index


Message-ID: <52678asstr$1135404602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Pathetic Loser" <usethisloser@yahoo.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 20:24:38 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com; posting-host=70.108.100.233;
   posting-account=3DknkA0AAAC9f06Z9HYwZHvTYSmA8AWj
Subject: {ASSM} My Name is Mat - Part 1 - A foot fetish gets out of control. Thank goodness Mat has found the Clinic. These women will surely cure him. (FF/m, feet, humiliation, MC, NC, reluctant, real)
Lines: 148
Date: Sat, 24 Dec 2005 01:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

My name is Mat

Hi, my name is Mat.  I have a foot fetish, and to be quite honest, it
has controlled my life ever since I hit puberty.  Right now, even as I
am sitting here with my girlfriend at dinner, I am not looking at her
perfect 34C chest, which is barely concealed behind a pink, thin, silk
spaghetti-strap top.  No, I am stealing glances at her Manolo Blahniks,
the way they hug her arch, and the way the heels look like daggers.
It's the last bit of pleasure I allow myself, as I am certain that
this is all going to end horribly, the way they usually do.  I
interrupt our pleasant evening and tell her what's on my mind...

"You what?  Are you joking?" she looked at me, eyeing me
suspiciously, not believing a word I had just said.  We were in a
Mexican restaurant, just north of alphabet city.  It was packed, and
while it is a restaurant, everyone goes for the margaritas.  It's a
popular spot for those that know about it, but a hole in the wall for
sure.  We had just finished dinner, on our 3rd round of drinks, when I
finally blurted out what I had been meaning to tell her all along. What
I want to tell all of the women I wind up dating, right from the
beginning, to be upfront, but it never works out like that.  Being a
submissive man with a fetish for being walked on or stepped on (among
other things), its hard to "come out" to someone you are dating.
But what other choice do you have when, during sex, things don't
always work out... unless I am concentrating hard, fantasizing about
being tied down and then used as a rug by gorgeous women who laugh at
what a loser I am while they wipe the soles of their $800.00 shoes on
my tongue and stick their heels down my throat.  I had to tell her,
maybe she would understand, heck maybe she might even like it and want
to try it, you never know.  But women are always more complicated...

"You are not attracted to me, that's it, isn't it!?" she
accused.

"No wait, that's not it, not at all, you aren't-"

"You know, I could tell the last few times we were together, and I
was going to suggest Viagra, thinking maybe age had caught up to you,
but its me.  And you don't even have the balls to tell me, that's
the worst part."  Sheer unbelief was on her face.  She was gorgeous,
but endless weeks of vanilla sex had driven me insane, I couldn't
fantasize about it anymore, not when she was under me, I needed it and
I had to tell her or I would go insane.  Apparently, the insanity has
spread, because she was livid.

"No, wait, baby, you don't understand, I am not into normal sex, I
need something more extreme, I told you, I have a foot fetish, it
controls me."  I pleaded with her.

She was really pissed, she grabbed her purse from the ground and before
I could say anything more, she stood up, tossed her drink on me with
sensational aplomb, wheeled around on those dagger heels and marched
towards the door.  Now everyone was looking at me.  What could I do but
wipe the drink off of my face and finish my own in silence.

Fuck.  This is it, this is the last time I let this fetish ruin my
life.  I am going to find a way to get over this, it is not going to
control me anymore.  I can not take another wrecked relationship, there
has to be a way to get control of my life.

A Few Weeks Later...

"Sexual Dysfunction?  Losing Erections?  We Can Help!
Call The Clinic - Get Control of Your Life Back!"

There it was in black and white on the back pages of the Village Voice.
 "Yea, but I am sure they don't deal with guys like me," I
reasoned.  "I am sure they deal with medical malfunctions and
problems, not fetishes that have blown out of control.  But what the
hell?"

I was sitting on a bench in the park taking a longer than allowed lunch
break but it was such a nice day outside, how could I be expected to
work?  I casually dialed the number and waited.

"Hello, the clinic, how can we help you today?" a French accented
voice purred into my ear.  My god, I was already aroused.  I was
imagining being under her desk, licking the bottoms of her feet while
she answered calls for the Clinic all day and paid no attention to me,
unless I was slacking off on the job.

I broke out of my trance "Um, yes, I saw your advertisement in the
Voice and had a few questions,"

"Yes of course, I can answer anything you wish, and if it requires a
free consultation, we can also arrange an appointment."  She
professionally lured me along, sensing my apprehension and slight
embarrassment in the tone of my voice.  She was reassuring.  And I
would bet she was wearing short, calf-high boots.

"Well, I have a problem.  Its not that I do not get aroused, it
actually happens quite easily.  I just can't seem to keep an erection
during sex with my girlfriends.  I, I, well, I have a foot-fetish and
while that may not seem like a big problem, it is for me.  It controls
me completely, and it's all I can think about to get aroused, I
just-"

She cut in, not abrasively, but to help me fill in the blanks "Ah
yes, this fetish, it is ruining your life, no?  I bet you conjure up
fantasies to keep yourself aroused, yes?  Well, believe it or not, most
men have fetishes, but usually not so strong as to be dysfunctional.
Would you like to set up an appointment?  We can evaluate you and help
you get control of your life back..."

"Well, I don't know," I was a little nervous about telling some
quack that I get off on women's feet, but maybe it wouldn't be so
bad.

"I promise you, the doctor is in a field of her own, she is first
class all the way." She said that on purpose, she had to be reading
my mind.  "She" - the doctor would be a woman, oh my.  That could
be embarrassing, I will likely be aroused, but it's 100 times better
than spilling my deepest fantasies to some blue coated stiff Dr.
Johnson.

"Ok, when can I stop by?"  I relented.

"How about this evening at 6:00?"  her lilting French accent
soothed any apprehension or embarrassment I had.

"OK, I can make it, how much is the consultation?" I wondered
aloud.

"Oh it's free, don't worry, we are here to help you, not rip you
off.  Just be here at 6:00 sharp and I will check you in.  See you
soon..." she trailed off purposefully.

"Mat, my name is Mat, and thank you for helping me out," I was full
of hope.  She welcomed my gratitude and hung up.  I couldn't think
about work the rest of the day.  While it would be somewhat exciting to
meet these women who cure male dysfunctions, I was relieved at finally
being rid of this... this... monster!  It was all I could do not to
leap out of my seat and shake everyone's hand in the office.  It
would finally be over.  Finally!  I wouldn't be obsessed with cruel
women and their equally cruel heels.  I wouldn't find myself
constantly jerking off to all the different women in my office,
dreaming about them walking all over me, in my suit, stomping on me
with their perfect feet.  Oh god, it would finally be over.  But did I
really want this?  It had become so apart of me... I began to reflect,
almost the same way one does when one has moved or changed a job,
mulling over in my head if this was the right decision - if this was
the best decision.  Was it really that bad?  Should I be concerned that
maybe I wont like being "normal"?  As these issues swirled around
in my brain, I kept thinking about the French woman's voice, the way
it soothed me and led me along.  Oh if she was only as beautiful as she
sounded, I would be putty in her hands.  I would have to remember I was
there to get help, not to fulfill my own sick fantasies.  And before I
knew it, it was 5:00 and I had a train to catch to the Clinic.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+