Rugby Auction & the Dog Costume

At my Jesuit college, the rugby team held an auction every year to raise beer money for the season. The rugby players would auction themselves off at the campus Rathskellar, and the winning bidder or bidders would have a rugby player for 24 hours to clean their house, wash their car, run errands, do stupid human tricks, or whatever the bidder thought up.

The seniors usually went for the highest price at the auction. The bidders were almost exclusively girls, although a professor from the biology department would show up some years to bid on cheap labor to shovel manure for the campus greenhouse. As a freshman, I didn’t think that I would attract much attention, but as it turned out, I ended up being purchased by an apartment of junior and senior girls for the rock bottom price of $20. I thought, if I’m going to be stuck working for someone, at least it’s a group of hot upperclass girls. The night of the auction, they just told me to show up at their apartment on the hill at 11 A.M. since they’d be sleeping in after staying out late Friday night.

When I showed up at their apartment on Saturday morning, they were already drinking Bloody Marys and had the grill fired up on their patio. Stacey, a senior, told me to come into the apartment, and she told me that they had a uniform for me to wear for the day. She said that I could find it in the back bedroom and to come out once I had changed. What I found when I got in the bedroom was a dog costume, complete with paws and a head with big floppy ears and a hole for my face to stick out, hanging on the door of the closet. I knew that this couldn’t be a good sign for the rest of the day.

When I changed into the dog costume and went back out into their living room, all 4 of the roommates were there. A couple of camera flashes went off in my face, and all four of them were laughing at the sight of me in that dog costume while they were trying to hold onto their Bloody Marys. Then it really started. Stacey said, “Heel doggie.” So, I started walking over to where she was sitting, and she yelled, “NO! Doggies crawl, so start crawling doggie.” UGH! This was going to be long day for me as a doggie. I got down on my hands and knees to the sound of the girls laughing some more and taking more pics as I started to crawl across the room to Stacey. When I go to her, she patted me on top of the head and told me to thump my leg on the floor so everyone would know that I like it. I was never going to live this down.

Then, Diane, one of the roommates, took off her shoe and threw it across the room and said, “Fetch doggie.” I crawled to the corner of the room and grabbed her shoe with my hand and started crawling back when her other shoe came whizzing by my head. She yelled, “NO doggie! Use your mouth.” So I dropped the shoe on the floor and picked it up with my mouth. The shoe reeked of Diane’s sweaty feet. I crawled back to her and dropped the shoe at her feet. When I lifted my head, she slapped me in the face and said, “You forgot the other one doggie. Fetch again.” By this time, Janine had turned on her camcorder and was filming me crawling across their floor. While they were laughing at me with Diane’s stinky shoe in my mouth, Stacey was on the phone inviting more people over to the party.

To be continued …

Victoria Secret’s Headset Sales Girl and Sweaty Pantyhose

A few months ago, I missed the conversation of a foot and nylon fetishists lifetime in a Columbus Victoria’s Secret Store. I generally like going into Vicky’s. It’s one of the few stores where I don’t get agitated when a headset wearing sales girl asks if I need any help. I like asking for things that I know are on the bottom shelves or racks so I can see what kind of panties, if any, the sales girl is wearing when she squats down.

Well, I’m at the Columbus Vicky’s with the girlfriend, and she’s looking around the front of the store where pink and white cotton and satin sleepwear is located, and I’m in the back of the store where they keep the good stuff. I grabbed up pairs of size B pantyhose and stockings in every color, variety and flavor they had available the proceeded back to the front of the store to meet up with the girlfriend. By this time, she was talking to one of the sales girls about panties or something, and it was getting hot in the store. I decided to wait for her outside of the store in the mall while she checked out.

That was my big mistake. At the checkout counter, the sales girl asked my girlfriend about the armload of pantyhose and stockings that picked out, and the girlfriend explains the obvious to the sales girl – that I had a huge pantyhose, stocking and foot fetish. The sales girl then proceeds to tell the girlfriend about how hot she was in the store that day wearing pantyhose under her pants suit. She said that when she gets home, she has to peel her pantyhose off of her legs and feet.

ARGHHHH! I couldn’t believe that I missed out on a Victoria’s Secret headset babe talking about peeling off her sweaty pantyhose. If I was there, I would have given her a self-addressed stamped envelope and ziplock bag so she could mail her pantyhose to me as soon as she got home for work that day. For some reason, I could imagine her flinging her sweaty pantyhose across the room after she peeled them off of her legs and feet, and the pantyhose would stick to her bedroom wall.

The rest of the day my girlfriend kept reminding me how I missed out on the pantyhose fetish conversation of a lifetime. Luckily for me, my girlfriend had worn pantyhose under her jeans that day when we went out shopping, and she had a good time teasing me when we got home by slowly peeling off her pantyhose and holding them up to my face while she told me to sniff her sweaty pantyhose.

Dangling at the husband’s business dinner

My husband’s professional organization was holding a catered occasion with a guest speaker on a Friday night, and we felt obligated to attend. When I set out my clothing for the evening, I couldn’t decide what shoes to wear, so I asked my husband to pick out a pair while I showered. I hopped in the tub and scrubbed up quickly. I knew my husband’s favorite shoes were open-toed slides, so I sat down to beautify my feet.

I’d already removed all my polish that morning, so I started by rubbing cream into my toenails and cuticles. Then I picked up my foot brush and tea tree oil soap and started lathering the brush. When the brush was full of thick, soapy froth, I started scrubbing my feet, starting with the heel of my left foot and moving out to the toe.

Slowly, I moved the brush back and forth, very gently, on my left heel and worked it forward until it was just under my toes. Then I spread my toes wide and pressed the brush up hard so that the bristles pushed between them. I continued moving the brush back and forth, only a little more gently. As I re-lathered the brush for my right foot, I quickly admired the left sole, newly washed and shining a gorgeous soft pink color.

I repeated the same routine with my right foot, this time lingering with the brush on my sensitive arch, fully enjoying the tight, fluttering sensation in my stomach as the bristles softly teased the most ticklish part of my foot. My husband called for me to hurry, so I put my feet together and ran the brush over the tops, rinsed, and got out. I toweled off quickly from the head down, taking special care to ensure my feet were dry. Then I wrapped myself in the towel and headed into the bedroom.

My husband stood next to our bed with a bottle of my favorite moisturizer, Clinique’s Dramatically Different, and a big smile on his face. He motioned for me to sit on the edge of our bed, and I did, excitedly awaiting my treat. My husband knelt and poured a puddle of the lotion into his hands. He rubbed them together, then lovingly began to rub my clean pink feet. He tugged at each of my toes, traced his fingers over my insteps, and smoothed his palms across my heels. As his rubbing grew stronger, I laid back and luxuriated in the powerful strokes of his hands as they pressed into my arches. When he pushed all his fingers between my toes, I couldn’t hold back a moan, and the way I stiffened my back and twisted with pleasure made the towel come untucked. His fingers spreading and stretching my toes so wide apart made me tingle all over.

My husband continued rubbing with an incredibly satisfied look on his face until every drop of the cream had been absorbed into my relaxed, sweet-smelling feet. He began to put more cream on, but I stopped him, reminding him that we’d be late for the guest speaker if we didn’t hold off. He rose with a sigh of disappointment, but I knew I wasn’t going to let him down later that night after the affair.

I glanced down at the floor and saw my husband had picked my black patent stiletto slides for me to wear that evening. They had a very thin 4-inch heel and one simple band over my toes. I thought they were a bit too sexy for my black mid-length suit, but would do just fine. I slipped them on my clean and newly moisturized feet to model them for my husband while I fixed my hair. We finished getting ready, dressed quickly, and left our house.

We arrived at the city hall 20 minutes later and were directly escorted to the main reception area for the event. We were seated at a table in the second row back from the stage and podium. Because I was a good 6-10 years younger than anyone else in the room, I felt somewhat out of place and too nervous to talk to the other men and women at our table except for introductions. I was relieved when dinner was served.

The first thing I did after placing my napkin in my lap was accidentally knock a big, fat, overly ripe strawberry from my salad plate off the table and onto the floor. I instantly blushed, but fortunately no one at the table noticed. I left it where it fell, pretended not to notice either, and tried to just enjoy dinner.

Dinner finished in a leisurely manner, and soon two men walked to the podium. Everyone finished talking and listened as one man introduced the other, our speaker for the evening. I prepared myself for about an hour of stiff boredom and froze a look of quiet interest on my face as he began crapping on about something to do with the professional organization. It wasn’t long before I felt someone’s eyes on me.

I turned slightly to the right to see who was staring at me and saw a man in his early to mid-thirties who seemed to be staring at the floor near my feet. I thought with embarrassment “Dear Lord, he sees that berry I knocked off and he’s thinking what a mess I am.” Then I slowly realized he was staring at my feet in my black stiletto slides.

Now, I am as loyal and dedicated to my husband as any wife ever was, but sometimes when I see a man or woman staring so longingly at my feet I can’t help but put on a bit of a show. I slowly pulled my feet back under my chair and crossed them, carefully pointing all my toes and arching my feet until they hurt. Then I relaxed them, letting them slide against each other so that it looked like I was rubbing them together and enjoying the way they pressed against each other. I let one foot linger under the chair and pointed the right foot out, pretending to roll and stretch my tired ankle, all the while staring pointedly at the man’s face, waiting for his reaction.

He must have realized that I was doing all this stretching and preening for his benefit, because at that moment he looked up to see if I’d noticed his stares. I stared back, letting him know I knew what he was looking at and why, and then gave him a sweet, if indistinct, smile. Then I turned my head back to the speaker at the podium to continue my foot show and let him watch without embarrassment.

I slowly pulled one foot out of its shoe and traced the band of leather with my toe, then lifted the entire shoe, hanging it off the tip of my big toe. I crossed my legs and squeezed them together to bring my legs closer and closer until they touched all the way to the ankle. Then I began to gently rock the foot dangling my shoe back and forth. The shoe wavered peacefully in the air, and every few seconds I’d slide my crossed-over leg a little to the side and dip the shoe until the heel dragged on the ground. I’d pull it forward as slowly as possible, dragging the heel bit by tiny bit until the slowness of the drag was painful, then lift it again. I glanced back at the man enjoying my display, and he was gazing at my feet with his mouth slightly opened and his head tilted to one side, completely wrapped up in the sexy, smooth movements of my pretty pink peds.

I pulled my feet back under the chair again, and when I started to stretch them out, they accidentally kicked a small object from under my chair into our view. I looked down to see what it was.

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