Foot Workout
by Keith

I had taken a part time job working the front desk at my local gym. I worked the night shift, locking up the place during the week at 10:00. I loved the job. Mostly men worked out there and there must have been an audition to get membership or something because every guy was gorgeous and incredibly built. About two weeks into the job, I'd become friendly with a gorgeous man named Kent. Once we started talking, I discovered that he used to be a gymnast in college and he'd been religious ever since about keeping his fabulous physique. He was probably 27 or 28 and always came to work out late--wanting to avoid as much of the crowd as he could.

I loved watching Kent work out. He always wore a little string tank top that hardly covered any of his incredibly muscled body. And he always worked out in shower shoes. He told me once that he preferred to work out barefoot, but gym rules prohibited this. One day he complained to me that he always had a hard time getting to the gym by 9:00, but that he needed an hour for his workout. Now that we were friendly, I told him that if he wanted to come at 9:30, he could stay after I locked up while I did my closing chores. Kent was appreciative and took me up on it. I'm not sure if, at that time, I was hatching any plots in my head. I think initially, I made the offer because I was always there until 10:30 and I didn't see any harm in letting him stay. Then I started to realize that for a half an hour each night, I would be alone with this guy that I was lusting after.
So I let Kent come at 9:30 and work out in peace for the first few nights. Kent always finished his workout with a long set on the slant board. He would do ab crunches until he was so exhausted that he had to lay on the board, ankles caught in the pads at one end, while he recovered his strength enough to sit up and let his ankles free.

On the fateful night, Kent was finishing up his ab crunches when I came by. I stopped at the end of the bench and watched him perform his last few reps. Finally he fell back exhausted. This was my opportunity ....

"Give me a couple more," I said.

"No, I'm spent. I can't do any more."

"Come on, no pain, no gain. You can do two more."

"No, really, I can't."

"I think I can get you to do more," I said.

"How?" he asked, looking up at me.

"It just takes the proper motivation," I said. With that, I whipped the shower shoes off of Kent's feet. I almost lost the moment right then because I had never seen the soles of Kent's feet before. They were very sexy, with high arches and a nice line of plump toes. And the way his soles were wrinkled because they were pressed against the pads made me want to stand and admire the sight all night. But this was a time for action and I took it. Reaching out with both hands, I started to scratch both of his soles, saying, "Kitchie, kitchie, koo." I knew there was a chance that Kent wasn't ticklish and I would look like an idiot. Fortunately, that was not the case and Kent burst out laughing.

"No, please, hee hee hee, don't tickle!" Kent was a live one. His plead for mercy spurned me on even more and I started to tickle his soles vigorously.

"Come on, give me two more," I encouraged.

"No, ha ha ha! Please Hee HEE HEE! I can't do any more." Kent's toes were wiggling wildly, but he couldn't get away from my tickling fingers. His ankles were supporting his whole body weight and he was too weak to pull himself up to escape. So his defenseless soles were at my complete mercy. I wasn't feeling very merciful. I continued to tickle Kent's feet while he laughed hysterically. He was incredibly ticklish and he was now laughing so hard he couldn't even beg me any longer. I stroked his soles, making his toes flay madly, then I attacked his wiggling toes, which seemed very ticklish. Kent was laughing hard and flopping around on the slant board.

I'm not sure when I started tickling Kent's feet, or how long it lasted, but when I finally gave the guy a break it was 10:45. He was so exhausted he just hung from the slant board panting. While Kent recovered, I started feeling uncomfortable. What do I do now? I hadn't thought ahead to what would happen afterward, or how he would react. He regained enough of his strength to pull himself up and release his ankles. He rolled down to the floor and laid there completely exhausted. Struggling to think of something to say or do to play off the situation, I was preempted by Kent who said, "Man, that was one hell of a tickling."

"Gee," I stammered, very embarrassed by my actions. "I guess I just got a little carried away when I saw that you were so ticklish."

"A little carried away?" Kent said, "My throat is sore from laughing so hard!"

"I didn't mean to do that. What can I do to make it up to you."

"Well," Kent said, rolling over onto his back next to the flat bench, "You could start by apologizing."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Not to me," Kent said, putting his ankles up on the flat bench, "To them."

I was frozen by shock. His bare soles were pointing directly at me, and he was wiggling his toes slowly as if to say, "Come over here and take care of us." I couldn't believe that this is what he meant. I looked at him dumbfounded.

"After all," he said, "it's my feet that took all the abuse. I think you owe them a little consideration."

Despite my shock, it was obvious what he meant. I still wasn't sure if he was serious or not, but I definitely took it as an invitation. I knelt down in front of Kent's soles and started to massage his right foot. "Ahhh!" he said, laying back, "That's a nice apology." Not believing my incredible luck, I massaged his foot tenderly, giving his right foot the most loving attention. I kneaded his sole and squeezed his toes, until Kent was laying back moaning. After several minutes, I turned to his left foot and began to give that foot the same kind of attention. When I'd finished giving both his feet a thorough massage I looked at Kent. I thought he was sleeping at first, but, with his eyes still closed, he gave me a big grin and said, "That felt wonder. I think my feet forgive you. Now I think you should kiss and make up."

He didn't need to make that offer twice. I sat down right in front of his soles and started planted kisses on both of them. I kissed them more and more aggressively, until I started to slurp his bare soles with my tongue. When Kent started moaning again, I lost all composure, kissing and licking his soles, sucking on his toes, and scraping my teeth across his arches. Kent laid back and enjoyed it all. After many minutes, I finally sat back. Kent opened his eyes, took his feet down, and sat up, his legs straight out with his ankles crossed so I could still admire his delicious soles.

"Well, if nothing else," Kent said, "My feet sure got a good workout tonight."

"It's important not to neglect any body parts," I said.

"Maybe I'll have to add this to my regular routine."

"I could be your personal foot trainer," I said.

"And what do you charge?"

"Oh, I'm very reasonable. Just 50 tickles a day."

"Do you have your own equipment?"

"Sure do. Feathers, brushes, Q-tips, oil, and a complete set of ropes and restraints."

"When can you start?"

"I'm free right now," I said.

Kent wiggled his feet back and forth. "This could require you to put in some heavy duty overtime. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No. Getting me to quit for the day, that is going to be the problem."

I spent the next couple of hours giving Kent a complete foot work over. Tickling, massage, licking, kissing, and lots more tickling. When we finally parted that night, we made plans for another session the very next evening. Have I told you how much I love my job?

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