt to impress her all over again. Sadly, she had made up her mind, and she made it clear that no amount of makeovers was going to change her mind.
“I’m still holding out hope, though,” Patrick said as he downed another shot, “I’m still trying to look my best should she change her mind. Nothing more attractive than a well-groomed man. Why, I’ve even had a mani-pedi done just last Monday.”
He held out his hand, encouraging me to feel them. Whatever treatment Patrick underwent had made his hands smooth and supple. I could imagine his feet went through the same treatment. Oh, how tender his feet might be after grilling! My hunger for Patrick just keeps growing and growing. I almost decided then and there to go through with it that night, but I had a plan, and I intend to follow through with it.
As the night went on, Patrick got progressively drunk. He let out every frustration that was weighing on his mind: his current relationship, adjusting in the workplace, his lack of a social circle. He just went on and on and I couldn’t interject. As much as I wanted to stop him, I could see where he was coming from. This was what he needed. As much as Patrick was my prey, he was also my friend. And as any true friend would do, I brought him home that night.
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I couldn’t believe it. I’ve only seen a glimpse of Patrick’s socked soles the other day, and the thought that I can finally see them bare and up close excited me. All I could think about was what beautiful morsels await inside Patrick’s socks, and how soft and supple they would be because of his recent pedicure.
It proved difficult to bring a drunk and stumbling Patrick inside the house, and getting him upstairs to his bedroom would be nigh impossible. The couch was the only option. I set Patrick down and moved to unbutton his shirt.
“Thank you for bringing me home,” he slurred, waves of alcohol vapor coming out of his mouth, “I appreciate it.” Within a moment or two, he started dozing off.
Patrick was too tall for the couch, so his feet dangled over the armrest. The perfect position for what I had in mind. Once he was fully settled down, I moved toward the armrest and drank in the sight of Patrick’s helpless, sleeping form, imagining the different cuts of meat he’ll be turned into. His biceps looked great, pectorals perfect for steak, and calves that would make for great potroasts. But the best cut of all lay before me, still encased in leather shoes and silky sheer socks, destined to be grilled by me.
But that would come later. I’ve been waiting to do a close inspection of Patrick’s feet, and now is the best time to do it. I grabbed the right shoe by the heel and slowly took them off, doing the same on the other shoe. Immediately, the heady scent of sweat and shoe leather filled the air, exactly the same as it was the first time I smelled it a week ago. I immediately went rock-hard. The smell inside the shoe was potent, a very well-worn odor, a perfect addition to my trophy collection. I took a mental note to claim these when the time came for Patrick’s feet to be collected. I took the other shoe off in the same manner and was greeted with the same view I had the first time I saw Patrick’s socked feet. But I couldn’t wait any longer, I needed to see them bare.
I slipped my fingers under the garter and slowly pulled them both off, revealing the pillow-soft soles trapped within. I ran my finger along the sole of his right foot, feeling the gentle wrinkles and creases that lined his high arches. Sure enough, they were as soft and supple as his hands, as though he’d never walked a day in his life. Seeing that my initial touch went unnoticed, I squeezed and prodded his sole, noting the tenderness. It would seem that Patrick’s feet wouldn’t need much tenderization before cooking. Once again, I couldn’t help but picture the grill lines that criss-crossed Patrick’s sole after cooking, and my mouth began to water.
I made my way up as I inspected my future meal, tracing the full sole with my eyes. The well-rounded heels gave way to tender high arches, and the balls of his feet looked meaty. His toes were long and well-formed. I moved my inspection to the tops of his feet. His nails were well-groomed, with short nails that were meticulously maintained. Patches of brown hair covered the tops of his toes and insteps, but can be taken care of with a little preparation. The intoxicating aroma grew stronger the closer I got, until I couldn’t help myself. I needed a taste test.
I was confident that Patrick was knocked out all the way, seeing as all my touching and prodding had not elicited any sort of response, nothing but the sound of heavy snoring filling the air. I placed my nose in between his big and second toe and sniffed hard, taking in the full force of his musk. I stuck my tongue out and made contact with the ball of his foot. Immediately I was greeted with Patrick’s flavor, the salty-sweet taste of man sweat filled my mouth. I pulled back and wrapped my lips around his heel and sucked hard, taking in the concentrated flavor. I drew my tongue out again and traced up his sole, feeling every wrinkle on my tongue, drinking in the sweet, sweet flavor. I parted his toes, tongue snaking in and out, savoring the taste of skin and sweat in between his toes. I sucked on each toe, feeling the fleshy pads on my tongue, and popped them out. I moved to his left foot, and began the process all over again.
A few more minutes of licking and sucking, I pulled back. I really couldn’t wait to have these on my dinner plate soon. I took out my phone and snapped pictures of Patrick’s feet from every angle. I also took a quick photo of his handsome face as he slept. He has this weird mix of gruff, awkward, and dorky that I find somewhat endearing. He would look great on my trophy case.
Before I left, I took my time to explore Patrick’s house for some souvenirs. Of course, the first thing I took were the socks that were just on Patrick’s feet. The sheer material was damp, and reeked of a strong, manly odor. Next were a pair of gym socks stuffed inside some well worn trainers. They were white, or at least they used to be. I couldn’t tell how long Patrick’s been using these, but it seemed to me that he reused this pair whenever he would go for a jog. The smell was strong, and I could tell immediately that it’s been a while since they were last washed. I scavenged further and found a shoe closet containing a bunch of different shoes for every occasion. Predictably, the shoe closet contained only Patrick’s shoes. It would seem that Ellie had already packed up and brought all her belongings with her, except for a pair of ballet flats left forgotten behind a shelf. My curiosity got the better of me and I took a sniff, the smell of Ellie’s feet filling my nostrils. I’ve seen pictures of Patrick’s wife, and she was definitely an attractive woman. Perhaps after Patrick she could be my next victim? I pushed the thought aside. For now I wanted to focus on my current quarry. Although, I did make a mental note to pursue Ellie as my next victim.
I ended up with 3 pairs of dirty socks, one of them the sheer socks he wore the day I first laid eyes on his feet. There were also a pair of Patrick’s loafers, the well-worn gym shoes, and Ellie’s flats as souvenirs that evening. After I got home, I played with them a little and prepared them for my trophy room.
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Patrick and I spent the following week preparing for the big business deal. He didn’t mention anything about my inspection, nor did he notice he was missing his socks. In fact, he thanked me for the night out.
“Hey Dan,” he said, in between breaks, “thanks for the night out, buddy. I really needed it. Sorry I got a bit too drunk and you had to haul my wasted ass home. You have my thanks for that.”
“No problem, Pat. Glad that I could at least take the edge off.”
“Yeah,” he said wistfully, his eyes stared out into space, “final hearing’s on Wednesday. I just hope it doesn’t affect our business deal. I’ll try my best to compartmentalize.”
“We don’t have to worry about that. I’m confident with what we’ve prepared. We’ve got this deal in the bag.”
When Friday came, Patrick and I were doing our final preparations. He seemed to be doing okay for someone who finalized his divorce. During our mid-work banter, he told me that Ellie had moved out completely, and he had the house all to himself. He tried to invite me out, but I reversed the offer.
“How about this, the house would remind you too much of Ellie, so how about we go to my place instead?”
He thought it over and smiled. He agreed with an enthusiastic “Yes!”. I almost felt bad that he didn’t know what was coming. I smiled back, knowing that the trap was closing in around my latest prey.
The day went by quickly. Just as I predicted, they’d taken the deal, and Patrick and I had a hand in closing it. It was a victory. The day flew by as Patrick and I scrambled to finish all the paperwork and file them as fast as we could. I was determined to close this today. Nothing worse than having a loose end when prey is involved. Finally, the work day ended, and Patrick and I were on our way to my place, to Patrick’s demise.
At the house, I led Patrick towards the living room while I made my way to the kitchen where I poured both of us celebratory drinks. I set down the shot of vodka and called for a toast.
“To a fresh start,” I grinned. It was friendly, but barely so. It was a grin of a predator whose prey was about to fall victim.
“Cheers!”
And with that, Patrick downed the whole shot. A few seconds later he collapsed.
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The next time Patrick awoke would be his last. He was laid out on a steel operating table tied down with leather belts, his feet locked in metal stocks. He still had his shoes and socks on, of course. I wanted to take my sweet old time unwrapping my presents.
Patrick stirred and immediately started struggling against his bonds. He was blindfolded, but his mouth was free. He started begging.
“Dan? Dan are you here? What did you do? What are you doing?”
Silence.
“Dan, you can’t do this. What are you planning? Please, let me go. I still have a chance with Ellie, please don’t take that away from me.”
I took off his blindfolds and savored the moment that my prey realized he wasn’t getting out of this alive. His eyes shot open as he saw above him a guillotine blade. Another one was at the other end of the table, positioned above his ankles. I leaned in and whispered to him how he’ll never get back with Ellie. That tonight is his time, and that his purpose is to be food.
“Don’t, Dan, please.”
“Think about it, Patrick, at least you won’t be sad anymore.”
I walked to the other end of the table, removed his shoe. I took one final whiff as Patrick resigned to his fate. It would be too easy to end it all now, but I wanted to enjoy Patrick for one final time. In front of me once more was the sight that led me to this very moment. The smell emanating from Patrick’s socked feet was intoxicating. His sheer socks were damp, hugging his feet like a second set of skin. I put my face between his soles, feeling the warmth. I was in paradise.
“I’m really sorry it had to end this way, Patrick,” I said mischievously, “but your feet are too good to pass up.”
“No, please, Dan. I beg you.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Ellie too much. After all, I plan to eat her feet next once I’m done with you.”
Immediately after I said that Patrick struggled with all his might, wriggling to get out of his bonds, cursing at me and threatening me. I smirked. His toes scrunched and wiggled with effort as he tried to break free. I could feel his soles rubbing on my cheeks as he tried to kick me. But in the end, we both knew it was futile. All it took was one button press to end his life. In a flash, the blade dropped.
“Thank you for your contribution,” I said smugly.
“NO DON-CKKKKKK”
I watched as his toes and soles wrinkled and twitched as life left Patrick’s body. Once the spasms were done, I slowly removed the socks and placed them inside a ziploc bag to preserve their scent. Patrick’s bare feet lay there, limp and motionless. Another button press, and the second blade dropped. I caught his severed feet as they dropped. Finally, Patrick’s feet were in my hands at last, waiting for their turn at the dinner table. I took a thin leather cord and looped them around the big toes. I hung them up to drain, leaving his headless, and now footless body on the table.
The next thing I did was to walk to the other end of the table where his head should be. I picked it up by the hair and admired his handsome features. His face froze in an expression of fear and sadness, the realization of what he’d lost etched forever. He would be the centerpiece for my dinner tonight. As I passed his body one last time, I saw on his right hand a wedding ring. I remember the moments when Patrick would just be suddenly overcome by sadness, as he stared and cradled the ring. Well, not much he can do about it now. I picked up Patrick’s feet, shoes, and head and made my way toward the workshop.
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The workshop was a hidden room in the house, in an area beyond my trophy room. The trophy room was where all the souvenirs from my past exploits were located. Before Patrick, I would make silicone copies of my victims’ feet to be displayed as sex toys here in the trophy room. I’ve recently done some restructuring, whereas the old trophy room housed shelves upon shelves, this new one housed cubicles. Each cubicle held a replica pair of the victim’s feet, positioned as though they were standing, alongside shoes that they’ve worn throughout their lifetime, and a few worn items in ziploc bags to preserve the scent. At the back end of the cubicle was a picture of the victim at their prime, somewhat like a profile picture in a social media website, surrounded by pictures of their feet, some while still attached to them and some after they were removed. Below the victim’s profile picture was a plaque that displayed their name, shoe size, and age at the time. I scanned the cubicles until I found my last victim, Colin. I remembered the taste of his feet fondly, and my mouth began to water. As much as I wanted to prepare my dinner, I wanted to have a bit of fun first.
Of course, I needed to take pictures of Patrick’s feet before preparation. I placed the severed feet on my workshop table, soles flat on the surface as though they were still standing, and placed Patrick’s disembodied head in the middle. This was one of my favorite positions. For the next shot, I flipped Patrick’s feet, soles up in all their smooth glory. The next few shots I took were of Patrick’s feet in shoes and socks, positioned as though they were posing as a foot model.
Once I’ve gotten all the photos that I wanted, it was time for a break. I took Patrick’s feet with me to the bathroom, along with the shoes and socks he wore that night and had little fun. After undressing, I grabbed his feet by the ankles and made the lifeless yet still warm toes of his left foot fondle my dick, feeling the soft toe pads. Meanwhile I held the right foot near my nose as I took in the aroma. I started worshipping the foot as my dick slid between the big and second toe of the other foot. But enough foreplay. I lay down on the floor and put Patrick’s damp, smelly socks on my face as I held one foot in each hand. I brought them together and slid my dick between the soft, pillowy arches of Patrick’s severed feet. I tried to feel every crease and wrinkle of his soles on my dick as I sniffed his musky essence. This was probably the first time Patrick’s feet ever pleasured anyone, and definitely the last. Damn shame too. As much as they were great sex toys, their destiny were to be my dinner for the night. With Patrick’s smell on my nose and his soles on my cock, in no time at all, I came.
I cleaned up Patrick’s feet, shaved off the little hairs, and dried them with a towel. Then put his shoes and socks back on to marinate in his essence, and it was off to the kitchen.
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I unwrapped Patrick’s feet from their packaging and went on with my preparation. There was little work to be done, as the meat was already soft and supple. I rubbed my Nana’s dry barbecue mix all over Patrick’s soles, making sure to coat every nook and cranny. I spared no area as even the spaces between his toes were covered in the spicy mixture.
That done, I took out the grill pan and oiled it up with a bit of butter. Once the pan was hot enough, I took Patrick’s right foot and pressed it on the grill sole down. Immediately the sound of sizzling could be heard. After a few minutes, I picked them up with a pair of tongs and rotated it just a bit for that perfect criss-cross pattern I saw in my daydreams. I flipped the foot over, and once more the sizzling began. Once satisfied with their doneness, I took my tongs and laid them sole up on the chopping board to rest, then I repeated the same with the left foot.
Once done, I set the left foot down to join its pair and set the table while the feet rested. I took Patrick’s head and wiped him down, making sure to get him as clean as possible. I even trimmed his beard a little for that perfect gruff look. Once done, I set the head down on the middle of the table and put his glasses back on to complete the look.
Now that the table was set, I made my way back to the kitchen to prepare a gravy. I took Patrick’s well-worn gym socks that I picked up from his house the other week and boiled his essence off, infusing the water with his flavors. Next, I took the grill pan and added some flour to the leftover butter and juices from Patrick’s grilled feet and whisked vigorously. I mixed in the sock stock with the flour and juices and simmered until I had a thick gravy.
Forgoing a plate, I set the chopping board down and got myself a knife and a fork. I drizzled the gravy over Patrick’s heels and watched as the liquid ran down his soles. Before I dug in, I wanted to have a little fun. I got on one knee in front of the feet and took out Patrick’s wedding ring in a mock proposal.
“Patrick’s feet, will you marry me? I assume that’s a yes!” I said as I slipped the ring on the left foot’s second toe. I chuckled. Patrick was not amused.
Then, I dug in. Starting on the right foot, I took my knife and it slid easily into the arch meat with little effort. They were tender! Juices oozed out of the cut as the knife revealed the pinkish foot meat. The moment the meat slid into my mouth I was greeted with a mix of flavors. My Nana’s special barbecue rub complemented the natural musky flavor of Patrick’s foot. The arch meat was so soft and tender that it took little effort to chew. I was so overcome with lust and hunger that I dropped the fork and knife and just ate Patrick’s foot as though it was corn on a cab. I bit down on the ball meat and tore away a chunk of meat. Bite after bite and the meat on the sole disappeared. My tongue snaked in between the bones of Patrick’s foot looking for any remaining sliver of meat. I took out bone after bone, sucking out whatever flavor was left when there was no meat to be found. I was left with toe lollipops as I snapped off the bone from the foot. I sucked on each toe as though I was worshipping them, flensing the meat onto my waiting tongue. Once the toes, arch, ball, and sole were consumed I bit down on my favorite part. The round, fleshy heel exploded, the juices covering my lips. Some dripped down on the other foot. I pulled back, licked my lips and kept devouring Patrick’s foot. Soon nothing was left of Patrick’s right foot except a pile of white bones and toenails. Then the feeding frenzy began once more.
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I sat there, contentedly. I burped and once more tasted the flavor of Patrick's feet on my tongue. I held Patrick’s wedding ring in between my fingers, a bit greasy from the foot juices. I brought it near my mouth and licked off what little remained of Patrick’s feet. I couldn’t decide whether this pair was better than Colin’s, but I had to put the thought aside.
As I finished up, the timer went off. The mold was set. The pictures I took of Patrick the other night were used to 3D print a mold of his feet. They came out clean and relatively perfect, and these molds were used to make silicone copies for my trophy room. Usually I would make the molds from the victim’s feet themselves, but I wanted to try out this new method, and it worked.
I made my way down to the trophy room and placed Patrick’s silicone feet in the cubbyhole reserved for him. I remembered how hot Patrick’s socked feet were the first time I laid eyes on them, so I put the sheer socks on the silicone feet and made a custom stand so I could position them the same way that day.
I stepped back and admired the little shrine. In the middle of the cubicle was Patrick’s sleeping face, taken the night we got drunk. Surrounding his picture were different shots of his feet, resting on the armrest of his couch at home. The pictures I took tonight haven’t been developed, but I’ve already marked where they will be once that’s done. Inside the cubicle were the silicone feet, encased in the sheer socks that Patrick himself wore, soles facing out as though they were still resting on his desk. Surrounding the feet were the three pairs of shoes that I stole from his house the other night, along with three ziploc bags. Two were empty, and the last one contained the socks he wore that night. Patrick’s wedding ring was also there, placed between the feet. Beside Patrick’s cubicle was one reserved for Ellie, which contained only a pair of ballet flats. Hopefully, they won’t be empty for long. And Patrick and Ellie can stay together as part of my collection.