Chapter 2

“That was never ten minutes.”

“Right,” I say. “It was five. Five minutes per foot is a ten minute massage.”

“That’s not how I interpret the service.” He taps the brochure. “It reads to me like it’s supposed to be ten minutes per foot. Don’t make me call Jared tomorrow.”

I go back to his left foot. I seize it harder than I should and he jumps again. “Sorry.”

I squeeze the back of his heel and he groans in pleasure, so I keep this up for most of the remaining five minutes. I finish with more dual thumb action up and down his long arch and his whole body is relaxed in his reclining massage chair. At the ten minute mark, I switch to his right foot. This time, he has no complaints. His right foot has not desensitized yet so it jerks and bounces at my first few grabs and squeezes. By the time I finish the right foot, he’s no longer self-conscious about the embarrassing moans I brought out of him. I can’t help but notice that the modest bulge in the crotch of his khaki twill pants is a little less modest than it was before the massage. I don’t want to notice his bulge, but it’s there and I have eyes. It’s also evidence that this asshole is enjoying this way too much. I discretely adjust my own crotch situation as to not reveal that I’ve chubbed up a bit myself.

I reapply his socks and lead him to the fancy scale like machine that will assess his pressure points and determine what the right inserts are for his custom shoes. Not that there will ever be an actual order placed. His weight is 153 pounds and I record his heel pressure numbers on his chart.

Next, we look through screenshots of dozens of different styles of work boots before he settles on three that he likes best. Though an actual order would mean a custom build, we do have prototypes of most styles and every size in the back room to give the customer an idea of the look and feel. Of course I am the one who has to lace and tie every boot as he takes an impossibly long time considering all three. I am also blackmailed into giving full foot massages between the trying on of each prototype – again, because this is how he interpreted the brochure. He ends up staying all the way until closing time. He tells me that he was impressed with my service so much, that he plans on being a loyal customer. He will come to me for all of his shoe needs.

And he has many. It seems as though he may need a new pair of shoes for every activity known to mankind. He needs new dress shoes, new runners, new shoes for both tennis and basketball, new sandals and so much more. He’ll be back every night for weeks until we sort out his final order.

I will admit, the night seemed to go by faster than usual. But still. His sole objective is to humiliate me as punishment for moving on with my life. It’s not okay.

The next afternoon I try talking to Jared again. He tells me that sometimes customers need time to make up their minds. Our services are expensive and it’s a big decision. Dominic is a customer. I am expected to deliver the highest quality service to all customers.

That night, Dominic tells me that his sister’s wedding is in October and he is thinking of renting a tux through our service. He has me measure and record his stats for his waistline (30″), his inseam (32″), his chest (42″), his neck (16″), his sleeves (34″) and even his freaking hat size (just over 22″). He enjoys every second of making me take measurements and touch him in all these intimate ways. Every night for the next week and a half he comes in for some new made up shoe need. And every night, he makes me start from scratch like he’s a new client. The previous night’s measurements are never good enough. They cannot be trusted.

He never spends a dime.

The next Wednesday night, right at closing time and just a minute after Dominic had left, the phone rings. I answer and it’s an excited Jared. When I first started working here, I approached the coach for the boys basketball team at my college, gave him a brochure and explained how our products and services could potentially improve the performance of and protect the health of his players. I gave him Jared’s business card and now, the guy finally emailed him. He wants to bring a couple key players from the team in on Friday night to get measured, assessed and sample some prototypes. Jared is excited about the possibility of a bulk sale and promises me a nice bonus if it goes through. He informs me that he’ll be staying late Friday to help me out since there will be more than one athlete and this is such a big sale.

I say, “Jared, that’s great news! Unfortunately, you’ll have to take care of them on your own. I’ll be tied up with my favorite customer.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Dominic. The guy I know from high school. I told you about him. He comes in every night like it’s some kind of hazing ritual or something. He’s never gonna buy anything.”

“That’s still going on? That was almost two weeks ago.”

“Jared, it might never end.”

He clears his throat, “It ends when he comes in tomorrow night. You tell him it’s over and he’s not welcome back. Look, Hunter, you did an amazing thing. If it goes well with the basketball team, then who knows? It could lead to deals with the baseball and football teams too. And these would be repeated annual sales. Everything has to go perfectly Friday night. End it with this Dominic guy tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you the first time, but Hunter, I promise I will always trust you from now on.”

I get to get rid of Dominic. But, I still have Thursday night, and now that Jared is on my side, just maybe I can take this last night and have some fun of my own. After my Thursday class, I swing by the theatre department and visit the storage room for props. It takes some rummaging, but I find what I’m looking for. Surely no one will mind if I borrow stocks and handcuffs. After ten days of being Dominic’s bitch, payback will be so sweet.

Dominic walks in at his usual time, safely after Jared has left for the night. He drops into his usual reclining massage chair and waits expectantly.

“Dominic, I was hoping you could do me a favor tonight.”

He cocks a suspicious eyebrow, “What’s that?”

“Well, we just received a new laser imaging device that supposedly measures much more accurately that any of the traditional methods. In this business, accuracy is everything. If I could try it out on you, we could compare the results to what I’ve been recording on your chart.”

“Laser?” He looks concerned.

“It’s totally safe. It’s safer than getting an x-ray. It’s nothing.”

He shrugs, “I’ll do it if I can get an extra foot massage tonight.”

Because his normal four massages are not enough. I smile, “Deal.”

I lock the front door.

He looks concerned again.

“We need to go into the back room for this and I can’t have people wandering in while I’m off the floor. We only have the machine on a trial basis right now. It won’t take long. Everything is all set up. Follow me.”

So, he does. What does he have to worry about? He is the customer. The customer is always right. I am at his mercy. One call to Jared from him, and I could be fired.

In the back room, I have a long wooden table set up near the far wall. The stocks are secured, nailed actually, to one end of the table while handcuffs are cuffed to the water pipes running up the wall.

I tell Dominic, “If we buy the machine, it will ultimately have a home in the corner of the main sales floor, but for trial purposes, we have a rudimentary set-up back here.”

This is where I half expect him to bale on me. If he does, I’ll just send him on his way and deliver Jared’s message that he is not welcome back. If he actually lies down on this table, well then… I have hours of fun ahead of me.

Am I that trustworthy? Am I that good of an actor? I need to stop smiling so much before I give it all away.

I explain, “For accuracy, you need to be completely still. No movement at all. Put your feet here.”

He puts his feet right where they are meant to go and I close down the top of the medieval looking contraption. I slip a lever and it locks into place. Next I secure handcuffs to each of his wrists and he is officially my captive prisoner. That was so easy.

He wiggles his feet, “Hey, I can’t move my legs, but my feet can flap around freely. Will the lasers work?”

I shake my head, “There are no lasers. Welcome to my revenge.”

He shifts uncomfortably, “I can call your boss tomorrow.”

“No you can’t. He’s onto you. He told me to tell you to go away and don’t come back. But first, it’s my turn to have some fun. You wanted an extra foot massage? If my math is correct, that means fifty minutes per foot. You like making me touch your feet so much, well, maybe you’ll enjoy the hell out of what’s about to happen. Or maybe it will be more than you can stand.”

As I move toward the foot of the table, I notice that with his arms pulled high over his head, his shirt has pulled out of his waistband and a thin strip of stomach is revealed. I swipe a finger across it and Dominic twists away giggling. Oh, yes. This will be fun. More of that later.

I pull up a chair so I am level with his boots. I go through the now well-established routine of unlacing his left boot. This time, instead of grinning at me in delightful anticipation as usual, he squirms in fear. And he should.

I pull off the battered boot and immediately remove the damp sock. I almost feel a little sad that this is the last time I will see and touch his perfect, pretty feet. If only he hadn’t been such an asshole about the whole thing… Oh well. I let the cool air of the room tantalize his fresh sensitive foot.

“Hunter, I’m sorry. Just let me go and I won’t come back. I promise.”

I ignore him. I press four fingernails into the ball of his foot, just below the toes and drag them down the tender sole of his foot. His toes curl and he howls in laughter as he fights against his restraints. At his heel, my fingernails make a U-turn and scrape their way back up across his arch and return to the starting point. I repeat this process several times and Dominic has tears streaming down his cheeks. Next I scribble my fingers on the underside of his toes and he bounces on the table.

His foot is so beautiful. I find myself in autopilot mode moving in close and nibbling at his toes. That drives him crazy. I keep doing it. Then I nibble at the ball of his foot and slowly down his arch. He shrieks and screams in torturous pleasure. And, in an almost possessed trance, I find that my tongue is bathing his stinking (but gorgeous) foot. He’s close to losing his sanity.

Fifty minutes for each foot is a long time. As enjoyable as hearing his desperate and helpless screams is, I find myself getting bored. Time for my set of torture tools. I have screwdrivers, feathers, toothpicks, a toothbrush and a fluted pastry wheel. While the sharp and pointy things scraping up his arch make him scream the loudest, the electric toothbrush under and between his toes makes him squirm in a way that I find to be delicious. Dominic seems to hate all of my tools, but the pastry wheel in particular makes him almost hyperventilate as I use it to make tracks everywhere I see his supple tender skin.

The first fifty minute session comes to a merciful end and I turn my attention to his right foot. I purposely left the boot on this whole time so his foot would keep on cooking. As I remove the boot, Dominic’s eyes plead with me to stop. No way. I take off the right sock and this foot is as fresh and sensitive looking as a grown man’s foot has ever looked. Over the next fifty minutes, I repeat the same program and my only regret is that I didn’t think to bring earplugs to counteract the screaming. I take a fat black sharpie marker and write on the sole of each foot. I take a picture with my phone.

With all of the thrashing and writhing during more than ninety minutes of foot torture, his shirt has ridden up even further. I swipe another finger across the lower belly and his whole body spasms. It’s time to unwrap this present. I begin to undo his shirt buttons. As I work my way lower his eyes begin to go wild.

“Hunter, please!” He begs. “Not my stomach! Anywhere but there.”

The last button is finished and I spread open his work shirt revealing smooth skin, nicely tanned from a summer spent outdoors, shirtless. His oval innie belly button is winking at me, but since he asked so nicely, I leave it alone. For now. Instead I drill my fingers into his armpits and his head lolls from side to side as he screams a whole lot more. Next my fingers explore his ribs and his eyes leak tears again.

That’s enough of a reprieve. It’s tummy time! I look at his soft belly and say, “I measured you at 30 inches around the waist. I bet that’s at least an inch more since high school graduation. You’re letting yourself go a little bit there, Dominic. Getting a little soft in the middle. What kind of a thug are you?”

He says nothing, but I can see he’s blushing. A little taste of humiliation. His first ever.

That delicate, vulnerable tummy is calling to me and I dance my fingers all over its acreage. Dominic goes wild. I swipe my fingers back and forth from hipbone to hipbone and he has goosebumps everywhere. His pants are in my way, so I work on his belt before undoing his pants button and sliding down his zipper. I can’t help but notice that Dominic has an erection.