An Hour Of Your Time

Natalie dressed simply when she came to my apartment for the shoot.

Her curly blonde hair tumbled low, past her shoulder blades. A plain black t-shirt hugged her lithe frame. Blue jeans, sandals. She left her toes unpainted, but she'd got a French pedicure at my request.

She was nervous and it showed. Natalie, usually bubbly and loud, barely murmured a "hi" to me when I let her in. She slid out of her sandals and crossed the room, gathering her hair in a ponytail.

"No, leave it down," I said.

She looked back at me and let her hair drop. Then she wordlessly crossed the living room and headed to the kitchen.

"You have beer, right?"

I smiled and followed her.

"Yeah. Hey, Natalie."

Natalie stopped. She held my fridge door open, staring inside.

"It's just an idea," I said. "I'm not going to force it."

Natalie grabbed two beers and handed one to me. She shot me a small smile.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm just nervous."

I rooted around the kitchen drawers for a bottle opener, finally finding one. I opened Natalie's beer first.

"I know. Try to pretend like we're just on a regular date."

"Ugh, that makes it weirder," she said.

I tried not to let the sting of that one show.

"I've known you for years, Derrick! It would almost be better if it was some random guy I didn't know."

I smirked.

"Are you sure about that? You are gonna be tied down, you know. At least you're sure I won't take advantage of you." I grabbed her small frame and playfully mussed her hair. "Or will I?"

Natalie giggled, and the ice was broken. We talked in the kitchen for a while - me sitting on the island in the middle of the room, Natalie leaning against a counter. She covered one foot with the other, apparently trying to take up as little space as possible.

She also drank quickly. I didn't want her wasted, but I figured a few beers would help smooth the evening over. I was quick to give her a second one as we chatted about our families, my school work, and the jobs she'd applied for.

Finally we circled back to the reason for her visit. Natalie brought it up as she finished her second beer.

"I mean...how did you even get started with this stuff?"

I sighed, looked at the floor.

"You want the long version?"

Natalie nodded. I grabbed two fresh beers from the fridge, cracked them both open and handed one to her.

"I caught my roommate jerking off to the stuff freshman year," I said.

Natalie made a face. I laughed.

"Oh, come on, everybody does it," I said. "Anyway, after I gave him lots of shit for it, he told me he used to be way more into it than he was."

I took a swig and continued, looking at the bottle in my hand.

"Apparently he used to drop hundreds of dollars on the stuff every month, but his parents found out and made him promise he'd stop. I thought that was crazy, because between weed and beer and everything else I could barely afford to feed myself."

"Welcome to my world," Natalie said. She stared at a point on the ground about 3 feet in front of her tan feet.

I set my beer down, hopped to the floor and walked over to Natalie. I gently put my hands on her shoulders.

"That's why this is going to work, Natalie," I told her slowly. "These people have money. They go crazy for this stuff."

Natalie shivered.

"Yeah, but they're gonna..." She took a drink, then mimed masturbating. "You know?"

I laughed. Natalie was delusional if she thought she'd never starred in a fantasy before. She was an angel: big smile, tight ass, long legs. I'd certainly filled plenty of Kleenex to the thought of her.

"You can't think about that stuff," I said. "Just do it and don't even think about what happens to it after that. It's out of your hands."

Natalie gazed up at me with almond eyes.

"What if someone recognizes me?" She said. "What do I do if some guy walks up and says, 'Hey, you're that girl I jerked off to?'"

We were entering dangerous territory, and I needed to change course.

"Never happened," I said. "Trust me. But why talk about this stuff, Natalie? Better think of it like a job. You're getting paid $300 for an hour's worth of work."

Natalie stared down. A brittle smile flashed across her face.

"Yeah," she said. "I feel cheap."

Meltdown. It dawned on me then that I'd made a mistake. Natalie was a sad drunk and I never should have let her have the beer.

I decided to gamble and go for it. I pulled away from Natalie, taking her beer with me.

"Look, I don't want to sound like an asshole, but I only do this a few times a month. And there's another girl willing, if you're not, so..."

Natalie rubbed one size 6 foot with the other and frowned. I thought it was over and felt like an idiot.

"No, let's do it," she said. "Can we do it now?"

I smiled and tried not to seem too relieved.

"Sure," I said. "Come on."

It had been years since I'd had Natalie Emerson in my bedroom, and never in this apartment. But just like in high school, I kept the room pretty bare. I had a bed, a dresser, a night stand and a foot rest. That was about it.

I pointed to the bed, and Natalie sat down. I moved to the closet and began to dig around.

"So, there's two ways we can do this," I said, pulling out a couple pairs of handcuffs. I turned back to Natalie.

Her eyes widened. I knew it was extremely important to act casual at this moment.

"The first is I use a couple of these to stick you to the bed, and nothing else. That lets you kick and move around a lot more, which gets messy."

Natalie didn't speak. She just kept staring at the handcuffs. I shook them around until she snapped out of her trance.

"The second way is we take this -" I kicked the foot rest - "out in the living room, and I stick you to that. I still use the cuffs to keep you down, but your legs are tied, too. Much easier on my end."

Natalie remained in shock. She shook her head.

"I mean, whatever you think is best," she said.

I smiled. Good answer.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go out there. Do you mind pushing that? I'll be out in a minute."

Natalie did as she was asked, moving the plush foot rest into the living room. I grabbed my box, throwing string, rope and the cuffs inside with the other tools.

I grabbed another beer on my way back to the living room. My heart was in my throat; I was sure Natalie would have second thoughts at any second and leave me alone.

But she was still there, sitting awkwardly on one of my straight-backed chairs. She'd set her feet up on the foot rest, which was tall enough to leave her legs perpendicular to the ground.

I set my beer down on a nearby table and dragged another chair in front of Natalie's feet. They were, as I'd known for years, practically perfect. Natalie had high arches and plump toes. The second toe on her left foot was just as long as the big one; on her right foot, the second toe was just a centimeter longer.

I looked at Natalie. She seemed to have calmed down since the kitchen scene.

"What's in the box?" She asked.

I grinned.

"You'll see. By the way, I usually start with a massage -" I grabbed her right foot and set it in my lap " - just to get you used to my hands."

Natalie smiled.

"Just like old times."

Exactly like old times, I wanted to tell her, because I would spend the entire massage trying to keep myself from stuffing her toes in my mouth. It always astounded me how naive Natalie was. Not once during the countless high school foot massages did she seem to notice the huge erection in my pants.

Wordlessly, I began caressing Natalie's foot with both hands. It was just as smooth as I remembered.

I started with her heel, kneading the smooth flesh with my thumbs. Natalie laid her head back in the chair and closed her eyes.

It seemed like a good idea to take her mind off the night's activities as much as I possibly could. I kept rubbing Natalie's heel as I spoke.

"So how's Ben, wasn't he doing landscaping or something?"

Natalie didn't open her eyes.

"God, Ben. I don't know, he was a loser. We broke up like six months ago."

I moved up to Natalie's sole, alternating light and hard pushes with my thumbs. She was right, it did feel like old times.

"Yeah, he was," I said.

Natalie smiled but kept her eyes closed.

"What about you?" She asked. I could tell she was relaxing; in high school my foot massages put her to sleep about half the time.

Now I pushed my thumb into her soles in little circles.

"If you find a girl who's okay with me doing this, let me know," I said.

"Oh yeah, I guess you're right."

We lapsed into silence. I had moved up to Natalie's toes, rubbing each one from top to bottom.

The only sound was the occasional purr from Natalie. I always wondered if she had a foot fetish of her own; she seemed to really enjoy our massages. If she did, though, I never knew.

I ran a finger between each of Natalie's toes, eliciting giggles. Good, I thought, she was still as ticklish as always.

Once I'd thoroughly rubbed one foot down, I switched to the other. I repeated my routine, only backwards: a few minutes on the toes, then the sole, and ending with hard pressure on the heel. It was a little painful hearing Natalie coo every few moments, seemingly oblivious to how much I wanted her.

Finally, after about 15 minutes, I set Natalie's feet down. She opened her eyes and gave me an expectant look.

"Okay, this is it," I said. "Any last reservations - anything - now is the time. I don't do safewords, so once we start we go for an hour, unless something really wrong happens."

Natalie sighed. I watched her face as she wrestled with the decision. I felt a little bad for her, really. She was smart, pretty, and shouldn't have needed something like this to make money. And, honestly, it was a little sick of me to take advantage of her misfortune.

The saddest part for me was that $300 wasn't all that much money. I wasn't rolling in cash, but that was a few day's pay for me. The fact that Natalie would do something like this for so little...it really said something about her situation.

"You know, if it were anyone else asking me I'd probably say no, Derrick," she said. "But yeah. It's only an hour. I'm fine."

I smiled. Poor Natalie. Then I rose from my chair and headed back to the bedroom.

"Okay," I shouted. "I'll get the camera. And you brought socks, right?"

"Uh huh!"

I headed back to my closet and found the video camera and tripod. They were both cheap, and I got nervous again. If Natalie was sharp at all, she would definitely wonder why someone who supposedly did this professionally had such crappy gear.

But she didn't say anything when I brought both back into the living room and set them up. The angle I chose had Natalie in the right part of the frame; you could see her face and her feet, which she'd clad in little white socks while I was away. Anyone watching the video would see the right side of my face, my hands, and little else from my end.

I pressed record.

"Okay, say hi, Natalie."

Natalie rolled her eyes and blushed.

"Hi, Natalie," she said.

I started taking things out of my box - handcuffs, rope, string.

"Ha ha," I said. "You're hilarious."

I cracked open the beer I'd brought in earlier and picked up the handcuffs. I walked over to Natalie.

"Okay, lay your arms on the arms of the chair like so," I said, holding my arms perpendicular to the floor.

Natalie followed my instructions. I cuffed each of her wrists to a chair arm, then linked the two handcuffs together between her arms.

"Can you get out?"

Natalie wiggled her wrists to no avail.

"Not too tight?"

"No, they're fine," she said. Then, with a mischievous smile: "I've been handcuffed before, you know."

Jesus. That flooded my head with thoughts of some strange man - probably some loser who did landscaping - cuffing Natalie, my Natalie, and having his way with her. It was too much.

"Ooh, so kinky," I said. I pushed the foot rest up to Natalie's chair. "Okay, lay your feet out however you want them to be for the next hour."

Natalie stuck her tongue out at me and raised her two little socked feet. I grabbed the rope and started to wrap it around her ankles.

"Okay, that's good," I said. "Keep them facing out like that. It's what the pervs want."

Natalie smiled.

"Yes, master," she said.

Soon I had Natalie's feet secured to the foot rest. We tested the rope - she could wiggle them a little bit, but not enough to really move.

I sat back down in my chair and finished my beer.

"Okay," I said. I grabbed my phone. "The hour starts...now. You ready?"

Natalie gave me a determined smile.

"Ready."

I started simple, with a few light scratches on the sole of Natalie's right foot. She giggled.

"Okay, that was the ticklish test," I said. "Now..."

I bent her toes back and held them with one hand, scraping my nails against her sole. Natalie shrieked.

"Oh my god! Do-hehehehehe-Don't!"

"Don't?" I said. "Sorry, honey, I get paid to do this."

I kept scratching Natalie's soles, digging my nails into her socks.

"Staaaahahahahahahahahaaaap!"

Natalie's feet were already trying to wiggle loose. I switched tactics, grabbing them both in one hand and lightly grazing her right heel.

"Hehehehehehehehe, plehehehehehease don't!"

Natalie had jammed her eyes shut, which was probably good, because I had a rock-hard erection that was hard to hide. I moved to her left foot and watched her face as I scratched at her heel.

"Ahahahahahahahaha! Pleeeeeeeeaaaaaase!"

"Please what?" I asked. I released her feet so I could tickle both heels at once.

"Stop tihihihihihihickling me! Please!"

"Oh, Natalie, I can't do that. You're here for an hour, remember? It's only been - " I stopped to check my phone, letting Natalie catch her breath. " - One minute and 13 seconds."

"Noooooooo hahahahahahahahahaha! You ca-hahahahahaha - you can't do that!"

I had started to attack Natalie's soles, scrabbling my fingers across them. She shook with laughter.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahaha! Nooooooo!"

"No?" I paused. "Maybe I should move...to your toes?"

"No please don't - ahahahahahahahahahaha! Stooooooooop!"

Natalie's toes wiggled in vain, trying to escape me. Her hands spasmed in their cuffs.

I kept up the attack on Natalie's toes for about five minutes, until she was practically screaming with laughter. I hadn't thought about what to do if my neighbors complained about the noise. But I wasn't going to let that stop me. I moved back down to Natalie's soles, then her heels.

"I'm soooo ticklish, please! Stahahahahahahahahahahaaha-Stop!"

I stopped to give Natalie a break after the first 10 minutes were up. She was breathing heavily.

"Alright, you're one-sixth of the way done. How do you feel, Natalie?"

"You - you are fucking evil!"

"Oh, I don't know about that. Besides, we're just getting started. You've still got your socks on, anyway."

"Derrick, please, I don't want to - don't make me do this!"

I pulled Natalie's left sock up a bit, enough to expose her bare heel. Then I slowly dragged my nails across it horizontally.

"Noooooo! Dohohohohehehehehehehe - don't!"

I did. We kept at it for a while, me slowly revealing more and more of Natalie's bare feet and tickling them in the process. Her laughter got louder as I moved up her feet. By the time I'd removed both her socks, she was red-faced and sweaty.

"Natalie, I think your toes are the most ticklish place on your whole body. Is that right?"

Natalie continued to giggle, even as I'd stopped to quiz her.

"You - you know that, Derrick. Please don't."

"Hmm...Maybe I'll give you a little break. But you have to do something for me, Natalie."

Natalie's labored breaths continued.

"Wha - what is it?"

I sat back in my chair - I had knelt on the floor for a while so Natalie wouldn't get a glimpse of the tent in my pants - and folded my hands in my lap.

"Wiggle your toes for me, Natalie."

Natalie took a deep breath and looked at me. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged.

Slowly, agonizingly, Natalie started to wiggle those perfect little toes. I couldn't help it - I let out a "wow" under my breath. She could have been a professional fetish model. Although, I thought smugly, now she actually was.

"That's good, Natalie. I'm gonna take the camera in for a closer look."

Natalie remained silent as I took the camera off its tripod and brought it a few inches from her tanned, petite feet. She dutifully continued to wiggle her toes.

"Gooood," I said, not taking the camera away from her feet. "What size are your feet, Natalie?"

"Um, six," she said. She scrunched her toes together. "Do - do you like them?"

I dragged a finger down her right sole. She giggled.

"I do. But I have to keep tickling you now, you know. Only 40 minutes left."

"No, god, Derrick, anything but that. Look! I'm wiggling them!"

Hearing her beg was almost too much for me. It gave me an idea: Maybe Natalie could be persuaded to go further than we'd agreed upon.

But I needed leverage, which meant more tickle torture. Ignoring Natalie's pleas, I pulled out a piece of string and began to tie her two big toes together.

"This is to keep you from moving during the next part," I said.

I hadn't told Natalie that the hour of tickling she'd be paid for extended beyond me and my fingers. But she realized it when I pulled out a thin paintbrush and started twisting its bristles with one hand.

"Derrick? What is that?"

Natalie's feet danced back and forth, trying to squeeze out of their bondage.

"It's a paintbrush, Natalie. I'm going to use it on your feet."

"Noooooo nonononono. Please Derrick."

I just smiled and got to work, dragging the brush's bristles up and down Natalie's left sole. She screamed.

"OH MY GOD! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEEEEEASE!"

You get the picture. I spent the next 20 minutes torturing Natalie with as many tools I could think of. I ran a feather between her luscious toes. I painted the alphabet on her soles. I even scrubbed her heels with my toothbrush. Natalie writhed, squirmed and squealed through the whole thing.

By the time I took out a soft-bristle hair brush and got into position, Natalie looked absolutely beaten. Her black shirt was drenched in sweat. Her matted hair clung to her face. She begged me to stop.

"Wait, wait, Derrick, please. I can't - I can't do anymore. Please. I'll do anything."

I stopped and glanced at Natalie. She gave me the saddest look I'd ever seen.

"Anything, Natalie?"

"Please, anything. You don't have to pay me. I'll -" she looked at the camera - "I'll do other stuff for free. Just please don't tickle my feet."

A few choice thoughts popped into my head. I could tell her every good tickling video ended with my mouth on her toes. I could pull out my cock and tell her to open wide. I could jerk myself off and shoot my load on Natalie's pretty little feet.

I almost did. But I liked Natalie. Hell, at one point in my life I probably loved her.

"Okay," I said. "You're free."

Then I turned off the camera.

Maybe Natalie heard the dejection in my voice, or saw it in the way I uncuffed her hands, untied her toes and freed her feet. She didn't say a word, just gave me a concerned look.

I sat back in my chair and watched Natalie. She rubbed her wrists and threw her hair back, picking off the strands that had clung to her face.

"Natalie..."

I almost told her. I almost exposed the creepiness of it all, said I didn't have any plans to put the video online. I almost told her flat-out that I'd made up the whole story when I heard she was broke because it was the only way to be with her in whatever sad little way I could.

But then she looked up at me. Natalie, with her big brown eyes and wide smile. And I couldn't tell her because it would hurt her. But also - and I hated myself for thinking this - I could maybe push it further if I kept up the charade.