The Foot Doctor
A handsome guy goes to the the wrong foot doctor and ends up restrained and tickled by the kinky podiatrist with a foot fetish!
The Foot Doctor
I’m a very successful podiatrist. One day, I have this really hot guy come in with a problem on the soles of his feet (maybe some sort of itching that seems to affect the entire surface of his foot). He’s late twenties, 6′ 2″, well built and athletic, extremely good looking (model material of course), dark hair, deep blue eyes, chiseled dark features, his casual, cotton button down’s top few buttons are open revealing a matte of silky, black hair. He’s totally cool and, perhaps, he’s aware of it. A little cocky. But still, he has this terrible problem and I want to help him.
Following my orders, he removes his shoes and socks revealing a size 12, beautifully arched, soft and picture perfect bare foot. As I take his ankle in my hand, I notice the wisps of black hair cascading down from his leg and peeking out from his jeans. Sure enough, his sole does have some splotchy red spots. I take my finger and gently rub his sole to inspect for surface characteristics. The second my finger touches his foot I feel his leg tense. As my finger moves about his foot, his toes wriggle a bit and his foot flexes slightly. Out of the corner of my eye I can see his facial expression change, as he grits his teeth and winces with each touch. Now keep in mind, I haven’t even touched his foot with my finger nail yet, this is just my skin inciting this kind of reaction! I’m glad I have a lab coat on because my dick is starting to press hard against my pants.
As I contemplate taking advantage, I carry on small talk and ask a few simple questions to keep the situation from becoming awkward. Finally, I get up my courage to try pushing him a bit. Taking a poking device out of my breast pocket, similar to a screwdriver, I touch the cold tip to his sole. Looking him in the eye, I ask him to tell me if this hurts at all as I move it up his foot. His face looks incredibly determined and focused, as if he’s trying desperately not to show just how unbelievably sensitive he actually is. The device begins its trek up his sensitive skin, scraping ever so slowly as it goes. His foot jerks spasmodically as the tip strikes a vein of extreme sensitivity, his face looking pained, teeth gritting, eyes wide open. By the time it reaches his toes, he can’t hold back and emits a little yelp.
“Hmm, you are feeling pain aren’t you,” I respond innocently. “Let me try something else to narrow down where you’re most sensitive…and experiencing the greatest pain.” He shakes his head nervously. I take the pointed device and, beginning at his heel, draw it horizontally across the sole of his foot from left to right. I repeat this movement, inching up his foot a little each time. The farther I go, the more jumpy his foot seems to get until I have to strengthen my grip on his twisting ankle in order to keep it in my hands. I watch his face with each stroke, turning red, twisting, eyes bugged out, teeth clinched and jaws firm. “Feel that? Does that hurt? Is it sensitive there?” I question randomly as he reacts to the scrapes. His only response is a head shake, afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll burst out laughing and reveal his weakness.
My dick is now completely erect, excited by the situation I’ve got this poor jock in, trying desperately not to lose his cool and become reduced to uncontrollable giggling. I’m now determined to break him. At any spot where he reacts particularly strongly, I repeat my motion there as if to more thoroughly test it. His faces turns redder and redder, he appears to be holding his breath. He manages to hold out until I reach the bridge just below his twisting toes, when apparently the sensations become just too intense.
“I can’t stand it anymore!” he exclaims as he bursts out laughing and yanks his foot from my hand, startling me completely. I look at him with complete surprise as he swings his foot up on top of his leg and begins wildly scratching his tortured sole, breathing hard trying to catch up on the breath he’d been holding.
“Wh..what did I do?” I ask confused, “Did I hurt you or something?”
“I’m sorry, doc,” he answered sheepishly. “It’s just that…well…I’m afraid I’m pretty ticklish.”
“You mean my touches weren’t hurting you? I was actually tickling you?” He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. I burst out laughing, relaxing a bit. “Well, why didn’t you say so. That’s perfectly normal.” He just shrugged nervously. “Well, I’ll try to be a bit more careful from now on. Let me check your other foot.” He hesitantly raised his other foot up into reach of my hands. Grasping his ankle, I touched my finger to his other sole and began rubbing the bottom of his foot. It began squirming like the other one. “Sorry, try to hang in there, this will only take a minute.”
I continued inspecting his sole, trying not to be too aggressive, opting to try pressure with my fingers instead of the tool I’d used on the other foot. But it didn’t seem to matter, no matter how I touched his foot, it seemed to translate into tickling sensations. He tried not to let on how much it was bothering him but I could tell it was killing him. For the most part he managed not to laugh but did slip and let out a little yelp or giggle a couple of times. Feeling a little devilish, I concluded my inspection of that foot by instructing him to tell me if he felt my next touch and then proceeded to drag my finger nail up his sole in a deliberate attempt to tickle him. He jumped out of surprise, yanked his ankle back and burst out laughing supplying me with an emphatic “yes!”
“Just teasing,” I remarked with a sly smile. He laughed nervously, a little surprised by my overt exploitation of his weakness. He scratched that foot trying to erase the ticklish feelings I left him with. I was settling in for a good time with this unlucky victim. “OK, let’s check for any internal indicators,” I remarked officiously. “Please remove your shirt.” I was dying to see that magnificent hairy torso and was taking advantage of the fact that doctors often do all kinds of things patients don’t understand or question.
I began writing in his chart while watching him unbutton his shirt out of the corner of my eye. Undoing the last button, he pulled the shirt out of his jeans and eased it off his back revealing an incredibly worked out body. His arms were bulging and his pecs large and muscular, covered with a lush, full coat of silky black hair. A dark ribbon of hair trailed down to his abdomen opening up into a sexy matte of wispy blackness adorning his flat, washboard stomach. This guy didn’t have one ounce of fat on him!
Instructing him to breathe normally, I inserted my stethoscope into my ears and picked up the other end. Placing the cold, metal piece against his chest, I listened intently as he breathed, moving the device around his bulging chest, examining the beautiful, full matte of black hair. Then I moved the icy instrument down touching it against his abdomen, near his belly button. Not surprisingly, he jumped. With each move in this apparently touchy region, he jumped as the cold metal teased his bare skin. Pulling it up, I tested his rib areas enjoying similar spasmodic reactions. This poor guy must hate going to the doctor, I concluded from my examination.
“Okay, lie down now on your back, please,” I instructed, “placing your hands behind your head.” I was filled with an incredible sense of power as this powerful hunk complied willingly and innocently with each of my demands. It was time to see how he handled a little pressure. He looked totally cool yet a little nervous, shirtless and arms outstretched leaving his naked torso vulnerable and exposed.
“Do you feel any pain when I press here?” I queried, applying pressure with my fingertips to his abdomen, just below his belly button and to the side. His body tensed, his face looking a little contorted.
“A little,” he answered breathlessly.
“Here?” I pressed my fingertips into another spot, causing him to jump and yelp a slightly.
“Mm-hm,” he whispered, his teeth gritting. I continued poking around in this region, causing him to become more and more contorted, his face turning red and his breath almost stopped. It was cracking me up how desperately he was trying to remain stoic and cool.
“Now are my touches really hurting, John,” I said coyly, “Or are you by chance ticklish here, too?” He just smiled sheepishly. “Hmm?” I began poking his belly rapidly, using just one finger and scraping a little to “test” him and push him for an answer. He lost it, roaring with laughter and simultaneously pulling his arms down and legs up, pivoting away from me to protect his sensitive skin.
“Yes, yes!” he cried out as I stopped my attack. I just laughed and picked up his chart to make some notes. After a couple of minutes, I began to offer my diagnosis of his problem, explaining he had a somewhat unusual infection on his feet that appeared not to be part of a virus or greater problem.
“The treatment is fairly simple, John,” I explained matter of factly. “I simply need to apply a special solution to the affected area. Now, given your hypersensitivity on your feet, this may prove to be a little uncomfortable for you while I brush the solution onto your feet. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat nervously, looking a little forlorn at the thought. “Now, I’ve had patients with similar problems and we’ve both found it easier if I restrain the ankles while applying the solution.”
“Restrain them?” he queried hesitantly.
“Yes, John,” I moved to the foot of the table, pulling out leather straps that buckle together to hold legs down. “It’s quite simple. I just fasten these over them. Otherwise, you may tend to move your feet and actually prolong the uncomfortable sensations.” He nodded approval, his face white with fear. He laid down while I pulled the straps over his ankles and buckled them firmly in place. Feeling extremely tempted to take advantage of his helplessness, I nevertheless refrained and moved to the sink to prepare the solution.
Returning to the table, I stood next to him and pulled some leather straps from the top of the bed. “Wait, you don’t have to fasten my wrists do you?” he argued excitedly, obviously not into bondage. I just laughed, explained that these were looped straps he might like to hold if it helps him stay still. He calmed down and put his hands through them, again presenting his naked torso helplessly vulnerable, this time his ankles restrained.
Sitting on a stool at his feet, I placed the beaker of solution down and pulled a brush out of my pocket. He looked incredibly uneasy, his eyes darting toward the ceiling to avoid watching the torture about to take place. “Okay, hold on now,” I comforted, “this won’t take long.” Dipping the brush in the cool solution, I placed it against his foot at his heel and slowly dragged it up it his sole until it reached his toes. His foot wriggled at the touches and his entire body tensed up. Sliding it to the left a little, I scraped it back down his foot to his heel. I repeated this motion over and over again, artistically painting his ultra-sensitive sole with my brush. He quickly was reduced to laughter, roaring with uncontrolled laughter as I stroked the brush up and down. He twisted his body and pulled at the hand restraints, sometimes arching his back completely off the table.
I was in heaven, having complete freedom and power over this guy while he willingly allowed me to do the thing he probably hated most in life–having his incredibly ticklish feet tickled unmercifully! He really went nuts when I touched up his wriggling toes with the brush, dabbing it between them. Moving to his other foot, I enjoyed watching his muscular body strain and flex in pain as I stroked his sole with the bristles. He was practically crying now, hysterical at the excruciating treatment. He even periodically called out “God!” or “Oh, shit!” out of desperation. I was glad the examining room had pretty thick walls as his laughter echoed around us. I tried to reassure him that we were almost done while prolonging the treatment as long as possible.
Finally, I stopped brushing and allowed him to recover his breath. His chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath, The hair of his torso glistened with sweat, the result of the strenuous workout he’d just been through. With the solution still wet on his feet, I blew softly with my mouth to dry it. Even that caused him to giggle. I laughed, amazed at how incredibly ticklish this guy was. Removing the restraints, I instructed him to get dressed while I left the room momentarily.
Returning to find him pretty well composed and fully clothed, I jotted some notes in his chart. “Well, my friend,” I offered, “I hope that wasn’t too bad!” He just looked at me, exasperated by the thought. “I’m afraid that we’ll have to repeat this treatment, two more times this week and three next week.” His face turned ashen and his whole body slumped, pondering the thought of having to endure this torture again. And again. And again. I smiled slyly. “Make an appointment with my receptionist on the way out.”
He left and closed the door behind him. Picking up the telephone, I buzzed the receptionist. “Maureen, John’s going to need two more appointments this week and three next. Try to make him my last appointment of the day, at 6:00…yeah, I know you’ll be gone by then. I’ll be able to handle it myself!” Hanging up the phone, a smile crept over my face. “Wait until he sees what I have planned for the next visit,” I thought to myself.