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Thread: Armomatherapy part 1 (repost)

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    Armomatherapy part 1 (repost)

    repost from the Ancient Amber Archives

    by Amber K.

    "So would you like to begin, Mr. Simmons?"

    Up to this point, Brad Simmons was studying the office in which he sat, poignantly avoiding eye contact with the woman sitting behind the desk. Upon hearing his name he quickly looked up.

    "I really don't know how to do this kind of thing ... this was my wife's idea."

    "Well, maybe we could discuss why you are here for starters and then we'll move on from there."

    Simmons again showed signs of visible discomfort and once again restlessly cast his eyes about the room.

    "Well ... I ....," Brad stammered, cleared his throat noisily, then tried to work the saliva back into his mouth. A few moments of uncomfortable silence followed finally punctuated by another loud throat clearing from Brad.

    "Your wife informed my assistant that you have developed a sexual aberration that is disrupting your love life." Usually Mrs. Evans preferred her patients to instigate the therapy session with a verbal declaration of the issue at hand, but she was beginning to feel it was necessity to get the preverbal ball rolling with a direct approach. "So why don't we discuss the initial onset of the problem."

    "I don't know if I can do this, Doc," Brad said as he cast a wary, sidelong glance.

    "I'm not a doctor Mr. Simmons, I'm a certified sex and wellness therapist ... Claire would do just fine, or Mrs. Evans if it would make you more comfortable."

    "Ok … Claire," Brad said the name slowly as if trying it out for size. This would be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn’t a woman, Brad thought. Maybe if she was fat and ugly it might work. But she’s just pretty enough to make me uncomfortable.

    "You say it is on your wife's insistence that you are here seeking therapy?" Claire ventured.


    "Do you feel you need therapy?"

    "Ya, I guess so ... hell, I don't know."

    "This condition, is it something that has developed over the years?"

    "Kind of I guess ... though I really didn't know it was there until a year ago."

    "Was there something significant about this last year?"

    Brad let out a resigned sigh and began to relate his tale, seeming to gain a bit of confidence as he went. "My wife's a teacher at the Sunny Bay Middle School. She started working there as a teacher's aid when she was 21 or so ... so I guess its been about five years now. Anyway, it was Halloween of last year and she told me they were having an in-school trick or treating deal that was supposed to be safe for the kids. It was kind of like a carnival though not as grand as that."

    Claire made a few notes on her yellow legal pad.

    "Well, I really didn't want to go, but we'd been having a few issues about my not attending her school functions so I said 'Sure, what the heck ... I'll go with you'. It seemed to make her happy. So on Halloween I went with her to the school and it was pretty much as I expected; bunches of preteen kids running amok screaming their heads off.

    “Around eight O'clock or so they announced that the haunted house was open and that everyone should get in a line. I was getting ready to duck out for a smoke when Jen, that's my wife, Jen grabs my arm and says that I had to go through it with her and the rest of the kids. I guess she could tell I was going to put up a fuss so she said that she and the other teachers had put in a lot of work and it would be nice of me to show my support ... blah blah blah. Anyway, I got in line with everyone else.

    “The haunted house was in their gymnasium and was basically put together with cardboard, sheets, plywood and stuff like that. It was pretty rickety and I was surprised they thought the thing was safe. So, anyway, halfway through, you get to this point where you have to get down on your hands and knees and crawl through this long plastic pipe. There were tiny holes cut in the side of the tube for a strobe light to flash through. It was fine for the kids, but I just barely fit. I crawled in behind one of my wife's students, I think her name is Karen or Kerry or something. My wife came in behind. We get about what I think is halfway through the thing and I hear a loud crash and everyone in the tube starts screams like crazy. The next thing I know the sound effects shut off and I could see the overhead gym lights come on through the tiny holes in the tube.

    The principle starts telling everyone to be calm. He says some kids knocked down the back part of the structure and it was going to take a bit to dig the pipe out from underneath all of the 2x4’s and boards and stuff. Basically, me and my wife and about five kids were stuck in the crappy tube, strung out like sausage links. Then …. after a minute or so my wife started getting a little fruity ..."


    "Ah ... ya ... I guess I should have told you about that first. My wife is, I don't know what its
    called ... she likes to do ... ah, stuff in public..."

    "She likes to have sexual encounters in public places? '

    "Ya, basically."

    "So you're saying she's an exhibitionist."

    "Ya that's it, an exhibitionist ..."

    "I see, please continue ... you were trapped in the pipe and your wife started to instigate a sexual encounter ..."

    "Ya, we're stuck in there and she reaches up under my robe, see I was wearing a grim reaper get-up, all I had on was shorts cause the robe was hot as hell. She pushes my shorts aside and grabs my cock. I was totally not into it, but I was afraid to say anything. If the kids overheard she'd get fired for sure. I knew they couldn't see since none of use could turn around, but it was still dangerous as all hell."

    "You said there was a student in front of you in the tube?"

    "Ya," Brad seemed to grow more uncomfortable.

    "A female student named ..." Claire referred to her notes, "Karen or Kerry?"

    "Or something like that, a "K" name," Brad shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

    Ok, Claire thought, now we are coming to the issue, its something to do with the girl. Did he have pedophiliac thoughts maybe?

    "How old was she Mr. Simmons?"

    "I don't know ... 12 or 13 or something ..." Brad glances up guiltily and tries to continue with his narrative. "Anyway, my wife pulls out my cock and starts to squeeze it. She kind of crawls up closer and squeezes herself between the top of the tube and my back … ya know, kinda leans on my back which made it so I couldn't move at all. Not even an inch. So even though I wasn't into this, I starting getting hard anyway, ya know?"

    "That's common, Mr. Simmons."

    "Ya, well she starts, ya know, giving me a hand-job. She spits in her hand and really starts going off. It starts making this noise like, well, like a hand job, and I'm sure the girl in front of us is gonna hear it. I ... err... make a good bit of noise during sex ... I always have and I can't really help it So I start kinda groaning. I'm doing it before I even realize I'm making any noise. So instead of stopping, my wife slaps her hand over my mouth to keep me quiet and speeds up the hand job. In order to reach, she leans even more on my back which pushes my head almost to the floor of this tube."

    "How close are you to the student?"


    "How close are you to the student?" Brad is totally caught up in the memory, his reservations are temporarily forgotten ... "Pretty close, her ass was right in my face at first. She was wearing an angel or fairy costume so I could see her panties and everything. But when my wife pushed me forward ... well, that’s when it got crazy."

    "What got crazy, Mr. Simmons?"

    "Well, I .... I got a really strong whiff of her feet."

    And hear we are, ladies and gentleman, Claire thought ... the crux has arrived. "Please continue."

    "Well I guess the girl took off her shoes when she crawled into the tube cause they were bare. The soles of her feet were only an inch or so from my nose, and with my mouth covered I had no choice but to smell them."

    "What did they smell like?"

    "They smelled really strong ... I mean, I guess you'd say they smelled pretty freakin' horrible, but that's the thing, as I was smelling this little girl’s rancid feet I started getting even more turned on, ya know? I got rock hard and my whole body started shaking. I guess my wife thought it was what she was doing cause she did this sultry little laugh and sped up her hand. In seconds I was sucking in as much of her foot smell as I could, really digging it. I know it sounds sick but I couldn't stop myself. I kept thinking about how long it had been since she had washed her feet … what her dirty socks on the floor of her bedroom would smell like … how bad her feet would stink after her gym class … stuff like that. Then before I knew it, I was cumming like crazy ... all over the damn place. I was groaning and moaning to beat the devil and sniffing that girl’s feet for all I was worth. My cum sprayed all over my inner thighs, knees and everywhere."

    Brad sat in silence for a moment, regaining his composure. Obviously reliving this experience had effected him significantly. Claire noted that his face was flushed and that he was sweating. She added the observation to her notes and waited patiently for him to continue. When it appeared that he was at a stand still, Claire prodded him to get him going again. "Did you relate the specifics of the event to your wife?"

    "Hell no!" Brad yelped in surprise. "She'd divorce me for sure! Jesusgod no ... I never said a word. It was hard to keep quiet though, with all her primping about how good her hand job was and about how excited I got. I guess she came to ... at least that's what she told me on the way home that night. Do you have any water?"

    Claire poured Brad a glass of water from the decanter on her desk and waited for him to compose himself.

    "So the thing is Doc ... ah, I mean Claire, sorry ... in the next few days I started remembering all sorts of crazy stuff from when I was a kid: like I had this babysitter who used to make me smell her feet. I can't remember why, but I do remember that I hated it at first, but after a while I couldn't wait for her to come over ... even though I remember pretending like I still hated it so she would keep doing it, ya know? And then there’s was a time I smelled my mom’s feet when she was taking a nap and she woke up and caught me. I think she spanked me but I’m not sure. And then there’s a bunch of other stuff that’s just fragments and images. I don’t know why or how I forgot all of it,” Brad drained the last of the water from his glass.

    Claire tapped her pen against her teeth and noted that Brad’s breathing had regulated and that he seemed less excitable. She had to admit that his case was very intriguing and that she had yet to deal with one of this specific nature. She’d read, at the most, a few paragraphs about foot fetishists during her studies but nothing that dissected the issue enough to be of help.

    “So if you didn’t communicate any of this to your wife,” Claire inquired, “why is that she asked you to come see me?”

    “The thing is, after I started remembering all of that stuff, I became kind of obsessive about it all. I masturbated a bunch of times a day trying to bring up as many vivid memories of that babysitter as well as that night on Halloween smelling that girl’s feet. Of course I started doing stuff like smelling my wife's gym socks and her stockings and stuff. I was sneaking around like that for about two months before she finally caught me with my nose buried in the toe end of her socks from Jazzercise. She totally flipped! She said I was a freak ... which I thought was pretty lame since she's the one who likes “doing it” in public. But she said that she was normal and a lot of people were like that, but that I was a weirdo.”

    “Do you think you are a weirdo, Mr. Simmons?”

    “I don’t know … you tell me.”

    “So was it the event of your sock sniffing that caused the rift in your sex life?”

    “No. After she knew I was sniffing her socks, I couldn’t find a worn pair to save my life. As soon as she came home, her socks or stockings would go right in the washing machine … and she started putting odor eaters in her shoes and powdering her feet. I was going nuts! I tried smelling my own feet,” Brad added with a touch of humiliation, “but it just didn’t do it, ya know?”

    “Did you try to discuss this with her?”

    “I tried but she wouldn’t talk to me about it. She said that it gave her the creeps to know I was sneaking around smelling her stinky socks. Then this last week we went backpacking with some friends. We were on a five day hike and I knew even with her odor eaters her feet were really stinking. I instigated sex with her the last night before we came home and when we were in the middle of it, I tried to take a sniff of her feet. I took one whiff and her feet smelled so incredibly strong I started cumming right then. I mean her feet smelled out of this world. Really foul and rank. They were literally slimy with sweat and foot-funk. Unfortunately she saw me take the sniff. Her eyes got really wide and her mouth popped open in a look of shock or surprise, ya know. Then my cock exploded all over her face. I couldn’t stop myself, those feet stunk so bad I had to take another few sniffs while I was cumming. I pumped my cock and kept smelling her feet like a madman. I totally drenched her face and I could hear her choking on the cum that was going into her mouth, but I didn’t care … I had to keep smelling those feet! I was out of control.

    “When I was finally done cumming she totally freaked out on me. She said that the second we got home she wanted me to get some help. She said if I didn’t we weren’t having sex again, so here I am.”

    After thinking for a few moments Claire looked Brad in the eye, “Since I have only your side of the story to work with I feel uneasy making too many harsh judgments on you wife or drawing any conclusions at all for that matter. Based solely on your point of view, I would have to say that she is not very understanding and that she is acting in an horrendously selfish manner. I think it would be helpful, if not a necessity, to have her attend the next session.”

    “I don’t think she’ll come … she said I had the problem and not her.”

    “Well, I’ll give her a call personally Mr. Simmons you can rest assured.”

    “Well, what do I do in the mean time, I’m going nuts! I almost considered picking up a hooker!”

    “I don’t think that would solve your problems.”

    “Well what then?”

    “I’m not in a position as of yet to dictate a course of action for you. I think we need to take this one step at a time. I would though like to try an experiment with you permission.”

    “Sure I guess … what do you want me to do?”

    “I received my certificates from a treatment center called Littlerock … have you heard of it? No? Well, some of their methods are rather extreme and at times considered unorthodox by the uninitiated, but I find them effective nonetheless. Basically I would like to follow a series of procedures specifically intended for those with a fetish or intense sexual obsession. The process assists the therapist to diagnose the extent of the subject’s obsession. The first part is a basic verbal stimulus. After that we may move on to more advanced enactments. Are you ready to begin?”

    “Sure … I guess.”

    Claire stood and moved one of the unoccupied office chairs closer to her side of the desk. “I want you to sit here, but first I need you to remove your pants and undergarments.”


    “I assure you it is necessary. If you do not feel comfortable with it just say so.”

    Brad looked at Claire for a few minutes. Back to this … if she were fat and ugly this would be no big deal … well maybe it would. “Ok, I’ll give this a shot.” Brad reluctantly pulled off his jeans and underwear and made a halfhearted attempt at covering his genitals.

    “Please have a seat,” Claire said as she indicated the chair. As Brad sat down he realized the chair was a lot closer to the therapist than he had at first surmised; their knees were almost touching. He felt very exposed and vulnerable. To make matters worse, Mrs. Evans clicked on her desk lamp and focused the light directed upon his cock and balls.

    “I’d like you to please remove your hands from your penis,” Claire said in a matter of fact tone.

    Reluctantly Brad moved his hands away and set them on the arm rests. He could feel the heat from the lamp warming his genitalia.

    “I want you to take deep breaths and relax yourself as much as you can. Close your eyes if you feel it will help. I want you to keep your arms on the rests of the chair and not to move them, ok?”


    “Now, lets begin. Everything I am about to say is true, rest assured I am not inventing facts for your benefit, understood? Now I want you to open your eyes. Now follow the tip of my pen.”

    At first Brad thought she meant to hypnotize him, but instead of rocking the pen back and forth, she started at her chest level and moved the pen down her pant leg and finally ended pointing at her shoe. She was wearing a pair of chunky soled mules, and he could see her feet were bare within. When his eyes landed on her exposed heel, he felt his face flush. He didn’t even realize the pen was gone until he heard her scratching something onto her note pad. His eyes drifted back to her face.

    “Please continue to look where your eyes were directed. I have a series of questions for you and I would like you to answer truthfully. Would you like to smell my feet?”

    Brad gasped, his face going a beet red. Again he heard the scratching of the pen.

    “Do you want to smell my feet, Mr. Simmons?”

    All that came out was a dry croak that sound like “aggyaaaa”.

    “ Please speak up Mr. Simmons.”

    “I’m sorry … I said 'yes'.”

    “I see,” more scratching. She began to dangle one of the mules exposing more of her heel. He guessed her feet to be at least a size 10, maybe bigger. They didn’t seem bony like most big feet he had seen on women. These looked more full … at least from what he could see.

    “Would you like to watch your wife smell my feet?”

    This kind of thought had strangely never occurred to Brad, but the image was like a thunder bolt in his brain. He pictured his wife’s face wrinkled in disgust as she sniffed at those big feet. “Oh god,” he whispered. Apparently that was a good enough answer for the therapist because she scratched another entry into her notes.

    In a conversational tone Claire began to relate a few important details: “This is all rather ironic, but I assure you it is the truth … A little over a week ago the belt on my washing machine snapped. I’ve been too busy to make it to the Laundromat and I’ve been forced to recycle my stockings, being as I only have two good pairs. Today, the smell was seeping out of my shoes and became too embarrassing to wear. I took them off and stuck them in my purse, but during my last session you could still smell them in the room. I finally was given no choice but to put them in a sandwich bag to mute the smell. They are now in the bottom drawer of my desk. Do you want to smell them?”

    Brad could only groan at this point … more scratching from the pen.

    “Do you want your wife to smell them? Would you like to see your wife “forced” to smell them?”

    Again Brad uttered an inarticulate monosyllable. Claire’s eyes traced the outline of what was now an enormous erection standing like a flagpole between his thighs. Thus far no physical contact had been made, nor had he access to the aroma of unwashed feet. He was given a glimpse of a heel and the suggestion of foot odor, combined with a few strategically placed mental images. Claire felt she was efficiently narrowing in and finding his angles. She felt it was time to step up the process. Both mules slipped from her feet and thumped to the carpet.

    “Look at my feet, Mr. Simmons.” There was no need to instruct him, but the verbal command was important nonetheless.

    Brad stared transfixed at her glorious feet now revealed. She had both feet side by side with her ankle bones touching and her soles flat on the floor. They had to be a size 11 for sure … and as he had imagined they were not bony in the slightest. Her toes were plump yet long and her skin was a creamy white. Her toenails were painted a dark maroon and the overall vision was one of high eroticism. Brad was speechless.

    “Do you see my feet Mr. Simmons? Do you want to smell my feet?”

    Unconsciously, Brad’s hand began to move towards his swollen cock.

    “Mind your hand, Mr. Simmons. Please leave it on the arm rest, thank you.” Brad was snapped from his revelry and replaced his hand sheepishly. He then heard the sound of her desk drawer open. Her hand returned holding a zip-lock sandwich bag. Within, Brad could see a crumpled pair of tan nylons. She placed the baggie on his knee. His eyes were instantly glued to the holiest of holies trapped within the bag.

    Claire watched as his body began to quiver. His erection now appeared almost painful, the head was a deep purple and glistening as it leaked a steady stream of precum. It throbbed and bounced with his pulse rate. His fingers and hands twitched on the arm rests. She half expected to see him begin to drool. This poor man was worked up beyond anything she had previously viewed.

    “Would you like to smell my stockings? Do you think they will smell strong? Can you describe what you think they will smell like?” Claire asked these question knowing full well he was beyond the point of speech. For some reason she felt the need to see how far she could push him. Claire began to wonder if she was she actually enjoying this in more than a clinical nature. With that thought she realized she may be acting irresponsibly, but she quickly pushed aside her doubts and continued with the process.

    “Now Mr. Simmons …. Mr. Simmons …. Mr. Simmons!” Finally Brad tore his eyes away from the stockings. “I would like you to begin breathing only through your mouth.” Claire moved back and placed both feet on the desk, directly in front of Brad’s face. “Look at the soles of my feet.”

    Brad began to pant loudly. Breathing through his mouth was a lancing hell, but he knew the therapist must know what’s best and that this was for his own good. His eyes traced every millimeter of her feet. To Brad her feet were beyond perfection … they were damn near supernatural. Her arches were high and elegant, her pads were broad and meaty toped by her perfect toes. Her heels were rounded, not flat, with a trace of calluses at their base. He also noted a slight callous on the instep of her big toe. She neither flexed her feet nor spread her toes, they remained motionless for his inspection.

    “I want you to stand,” Brad did as he was instructed though on shaky legs. “Now I would like you to bend forward until the tip of your nose is touching the area of my foot directly beneath my toes. Continue to breathe thorough your mouth and nothing more.” Brad slowly bent forward until his nose rested upon the hot flesh of her pad. Immediately his eyes began to sting and water slightly. Now a line of drool did threaten to drip out as he was bent forward panting like a dog.

    “Now I am going to count to five,” Claire announced, “are you ready Mr. Simmons? Mr. Simmons?”

    “One ….

    Two ….


    Four …




    Brad pulled the hot, stinging fumes of her huge, rank foot into his nostrils. The stink was like an explosion to his senses. He’d never smelled anything like it before. The smell of her foot matched its size … it was rank beyond comparison. He began to hyperventilate through his nose… sniffing, sniffing, sniffing! His cock jumped with each stinky sniff he took. His mind was in shock trying to assimilate such an intense reek. His entire body tingled. Brad opened his eyes to see her huge toes, blurry at such close range. His eyes focused until he could see clearly, the toejam nestled between her toes. Again his eyes shifted focus to see Mrs. Evan’s face, framed through her toes. She was watching him intently as she gnawed on the tip of her pen. He took another shuddering sniff … this one longer than his short huffs. The sniff slowly continued, pulling in as much of her gloriously wretched foot-stink as he could manage in a single smell. Time seemed to slow as he filled his lungs with that one long sniff. The heady stink of her feet filled his entire being like a hellfire conflagration.

    When the sniff finally ended and his lungs were filled to capacity with her foot odor, he began to exhale, but the exhale came out in a near scream as he stood up, stiff as a board. His poor tortured penis could take no more, exploding cum in a bursting flood of pearly white jizzum. His hand reached to staunch the flow, but the orgasm was too intense to be abated.

    Claire Evans screamed in surprise as her face was drenched with Mr. Simmons’s sudden deluge. Ropes of hot semen continued to jet from his swollen member, spattering her face and neck, some spurts actually finding their way into her open mouth, and filling it with the tang of his seed. Instinctively she swallowed repeatedly to avoid choking on the salty fluid. Some of the goo dribbled from the corners of her lips, pooling in her cleavage. Claire was frozen in shock … her expression was one of utter disbelief as this man continued to send gouts of cum in strong arcs towards her face. Her eyes were glued to the head of his swollen cock marveling that the flow seemed to have no end. She’d never, in all her days, seen a man cum so much. She could now understand Mrs. Simmons’s shock at witnessing her husband’s orgasmic explosion following the smelling of her feet. Again Claire unconsciously swallowed another mouthful of the cum and noted the final spurt as his orgasm ended.

    Brad collapsed in the chair shaking from head to toe. Claire, still in shock, stared at him for a number of minutes while his cum dripped from her chin. She reached a hand to her chest and felt the unbelievable amount of sperm oozing down her cleavage, soaking her blouse. She pulled a handful of tissue from her desk and tried to mop up the mess. As she returned to her senses, Claire realized her nipples were hard as bullets and her pussy was soaking through her panties. This would not do. She had to maintain a level of professionalism at all cost. After a few deep breaths Claire regained a semblance of composure. When she again looked upon Mr. Simmons she realized he was weeping. She quickly closed the space between them and massaged his shoulders until his sobs subsided. “I’m so sorry … I couldn’t stop it,” Brad moaned.

    “Sush now, Mr. Simmons … I pushed you to the point of climax, it was not your doing.”

    “But you screamed!”

    “I was merely surprised at the force and suddenness of your orgasm. I had planned to allow time for you to masturbate, to avoid tenderness and swelling in your testicles, once the process was finished and I had collected all the data I needed. Of course I expected to give you a bit of privacy by leaving the room. I just didn’t expect it to happen in such the way it did. There’s no need for you to apologize. I should have expected it though. You’ve been worked into a state of extreme desire and yearning by the abstinence of your wife. I was attempting to discover your ability to withstand temptation as well as gage the depth of you desire. I think we have established both and have made considerable progress for a single session, though I do apologize for upsetting you.”

    Claire returned to her desk as Brad pulled on his pants. There was no need for him to clean himself, not a drop of semen had fallen on him.

    “I will be calling your wife this week to set up an appointment in which you both should be present. I feel that some serious steps must be taken to save the marriage and allow for you both to enjoy a healthy sexual relationship.”

    “How can I stand it though! I don’t feel any different! The smell from your foot is still on my face … and each time I sniff my whole body shivers! Right now I swear all I want to do is smell your feet for the rest of my life! Why won’t my wife let me …”

    Claire cut Brad off mid-sentence … “I want you to take this home with you,” the therapist tossed the zip-lock bag to Brad, “if you are feeling depressed or in need, please use them freely until our next session.”

    Brad gazed at the stockings in the bag with blatant greed. Looking up, “Can I ask you a question? Was all that stuff about your washing machine true … or did my wife tell you about everything before I got here.”

    “As I said, Mr. Simmons, everything I told you was true. Ironic, as I initially stated, but nonetheless true. I assure you, Mr. Simmons my feet do not smell this strong naturally. It was a happy coincidence is all , but it did turn out to be quite useful for you case.” Brad merely nodded. “I hope to see you next week, Mr. Simmons … you and your wife. Good day.”

    Once Brad reached the parking lot, and climbed into his van, he immediately scrambled into the back seat. After making a cursory inspection of the parking lot through the tinted windows, he tore open the bag and thrust his face inside. The sheer material of the nylons closed about his nose as he deeply sniffed. The rank effluvium of sweaty foot funk assaulted his senses. It was like an amalgamation of corn chips, old leather, vinegar, soy sauce and a plethora of other like smells multiplied one thousand times. It was a pure unadulterated explosion of stinky feet. The rankness of Mrs. Evan’s aromatic foot-stink was perfectly embodied in those crusty nylons. It was unmistakably the same smell of her foot he had sniffed during the session, but it had intensified in the hot, steamy confines of the zip-lock bag. He sniffed again, greedily moaning aloud. In seconds his cock was again hard, this time in hand as he masturbated furiously to another climax.

    From the window of her office, Claire Evans watched Simmons’ van sit motionless in the lot for at least ten minutes before finally pulling out onto the street. A grin marred her otherwise clinical appearance. Of course the cum stains on her blouse helped to dispense her air of professionalism as well. She had a pretty good idea of what had delayed him and she was glad. The thought that she was glad slightly disturbed her. She should not receive a feeling of joy from a man smelling her befouled nylons, but for some reason it empowered her. She would have to be careful with this case. It had the sense of danger. If nothing else, her blatant disregard for typical therapeutic protocol during the later parts of the session was a good indicator of her need to reign in a bit.

    Seating herself on the office couch she pondered the case again. She then decided on one more coarse of action before locking up for the night. Opening the closet in the front lobby she pulled out a pair of running shoes belonging to her assistant, Betty. Betty kept these shoes at work for her Tuesday and Thursday jogs. On several occasions Claire had playfully complained about their smell in the office. She knew the scent they held.

    After returning to her office she once again sat on the couch and pulled off her slacks and panties. The leather of the couch was cold on her ass but soon warmed from her body heat. Claire felt it was necessary to fully understand the relation and experience of the foot smell coupled with sexual climax. This was something she was most assuredly inexperienced in. She laid back and began to masturbate. After a few moments she lifted Betty’s running shoe to her nose and sniffed deeply. The foul wave of stench emanating from the shoe filled her with loathing. Her nose wrinkled in disgust yet she forced herself to sniff again, savoring the horrid scent of her assistant’s nasty little shoe. She sped her fingers up, pushing harder on her clit, and sniffed again. This time she almost gagged. “Jesus your feet stink, Betty,” she surprised herself by musing out loud. Again she forced herself to take another sniff of the rank shoe. Her nostrils began to quiver as she continued her smelling inspection.

    Dropping the shoe to the floor, Claire pulled her own foot to her nose. She paused a moment, stealing her reserve. She eyed her foot, now only inches from her face. She began to rub her clit even faster. “Ok,” she said out loud, “here we go.” As soon as her own foot-stink entered her nostrils her face pulled down in an almost comic expression of disgust. “Holy shit!” she moaned, “he was smelling this!” The will it took to sniff her foot again was even more difficult than smelling the shoe, but Claire sniffed again. The reek from her foot seemed thick and tangible. She had no idea her feet smelled so intensely. Despite the horrific odor of her raunchy foot, Claire’s orgasm was steadily approaching. She began to mimic Mr. Simmons’s quick repetitive sniffs, completely filling her senses with the stench of her own monstrously stinky foot. She continued to assault her pussy, finally forcing an orgasm of tremendous proportions. As the orgasm hit, she thrust two fingers, knuckle deep into her anus and pumped, smelling all the while.

    When Claire finished cumming she sat a while starring at her feet. She’d never considered the power they had, nor the possibility for them to smell to such an extent. After this experience she felt she had a pretty good idea of how intense it could be for someone like Mr. Simmons. If the intensity of her feet was unleashed upon someone who yearned for the smell, it would be tantamount to a sexual weapon. If her feet smelled this strong now, what would happen if she purposely pursued an even stronger scent? And then how would someone like Mr. Simmons react? Food for thought.

    As she locked up the office she found herself looking forward to the call to Mrs. Simmons and to the next session. Yes, she would have to be careful with this one … very careful.


  2. #2
    Fledgling Footsniffer yesmaam's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2011
    So nice Vampy.....thank you!

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