“The strength of a person’s spirit would then be measured by how much ‘truth’ he could tolerate, or more precisely, to what extent he needs to have it diluted, disguised, sweetened, muted, falsified.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
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Frank passed her the 200 bucks. Since this thing began last year, little by little, she’d been jacking up the price. But she knew she was in control now. She knew that she knew how to control Frank and his desires like nobody else would.
She counted the money and put it away, then took a seat on the couch. She was wearing a short skirt and low cut blouse. The top, loose and shiny like satin but just polyester, gave her perky, bra-less tits the freedom to frolic. Her tits or legs alone were enough to arouse most men, but, for Frank, it was neither the legs nor tits he needed.
Frank sat beside her. He was still in his suit. She kicked off her heels and turned on the couch, placing her legs in Frank’s lap.
“Take off the pantyhose?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
She lifted a leg in front of Frank. She put a dainty foot in his face. It stank. It was putrid.
“How long?” he asked. “A few days, at least?”
“Four,” she said. “And it’s not easy. I go around ripe for half a week. People notice. It’s embarrassing. And it’s a hassle showering with bags on my feet.”
“Thank you,” Frank said.
She lay back as Frank caressed the fetid foot. He smelled it. It aroused him. Then he kissed it, gently – first at the bridge, making his way down to the toes. He French-kissed between the toes, his tongue restricted from the deepest penetration by the leggings. Then he made his way to the ball, the arch and then the heel. It was all very gentle and sensual, at least to Frank.
He looked over at her. She was on her phone, playing a game or texting.
Then Frank began sucking at the filthy toes. He first sucked them one by one. He sucked each one hard to get everything off and out, like, as a kid, he used to suck the last drops out of the plastic of freeze pops. Then he put all the toes in his mouth at once. He sucked at them collectively like a throbbing cock, which, in turn, made his own cock throb.
He kept the toes in his mouth as he fumbled, single-handedly, to jerk a kerchief from his pocket, unbuckle his belt, release the clasp on his pants and open the zipper. It was a real Houdini act. Then his cock flopped out like a plump, purple mushroom.
He spit the toes out for a second.
“Touch it,” he said. “Please.”
Without looking from her phone, she indifferently said, “No. That’s not what I’m paid to do.”
So Frank went back to sucking and began stroking himself until he came in the kerchief. He spit out the toes again, wiped himself and began arranging his pants.
“You finished?” she asked. “Or you want more?”
“More,” Frank said.
“Okay, then,” she said.
She put the phone on the lamp table. She straightened her blouse and hair.
“You know you’re a pig, right?”
“Yeah,” Frank said.
“You’re a freak that pays women to suck on their dirty feet.”
“Yes,” Frank said. “Tell me more. Give me the whole thing.”
“You’re a self-centered, selfish, narcissistic prick who hides behind the excuse of introversion.”
“Yes,” Frank said.
“You blow off family and friends because they’re inconvenient.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“And you know how fucked up this is. You know you’d be way better off being normal. Being a nice husband and good father instead of a degenerate toe sucker.”
“I know I would,” Frank said, gleefully.
“And you know this is all a scam. I don’t care about you. I just need the money.”
“Of course,” Frank said.
“You want more?” she asked. “This isn’t too much?”
“No. I got time left,” Frank said, looking at the clock.
“You’re a freak. You’re a degenerate. There’s all sorts of ways you’re utterly fucked up, Frank.”
“I know,” he said.
“But you don’t do anything about it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. And you know it.”
“That’s true,” Frank confessed. “But I won’t.”
“You can swallow that you’re a degenerate? A freak? A weirdo? A low-life?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I revel in it.”
“Revel in what?”
“Revel in the truth of what I am,” Frank said.
“But stomaching truth doesn’t make you a hero, Frank. Heroism makes you a hero.”
She could tell that may have gone too far, so she quickly diverted the humiliation back to something more comfortable.
“And you know I’m exploiting you by jacking up my rate?”
“Yeah. I know that too.”
“And you know that nobody cares about you. And there is no God or afterlife or meaning or purpose. There’s just what’s in front of you, whether it matches reality or not. You know all that, right?”
Suddenly, Frank began to weep. It was genuine but still part of the same old playbook.
“This again?” she asked. “Did I go too far?”
Frank shook his head no.
“But why won’t you touch it when I ask you to?” Frank sobbed.
“Because you’re a disgusting human being,” she said. “And this is a job. I don’t get paid for that. You want that, you find somebody else. But you’ll never find anybody else who knows what’s going on like I do.”
Frank knew all of that to be true as well.
“But it’s humiliating,” he said. “Me having to finish myself off like that. I mean, two hundred’s a lot. I sacrifice a lot. It’s not just the 200, it’s what I gotta do everyday to keep up appearances to get the steady 200. All of the same old shit, day after day.”
“It’s humiliating?” she asked. “Humiliating that I won’t finish you off after all your daily sacrifices and all you admit to? All you so nakedly confess and admit to?”
“Of course,” Frank replied. “There ought to be some give and take.”
“At least you’re not hiding from the fact that all of this is degrading. At least you’re not suppressing it with booze or dope or the bible or poker or going out and strangling women. At least it’s limited to sucking toes.”
Frank wiped away some tears.
“Awareness and acceptance of your humiliation – among other things – is what I’m supplying, Frank. Unadulterated and unapologetic truth. Truth with no sugar coating. Self-awareness. And all that doesn’t come cheap or without limits.”
“Thank you,” Frank said.
She looked up at the clock. There was a good 15 minutes left.
“So, if it’s not asking too much, I gotta pick up my kid. We good or you want me to stick around? I can hold you, at least. You got some time left.”
“You never told me her name,” Frank said.
“No,” she said. “I can’t.”
“I’m a lot of horrible things,” Frank said. “But I’m not that. Just checking to see if there’s any truth to what we’re doing here.”
“Truth is – it’s just business, not personal,” she said. “That’s our truth.”
Without remorse, Frank said, “Alright. Then you’re free to go. I got everything I need.”
“Okay,” she said.
She slipped her heels back on and picked up the phone. She stood and made her way toward the door.
“Two weeks, then?”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “I’ll send you a text a few days ahead of time to let you know exactly when.”
“It’ll be an extra 50 if we settle on a day and you gotta bump it back. 50 bucks a day. I gotta carry this around, remember?”
“Got it,” Frank said. “That’s more than fair.”
mrobins71 